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A SHERLOCK HOLMES OMNIBUS
by SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE, 1859-1930
Project Gutenberg of Australia eBook No. 0200441; seeAppendix F for info
A STUDY IN SCARLET (1887)
Part I. (Being a reprint from the...
Ch I. Mr. Sherlock Holmes
Ch II. The Science ofDeduction
Ch III. The Lauriston GardenMystery
Ch IV. What John Rance Had toTell
Ch V. Our Advertisement Brings aVisitor
Ch VI. Tobias Gregson Shows WhatHe...
Ch VII. Light in theDarkness
Part II. The Country of the Saints
Ch I. On the Great AlkaliPlain
Ch II. The Flower of Utah
Ch III. John Ferrier Talks with theProphet
Ch IV. A Flight for Life
Ch V. The Avenging Angels
Ch VI. A Continuation ofthe...
Ch VII. The Conclusion
THE SIGN OF THE FOUR (1890)
Ch I. The Science of Deduction
Ch II. The Statement of the Case
Ch III. In Quest of a Solution
Ch IV. The Story of the Bald-Headed Man
Ch V. The Tragedy of Pondicherry Lodge
Ch VI. Sherlock Holmes Gives a...
Ch VII. The Episode of the Barrel
Ch VIII. The Baker Street Irregulars
Ch IX. A Break in the Chain
Ch X. The End of the Islander
Ch XI. The Great Agra Treasure
Ch XII. The Strange Story of Jonathan...
THE ADVENTURES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES
A Scandal in Bohemia, 1891 (I.,II.,III.)
The Red-headed League, 1891
A Case of Identity, 1891
The Boscombe Valley Mystery, 1891
The Five Orange Pips, 1891
The Man with the Twisted Lip, 1891
The Blue Carbuncle, 1892
The Speckled Band, 1892
The Engineer's Thumb, 1892
The Noble Bachelor, 1892
The Beryl Coronet, 1892
The Copper Beeches, 1892
THE MEMOIRS OF SHERLOCK HOLMES
Silver Blaze, 1892
The Yellow Face, 1893
The Stock-Broker's Clerk, 1893
The "Gloria Scott", 1893
The Musgrave Ritual, 1893
The Reigate Puzzle, 1893
The Crooked Man, 1893
The Resident Patient, 1893
The Greek Interpreter, 1893
The Naval Treaty, 1893
The Final Problem, 1893
THE HOUND OF THE BASKERVILLES (1901)
Ch I. Mr. Sherlock Holmes
Ch II. The Curse of the Baskervilles
Ch III. The Problem
Ch IV. Sir Henry Baskerville
Ch V. Three Broken Threads
Ch VI. Baskerville Hall
Ch VII. The Stapletons of Merripit House
Ch VIII. First Report of Dr. Watson
Ch IX. The Light Upon the Moor
Ch X. Extract from the Diary of Dr.Watson
Ch XI. The Man on the Tor
Ch XII. Death on the Moor
Ch XIII. Fixing the Nets
Ch XIV. The Hound of the Baskervilles
Ch XV. A Retrospection
THE RETURN OF SHERLOCK HOLMES
The Empty House, 1903
The Norwood Builder, 1903
The Dancing Men, 1903
The Solitary Cyclist, 1903
The Priory School, 1904
The Adventure of Black Peter, 1904
Charles Augustus Milverton, 1904
The Six Napoleons, 1904
The Three Students, 1904
The Golden Pince-Nez, 1904
The Missing Three-Quarter, 1904
The Abbey Grange, 1904
The Second Stain, 1904
THE VALLEY OF FEAR (1914)
Part I. The Tragedy of Birlstone
Ch I. The Warning
Ch II. Sherlock HolmesDiscourses
Ch III. The Tragedy ofBirlstone
Ch IV. Darkness
Ch V. The People of theDrama
Ch VI. A Dawning Light
Ch VII. The Solution
Part II. The Scowrers
Ch I. The Man
Ch II. The Bodymaster
Ch III. Lodge 341, Vermissa
Ch IV. The Valley of Fear
Ch V. The Darkest Hour
Ch VI. Danger
Ch VII. The Trapping of BirdyEdwards
HIS LAST BOW
The Cardboard Box, 1893
The Adventure of Wisteria Lodge, 1908
Ch I. The Singular Experience ofMr....
Ch II. The Tiger of SanPedro
The Bruce-Partington Plans, 1908
The Devil's Foot, 1910
The Red Circle, 1911
Lady Frances Carfax, 1911
The Dying Detective, 1913
His Last Bow, 1917
THE CASEBOOK OF SHERLOCK HOLMES
Preface
The Mazarin Stone, 1921
The Problem of Thor Bridge, 1922
The Creeping Man, 1923
The Sussex Vampire, 1924
The Three Garridebs, 1924
The Illustrious Client, 1924
The Blanched Soldier, 1926
The Retired Colourman, 1926
The Three Gables, 1926
The Lion's Mane, 1926
The Veiled Lodger, 1927
Shoscombe Old Place, 1927
APPENDIX A. ABOUT THIS EDITION
APPENDIX B. TEXTUAL SOURCES
APPENDIX C. TEXTUAL CORRECTIONS
APPENDIX D. TECHNICAL MATTERS
APPENDIX E. HOLMES' CHRONOLOGY
APPENDIX F. PROJECT GUTENBERG
{1}
A STUDY IN SCARLET
PART I
(Being a reprint from the reminiscences of JOHN H.WATSON, M.D.,late of the Army Medical Department.) {2}
CHAPTER I. MR. SHERLOCK HOLMES
IN the year 1878 I took my degree of Doctor of Medicine of theUniversity of London, and proceeded to Netley to go through thecourse prescribed for surgeons in the army. Having completed mystudies there, I was duly attached to the Fifth NorthumberlandFusiliers as Assistant Surgeon. The regiment was stationed in Indiaat the time, and before I could join it, the second Afghan war hadbroken out. On landing at Bombay, I learned that my corps hadadvanced through the passes, and was already deep in the enemy'scountry. I followed, however, with many other officers who were inthe same situation as myself, and succeeded in reaching Candahar insafety, where I found my regiment, and at once entered upon my newduties.
The campaign brought honours and promotion to many, but for meit had nothing but misfortune and disaster. I was removed from mybrigade and attached to the Berkshires, with whom I served at thefatal battle of Maiwand. There I was struck on the shoulder by aJezail bullet, which shattered the bone and grazed the subclavianartery. I should have fallen into the hands of the murderous Ghazishad it not been for the devotion and courage shown by Murray, myorderly, who threw me across a pack-horse, and succeeded inbringing me safely to the British lines.
Worn with pain, and weak from the prolonged hardships which Ihad undergone, I was removed, with a great train of woundedsufferers, to the base hospital at Peshawar. Here I rallied, andhad already improved so far as to be able to walk about the wards,and even to bask a little upon the verandah, when I was struck downby enteric fever, that curse of our Indian possessions. For monthsmy life was despaired of, and when at last I came to myself andbecame convalescent, I was so weak and emaciated that a medicalboard determined that not a day should be lost in sending me backto England. I was dispatched, accordingly, in the troopship"Orontes," and landed a month later on Portsmouth jetty, with myhealth irretrievably ruined, but with permission from a paternalgovernment to spend the next nine months in attempting to improveit.
I had neither kith nor kin in England, and was therefore as freeas air -- or as free as an income of eleven shillings and sixpencea day will permit a man to be. Under such circumstances, Inaturally gravitated to London, that great cesspool into which allthe loungers and idlers of the Empire are irresistibly drained.There I stayed for some time at a private hotel in the Strand,leading a comfortless, meaningless existence, and spending suchmoney as I had, considerably more freely than I ought. So alarmingdid the state of my finances become, that I soon realized that Imust either leave the metropolis and rusticate somewhere in thecountry, or that I must make a complete alteration in my style ofliving. Choosing the latter alternative, I began by making up mymind to leave the hotel, and to take up my quarters in some lesspretentious and less expensive domicile.
On the very day that I had come to this conclusion, I wasstanding at the Criterion Bar, when some one tapped me on theshoulder, and turning round I recognized young Stamford, who hadbeen a dresser under me at Barts. The sight of a friendly face inthe great wilderness of London is a pleasant thing indeed to alonely man. In old days Stamford had never been a particular cronyof mine, but now I hailed him with enthusiasm, and he, in his turn,appeared to be delighted to see me. In the exuberance of my joy, Iasked him to lunch with me at the Holborn, and we started offtogether in a hansom.
"Whatever have you been doing with yourself, Watson?" he askedin undisguised wonder, as we rattled through the crowded Londonstreets. "You are as thin as a lath and as brown as a nut."
I gave him a short sketch of my adventures, and had hardlyconcluded it by the time that we reached our destination.
"Poor devil!" he said, commiseratingly, after he had listened tomy misfortunes. "What are you up to now?"
"Looking for lodgings." {3} I answered. "Trying to solve theproblem as to whether it is possible to get comfortable rooms at areasonable price."
"That's a strange thing," remarked my companion; "you are thesecond man 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 thehospital. He was bemoaning himself this morning because he couldnot get someone to go halves with him in some nice rooms which hehad found, and which were too much for his purse."
"By Jove!" I cried, "if he really wants someone to share therooms and the expense, I am the very man for him. I should preferhaving a partner to being alone."
Young Stamford looked rather strangely at me over hiswine-glass. "You don't know Sherlock Holmes yet," he said; "perhapsyou would not care for him as a constant companion."
"Why, what is there against him?"
"Oh, I didn't say there was anything against him. He is a littlequeer in his ideas -- an enthusiast in some branches of science. Asfar as I know he is a decent fellow enough."
"A medical student, I suppose?" said I.
"No -- I have no idea what he intends to go in for. I believe heis well up in anatomy, and he is a first-class chemist; but, as faras I know, he has never taken out any systematic medical classes.His studies are very desultory and eccentric, but he has amassed alot of out-of-the way knowledge which would astonish hisprofessors."
"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 canbe communicative enough when the fancy seizes him."
"I should like to meet him," I said. "If I am to lodge withanyone, I should prefer a man of studious and quiet habits. I amnot strong enough yet to stand much noise or excitement. I hadenough of both in Afghanistan to last me for the remainder of mynatural existence. How could I meet this friend of yours?"
"He is sure to be at the laboratory," returned my companion. "Heeither avoids the place for weeks, or else he works there frommorning to night. If you like, we shall drive round together afterluncheon."
"Certainly," I answered, and the conversation drifted away intoother channels.
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 mustn't blame me if you don't get on with him," he said; "Iknow nothing more of him than I have learned from meeting himoccasionally in the laboratory. You proposed this arrangement, soyou must not hold me responsible."
"If we don't get on it will be easy to part company," Ianswered. "It seems to me, Stamford," I added, looking hard at mycompanion, "that you have some reason for washing your hands of thematter. Is this fellow's temper so formidable, or what is it? Don'tbe mealy-mouthed about it."
"It is not easy to express the inexpressible," he answered witha laugh. "Holmes is a little too scientific for my tastes -- itapproaches to cold-bloodedness. I could imagine his giving a frienda little pinch of the latest vegetable alkaloid, not out ofmalevolence, you understand, but simply out of a spirit of inquiryin order to have an accurate idea of the effects. To do himjustice, I think that he would take it himself with the samereadiness. He appears to have a passion for definite and exactknowledge."
"Very right too."
"Yes, but it may be pushed to excess. When it comes to beatingthe subjects in the dissecting-rooms with a stick, it is certainlytaking rather a bizarre shape."
"Beating the subjects!"
"Yes, to verify how far bruises may be produced after death. Isaw him at 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 herewe are, and you must form your own impressions about him." As hespoke, we turned down a narrow lane and passed through a smallside-door, which opened into a wing of the great hospital. It wasfamiliar ground to me, and I needed no guiding as we ascended thebleak stone staircase and made our way down the long corridor withits vista of whitewashed wall and dun-coloured doors. Near thefurther end a low arched passage branched away from it and led tothe chemical laboratory.
This was a lofty chamber, lined and littered with countlessbottles. Broad, low tables were scattered about, which bristledwith retorts, test-tubes, and little Bunsen lamps, with their blueflickering flames. There was only one student in the room, who wasbending over a distant table absorbed in his work. At the sound ofour steps he glanced round and sprang to his feet with a cry ofpleasure. "I've found it! I've found it," he shouted to mycompanion, running towards us with a test-tube in his hand. "I havefound a re-agent which is precipitated by hoemoglobin, {4} and bynothing else." Had he discovered a gold mine, greater delight couldnot have shone upon his features.
"Dr. Watson, Mr. Sherlock Holmes," said Stamford, introducingus.
"How are you?" he said cordially, gripping my hand with astrength for which I should hardly have given him credit. "You havebeen in Afghanistan, I perceive."
"How on earth did you know that?" I asked in astonishment.
"Never mind," said he, chuckling to himself. "The question nowis about hoemoglobin. No doubt you see the significance of thisdiscovery of mine?"
"It is interesting, chemically, no doubt," I answered, "butpractically ----"
"Why, man, it is the most practical medico-legal discovery foryears. Don't you see that it gives us an infallible test for bloodstains. Come over here now!" He seized me by the coat-sleeve in hiseagerness, and drew me over to the table at which he had beenworking. "Let us have some fresh blood," he said, digging a longbodkin into his finger, and drawing off the resulting drop of bloodin a chemical pipette. "Now, I add this small quantity of blood toa litre of water. You perceive that the resulting mixture has theappearance of pure water. The proportion of blood cannot be morethan one in a million. I have no doubt, however, that we shall beable to obtain the characteristic reaction." As he spoke, he threwinto the vessel a few white crystals, and then added some drops ofa transparent fluid. In an instant the contents assumed a dullmahogany colour, and a brownish dust was precipitated to the bottomof the glass jar.
"Ha! ha!" he cried, clapping his hands, and looking as delightedas a child with a new toy. "What do you think of that?"
"It seems to be a very delicate test," I remarked.
"Beautiful! beautiful! The old Guiacum test was very clumsy anduncertain. So is the microscopic examination for blood corpuscles.The latter is valueless if the stains are a few hours old. Now,this appears to act as well whether the blood is old or new. Hadthis test been invented, there are hundreds of men now walking theearth who would long ago have paid the penalty of theircrimes."
"Indeed!" I murmured.
"Criminal cases are continually hinging upon that one point. Aman is suspected of a crime months perhaps after it has beencommitted. His linen or clothes are examined, and brownish stainsdiscovered upon them. Are they blood stains, or mud stains, or ruststains, or fruit stains, or what are they? That is a question whichhas puzzled many an expert, and why? Because there was no reliabletest. Now we have the Sherlock Holmes' test, and there will nolonger be any difficulty."
His eyes fairly glittered as he spoke, and he put his hand overhis heart and bowed as if to some applauding crowd conjured up byhis imagination.
"You are to be congratulated," I remarked, considerablysurprised at his enthusiasm.
"There was the case of Von Bischoff at Frankfort last year. Hewould certainly have been hung had this test been in existence.Then there was Mason of Bradford, and the notorious Muller, andLefevre of Montpellier, and Samson of new Orleans. I could name ascore of cases in which it would have been decisive."
"You seem to be a walking calendar of crime," said Stamford witha laugh. "You might start a paper on those lines. Call it the`Police News of the Past.'"
"Very interesting reading it might be made, too," remarkedSherlock Holmes, sticking a small piece of plaster over the prickon his finger. "I have to be careful," he continued, turning to mewith a smile, "for I dabble with poisons a good deal." He held outhis hand as he spoke, and I noticed that it was all mottled overwith similar pieces of plaster, and discoloured with strongacids.
"We came here on business," said Stamford, sitting down on ahigh three-legged stool, and pushing another one in my directionwith his foot. "My friend here wants to take diggings, and as youwere complaining that you could get no one to go halves with you, Ithought that I had better bring you together."
Sherlock Holmes seemed delighted at the idea of sharing hisrooms with me. "I have my eye on a suite in Baker Street," he said,"which would suit us down to the ground. You don't mind the smellof strong tobacco, I hope?"
"I always smoke `ship's' myself," I answered.
"That's good enough. I generally have chemicals about, andoccasionally do experiments. Would that annoy you?"
"By no means."
"Let me see -- what are my other shortcomings. I get in thedumps at times, and don't open my mouth for days on end. You mustnot think I am sulky when I do that. Just let me alone, and I'llsoon be right. What have you to confess now? It's just as well fortwo fellows to know the worst of one another before they begin tolive together."
I laughed at this cross-examination. "I keep a bull pup," Isaid, "and I object to rows because my nerves are shaken, and I getup at all sorts of ungodly hours, and I am extremely lazy. I haveanother set of vices when I'm well, but those are the principalones at present."
"Do you include violin-playing in your category of rows?" heasked, anxiously.
"It depends on the player," I answered. "A well-played violin isa treat for the gods -- a badly-played one ----"
"Oh, that's all right," he cried, with a merry laugh. "I thinkwe may consider the thing as settled -- that is, if the rooms areagreeable to you."
"When shall we see them?"
"Call for me here at noon to-morrow, and we'll go together andsettle everything," he answered.
"All right -- noon exactly," said I, shaking his hand.
We left him working among his chemicals, and we walked togethertowards my hotel.
"By the way," I asked suddenly, stopping and turning uponStamford, "how the deuce did he know that I had come fromAfghanistan?"
My companion smiled an enigmatical smile. "That's just hislittle peculiarity," he said. "A good many people have wanted toknow how he finds things out."
"Oh! a mystery is it?" I cried, rubbing my hands. "This is verypiquant. I am much obliged to you for bringing us together. `Theproper study of mankind is man,' you know."
"You must study him, then," Stamford said, as he bade megood-bye. "You'll find him a knotty problem, though. I'll wager helearns more about you than you about him. Good-bye."
"Good-bye," I answered, and strolled on to my hotel,considerably interested in my new acquaintance.
CHAPTER II. THE SCIENCE OF DEDUCTION
WE met next day as he had arranged, and inspected the rooms atNo. 221B, {5} Baker Street, of which he had spoken at our meeting.They consisted of a couple of comfortable bed-rooms and a singlelarge airy sitting-room, cheerfully furnished, and illuminated bytwo broad windows. So desirable in every way were the apartments,and so moderate did the terms seem when divided between us, thatthe bargain was concluded upon the spot, and we at once enteredinto possession. That very evening I moved my things round from thehotel, and on the following morning Sherlock Holmes followed mewith several boxes and portmanteaus. For a day or two we werebusily employed in unpacking and laying out our property to thebest advantage. That done, we gradually began to settle down and toaccommodate ourselves to our new surroundings.
Holmes was certainly not a difficult man to live with. He wasquiet in his ways, and his habits were regular. It was rare for himto be up after ten at night, and he had invariably breakfasted andgone out before I rose in the morning. Sometimes he spent his dayat the chemical laboratory, sometimes in the dissecting-rooms, andoccasionally in long walks, which appeared to take him into thelowest portions of the City. Nothing could exceed his energy whenthe working fit was upon him; but now and again a reaction wouldseize him, and for days on end he would lie upon the sofa in thesitting-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 ofbeing addicted to the use of some narcotic, had not the temperanceand cleanliness of his whole life forbidden such a notion.
As the weeks went by, my interest in him and my curiosity as tohis aims in life, gradually deepened and increased. His very personand appearance were such as to strike the attention of the mostcasual observer. In height he was rather over six feet, and soexcessively lean that he seemed to be considerably taller. His eyeswere sharp and piercing, save during those intervals of torpor towhich I have alluded; and his thin, hawk-like nose gave his wholeexpression an air of alertness and decision. His chin, too, had theprominence and squareness which mark the man of determination. Hishands were invariably blotted with ink and stained with chemicals,yet he was possessed of extraordinary delicacy of touch, as Ifrequently had occasion to observe when I watched him manipulatinghis fragile philosophical instruments.
The reader may set me down as a hopeless busybody, when Iconfess how much this man stimulated my curiosity, and how often Iendeavoured to break through the reticence which he showed on allthat concerned himself. Before pronouncing judgment, however, be itremembered, how objectless was my life, and how little there was toengage my attention. My health forbade me from venturing out unlessthe weather was exceptionally genial, and I had no friends whowould call upon me and break the monotony of my daily existence.Under these circumstances, I eagerly hailed the little mysterywhich hung around my companion, and spent much of my time inendeavouring to unravel it.
He was not studying medicine. He had himself, in reply to aquestion, confirmed Stamford's opinion upon that point. Neither didhe appear to have pursued any course of reading which might fit himfor a degree in science or any other recognized portal which wouldgive him an entrance into the learned world. Yet his zeal forcertain studies was remarkable, and within eccentric limits hisknowledge was so extraordinarily ample and minute that hisobservations have fairly astounded me. Surely no man would work sohard or attain such precise information unless he had some definiteend in view. Desultory readers are seldom remarkable for theexactness of their learning. No man burdens his mind with smallmatters unless he has some very good reason for doing so.
His ignorance was as remarkable as his knowledge. Ofcontemporary literature, philosophy and politics he appeared toknow next to nothing. Upon my quoting Thomas Carlyle, he inquiredin the naivest way who he might be and what he had done. Mysurprise reached a climax, however, when I found incidentally thathe was ignorant of the Copernican Theory and of the composition ofthe Solar System. That any civilized human being in this nineteenthcentury should not be aware that the earth travelled round the sunappeared to be to me such an extraordinary fact that I could hardlyrealize it.
"You appear to be astonished," he said, smiling at my expressionof surprise. "Now that I do know it I shall do my best to forgetit."
"To forget it!"
"You see," he explained, "I consider that a man's brainoriginally is like a little empty attic, and you have to stock itwith such furniture as you choose. A fool takes in all the lumberof every sort that he comes across, so that the knowledge whichmight be useful to him gets crowded out, or at best is jumbled upwith a lot of other things so that he has a difficulty in layinghis hands upon it. Now the skilful workman is very careful indeedas 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 hasa large assortment, and all in the most perfect order. It is amistake to think that that little room has elastic walls and candistend to any extent. Depend upon it there comes a time when forevery addition of knowledge you forget something that you knewbefore. It is of the highest importance, therefore, not to haveuseless facts elbowing out the useful ones."
"But the Solar System!" I protested.
"What the deuce is it to me?" he interrupted impatiently; "yousay that we go round the sun. If we went round the moon it wouldnot make a pennyworth 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. Thereforeall the knowledge which he possessed was such as would be useful tohim. I enumerated in my own mind all the various points upon whichhe had shown me that he was exceptionally well-informed. I eventook a pencil and jotted them down. I could not help smiling at thedocument when I had completed it. It ran in this way --
SHERLOCK HOLMES -- his limits.
When I had got so far in my list I threw it into the fire indespair. "If I can only find what the fellow is driving at byreconciling all these accomplishments, and discovering a callingwhich needs them all," I said to myself, "I may as well give up theattempt at once."
I see that I have alluded above to his powers upon the violin.These were very remarkable, but as eccentric as all his otheraccomplishments. That he could play pieces, and difficult pieces, Iknew well, because at my request he has played me some ofMendelssohn's Lieder, and other favourites. When left to himself,however, he would seldom produce any music or attempt anyrecognized air. Leaning back in his arm-chair of an evening, hewould close his eyes and scrape carelessly at the fiddle which wasthrown across his knee. Sometimes the chords were sonorous andmelancholy. Occasionally they were fantastic and cheerful. Clearlythey reflected the thoughts which possessed him, but whether themusic aided those thoughts, or whether the playing was simply theresult of a whim or fancy was more than I could determine. I mighthave rebelled against these exasperating solos had it not been thathe usually terminated them by playing in quick succession a wholeseries of my favourite airs as a slight compensation for the trialupon my patience.
During the first week or so we had no callers, and I had begunto think that my companion was as friendless a man as I was myself.Presently, however, I found that he had many acquaintances, andthose in the most different classes of society. There was onelittle sallow rat-faced, dark-eyed fellow who was introduced to meas Mr. Lestrade, and who came three or four times in a single week.One morning a young girl called, fashionably dressed, and stayedfor half an hour or more. The same afternoon brought a grey-headed,seedy visitor, looking like a Jew pedlar, who appeared to me to bemuch excited, and who was closely followed by a slip-shod elderlywoman. On another occasion an old white-haired gentleman had aninterview with my companion; and on another a railway porter in hisvelveteen uniform. When any of these nondescript individuals put inan appearance, Sherlock Holmes used to beg for the use of thesitting-room, and I would retire to my bed-room. He alwaysapologized to me for putting me to this inconvenience. "I have touse this room as a place of business," he said, "and these peopleare my clients." Again I had an opportunity of asking him a pointblank question, and again my delicacy prevented me from forcinganother man to confide in me. I imagined at the time that he hadsome strong reason for not alluding to it, but he soon dispelledthe idea by coming round to the subject of his own accord.
It was upon the 4th of March, as I have good reason to remember,that I rose somewhat earlier than usual, and found that SherlockHolmes had not yet finished his breakfast. The landlady had becomeso accustomed to my late habits that my place had not been laid normy coffee prepared. With the unreasonable petulance of mankind Irang the bell and gave a curt intimation that I was ready. Then Ipicked up a magazine from the table and attempted to while away thetime with it, while my companion munched silently at his toast. Oneof the articles had a pencil mark at the heading, and I naturallybegan to run my eye through it.
Its somewhat ambitious title was "The Book of Life," and itattempted to show how much an observant man might learn by anaccurate and systematic examination of all that came in his way. Itstruck me as being a remarkable mixture of shrewdness and ofabsurdity. The reasoning was close and intense, but the deductionsappeared to me to be far-fetched and exaggerated. The writerclaimed by a momentary expression, a twitch of a muscle or a glanceof an eye, to fathom a man's inmost thoughts. Deceit, according tohim, was an impossibility in the case of one trained to observationand analysis. His conclusions were as infallible as so manypropositions of Euclid. So startling would his results appear tothe uninitiated that until they learned the processes by which hehad arrived at them they might well consider him as anecromancer.
"From a drop of water," said the writer, "a logician could inferthe possibility of an Atlantic or a Niagara without having seen orheard of one or the other. So all life is a great chain, the natureof which is known whenever we are shown a single link of it. Likeall other arts, the Science of Deduction and Analysis is one whichcan only be acquired by long and patient study nor is life longenough to allow any mortal to attain the highest possibleperfection in it. Before turning to those moral and mental aspectsof the matter which present the greatest difficulties, let theenquirer begin by mastering more elementary problems. Let him, onmeeting a fellow-mortal, learn at a glance to distinguish thehistory of the man, and the trade or profession to which hebelongs. Puerile as such an exercise may seem, it sharpens thefaculties of observation, and teaches one where to look and what tolook for. By a man's finger nails, by his coat-sleeve, by his boot,by his trouser knees, by the callosities of his forefinger andthumb, by his expression, by his shirt cuffs -- by each of thesethings a man's calling is plainly revealed. That all united shouldfail to enlighten the competent enquirer in any case is almostinconceivable."
"What ineffable twaddle!" I cried, slapping the magazine down onthe table, "I never read such rubbish in my life."
"What is it?" asked Sherlock Holmes.
"Why, this article," I said, pointing at it with my egg spoon asI sat down to my breakfast. "I see that you have read it since youhave marked it. I don't deny that it is smartly written. Itirritates me though. It is evidently the theory of some arm-chairlounger who evolves all these neat little paradoxes in theseclusion of his own study. It is not practical. I should like tosee him clapped down in a third class carriage on the Underground,and asked to give the trades of all his fellow-travellers. I wouldlay a thousand to one against him."
"You would lose your money," Sherlock Holmes remarked calmly."As for the article I wrote it myself."
"You!"
"Yes, I have a turn both for observation and for deduction. Thetheories which I have expressed there, and which appear to you tobe so chimerical are really extremely practical -- so practicalthat I depend upon 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 inthe world. I'm a consulting detective, if you can understand whatthat is. Here in London we have lots of Government detectives andlots of private ones. When these fellows are at fault they come tome, and I manage to put them on the right scent. They lay all theevidence before me, and I am generally able, by the help of myknowledge of the history of crime, to set them straight. There is astrong family resemblance about misdeeds, and if you have all thedetails of a thousand at your finger ends, it is odd if you can'tunravel the thousand and first. Lestrade is a well-known detective.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 areall people who are in trouble about something, and want a littleenlightening. I listen to their story, they listen to my comments,and then I pocket my fee."
"But do you mean to say," I said, "that without leaving yourroom you can unravel some knot which other men can make nothing of,although they have seen every detail for themselves?"
"Quite so. I have a kind of intuition that way. Now and again acase turns up which is a little more complex. Then I have to bustleabout and see things with my own eyes. You see I have a lot ofspecial knowledge which I apply to the problem, and whichfacilitates matters wonderfully. Those rules of deduction laid downin that article which aroused your scorn, are invaluable to me inpractical work. Observation with me is second nature. You appearedto be surprised when I told you, on our first meeting, that you hadcome from Afghanistan."
"You were told, no doubt."
"Nothing of the sort. Iknew you came from Afghanistan.From long habit the train of thoughts ran so swiftly through mymind, that I arrived at the conclusion without being conscious ofintermediate steps. There were such steps, however. The train ofreasoning ran, `Here is a gentleman of a medical type, but with theair of a military man. Clearly an army doctor, then. He has justcome from the tropics, for his face is dark, and that is not thenatural tint of his skin, for his wrists are fair. He has undergonehardship and sickness, as his haggard face says clearly. His leftarm has been injured. He holds it in a stiff and unnatural manner.Where in the tropics could an English army doctor have seen muchhardship and got his arm wounded? Clearly in Afghanistan.' Thewhole train of thought did not occupy a second. I then remarkedthat you came from Afghanistan, and you were astonished."
"It is simple enough as you explain it," I said, smiling. "Youremind me of Edgar Allen Poe's Dupin. I had no idea that suchindividuals did exist outside of stories."
Sherlock Holmes rose and lit his pipe. "No doubt you think thatyou are complimenting me in comparing me to Dupin," he observed."Now, in my opinion, Dupin was a very inferior fellow. That trickof his of breaking in on his friends' thoughts with an aproposremark after a quarter of an hour's silence is really very showyand superficial. He had some analytical genius, no doubt; but hewas by no means such a phenomenon as Poe appeared to imagine."
"Have you read Gaboriau's 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 mepositively ill. The question was how to identify an unknownprisoner. I could have done it in twenty-four hours. Lecoq took sixmonths or so. It might be made a text-book for detectives to teachthem what to avoid."
I felt rather indignant at having two characters whom I hadadmired treated in this cavalier style. I walked over to thewindow, and stood looking out into the busy street. "This fellowmay be very clever," I said to myself, "but he is certainly veryconceited."
"There are no crimes and no criminals in these days," he said,querulously. "What is the use of having brains in our profession. Iknow well that I have it in me to make my name famous. No man livesor has ever lived who has brought the same amount of study and ofnatural talent to the detection of crime which I have done. Andwhat is the result? There is no crime to detect, or, at most, somebungling villainy with a motive so transparent that even a ScotlandYard official can see through it."
I was still annoyed at his bumptious style of conversation. Ithought it best to change the topic.
"I wonder what that fellow is looking for?" I asked, pointing toa stalwart, plainly-dressed individual who was walking slowly downthe other side of the street, looking anxiously at the numbers. Hehad a large blue envelope in his hand, and was evidently the bearerof a message.
"You mean the retired sergeant of Marines," said SherlockHolmes.
"Brag and bounce!" thought I to myself. "He knows that I cannotverify his guess."
The thought had hardly passed through my mind when the man whomwe were watching caught sight of the number on our door, and ranrapidly across the roadway. We heard a loud knock, a deep voicebelow, and heavy 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. Helittle thought of this when he made that random shot. "May I ask,my lad," I said, in the blandest voice, "what your trade maybe?"
"Commissionaire, sir," he said, gruffly. "Uniform away forrepairs."
"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 a salute, andwas gone.
CHAPTER III. THE LAURISTON GARDEN MYSTERY {6}
I CONFESS that I was considerably startled by this fresh proofof the practical nature of my companion's theories. My respect forhis powers of analysis increased wondrously. There still remainedsome lurking suspicion in my mind, however, that the whole thingwas a pre-arranged episode, intended to dazzle me, though whatearthly object he could have in taking me in was past mycomprehension. When I looked at him he had finished reading thenote, and his eyes had assumed the vacant, lack-lustre expressionwhich 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 witha smile, "Excuse my rudeness. You broke the thread of my thoughts;but perhaps it is as well. So you actually were not able to seethat that man was a sergeant of Marines?"
"No, indeed."
"It was easier to know it than to explain why I knew it. If youwere asked to prove that two and two made four, you might find somedifficulty, and yet you are quite sure of the fact. Even across thestreet I could see a great blue anchor tattooed on the back of thefellow's hand. That smacked of the sea. He had a military carriage,however, and regulation side whiskers. There we have the marine. Hewas a man with some amount of self-importance and a certain air ofcommand. You must have observed the way in which he held his headand swung his cane. A steady, respectable, middle-aged man, too, onthe face of him -- all facts which led me to believe that he hadbeen a sergeant."
"Wonderful!" I ejaculated.
"Commonplace," said Holmes, though I thought from his expressionthat he was pleased at my evident surprise and admiration. "I saidjust now that there were no criminals. It appears that I am wrong-- look at this!" He threw me over the note which thecommissionaire had brought." {7}
"Why," I cried, as I cast my eye over it, "this isterrible!"
"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 ----
"MY DEAR MR. SHERLOCK HOLMES, -- "There has been a bad businessduring the night at 3, Lauriston Gardens, off the Brixton Road. Ourman on the beat saw a light there about two in the morning, and asthe house was an empty one, suspected that something was amiss. Hefound the door open, and in the front room, which is bare offurniture, discovered the body of a gentleman, well dressed, andhaving cards in his pocket bearing the name of `Enoch J. Drebber,Cleveland, Ohio, U.S.A.' There had been no robbery, nor is thereany evidence as to how the man met his death. There are marks ofblood in the room, but there is no wound upon his person. We are ata loss as to how he came into the empty house; indeed, the wholeaffair is a puzzler. If you can come round to the house any timebefore twelve, you will find me there. I have left everythinginstatu quo until I hear from you. If you are unable to come Ishall give you fuller details, and would esteem it a great kindnessif you would favour me with your opinion. Yours faithfully, "TOBIASGREGSON."
"Gregson is the smartest of the Scotland Yarders," my friendremarked; "he and Lestrade are the pick of a bad lot. They are bothquick and energetic, but conventional -- shockingly so. They havetheir knives into one another, too. They are as jealous as a pairof professional beauties. There will be some fun over this case ifthey are both put upon the scent."
I was amazed at the calm way in which he rippled on. "Surelythere is not a moment to be lost," I cried, "shall I go and orderyou a cab?"
"I'm not sure about whether I shall go. I am the most incurablylazy devil that ever stood in shoe leather -- that is, when the fitis on me, for I can be spry enough at times."
"Why, it is just such a chance as you have been longingfor."
"My dear fellow, what does it matter to me. Supposing I unravelthe whole matter, you may be sure that Gregson, Lestrade, and Co.will pocket all the credit. That comes of being an unofficialpersonage."
"But he begs you to help him."
"Yes. He knows that I am his superior, and acknowledges it tome; but he would cut his tongue out before he would own it to anythird person. However, we may as well go and have a look. I shallwork it out on my own hook. I may have a laugh at them if I havenothing else. Come on!"
He hustled on his overcoat, and bustled about in a way thatshowed that an 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 wereboth in a hansom, driving furiously for the Brixton Road.
It was a foggy, cloudy morning, and a dun-coloured veil hungover the house-tops, looking like the reflection of themud-coloured streets beneath. My companion was in the best ofspirits, and prattled away about Cremona fiddles, and thedifference between a Stradivarius and an Amati. As for myself, Iwas silent, for the dull weather and the melancholy business uponwhich we were engaged, depressed my spirits.
"You don't seem to give much thought to the matter in hand," Isaid at last, interrupting Holmes' musical disquisition.
"No data yet," he answered. "It is a capital mistake to theorizebefore you have all the evidence. It biases the judgment."
"You will have your data soon," I remarked, pointing with myfinger; "this is the Brixton Road, and that is the house, if I amnot very much mistaken."
"So it is. Stop, driver, stop!" We were still a hundred yards orso from it, but he insisted upon our alighting, and we finished ourjourney upon foot.
Number 3, Lauriston Gardens wore an ill-omened and minatorylook. It was one of four which stood back some little way from thestreet, two being occupied and two empty. The latter looked outwith three tiers of vacant melancholy windows, which were blank anddreary, save that here and there a "To Let" card had developed likea cataract upon the bleared panes. A small garden sprinkled overwith a scattered eruption of sickly plants separated each of thesehouses from the street, and was traversed by a narrow pathway,yellowish in colour, and consisting apparently of a mixture of clayand of gravel. The whole place was very sloppy from the rain whichhad fallen through the night. The garden was bounded by athree-foot brick wall with a fringe of wood rails upon the top, andagainst this wall was leaning a stalwart police constable,surrounded by a small knot of loafers, who craned their necks andstrained their eyes in the vain hope of catching some glimpse ofthe proceedings within.
I had imagined that Sherlock Holmes would at once have hurriedinto the house and plunged into a study of the mystery. Nothingappeared to be further from his intention. With an air ofnonchalance which, under the circumstances, seemed to me to borderupon affectation, he lounged up and down the pavement, and gazedvacantly at the ground, the sky, the opposite houses and the lineof railings. Having finished his scrutiny, he proceeded slowly downthe path, or rather down the fringe of grass which flanked thepath, keeping his eyes riveted upon the ground. Twice he stopped,and once I saw him smile, and heard him utter an exclamation ofsatisfaction. There were many marks of footsteps upon the wetclayey soil, but since the police had been coming and going overit, I was unable to see how my companion could hope to learnanything from it. Still I had had such extraordinary evidence ofthe quickness of his perceptive faculties, that I had no doubt thathe could see a great deal which was hidden from me.
At the door of the house we were met by a tall, white-faced,flaxen-haired man, with a notebook in his hand, who rushed forwardand wrung my companion's hand with effusion. "It is indeed kind ofyou to come," he said, "I have had everything left untouched."
"Except that!" my friend answered, pointing at the pathway. "Ifa herd of buffaloes had passed along there could not be a greatermess. No doubt, however, you had drawn your own conclusions,Gregson, before you permitted this."
"I have had so much to do inside the house," the detective saidevasively. "My colleague, Mr. Lestrade, is here. I had relied uponhim to look after this."
Holmes glanced at me and raised his eyebrows sardonically. "Withtwo such men as yourself and Lestrade upon the ground, there willnot be much for a third party to find out," he said.
Gregson rubbed his hands in a self-satisfied way. "I think wehave done all that can be done," he answered; "it's a queer casethough, and I knew your 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, whosefeatures expressed his astonishment.
A short passage, bare planked and dusty, led to the kitchen andoffices. Two doors opened out of it to the left and to the right.One of these had obviously been closed for many weeks. The otherbelonged to the dining-room, which was the apartment in which themysterious affair had occurred. Holmes walked in, and I followedhim with that subdued feeling at my heart which the presence ofdeath inspires.
It was a large square room, looking all the larger from theabsence of all furniture. A vulgar flaring paper adorned the walls,but it was blotched in places with mildew, and here and there greatstrips had become detached and hung down, exposing the yellowplaster beneath. Opposite the door was a showy fireplace,surmounted by a mantelpiece of imitation white marble. On onecorner of this was stuck the stump of a red wax candle. Thesolitary window was so dirty that the light was hazy and uncertain,giving a dull grey 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 attentionwas centred upon the single grim motionless figure which laystretched upon the boards, with vacant sightless eyes staring up atthe discoloured ceiling. It was that of a man about forty-three orforty-four years of age, middle-sized, broad shouldered, with crispcurling black hair, and a short stubbly beard. He was dressed in aheavy broadcloth frock coat and waistcoat, with light-colouredtrousers, and immaculate collar and cuffs. A top hat, well brushedand trim, was placed upon the floor beside him. His hands wereclenched and his arms thrown abroad, while his lower limbs wereinterlocked as though his death struggle had been a grievous one.On his rigid face there stood an expression of horror, and as itseemed to me, of hatred, such as I have never seen upon humanfeatures. This malignant and terrible contortion, combined with thelow forehead, blunt nose, and prognathous jaw gave the dead man asingularly simious and ape-like appearance, which was increased byhis writhing, unnatural posture. I have seen death in many forms,but never has it appeared to me in a more fearsome aspect than inthat dark grimy apartment, which looked out upon one of the mainarteries of suburban London.
Lestrade, lean and ferret-like as ever, was standing by thedoorway, and greeted my companion and myself.
"This case will make a stir, sir," he remarked. "It beatsanything I have seen, 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,examined it intently. "You are sure that there is no wound?" heasked, pointing to numerous gouts and splashes of blood which layall round.
"Positive!" cried both detectives.
"Then, of course, this blood belongs to a second individual --{8} presumably the murderer, if murder has been committed. Itreminds me of the circumstances attendant on the death of VanJansen, in Utrecht, in the year '34. Do you remember the case,Gregson?"
"No, sir."
"Read it up -- you really should. There is nothing new under thesun. It has all been done before."
As he spoke, his nimble fingers were flying here, there, andeverywhere, feeling, pressing, unbuttoning, examining, while hiseyes wore the same far-away expression which I have alreadyremarked upon. So swiftly was the examination made, that one wouldhardly have guessed the minuteness with which it was conducted.Finally, he sniffed the dead man's lips, and then glanced at thesoles of his patent leather boots.
"He has not been moved at all?" he asked.
"No more than was necessary for the purposes of ourexamination."
"You can take him to the mortuary now," he said. "There isnothing more to be learned."
Gregson had a stretcher and four men at hand. At his call theyentered the room, and the stranger was lifted and carried out. Asthey raised him, a ring tinkled down and rolled across the floor.Lestrade grabbed it up and stared at it with mystified eyes.
"There's been a woman here," he cried. "It's a woman'swedding-ring."
He held it out, as he spoke, upon the palm of his hand. We allgathered round him and gazed at it. There could be no doubt thatthat circlet of plain gold had once adorned the finger of abride.
"This complicates matters," said Gregson. "Heaven knows, theywere complicated enough before."
"You're sure it doesn't simplify them?" observed Holmes."There's nothing to be learned by staring at it. What did you findin his pockets?"
"We have it all here," said Gregson, pointing to a litter ofobjects upon one of the bottom steps of the stairs. "A gold watch,No. 97163, by Barraud, of London. Gold Albert chain, very heavy andsolid. Gold ring, with masonic device. Gold pin -- bull-dog's head,with rubies as eyes. Russian leather card-case, with cards of EnochJ. Drebber of Cleveland, corresponding with the E. J. D. upon thelinen. No purse, but loose money to the extent of seven poundsthirteen. Pocket edition of Boccaccio's `Decameron,' with name ofJoseph Stangerson upon the fly-leaf. Two letters -- one addressedto E. J. Drebber and one to Joseph Stangerson."
"At what address?"
"American Exchange, Strand -- to be left till called for. Theyare both from the Guion Steamship Company, and refer to the sailingof their boats from Liverpool. It is clear that this unfortunateman was about to return to New York."
"Have you made any inquiries as to this man, Stangerson?"
"I did it at once, sir," said Gregson. "I have hadadvertisements sent to all the newspapers, and one of my men hasgone to the American Exchange, 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 shouldbe glad of any information which could help us."
"You did not ask for particulars on any point which appeared toyou to be 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 offendedvoice.
Sherlock Holmes chuckled to himself, and appeared to be about tomake some remark, when Lestrade, who had been in the front roomwhile we were holding this conversation in the hall, reappearedupon the scene, rubbing his hands in a pompous and self-satisfiedmanner.
"Mr. Gregson," he said, "I have just made a discovery of thehighest importance, and one which would have been overlooked had Inot made a careful examination of the walls."
The little man's eyes sparkled as he spoke, and he was evidentlyin a state of suppressed exultation at having scored a pointagainst his colleague.
"Come here," he said, bustling back into the room, theatmosphere of which felt clearer since the removal of its ghastlyinmate. "Now, stand there!"
He struck a match on his boot and held it up against thewall.
"Look at that!" he said, triumphantly.
I have remarked that the paper had fallen away in parts. In thisparticular corner of the room a large piece had peeled off, leavinga yellow square of coarse plastering. Across this bare space therewas scrawled in blood-red letters a single word --
"What do you think of that?" cried the detective, with the airof a showman exhibiting his show. "This was overlooked because itwas in the darkest corner of the room, and no one thought oflooking there. The murderer has written it with his or her ownblood. See this smear where it has trickled down the wall! Thatdisposes of the idea of suicide anyhow. Why was that corner chosento write it on? I will tell you. See that candle on themantelpiece. It was lit at the time, and if it was lit this cornerwould be the brightest instead of the darkest portion of thewall."
"And what does it mean now that youhave found it?" askedGregson in a 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.You mark my words, when this case comes to be cleared up you willfind that a woman named Rachel has something to do with it. It'sall very well for you to laugh, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. You may bevery smart and clever, but the old hound is the best, when all issaid and done."
"I really beg your pardon!" said my companion, who had ruffledthe little man's temper by bursting into an explosion of laughter."You certainly have the credit of being the first of us to findthis out, and, as you say, it bears every mark of having beenwritten by the other participant in last night's mystery. I havenot had time to examine this room yet, but with your permission Ishall do so now."
As he spoke, he whipped a tape measure and a large roundmagnifying glass from his pocket. With these two implements hetrotted noiselessly about the room, sometimes stopping,occasionally kneeling, and once lying flat upon his face. Soengrossed was he with his occupation that he appeared to haveforgotten our presence, for he chattered away to himself under hisbreath the whole time, keeping up a running fire of exclamations,groans, whistles, and little cries suggestive of encouragement andof hope. As I watched him I was irresistibly reminded of apure-blooded well-trained foxhound as it dashes backwards andforwards through the covert, whining in its eagerness, until itcomes across the lost scent. For twenty minutes or more hecontinued his researches, measuring with the most exact care thedistance between marks which were entirely invisible to me, andoccasionally applying his tape to the walls in an equallyincomprehensible manner. In one place he gathered up very carefullya little pile of grey dust from the floor, and packed it away in anenvelope. Finally, he examined with his glass the word upon thewall, going over every letter of it with the most minute exactness.This done, he appeared to be satisfied, for he replaced his tapeand his glass in his pocket.
"They say that genius is an infinite capacity for taking pains,"he remarked with a smile. "It's a very bad definition, but it doesapply to detective work."
Gregson and Lestrade had watched the manoeuvres {9} of theiramateur companion with considerable curiosity and some contempt.They evidently failed to appreciate the fact, which I had begun torealize, that Sherlock Holmes' smallest actions were all directedtowards some definite 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 was topresume to help you," remarked my friend. "You are doing so wellnow that it would be a pity for anyone to interfere." There was aworld of sarcasm in his voice as he spoke. "If you will let me knowhow your investigations go," he continued, "I shall be happy togive you any help I can. In the meantime I should like to speak tothe constable who found the body. Can you give me his name andaddress?"
Lestrade glanced at his note-book. "John Rance," he said. "He isoff duty now. You will find him at 46, Audley Court, KenningtonPark Gate."
Holmes took a note of the address.
"Come along, Doctor," he said; "we shall go and look him up.I'll tell you one thing which may help you in the case," hecontinued, turning to the two detectives. "There has been murderdone, and the murderer was a man. He was more than six feet high,was in the prime of life, had small feet for his height, worecoarse, square-toed boots and smoked a Trichinopoly cigar. He camehere with his victim in a four-wheeled cab, which was drawn by ahorse with three old shoes and one new one on his off fore leg. Inall probability the murderer had a florid face, and thefinger-nails of his right hand were remarkably long. These are onlya few indications, but they may assist you."
Lestrade and Gregson glanced at each other with an increduloussmile.
"If this man was murdered, how was it done?" asked theformer.
"Poison," said Sherlock Holmes curtly, and strode off. "Oneother thing, Lestrade," he added, turning round at the door:"`Rache,' is the German for `revenge;' so don't lose your timelooking for Miss Rachel."
With which Parthian shot he walked away, leaving the two rivalsopen-mouthed behind him.
CHAPTER IV. WHAT JOHN RANCE HAD TO TELL
IT was one o'clock when we left No. 3, Lauriston Gardens.Sherlock Holmes led me to the nearest telegraph office, whence hedispatched a long telegram. He then hailed a cab, and ordered thedriver to take us to the address given us by Lestrade.
"There is nothing like first hand evidence," he remarked; "as amatter of fact, my mind is entirely made up upon the case, butstill we may as well learn all that is to be learned."
"You amaze me, Holmes," said I. "Surely you are not as sure asyou pretend to be of all those particulars which you gave."
"There's no room for a mistake," he answered. "The very firstthing which I observed on arriving there was that a cab had madetwo ruts with its wheels close to the curb. Now, up to last night,we have had no rain for a week, so that those wheels which leftsuch a deep impression must have been there during the night. Therewere the marks of the horse's hoofs, too, the outline of one ofwhich was far more clearly cut than that of the other three,showing that that was a new shoe. Since the cab was there after therain began, and was not there at any time during the morning -- Ihave Gregson's word for that -- it follows that it must have beenthere during the night, and, therefore, that it brought those twoindividuals to the house."
"That seems simple enough," said I; "but how about the otherman's height?"
"Why, the height of a man, in nine cases out of ten, can be toldfrom the length of his stride. It is a simple calculation enough,though there is no use my boring you with figures. I had thisfellow's stride both on the clay outside and on the dust within.Then I had a way of checking my calculation. When a man writes on awall, his instinct leads him to write about the level of his owneyes. Now that writing was just over six feet from the ground. Itwas child's play."
"And his age?" I asked.
"Well, if a man can stride four and a-half feet without thesmallest effort, he can't be quite in the sere and yellow. That wasthe breadth of a puddle on the garden walk which he had evidentlywalked across. Patent-leather boots had gone round, and Square-toeshad hopped over. There is no mystery about it at all. I am simplyapplying to ordinary life a few of those precepts of observationand deduction which I advocated in that article. Is there anythingelse that puzzles you?"
"The finger nails and the Trichinopoly," I suggested.
"The writing on the wall was done with a man's forefinger dippedin blood. My glass allowed me to observe that the plaster wasslightly scratched in doing it, which would not have been the caseif the man's nail had been trimmed. I gathered up some scatteredash from the floor. It was dark in colour and flakey -- such an ashas is only made by a Trichinopoly. I have made a special study ofcigar ashes -- in fact, I have written a monograph upon thesubject. I flatter myself that I can distinguish at a glance theash of any known brand, either of cigar or of tobacco. It is justin such details that the skilled detective differs from the Gregsonand Lestrade type."
"And the florid face?" I asked.
"Ah, that was a more daring shot, though I have no doubt that Iwas right. You must not ask me that at the present state of theaffair."
I passed my hand over my brow. "My head is in a whirl," Iremarked; "the more one thinks of it the more mysterious it grows.How came these two men -- if there were two men -- into an emptyhouse? What has become of the cabman who drove them? How could oneman compel another to take poison? Where did the blood come from?What was the object of the murderer, since robbery had no part init? How came the woman's ring there? Above all, why should thesecond man write up the German word RACHE before decamping? Iconfess that I cannot see any possible way of reconciling all thesefacts."
My companion smiled approvingly.
"You sum up the difficulties of the situation succinctly andwell," he said. "There is much that is still obscure, though I havequite made up my mind on the main facts. As to poor Lestrade'sdiscovery it was simply a blind intended to put the police upon awrong track, by suggesting Socialism and secret societies. It wasnot done by a German. The A, if you noticed, was printed somewhatafter the German fashion. Now, a real German invariably prints inthe Latin character, so that we may safely say that this was notwritten by one, but by a clumsy imitator who overdid his part. Itwas simply a ruse to divert inquiry into a wrong channel. I'm notgoing to tell you much more of the case, Doctor. You know aconjuror gets no credit when once he has explained his trick, andif I show you too much of my method of working, you will come tothe conclusion that I am a very ordinary individual after all."
"I shall never do that," I answered; "you have brought detectionas near an exact science as it ever will be brought in thisworld."
My companion flushed up with pleasure at my words, and theearnest way in which I uttered them. I had already observed that hewas as sensitive to flattery on the score of his art as any girlcould be of her beauty.
"I'll tell you one other thing," he said. "Patent leathers {10}and Square-toes came in the same cab, and they walked down thepathway together as friendly as possible -- arm-in-arm, in allprobability. When they got inside they walked up and down the room-- or rather, Patent-leathers stood still while Square-toes walkedup and down. I could read all that in the dust; and I could readthat as he walked he grew more and more excited. That is shown bythe increased length of his strides. He was talking all the while,and working himself up, no doubt, into a fury. Then the tragedyoccurred. I've 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 Halle'sconcert to hear Norman Neruda this afternoon."
This conversation had occurred while our cab had been threadingits way through a long succession of dingy streets and drearyby-ways. In the dingiest and dreariest of them our driver suddenlycame to a stand. "That's Audley Court in there," he said, pointingto a narrow slit in the line of dead-coloured brick. "You'll findme here when you come back."
Audley Court was not an attractive locality. The narrow passageled us into a quadrangle paved with flags and lined by sordiddwellings. We picked our way among groups of dirty children, andthrough lines of discoloured linen, until we came to Number 46, thedoor of which was decorated with a small slip of brass on which thename Rance was engraved. On enquiry we found that the constable wasin bed, and we were shown into a little front parlour to await hiscoming.
He appeared presently, looking a little irritable at beingdisturbed in his slumbers. "I made my report at the office," hesaid.
Holmes took a half-sovereign from his pocket and played with itpensively. "We thought that we should like to hear it all from yourown lips," he said.
"I shall be most happy to tell you anything I can," theconstable answered with his eyes upon the little golden disk.
"Just let us hear it all in your own way as it occurred."
Rance sat down on the horsehair sofa, and knitted his brows asthough determined not to omit anything in his narrative.
"I'll tell it ye from the beginning," he said. "My time is fromten at night to six in the morning. At eleven there was a fight atthe `White Hart'; but bar that all was quiet enough on the beat. Atone o'clock it began to rain, and I met Harry Murcher -- him whohas the Holland Grove beat -- and we stood together at the cornerof Henrietta Street a-talkin'. Presently -- maybe about two or alittle after -- I thought I would take a look round and see thatall was right down the Brixton Road. It was precious dirty andlonely. Not a soul did I meet all the way down, though a cab or twowent past me. I was a strollin' down, thinkin' between ourselveshow uncommon handy a four of gin hot would be, when suddenly theglint of a light caught my eye in the window of that same house.Now, I knew that them two houses in Lauriston Gardens was empty onaccount of him that owns them who won't have the drains seed to,though the very last tenant what lived in one of them died o'typhoid fever. I was knocked all in a heap therefore at seeing alight in the window, and I suspected as something was wrong. When Igot to the door ----"
"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 withthe utmost amazement upon his features.
"Why, that's true, sir," he said; "though how you come to knowit, Heaven only knows. Ye see, when I got up to the door it was sostill and so lonesome, that I thought I'd be none the worse forsome one with me. I ain't afeared of anything on this side o' thegrave; but I thought that maybe it was him that died o' the typhoidinspecting the drains what killed him. The thought gave me a kindo' turn, and I walked back to the gate to see if I could seeMurcher's lantern, but there wasn't no sign of him nor of anyoneelse."
"There was no one in the street?"
"Not a livin' soul, sir, nor as much as a dog. Then I pulledmyself together and went back and pushed the door open. All wasquiet inside, so I went into the room where the light wasa-burnin'. There was a candle flickerin' on the mantelpiece -- ared wax one -- and by its light I saw ----"
"Yes, I know all that you saw. You walked round the room severaltimes, and you knelt down by the body, and then you walked throughand tried the kitchen door, and then ----"
John Rance sprang to his feet with a frightened face andsuspicion in his eyes. "Where was you hid to see all that?" hecried. "It seems to me that you knows a deal more than youshould."
Holmes laughed and threw his card across the table to theconstable. "Don't get arresting me for the murder," he said. "I amone of the hounds and not the wolf; Mr. Gregson or Mr. Lestradewill answer for that. Go on, 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 goodgoes."
"What do you mean?"
The constable's features broadened into a grin. "I've seen manya drunk chap in my time," he said, "but never anyone so cryin'drunk as that cove. He was at the gate when I came out, a-leanin'up agin the railings, and a-singin' at the pitch o' his lungs aboutColumbine's New-fangled Banner, or some such stuff. He couldn'tstand, far less help."
"What sort of a man was he?" asked Sherlock Holmes.
John Rance appeared to be somewhat irritated at this digression."He was an uncommon drunk sort o' man," he said. "He'd ha' foundhisself in the station if we hadn't been so took up."
"His face -- his dress -- didn't you notice them?" Holmes brokein impatiently.
"I should think I did notice them, seeing that I had to prop himup -- me and Murcher between us. He was a long chap, with a redface, the lower part muffled round ----"
"That will do," cried Holmes. "What became of him?"
"We'd enough to do without lookin' after him," the policemansaid, in an aggrieved voice. "I'll wager he found his way home allright."
"How was he dressed?"
"A brown overcoat."
"Had he a whip in his hand?"
"A whip -- no."
"He must have left it behind," muttered my companion. "Youdidn't happen to see or hear a cab after that?"
"No."
"There's a half-sovereign for you," my companion said, standingup and taking his hat. "I am afraid, Rance, that you will neverrise in the force. That head of yours should be for use as well asornament. You might have gained your sergeant's stripes last night.The man whom you held in your hands is the man who holds the clueof this mystery, and whom we are seeking. There is no use ofarguing about it now; I tell you that it is so. Come along,Doctor."
We started off for the cab together, leaving our informantincredulous, but obviously uncomfortable.
"The blundering fool," Holmes said, bitterly, as we drove backto our lodgings. "Just to think of his having such an incomparablebit of good luck, and not taking advantage of it."
"I am rather in the dark still. It is true that the descriptionof this man tallies with your idea of the second party in thismystery. But why should he come back to the house after leaving it?That is not the way of criminals."
"The ring, man, the ring: that was what he came back for. If wehave no other way of catching him, we can always bait our line withthe ring. I shall have him, Doctor -- I'll lay you two to one thatI have him. I must thank you for it all. I might not have gone butfor you, and so have missed the finest study I ever came across: astudy in scarlet, eh? Why shouldn't we use a little art jargon.There's the scarlet thread of murder running through the colourlessskein of life, and our duty is to unravel it, and isolate it, andexpose every inch of it. And now for lunch, and then for NormanNeruda. Her attack and her bowing are splendid. What's that littlething of Chopin's she plays so magnificently:Tra-la-la-lira-lira-lay."
Leaning back in the cab, this amateur bloodhound carolled awaylike a lark while I meditated upon the many-sidedness of the humanmind.
CHAPTER V. OUR ADVERTISEMENT BRINGS A VISITOR
OUR morning's exertions had been too much for my weak health,and I was tired out in the afternoon. After Holmes' departure forthe concert, I lay down upon the sofa and endeavoured to get acouple of hours' sleep. It was a useless attempt. My mind had beentoo much excited by all that had occurred, and the strangestfancies and surmises crowded into it. Every time that I closed myeyes I saw before me the distorted baboon-like countenance of themurdered man. So sinister was the impression which that face hadproduced upon me that I found it difficult to feel anything butgratitude for him who had removed its owner from the world. If everhuman features bespoke vice of the most malignant type, they werecertainly those of Enoch J. Drebber, of Cleveland. Still Irecognized that justice must be done, and that the depravity of thevictim was no condonment {11} in the eyes of the law.
The more I thought of it the more extraordinary did mycompanion's hypothesis, that the man had been poisoned, appear. Iremembered how he had sniffed his lips, and had no doubt that hehad detected something which had given rise to the idea. Then,again, if not poison, what had caused the man's death, since therewas neither wound nor marks of strangulation? But, on the otherhand, whose blood was that which lay so thickly upon the floor?There were no signs of a struggle, nor had the victim any weaponwith which he might have wounded an antagonist. As long as allthese questions were unsolved, I felt that sleep would be no easymatter, either for Holmes or myself. His quiet self-confidentmanner convinced me that he had already formed a theory whichexplained all the facts, though what it was I could not for aninstant conjecture.
He was very late in returning -- so late, that I knew that theconcert could not have detained him all the time. Dinner was on thetable before he appeared.
"It was magnificent," he said, as he took his seat. "Do youremember what Darwin says about music? He claims that the power ofproducing and appreciating it existed among the human race longbefore the power of speech was arrived at. Perhaps that is why weare so subtly influenced by it. There are vague memories in oursouls of those misty centuries when the world was in itschildhood."
"That's rather a broad idea," I remarked.
"One's ideas must be as broad as Nature if they are to interpretNature," he answered. "What's the matter? You're not looking quiteyourself. This Brixton Road affair has upset you."
"To tell the truth, it has," I said. "I ought to be morecase-hardened after my Afghan experiences. I saw my own comradeshacked to pieces at Maiwand without losing my nerve."
"I can understand. There is a mystery about this whichstimulates the imagination; where there is no imagination there isno horror. Have you seen the evening paper?"
"No."
"It gives a fairly good account of the affair. It does notmention the fact that when the man was raised up, a woman's weddingring fell upon the floor. It is just as well it does not."
"Why?"
"Look at this advertisement," he answered. "I had one sent toevery paper this morning immediately after the affair."
He threw the paper across to me and I glanced at the placeindicated. It was the first announcement in the "Found" column. "InBrixton Road, this morning," it ran, "a plain gold wedding ring,found in the roadway between the `White Hart' Tavern and HollandGrove. Apply Dr. Watson, 221B, Baker Street, between eight and ninethis evening."
"Excuse my using your name," he said. "If I used my own some ofthese dunderheads would recognize it, and want to meddle in theaffair."
"That is all right," I answered. "But supposing anyone applies,I have no ring."
"Oh yes, you have," said he, handing me one. "This will do verywell. It is almost a facsimile."
"And who do you expect will answer this advertisement."
"Why, the man in the brown coat -- our florid friend with thesquare toes. If he does not come himself he will send anaccomplice."
"Would he not consider it as too dangerous?"
"Not at all. If my view of the case is correct, and I have everyreason to believe that it is, this man would rather risk anythingthan lose the ring. According to my notion he dropped it whilestooping over Drebber's body, and did not miss it at the time.After leaving the house he discovered his loss and hurried back,but found the police already in possession, owing to his own follyin leaving the candle burning. He had to pretend to be drunk inorder to allay the suspicions which might have been aroused by hisappearance at the gate. Now put yourself in that man's place. Onthinking the matter over, it must have occurred to him that it waspossible 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 he fear a trap? There would be no reason in his eyes whythe finding of the ring should be connected with the murder. Hewould 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 anyarms?"
"I have my old service revolver and a few cartridges."
"You had better clean it and load it. He will be a desperateman, and though I shall take him unawares, it is as well to beready for anything."
I went to my bedroom and followed his advice. When I returnedwith the pistol the table had been cleared, and Holmes was engagedin his favourite occupation of scraping upon his violin.
"The plot thickens," he said, as I entered; "I have just had ananswer to my American telegram. My view of the case is the correctone."
"And that is?" I asked eagerly.
"My fiddle would be the better for new strings," he remarked."Put your pistol in your pocket. When the fellow comes speak to himin an ordinary way. Leave the rest to me. Don't frighten him bylooking at him too hard."
"It is eight o'clock 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 a queer old book I picked up at a stall yesterday -- `DeJure inter Gentes' -- published in Latin at Liege in the Lowlands,in 1642. Charles' head was still firm on his shoulders when thislittle brown-backed volume was struck off."
"Who is the printer?"
"Philippe de Croy, whoever he may have been. On the fly-leaf, invery faded ink, is written `Ex libris Guliolmi Whyte.' I wonder whoWilliam Whyte was. Some pragmatical seventeenth century lawyer, Isuppose. His writing has a legal twist about it. Here comes ourman, I think."
As he spoke there was a sharp ring at the bell. Sherlock Holmesrose softly and moved his chair in the direction of the door. Weheard the servant pass along the hall, and the sharp click of thelatch as she opened it.
"Does Dr. Watson live here?" asked a clear but rather harshvoice. We could not hear the servant's reply, but the door closed,and some one began to ascend the stairs. The footfall was anuncertain and shuffling one. A look of surprise passed over theface of my companion as he listened to it. It came slowly along thepassage, and there was a feeble tap at the door.
"Come in," I cried.
At my summons, instead of the man of violence whom we expected,a very old and wrinkled woman hobbled into the apartment. Sheappeared to be dazzled by the sudden blaze of light, and afterdropping a curtsey, she stood blinking at us with her bleared eyesand fumbling in her pocket with nervous, shaky fingers. I glancedat my companion, and his face had assumed such a disconsolateexpression that it was all I could do to keep my countenance.
The old crone drew out an evening paper, and pointed at ouradvertisement. "It's this as has brought me, good gentlemen," shesaid, dropping another curtsey; "a gold wedding ring in the BrixtonRoad. It belongs to my girl Sally, as was married only this timetwelvemonth, which her husband is steward aboard a Union boat, andwhat he'd say if he come 'ome and found her without her ring ismore than I can think, he being short enough at the best o' times,but more especially when he has the drink. If it please you, shewent to the circus last night along with ----"
"Is that her ring?" I asked.
"The Lord be thanked!" cried the old woman; "Sally will be aglad woman this night. That's the ring."
"And what may your address be?" I inquired, taking up apencil.
"13, Duncan Street, Houndsditch. A weary way from here."
"The Brixton Road does not lie between any circus andHoundsditch," said Sherlock Holmes sharply.
The old woman faced round and looked keenly at him from herlittle red-rimmed eyes. "The gentleman asked me formyaddress," she said. "Sally lives in lodgings at 3, Mayfield Place,Peckham."
"And your name is ----?"
"My name is Sawyer -- hers is Dennis, which Tom Dennis marriedher -- and a smart, clean lad, too, as long as he's at sea, and nosteward in the company more thought of; but when on shore, whatwith the women and what with liquor shops ----"
"Here is your ring, Mrs. Sawyer," I interrupted, in obedience toa sign from my companion; "it clearly belongs to your daughter, andI am glad to be able to restore it to the rightful owner."
With many mumbled blessings and protestations of gratitude theold crone packed it away in her pocket, and shuffled off down thestairs. Sherlock Holmes sprang to his feet the moment that she wasgone and rushed into his room. He returned in a few secondsenveloped in an ulster and a cravat. "I'll follow her," he said,hurriedly; "she must be an accomplice, and will lead me to him.Wait up for me." The hall door had hardly slammed behind ourvisitor before Holmes had descended the stair. Looking through thewindow I could see her walking feebly along the other side, whileher pursuer dogged her some little distance behind. "Either hiswhole theory is incorrect," I thought to myself, "or else he willbe led now to the heart of the mystery." There was no need for himto ask me to wait up for him, for I felt that sleep was impossibleuntil I heard the result of his adventure.
It was close upon nine when he set out. I had no idea how longhe might be, but I sat stolidly puffing at my pipe and skippingover the pages of Henri Murger's "Vie de Boheme." {12} Ten o'clockpassed, and I heard the footsteps of the maid as they pattered offto bed. Eleven, and the more stately tread of the landlady passedmy door, bound for the same destination. It was close upon twelvebefore I heard the sharp sound of his latch-key. The instant heentered I saw by his face that he had not been successful.Amusement and chagrin seemed to be struggling for the mastery,until the former suddenly carried the day, and he burst into ahearty laugh.
"I wouldn't have the Scotland Yarders know it for the world," hecried, dropping into his chair; "I have chaffed them so much thatthey would never have let me hear the end of it. I can afford tolaugh, because I know that I will be even with them in the longrun."
"What is it then?" I asked.
"Oh, I don't mind telling a story against myself. That creaturehad gone a little way when she began to limp and show every sign ofbeing foot-sore. Presently she came to a halt, and hailed afour-wheeler which was passing. I managed to be close to her so asto hear the address, but I need not have been so anxious, for shesang it out loud enough to be heard at the other side of thestreet, `Drive to 13, Duncan Street, Houndsditch,' she cried. Thisbegins to look genuine, I thought, and having seen her safelyinside, I perched myself behind. That's an art which everydetective should be an expert at. Well, away we rattled, and neverdrew rein until we reached the street in question. I hopped offbefore we came to the door, and strolled down the street in aneasy, lounging way. I saw the cab pull up. The driver jumped down,and I saw him open the door and stand expectantly. Nothing came outthough. When I reached him he was groping about frantically in theempty cab, and giving vent to the finest assorted collection ofoaths that ever I listened to. There was no sign or trace of hispassenger, and I fear it will be some time before he gets his fare.On inquiring at Number 13 we found that the house belonged to arespectable paperhanger, named Keswick, and that no one of the nameeither of Sawyer or Dennis had ever been heard of there."
"You don't mean to say," I cried, in amazement, "that thattottering, feeble old woman was able to get out of the cab while itwas 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, andan active one, too, besides being an incomparable actor. The get-upwas inimitable. He saw that he was followed, no doubt, and usedthis means of giving me the slip. It shows that the man we areafter is not as lonely as I imagined he was, but has friends whoare ready to risk something for him. Now, Doctor, you are lookingdone-up. Take my advice and turn in."
I was certainly feeling very weary, so I obeyed his injunction.I left Holmes seated in front of the smouldering fire, and longinto the watches of the night I heard the low, melancholy wailingsof his violin, and knew that he was still pondering over thestrange problem which he had set himself to unravel.
CHAPTER VI. TOBIAS GREGSON SHOWS WHAT HE CAN DO
THE papers next day were full of the "Brixton Mystery," as theytermed it. Each had a long account of the affair, and some hadleaders upon it in addition. There was some information in themwhich was new to me. I still retain in my scrap-book numerousclippings and extracts bearing upon the case. Here is acondensation of a few of them:--
TheDaily Telegraph remarked that in the history of crimethere had seldom been a tragedy which presented stranger features.The German name of the victim, the absence of all other motive, andthe sinister inscription on the wall, all pointed to itsperpetration by political refugees and revolutionists. TheSocialists had many branches in America, and the deceased had, nodoubt, infringed their unwritten laws, and been tracked down bythem. After alluding airily to the Vehmgericht, aqua tofana,Carbonari, the Marchioness de Brinvilliers, the Darwinian theory,the principles of Malthus, and the Ratcliff Highway murders, thearticle concluded by admonishing the Government and advocating acloser watch over foreigners in England.
TheStandard commented upon the fact that lawlessoutrages of the sort usually occurred under a LiberalAdministration. They arose from the unsettling of the minds of themasses, and the consequent weakening of all authority. The deceasedwas an American gentleman who had been residing for some weeks inthe Metropolis. He had stayed at the boarding-house of MadameCharpentier, in Torquay Terrace, Camberwell. He was accompanied inhis travels by his private secretary, Mr. Joseph Stangerson. Thetwo bade adieu to their landlady upon Tuesday, the 4th inst., anddeparted to Euston Station with the avowed intention of catchingthe Liverpool express. They were afterwards seen together upon theplatform. Nothing more is known of them until Mr. Drebber's 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,are questions which are still involved in mystery. Nothing is knownof the whereabouts of Stangerson. We are glad to learn that Mr.Lestrade and Mr. Gregson, of Scotland Yard, are both engaged uponthe case, and it is confidently anticipated that these well-knownofficers will speedily throw light upon the matter.
TheDaily News observed that there was no doubt as to thecrime being a political one. The despotism and hatred of Liberalismwhich animated the Continental Governments had had the effect ofdriving to our shores a number of men who might have made excellentcitizens were they not soured by the recollection of all that theyhad undergone. Among these men there was a stringent code ofhonour, any infringement of which was punished by death. Everyeffort should be made to find the secretary, Stangerson, and toascertain some particulars of the habits of the deceased. A greatstep had been gained by the discovery of the address of the houseat which he had boarded -- a result which was entirely due to theacuteness and energy of Mr. Gregson of Scotland Yard.
Sherlock Holmes and I read these notices over together atbreakfast, and they appeared to afford him considerableamusement.
"I told you that, whatever happened, Lestrade and Gregson wouldbe sure to score."
"That depends on how it turns out."
"Oh, bless you, it doesn't matter in the least. If the man iscaught, it will beon account of their exertions; if heescapes, it will bein spite of their exertions. It's headsI win and tails you lose. Whatever they do, they will havefollowers. `Un sot trouve toujours un plus sot qui l'admire.'"
"What on earth is this?" I cried, for at this moment there camethe pattering of many steps in the hall and on the stairs,accompanied by audible expressions of disgust upon the part of ourlandlady.
"It's the Baker Street division of the detective police force,"said my companion, gravely; and as he spoke there rushed into theroom half a dozen of the dirtiest and most ragged street Arabs thatever I clapped eyes on.
"'Tention!" cried Holmes, in a sharp tone, and the six dirtylittle scoundrels stood in a line like so many disreputablestatuettes. "In future you shall send up Wiggins alone to report,and the rest of you must wait in the street. Have you found it,Wiggins?"
"No, sir, we hain't," said one of the youths.
"I hardly expected you would. You must keep on until you do.Here are your wages. {13} He handed each of them a shilling. "Now,off you go, and come back with a better report next time."
He waved his hand, and they scampered away downstairs like somany rats, and we heard their shrill voices next moment in thestreet.
"There's more work to be got out of one of those little beggarsthan out of a dozen of the force," Holmes remarked. "The mere sightof an official-looking person seals men's lips. These youngsters,however, go everywhere and hear everything. They are as sharp asneedles, too; all they want is organisation."
"Is it on this Brixton case that you are employing them?" Iasked.
"Yes; there is a point which I wish to ascertain. It is merely amatter of time. Hullo! we are going to hear some news now with avengeance! Here is Gregson coming down the road with beatitudewritten upon every feature of his face. Bound for us, I know. Yes,he is stopping. There he is!"
There was a violent peal at the bell, and in a few seconds thefair-haired detective came up the stairs, three steps at a time,and burst into our sitting-room.
"My dear fellow," he cried, wringing Holmes' unresponsive hand,"congratulate me! I have made the whole thing as clear as day."
A shade of anxiety seemed to me to cross my companion'sexpressive face.
"Do you mean that you are on the right track?" he asked.
"The right track! Why, sir, we have the man under lock andkey."
"And his name is?"
"Arthur Charpentier, sub-lieutenant in Her Majesty's navy,"cried Gregson, pompously, rubbing his fat hands and inflating hischest.
Sherlock Holmes gave a sigh of relief, and relaxed into asmile.
"Take a seat, and try one of these cigars," he said. "We areanxious to know how you managed it. Will you have some whiskey andwater?"
"I don't mind if I do," the detective answered. "The tremendousexertions which I have gone through during the last day or two haveworn me out. Not so much bodily exertion, you understand, as thestrain upon the mind. You will appreciate that, Mr. SherlockHolmes, for we are both brain-workers."
"You do me too much honour," said Holmes, gravely. "Let us hearhow you arrived at this most gratifying result."
The detective seated himself in the arm-chair, and puffedcomplacently at his cigar. Then suddenly he slapped his thigh in aparoxysm of amusement.
"The fun of it is," he cried, "that that fool Lestrade, whothinks himself so smart, has gone off upon the wrong trackaltogether. He is after the secretary Stangerson, who had no moreto do with the crime than the babe unborn. I have no doubt that hehas caught him by this time."
The idea tickled Gregson so much that he laughed until hechoked.
"And how did you get your clue?"
"Ah, I'll tell you all about it. Of course, Doctor Watson, thisis strictly between ourselves. The first difficulty which we had tocontend with was the finding of this American's antecedents. Somepeople would have waited until their advertisements were answered,or until parties came forward and volunteered information. That isnot Tobias Gregson's way of going to work. You remember the hatbeside the dead man?"
"Yes," said Holmes; "by John Underwood and Sons, 129, CamberwellRoad."
Gregson looked quite crest-fallen.
"I had no idea that you noticed that," he said. "Have you beenthere?"
"No."
"Ha!" cried Gregson, in a relieved voice; "you should neverneglect a chance, 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 hatof that size and description. He looked over his books, and came onit at once. He had sent the hat to a Mr. Drebber, residing atCharpentier's Boarding Establishment, Torquay Terrace. Thus I gotat his address."
"Smart -- very smart!" murmured Sherlock Holmes.
"I next called upon Madame Charpentier," continued thedetective. "I found her very pale and distressed. Her daughter wasin the room, too -- an uncommonly fine girl she is, too; she waslooking red about the eyes and her lips trembled as I spoke to her.That didn't escape my notice. I began to smell a rat. You know thefeeling, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, when you come upon the right scent --a kind of thrill in your nerves. `Have you heard of the mysteriousdeath of your late boarder Mr. Enoch J. Drebber, of Cleveland?' Iasked.
"The mother nodded. She didn't seem able to get out a word. Thedaughter burst into tears. I felt more than ever that these peopleknew something of the matter.
"`At what o'clock did Mr. Drebber leave your house for thetrain?' I asked.
"`At eight o'clock,' she said, gulping in her throat to keepdown her agitation. `His secretary, Mr. Stangerson, said that therewere two trains -- one at 9.15 and one at 11. He was to catch thefirst. {14}
"`And was that the last which you saw of him?'
"A terrible change came over the woman's face as I asked thequestion. Her features turned perfectly livid. It was some secondsbefore she could get out the single word `Yes' -- and when it didcome it was in a husky unnatural tone.
"There was silence for a moment, and then the daughter spoke ina calm clear voice.
"`No good can ever come of falsehood, mother,' she said. `Let usbe frank with this gentleman. Wedid see Mr. Drebberagain.'
"`God forgive you!' cried Madame Charpentier, throwing up herhands and sinking back in her chair. `You have murdered yourbrother.'
"`Arthur would rather that we spoke the truth,' the girlanswered firmly.
"`You had best tell me all about it now,' I said.`Half-confidences are worse than none. Besides, you do not know howmuch 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 myagitation on behalf of my son arises from any fear lest he shouldhave had a hand in this terrible affair. He is utterly innocent ofit. My dread is, however, that in your eyes and in the eyes ofothers he may appear to be compromised. That however is surelyimpossible. His high character, his profession, his antecedentswould all forbid it.'
"`Your best way is to make a clean breast of the facts,' Ianswered. `Depend upon it, if your son is innocent he will be nonethe worse.'
"`Perhaps, Alice, you had better leave us together,' she said,and her daughter withdrew. `Now, sir,' she continued, `I had nointention of telling you all this, but since my poor daughter hasdisclosed it I have no alternative. Having once decided to speak, Iwill tell you all without omitting 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. Inoticed a "Copenhagen" label upon each of their trunks, showingthat that had been their last stopping place. Stangerson was aquiet reserved man, but his employer, I am sorry to say, was farotherwise. He was coarse in his habits and brutish in his ways. Thevery night of his arrival he became very much the worse for drink,and, indeed, after twelve o'clock in the day he could hardly everbe said to be sober. His manners towards the maid-servants weredisgustingly free and familiar. Worst of all, he speedily assumedthe same attitude towards my daughter, Alice, and spoke to her morethan once in a way which, fortunately, she is too innocent tounderstand. On one occasion he actually seized her in his arms andembraced her -- an outrage which caused his own secretary toreproach him for his unmanly conduct.'
"`But why did you stand all this,' I asked. `I suppose that youcan get rid of your boarders when you wish.'
"Mrs. Charpentier blushed at my pertinent question. `Would toGod that I had given him notice on the very day that he came,' shesaid. `But it was a sore temptation. They were paying a pound a dayeach -- fourteen pounds a week, and this is the slack season. I ama widow, and my boy in the Navy has cost me much. I grudged to losethe money. I acted for the best. This last was too much, however,and I gave him notice to leave on account of it. That was thereason of his going.'
"`Well?'
"`My heart grew light when I saw him drive away. My son is onleave just now, but I did not tell him anything of all this, forhis temper is violent, and he is passionately fond of his sister.When I closed the door behind them a load seemed to be lifted frommy mind. Alas, in less than an hour there was a ring at the bell,and I learned that Mr. Drebber had returned. He was much excited,and evidently the worse for drink. He forced his way into the room,where I was sitting with my daughter, and made some incoherentremark about having missed his train. He then turned to Alice, andbefore my very face, proposed to her that she should fly with him."You are of age," he said, "and there is no law to stop you. I havemoney enough and to spare. Never mind the old girl here, but comealong with me now straight away. You shall live like a princess."Poor Alice was so frightened that she shrunk away from him, but hecaught her by the wrist and endeavoured to draw her towards thedoor. I screamed, and at that moment my son Arthur came into theroom. What happened then I do not know. I heard oaths and theconfused sounds of a scuffle. I was too terrified to raise my head.When I did look up I saw Arthur standing in the doorway laughing,with a stick in his hand. "I don't think that fine fellow willtrouble us again," he said. "I will just go after him and see whathe does with himself." With those words he took his hat and startedoff down the street. The next morning we heard of Mr. Drebber'smysterious death.'
"This statement came from Mrs. Charpentier's lips with manygasps and pauses. At times she spoke so low that I could hardlycatch the words. I made shorthand notes of all that she said,however, so that there should be no possibility of a mistake."
"It's quite exciting," said Sherlock Holmes, with a yawn. "Whathappened next?"
"When Mrs. Charpentier paused," the detective continued, "I sawthat the whole case hung upon one point. Fixing her with my eye ina way which I always found effective with women, I asked her atwhat hour her son returned.
"`I do not know,' she answered.
"`Not know?'
"`No; he has a latch-key, 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 verylips.
"Of course after that there was nothing more to be done. I foundout where Lieutenant Charpentier was, took two officers with me,and arrested him. When I touched him on the shoulder and warned himto come quietly with us, he answered us as bold as brass, `Isuppose you are arresting me for being concerned in the death ofthat scoundrel Drebber,' he said. We had said nothing to him aboutit, so that his alluding to it had a most suspicious aspect."
"Very," said Holmes.
"He still carried the heavy stick which the mother described himas having with him when he followed Drebber. It was a stout oakcudgel."
"What is your theory, then?"
"Well, my theory is that he followed Drebber as far as theBrixton Road. When there, a fresh altercation arose between them,in the course of which Drebber received a blow from the stick, inthe pit of the stomach, perhaps, which killed him without leavingany mark. The night was so wet that no one was about, soCharpentier dragged the body of his victim into the empty house. Asto the candle, and the blood, and the writing on the wall, and thering, they may all be so many tricks to throw the police on to thewrong scent."
"Well done!" said Holmes in an encouraging voice. "Really,Gregson, you are getting along. We shall make something of youyet."
"I flatter myself that I have managed it rather neatly," thedetective answered proudly. "The young man volunteered a statement,in which he said that after following Drebber some time, the latterperceived him, and took a cab in order to get away from him. On hisway home he met an old shipmate, and took a long walk with him. Onbeing asked where this old shipmate lived, he was unable to giveany satisfactory reply. I think the whole case fits togetheruncommonly well. What amuses me is to think of Lestrade, who hadstarted off upon the wrong scent. I am afraid he won't make much of{15} Why, by Jove, here's the very man himself!"
It was indeed Lestrade, who had ascended the stairs while wewere talking, and who now entered the room. The assurance andjauntiness which generally marked his demeanour and dress were,however, wanting. His face was disturbed and troubled, while hisclothes were disarranged and untidy. He had evidently come with theintention of consulting with Sherlock Holmes, for on perceiving hiscolleague he appeared to be embarrassed and put out. He stood inthe centre of the room, fumbling nervously with his hat anduncertain what to do. "This is a most extraordinary case," he saidat last -- "a most incomprehensible affair."
"Ah, you find it so, Mr. Lestrade!" cried Gregson, triumphantly."I thought you would come to that conclusion. Have you managed tofind the Secretary, Mr. Joseph Stangerson?"
"The Secretary, Mr. Joseph Stangerson," said Lestrade gravely,"was murdered at Halliday's Private Hotel about six o'clock thismorning."
CHAPTER VII. LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS
THE intelligence with which Lestrade greeted us was so momentousand so unexpected, that we were all three fairly dumfoundered.Gregson sprang out of his chair and upset the remainder of hiswhiskey and water. I stared in silence at Sherlock Holmes, whoselips were compressed and his brows drawn down over his eyes.
"Stangerson too!" he muttered. "The plot thickens."
"It was quite thick enough before," grumbled Lestrade, taking achair. "I seem to have dropped into a sort of council of war."
"Are you -- are you sure of this piece of intelligence?"stammered Gregson.
"I have just come from his room," said Lestrade. "I was thefirst to discover what had occurred."
"We have been hearing Gregson's view of the matter," Holmesobserved. "Would you mind letting us know what you have seen anddone?"
"I have no objection," Lestrade answered, seating himself. "Ifreely confess that I was of the opinion that Stangerson wasconcerned in the death of Drebber. This fresh development has shownme that I was completely mistaken. Full of the one idea, I setmyself to find out what had become of the Secretary. They had beenseen together at Euston Station about half-past eight on theevening of the third. At two in the morning Drebber had been foundin the Brixton Road. The question which confronted me was to findout how Stangerson had been employed between 8.30 and the time ofthe crime, and what had become of him afterwards. I telegraphed toLiverpool, giving a description of the man, and warning them tokeep a watch upon the American boats. I then set to work callingupon all the hotels and lodging-houses in the vicinity of Euston.You see, I argued that if Drebber and his companion had becomeseparated, the natural course for the latter would be to put upsomewhere in the vicinity for the night, and then to hang about thestation again next morning."
"They would be likely to agree on some meeting-placebeforehand," remarked Holmes.
"So it proved. I spent the whole of yesterday evening in makingenquiries entirely without avail. This morning I began very early,and at eight o'clock I reached Halliday's Private Hotel, in LittleGeorge Street. On my enquiry as to whether a Mr. Stangerson wasliving there, they at once answered me in the affirmative.
"`No doubt you are the gentleman whom he was expecting,' theysaid. `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 hisnerves and lead him to say something unguarded. The Bootsvolunteered to show me the room: it was on the second floor, andthere was a small corridor leading up to it. The Boots pointed outthe door to me, and was about to go downstairs again when I sawsomething that made me feel sickish, in spite of my twenty years'experience. From under the door there curled a little red ribbon ofblood, which had meandered across the passage and formed a littlepool along the skirting at the other side. I gave a cry, whichbrought the Boots back. He nearly fainted when he saw it. The doorwas locked on the inside, but we put our shoulders to it, andknocked it in. The window of the room was open, and beside thewindow, all huddled up, lay the body of a man in his nightdress. Hewas quite dead, and had been for some time, for his limbs wererigid and cold. When we turned him over, the Boots recognized himat once as being the same gentleman who had engaged the room underthe name of Joseph Stangerson. The cause of death was a deep stabin the left side, which must have penetrated the heart. And nowcomes the strangest part of the affair. What do you suppose wasabove the murdered man?"
I felt a creeping of the flesh, and a presentiment of cominghorror, even before Sherlock Holmes answered.
"The word RACHE, written in letters of blood," he said.
"That was it," said Lestrade, in an awe-struck voice; and wewere all silent for a while.
There was something so methodical and so incomprehensible aboutthe deeds of this unknown assassin, that it imparted a freshghastliness to his crimes. My nerves, which were steady enough onthe field of battle tingled as I thought of it.
"The man was seen," continued Lestrade. "A milk boy, passing onhis way to the dairy, happened to walk down the lane which leadsfrom the mews at the back of the hotel. He noticed that a ladder,which usually lay there, was raised against one of the windows ofthe second floor, which was wide open. After passing, he lookedback and saw a man descend the ladder. He came down so quietly andopenly that the boy imagined him to be some carpenter or joiner atwork in the hotel. He took no particular notice of him, beyondthinking in his own mind that it was early for him to be at work.He has an impression that the man was tall, had a reddish face, andwas dressed in a long, brownish coat. He must have stayed in theroom some little time after the murder, for we found blood-stainedwater in the basin, where he had washed his hands, and marks on thesheets where he had deliberately wiped his knife."
I glanced at Holmes on hearing the description of the murderer,which tallied so exactly with his own. There was, however, no traceof exultation or satisfaction upon his face.
"Did you find nothing in the room which could furnish a clue tothe murderer?" he asked.
"Nothing. Stangerson had Drebber's purse in his pocket, but itseems that this was usual, as he did all the paying. There waseighty odd pounds in it, but nothing had been taken. Whatever themotives of these extraordinary crimes, robbery is certainly not oneof them. There were no papers or memoranda in the murdered man'spocket, except a single telegram, dated from Cleveland about amonth ago, and containing the words, `J. H. is in Europe.' Therewas no name appended to this message."
"And there was nothing else?" Holmes asked.
"Nothing of any importance. The man's novel, with which he hadread himself to sleep was lying upon the bed, and his pipe was on achair beside him. There was a glass of water on the table, and onthe window-sill a small chip ointment box containing a couple ofpills."
Sherlock Holmes sprang from his chair with an exclamation ofdelight.
"The last link," he cried, exultantly. "My case iscomplete."
The two detectives stared at him in amazement.
"I have now in my hands," my companion said, confidently, "allthe threads which have formed such a tangle. There are, of course,details to be filled in, but I am as certain of all the main facts,from the time that Drebber parted from Stangerson at the station,up to the discovery of the body of the latter, as if I had seenthem with my own eyes. I will give you a proof of my knowledge.Could you lay your hand upon those pills?"
"I have them," said Lestrade, producing a small white box; "Itook them and the purse and the telegram, intending to have themput in a place of safety at the Police Station. It was the merestchance my taking these pills, for I am bound to say that I do notattach any importance to them."
"Give them here," said Holmes. "Now, Doctor," turning to me,"are those ordinary pills?"
They certainly were not. They were of a pearly grey colour,small, round, and almost transparent against the light. "From theirlightness and transparency, I should imagine that they are solublein water," I remarked.
"Precisely so," answered Holmes. "Now would you mind going downand fetching that poor little devil of a terrier which has been badso long, and which the landlady wanted you to put out of its painyesterday."
I went downstairs and carried the dog upstair in my arms. It'slaboured breathing and glazing eye showed that it was not far fromits end. Indeed, its snow-white muzzle proclaimed that it hadalready exceeded the usual term of canine existence. I placed itupon a cushion on the rug.
"I will now cut one of these pills in two," said Holmes, anddrawing his penknife he suited the action to the word. "One half wereturn into the box for future purposes. The other half I willplace in this wine glass, in which is a teaspoonful of water. Youperceive that our friend, the Doctor, is right, and that it readilydissolves."
"This may be very interesting," said Lestrade, in the injuredtone of one who suspects that he is being laughed at, "I cannotsee, however, what it has to do with the death of Mr. JosephStangerson."
"Patience, my friend, patience! You will find in time that ithas everything to do with it. I shall now add a little milk to makethe mixture palatable, and on presenting it to the dog we find thathe laps it up readily enough."
As he spoke he turned the contents of the wine glass into asaucer and placed it in front of the terrier, who speedily lickedit dry. Sherlock Holmes' earnest demeanour had so far convinced usthat we all sat in silence, watching the animal intently, andexpecting some startling effect. None such appeared, however. Thedog continued to lie stretched upon tho {16} cushion, breathing ina laboured way, but apparently neither the better nor the worse forits draught.
Holmes had taken out his watch, and as minute followed minutewithout result, an expression of the utmost chagrin anddisappointment appeared upon his features. He gnawed his lip,drummed his fingers upon the table, and showed every other symptomof acute impatience. So great was his emotion, that I feltsincerely sorry for him, while the two detectives smiledderisively, by no means displeased at this check which he hadmet.
"It can't be a coincidence," he cried, at last springing fromhis chair and pacing wildly up and down the room; "it is impossiblethat it should be a mere coincidence. The very pills which Isuspected in the case of Drebber are actually found after the deathof Stangerson. And yet they are inert. What can it mean? Surely mywhole chain of reasoning cannot have been false. It is impossible!And yet this wretched dog is none the worse. Ah, I have it! I haveit!" With a perfect shriek of delight he rushed to the box, cut theother pill in two, dissolved it, added milk, and presented it tothe terrier. The unfortunate creature's tongue seemed hardly tohave been moistened in it before it gave a convulsive shiver inevery limb, and lay as rigid and lifeless as if it had been struckby lightning.
Sherlock Holmes drew a long breath, and wiped the perspirationfrom his forehead. "I should have more faith," he said; "I ought toknow by this time that when a fact appears to be opposed to a longtrain of deductions, it invariably proves to be capable of bearingsome other interpretation. Of the two pills in that box one was ofthe most deadly poison, and the other was entirely harmless. Iought to have known that before ever I saw the box at all."
This last statement appeared to me to be so startling, that Icould hardly believe that he was in his sober senses. There was thedead dog, however, to prove that his conjecture had been correct.It seemed to me that the mists in my own mind were graduallyclearing away, and I began to have a dim, vague perception of thetruth.
"All this seems strange to you," continued Holmes, "because youfailed at the beginning of the inquiry to grasp the importance ofthe single real clue which was presented to you. I had the goodfortune to seize upon that, and everything which has occurred sincethen has served to confirm my original supposition, and, indeed,was the logical sequence of it. Hence things which have perplexedyou and made the case more obscure, have served to enlighten me andto strengthen my conclusions. It is a mistake to confoundstrangeness with mystery. The most commonplace crime is often themost mysterious because it presents no new or special features fromwhich deductions may be drawn. This murder would have beeninfinitely more difficult to unravel had the body of the victimbeen simply found lying in the roadway without any of thoseoutre {17} and sensational accompaniments which haverendered it remarkable. These strange details, far from making thecase more difficult, have really had the effect of making it lessso."
Mr. Gregson, who had listened to this address with considerableimpatience, could contain himself no longer. "Look here, Mr.Sherlock Holmes," he said, "we are all ready to acknowledge thatyou are a smart man, and that you have your own methods of working.We want something more than mere theory and preaching now, though.It is a case of taking the man. I have made my case out, and itseems I was wrong. Young Charpentier could not have been engaged inthis second affair. Lestrade went after his man, Stangerson, and itappears that he was wrong too. You have thrown out hints here, andhints there, and seem to know more than we do, but the time hascome when we feel that we have a right to ask you straight how muchyou do know of the business. Can you name the man who did it?"
"I cannot help feeling that Gregson is right, sir," remarkedLestrade. "We have both tried, and we have both failed. You haveremarked more than once since I have been in the room that you hadall the evidence which you require. Surely you will not withhold itany longer."
"Any delay in arresting the assassin," I observed, "might givehim time to 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 hischest and his brows drawn down, as was his habit when lost inthought.
"There will be no more murders," he said at last, stoppingabruptly and facing us. "You can put that consideration out of thequestion. You have asked me if I know the name of the assassin. Ido. The mere knowing of his name is a small thing, however,compared with the power of laying our hands upon him. This I expectvery shortly to do. I have good hopes of managing it through my ownarrangements; but it is a thing which needs delicate handling, forwe have a shrewd and desperate man to deal with, who is supported,as I have had occasion to prove, by another who is as clever ashimself. As long as this man has no idea that anyone can have aclue there is some chance of securing him; but if he had theslightest suspicion, he would change his name, and vanish in aninstant among the four million inhabitants of this great city.Without meaning to hurt either of your feelings, I am bound to saythat I consider these men to be more than a match for the officialforce, and that is why I have not asked your assistance. If I failI shall, of course, incur all the blame due to this omission; butthat I am prepared for. At present I am ready to promise that theinstant that I can communicate with you without endangering my owncombinations, I shall do so."
Gregson and Lestrade seemed to be far from satisfied by thisassurance, or by the depreciating allusion to the detective police.The former had flushed up to the roots of his flaxen hair, whilethe other's beady eyes glistened with curiosity and resentment.Neither of them had time to speak, however, before there was a tapat the door, and the spokesman of the street Arabs, young Wiggins,introduced his insignificant and unsavoury person.
"Please, sir," he said, touching his forelock, "I have the cabdownstairs."
"Good boy," said Holmes, blandly. "Why don't you introduce thispattern at Scotland Yard?" he continued, taking a pair of steelhandcuffs from a drawer. "See how beautifully the spring works.They fasten in an instant."
"The old pattern is good enough," remarked Lestrade, "if we canonly find 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 meabout it. There was a small portmanteau in the room, and this hepulled out and began to strap. He was busily engaged at it when thecabman entered the room.
"Just give me a help with this buckle, cabman," he said,kneeling over his task, and never turning his head.
The fellow came forward with a somewhat sullen, defiant air, andput down his hands to assist. At that instant there was a sharpclick, the jangling of metal, and Sherlock Holmes sprang to hisfeet again.
"Gentlemen," he cried, with flashing eyes, "let me introduce youto Mr. Jefferson Hope, the murderer of Enoch Drebber and of JosephStangerson."
The whole thing occurred in a moment -- so quickly that I had notime to realize it. I have a vivid recollection of that instant, ofHolmes' triumphant expression and the ring of his voice, of thecabman's dazed, savage face, as he glared at the glitteringhandcuffs, which had appeared as if by magic upon his wrists. For asecond or two we might have been a group of statues. Then, with aninarticulate roar of fury, the prisoner wrenched himself free fromHolmes's grasp, and hurled himself through the window. Woodwork andglass gave way before him; but before he got quite through,Gregson, Lestrade, and Holmes sprang upon him like so manystaghounds. He was dragged back into the room, and then commenced aterrific conflict. So powerful and so fierce was he, that the fourof us were shaken off again and again. He appeared to have theconvulsive strength of a man in an epileptic fit. His face andhands were terribly mangled by his passage through the glass, butloss of blood had no effect in diminishing his resistance. It wasnot until Lestrade succeeded in getting his hand inside hisneckcloth and half-strangling him that we made him realize that hisstruggles were of no avail; and even then we felt no security untilwe had pinioned his feet as well as his hands. That done, we roseto our feet breathless and panting.
"We have his cab," said Sherlock Holmes. "It will serve to takehim to Scotland Yard. And now, gentlemen," he continued, with apleasant smile, "we have reached the end of our little mystery. Youare very welcome to put any questions that you like to me now, andthere is no danger that I will refuse to answer them."
PART II
The Country of the Saints
CHAPTER I. ON THE GREAT ALKALI PLAIN
IN the central portion of the great North American Continentthere lies an arid and repulsive desert, which for many a long yearserved as a barrier against the advance of civilisation. From theSierra Nevada to Nebraska, and from the Yellowstone River in thenorth to the Colorado upon the south, is a region of desolation andsilence. Nor is Nature always in one mood throughout this grimdistrict. It comprises snow-capped and lofty mountains, and darkand gloomy valleys. There are swift-flowing rivers which dashthrough jagged canons; {18} and there are enormous plains, which inwinter are white with snow, and in summer are grey with the salinealkali dust. They all preserve, however, the common characteristicsof barrenness, inhospitality, and misery.
There are no inhabitants of this land of despair. A band ofPawnees or of Blackfeet may occasionally traverse it in order toreach other hunting-grounds, but the hardiest of the braves areglad to lose sight of those awesome plains, and to find themselvesonce more upon their prairies. The coyote skulks among the scrub,the buzzard flaps heavily through the air, and the clumsy grizzlybear lumbers through the dark ravines, and picks up such sustenanceas it can amongst the rocks. These are the sole dwellers in thewilderness.
In the whole world there can be no more dreary view than thatfrom the northern slope of the Sierra Blanco. As far as the eye canreach stretches the great flat plain-land, all dusted over withpatches of alkali, and intersected by clumps of the dwarfishchaparral bushes. On the extreme verge of the horizon lie a longchain of mountain peaks, with their rugged summits flecked withsnow. In this great stretch of country there is no sign of life,nor of anything appertaining to life. There is no bird in thesteel-blue heaven, no movement upon the dull, grey earth -- aboveall, there is absolute silence. Listen as one may, there is noshadow of a sound in all that mighty wilderness; nothing butsilence -- complete and heart-subduing silence.
It has been said there is nothing appertaining to life upon thebroad plain. That is hardly true. Looking down from the SierraBlanco, one sees a pathway traced out across the desert, whichwinds away and is lost in the extreme distance. It is rutted withwheels and trodden down by the feet of many adventurers. Here andthere there are scattered white objects which glisten in the sun,and stand out against the dull deposit of alkali. Approach, andexamine them! They are bones: some large and coarse, others smallerand more delicate. The former have belonged to oxen, and the latterto men. For fifteen hundred miles one may trace this ghastlycaravan route by these scattered remains of those who had fallen bythe wayside.
Looking down on this very scene, there stood upon the fourth ofMay, eighteen hundred and forty-seven, a solitary traveller. Hisappearance was such that he might have been the very genius ordemon of the region. An observer would have found it difficult tosay whether he was nearer to forty or to sixty. His face was leanand haggard, and the brown parchment-like skin was drawn tightlyover the projecting bones; his long, brown hair and beard were allflecked and dashed with white; his eyes were sunken in his head,and burned with an unnatural lustre; while the hand which graspedhis rifle was hardly more fleshy than that of a skeleton. As hestood, he leaned upon his weapon for support, and yet his tallfigure and the massive framework of his bones suggested a wiry andvigorous constitution. His gaunt face, however, and his clothes,which hung so baggily over his shrivelled limbs, proclaimed what itwas that gave him that senile and decrepit appearance. The man wasdying -- dying from hunger and from thirst.
He had toiled painfully down the ravine, and on to this littleelevation, in the vain hope of seeing some signs of water. Now thegreat salt plain stretched before his eyes, and the distant belt ofsavage mountains, without a sign anywhere of plant or tree, whichmight indicate the presence of moisture. In all that broadlandscape there was no gleam of hope. North, and east, and west helooked with wild questioning eyes, and then he realised that hiswanderings had come to an end, and that there, on that barren crag,he was about to die. "Why not here, as well as in a feather bed,twenty years hence," he muttered, as he seated himself in theshelter of a boulder.
Before sitting down, he had deposited upon the ground hisuseless rifle, and also a large bundle tied up in a grey shawl,which he had carried slung over his right shoulder. It appeared tobe somewhat too heavy for his strength, for in lowering it, it camedown on the ground with some little violence. Instantly there brokefrom the grey parcel a little moaning cry, and from it thereprotruded a small, scared face, with very bright brown eyes, andtwo little speckled, dimpled fists.
"You've hurt me!" said a childish voice reproachfully.
"Have I though," the man answered penitently, "I didn't go forto do it." As he spoke he unwrapped the grey shawl and extricated apretty little girl of about five years of age, whose dainty shoesand smart pink frock with its little linen apron all bespoke amother's care. The child was pale and wan, but her healthy arms andlegs showed that she had suffered less than her companion.
"How is it now?" he answered anxiously, for she was stillrubbing the towsy golden curls which covered the back of herhead.
"Kiss it and make it well," she said, with perfect gravity,shoving {19} the injured part up to him. "That's what mother usedto do. Where's mother?"
"Mother's gone. I guess you'll see her before long."
"Gone, eh!" said the little girl. "Funny, she didn't saygood-bye; she 'most always did if she was just goin' over toAuntie's for tea, and now she's been away three days. Say, it'sawful dry, ain't it? Ain't there no water, nor nothing to eat?"
"No, there ain't nothing, dearie. You'll just need to be patientawhile, and then you'll be all right. Put your head up agin me likethat, and then you'll feel bullier. It ain't easy to talk when yourlips is like leather, but I guess I'd best let you know how thecards lie. What's that you've got?"
"Pretty things! fine things!" cried the little girlenthusiastically, holding up two glittering fragments of mica."When we goes back to home I'll give them to brother Bob."
"You'll see prettier things than them soon," said the manconfidently. "You just wait a bit. I was going to tell you though-- you remember when we left the river?"
"Oh, yes."
"Well, we reckoned we'd strike another river soon, d'ye see. Butthere was somethin' wrong; compasses, or map, or somethin', and itdidn't turn up. Water ran out. Just except a little drop for thelikes of you and -- and ----"
"And you couldn't wash yourself," interrupted his companiongravely, staring up at his grimy visage.
"No, nor drink. And Mr. Bender, he was the fust to go, and thenIndian Pete, and then Mrs. McGregor, and then Johnny Hones, andthen, dearie, your mother."
"Then mother's a deader too," cried the little girl dropping herface in her pinafore and sobbing bitterly.
"Yes, they all went except you and me. Then I thought there wassome chance of water in this direction, so I heaved you over myshoulder and we tramped it together. It don't seem as though we'veimproved matters. There's an almighty small chance for us now!"
"Do you mean that we are going to die too?" asked the child,checking her sobs, and raising her tear-stained face.
"I guess that's about the size of it."
"Why didn't you say so before?" she said, laughing gleefully."You gave me such a fright. Why, of course, now as long as we diewe'll be with mother again."
"Yes, you will, dearie."
"And you too. I'll tell her how awful good you've been. I'll betshe meets us at the door of Heaven with a big pitcher of water, anda lot of buckwheat cakes, hot, and toasted on both sides, like Boband me was fond of. How long will it be first?"
"I don't know -- not very long." The man's eyes were fixed uponthe northern horizon. In the blue vault of the heaven there hadappeared three little specks which increased in size every moment,so rapidly did they approach. They speedily resolved themselvesinto three large brown birds, which circled over the heads of thetwo wanderers, and then settled upon some rocks which overlookedthem. They were buzzards, the vultures of the west, whose coming isthe forerunner of death.
"Cocks and hens," cried the little girl gleefully, pointing attheir ill-omened forms, and clapping her hands to make them rise."Say, did God make this country?"
"In course He did," said her companion, rather startled by thisunexpected question.
"He made the country down in Illinois, and He made theMissouri," the little girl continued. "I guess somebody else madethe country in these parts. It's not nearly so well done. Theyforgot the water and the trees."
"What would ye think of offering up prayer?" the man askeddiffidently.
"It ain't night yet," she answered.
"It don't matter. It ain't quite regular, but He won't mindthat, you bet. You say over them ones that you used to say everynight in the waggon when we was on the Plains."
"Why don't you say some yourself?" the child asked, withwondering eyes.
"I disremember them," he answered. "I hain't said none since Iwas half the height o' that gun. I guess it's never too late. Yousay them out, and I'll stand by and come in on the choruses."
"Then you'll need to kneel down, and me too," she said, layingthe shawl out for that purpose. "You've got to put your hands uplike this. It makes you feel kind o' good."
It was a strange sight had there been anything but the buzzardsto see it. Side by side on the narrow shawl knelt the twowanderers, the little prattling child and the reckless, hardenedadventurer. Her chubby face, and his haggard, angular visage wereboth turned up to the cloudless heaven in heartfelt entreaty tothat dread being with whom they were face to face, while the twovoices -- the one thin and clear, the other deep and harsh --united in the entreaty for mercy and forgiveness. The prayerfinished, they resumed their seat in the shadow of the boulderuntil the child fell asleep, nestling upon the broad breast of herprotector. He watched over her slumber for some time, but Natureproved to be too strong for him. For three days and three nights hehad allowed himself neither rest nor repose. Slowly the eyelidsdrooped over the tired eyes, and the head sunk lower and lower uponthe breast, until the man's grizzled beard was mixed with the goldtresses of his companion, and both slept the same deep anddreamless slumber.
Had the wanderer remained awake for another half hour a strangesight would have met his eyes. Far away on the extreme verge of thealkali plain there rose up a little spray of dust, very slight atfirst, and hardly to be distinguished from the mists of thedistance, but gradually growing higher and broader until it formeda solid, well-defined cloud. This cloud continued to increase insize until it became evident that it could only be raised by agreat multitude of moving creatures. In more fertile spots theobserver would have come to the conclusion that one of those greatherds of bisons which graze upon the prairie land was approachinghim. This was obviously impossible in these arid wilds. As thewhirl of dust drew nearer to the solitary bluff upon which the twocastaways were reposing, the canvas-covered tilts of waggons andthe figures of armed horsemen began to show up through the haze,and the apparition revealed itself as being a great caravan uponits journey for the West. But what a caravan! When the head of ithad reached the base of the mountains, the rear was not yet visibleon the horizon. Right across the enormous plain stretched thestraggling array, waggons and carts, men on horseback, and men onfoot. Innumerable women who staggered along under burdens, andchildren who toddled beside the waggons or peeped out from underthe white coverings. This was evidently no ordinary party ofimmigrants, but rather some nomad people who had been compelledfrom stress of circumstances to seek themselves a new country.There rose through the clear air a confused clattering and rumblingfrom this great mass of humanity, with the creaking of wheels andthe neighing of horses. Loud as it was, it was not sufficient torouse the two tired wayfarers above them.
At the head of the column there rode a score or more of graveironfaced men, clad in sombre homespun garments and armed withrifles. On reaching the base of the bluff they halted, and held ashort council among themselves.
"The wells are to the right, my brothers," said one, ahard-lipped, clean-shaven man with grizzly hair.
"To the right of the Sierra Blanco -- so we shall reach the RioGrande," said another.
"Fear not for water," cried a third. "He who could draw it fromthe rocks 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 youngestand keenest-eyed uttered an exclamation and pointed up at therugged crag above them. From its summit there fluttered a littlewisp of pink, showing up hard and bright against the grey rocksbehind. At the sight there was a general reining up of horses andunslinging of guns, while fresh horsemen came galloping up toreinforce the vanguard. The word `Redskins' was on every lip.
"There can't be any number of Injuns here," said the elderly manwho appeared to be in command. "We have passed the Pawnees, andthere are no other tribes until we cross the great mountains."
"Shall I go forward and see, Brother Stangerson," asked one ofthe band.
"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, fastenedtheir horses, and were ascending the precipitous slope which led upto the object which had excited their curiosity. They advancedrapidly and noiselessly, with the confidence and dexterity ofpractised scouts. The watchers from the plain below could see themflit from rock to rock until their figures stood out against theskyline. The young man who had first given the alarm was leadingthem. Suddenly his followers saw him throw up his hands, as thoughovercome with astonishment, and on joining him they were affectedin the same way by the sight which met their eyes.
On the little plateau which crowned the barren hill there stooda single giant boulder, and against this boulder there lay a tallman, long-bearded and hard-featured, but of an excessive thinness.His placid face and regular breathing showed that he was fastasleep. Beside him lay a little child, with her round white armsencircling his brown sinewy neck, and her golden haired headresting upon the breast of his velveteen tunic. Her rosy lips wereparted, showing the regular line of snow-white teeth within, and aplayful smile played over her infantile features. Her plump littlewhite legs terminating in white socks and neat shoes with shiningbuckles, offered a strange contrast to the long shrivelled membersof her companion. On the ledge of rock above this strange couplethere stood three solemn buzzards, who, at the sight of the newcomers uttered raucous screams of disappointment and flappedsullenly away.
The cries of the foul birds awoke the two sleepers who staredabout {20} them in bewilderment. The man staggered to his feet andlooked down upon the plain which had been so desolate when sleephad overtaken him, and which was now traversed by this enormousbody of men and of beasts. His face assumed an expression ofincredulity as he gazed, and he passed his boney hand over hiseyes. "This is what they call delirium, I guess," he muttered. Thechild stood beside him, holding on to the skirt of his coat, andsaid nothing but looked all round her with the wonderingquestioning gaze of childhood.
The rescuing party were speedily able to convince the twocastaways that their appearance was no delusion. One of them seizedthe little girl, and hoisted her upon his shoulder, while twoothers supported her gaunt companion, and assisted him towards thewaggons.
"My name is John Ferrier," the wanderer explained; "me and thatlittle un are all that's left o' twenty-one people. The rest is alldead o' thirst and hunger away down in the south."
"Is she your child?" asked someone.
"I guess she is now," the other cried, defiantly; "she's mine'cause I saved her. No man will take her from me. She's LucyFerrier from this day on. Who are you, though?" he continued,glancing with curiosity at his stalwart, sunburned rescuers; "thereseems to be a powerful lot of ye."
"Nigh upon ten thousand," said one of the young men; "we are thepersecuted children of God -- the chosen of the Angel Merona."
"I never heard tell on him," said the wanderer. "He appears tohave chosen a fair crowd of ye."
"Do not jest at that which is sacred," said the other sternly."We are of those who believe in those sacred writings, drawn inEgyptian letters on plates of beaten gold, which were handed untothe holy Joseph Smith at Palmyra. We have come from Nauvoo, in theState of Illinois, where we had founded our temple. We have come toseek a refuge from the violent man and from the godless, eventhough it be the heart of the desert."
The name of Nauvoo evidently recalled recollections to JohnFerrier. "I see," he said, "you are the Mormons."
"We are the Mormons," answered his companions with onevoice.
"And where are you going?"
"We do not know. The hand of God is leading us under the personof our Prophet. You must come before him. He shall say what is tobe done with you."
They had reached the base of the hill by this time, and weresurrounded by crowds of the pilgrims -- pale-faced meek-lookingwomen, strong laughing children, and anxious earnest-eyed men. Manywere the cries of astonishment and of commiseration which arosefrom them when they perceived the youth of one of the strangers andthe destitution of the other. Their escort did not halt, however,but pushed on, followed by a great crowd of Mormons, until theyreached a waggon, which was conspicuous for its great size and forthe gaudiness and smartness of its appearance. Six horses wereyoked to it, whereas the others were furnished with two, or, atmost, four a-piece. Beside the driver there sat a man who could nothave been more than thirty years of age, but whose massive head andresolute expression marked him as a leader. He was reading abrown-backed volume, but as the crowd approached he laid it aside,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 onlybe as believers in our own creed. We shall have no wolves in ourfold. Better far that your bones should bleach in this wildernessthan that you should prove to be that little speck of decay whichin time corrupts the whole fruit. Will you come with us on theseterms?"
"Guess I'll come with you on any terms," said Ferrier, with suchemphasis that the grave Elders could not restrain a smile. Theleader alone retained his stern, impressive expression.
"Take him, Brother Stangerson," he said, "give him food anddrink, and the child likewise. Let it be your task also to teachhim our holy creed. We have delayed long enough. Forward! On, on toZion!"
"On, on to Zion!" cried the crowd of Mormons, and the wordsrippled down the long caravan, passing from mouth to mouth untilthey died away in a dull murmur in the far distance. With acracking of whips and a creaking of wheels the great waggons gotinto motion, and soon the whole caravan was winding along oncemore. The Elder to whose care the two waifs had been committed, ledthem to his waggon, where a meal was already awaiting them.
"You shall remain here," he said. "In a few days you will haverecovered from your fatigues. In the meantime, remember that nowand for ever you are of our religion. Brigham Young has said it,and he has spoken with the voice of Joseph Smith, which is thevoice of God."
CHAPTER II. THE FLOWER OF UTAH
THIS is not the place to commemorate the trials and privationsendured by the immigrant Mormons before they came to their finalhaven. From the shores of the Mississippi to the western slopes ofthe Rocky Mountains they had struggled on with a constancy almostunparalleled in history. The savage man, and the savage beast,hunger, thirst, fatigue, and disease -- every impediment whichNature could place in the way, had all been overcome withAnglo-Saxon tenacity. Yet the long journey and the accumulatedterrors had shaken the hearts of the stoutest among them. There wasnot one who did not sink upon his knees in heartfelt prayer whenthey saw the broad valley of Utah bathed in the sunlight beneaththem, and learned from the lips of their leader that this was thepromised land, and that these virgin acres were to be theirs forevermore.
Young speedily proved himself to be a skilful administrator aswell as a resolute chief. Maps were drawn and charts prepared, inwhich the future city was sketched out. All around farms wereapportioned and allotted in proportion to the standing of eachindividual. The tradesman was put to his trade and the artisan tohis calling. In the town streets and squares sprang up, as if bymagic. In the country there was draining and hedging, planting andclearing, until the next summer saw the whole country golden withthe wheat crop. Everything prospered in the strange settlement.Above all, the great temple which they had erected in the centre ofthe city grew ever taller and larger. From the first blush of dawnuntil the closing of the twilight, the clatter of the hammer andthe rasp of the saw was never absent from the monument which theimmigrants erected to Him who had led them safe through manydangers.
The two castaways, John Ferrier and the little girl who hadshared his fortunes and had been adopted as his daughter,accompanied the Mormons to the end of their great pilgrimage.Little Lucy Ferrier was borne along pleasantly enough in ElderStangerson's waggon, a retreat which she shared with the Mormon'sthree wives and with his son, a headstrong forward boy of twelve.Having rallied, with the elasticity of childhood, from the shockcaused by her mother's death, she soon became a pet with the women,and reconciled herself to this new life in her movingcanvas-covered home. In the meantime Ferrier, having recovered fromhis privations, distinguished himself as a useful guide and anindefatigable hunter. So rapidly did he gain the esteem of his newcompanions, that when they reached the end of their wanderings, itwas unanimously agreed that he should be provided with as large andas fertile a tract of land as any of the settlers, with theexception of Young himself, and of Stangerson, Kemball, Johnston,and Drebber, who were the four principal Elders.
On the farm thus acquired John Ferrier built himself asubstantial log-house, which received so many additions insucceeding years that it grew into a roomy villa. He was a man of apractical turn of mind, keen in his dealings and skilful with hishands. His iron constitution enabled him to work morning andevening at improving and tilling his lands. Hence it came aboutthat his farm and all that belonged to him prospered exceedingly.In three years he was better off than his neighbours, in six he waswell-to-do, in nine he was rich, and in twelve there were not halfa dozen men in the whole of Salt Lake City who could compare withhim. From the great inland sea to the distant Wahsatch Mountainsthere was no name 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 persuasioncould ever induce him to set up a female establishment after themanner of his companions. He never gave reasons for this persistentrefusal, but contented himself by resolutely and inflexiblyadhering to his determination. There were some who accused him oflukewarmness in his adopted religion, and others who put it down togreed of wealth and reluctance to incur expense. Others, again,spoke of some early love affair, and of a fair-haired girl who hadpined away on the shores of the Atlantic. Whatever the reason,Ferrier remained strictly celibate. In every other respect heconformed to the religion of the young settlement, and gained thename of being an orthodox and straight-walking man.
Lucy Ferrier grew up within the log-house, and assisted heradopted father in all his undertakings. The keen air of themountains and the balsamic odour of the pine trees took the placeof nurse and mother to the young girl. As year succeeded to yearshe grew taller and stronger, her cheek more rudy, and her stepmore elastic. Many a wayfarer upon the high road which ran byFerrier's farm felt long-forgotten thoughts revive in their mind asthey watched her lithe girlish figure tripping through thewheatfields, or met her mounted upon her father's mustang, andmanaging it with all the ease and grace of a true child of theWest. So the bud blossomed into a flower, and the year which sawher father the richest of the farmers left her as fair a specimenof American girlhood as could be found in the whole Pacificslope.
It was not the father, however, who first discovered that thechild had developed into the woman. It seldom is in such cases.That mysterious change is too subtle and too gradual to be measuredby dates. Least of all does the maiden herself know it until thetone of a voice or the touch of a hand sets her heart thrillingwithin her, and she learns, with a mixture of pride and of fear,that a new and a larger nature has awoken within her. There are fewwho cannot recall that day and remember the one little incidentwhich heralded the dawn of a new life. In the case of Lucy Ferrierthe 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 asbusy as the bees whose hive they have chosen for their emblem. Inthe fields and in the streets rose the same hum of human industry.Down the dusty high roads defiled long streams of heavily-ladenmules, all heading to the west, for the gold fever had broken outin California, and the Overland Route lay through the City of theElect. There, too, were droves of sheep and bullocks coming in fromthe outlying pasture lands, and trains of tired immigrants, men andhorses equally weary of their interminable journey. Through allthis motley assemblage, threading her way with the skill of anaccomplished rider, there galloped Lucy Ferrier, her fair faceflushed with the exercise and her long chestnut hair floating outbehind her. She had a commission from her father in the City, andwas dashing in as she had done many a time before, with all thefearlessness of youth, thinking only of her task and how it was tobe performed. The travel-stained adventurers gazed after her inastonishment, and even the unemotional Indians, journeying in withtheir pelties, relaxed their accustomed stoicism as they marvelledat the beauty of the pale-faced maiden.
She had reached the outskirts of the city when she found theroad blocked by a great drove of cattle, driven by a half-dozenwild-looking herdsmen from the plains. In her impatience sheendeavoured to pass this obstacle by pushing her horse into whatappeared to be a gap. Scarcely had she got fairly into it, however,before the beasts closed in behind her, and she found herselfcompletely imbedded in the moving stream of fierce-eyed,long-horned bullocks. Accustomed as she was to deal with cattle,she was not alarmed at her situation, but took advantage of everyopportunity to urge her horse on in the hopes of pushing her waythrough the cavalcade. Unfortunately the horns of one of thecreatures, either by accident or design, came in violent contactwith the flank of the mustang, and excited it to madness. In aninstant it reared up upon its hind legs with a snort of rage, andpranced and tossed in a way that would have unseated any but a mostskilful rider. The situation was full of peril. Every plunge of theexcited horse brought it against the horns again, and goaded it tofresh madness. It was all that the girl could do to keep herself inthe saddle, yet a slip would mean a terrible death under the hoofsof the unwieldy and terrified animals. Unaccustomed to suddenemergencies, her head began to swim, and her grip upon the bridleto relax. Choked by the rising cloud of dust and by the steam fromthe struggling creatures, she might have abandoned her efforts indespair, but for a kindly voice at her elbow which assured her ofassistance. At the same moment a sinewy brown hand caught thefrightened horse by the curb, and forcing a way through the drove,soon brought her to the outskirts.
"You're not hurt, I hope, miss," said her preserver,respectfully.
She looked up at his dark, fierce face, and laughed saucily."I'm awful frightened," she said, naively; "whoever would havethought that Poncho would have been so scared by a lot ofcows?"
"Thank God you kept your seat," the other said earnestly. He wasa tall, savage-looking young fellow, mounted on a powerful roanhorse, and clad in the rough dress of a hunter, with a long rifleslung over his shoulders. "I guess you are the daughter of JohnFerrier," he remarked, "I saw you ride down from his house. Whenyou see him, ask him if he remembers the Jefferson Hopes of St.Louis. If he's the same Ferrier, my father and he were prettythick."
"Hadn't you better come and ask yourself?" she asked,demurely.
The young fellow seemed pleased at the suggestion, and his darkeyes sparkled with pleasure. "I'll do so," he said, "we've been inthe mountains for two months, and are not over and above invisiting condition. He must take us as he finds us."
"He has a good deal to thank you for, and so have I," sheanswered, "he's awful fond of me. If those cows had jumped on mehe'd have never got over it."
"Neither would I," said her companion.
"You! Well, I don't see that it would make much matter to you,anyhow. You ain't even a friend of ours."
The young hunter's dark face grew so gloomy over this remarkthat Lucy Ferrier laughed aloud.
"There, I didn't mean that," she said; "of course, you are afriend now. You must come and see us. Now I must push along, orfather won't trust me 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 cutwith her riding-whip, and darted away down the broad road in arolling cloud of dust.
Young Jefferson Hope rode on with his companions, gloomy andtaciturn. He and they had been among the Nevada Mountainsprospecting for silver, and were returning to Salt Lake City in thehope of raising capital enough to work some lodes which they haddiscovered. He had been as keen as any of them upon the businessuntil this sudden incident had drawn his thoughts into anotherchannel. The sight of the fair young girl, as frank and wholesomeas the Sierra breezes, had stirred his volcanic, untamed heart toits very depths. When she had vanished from his sight, he realizedthat a crisis had come in his life, and that neither silverspeculations nor any other questions could ever be of suchimportance to him as this new and all-absorbing one. The love whichhad sprung up in his heart was not the sudden, changeable fancy ofa boy, but rather the wild, fierce passion of a man of strong willand imperious temper. He had been accustomed to succeed in all thathe undertook. He swore in his heart that he would not fail in thisif human effort and human perseverance could render himsuccessful.
He called on John Ferrier that night, and many times again,until his face was a familiar one at the farm-house. John, coopedup in the valley, and absorbed in his work, had had little chanceof learning the news of the outside world during the last twelveyears. All this Jefferson Hope was able to tell him, and in a stylewhich interested Lucy as well as her father. He had been a pioneerin California, and could narrate many a strange tale of fortunesmade and fortunes lost in those wild, halcyon days. He had been ascout too, and a trapper, a silver explorer, and a ranchman.Wherever stirring adventures were to be had, Jefferson Hope hadbeen there in search of them. He soon became a favourite with theold 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 clearly that her young heart was no longer her own.Her honest father may not have observed these symptoms, but theywere assuredly not thrown away upon the man who had won heraffections.
It was a summer evening when he came galloping down the road andpulled up at the gate. She was at the doorway, and came down tomeet him. He threw the bridle over the fence and strode up thepathway.
"I am off, Lucy," he said, taking her two hands in his, andgazing tenderly down into her face; "I won't ask you to come withme now, but will 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 youthen, my darling. There's no one who can stand between us."
"And how about father?" she asked.
"He has given his consent, provided we get these mines workingall right. I have no fear on that head."
"Oh, well; of course, if you and father have arranged it all,there's no more to be said," she whispered, with her cheek againsthis broad breast.
"Thank God!" he said, hoarsely, stooping and kissing her. "It issettled, then. The longer I stay, the harder it will be to go. Theyare waiting for me at the canon. Good-bye, my own darling --good-bye. In two months you shall see me."
He tore himself from her as he spoke, and, flinging himself uponhis horse, galloped furiously away, never even looking round, asthough afraid that his resolution might fail him if he took oneglance at what he was leaving. She stood at the gate, gazing afterhim until he vanished from her sight. Then she walked back into thehouse, the happiest girl in all Utah.
CHAPTER III. JOHN FERRIER TALKS WITH THEPROPHET
THREE weeks had passed since Jefferson Hope and his comrades haddeparted from Salt Lake City. John Ferrier's heart was sore withinhim when he thought of the young man's return, and of the impendingloss of his adopted child. Yet her bright and happy face reconciledhim to the arrangement more than any argument could have done. Hehad always determined, deep down in his resolute heart, thatnothing would ever induce him to allow his daughter to wed aMormon. Such a marriage he regarded as no marriage at all, but as ashame and a disgrace. Whatever he might think of the Mormondoctrines, upon that one point he was inflexible. He had to sealhis mouth on the subject, however, for to express an unorthodoxopinion was a dangerous matter in those days in the Land of theSaints.
Yes, a dangerous matter -- so dangerous that even the mostsaintly dared only whisper their religious opinions with batedbreath, lest something which fell from their lips might bemisconstrued, and bring down a swift retribution upon them. Thevictims of persecution had now turned persecutors on their ownaccount, and persecutors of the most terrible description. Not theInquisition of Seville, nor the German Vehm-gericht, nor the SecretSocieties of Italy, were ever able to put a more formidablemachinery in motion than that which cast a cloud over the State ofUtah.
Its invisibility, and the mystery which was attached to it, madethis organization doubly terrible. It appeared to be omniscient andomnipotent, and yet was neither seen nor heard. The man who heldout against the Church vanished away, and none knew whither he hadgone or what had befallen him. His wife and his children awaitedhim at home, but no father ever returned to tell them how he hadfared at the hands of his secret judges. A rash word or a hasty actwas followed by annihilation, and yet none knew what the naturemight be of this terrible power which was suspended over them. Nowonder that men went about in fear and trembling, and that even inthe heart of the wilderness they dared not whisper the doubts whichoppressed them.
At first this vague and terrible power was exercised only uponthe recalcitrants who, having embraced the Mormon faith, wishedafterwards to pervert or to abandon it. Soon, however, it took awider range. The supply of adult women was running short, andpolygamy without a female population on which to draw was a barrendoctrine indeed. Strange rumours began to be bandied about --rumours of murdered immigrants and rifled camps in regions whereIndians had never been seen. Fresh women appeared in the harems ofthe Elders -- women who pined and wept, and bore upon their facesthe traces of an unextinguishable horror. Belated wanderers uponthe mountains spoke of gangs of armed men, masked, stealthy, andnoiseless, who flitted by them in the darkness. These tales andrumours took substance and shape, and were corroborated andre-corroborated, until they resolved themselves into a definitename. To this day, in the lonely ranches of the West, the name ofthe Danite Band, or the Avenging Angels, is a sinister and anill-omened one.
Fuller knowledge of the organization which produced suchterrible results served to increase rather than to lessen thehorror which it inspired in the minds of men. None knew whobelonged to this ruthless society. The names of the participatorsin the deeds of blood and violence done under the name of religionwere kept profoundly secret. The very friend to whom youcommunicated your misgivings as to the Prophet and his mission,might be one of those who would come forth at night with fire andsword to exact a terrible reparation. Hence every man feared hisneighbour, and none spoke of the things which were nearest hisheart.
One fine morning, John Ferrier was about to set out to hiswheatfields, when he heard the click of the latch, and, lookingthrough the window, saw a stout, sandy-haired, middle-aged mancoming up the pathway. His heart leapt to his mouth, for this wasnone other than the great Brigham Young himself. Full oftrepidation -- for he knew that such a visit boded him little good-- Ferrier ran to the door to greet the Mormon chief. The latter,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 farmerkeenly from under his light-coloured eyelashes, "the true believershave been good friends to you. We picked you up when you werestarving in the desert, we shared our food with you, led you safeto the Chosen Valley, gave you a goodly share of land, and allowedyou to wax rich under our protection. Is not this so?"
"It is so," answered John Ferrier.
"In return for all this we asked but one condition: that was,that you should embrace the true faith, and conform in every way toits usages. This you promised to do, and this, if common reportsays truly, you have neglected."
"And how have I neglected it?" asked Ferrier, throwing out hishands in expostulation. "Have I not given to the common fund? HaveI not attended at the Temple? Have I not ----?"
"Where are your wives?" asked Young, looking round him. "Callthem in, that I may greet them."
"It is true that I have not married," Ferrier answered. "Butwomen were few, and there were many who had better claims than I. Iwas not a lonely man: I had my daughter to attend to my wants."
"It is of that daughter that I would speak to you," said theleader of the Mormons. "She has grown to be the flower of Utah, andhas found favour in the eyes of many who are high in the land."
John Ferrier groaned internally.
"There are stories of her which I would fain disbelieve --stories that she is sealed to some Gentile. This must be the gossipof idle tongues. What is the thirteenth rule in the code of thesainted Joseph Smith? `Let every maiden of the true faith marry oneof the elect; for if she wed a Gentile, she commits a grievoussin.' This being so, it is impossible that you, who profess theholy creed, should suffer your daughter to violate it."
John Ferrier made no answer, but he played nervously with hisriding-whip.
"Upon this one point your whole faith shall be tested -- so ithas been decided in the Sacred Council of Four. The girl is young,and we would not have her wed grey hairs, neither would we depriveher of all choice. We Elders have manyheifers,1 but our children must alsobe provided. Stangerson has a son, and Drebber has a son, andeither of them would gladly welcome your daughter to their house.Let her choose between them. They are young and rich, and of thetrue faith. What say you to that?"
Ferrier remained silent for some little time with his browsknitted.
"You will give us time," he said at last. "My daughter is veryyoung -- she is scarce of an age to marry."
"She shall have a month to choose," said Young, rising from hisseat. "At the end of that time she shall give her answer."
He was passing through the door, when he turned, with flushedface and flashing eyes. "It were better for you, John Ferrier," hethundered, "that you and she were now lying blanched skeletons uponthe Sierra Blanco, than that you should put your weak wills againstthe orders of the Holy Four!"
With a threatening gesture of his hand, he turned from the door,and Ferrier heard his heavy step scrunching along the shinglypath.
He was still sitting with his elbows upon his knees, consideringhow he should broach the matter to his daughter when a soft handwas laid upon his, and looking up, he saw her standing beside him.One glance at her pale, frightened face showed him that she hadheard what had passed.
"I could not help it," she said, in answer to his look. "Hisvoice rang through the house. Oh, father, father, what shall wedo?"
"Don't you scare yourself," he answered, drawing her to him, andpassing his broad, rough hand caressingly over her chestnut hair."We'll fix it up somehow or another. You don't find your fancy kindo' lessening for this chap, do you?"
A sob and a squeeze of his hand was her only answer.
"No; of course not. I shouldn't care to hear you say you did.He's a likely lad, and he's a Christian, which is more than thesefolk here, in spite o' all their praying and preaching. There's aparty starting for Nevada to-morrow, and I'll manage to send him amessage letting him know the hole we are in. If I know anything o'that young man, he'll be back here with a speed that would whipelectro-telegraphs."
Lucy laughed through her tears at her father's description.
"When he comes, he will advise us for the best. But it is foryou that I am frightened, dear. One hears -- one hears suchdreadful stories about those who oppose the Prophet: somethingterrible always happens to them."
"But we haven't opposed him yet," her father answered. "It willbe time to 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 ofUtah."
"Leave Utah!"
"That's about the size of it."
"But the farm?"
"We will raise as much as we can in money, and let the rest go.To tell the truth, Lucy, it isn't the first time I have thought ofdoing it. I don't care about knuckling under to any man, as thesefolk do to their darned prophet. I'm a free-born American, and it'sall new to me. Guess I'm too old to learn. If he comes browsingabout this farm, he might chance to run up against a charge ofbuckshot travelling in the opposite direction."
"But they won't let us leave," his daughter objected.
"Wait till Jefferson comes, and we'll soon manage that. In themeantime, don't you fret yourself, my dearie, and don't get youreyes swelled up, else he'll be walking into me when he sees you.There's nothing to be afeared about, and there's no danger atall."
John Ferrier uttered these consoling remarks in a very confidenttone, but she could not help observing that he paid unusual care tothe fastening of the doors that night, and that he carefullycleaned and loaded the rusty old shotgun which hung upon the wallof his bedroom.
CHAPTER IV. A FLIGHT FOR LIFE
ON the morning which followed his interview with the MormonProphet, John Ferrier went in to Salt Lake City, and having foundhis acquaintance, who was bound for the Nevada Mountains, heentrusted him with his message to Jefferson Hope. In it he told theyoung man of the imminent danger which threatened them, and hownecessary it was that he should return. Having done thus he felteasier in his mind, and returned home with a lighter heart.
As he approached his farm, he was surprised to see a horsehitched to each of the posts of the gate. Still more surprised washe on entering to find two young men in possession of hissitting-room. One, with a long pale face, was leaning back in therocking-chair, with his feet cocked up upon the stove. The other, abull-necked youth with coarse bloated features, was standing infront of the window with his hands in his pocket, whistling apopular hymn. Both of them nodded to Ferrier as he entered, and theone in the rocking-chair commenced the conversation.
"Maybe you don't know us," he said. "This here is the son ofElder Drebber, and I'm Joseph Stangerson, who travelled with you inthe desert when the Lord stretched out His hand and gathered youinto the true fold."
"As He will all the nations in His own good time," said theother in a nasal voice; "He grindeth slowly but exceedingsmall."
John Ferrier bowed coldly. He had guessed who his visitorswere.
"We have come," continued Stangerson, "at the advice of ourfathers to solicit the hand of your daughter for whichever of usmay seem good to you and to her. As I have but four wives andBrother Drebber here has seven, it appears to me that my claim isthe stronger one."
"Nay, nay, Brother Stangerson," cried the other; "the questionis not how many wives we have, but how many we can keep. My fatherhas now given over his mills to me, and I am the richer man."
"But my prospects are better," said the other, warmly. "When theLord removes my father, I shall have his tanning yard and hisleather factory. Then I am your elder, and am higher in theChurch."
"It will be for the maiden to decide," rejoined young Drebber,smirking at his own reflection in the glass. "We will leave it allto her decision."
During this dialogue, John Ferrier had stood fuming in thedoorway, hardly able to keep his riding-whip from the backs of histwo visitors.
"Look here," he said at last, striding up to them, "when mydaughter summons you, you can come, but until then I don't want tosee your faces again."
The two young Mormons stared at him in amazement. In their eyesthis competition between them for the maiden's hand was the highestof honours both to her and her father.
"There are two ways out of the room," cried Ferrier; "there isthe door, and there is the window. Which do you care to use?"
His brown face looked so savage, and his gaunt hands sothreatening, that his visitors sprang to their feet and beat ahurried retreat. The old farmer 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."You have defied the Prophet and the Council of Four. You shall rueit to the end of your days."
"The hand of the Lord shall be heavy upon you," cried youngDrebber; "He will arise and smite you!"
"Then I'll start the smiting," exclaimed Ferrier furiously, andwould have rushed upstairs for his gun had not Lucy seized him bythe arm and restrained him. Before he could escape from her, theclatter of horses' hoofs told him that they were beyond hisreach.
"The young canting rascals!" he exclaimed, wiping theperspiration from his forehead; "I would sooner see you in yourgrave, my girl, than the wife of either of them."
"And so should I, father," she answered, with spirit; "butJefferson will soon be here."
"Yes. It will not be long before he comes. The sooner thebetter, for we do not know what their next move may be."
It was, indeed, high time that someone capable of giving adviceand help should come to the aid of the sturdy old farmer and hisadopted daughter. In the whole history of the settlement there hadnever been such a case of rank disobedience to the authority of theElders. If minor errors were punished so sternly, what would be thefate of this arch rebel. Ferrier knew that his wealth and positionwould be of no avail to him. Others as well known and as rich ashimself had been spirited away before now, and their goods givenover to the Church. He was a brave man, but he trembled at thevague, shadowy terrors which hung over him. Any known danger hecould face with a firm lip, but this suspense was unnerving. Heconcealed his fears from his daughter, however, and affected tomake light of the whole matter, though she, with the keen eye oflove, saw plainly that he was ill at ease.
He expected that he would receive some message or remonstrancefrom Young as to his conduct, and he was not mistaken, though itcame in an unlooked-for manner. Upon rising next morning he found,to his surprise, a small square of paper pinned on to the coverletof his bed just over his chest. On it was printed, in boldstraggling letters:--
"Twenty-nine days are given you for amendment, and then----"
The dash was more fear-inspiring than any threat could havebeen. How this warning came into his room puzzled John Ferriersorely, for his servants slept in an outhouse, and the doors andwindows had all been secured. He crumpled the paper up and saidnothing to his daughter, but the incident struck a chill into hisheart. The twenty-nine days were evidently the balance of the monthwhich Young had promised. What strength or courage could availagainst an enemy armed with such mysterious powers? The hand whichfastened that pin might have struck him to the heart, and he couldnever have known who had slain him.
Still more shaken was he next morning. They had sat down totheir breakfast when Lucy with a cry of surprise pointed upwards.In the centre of the ceiling was scrawled, with a burned stickapparently, the number 28. To his daughter it was unintelligible,and he did not enlighten her. That night he sat up with his gun andkept watch and ward. He saw and he heard nothing, and yet in themorning a great 27 had been painted upon the outside of hisdoor.
Thus day followed day; and as sure as morning came he found thathis unseen enemies had kept their register, and had marked up insome conspicuous position how many days were still left to him outof the month of grace. Sometimes the fatal numbers appeared uponthe walls, sometimes upon the floors, occasionally they were onsmall placards stuck upon the garden gate or the railings. With allhis vigilance John Ferrier could not discover whence these dailywarnings proceeded. A horror which was almost superstitious cameupon him at the sight of them. He became haggard and restless, andhis eyes had the troubled look of some hunted creature. He had butone hope in life now, and that was for the arrival of the younghunter from Nevada.
Twenty had changed to fifteen and fifteen to ten, but there wasno news of the absentee. One by one the numbers dwindled down, andstill there came no sign of him. Whenever a horseman clattered downthe road, or a driver shouted at his team, the old farmer hurriedto the gate thinking that help had arrived at last. At last, whenhe saw five give way to four and that again to three, he lostheart, and abandoned all hope of escape. Single-handed, and withhis limited knowledge of the mountains which surrounded thesettlement, he knew that he was powerless. The more-frequentedroads were strictly watched and guarded, and none could pass alongthem without an order from the Council. Turn which way he would,there appeared to be no avoiding the blow which hung over him. Yetthe old man never wavered in his resolution to part with lifeitself before he consented to what he regarded as his daughter'sdishonour.
He was sitting alone one evening pondering deeply over histroubles, and searching vainly for some way out of them. Thatmorning had shown the figure 2 upon the wall of his house, and thenext day would be the last of the allotted time. What was to happenthen? All manner of vague and terrible fancies filled hisimagination. And his daughter -- what was to become of her after hewas gone? Was there no escape from the invisible network which wasdrawn all round them. He sank his head upon the table and sobbed atthe thought of his own impotence.
What was that? In the silence he heard a gentle scratching sound-- low, but very distinct in the quiet of the night. It came fromthe door of the house. Ferrier crept into the hall and listenedintently. There was a pause for a few moments, and then the lowinsidious sound was repeated. Someone was evidently tapping verygently upon one of the panels of the door. Was it some midnightassassin who had come to carry out the murderous orders of thesecret tribunal? Or was it some agent who was marking up that thelast day of grace had arrived. John Ferrier felt that instant deathwould be better than the suspense which shook his nerves andchilled his heart. Springing forward he drew the bolt and threw thedoor open.
Outside all was calm and quiet. The night was fine, and thestars were twinkling brightly overhead. The little front garden laybefore the farmer's eyes bounded by the fence and gate, but neitherthere nor on the road was any human being to be seen. With a sighof relief, Ferrier looked to right and to left, until happening toglance straight down at his own feet he saw to his astonishment aman lying flat upon his face upon the ground, with arms and legsall asprawl.
So unnerved was he at the sight that he leaned up against thewall with his hand to his throat to stifle his inclination to callout. His first thought was that the prostrate figure was that ofsome wounded or dying man, but as he watched it he saw it writhealong the ground and into the hall with the rapidity andnoiselessness of a serpent. Once within the house the man sprang tohis 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 timefor bite or sup for eight-and-forty hours." He flung himself uponthe {21} cold meat and bread which were still lying upon the tablefrom his host's supper, and devoured it voraciously. "Does Lucybear up well?" he asked, when he had 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 they're notquite sharp enough to catch a Washoe hunter."
John Ferrier felt a different man now that he realized that hehad a devoted ally. He seized the young man's leathery hand andwrung it cordially. "You're a man to be proud of," he said. "Thereare not many who would come to share our danger and ourtroubles."
"You've hit it there, pard," the young hunter answered. "I havea respect for you, but if you were alone in this business I'd thinktwice before I put my head into such a hornet's nest. It's Lucythat brings me here, and before harm comes on her I guess therewill be one less o' the Hope family in Utah."
"What are we to do?"
"To-morrow is your last day, and unless you act to-night you arelost. I have a mule and two horses waiting in the Eagle Ravine. Howmuch money 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 pushfor Carson City through the mountains. You had best wake Lucy. Itis as well that the servants do not sleep in the house."
While Ferrier was absent, preparing his daughter for theapproaching journey, Jefferson Hope packed all the eatables that hecould find into a small parcel, and filled a stoneware jar withwater, for he knew by experience that the mountain wells were fewand far between. He had hardly completed his arrangements beforethe farmer returned with his daughter all dressed and ready for astart. The greeting between the lovers was warm, but brief, forminutes were precious, and there was much to be done.
"We must make our start at once," said Jefferson Hope, speakingin a low but resolute voice, like one who realizes the greatness ofthe peril, but has steeled his heart to meet it. "The front andback entrances are watched, but with caution we may get awaythrough the side window and across the fields. Once on the road weare only two miles from the Ravine where the horses are waiting. Bydaybreak we should be half-way through the mountains."
"What if we are stopped," asked Ferrier.
Hope slapped the revolver butt which protruded from the front ofhis tunic. "If they are too many for us we shall take two or threeof them with us," he said with a sinister smile.
The lights inside the house had all been extinguished, and fromthe darkened window Ferrier peered over the fields which had beenhis own, and which he was now about to abandon for ever. He hadlong nerved himself to the sacrifice, however, and the thought ofthe honour and happiness of his daughter outweighed any regret athis ruined fortunes. All looked so peaceful and happy, the rustlingtrees and the broad silent stretch of grain-land, that it wasdifficult to realize that the spirit of murder lurked through itall. Yet the white face and set expression of the young huntershowed 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 hadthe scanty provisions and water, while Lucy had a small bundlecontaining a few of her more valued possessions. Opening the windowvery slowly and carefully, they waited until a dark cloud hadsomewhat obscured the night, and then one by one passed throughinto the little garden. With bated breath and crouching figuresthey stumbled across it, and gained the shelter of the hedge, whichthey skirted until they came to the gap which opened into thecornfields. They had just reached this point when the young manseized his two companions and dragged them down into the shadow,where they lay silent and trembling.
It was as well that his prairie training had given JeffersonHope the ears of a lynx. He and his friends had hardly croucheddown before the melancholy hooting of a mountain owl was heardwithin a few yards of them, which was immediately answered byanother hoot at a small distance. At the same moment a vagueshadowy figure emerged from the gap for which they had been making,and uttered the plaintive signal cry again, on which a second manappeared out of the obscurity.
"To-morrow at midnight," said the first who appeared to be inauthority. "When the Whip-poor-Will calls three times."
"It is well," returned the other. "Shall I tell BrotherDrebber?"
"Pass it on to him, and from him to the others. Nine toseven!"
"Seven to five!" repeated the other, and the two figures flittedaway in different directions. Their concluding words had evidentlybeen some form of sign and countersign. The instant that theirfootsteps had died away in the distance, Jefferson Hope sprang tohis feet, and helping his companions through the gap, led the wayacross the fields at the top of his speed, supporting andhalf-carrying the girl when her strength appeared to fail her.
"Hurry on! hurry on!" he gasped from time to time. "We arethrough the line of sentinels. Everything depends on speed. Hurryon!"
Once on the high road they made rapid progress. Only once didthey meet anyone, and then they managed to slip into a field, andso avoid recognition. Before reaching the town the hunter branchedaway into a rugged and narrow footpath which led to the mountains.Two dark jagged peaks loomed above them through the darkness, andthe defile which led between them was the Eagle Canon in which thehorses were awaiting them. With unerring instinct Jefferson Hopepicked his way among the great boulders and along the bed of adried-up watercourse, until he came to the retired corner, screenedwith rocks, where the faithful animals had been picketed. The girlwas placed upon the mule, and old Ferrier upon one of the horses,with his money-bag, while Jefferson Hope led the other along theprecipitous and dangerous path.
It was a bewildering route for anyone who was not accustomed toface Nature in her wildest moods. On the one side a great cragtowered up a thousand feet or more, black, stern, and menacing,with long basaltic columns upon its rugged surface like the ribs ofsome petrified monster. On the other hand a wild chaos of bouldersand debris made all advance impossible. Between the two ran theirregular track, so narrow in places that they had to travel inIndian file, and so rough that only practised riders could havetraversed it at all. Yet in spite of all dangers and difficulties,the hearts of the fugitives were light within them, for every stepincreased 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 andmost desolate portion of the pass when the girl gave a startledcry, and pointed upwards. On a rock which overlooked the track,showing out dark and plain against the sky, there stood a solitarysentinel. He saw them as soon as they perceived him, and hismilitary challenge of "Who goes there?" rang through the silentravine.
"Travellers for Nevada," said Jefferson Hope, with his hand uponthe rifle which hung by his saddle.
They could see the lonely watcher fingering his gun, and peeringdown at 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 couldrefer.
"Nine from seven," cried the sentinel.
"Seven from five," returned Jefferson Hope promptly, rememberingthe countersign which he had heard in the garden.
"Pass, and the Lord go with you," said the voice from above.Beyond his post the path broadened out, and the horses were able tobreak into a trot. Looking back, they could see the solitarywatcher leaning upon his gun, and knew that they had passed theoutlying post of the chosen people, and that freedom lay beforethem.
CHAPTER V. THE AVENGING ANGELS
ALL night their course lay through intricate defiles and overirregular and rock-strewn paths. More than once they lost theirway, but Hope's intimate knowledge of the mountains enabled them toregain the track once more. When morning broke, a scene ofmarvellous though savage beauty lay before them. In every directionthe great snow-capped peaks hemmed them in, peeping over eachother's shoulders to the far horizon. So steep were the rocky bankson either side of them, that the larch and the pine seemed to besuspended over their heads, and to need only a gust of wind to comehurtling down upon them. Nor was the fear entirely an illusion, forthe barren valley was thickly strewn with trees and boulders whichhad fallen in a similar manner. Even as they passed, a great rockcame thundering down with a hoarse rattle which woke the echoes inthe silent gorges, and startled the weary horses into a gallop.
As the sun rose slowly above the eastern horizon, the caps ofthe great mountains lit up one after the other, like lamps at afestival, until they were all ruddy and glowing. The magnificentspectacle cheered the hearts of the three fugitives and gave themfresh energy. At a wild torrent which swept out of a ravine theycalled a halt and watered their horses, while they partook of ahasty breakfast. Lucy and her father would fain have rested longer,but Jefferson Hope was inexorable. "They will be upon our track bythis time," he said. "Everything depends upon our speed. Once safein Carson we may rest for the remainder of our lives."
During the whole of that day they struggled on through thedefiles, and by evening they calculated that they were more thanthirty miles from their enemies. At night-time they chose the baseof a beetling crag, where the rocks offered some protection fromthe chill wind, and there huddled together for warmth, they enjoyeda few hours' sleep. Before daybreak, however, they were up and ontheir way once more. They had seen no signs of any pursuers, andJefferson Hope began to think that they were fairly out of thereach of the terrible organization whose enmity they had incurred.He little knew how far that iron grasp could reach, or how soon itwas to close upon them and crush them.
About the middle of the second day of their flight their scantystore of provisions began to run out. This gave the hunter littleuneasiness, however, for there was game to be had among themountains, and he had frequently before had to depend upon hisrifle for the needs of life. Choosing a sheltered nook, he piledtogether a few dried branches and made a blazing fire, at which hiscompanions might warm themselves, for they were now nearly fivethousand feet above the sea level, and the air was bitter and keen.Having tethered the horses, and bade Lucy adieu, he threw his gunover his shoulder, and set out in search of whatever chance mightthrow 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 back-ground. Then the intervening rocks hid themfrom his view.
He walked for a couple of miles through one ravine after anotherwithout success, though from the marks upon the bark of the trees,and other indications, he judged that there were numerous bears inthe vicinity. At last, after two or three hours' fruitless search,he was thinking of turning back in despair, when casting his eyesupwards he saw a sight which sent a thrill of pleasure through hisheart. On the edge of a jutting pinnacle, three or four hundredfeet above him, there stood a creature somewhat resembling a sheepin appearance, but armed with a pair of gigantic horns. Thebig-horn -- for so it is called -- was acting, probably, as aguardian over a flock which were invisible to the hunter; butfortunately it was heading in the opposite direction, and had notperceived him. Lying on his face, he rested his rifle upon a rock,and took a long and steady aim before drawing the trigger. Theanimal sprang into the air, tottered for a moment upon the edge ofthe precipice, and then came crashing down into the valleybeneath.
The creature was too unwieldy to lift, so the hunter contentedhimself with cutting away one haunch and part of the flank. Withthis trophy over his shoulder, he hastened to retrace his steps,for the evening was already drawing in. He had hardly started,however, before he realized the difficulty which faced him. In hiseagerness he had wandered far past the ravines which were known tohim, and it was no easy matter to pick out the path which he hadtaken. The valley in which he found himself divided and sub-dividedinto many gorges, which were so like each other that it wasimpossible to distinguish one from the other. He followed one for amile or more until he came to a mountain torrent which he was surethat he had never seen before. Convinced that he had taken thewrong turn, he tried another, but with the same result. Night wascoming on rapidly, and it was almost dark before he at last foundhimself in a defile which was familiar to him. Even then it was noeasy matter to keep to the right track, for the moon had not yetrisen, and the high cliffs on either side made the obscurity moreprofound. Weighed down with his burden, and weary from hisexertions, he stumbled along, keeping up his heart by thereflection that every step brought him nearer to Lucy, and that hecarried with him enough to ensure them food for the remainder oftheir journey.
He had now come to the mouth of the very defile in which he hadleft them. Even in the darkness he could recognize the outline ofthe cliffs which bounded it. They must, he reflected, be awaitinghim anxiously, for he had been absent nearly five hours. In thegladness of his heart he put his hands to his mouth and made theglen re-echo to a loud halloo as a signal that he was coming. Hepaused and listened for an answer. None came save his own cry,which clattered up the dreary silent ravines, and was borne back tohis ears in countless repetitions. Again he shouted, even louderthan before, and again no whisper came back from the friends whomhe had left such a short time ago. A vague, nameless dread cameover him, and he hurried onwards frantically, dropping the preciousfood in his agitation.
When he turned the corner, he came full in sight of the spotwhere the fire had been lit. There was still a glowing pile of woodashes there, but it had evidently not been tended since hisdeparture. The same dead silence still reigned all round. With hisfears all changed to convictions, he hurried on. There was noliving creature near the remains of the fire: animals, man, maiden,all were gone. It was only too clear that some sudden and terribledisaster had occurred during his absence -- a disaster which hadembraced them all, and yet had left no traces behind it.
Bewildered and stunned by this blow, Jefferson Hope felt hishead spin round, and had to lean upon his rifle to save himselffrom falling. He was essentially a man of action, however, andspeedily recovered from his temporary impotence. Seizing ahalf-consumed piece of wood from the smouldering fire, he blew itinto a flame, and proceeded with its help to examine the littlecamp. The ground was all stamped down by the feet of horses,showing that a large party of mounted men had overtaken thefugitives, and the direction of their tracks proved that they hadafterwards turned back to Salt Lake City. Had they carried backboth of his companions with them? Jefferson Hope had almostpersuaded himself that they must have done so, when his eye fellupon an object which made every nerve of his body tingle withinhim. A little way on one side of the camp was a low-lying heap ofreddish soil, which had assuredly not been there before. There wasno mistaking it for anything but a newly-dug grave. As the younghunter approached it, he perceived that a stick had been planted onit, with a sheet of paper stuck in the cleft fork of it. Theinscription upon the paper was brief, but to the point:
The sturdy old man, whom he had left so short a time before, wasgone, then, and this was all his epitaph. Jefferson Hope lookedwildly round to see if there was a second grave, but there was nosign of one. Lucy had been carried back by their terrible pursuersto fulfil her original destiny, by becoming one of the harem of theElder's son. As the young fellow realized the certainty of herfate, 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 whichsprings from despair. If there was nothing else left to him, hecould at least devote his life to revenge. With indomitablepatience and perseverance, Jefferson Hope possessed also a power ofsustained vindictiveness, which he may have learned from theIndians amongst whom he had lived. As he stood by the desolatefire, he felt that the only one thing which could assuage his griefwould be thorough and complete retribution, brought by his own handupon 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 havingstirred up the smouldering fire, he cooked enough to last him for afew days. This he made up into a bundle, and, tired as he was, heset himself to walk back through the mountains upon the track ofthe avenging angels.
For five days he toiled footsore and weary through the defileswhich he had already traversed on horseback. At night he flunghimself down among the rocks, and snatched a few hours of sleep;but before daybreak he was always well on his way. On the sixthday, he reached the Eagle Canon, from which they had commencedtheir ill-fated flight. Thence he could look down upon the home ofthe saints. Worn and exhausted, he leaned upon his rifle and shookhis gaunt hand fiercely at the silent widespread city beneath him.As he looked at it, he observed that there were flags in some ofthe principal streets, and other signs of festivity. He was stillspeculating as to what this might mean when he heard the clatter ofhorse's hoofs, and saw a mounted man riding towards him. As heapproached, he recognized him as a Mormon named Cowper, to whom hehad rendered services at different times. He therefore accosted himwhen he got up to him, with the object of finding out what LucyFerrier's fate had been.
"I am Jefferson Hope," he said. "You remember me."
The Mormon looked at him with undisguised astonishment --indeed, it was difficult to recognize in this tattered, unkemptwanderer, with ghastly white face and fierce, wild eyes, the spruceyoung hunter of former days. Having, however, at last, satisfiedhimself as to his identity, the man's surprise changed toconsternation.
"You are mad to come here," he cried. "It is as much as my ownlife is worth to be seen talking with you. There is a warrantagainst you from the Holy Four for assisting the Ferriersaway."
"I don't fear them, or their warrant," Hope said, earnestly."You must know something of this matter, Cowper. I conjure you byeverything you hold dear to answer a few questions. We have alwaysbeen friends. For God's sake, don't refuse to answer me."
"What is it?" the Mormon asked uneasily. "Be quick. The veryrocks have ears and the trees eyes."
"What has become of Lucy Ferrier?"
"She was married yesterday to young Drebber. Hold up, man, holdup, you have no life left in you."
"Don't mind me," said Hope faintly. He was white to the verylips, and had sunk down on the stone against which he had beenleaning. "Married, you say?"
"Married yesterday -- that's what those flags are for on theEndowment House. There was some words between young Drebber andyoung Stangerson as to which was to have her. They'd both been inthe party that followed them, and Stangerson had shot her father,which seemed to give him the best claim; but when they argued itout in council, Drebber's party was the stronger, so the Prophetgave her over to him. No one won't have her very long though, for Isaw death in her face yesterday. She is more like a ghost than awoman. Are you off, then?"
"Yes, I am off," said Jefferson Hope, who had risen from hisseat. His face might have been chiselled out of marble, so hard andset was its expression, while its eyes glowed with a balefullight.
"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 ofthe mountains to the haunts of the wild beasts. Amongst them allthere was none so fierce and so dangerous as himself.
The prediction of the Mormon was only too well fulfilled.Whether it was the terrible death of her father or the effects ofthe hateful marriage into which she had been forced, poor Lucynever held up her head again, but pined away and died within amonth. Her sottish husband, who had married her principally for thesake of John Ferrier's property, did not affect any great grief athis bereavement; but his other wives mourned over her, and sat upwith her the night before the burial, as is the Mormon custom. Theywere grouped round the bier in the early hours of the morning,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 hadonce contained the pure soul of Lucy Ferrier. Stooping over her, hepressed his lips reverently to her cold forehead, and then,snatching up her hand, he took the wedding-ring from her finger."She shall not be buried in that," he cried with a fierce snarl,and before an alarm could be raised sprang down the stairs and wasgone. So strange and so brief was the episode, that the watchersmight have found it hard to believe it themselves or persuade otherpeople of it, had it not been for the undeniable fact that thecirclet of gold which marked her as having been a bride haddisappeared.
For some months Jefferson Hope lingered among the mountains,leading a strange wild life, and nursing in his heart the fiercedesire for vengeance which possessed him. Tales were told in theCity of the weird figure which was seen prowling about the suburbs,and which haunted the lonely mountain gorges. Once a bulletwhistled through Stangerson's window and flattened itself upon thewall within a foot of him. On another occasion, as Drebber passedunder a cliff a great boulder crashed down on him, and he onlyescaped a terrible death by throwing himself upon his face. The twoyoung Mormons were not long in discovering the reason of theseattempts upon their lives, and led repeated expeditions into themountains in the hope of capturing or killing their enemy, butalways without success. Then they adopted the precaution of nevergoing out alone or after nightfall, and of having their housesguarded. After a time they were able to relax these measures, fornothing was either heard or seen of their opponent, and they hopedthat time had cooled his vindictiveness.
Far from doing so, it had, if anything, augmented it. Thehunter's mind was of a hard, unyielding nature, and the predominantidea of revenge had taken such complete possession of it that therewas no room for any other emotion. He was, however, above allthings practical. He soon realized that even his iron constitutioncould not stand the incessant strain which he was putting upon it.Exposure and want of wholesome food were wearing him out. If hedied like a dog among the mountains, what was to become of hisrevenge then? And yet such a death was sure to overtake him if hepersisted. He felt that that was to play his enemy's game, so hereluctantly returned to the old Nevada mines, there to recruit hishealth and to amass money enough to allow him to pursue his objectwithout privation.
His intention had been to be absent a year at the most, but acombination of unforeseen circumstances prevented his leaving themines for nearly five. At the end of that time, however, his memoryof his wrongs and his craving for revenge were quite as keen as onthat memorable night when he had stood by John Ferrier's grave.Disguised, and under an assumed name, he returned to Salt LakeCity, careless what became of his own life, as long as he obtainedwhat he knew to be justice. There he found evil tidings awaitinghim. There had been a schism among the Chosen People a few monthsbefore, some of the younger members of the Church having rebelledagainst the authority of the Elders, and the result had been thesecession of a certain number of the malcontents, who had left Utahand become Gentiles. Among these had been Drebber and Stangerson;and no one knew whither they had gone. Rumour reported that Drebberhad managed to convert a large part of his property into money, andthat 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 thoughtof revenge in the face of such a difficulty, but Jefferson Hopenever faltered for a moment. With the small competence hepossessed, eked out by such employment as he could pick up, hetravelled from town to town through the United States in quest ofhis enemies. Year passed into year, his black hair turned grizzled,but still he wandered on, a human bloodhound, with his mind whollyset upon the one object upon which he had devoted his life. At lasthis perseverance was rewarded. It was but a glance of a face in awindow, 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. Itchanced, however, that Drebber, looking from his window, hadrecognized the vagrant in the street, and had read murder in hiseyes. He hurried before a justice of the peace, accompanied byStangerson, who had become his private secretary, and representedto him that they were in danger of their lives from the jealousyand hatred of an old rival. That evening Jefferson Hope was takeninto custody, and not being able to find sureties, was detained forsome weeks. When at last he was liberated, it was only to find thatDrebber's house was deserted, and that he and his secretary haddeparted for Europe.
Again the avenger had been foiled, and again his concentratedhatred urged him to continue the pursuit. Funds were wanting,however, and for some time he had to return to work, saving everydollar for his approaching journey. At last, having collectedenough to keep life in him, he departed for Europe, and tracked hisenemies from city to city, working his way in any menial capacity,but never overtaking the fugitives. When he reached St. Petersburgthey had departed for Paris; and when he followed them there helearned that they had just set off for Copenhagen. At the Danishcapital he was again a few days late, for they had journeyed on toLondon, where he at last succeeded in running them to earth. As towhat occurred there, we cannot do better than quote the oldhunter's own account, as duly recorded in Dr. Watson's Journal, towhich we are already under such obligations.
CHAPTER VI. A CONTINUATION OF THE REMINISCENCES OF JOHNWATSON, M.D.
OUR prisoner's furious resistance did not apparently indicateany ferocity in his disposition towards ourselves, for on findinghimself powerless, he smiled in an affable manner, and expressedhis hopes that he had not hurt any of us in the scuffle. "I guessyou're going to take me to the police-station," he remarked toSherlock Holmes. "My cab's at the door. If you'll loose my legsI'll walk down to it. I'm not so light to lift as I used tobe."
Gregson and Lestrade exchanged glances as if they thought thisproposition rather a bold one; but Holmes at once took the prisonerat his word, and loosened the towel which we had bound round hisancles. {23} He rose and stretched his legs, as though to assurehimself that they were free once more. I remember that I thought tomyself, as I eyed him, that I had seldom seen a more powerfullybuilt man; and his dark sunburned face bore an expression ofdetermination and energy which was as formidable as his personalstrength.
"If there's a vacant place for a chief of the police, I reckonyou are the man for it," he said, gazing with undisguisedadmiration at my fellow-lodger. "The way you kept on my trail was acaution."
"You had better come with me," said Holmes to the twodetectives.
"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 tous."
I assented gladly, and we all descended together. Our prisonermade no attempt at escape, but stepped calmly into the cab whichhad been his, and we followed him. Lestrade mounted the box,whipped up the horse, and brought us in a very short time to ourdestination. We were ushered into a small chamber where a policeInspector noted down our prisoner's name and the names of the menwith whose murder he had been charged. The official was awhite-faced unemotional man, who went through his duties in a dullmechanical way. "The prisoner will be put before the magistrates inthe course of the week," he said; "in the mean time, Mr. JeffersonHope, have you anything that you wish to say? I must warn you thatyour words will be taken down, and may be used against you."
"I've got a good deal to say," our prisoner said slowly. "I wantto tell you gentlemen all about it."
"Hadn't you better reserve that for your trial?" asked theInspector.
"I may never be tried," he answered. "You needn't look startled.It isn't suicide I am thinking of. Are you a Doctor?" He turned hisfierce dark eyes upon me as he asked this last question.
"Yes; I am," I answered.
"Then put your hand here," he said, with a smile, motioning withhis manacled wrists towards his chest.
I did so; and became at once conscious of an extraordinarythrobbing and commotion which was going on inside. The walls of hischest seemed to thrill and quiver as a frail building would doinside when some powerful engine was at work. In the silence of theroom I could hear a dull humming and buzzing noise which proceededfrom the same source.
"Why," I cried, "you have an aortic aneurism!"
"That's what they call it," he said, placidly. "I went to aDoctor last week about it, and he told me that it is bound to burstbefore many days passed. It has been getting worse for years. I gotit from over-exposure and under-feeding among the Salt LakeMountains. I've done my work now, and I don't care how soon I go,but I should like to leave some account of the business behind me.I don't want to be remembered as a common cut-throat."
The Inspector and the two detectives had a hurried discussion asto the advisability of allowing him to tell his story.
"Do you consider, Doctor, that there is immediate danger?" theformer asked, {24}
"Most certainly there is," I answered.
"In that case it is clearly our duty, in the interests ofjustice, to take his statement," said the Inspector. "You are atliberty, sir, to give your account, which I again warn you will betaken down."
"I'll sit down, with your leave," the prisoner said, suiting theaction to the word. "This aneurism of mine makes me easily tired,and the tussle we had half an hour ago has not mended matters. I'mon the brink of the grave, and I am not likely to lie to you. Everyword I say is the absolute truth, and how you use it is a matter ofno consequence to me."
With these words, Jefferson Hope leaned back in his chair andbegan the following remarkable statement. He spoke in a calm andmethodical manner, as though the events which he narrated werecommonplace enough. I can vouch for the accuracy of the subjoinedaccount, for I have had access to Lestrade's note-book, in whichthe prisoner's words were taken down exactly as they wereuttered.
"It don't much matter to you why I hated these men," he said;"it's enough that they were guilty of the death of two human beings-- a father and a daughter -- and that they had, therefore,forfeited their own lives. After the lapse of time that has passedsince their crime, it was impossible for me to secure a convictionagainst them in any court. I knew of their guilt though, and Idetermined that I should be judge, jury, and executioner all rolledinto one. You'd have done the same, if you have any manhood in you,if you had been in my place.
"That girl that I spoke of was to have married me twenty yearsago. She was forced into marrying that same Drebber, and broke herheart over it. I took the marriage ring from her dead finger, and Ivowed that his dying eyes should rest upon that very ring, and thathis last thoughts should be of the crime for which he was punished.I have carried it about with me, and have followed him and hisaccomplice over two continents until I caught them. They thought totire me out, but they could not do it. If I die to-morrow, as islikely enough, I die knowing that my work in this world is done,and well done. They have perished, and by my hand. There is nothingleft for me to hope for, or to desire.
"They were rich and I was poor, so that it was no easy matterfor me to follow them. When I got to London my pocket was aboutempty, and I found that I must turn my hand to something for myliving. Driving and riding are as natural to me as walking, so Iapplied at a cabowner's office, and soon got employment. I was tobring a certain sum a week to the owner, and whatever was over thatI might keep for myself. There was seldom much over, but I managedto scrape along somehow. The hardest job was to learn my way about,for I reckon that of all the mazes that ever were contrived, thiscity is the most confusing. I had a map beside me though, and whenonce I had spotted the principal hotels and stations, I got onpretty well.
"It was some time before I found out where my two gentlemen wereliving; but I inquired and inquired until at last I dropped acrossthem. They were at a boarding-house at Camberwell, over on theother side of the river. When once I found them out I knew that Ihad them at my mercy. I had grown my beard, and there was no chanceof their recognizing me. I would dog them and follow them until Isaw my opportunity. I was determined that they should not escape meagain.
"They were very near doing it for all that. Go where they wouldabout London, I was always at their heels. Sometimes I followedthem on my cab, and sometimes on foot, but the former was the best,for then they could not get away from me. It was only early in themorning or late at night that I could earn anything, so that Ibegan to get behind hand with my employer. I did not mind that,however, as long as I could lay my hand upon the men I wanted.
"They were very cunning, though. They must have thought thatthere was some chance of their being followed, for they would nevergo out alone, and never after nightfall. During two weeks I drovebehind them every day, and never once saw them separate. Drebberhimself was drunk half the time, but Stangerson was not to becaught napping. I watched them late and early, but never saw theghost of a chance; but I was not discouraged, for something told methat the hour had almost come. My only fear was that this thing inmy chest might burst a little too soon and leave my workundone.
"At last, one evening I was driving up and down Torquay Terrace,as the street was called in which they boarded, when I saw a cabdrive up to their door. Presently some luggage was brought out, andafter a time Drebber and Stangerson followed it, and drove off. Iwhipped up my horse and kept within sight of them, feeling very illat ease, for I feared that 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. I heard them ask for theLiverpool train, and the guard answer that one had just gone andthere would not be another for some hours. Stangerson seemed to beput out at that, but Drebber was rather pleased than otherwise. Igot so close to them in the bustle that I could hear every wordthat passed between them. Drebber said that he had a littlebusiness of his own to do, and that if the other would wait for himhe would soon rejoin him. His companion remonstrated with him, andreminded him that they had resolved to stick together. Drebberanswered that the matter was a delicate one, and that he must goalone. I could not catch what Stangerson said to that, but theother burst out swearing, and reminded him that he was nothing morethan his paid servant, and that he must not presume to dictate tohim. On that the Secretary gave it up as a bad job, and simplybargained with him that if he missed the last train he shouldrejoin him at Halliday's Private Hotel; to which Drebber answeredthat he would be back on the platform before eleven, and made hisway out of the station.
"The moment for which I had waited so long had at last come. Ihad my enemies within my power. Together they could protect eachother, but singly they were at my mercy. I did not act, however,with undue precipitation. My plans were already formed. There is nosatisfaction in vengeance unless the offender has time to realizewho it is that strikes him, and why retribution has come upon him.I had my plans arranged by which I should have the opportunity ofmaking the man who had wronged me understand that his old sin hadfound him out. It chanced that some days before a gentleman who hadbeen engaged in looking over some houses in the Brixton Road haddropped the key of one of them in my carriage. It was claimed thatsame evening, and returned; but in the interval I had taken amoulding of it, and had a duplicate constructed. By means of this Ihad access to at least one spot in this great city where I couldrely 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 cameout he staggered in his walk, and was evidently pretty well on.There was a hansom just in front of me, and he hailed it. Ifollowed it so close that the nose of my horse was within a yard ofhis driver the whole way. We rattled across Waterloo Bridge andthrough miles of streets, until, to my astonishment, we foundourselves back in the Terrace in which he had boarded. I could notimagine what his intention was in returning there; but I went onand 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, ifyou please. My mouth gets dry with the talking."
I handed him the glass, and he drank it down.
"That's better," he said. "Well, I waited for a quarter of anhour, or more, when suddenly there came a noise like peoplestruggling inside the house. Next moment the door was flung openand two men appeared, one of whom was Drebber, and the other was ayoung chap whom I had never seen before. This fellow had Drebber bythe collar, and when they came to the head of the steps he gave hima shove and a kick which sent him half across the road. `Youhound,' he cried, shaking his stick at him; `I'll teach you toinsult an honest girl!' He was so hot that I think he would havethrashed Drebber with his cudgel, only that the cur staggered awaydown the road as fast as his legs would carry him. He ran as far asthe corner, and then, seeing my cab, he hailed me and jumped in.`Drive me to Halliday's Private Hotel,' said he.
"When I had him fairly inside my cab, my heart jumped so withjoy that I feared lest at this last moment my aneurism might gowrong. I drove along slowly, weighing in my own mind what it wasbest to do. I might take him right out into the country, and therein some deserted lane have my last interview with him. I had almostdecided upon this, when he solved the problem for me. The craze fordrink had seized him again, and he ordered me to pull up outside agin palace. He went in, leaving word that I should wait for him.There he remained until closing time, and when he came out he wasso far gone that I knew the game was in my own hands.
"Don't imagine that I intended to kill him in cold blood. Itwould only have been rigid justice if I had done so, but I couldnot bring myself to do it. I had long determined that he shouldhave a show for his life if he chose to take advantage of it. Amongthe many billets which I have filled in America during my wanderinglife, I was once janitor and sweeper out of the laboratory at YorkCollege. One day the professor was lecturing on poisions, {25} andhe showed his students some alkaloid, as he called it, which he hadextracted from some South American arrow poison, and which was sopowerful that the least grain meant instant death. I spotted thebottle in which this preparation was kept, and when they were allgone, I helped myself to a little of it. I was a fairly gooddispenser, so I worked this alkaloid into small, soluble pills, andeach pill I put in a box with a similar pill made without thepoison. I determined at the time that when I had my chance, mygentlemen should each have a draw out of one of these boxes, whileI ate the pill that remained. It would be quite as deadly, and agood deal less noisy than firing across a handkerchief. From thatday I had always my pill boxes about with me, and the time had nowcome when I was to use them.
"It was nearer one than twelve, and a wild, bleak night, blowinghard and raining in torrents. Dismal as it was outside, I was gladwithin -- so glad that I could have shouted out from pureexultation. If any of you gentlemen have ever pined for a thing,and longed for it during twenty long years, and then suddenly foundit within your reach, you would understand my feelings. I lit acigar, and puffed at it to steady my nerves, but my hands weretrembling, and my temples throbbing with excitement. As I drove, Icould see old John Ferrier and sweet Lucy looking at me out of thedarkness 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 thehorse until 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 the dripping of the rain. When I looked in at the window, Ifound Drebber all huddled together in a drunken sleep. I shook himby the arm, `It's time to get out,' I said.
"`All right, cabby,' said he.
"I suppose he thought we had come to the hotel that he hadmentioned, for he got out without another word, and followed medown the garden. I had to walk beside him to keep him steady, forhe was still a little top-heavy. When we came to the door, I openedit, and led him into the front room. I give you my word that allthe way, the father and the daughter were walking in front ofus.
"`It's infernally dark,' said he, stamping about.
"`We'll soon have a light,' I said, striking a match and puttingit to a wax candle which I had brought with me. `Now, EnochDrebber,' I continued, turning to him, and holding the light to myown face, `who am I?'
"He gazed at me with bleared, drunken eyes for a moment, andthen I saw a horror spring up in them, and convulse his wholefeatures, which showed me that he knew me. He staggered back with alivid face, and I saw the perspiration break out upon his brow,while his teeth chattered in his head. At the sight, I leaned myback against the door and laughed loud and long. I had always knownthat vengeance would be sweet, but I had never hoped for thecontentment of soul which now possessed me.
"`You dog!' I said; `I have hunted you from Salt Lake City toSt. Petersburg, and you have always escaped me. Now, at last yourwanderings have come to an end, for either you or I shall never seeto-morrow's sun rise.' He shrunk still further away as I spoke, andI could see on his face that he thought I was mad. So I was for thetime. The pulses in my temples beat like sledge-hammers, and Ibelieve I would have had a fit of some sort if the blood had notgushed from my nose and relieved me.
"`What do you think of Lucy Ferrier now?' I cried, locking thedoor, and shaking the key in his face. `Punishment has been slow incoming, but it has overtaken you at last.' I saw his coward lipstremble as I spoke. He would have begged for his life, but he knewwell 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,thrusting the box before him. `Let the high God judge between us.Choose and eat. There is death in one and life in the other. Ishall take what you leave. Let us see if there is justice upon theearth, or if we are ruled by chance.'
"He cowered away with wild cries and prayers for mercy, but Idrew my knife and held it to his throat until he had obeyed me.Then I swallowed the other, and we stood facing one another insilence for a minute or more, waiting to see which was to live andwhich was to die. Shall I ever forget the look which came over hisface when the first warning pangs told him that the poison was inhis system? I laughed as I saw it, and held Lucy's marriage ring infront of his eyes. It was but for a moment, for the action of thealkaloid is rapid. A spasm of pain contorted his features; he threwhis hands out in front of him, staggered, and then, with a hoarsecry, fell heavily upon the floor. I turned him over with my foot,and placed my hand upon his heart. There was no movement. He wasdead!
"The blood had been streaming from my nose, but I had taken nonotice of it. I don't know what it was that put it into my head towrite upon the wall with it. Perhaps it was some mischievous ideaof setting the police upon a wrong track, for I felt light-heartedand cheerful. I remembered a German being found in New York withRACHE written up above him, and it was argued at the time in thenewspapers that the secret societies must have done it. I guessedthat what puzzled the New Yorkers would puzzle the Londoners, so Idipped my finger in my own blood and printed it on a convenientplace on the wall. Then I walked down to my cab and found thatthere was nobody about, and that the night was still very wild. Ihad driven some distance when I put my hand into the pocket inwhich I usually kept Lucy's ring, and found that it was not there.I was thunderstruck at this, for it was the only memento that I hadof her. Thinking that I might have dropped it when I stooped overDrebber's body, I drove back, and leaving my cab in a side street,I went boldly up to the house -- for I was ready to dare anythingrather than lose the ring. When I arrived there, I walked rightinto the arms of a police-officer who was coming out, and onlymanaged to disarm his suspicions by pretending to be hopelesslydrunk.
"That was how Enoch Drebber came to his end. All I had to dothen was to do as much for Stangerson, and so pay off JohnFerrier's debt. I knew that he was staying at Halliday's PrivateHotel, and I hung about all day, but he never came out. {26} fancythat he suspected something when Drebber failed to put in anappearance. He was cunning, was Stangerson, and always on hisguard. If he thought he could keep me off by staying indoors he wasvery much mistaken. I soon found out which was the window of hisbedroom, and early next morning I took advantage of some ladderswhich were lying in the lane behind the hotel, and so made my wayinto his room in the grey of the dawn. I woke him up and told himthat the hour had come when he was to answer for the life he hadtaken so long before. I described Drebber's death to him, and Igave him the same choice of the poisoned pills. Instead of graspingat the chance of safety which that offered him, he sprang from hisbed and flew at my throat. In self-defence I stabbed him to theheart. It would have been the same in any case, for Providencewould never have allowed his guilty hand to pick out anything butthe poison.
"I have little more to say, and it's as well, for I am aboutdone up. I went on cabbing it for a day or so, intending to keep atit until I could save enough to take me back to America. I wasstanding in the yard when a ragged youngster asked if there was acabby there called Jefferson Hope, and said that his cab was wantedby a gentleman at 221B, Baker Street. I went round, suspecting noharm, and the next thing I knew, this young man here had thebracelets on my wrists, and as neatly snackled {27} as ever I sawin my life. That's the whole of my story, gentlemen. You mayconsider me to be a murderer; but I hold that I am just as much anofficer of justice as you are."
So thrilling had the man's narrative been, and his manner was soimpressive that we had sat silent and absorbed. Even theprofessional detectives,blase {28} as they were in everydetail of crime, appeared to be keenly interested in the man'sstory. When he finished we sat for some minutes in a stillnesswhich was only broken by the scratching of Lestrade's pencil as hegave the finishing touches to his shorthand account.
"There is only one point on which I should like a little moreinformation," Sherlock Holmes said at last. "Who was youraccomplice who came for the ring which I advertised?"
The prisoner winked at my friend jocosely. "I can tell my ownsecrets," he said, "but I don't get other people into trouble. Isaw your advertisement, and I thought it might be a plant, or itmight be the ring which I wanted. My friend volunteered to go andsee. I think you'll own he did it smartly."
"Not a doubt of that," said Holmes heartily.
"Now, gentlemen," the Inspector remarked gravely, "the forms ofthe law must be complied with. On Thursday the prisoner will bebrought before the magistrates, and your attendance will berequired. Until then I will be responsible for him." He rang thebell as he spoke, and Jefferson Hope was led off by a couple ofwarders, while my friend and I made our way out of the Station andtook a cab back to Baker Street.
CHAPTER VII. THE CONCLUSION
WE 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, andJefferson Hope had been summoned before a tribunal where strictjustice would be meted out to him. On the very night after hiscapture the aneurism burst, and he was found in the morningstretched upon the floor of the cell, with a placid smile upon hisface, as though he had been able in his dying moments to look backupon 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 theirgrand advertisement be now?"
"I don't see that they had very much to do with his capture," Ianswered.
"What you do in this world is a matter of no consequence,"returned my companion, bitterly. "The question is, what can youmake people believe that you have done. Never mind," he continued,more brightly, after a pause. "I would not have missed theinvestigation for anything. There has been no better case within myrecollection. Simple as it was, there were several most instructivepoints about it."
"Simple!" I ejaculated.
"Well, really, it can hardly be described as otherwise," saidSherlock Holmes, smiling at my surprise. "The proof of itsintrinsic simplicity is, that without any help save a few veryordinary deductions I was able to lay my hand upon the criminalwithin three days."
"That is true," said I.
"I have already explained to you that what is out of the commonis usually a guide rather than a hindrance. In solving a problem ofthis sort, the grand thing is to be able to reason backwards. Thatis a very useful accomplishment, and a very easy one, but people donot practise it much. In the every-day affairs of life it is moreuseful to reason forwards, and so the other comes to be neglected.There are fifty who can reason synthetically for one who can reasonanalytically."
"I confess," said I, "that I do not quite follow you."
"I hardly expected that you would. Let me see if I can make itclearer. Most people, if you describe a train of events to them,will tell you what the result would be. They can put those eventstogether in their minds, and argue from them that something willcome to pass. There are few people, however, who, if you told thema result, would be able to evolve from their own innerconsciousness what the steps were which led up to that result. Thispower is what I mean when I talk of reasoning backwards, oranalytically."
"I understand," said I.
"Now this was a case in which you were given the result and hadto find everything else for yourself. Now let me endeavour to showyou the different steps in my reasoning. To begin at the beginning.I approached the house, as you know, on foot, and with my mindentirely free from all impressions. I naturally began by examiningthe roadway, and there, as I have already explained to you, I sawclearly the marks of a cab, which, I ascertained by inquiry, musthave been there during the night. I satisfied myself that it was acab and not a private carriage by the narrow gauge of the wheels.The ordinary London growler is considerably less wide than agentleman's brougham.
"This was the first point gained. I then walked slowly down thegarden path, which happened to be composed of a clay soil,peculiarly suitable for taking impressions. No doubt it appeared toyou to be a mere trampled line of slush, but to my trained eyesevery mark upon its surface had a meaning. There is no branch ofdetective science which is so important and so much neglected asthe art of tracing footsteps. Happily, I have always laid greatstress upon it, and much practice has made it second nature to me.I saw the heavy footmarks of the constables, but I saw also thetrack of the two men who had first passed through the garden. Itwas easy to tell that they had been before the others, because inplaces their marks had been entirely obliterated by the otherscoming upon the top of them. In this way my second link was formed,which told me that the nocturnal visitors were two in number, oneremarkable for his height (as I calculated from the length of hisstride), and the other fashionably dressed, to judge from the smalland elegant impression left by his boots.
"On entering the house this last inference was confirmed. Mywell-booted man lay before me. The tall one, then, had done themurder, if murder there was. There was no wound upon the dead man'sperson, but the agitated expression upon his face assured me thathe had foreseen his fate before it came upon him. Men who die fromheart disease, or any sudden natural cause, never by any chanceexhibit agitation upon their features. Having sniffed the deadman's lips I detected a slightly sour smell, and I came to theconclusion that he had had poison forced upon him. Again, I arguedthat it had been forced upon him from the hatred and fear expressedupon his face. By the method of exclusion, I had arrived at thisresult, for no other hypothesis would meet the facts. Do notimagine that it was a very unheard of idea. The forcibleadministration of poison is by no means a new thing in criminalannals. The cases of Dolsky in Odessa, and of Leturier inMontpellier, will occur at once to any toxicologist.
"And now came the great question as to the reason why. Robberyhad not been the object of the murder, for nothing was taken. Wasit politics, then, or was it a woman? That was the question whichconfronted me. I was inclined from the first to the lattersupposition. Political assassins are only too glad to do their workand to fly. This murder had, on the contrary, been done mostdeliberately, and the perpetrator had left his tracks all over theroom, showing that he had been there all the time. It must havebeen a private wrong, and not a political one, which called forsuch a methodical revenge. When the inscription was discovered uponthe wall I was more inclined than ever to my opinion. The thing wastoo evidently a blind. When the ring was found, however, it settledthe question. Clearly the murderer had used it to remind his victimof some dead or absent woman. It was at this point that I askedGregson whether he had enquired in his telegram to Cleveland as toany particular point in Mr. Drebber's former career. He answered,you remember, in the negative.
"I then proceeded to make a careful examination of the room,which confirmed me in my opinion as to the murderer's height, andfurnished me with the additional details as to the Trichinopolycigar and the length of his nails. I had already come to theconclusion, since there were no signs of a struggle, that the bloodwhich covered the floor had burst from the murderer's nose in hisexcitement. I could perceive that the track of blood coincided withthe track of his feet. It is seldom that any man, unless he is veryfull-blooded, breaks out in this way through emotion, so I hazardedthe opinion that the criminal was probably a robust and ruddy-facedman. Events proved that I had judged correctly.
"Having left the house, I proceeded to do what Gregson hadneglected. I telegraphed to the head of the police at Cleveland,limiting my enquiry to the circumstances connected with themarriage of Enoch Drebber. The answer was conclusive. It told methat Drebber had already applied for the protection of the lawagainst an old rival in love, named Jefferson Hope, and that thissame Hope was at present in Europe. I knew now that I held the clueto the mystery in my hand, and all that remained was to secure themurderer.
"I had already determined in my own mind that the man who hadwalked into the house with Drebber, was none other than the man whohad driven the cab. The marks in the road showed me that the horsehad wandered on in a way which would have been impossible had therebeen anyone in charge of it. Where, then, could the driver be,unless he were inside the house? Again, it is absurd to supposethat any sane man would carry out a deliberate crime under the veryeyes, as it were, of a third person, who was sure to betray him.Lastly, supposing one man wished to dog another through London,what better means could he adopt than to turn cabdriver. All theseconsiderations led me to the irresistible conclusion that JeffersonHope was to be found among the jarveys of the Metropolis.
"If he had been one there was no reason to believe that he hadceased to be. On the contrary, from his point of view, any suddenchance would be likely to draw attention to himself. He would,probably, for a time at least, continue to perform his duties.There was no reason to suppose that he was going under an assumedname. Why should he change his name in a country where no one knewhis original one? I therefore organized my Street Arab detectivecorps, and sent them systematically to every cab proprietor inLondon until they ferreted out the man that I wanted. How well theysucceeded, and how quickly I took advantage of it, are still freshin your recollection. The murder of Stangerson was an incidentwhich was entirely unexpected, but which could hardly in any casehave been prevented. Through it, as you know, I came intopossession of the pills, the existence of which I had alreadysurmised. You see the whole thing is a chain of logical sequenceswithout a break or flaw."
"It is wonderful!" I cried. "Your merits should be publiclyrecognized. You should publish an account of the case. If youwon't, 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!"
It was theEcho for the day, and the paragraph to whichhe pointed was devoted to the case in question.
"The public," it said, "have lost a sensational treat throughthe sudden death of the man Hope, who was suspected of the murderof Mr. Enoch Drebber and of Mr. Joseph Stangerson. The details ofthe case will probably be never known now, though we are informedupon good authority that the crime was the result of an oldstanding and romantic feud, in which love and Mormonism bore apart. It seems that both the victims belonged, in their youngerdays, to the Latter Day Saints, and Hope, the deceased prisoner,hails also from Salt Lake City. If the case has had no othereffect, it, at least, brings out in the most striking manner theefficiency of our detective police force, and will serve as alesson to all foreigners that they will do wisely to settle theirfeuds at home, and not to carry them on to British soil. It is anopen secret that the credit of this smart capture belongs entirelyto the well-known Scotland Yard officials, Messrs. Lestrade andGregson. The man was apprehended, it appears, in the rooms of acertain Mr. Sherlock Holmes, who has himself, as an amateur, shownsome talent in the detective line, and who, with such instructors,may hope in time to attain to some degree of their skill. It isexpected that a testimonial of some sort will be presented to thetwo officers as a fitting recognition of their services."
"Didn't I tell you so when we started?" cried Sherlock Holmeswith a laugh. "That's the result of all our Study in Scarlet: toget them a testimonial!"
"Never mind," I answered, "I have all the facts in my journal,and the public shall know them. In the meantime you must makeyourself contented by the consciousness of success, like the Romanmiser --
1 Heber C. Kemball, in one of his sermons, alludes tohis hundred wives underthis endearingepithet.
{1} {Frontispiece, with the caption: "He examined with his glassthe word upon the wall, going over every letter of it with the mostminute exactness." (Page 23.)}
{2} {"JOHN H. WATSON, M.D.": the initial letters in the name arecapitalized, the other letters in small caps. All chapter titlesare in small caps. The initial words of chapters are in small capswith first letter capitalized.}
{3} {"lodgings.": the period should be a comma, as in latereditions.}
{4} {"hoemoglobin": should be haemoglobin. The o&e areconcatenated.}
{5} {"221B": the B is in small caps}
{6} {"THE LAURISTON GARDEN MYSTERY": the table-of-contents liststhis chapter as "...GARDENS MYSTERY" -- plural, and probably morecorrect.}
{7} {"brought."": the text has an extra double-quote mark}
{8} {"individual --": illustration this page, with the caption:"As he spoke, his nimble fingers were flying here, there, andeverywhere."}
{9} {"manoeuvres": the o&e are concatenated.}
{10} {"Patent leathers": the hyphen is missing.}
{11} {"condonment": should be condonement.}
{12} {"Boheme": the first "e" has a backward accent (\) aboveit.}
{13} {"wages.": ending quote is missing.}
{14} {"the first.": ending quote is missing.}
{15} {"make much of...": Other editions complete this sentencewith an "it." But there is a gap in the text at this point, and,given the context, it may have actually been an interjection, adash. The gap is just the right size for the characters "it." andthe start of a new sentence, or for a "----"}
{16} {"tho cushion": "tho" should be "the"}
{17} {"outre": the e has a forward accent (/) aboveit.}
{18} {"canons": the first n has a tilde above it, as do allother occurrences of this word.}
{19} {"shoving": later editions have "showing". The original isclearly superior.}
{20} {"stared about...": illustration, with the caption: "One ofthem seized the little girl, and hoisted her upon hisshoulder."}
{21} {"upon the": illustration, with the caption: "As he watchedit he saw it writhe along the ground."}
{22} {"FORMERLY...": F,S,L,C in caps, other letters in this linein small caps.}
{23} {"ancles": ankles.}
{24} {"asked,": should be "asked."}
{25} {"poisions": should be "poisons"}
{26} {"...fancy": should be "I fancy". There is a gap in thetext.}
{27} {"snackled": "shackled" in later texts.}
{28} {"blase": the e has a forward accent (/) aboveit.}
THE SIGN OF THE FOUR
CHAPTER I. THE SCIENCE OF DEDUCTION
Sherlock Holmes took his bottle from the corner of themantelpiece and his hypodermic syringe from its neat morocco case.With his long, white, nervous fingers he adjusted the delicateneedle, and rolled back his left shirt-cuff. For some little timehis eyes rested thoughtfully upon the sinewy forearm and wrist alldotted and scarred with innumerable puncture-marks. Finally hethrust the sharp point home, pressed down the tiny piston, and sankback into the velvet-lined arm-chair with a long sigh ofsatisfaction.
Three times a day for many months I had witnessed thisperformance, but custom had not reconciled my mind to it. On thecontrary, from day to day I had become more irritable at the sight,and my conscience swelled nightly within me at the thought that Ihad lacked the courage to protest. Again and again I had registereda vow that I should deliver my soul upon the subject, but there wasthat in the cool, nonchalant air of my companion which made him thelast man with whom one would care to take anything approaching to aliberty. His great powers, his masterly manner, and the experiencewhich I had had of his many extraordinary qualities, all made mediffident and backward in crossing him.
Yet upon that afternoon, whether it was the Beaune which I hadtaken with my lunch, or the additional exasperation produced by theextreme deliberation of his manner, I suddenly felt that I couldhold out no longer.
"Which is it to-day?" I asked,--"morphine or cocaine?"
He raised his eyes languidly from the old black-letter volumewhich he had opened. "It is cocaine," he said,--"a seven-percent.solution. Would you care to try it?"
"No, indeed," I answered, brusquely. "My constitution has notgot over the Afghan campaign yet. I cannot afford to throw anyextra strain upon it."
He smiled at my vehemence. "Perhaps you are right, Watson," hesaid. "I suppose that its influence is physically a bad one. I findit, however, so transcendently stimulating and clarifying to themind that its secondary action is a matter of small moment."
"But consider!" I said, earnestly. "Count the cost! Your brainmay, as you say, be roused and excited, but it is a pathologicaland morbid process, which involves increased tissue-change and mayat last leave a permanent weakness. You know, too, what a blackreaction comes upon you. Surely the game is hardly worth thecandle. Why should you, for a mere passing pleasure, risk the lossof those great powers with which you have been endowed? Rememberthat I speak not only as one comrade to another, but as a medicalman to one for whose constitution he is to some extentanswerable."
He did not seem offended. On the contrary, he put his fingertipstogether and leaned his elbows on the arms of his chair, like onewho has a relish for conversation.
"My mind," he said, "rebels at stagnation. Give me problems,give me work, give me the most abstruse cryptogram or the mostintricate analysis, and I am in my own proper atmosphere. I candispense then with artificial stimulants. But I abhor the dullroutine of existence. I crave for mental exaltation. That is why Ihave chosen my own particular profession,--or rather created it,for I am the only one in the world."
"The only unofficial detective?" I said, raising myeyebrows.
"The only unofficial consulting detective," he answered. "I amthe last and highest court of appeal in detection. When Gregson orLestrade or Athelney Jones are out of their depths--which, by theway, is their normal state--the matter is laid before me. I examinethe data, as an expert, and pronounce a specialist's opinion. Iclaim no credit in such cases. My name figures in no newspaper. Thework itself, the pleasure of finding a field for my peculiarpowers, is my highest reward. But you have yourself had someexperience of my methods of work in the Jefferson Hope case."
"Yes, indeed," said I, cordially. "I was never so struck byanything in my life. I even embodied it in a small brochure withthe somewhat fantastic title of 'A Study in Scarlet.'"
He shook his head sadly. "I glanced over it," said he."Honestly, I cannot congratulate you upon it. Detection is, orought to be, an exact science, and should be treated in the samecold and unemotional manner. You have attempted to tinge it withromanticism, which produces much the same effect as if you worked alove-story or an elopement into the fifth proposition ofEuclid."
"But the romance was there," I remonstrated. "I could not tamperwith the facts."
"Some facts should be suppressed, or at least a just sense ofproportion should be observed in treating them. The only point inthe case which deserved mention was the curious analyticalreasoning from effects to causes by which I succeeded in unravelingit."
I was annoyed at this criticism of a work which had beenspecially designed to please him. I confess, too, that I wasirritated by the egotism which seemed to demand that every line ofmy pamphlet should be devoted to his own special doings. More thanonce during the years that I had lived with him in Baker Street Ihad observed that a small vanity underlay my companion's quiet anddidactic manner. I made no remark, however, but sat nursing mywounded leg. I had a Jezail bullet through it some time before,and, though it did not prevent me from walking, it ached wearily atevery change of the weather.
"My practice has extended recently to the Continent," saidHolmes, after a while, filling up his old brier-root pipe. "I wasconsulted last week by Francois Le Villard, who, as you probablyknow, has come rather to the front lately in the French detectiveservice. He has all the Celtic power of quick intuition, but he isdeficient in the wide range of exact knowledge which is essentialto the higher developments of his art. The case was concerned witha will, and possessed some features of interest. I was able torefer him to two parallel cases, the one at Riga in 1857, and theother at St. Louis in 1871, which have suggested to him the truesolution. Here is the letter which I had this morning acknowledgingmy assistance." He tossed over, as he spoke, a crumpled sheet offoreign notepaper. I glanced my eyes down it, catching a profusionof notes of admiration, with stray "magnifiques,""coup-de-maitres," and "tours-de-force," all testifying to theardent 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 outof the three qualities necessary for the ideal detective. He hasthe power of observation and that of deduction. He is only wantingin knowledge; and that may come in time. He is now translating mysmall works into French."
"Your works?"
"Oh, didn't you know?" he cried, laughing. "Yes, I have beenguilty of several monographs. They are all upon technical subjects.Here, for example, is one 'Upon the Distinction between the Ashesof the Various Tobaccoes.' In it I enumerate a hundred and fortyforms of cigar-, cigarette-, and pipe-tobacco, with colored platesillustrating the difference in the ash. It is a point which iscontinually turning up in criminal trials, and which is sometimesof supreme importance as a clue. If you can say definitely, forexample, that some murder has been done by a man who was smoking anIndian lunkah, it obviously narrows your field of search. To thetrained eye there is as much difference between the black ash of aTrichinopoly and the white fluff of bird's-eye as there is betweena cabbage and a potato."
"You have an extraordinary genius for minutiae," I remarked.
"I appreciate their importance. Here is my monograph upon thetracing of footsteps, with some remarks upon the uses of plaster ofParis as a preserver of impresses. Here, too, is a curious littlework upon the influence of a trade upon the form of the hand, withlithotypes of the hands of slaters, sailors, corkcutters,compositors, weavers, and diamond-polishers. That is a matter ofgreat practical interest to the scientific detective,--especiallyin cases of unclaimed bodies, or in discovering the antecedents ofcriminals. But I weary you with my hobby."
"Not at all," I answered, earnestly. "It is of the greatestinterest to me, especially since I have had the opportunity ofobserving your practical application of it. But you spoke just nowof observation and deduction. Surely the one to some extent impliesthe other."
"Why, hardly," he answered, leaning back luxuriously in hisarmchair, and sending up thick blue wreaths from his pipe. "Forexample, observation shows me that you have been to the WigmoreStreet Post-Office this morning, but deduction lets me know thatwhen there you dispatched a telegram."
"Right!" said I. "Right on both points! But I confess that Idon't see how you arrived at it. It was a sudden impulse upon mypart, and I have mentioned it to no one."
"It is simplicity itself," he remarked, chuckling at mysurprise,--"so absurdly simple that an explanation is superfluous;and yet it may serve to define the limits of observation and ofdeduction. Observation tells me that you have a little reddishmould adhering to your instep. Just opposite the Seymour StreetOffice they have taken up the pavement and thrown up some earthwhich lies in such a way that it is difficult to avoid treading init in entering. The earth is of this peculiar reddish tint which isfound, as far as I know, nowhere else in the neighborhood. So muchis observation. The rest is deduction."
"How, then, did you deduce the telegram?"
"Why, of course I knew that you had not written a letter, sinceI sat opposite to you all morning. I see also in your open deskthere that you have a sheet of stamps and a thick bundle ofpostcards. What could you go into the post-office for, then, but tosend a wire? Eliminate all other factors, and the one which remainsmust be the truth."
"In this case it certainly is so," I replied, after a littlethought. "The thing, however, is, as you say, of the simplest.Would yo think me impertinent if I were to put your theories to amore severe test?"
"On the contrary," he answered, "it would prevent me from takinga second dose of cocaine. I should be delighted to look into anyproblem which you might submit to me."
"I have heard you say that it is difficult for a man to have anyobject in daily use without leaving the impress of hisindividuality upon it in such a way that a trained observer mightread it. Now, I have here a watch which has recently come into mypossession. Would you have the kindness to let me have an opinionupon the character or habits of the late owner?"
I handed him over the watch with some slight feeling ofamusement in my heart, for the test was, as I thought, animpossible one, and I intended it as a lesson against the somewhatdogmatic tone which he occasionally assumed. He balanced the watchin his hand, gazed hard at the dial, opened the back, and examinedthe works, first with his naked eyes and then with a powerfulconvex lens. I could hardly keep from smiling at his crestfallenface 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 sentto me." In my heart I accused my companion of putting forward amost lame and impotent excuse to cover his failure. What data couldhe expect from an uncleaned watch?
"Though unsatisfactory, my research has not been entirelybarren," he observed, staring up at the ceiling with dreamy,lack-lustre eyes. "Subject to your correction, I should judge thatthe watch belonged to your elder brother, who inherited it fromyour 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 watchis nearly fifty years back, and the initials are as old as thewatch: so it was made for the last generation. Jewelry usuallydescents to the eldest son, and he is most likely to have the samename as the father. Your father has, if I remember right, been deadmany years. It has, therefore, been in the hands of your eldestbrother."
"Right, so far," said I. "Anything else?"
"He was a man of untidy habits,--very untidy and careless. Hewas left with good prospects, but he threw away his chances, livedfor some time in poverty with occasional short intervals ofprosperity, and finally, taking to drink, he died. That is all Ican gather."
I sprang from my chair and limped impatiently about the roomwith considerable bitterness in my heart.
"This is unworthy of you, Holmes," I said. "I could not havebelieved that you would have descended to this. You have madeinquires into the history of my unhappy brother, and you nowpretend to deduce this knowledge in some fanciful way. You cannotexpect me to believe that you have read all this from his oldwatch! It is unkind, and, to speak plainly, has a touch ofcharlatanism in it."
"My dear doctor," said he, kindly, "pray accept my apologies.Viewing the matter as an abstract problem, I had forgotten howpersonal and painful a thing it might be to you. I assure you,however, that I never even know that you had a brother until youhanded me the watch."
"Then how in the name of all that is wonderful did you get thesefacts? 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 guess-work?"
"No, no: I never guess. It is a shocking habit,--destructive tothe logical faculty. What seems strange to you is only so becauseyou do not follow my train of thought or observe the small factsupon which large inferences may depend. For example, I began bystating that your brother was careless. When you observe the lowerpart of that watch-case you notice that it is not only dinted intwo places, but it is cut and marked all over from the habit ofkeeping other hard objects, such as coins or keys, in the samepocket. Surely it is no great feat to assume that a man who treatsa fifty-guinea watch so cavalierly must be a careless man. Neitheris it a very far-fetched inference that a man who inherits onearticle of such value is pretty well provided for in otherrespects."
I nodded, to show that I followed his reasoning.
"It is very customary for pawnbrokers in England, when they takea watch, to scratch the number of the ticket with a pin-point uponthe inside of the case. It is more handy than a label, as there isno risk of the number being lost or transposed. There are no lessthan four such numbers visible to my lens on the inside of thiscase. Inference,--that your brother was often at low water.Secondary inference,--that he had occasional bursts of prosperity,or he could not have redeemed the pledge. Finally, I ask you tolook at the inner plate, which contains the key-hole. Look at thethousands of scratches all round the hole,--marks where the key hasslipped. What sober man's key could have scored those grooves? Butyou will never see a drunkard's watch without them. He winds it atnight, and he leaves these traces of his unsteady hand. Where isthe mystery in all this?"
"It is as clear as daylight," I answered. "I regret theinjustice which I did you. I should have had more faith in yourmarvellous faculty. May I ask whether you have any professionalinquiry on foot at present?"
"None. Hence the cocaine. I cannot live without brain-work. Whatelse is there to live for? Stand at the window here. Was ever sucha dreary, dismal, unprofitable world? See how the yellow fog swirlsdown the street and drifts across the duncolored houses. What couldbe more hopelessly prosaic and material? What is the use of havingpowers, doctor, when one has no field upon which to exert them?Crime is commonplace, existence is commonplace, and no qualitiessave those which are commonplace have any function upon earth."
I had opened my mouth to reply to this tirade, when with a crispknock our landlady entered, bearing a card upon the brasssalver.
"A young lady for you, sir," she said, addressing mycompanion.
"Miss Mary Morstan," he read. "Hum! I have no recollection ofthe name. Ask the young lady to step up, Mrs. Hudson. Don't go,doctor. I should prefer that you remain."
CHAPTER II. THE STATEMENT OF THE CASE
Miss Morstan entered the room with a firm step and an outwardcomposure of manner. She was a blonde young lady, small, dainty,well gloved, and dressed in the most perfect taste. There was,however, a plainness and simplicity about her costume which borewith it a suggestion of limited means. The dress was a sombregrayish beige, untrimmed and unbraided, and she wore a small turbanof the same dull hue, relieved only by a suspicion of white featherin the side. Her face had neither regularity of feature nor beautyof complexion, but her expression was sweet and amiable, and herlarge blue eyes were singularly spiritual and sympathetic. In anexperience of women which extends over many nations and threeseparate continents, I have never looked upon a face which gave aclearer promise of a refined and sensitive nature. I could not butobserve that as she took the seat which Sherlock Holmes placed forher, her lip trembled, her hand quivered, and she showed every signof intense inward agitation.
"I have come to you, Mr. Holmes," she said, "because you onceenabled my employer, Mrs. Cecil Forrester, to unravel a littledomestic complication. She was much impressed by your kindness andskill."
"Mrs. Cecil Forrester," he repeated thoughtfully. "I believethat I was of some slight service to her. The case, however, as Iremember it, was a very simple one."
"She did not think so. But at least you cannot say the same ofmine. I can hardly imagine anything more strange, more utterlyinexplicable, than the situation in which I find myself."
Holmes rubbed his hands, and his eyes glistened. He leanedforward in his chair with an expression of extraordinaryconcentration upon his clear-cut, hawklike features. "State yourcase," said he, in brisk, business tones.
I felt that my position was an embarrassing one. "You will, I amsure, excuse me," I said, rising from my chair.
To my surprise, the young lady held up her gloved hand to detainme. "If your friend," she said, "would be good enough to stop, hemight be of inestimable service to me."
I relapsed into my chair.
"Briefly," she continued, "the facts are these. My father was anofficer in an Indian regiment who sent me home when I was quite achild. My mother was dead, and I had no relative in England. I wasplaced, however, in a comfortable boarding establishment atEdinburgh, and there I remained until I was seventeen years of age.In the year 1878 my father, who was senior captain of his regiment,obtained twelve months' leave and came home. He telegraphed to mefrom London that he had arrived all safe, and directed me to comedown at once, giving the Langham Hotel as his address. His message,as I remember, was full of kindness and love. On reaching London Idrove to the Langham, and was informed that Captain Morstan wasstaying there, but that he had gone out the night before and hadnot yet returned. I waited all day without news of him. That night,on the advice of the manager of the hotel, I communicated with thepolice, and next morning we advertised in all the papers. Ourinquiries let to no result; and from that day to this no word hasever been heard of my unfortunate father. He came home with hisheart full of hope, to find some peace, some comfort, andinstead--" She put her hand to her throat, and a choking sob cutshort the sentence.
"The date?" asked Holmes, opening his note-book.
"He disappeared upon the 3d of December, 1878,--nearly ten yearsago."
"His luggage?"
"Remained at the hotel. There was nothing in it to suggest aclue,--some clothes, some books, and a considerable number ofcuriosities from the Andaman Islands. He had been one of theofficers in charge of the convict-guard there."
"Had he any friends in town?"
"Only one that we know of,--Major Sholto, of his own regiment,the 34th 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 inEngland."
"A singular case," remarked Holmes.
"I have not yet described to you the most singular part. Aboutsix years ago--to be exact, upon the 4th of May, 1882--anadvertisement appeared in the Times asking for the address of MissMary Morstan and stating that it would be to her advantage to comeforward. There was no name or address appended. I had at that timejust entered the family of Mrs. Cecil Forrester in the capacity ofgoverness. By her advice I published my address in theadvertisement column. The same day there arrived through the post asmall card-board box addressed to me, which I found to contain avery large and lustrous pearl. No word of writing was enclosed.Since then every year upon the same date there has always appeareda 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 yourselves thatthey are very handsome." She opened a flat box as she spoke, andshowed me six of the finest pearls 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.This morning I received this letter, which you will perhaps readfor yourself."
"Thank you," said Holmes. "The envelope too, please. Postmark,London, S.W. Date, July 7. Hum! Man's thumb-mark on corner,--probably postman. Best quality paper. Envelopes at sixpence apacket. Particular man in his stationery. No address. 'Be at thethird pillar from the left outside the Lyceum Theatre tonight atseven o'clock. If you are distrustful, bring two friends. You are awronged woman, and shall have justice. Do not bring police. If youdo, all will be in vain. Your unknown friend.' Well, really, thisis a very pretty little mystery. What do you intend to do, MissMorstan?"
"That is exactly what I want to ask you."
"Then we shall most certainly go. You and I and--yes, why, Dr.Watson is the very man. Your correspondent says two friends. He andI have worked together before."
"But would he come?" she asked, with something appealing in hervoice and expression.
"I should be proud and happy," said I, fervently, "if I can beof any service."
"You are both very kind," she answered. "I have led a retiredlife, and have no friends whom I could appeal to. If I am here atsix it will do, I suppose?"
"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 piecesof paper.
"You are certainly a model client. You have the correctintuition. Let us see, now." He spread out the papers upon thetable, and gave little darting glances from one to the other. "Theyare disguised hands, except the letter," he said, presently, "butthere can be no question as to the authorship. See how theirrepressible Greek e will break out, and see the twirl of thefinal s. They are undoubtedly by the same person. I should not liketo 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 thematter before then. It is only half-past three. Au revoir,then."
"Au revoir," said our visitor, and, with a bright, kindly glancefrom one to the other of us, she replaced her pearl-box in herbosom and hurried away. Standing at the window, I watched herwalking briskly down the street, until the gray turban and whitefeather were but a speck in the sombre crowd.
"What a very attractive woman!" I exclaimed, turning to mycompanion.
He had lit his pipe again, and was leaning back with droopingeyelids. "Is she?" he said, languidly. "I did not observe."
"You really are an automaton,--a calculating-machine!" I cried."There is something positively inhuman in you at times."
He smiled gently. "It is of the first importance," he said, "notto allow your judgment to be biased by personal qualities. A clientis to me a mere unit,--a factor in a problem. The emotionalqualities are antagonistic to clear reasoning. I assure you thatthe most winning woman I ever knew was hanged for poisoning threelittle children for their insurance-money, and the most repellantman of my acquaintance is a philanthropist who has spent nearly aquarter of a million upon the London poor."
"In this case, however--"
"I never make exceptions. An exception disproves the rule. Haveyou ever had occasion to study character in handwriting? What doyou make of this fellow's scribble?"
"It is legible and regular," I answered. "A man of businesshabits and some force of character."
"Holmes shook his head. "Look at his long letters," he said."They hardly rise above the common herd. That d might be an a, andthat l an e. Men of character always differentiate their longletters, however illegibly they may write. There is vacillation inhis k's and self-esteem in his capitals. I am going out now. I havesome few references to make. Let me recommend this book,--one ofthe most remarkable ever penned. It is Winwood Reade's 'Martyrdomof Man.' I shall be back in an hour."
I sat in the window with the volume in my hand, but my thoughtswere far from the daring speculations of the writer. My mind ranupon our late visitor,--her smiles, the deep rich tones of hervoice, the strange mystery which overhung her life. If she wereseventeen at the time of her father's disappearance she must beseven-and-twenty now,--a sweet age, when youth has lost itsselfconsciousness and become a little sobered by experience. So Isat and mused, until such dangerous thoughts came into my head thatI hurried away to my desk and plunged furiously into the latesttreatise upon pathology. What was I, an army surgeon with a weakleg and a weaker banking-account, that I should dare to think ofsuch things? She was a unit, a factor,--nothing more. If my futurewere black, it was better surely to face it like a man than toattempt to brighten it by mere will-o'-the-wisps of theimagination.
CHAPTER III. IN QUEST OF A SOLUTION
It was half-past five before Holmes returned. He was bright,eager, and in excellent spirits,--a mood which in his casealternated with fits of the blackest depression.
"There is no great mystery in this matter," he said, taking thecup of tea which I had poured out for him. "The facts appear toadmit of only one explanation."
"What! you have solved it already?"
"Well, that would be too much to say. I have discovered asuggestive fact, that is all. It is, however, VERY suggestive. Thedetails are still to be added. I have just found, on consulting theback files of the Times, that Major Sholto, of Upper Norword, lateof the 34th Bombay Infantry, died upon the 28th of April,1882."
"I may be very obtuse, Holmes, but I fail to see what thissuggests."
"No? You surprise me. Look at it in this way, then. CaptainMorstan disappears. The only person in London whom he could havevisited is Major Sholto. Major Sholto denies having heard that hewas in London. Four years later Sholto dies. WITHIN A WEEK OF HISDEATH Captain Morstan's daughter receives a valuable present, whichis repeated from year to year, and now culminates in a letter whichdescribes her as a wronged woman. What wrong can it refer to exceptthis deprivation of her father? And why should the presents beginimmediately after Sholto's death, unless it is that Sholto's heirknows something of the mystery and desires to make compensation?Have you any alternative theory which will meet the facts?"
"But what a strange compensation! And how strangely made! Why,too, should he write a letter now, rather than six years ago?Again, the letter speaks of giving her justice. What justice canshe have? It is too much to suppose that her father is still alive.There is no other injustice in her case that you know of."
"There are difficulties; there are certainly difficulties," saidSherlock Holmes, pensively. "But our expedition of to-night willsolve them all. Ah, here is a four-wheeler, and Miss Morstan isinside. Are you all ready? Then we had better go down, for it is alittle past the hour."
I picked up my hat and my heaviest stick, but I observed thatHolmes took his revolver from his drawer and slipped it into hispocket. It was clear that he thought that our night's work might bea serious one.
Miss Morstan was muffled in a dark cloak, and her sensitive facewas composed, but pale. She must have been more than woman if shedid not feel some uneasiness at the strange enterprise upon whichwe were embarking, yet her self-control was perfect, and shereadily answered the few additional questions which Sherlock Holmesput to her.
"Major Sholto was a very particular friend of papa's," she said."His letters were full of allusions to the major. He and papa werein command of the troops at the Andaman Islands, so they werethrown a great deal together. By the way, a curious paper was foundin papa's desk which no one could understand. I don't suppose thatit is of the slightest importance, but I thought you might care tosee 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 hisdouble lens.
"It is paper of native Indian manufacture," he remarked. "It hasat some time been pinned to a board. The diagram upon it appears tobe a plan of part of a large building with numerous halls,corridors, and passages. At one point is a small cross done in redink, and above it is '3.37 from left,' in faded pencilwriting. Inthe left-hand corner is a curious hieroglyphic like four crosses ina line with their arms touching. Beside it is written, in veryrough and coarse characters, 'The sign of the four,--JonathanSmall, Mahomet Singh, Abdullah Khan, Dost Akbar.' No, I confessthat I do not see how this bears upon the matter. Yet it isevidently a document of importance. It has been kept carefully in apocket-book; for the one side is as clean as the other."
"It was in his pocket-book that we found it."
"Preserve it carefully, then, Miss Morstan, for it may prove tobe of use to us. I begin to suspect that this matter may turn outto be much deeper and more subtle than I at first supposed. I mustreconsider my ideas." He leaned back in the cab, and I could see byhis drawn brow and his vacant eye that he was thinking intently.Miss Morstan and I chatted in an undertone about our presentexpedition and its possible outcome, but our companion maintainedhis impenetrable reserve until the end of our journey.
It was a September evening, and not yet seven o'clock, but theday had been a dreary one, and a dense drizzly fog lay low upon thegreat city. Mud-colored clouds drooped sadly over the muddystreets. Down the Strand the lamps were but misty splotches ofdiffused light which threw a feeble circular glimmer upon the slimypavement. The yellow glare from the shop-windows streamed out intothe steamy, vaporous air, and threw a murky, shifting radianceacross the crowded thoroughfare. There was, to my mind, somethingeerie and ghost-like in the endless procession of faces whichflitted across these narrow bars of light,--sad faces and glad,haggard and merry. Like all human kind, they flitted from the gloominto the light, and so back into the gloom once more. I am notsubject to impressions, but the dull, heavy evening, with thestrange business upon which we were engaged, combined to make menervous and depressed. I could see from Miss Morstan's manner thatshe was suffering from the same feeling. Holmes alone could risesuperior to petty influences. He held his open note-book upon hisknee, and from time to time he jotted down figures and memoranda inthe light of his pocket-lantern.
At the Lyceum Theatre the crowds were already thick at thesideentrances. In front a continuous stream of hansoms andfourwheelers were rattling up, discharging their cargoes ofshirtfronted men and beshawled, bediamonded women. We had hardlyreached the third pillar, which was our rendezvous, before a small,dark, brisk man in the dress of a 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 eyesupon us. "You will excuse me, miss," he said with a certain doggedmanner, "but I was to ask you to give me your word that neither ofyour companions 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 afour-wheeler and opened the door. The man who had addressed usmounted to the box, while we took our places inside. We had hardlydone so before the driver whipped up his horse, and we plunged awayat a furious pace through the foggy streets.
The situation was a curious one. We were driving to an unknownplace, on an unknown errand. Yet our invitation was either acomplete hoax,--which was an inconceivable hypothesis,--or else wehad good reason to think that important issues might hang upon ourjourney. Miss Morstan's demeanor was as resolute and collected asever. I endeavored to cheer and amuse her by reminiscences of myadventures in Afghanistan; but, to tell the truth, I was myself soexcited at our situation and so curious as to our destination thatmy stories were slightly involved. To this day she declares that Itold her one moving anecdote as to how a musket looked into my tentat the dead of night, and how I fired a double-barrelled tiger cubat it. At first I had some idea as to the direction in which wewere driving; but soon, what with our pace, the fog, and my ownlimited knowledge of London, I lost my bearings, and knew nothing,save that we seemed to be going a very long way. Sherlock Holmeswas never at fault, however, and he muttered the names as the cabrattled through squares and in and out by tortuous by-streets.
"Rochester Row," said he. "Now Vincent Square. Now we come outon the Vauxhall Bridge Road. We are making for the Surrey side,apparently. Yes, I thought so. Now we are on the bridge. You cancatch glimpses of the river."
We did indeed bet a fleeting view of a stretch of the Thameswith the lamps shining upon the broad, silent water; but our cabdashed on, and was soon involved in a labyrinth of streets upon theother side.
"Wordsworth Road," said my companion. "Priory Road. Lark HallLane. Stockwell Place. Robert Street. Cold Harbor Lane. Our questdoes not appear to take us to very fashionable regions."
We had, indeed, reached a questionable and forbiddingneighborhood. Long lines of dull brick houses were only relieved bythe coarse glare and tawdry brilliancy of public houses at thecorner. Then came rows of two-storied villas each with a frontingof miniature garden, and then again interminable lines of newstaring brick buildings,--the monster tentacles which the giantcity was throwing out into the country. At last the cab drew up atthe third house in a new terrace. None of the other houses wereinhabited, and that at which we stopped was as dark as itsneighbors, save for a single glimmer in the kitchen window. On ourknocking, however, the door was instantly thrown open by a Hindooservant clad in a yellow turban, white loosefitting clothes, and ayellow sash. There was something strangely incongruous in thisOriental figure framed in the commonplace door-way of a third-ratesuburban dwelling-house.
"The Sahib awaits you," said he, and even as he spoke there camea high piping voice from some inner room. "Show them in to me,khitmutgar," it cried. "Show them straight in to me."
CHAPTER IV. THE STORY OF THE BALD-HEADED MAN
We followed the Indian down a sordid and common passage, ill litand worse furnished, until he came to a door upon the right, whichhe threw open. A blaze of yellow light streamed out upon us, and inthe centre of the glare there stood a small man with a very highhead, a bristle of red hair all round the fringe of it, and a bald,shining scalp which shot out from among it like a mountain-peakfrom fir-trees. He writhed his hands together as he stood, and hisfeatures were in a perpetual jerk, now smiling, now scowling, butnever for an instant in repose. Nature had given him a pendulouslip, and a too visible line of yellow and irregular teeth, which hestrove feebly to conceal by constantly passing his hand over thelower part of his face. In spite of his obtrusive baldness, he gavethe impression of youth. In point of fact he had just turned histhirtieth year.
"Your servant, Miss Morstan," he kept repeating, in a thin, highvoice. "Your servant, gentlemen. Pray step into my little sanctum.A small place, miss, but furnished to my own liking. An oasis ofart in the howling desert of South London."
We were all astonished by the appearance o the apartment intowhich he invited us. In that sorry house it looked as out of placeas a diamond of the first water in a setting of brass. The richestand glossiest of curtains and tapestries draped the walls, loopedback here and there to expose some richly-mounted painting orOriental vase. The carpet was of amber-and-black, so soft and sothick that the foot sank pleasantly into it, as into a bed of moss.Two great tiger-skins thrown athwart it increased the suggestion ofEastern luxury, as did a huge hookah which stood upon a mat in thecorner. A lamp in the fashion of a silver dove was hung from analmost invisible golden wire in the centre of the room. As itburned it filled the air with a subtle and aromatic odor.
"Mr. Thaddeus Sholto," said the little man, still jerking andsmiling. "That is my name. You are Miss Morstan, of course. Andthese gentlemen--"
"This is Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and this is Dr. Watson."
"A doctor, eh?" cried he, much excited. "Have you yourstethoscope? Might I ask you--would you have the kindness? I havegrave doubts as to my mitral valve, if you would be so very good.The aortic I may rely upon, but I should value your opinion uponthe mitral."
I listened to his heart, as requested, but was unable to findanything amiss, save indeed that he was in an ecstasy of fear, forhe shivered from head 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 am a great sufferer, and I have long had suspicions as to thatvalve. I am delighted to hear that they are unwarranted. Had yourfather, Miss Morstan, refrained from throwing a strain upon hisheart, he might have been alive now."
I could have struck the man across the face, so hot was I atthis callous and off-hand reference to so delicate a matter. MissMorstan sat down, and her face grew white to the lips. "I knew inmy heart that he was dead," said she.
"I can give you every information," said he, "and, what is more,I can do you justice; and I will, too, whatever Brother Bartholomewmay say. I am so glad to have your friends here, not only as anescort to you, but also as witnesses to what I am about to do andsay. The three of us can show a bold front to Brother Bartholomew.But let us have no outsiders,--no police or officials. We cansettle everything satisfactorily among ourselves, without anyinterference. Nothing would annoy Brother Bartholomew more than anypublicity." He sat down upon a low settee and blinked at usinquiringly with his weak, watery blue eyes.
"For my part," said Holmes, "whatever you may choose to say willgo no further."
I nodded to show my agreement.
"That is well! That is well!" said he. "May I offer you a glassof Chianti, Miss Morstan? Or of Tokay? I keep no other wines. ShallI open a flask? No? Well, then, I trust that you have no objectionto tobacco-smoke, to the mild balsamic odor of the Eastern tobacco.I am a little nervous, and I find my hookah an invaluablesedative." He applied a taper to the great bowl, and the smokebubbled merrily through the rose-water. We sat all three in asemicircle, with our heads advanced, and our chins upon our hands,while the strange, jerky little fellow, with his high, shininghead, 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 youmight disregard my request and bring unpleasant people with you. Itook the liberty, therefore, of making an appointment in such a waythat my man Williams might be able to see you first. I havecomplete confidence in his discretion, and he had orders, if hewere dissatisfied, to proceed no further in the matter. You willexcuse these precautions, but I am a man of somewhat retiring, andI might even say refined, tastes, and there is nothing moreunaesthetic than a policeman. I have a natural shrinking from allforms of rough materialism. I seldom come in contact with the roughcrowd. I live, as you see, with some little atmosphere of elegancearound me. I may call myself a patron of the arts. It is myweakness. The landscape is a genuine Corot, and, though aconnoisseur might perhaps throw a doubt upon that Salvator Rosa,there cannot be the least question about the Bouguereau. I ampartial to the modern French school."
"You will excuse me, Mr. Sholto," said Miss Morstan, "but I amhere at your request to learn something which you desire to tellme. It is very late, and I should desire the interview to be asshort as possible."
"At the best it must take some time," he answered; "for we shallcertainly have to go to Norwood and see Brother Bartholomew. Weshall all go and try if we can get the better of BrotherBartholomew. He is very angry with me for taking the course whichhas seemed right to me. I had quite high words with him last night.You cannot imagine what a terrible fellow he is when he isangry."
"If we are to go to Norwood it would perhaps be as well to startat once," I ventured to remark.
He laughed until his ears were quite red. "That would hardlydo," he cried. "I don't know what he would say if I brought you inthat sudden way. No, I must prepare you by showing you how we allstand to each other. In the first place, I must tell you that thereare several points in the story of which I am myself ignorant. Ican only lay the facts before you as far as I know them myself.
"My father was, as you may have guessed, Major John Sholto, onceof the Indian army. He retired some eleven years ago, and came tolive at Pondicherry Lodge in Upper Norwood. He had prospered inIndia, and brought back with him a considerable sum of money, alarge collection of valuable curiosities, and a staff of nativeservants. With these advantages he bought himself a house, andlived in great luxury. My twin-brother Bartholomew and I were theonly children.
"I very well remember the sensation which was caused by thedisappearance of Captain Morstan. We read the details in thepapers, and, knowing that he had been a friend of our father's, wediscussed the case freely in his presence. He used to join in ourspeculations as to what could have happened. Never for an instantdid we suspect that he had the whole secret hidden in his ownbreast,--that of all men he alone knew the fate of ArthurMorstan.
"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 wasonce light-weight champion of England. Our father would never tellus what it was he feared, but he had a most marked aversion to menwith wooden legs. On one occasion he actually fired his revolver ata wooden-legged man, who proved to be a harmless tradesmancanvassing for orders. We had to pay a large sum to hush the matterup. My brother and I used to think this a mere whim of my father's,but events have since led us to change our opinion.
"Early in 1882 my father received a letter from India which wasa great shock to him. He nearly fainted at the breakfast-table whenhe opened it, and from that day he sickened to his death. What wasin the letter we could never discover, but I could see as he heldit that it was short and written in a scrawling hand. He hadsuffered for years from an enlarged spleen, but he now becamerapidly worse, and towards the end of April we were informed thathe was beyond all hope, and that he wished to make a lastcommunication 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 aremarkable statement to us, in a voice which was broken as much byemotion as by pain. I shall try and give it to you in his own verywords.
"'I have only one thing,' he said, 'which weighs upon my mind atthis supreme moment. It is my treatment of poor Morstan's orphan.The cursed greed which has been my besetting sin through life haswithheld from her the treasure, half at least of which should havebeen hers. And yet I have made no use of it myself,- -so blind andfoolish a thing is avarice. The mere feeling of possession has beenso dear to me that I could not bear to share it with another. Seethat chaplet dipped with pearls beside the quinine-bottle. Eventhat I could not bear to part with, although I had got it out withthe design of sending it to her. You, my sons, will give her a fairshare of the Agra treasure. But send her nothing--not even thechaplet--until I am gone. After all, men have been as bad as thisand have recovered.
"'I will tell you how Morstan died,' he continued. 'He hadsuffered for years from a weak heart, but he concealed it fromevery one. I alone knew it. When in India, he and I, through aremarkable chain of circumstances, came into possession of aconsiderable treasure. I brought it over to England, and on thenight of Morstan's arrival he came straight over here to claim hisshare. He walked over from the station, and was admitted by myfaithful Lal Chowdar, who is now dead. Morstan and I had adifference of opinion as to the division of the treasure, and wecame to heated words. Morstan had sprung out of his chair in aparoxysm of anger, when he suddenly pressed his hand to his side,his face turned a dusky hue, and he fell backwards, cutting hishead against the corner of the treasure-chest. When I stooped overhim I found, to my horror, that he was dead.
"'For a long time I sat half distracted, wondering what I shoulddo. My first impulse was, of course, to call for assistance; but Icould not but recognize that there was every chance that I would beaccused of his murder. His death at the moment of a quarrel, andthe gash in his head, would be black against me. Again, an officialinquiry could not be made without bringing out some facts about thetreasure, which I was particularly anxious to keep secret. He hadtold me that no soul upon earth knew where he had gone. Thereseemed to be no necessity why any soul ever should know.
"'I was still pondering over the matter, when, looking up, I sawmy servant, Lal Chowdar, in the doorway. He stole in and bolted thedoor behind him. "Do not fear, Sahib," he said. "No one need knowthat you have killed him. Let us hide him away, and who is thewiser?" "I did not kill him," said I. Lal Chowdar shook his headand smiled. "I heard it all, Sahib," said he. "I heard you quarrel,and I heard the blow. But my lips are sealed. All are asleep in thehouse. Let us put him away together." That was enough to decidemet. If my own servant could not believe my innocence, how could Ihope to make it good before twelve foolish tradesmen in a jury-box?Lal Chowdar and I disposed of the body that night, and within a fewdays the London papers were full of the mysterious disappearance ofCaptain Morstan. You will see from what I say that I can hardly beblamed in the matter. My fault lies in the fact that we concealednot only the body, but also the treasure, and that I have clung toMorstan's share as well as to my own. I wish you, therefore, tomake restitution. Put your ears down to my mouth. The treasure ishidden in--' At this instant a horrible change came over hisexpression; his eyes stared wildly, his jaw dropped, and he yelled,in a voice which I can never forget, 'Keep him out! For Christ'ssake keep him out!' We both stared round at the window behind usupon which his gaze was fixed. A face was looking in at us out ofthe darkness. We could see the whitening of the nose where it waspressed against the glass. It was a bearded, hairy face, with wildcruel eyes and an expression of concentrated malevolence. Mybrother and I rushed towards the window, but the man was gone. Whenwe 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 theintruder, save that just under the window a single footmark wasvisible in the flower-bed. But for that one trace, we might havethought that our imaginations had conjured up that wild, fierceface. We soon, however, had another and a more striking proof thatthere were secret agencies at work all round us. The window of myfather's room was found open in the morning, his cupboards andboxes had been rifled, and upon his chest was fixed a torn piece ofpaper, with the words 'The sign of the four' scrawled across it.What the phrase meant, or who our secret visitor may have been, wenever knew. As far as we can judge, none of my father's propertyhad been actually stolen, though everything had been turned out. Mybrother and I naturally associated this peculiar incident with thefear which haunted my father during his life; but it is still acomplete mystery to us."
The little man stopped to relight his hookah and puffedthoughtfully for a few moments. We had all sat absorbed, listeningto his extraordinary narrative. At the short account of herfather's death Miss Morstan had turned deadly white, and for amoment I feared that she was about to faint. She rallied however,on drinking a glass of water which I quietly poured out for herfrom a Venetian carafe upon the side-table. Sherlock Holmes leanedback in his chair with an abstracted expression and the lids drawnlow 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 wouldtax his sagacity to the utmost. Mr. Thaddeus Sholto looked from oneto the other of us with an obvious pride at the effect which hisstory had produced, and then continued between the puffs of hisovergrown pipe.
"My brother and I," said he, "were, as you may imagine, muchexcited as to the treasure which my father had spoken of. For weeksand for months we dug and delved in every part of the garden,without discovering its whereabouts. It was maddening to think thatthe hiding-place was on his very lips at the moment that he died.We could judge the splendor of the missing riches by the chapletwhich he had taken out. Over this chaplet my brother Bartholomewand I had some little discussion. The pearls were evidently ofgreat value, and he was averse to part with them, for, betweenfriends, my brother was himself a little inclined to my father'sfault. He thought, too, that if we parted with the chaplet it mightgive rise to gossip and finally bring us into trouble. It was allthat I could do to persuade him to let me find out Miss Morstan'saddress and send her a detached pearl at fixed intervals, so thatat least she might never feel destitute."
"It was a kindly thought," said our companion, earnestly. "Itwas extremely good of you."
The little man waved his hand deprecatingly. "We were yourtrustees," he said. "That was the view which I took of it, thoughBrother Bartholomew could not altogether see it in that light. Wehad plenty of money ourselves. I desired no more. Besides, it wouldhave been such bad taste to have treated a young lady in so scurvya fashion. 'Le mauvais gout mene au crime.' The French have a veryneat way of putting these things. Our difference of opinion on thissubject went so far that I thought it best to set up rooms formyself: so I left Pondicherry Lodge, taking the old khitmutgar andWilliams with me. Yesterday, however, I learn that an event ofextreme importance has occurred. The treasure has been discovered.I instantly communicated with Miss Morstan, and it only remains forus to drive out to Norwood and demand our share. I explained myviews last night to Brother Bartholomew: so we shall be expected,if not welcome, visitors."
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 ispossible that we may be able to make you some small return bythrowing some light upon that which is still dark to you. But, asMiss Morstan remarked just now, it is late, and we had best put thematter through without delay."
Our new acquaintance very deliberately coiled up the tube of hishookah, and produced from behind a curtain a very long befroggedtopcoat with Astrakhan collar and cuffs. This he buttoned tightlyup, in spite of the extreme closeness of the night, and finishedhis attire by putting on a rabbit-skin cap with hanging lappetswhich covered the ears, so that no part of him was visible save hismobile and peaky face. "My health is somewhat fragile," heremarked, as he led the way down the passage. "I am compelled to bea valetudinarian."
Our cab was awaiting us outside, and our programme was evidentlyprearranged, for the driver started off at once at a rapid pace.Thaddeus Sholto talked incessantly, in a voice which rose highabove the rattle of the wheels.
"Bartholomew is a clever fellow," said he. "How do you think hefound out where the treasure was? He had come to the conclusionthat it was somewhere indoors: so he worked out all the cubic spaceof the house, and made measurements everywhere, so that not oneinch should be unaccounted for. Among other things, he found thatthe height of the building was seventy-four feet, but on addingtogether the heights of all the separate rooms, and making everyallowance for the space between, which he ascertained by borings,he could not bring the total to more than seventy feet. There werefour feet unaccounted for. These could only be at the top of thebuilding. He knocked a hole, therefore, in the lathand -plasterceiling of the highest room, and there, sure enough, he came uponanother little garret above it, which had been sealed up and wasknown to no one. In the centre stood the treasure-chest, restingupon two rafters. He lowered it through the hole, and there itlies. He computes the value of the jewels at not less than half amillion sterling."
At the mention of this gigantic sum we all stared at one anotheropen-eyed. Miss Morstan, could we secure her rights, would changefrom a needy governess to the richest heiress in England. Surely itwas the place of a loyal friend to rejoice at such news; yet I amashamed to say that selfishness took me by the soul, and that myheart turned as heavy as lead within me. I stammered out some fewhalting words of congratulation, and then sat downcast, with myhead drooped, deaf to the babble of our new acquaintance. He wasclearly a confirmed hypochondriac, and I was dreamily consciousthat he was pouring forth interminable trains of symptoms, andimploring information as to the composition and action ofinnumerable quack nostrums, some of which he bore about in aleather case in his pocket. I trust that he may not remember any ofthe answers which I gave him that night. Holmes declares that heoverheard me caution him against the great danger of taking morethan two drops of castor oil, while I recommended strychnine inlarge doses as a sedative. However that may be, I was certainlyrelieved when our cab pulled up with a jerk and the coachman sprangdown to open the door.
"This, Miss Morstan, is Pondicherry Lodge," said Mr. ThaddeusSholto, as he handed her out.
CHAPTER V. THE TRAGEDY OF PONDICHERRY LODGE
It was nearly eleven o'clock when we reached this final stage ofour night's adventures. We had left the damp fog of the great citybehind us, and the night was fairly fine. A warm wind blew from thewestward, and heavy clouds moved slowly across the sky, with half amoon peeping occasionally through the rifts. It was clear enough tosee for some distance, but Thaddeus Sholto took down one of theside-lamps from the carriage to give us a better light upon ourway.
Pondicherry Lodge stood in its own grounds, and was girt roundwith a very high stone wall topped with broken glass. A singlenarrow iron-clamped door formed the only means of entrance. On thisour guide knocked 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.The door swung heavily back, and a short, deep-chested man stood inthe opening, with the yellow light of the lantern shining upon hisprotruded face 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 thatI should bring some friends."
"He ain't been out o' his room to-day, Mr. Thaddeus, and I haveno orders. You know very well that I must stick to regulations. Ican let you in, but your friends must just stop where theyare."
This was an unexpected obstacle. Thaddeus Sholto looked abouthim in a perplexed and helpless manner. "This is too bad of you,McMurdo!" he said. "If I guarantee them, that is enough for you.There is the young lady, too. She cannot wait on the public road atthis hour."
"Very sorry, Mr. Thaddeus," said the porter, inexorably. "Folkmay be friends o' yours, and yet no friends o' the master's. Hepays me well to do my duty, and my duty I'll do. I don't know noneo' your friends."
"Oh, yes you do, McMurdo," cried Sherlock Holmes, genially. "Idon't think you can have forgotten me. Don't you remember theamateur who fought three rounds with you at Alison's rooms on thenight of your benefit four years back?"
"Not Mr. Sherlock Holmes!" roared the prize-fighter. "God'struth! how could I have mistook you? If instead o' standin' thereso quiet you had just stepped up and given me that crosshit ofyours under the jaw, I'd ha' known you without a question. Ah,you're one that has wasted your gifts, you have! You might haveaimed high, if you had joined the fancy."
"You see, Watson, if all else fails me I have still one of thescientific professions open to me," said Holmes, laughing. "Ourfriend won't keep us out in the cold now, I am sure."
"In you come, sir, in you come,--you and your friends," heanswered. "Very sorry, Mr. Thaddeus, but orders are very strict.Had to be certain of your friends before I let them in."
Inside, a gravel path wound through desolate grounds to a hugeclump of a house, square and prosaic, all plunged in shadow savewhere a moonbeam struck one corner and glimmered in a garretwindow. The vast size of the building, with its gloom and itsdeathly silence, struck a chill to the heart. Even Thaddeus Sholtoseemed ill at ease, and the lantern quivered and rattled in hishand.
"I cannot understand it," he said. "There must be some mistake.I distinctly told Bartholomew that we should be here, and yet thereis no light in his window. I do not know what to make of it."
"Does he always guard the premises in this way?" askedHolmes.
"Yes; he has followed my father's custom. He was the favoriteson, you know, and I sometimes think that my father may have toldhim more than he ever told me. That is Bartholomew's window upthere where the moonshine strikes. It is quite bright, but there isno light from within, I think."
"None," said Holmes. "But I see the glint of a light in thatlittle window beside the door."
"Ah, that is the housekeeper's room. That is where old Mrs.Bernstone sits. She can tell us all about it. But perhaps you wouldnot mind waiting here for a minute or two, for if we all go intogether and she has no word of our coming she may be alarmed. Buthush! what is that?"
He held up the lantern, and his hand shook until the circles oflight flickered and wavered all round us. Miss Morstan seized mywrist, and we all stood with thumping hearts, straining our ears.>From the great black house there sounded through the silentnight the saddest and most pitiful of sounds,--the shrill, brokenwhimpering of a frightened woman.
"It is Mrs. Bernstone," said Sholto. "She is the only woman inthe house. Wait here. I shall be back in a moment." He hurried forthe door, and knocked in his peculiar way. We could see a tall oldwoman 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 gladyou have come, Mr. Thaddeus, sir!" We heard her reiteratedrejoicings until the door was closed and her voice died away into amuffled monotone.
Our guide had left us the lantern. Holmes swung it slowly round,and peered keenly at the house, and at the great rubbish-heapswhich cumbered the grounds. Miss Morstan and I stood together, andher hand was in mine. A wondrous subtle thing is love, for herewere we two who had never seen each other before that day, betweenwhom no word or even look of affection had ever passed, and yet nowin an hour of trouble our hands instinctively sought for eachother. I have marvelled at it since, but at the time it seemed themost natural thing that I should go out to her so, and, as she hasoften told me, there was in her also the instinct to turn to me forcomfort and protection. So we stood hand in hand, like twochildren, and there was peace in our hearts for all the dark thingsthat surrounded us.
"What a strange place!" she said, looking round.
"It looks as though all the moles in England had been let loosein it. I have seen something of the sort on the side of a hill nearBallarat, where the prospectors had been at work."
"And from the same cause," said Holmes. "These are the traces ofthe treasure-seekers. You must remember that they were six yearslooking for it. No wonder that the grounds look like agravelpit."
At that moment the door of the house burst open, and ThaddeusSholto came running out, with his hands thrown forward and terrorin his eyes.
"There is something amiss with Bartholomew!" he cried. "I amfrightened! My nerves cannot stand it." He was, indeed, halfblubbering with fear, and his twitching feeble face peeping outfrom the great Astrakhan collar had the helpless appealingexpression 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 equalto giving directions."
We all followed him into the housekeeper's room, which stoodupon the left-hand side of the passage. The old woman was pacing upand down with a scared look and restless picking fingers, but thesight of Miss Morstan appeared to have a soothing effect uponher.
"God bless your sweet calm face!" she cried, with an hystericalsob. "It does me good to see you. Oh, but I have been sorely triedthis day!"
Our companion patted her thin, work-worn hand, and murmured somefew words of kindly womanly comfort which brought the color backinto the others bloodless cheeks.
"Master has locked himself in and will now answer me," sheexplained. "All day I have waited to hear from him, for he oftenlikes to be alone; but an hour ago I feared that something wasamiss, so I went up and peeped through the key-hole. You must goup, Mr. Thaddeus,--you must go up and look for yourself. I haveseen Mr. Bartholomew Sholto in joy and in sorrow for ten longyears, but I never saw him with such a face on him as that."
Sherlock Holmes took the lamp and led the way, for ThaddeusSholto's teeth were chattering in his head. So shaken was he that Ihad to pass my hand under his arm as we went up the stairs, for hisknees were trembling under him. Twice as we ascended Holmes whippedhis lens out of his pocket and carefully examined marks whichappeared to me to be mere shapeless smudges of dust upon thecocoa-nut matting which served as a staircarpet. He walked slowlyfrom step to step, holding the lamp, and shooting keen glances toright and left. Miss Morstan had remained behind with thefrightened housekeeper.
The third flight of stairs ended in a straight passage of somelength, with a great picture in Indian tapestry upon the right ofit and three doors upon the left. Holmes advanced along it in thesame slow and methodical way, while we kept close at his heels,with our long black shadows streaming backwards down the corridor.The third door was that which we were seeking. Holmes knockedwithout receiving any answer, and then tried to turn the handle andforce it open. It was locked on the inside, however, and by a broadand powerful bolt, as we could see when we set our lamp up againstit. The key being turned, however, the hole was not entirelyclosed. 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, moremoved than I had ever before seen him. "What do you make ofit?"
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 theair, for all beneath was in shadow, there hung a face,--the veryface of our companion Thaddeus. There was the same high, shininghead, the same circular bristle of red hair, the same bloodlesscountenance. The features were set, however, in a horrible smile, afixed and unnatural grin, which in that still and moonlit room wasmore jarring to the nerves than any scowl or contortion. So likewas the face to that of our little friend that I looked round athim to make sure that he was indeed with us. Then I recalled tomind 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 againstit, he put all his weight upon the lock. It creaked and groaned,but did not yield. Together we flung ourselves upon it once more,and this time it gave way with a sudden snap, and we foundourselves within Bartholomew Sholto's chamber.
It appeared to have been fitted up as a chemical laboratory. Adouble line of glass-stoppered bottles was drawn up upon the wallopposite the door, and the table was littered over with Bunsenburners, test-tubes, and retorts. In the corners stood carboys ofacid in wicker baskets. One of these appeared to leak or to havebeen broken, for a stream of dark-colored liquid had trickled outfrom it, and the air was heavy with a peculiarly pungent, tar-likeodor. A set of steps stood at one side of the room, in the midst ofa litter of lath and plaster, and above them there was an openingin the ceiling large enough for a man to pass through. at the footof the steps a long coil of rope was thrown carelesslytogether.
By the table, in a wooden arm-chair, the master of the house wasseated all in a heap, with his head sunk upon his left shoulder,and that ghastly, inscrutable smile upon his face. He was stiff andcold, and had clearly been dead many hours. It seemed to me thatnot only his features but all his limbs were twisted and turned inthe most fantastic fashion. By his hand upon the table there lay apeculiar instrument,--a brown, close-grained stick, with a stonehead like a hammer, rudely lashed on with coarse twine. Beside itwas a torn sheet of note-paper with some words scrawled upon it.Holmes glanced at it, and then handed it to me.
"You see," he said, with a significant raising of theeyebrows.
In the light of the lantern I read, with a thrill of horror,"The sign of the four."
"In God's 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 just above the ear.
"It looks like a thorn," said I.
"It is a thorn. You may pick it out. But be careful, for it ispoisoned."
I took it up between my finger and thumb. It came away from theskin so readily that hardly any mark was left behind. One tinyspeck of blood showed where the puncture had been.
"This is all an insoluble mystery to me," said I. "It growsdarker instead of clearer."
"On the contrary," he answered, "it clears every instant. I onlyrequire a few missing links to have an entirely connectedcase."
We had almost forgotten our companion's presence since weentered the chamber. He was still standing in the door-way, thevery picture 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 thetreasure! There is the hole through which we lowered it. I helpedhim to do it! I was the last person who saw him! I left him herelast night, and I heard him lock the door as I camedown-stairs."
"What time was that?"
"It was ten o'clock. And now he is dead, and the police will becalled in, and I shall be suspected of having had a hand in it. Oh,yes, I am sure I shall. But you don't think so, gentlemen? Surelyyou don't think that it was I? Is it likely that I would havebrought you here if it were I? Oh, dear! oh, dear! I know that Ishall go mad!" He jerked his arms and stamped his feet in a kind ofconvulsive frenzy.
"You have no reason for fear, Mr. Sholto," said Holmes, kindly,putting his hand upon his shoulder. "Take my advice, and drive downto the station to report this matter to the police. Offer to assistthem in every way. We shall wait here until your return."
The little man obeyed in a half-stupefied fashion, and we heardhim stumbling down the stairs in the dark.
CHAPTER VI. SHERLOCK HOLMES GIVES ADEMONSTRATION
"Now, Watson," said Holmes, rubbing his hands, "we have half anhour to ourselves. Let us make good use of it. My case is, as Ihave told you, almost complete; but we must not err on the side ofover-confidence. Simple as the case seems now, there may besomething deeper underlying it."
"Simple!" I ejaculated.
"Surely," said he, with something of the air of a clinicalprofessor expounding to his class. "Just sit in the corner there,that your footprints may not complicate matters. Now to work! Inthe first place, how did these folk come, and how did they go? Thedoor has not been opened since last night. How of the window?" Hecarried the lamp across to it, muttering his observations aloud thewhile, but addressing them to himself rather than to me. "Window issnibbed on the inner side. Framework is solid. No hinges at theside. Let us open it. No water-pipe near. Roof quite out of reach.Yet a man has mounted by the window. It rained a little last night.Here is the print of a foot in mould upon the sill. And here is acircular muddy mark, and here again upon the floor, and here againby the table. See here, Watson! This is really a very prettydemonstration."
I looked at the round, well-defined muddy discs. "This is not afootmark," said I.
"It is something much more valuable to us. It is the impressionof a wooden stump. You see here on the sill is the boot-mark, aheavy boot with the broad metal heel, and beside it is the mark ofthe timber-toe."
"It is the wooden-legged man."
"Quite so. But there has been some one else,--a very able andefficient ally. Could you scale that wall, doctor?"
I looked out of the open window. The moon still shone brightlyon that angle of the house. We were a good sixty feet from theround, and, look where I would, I could see no foothold, nor asmuch as a crevice in the brick-work.
"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 one end of it to this great hook in the wall. Then, Ithink, if you were an active man, You might swarm up, wooden legand all. You would depart, of course, in the same fashion, and yourally would draw up the rope, untie it from the hook, shut thewindow, snib it on the inside, and get away in the way that heoriginally came. As a minor point it may be noted," he continued,fingering the rope, "that our wooden-legged friend, though a fairclimber, was not a professional sailor. His hands were far fromhorny. My lens discloses more than one blood-mark, especiallytowards the end of the rope, from which I gather that he slippeddown with such velocity that he took the skin off his hand."
"This is all very well," said I, "but the thing becomes moreunintelligible than ever. How about this mysterious ally? How camehe into the room?"
"Yes, the ally!" repeated Holmes, pensively. "There are featuresof interest about this ally. He lifts the case from the regions ofthe commonplace. I fancy that this ally breaks fresh ground in theannals of crime in this country,--though parallel cases suggestthemselves from India, and, if my memory serves me, fromSenegambia."
"How came he, then?" I reiterated. "The door is locked, thewindow is inaccessible. Was it through the chimney?"
The grate is much too small," he answered. "I had alreadyconsidered that possibility."
"How then?" I persisted.
"You will not apply my precept," he said, shaking his head. "Howoften have I said to you that when you have eliminated theimpossible whatever remains, HOWEVER IMPROBABLE, must be the truth?We know that he did not come through the door, the window, or thechimney. We also know that he could not have been concealed in theroom, as there is no concealment possible. Whence, then, did hecome?"
"He came through the hole in the roof," I cried.
"Of course he did. He must have done so. If you will have thekindness to hold the lamp for me, we shall now extend ourresearches to the room above,--the secret room in which thetreasure was found."
He mounted the steps, and, seizing a rafter with either hand, heswung himself up into the garret. Then, lying on his face, hereached down for the lamp and held it while I followed him.
The chamber in which we found ourselves was about ten feet oneway and six the other. The floor was formed by the rafters, withthin lath-and-plaster between, so that in walking one had to stepfrom beam to beam. The roof ran up to an apex, and was evidentlythe inner shell of the true roof of the house. There was nofurniture of any sort, and the accumulated dust of years lay thickupon the floor.
"Here you are, you see," said Sherlock Holmes, putting his handagainst the sloping wall. "This is a trap-door which leads out onto the roof. I can press it back, and here is the roof itself,sloping at a gentle angle. This, then, is the way by which NumberOne entered. Let us see if we can find one other traces of hisindividuality."
He held down the lamp to the floor, and as he did so I saw forthe second time that night a startled, surprised look come over hisface. For myself, as I followed his gaze my skin was cold under myclothes. The floor was covered thickly with the prints of a nakedfoot,--clear, well defined, perfectly formed, but scarce half thesize of those of an ordinary man.
"Holmes," I said, in a whisper, "a child has done the horridthing."
He had recovered his self-possession in an instant. "I wasstaggered for the moment," he said, "but the thing is quitenatural. My memory failed me, or I should have been able toforetell it. There is nothing more to be learned here. Let us godown."
"What is your theory, then, as to those footmarks?" I asked,eagerly, when we had regained the lower room once more.
"My dear Watson, try a little analysis yourself," said he, witha touch of impatience. "You know my methods. Apply them, and itwill be instructive to compare results."
"I cannot conceive anything which will cover the facts," Ianswered.
"It will be clear enough to you soon," he said, in an off-handway. "I think that there is nothing else of importance here, but Iwill look." He whipped out his lens and a tape measure, and hurriedabout the room on his knees, measuring, comparing, examining, withhis long thin nose only a few inches from the planks, and his beadyeyes gleaming and deep-set like those of a bird. So swift, silent,and furtive were his movements, like those of a trained blood-houndpicking out a scent, that I could not but think what a terriblecriminal he would have made had he turned his energy and sagacityagainst the law, instead of exerting them in its defense. As hehunted about, he kept muttering to himself, and finally he brokeout into a loud crow of delight.
"We are certainly in luck," said he. "We ought to have verylittle trouble now. Number One has had the misfortune to tread inthe creosote. You can see the outline of the edge of his small foothere at the side of this evil-smelling mess. The carboy has beencracked, You see, and the stuff has leaked out."
"What then?" I asked.
"Why, we have got him, that's all," said he. "I know a dog thatwould follow that scent to the world's end. If a pack can track atrailed herring across a shire, how far can a specially-trainedhound follow so pungent a smell as this? It sounds like a sum inthe rule of three. The answer should give us the--But halloo! hereare the accredited representatives of the law."
Heavy steps and the clamor of loud voices were audible frombelow, and the hall door shut with a loud crash.
"Before they come," said Holmes, "just put your hand here onthis poor fellow's 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, farexceeding the usual rigor mortis. Coupled with this distortion ofthe face, this Hippocratic smile, or 'risus sardonicus,' as the oldwriters called it, what conclusion would it suggest to yourmind?"
"Death from some powerful vegetable alkaloid," Ianswered,--"some strychnine-like substance which would producetetanus."
"That was the idea which occurred to me the instant I saw thedrawn muscles of the face. On getting into the room I at oncelooked for the means by which the poison had entered the system. Asyou saw, I discovered a thorn which had been driven or shot with nogreat force into the scalp. You observe that the part struck wasthat which would be turned towards the hole in the ceiling if theman were erect in his chair. Now examine the 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 asthough some gummy substance had dried upon it. The blunt end hadbeen trimmed and rounded 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 justinference. But here are the regulars: so the auxiliary forces maybeat a retreat."
As he spoke, the steps which had been coming nearer soundedloudly on the passage, and a very stout, portly man in a gray suitstrode heavily into the room. He was red-faced, burly andplethoric, with a pair of very small twinkling eyes which lookedkeenly out from between swollen and puffy pouches. He was closelyfollowed by an inspector in uniform, and by the still palpitatingThaddeus Sholto.
"Here's a business!" he cried, in a muffled, husky voice."Here's a pretty business! But who are all these? Why, the houseseems to be as full as a rabbit-warren!"
"I think you must recollect me, Mr. Athelney Jones," saidHolmes, quietly.
"Why, of course I do!" he wheezed. "It's Mr. Sherlock Holmes,the theorist. Remember you! I'll never forget how you lectured usall on causes and inferences and effects in the Bishopgate jewelcase. It's true you set us on the right track; but you'll own nowthat it was more by good luck than good guidance."
"It was a piece of very simple reasoning."
"Oh, come, now, come! Never be ashamed to own up. But what isall this? Bad business! Bad business! Stern facts here,--no roomfor theories. How lucky that I happened to be out at Norwood overanother case! I was at the station when the message arrived. Whatd'you think the man died of?"
"Oh, this is hardly a case for me to theorize over," saidHolmes, dryly.
"No, no. Still, we can't 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 todo with the matter. That's common sense. Man might have died in afit; but then the jewels are missing. Ha! I have a theory. Theseflashes come upon me at times.--Just step outside, sergeant, andyou, Mr. Sholto. Your friend can remain.--What do you think ofthis, Holmes? Sholto was, on his own confession, with his brotherlast night. The brother died in a fit, on which Sholto walked offwith the treasure. How's that?"
"On which the dead man very considerately got up and locked thedoor on the inside."
"Hum! There's a flaw there. Let us apply common sense to thematter. This Thaddeus Sholto WAS with his brother; there WAS aquarrel; so much we know. The brother is dead and the jewels aregone. So much also we know. No one saw the brother from the timeThaddeus left him. His bed had not been slept in. Thaddeus isevidently in a most disturbed state of mind. His appearanceis--well, not attractive. You see that I am weaving my web roundThaddeus. The net begins to close upon him."
"You are not quite in possession of the facts yet," said Holmes."This splinter of wood, which I have every reason to believe to bepoisoned, was in the man's scalp where you still see the mark; thiscard, inscribed as you see it, was on the table; and beside it laythis rather curious stone-headed instrument. How does all that fitinto your theory?"
"Confirms it in every respect," said the fat detective,pompously. "House is full of Indian curiosities. Thaddeus broughtthis up, and if this splinter be poisonous Thaddeus may as wellhave made murderous use of it as any other man. The card is somehocus-pocus,--a blind, as like as not. The only question is, howdid he depart? Ah, of course, here is a hole in the roof." Withgreat activity, considering his bulk, he sprang up the steps andsqueezed through into the garret, and immediately afterwards weheard his exulting voice proclaiming that he had found thetrap-door.
"He can find something," remarked Holmes, shrugging hisshoulders. "He has occasional glimmerings of reason. Il n'y a pasdes sots si incommodes que ceux qui ont de l'esprit!"
"You see!" said Athelney Jones, reappearing down the stepsagain. "Facts are better than mere theories, after all. My view ofthe case is confirmed. There is a trap-door communicating with theroof, and it is partly open."
"It was I who opened it."
"Oh, indeed! You did notice it, then?" He seemed a littlecrestfallen at the discovery. "Well, whoever noticed it, it showshow our gentleman got away. Inspector!"
"Yes, sir," from the passage.
"Ask Mr. Sholto to step this way.--Mr. Sholto, it is my duty toinform you that anything which you may say will be used againstyou. I arrest you in the queen's name as being concerned in thedeath of your brother."
"There, now! Didn't I tell you!" cried the poor little man,throwing out his hands, and looking from one to the other ofus.
"Don't trouble yourself about it, Mr. Sholto," said Holmes. "Ithink that I can engage to clear you of the charge."
"Don't promise too much, Mr. Theorist,--don't promise too much!"snapped the detective. "You may find it a harder matter than youthink."
"Not only will I clear him, Mr. Jones, but I will make you afree present of the name and description of one of the two peoplewho were in this room last night. His name, I have every reason tobelieve, is Jonathan Small. He is a poorly-educated man, small,active, with his right leg off, and wearing a wooden stump which isworn away upon the inner side. His left boot has a coarse,square-toed sole, with an iron band round the heel. He is amiddle-aged man, much sunburned, and has been a convict. These fewindications may be of some assistance to you, coupled with the factthat there is a good deal of skin missing from the palm of hishand. The other man--"
"Ah! the other man--?" asked Athelney Jones, in a sneeringvoice, but impressed none the less, as I could easily see, by theprecision of the other's manner.
"Is a rather curious person," said Sherlock Holmes, turning uponhis heel. "I hope before very long to be able to introduce you tothe pair of them.--A word with you, Watson."
He led me out to the head of the stair. "This unexpectedoccurrence," he said, "has caused us rather to lose sight of theoriginal purpose of our journey."
"I have just been thinking so," I answered. "It is not rightthat Miss Morstan should remain in this stricken house."
"No. You must escort her home. She lives with Mrs. CecilForrester, in Lower Camberwell: so it is not very far. I will waitfor you here if you will drive out again. Or perhaps you are tootired?"
"By no means. I don't think I could rest until I know more ofthis fantastic business. I have seen something of the rough side oflife, but I give you my word that this quick succession of strangesurprises to-night has shaken my nerve completely. I should like,however, to see the matter through with you, now that I have got sofar."
"Your presence will be of great service to me," he answered. "Weshall work the case out independently, and leave this fellow Jonesto exult over any mare's-nest which he may choose to construct.When you have dropped Miss Morstan I wish you to go on to No. 3Pinchin Lane, down near the water's edge at Lambeth. The thirdhouse on the right-hand side is a bird-stuffer's: Sherman is thename. You will see a weasel holding a young rabbit in the window.Knock old Sherman up, and tell him, with my compliments, that Iwant Toby at once. You will bring Toby back in the cab withyou."
"A dog, I suppose."
"Yes,--a queer mongrel, with a most amazing power of scent. Iwould rather have Toby's help than that of the whole detectiveforce of London."
"I shall bring him, then," said I. "It is one now. I ought to beback before three, if I can get a fresh horse."
"And I," said Holmes, "shall see what I can learn from Mrs.Bernstone, and from the Indian servant, who, Mr. Thaddeus tell me,sleeps in the next garret. Then I shall study the great Jones'smethods and listen to his not too delicate sarcasms. 'Wir sindgewohnt das die Menschen verhoehnen was sie nicht verstehen.'Goethe is always pithy."
CHAPTER VII. THE EPISODE OF THE BARREL
The police had brought a cab with them, and in this I escortedMiss Morstan back to her home. After the angelic fashion of women,she had borne trouble with a calm face as long as there was someone weaker than herself to support, and I had found her bright andplacid by the side of the frightened housekeeper. In the cab,however, she first turned faint, and then burst into a passion ofweeping,--so sorely had she been tried by the adventures of thenight. She has told me since that she thought me cold and distantupon that journey. She little guessed the struggle within mybreast, 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 couldnot teach me to know her sweet, brave nature as had this one day ofstrange experiences. Yet there were two thoughts which sealed thewords of affection upon my lips. She was weak and helpless, shakenin mind and nerve. It was to take her at a disadvantage to obtrudelove upon her at such a time. Worse still, she was rich. IfHolmes's researches were successful, she would be an heiress. Wasit fair, was it honorable, that a half-pay surgeon should take suchadvantage of an intimacy which chance had brought about? Might shenot look upon me as a mere vulgar fortune-seeker? I could not bearto risk that such a thought should cross her mind. This Agratreasure intervened like an impassable barrier between us.
It was nearly two o'clock when we reached Mrs. CecilForrester's. The servants had retired hours ago, but Mrs. Forresterhad been so interested by the strange message which Miss Morstanhad received that she had sat up in the hope of her return. Sheopened the door herself, a middle-aged, graceful woman, and it gaveme joy to see how tenderly her arm stole round the other's waistand how motherly was the voice in which she greeted her. She wasclearly no mere paid dependant, but an honored friend. I wasintroduced, and Mrs. Forrester earnestly begged me to step in andtell her our adventures. I explained, however, the importance of myerrand, and promised faithfully to call and report any progresswhich we might make with the case. As we drove away I stole aglance back, and I still seem to see that little group on the step,the two graceful, clinging figures, the half-opened door, the halllight shining through stained glass, the barometer, and the brightstair-rods. It was soothing to catch even that passing glimpse of atranquil English home in the midst of the wild, dark business whichhad absorbed us.
And the more I thought of what had happened, the wilder anddarker it grew. I reviewed the whole extraordinary sequence ofevents as I rattled on through the silent gas-lit streets. Therewas the original problem: that at least was pretty clear now. Thedeath of Captain Morstan, the sending of the pearls, theadvertisement, the letter,--we had had light upon all those events.They had only led us, however, to a deeper and far more tragicmystery. The Indian treasure, the curious plan found amongMorstan's baggage, the strange scene at Major Sholto's death, therediscovery of the treasure immediately followed by the murder ofthe discoverer, the very singular accompaniments to the crime, thefootsteps, the remarkable weapons, the words upon the card,corresponding with those upon Captain Morstan's chart,--here wasindeed a labyrinth in which a man less singularly endowed than myfellow-lodger might well despair of ever finding 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. 3before I could make my impression. At last, however, there was theglint of a candle behind the blind, and a face looked out at theupper window.
"Go on, you drunken vagabone," said the face. "If you kick upany more row I'll open the kennels and let out forty-three dogsupon you."
"If you'll let one out it's just what I have come for," saidI.
"Go on!" yelled the voice. "So help me gracious, I have a wiperin the bag, an' I'll drop it on your 'ead if you don't hookit."
"But I want a dog," I cried.
"I won't be argued with!" shouted Mr. Sherman. "Now stand clear,for when I say 'three,' down goes the wiper."
"Mr. Sherlock Holmes--" I began, but the words had a mostmagical effect, for the window instantly slammed down, and within aminute the door was unbarred and open. Mr. Sherman was a lanky,lean old man, with stooping shoulders, a stringy neck, andbluetinted 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 you take a nip at the gentleman?" This to a stoat whichthrust its wicked head and red eyes between the bars of its cage."Don't mind that, sir: it's only a slow-worm. It hain't got nofangs, so I gives it the run o' the room, for it keeps the bettlesdown. You must not mind my bein' just a little short wi' you atfirst, for I'm guyed at by the children, and there's many a onejust comes down this lane to knock me up. What was it that Mr.Sherlock Holmes 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 forwardwith his candle among the queer animal family which he had gatheredround him. In the uncertain, shadowy light I could see dimly thatthere were glancing, glimmering eyes peeping down at us from everycranny and corner. Even the rafters above our heads were lined bysolemn fowls, who lazily shifted their weight from one leg to theother as our voices disturbed their slumbers.
Toby proved to an ugly, long-haired, lop-eared creature, halfspaniel and half lurcher, brown-and-white in color, with a veryclumsy waddling gait. It accepted after some hesitation a lump ofsugar which the old naturalist handed to me, and, having thussealed an alliance, it followed me to the cab, and made nodifficulties about accompanying me. It had just struck three on thePalace clock when I found myself back once more at PondicherryLodge. The ex-prize-fighter McMurdo had, I found, been arrested asan accessory, and both he and Mr. Sholto had been marched off tothe station. Two constables guarded the narrow gate, but theyallowed me to pass with the dog on my mentioning the detective'sname.
Holmes was standing on the door-step, with his hands in hispockets, smoking his pipe.
"Ah, you have him there!" said he. "Good dog, then! AtheneyJones has gone. We have had an immense display of energy since youleft. He has arrested not only friend Thaddeus, but the gatekeeper,the housekeeper, and the Indian servant. We have the place toourselves, but for a sergeant up-stairs. Leave the dog here, andcome up."
We tied Toby to the hall table, and reascended the stairs. Theroom was as he had left it, save that a sheet had been draped overthe central figure. A weary-looking police-sergeant reclined in thecorner.
"Lend me your bull's-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 youcarry them down with you, Watson. I am going to do a littleclimbing. And dip my handkerchief into the creasote. That will do.Now come up into the garret with me for a moment."
We clambered up through the hole. Holmes turned his light oncemore upon the footsteps in the dust.
"I wish you particularly to notice these footmarks," he said."Do you 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 thedust. Now I make one with my naked foot beside it. What is thechief difference?"
"Your toes are all cramped together. The other print has eachtoe distinctly divided."
"Quite so. That is the point. Bear that in mind. Now, would youkindly step over to that flap-window and smell the edge of thewood-work? I shall stay here, as I have this handkerchief in myhand."
I did as he directed, and was instantly conscious of a strongtarry smell.
"That is where he put his foot in getting out. If YOU can tracehim, I should think that Toby will have no difficulty. Now rundown-stairs, loose the dog, and look out for Blondin."
By the time that I got out into the grounds Sherlock Holmes wason the roof, and I could see him like an enormous glow-wormcrawling very slowly along the ridge. I lost sight of him behind astack of chimneys, but he presently reappeared, and then vanishedonce more upon the opposite side. When I made my way round there Ifound him seated at one of the corner 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! It's a most break-neck place. I ought tobe able to come down where he could climb up. The water-pipe feelspretty firm. Here goes, anyhow."
There was a scuffling of feet, and the lantern began to comesteadily down the side of the wall. Then with a light spring hecame on to the barrel, and from there to the earth.
"It was easy to follow him," he said, drawing on his stockingsand boots. "Tiles were loosened the whole way along, and in hishurry he had dropped this. It confirms my diagnosis, as you doctorsexpress it."
The object which he held up to me was a small pocket or pouchwoven out of colored grasses and with a few tawdry beads strunground it. In shape and size it was not unlike a cigarette-case.Inside were half a dozen spines of dark wood, sharp at one end androunded at the other, like that which had struck BartholomewSholto.
"They are hellish things," said he. "Look out that you don'tprick yourself. I'm delighted to have them, for the chances arethat they are all he has. There is the less fear of you or mefinding one in our skin before long. I would sooner face a Martinibullet, myself. Are you game for a six-mile trudge, Watson?"
"Certainly," I answered.
"Your leg will stand it?"
"Oh, yes."
"Here you are, doggy! Good old Toby! Smell it, Toby, smell it!"He pushed the creasote handkerchief under the dog's nose, while thecreature stood with its fluffy legs separated, and with a mostcomical cock to its head, like a connoisseur sniffing the bouquetof a famous vintage. Holmes then threw the handkerchief to adistance, fastened a stout cord to the mongrel's collar, and lethim to the foot of the water-barrel. The creature instantly brokeinto a succession of high, tremulous yelps, and, with his nose onthe ground, and his tail in the air, pattered off upon the trail ata pace which strained his leash and kept us at the top of ourspeed.
The east had been gradually whitening, and we could now see somedistance in the cold gray light. The square, massive house, withits black, empty windows and high, bare walls, towered up, sad andforlorn, behind us. Our course let right across the grounds, in andout among the trenches and pits with which they were scarred andintersected. The whole place, with its scattered dirt-heaps andill-grown shrubs, had a blighted, ill-omened look which harmonizedwith the black tragedy which hung over it.
On reaching the boundary wall Toby ran along, whining eagerly,underneath its shadow, and stopped finally in a corner screened bya young 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.Holmes clambered up, and, taking the dog from me, he dropped itover upon the other side.
"There's the print of wooden-leg's hand," he remarked, as Imounted up beside him. "You see the slight smudge of blood upon thewhite plaster. What a lucky thing it is that we have had no veryheavy rain since yesterday! The scent will lie upon the road inspite of their eight-and-twenty hours' start."
I confess that I had my doubts myself when I reflected upon thegreat traffic which had passed along the London road in theinterval. My fears were soon appeased, however. Toby neverhesitated or swerved, but waddled on in his peculiar rollingfashion. Clearly, the pungent smell of the creasote rose high aboveall other contending scents.
"Do not imagine," said Holmes, "that I depend for my success inthis case upon the mere chance of one of these fellows having puthis foot in the chemical. I have knowledge now which would enableme to trace them in many different ways. This, however, is thereadiest and, since fortune has put it into our hands, I should beculpable if I neglected it. It has, however, prevented the casefrom becoming the pretty little intellectual problem which it atone time promised to be. There might have been some credit to begained out of it, but for this too palpable clue."
"There is credit, and to spare," said I. "I assure you, Holmes,that I marvel at the means by which you obtain your results in thiscase, even more than I did in the Jefferson Hope Murder. The thingseems to me to be deeper and more inexplicable. How, for example,could you describe with such confidence the woodenlegged man?"
"Pshaw, my dear boy! it was simplicity itself. I don't wish tobe theatrical. It is all patent and above-board. Two officers whoare in command of a convict-guard learn an important secret as toburied treasure. A map is drawn for them by an Englishman namedJonathan Small. You remember that we saw the name upon the chart inCaptain Morstan's possession. He had signed it in behalf of himselfand his associates,--the sign of the four, as he somewhatdramatically called it. Aided by this chart, the officers--or oneof them--gets the treasure and brings it to England, leaving, wewill suppose, some condition under which he received itunfulfilled. Now, then, why did not Jonathan Small get the treasurehimself? The answer is obvious. The chart is dated at a time whenMorstan was brought into close association with convicts. JonathanSmall did not get the treasure because he and his associates werethemselves convicts and could not get away."
"But that is mere speculation," said I.
"It is more than that. It is the only hypothesis which coversthe facts. Let us see how it fits in with the sequel. Major Sholtoremains at peace for some years, happy in the possession of histreasure. Then he receives a letter from India which gives him agreat fright. What was that?"
"A letter to say that the men whom he had wronged had been setfree."
"Or had escaped. That is much more likely, for he would haveknown what their term of imprisonment was. It would not have been asurprise to him. What does he do then? He guards himself against awooden-legged man,--a white man, mark you, for he mistakes a whitetradesman for him, and actually fires a pistol at him. Now, onlyone white man's name is on the chart. The others are Hindoos orMohammedans. There is no other white man. Therefore we may say withconfidence that the wooden-legged man is identical with JonathanSmall. Does the reasoning strike yo as being faulty?"
"No: it is clear and concise."
"Well, now, let us put ourselves in the place of Jonathan Small.Let us look at it from his point of view. He comes to England withthe double idea of regaining what he would consider to be hisrights and of having his revenge upon the man who had wronged him.He found out where Sholto lived, and very possibly he establishedcommunications with some one inside the house. There is thisbutler, Lal Rao, whom we have not seen. Mrs. Bernstone gives himfar from a good character. Small could not find out, however, wherethe treasure was hid, for no one ever knew, save the major and onefaithful servant who had died. Suddenly Small learns that the majoris on his death-bed. In a frenzy lest the secret of the treasuredie with him, he runs the gauntlet of the guards, makes his way tothe dying man's window, and is only deterred from entering by thepresence of his two sons. Mad with hate, however, against the deadman, he enters the room that night, searches his private papers inthe hope of discovering some memorandum relating to the treasure,and finally leaves a momento of his visit in the short inscriptionupon the card. He had doubtless planned beforehand that should heslay the major he would leave some such record upon the body as asign that it was not a common murder, but, from the point of viewof the four associates, something in the nature of an act ofjustice. Whimsical and bizarre conceits of this kind are commonenough 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 tokeep a secret watch upon the efforts made to find the treasure.Possibly he leaves England and only comes back at intervals. Thencomes the discovery of the garret, and he is instantly informed ofit. We again trace the presence of some confederate in thehousehold. Jonathan, with his wooden leg, is utterly unable toreach the lofty room of Bartholomew Sholto. He takes with him,however, a rather curious associate, who gets over this difficulty,but dips his naked foot into creasote, whence come Toby, and asix-mile limp for a half-pay officer with a damaged tendoAchillis."
"But it was the associate, and not Jonathan, who committed thecrime."
"Quite so. And rather to Jonathan's disgust, to judge by the waythe stamped about when he got into the room. He bore no grudgeagainst Bartholomew Sholto, and would have preferred if he couldhave been simply bound and gagged. He did not wish to put his headin a halter. There was no help for it, however: the savageinstincts of his companion had broken out, and the poison had doneits work: so Jonathan Small left his record, lowered thetreasure-box to the ground, and followed it himself. That was thetrain of events as far as I can decipher them. Of course as to hispersonal appearance he must be middle-aged, and must be sunburnedafter serving his time in such an oven as the Andamans. His heightis readily calculated from the length of his stride, and we knowthat he was bearded. His hairiness was the one point whichimpressed itself upon Thaddeus Sholto when he saw him at thewindow. I don't know that there is anything else."
"The associate?"
"Ah, well, there is no great mystery in that. But you will knowall about it soon enough. How sweet the morning air is! See howthat one little cloud floats like a pink feather from some giganticflamingo. Now the red rim of the sun pushes itself over the Londoncloud-bank. It shines on a good many folk, but on none, I dare bet,who are on a stranger errand than you and I. How small we feel withour petty ambitions and strivings in the presence of the greatelemental forces of nature! Are you well up in your Jean Paul?"
"Fairly so. I worked back to him through Carlyle."
"That was like following the brook to the parent lake. He makesone curious but profound remark. It is that the chief proof ofman's real greatness lies in his perception of his own smallness.It argues, you see, a power of comparison and of appreciation whichis in itself a proof of nobility. There is much food for thought inRichter. You have not a pistol, have you?"
"I have my stick."
"It is just possible that we may need something of the sort ifwe get to their lair. Jonathan I shall leave to you, but if theother turns nasty I shall shoot him dead." He took out his revolveras he spoke, and, having loaded two of the chambers, he put it backinto the right-hand pocket of his jacket.
We had during this time been following the guidance of Toby downthe half-rural villa-lined roads which lead to the metropolis. Now,however, we were beginning to come among continuous streets, wherelaborers and dockmen were already astir, and slatternly women weretaking down shutters and brushing door-steps. At the square-toppedcorner public houses business was just beginning, and rough-lookingmen were emerging, rubbing their sleeves across their beards aftertheir morning wet. Strange dogs sauntered up and stared wonderinglyat us as we passed, but our inimitable Toby looked neither to theright nor to the left, but trotted onwards with his nose to theground and an occasional eager whine which spoke of a hotscent.
We had traversed Streatham, Brixton, Camberwell, and now foundourselves in Kennington Lane, having borne away through thesidestreets to the east of the Oval. The men whom we pursued seemedto have taken a curiously zigzag road, with the idea probably ofescaping observation. They had never kept to the main road if aparallel side-street would serve their turn. At the foot ofKennington Lane they had edged away to the left through Bond Streetand Miles Street. Where the latter street turns into Knight'sPlace, Toby ceased to advance, but began to run backwards andforwards with one ear cocked and the other drooping, the verypicture of canine indecision. Then he waddled round in circles,looking up to us from time to time, as if to ask for sympathy inhis embarrassment.
"What the deuce is the matter with the dog?" growled Holmes."They surely would not take a cab, or go off in a balloon."
"Perhaps they stood here for some time," I suggested.
"Ah! it's all right. He's off again," said my companion, in atone of relief.
He was indeed off, for after sniffing round again he suddenlymade up his mind, and darted away with an energy and determinationsuch as he had not yet shown. The scent appeared to be much hotterthan before, for he had not even to put his nose on the ground, buttugged at his leash and tried to break into a run. I cold see bythe gleam in Holmes's eyes that he thought we were nearing the endof our journey.
Our course now ran down Nine Elms until we came to Broderick andNelson's large timber-yard, just past the White Eagle tavern. Herethe dog, frantic with excitement, turned down through the side-gateinto the enclosure, where the sawyers were already at work. On thedog raced through sawdust and shavings, down an alley, round apassage, between two wood-piles, and finally, with a triumphantyelp, sprang upon a large barrel which still stood upon thehand-trolley on which it had been brought. With lolling tongue andblinking eyes, Toby stood upon the cask, looking from one to theother of us for some sign of appreciation. The staves of the barreland the wheels of the trolley were smeared with a dark liquid, andthe whole air was heavy with the smell of creasote.
Sherlock Holmes and I looked blankly at each other, and thenburst simultaneously into an uncontrollable fit of laughter.
CHAPTER VIII. THE BAKER STREET IRREGULARS
"What now?" I asked. "Toby has lost his character forinfallibility."
"He acted according to his lights," said Holmes, lifting himdown from the barrel and walking him out of the timber-yard. "Ifyou consider how much creasote is carted about London in one day,it is no great wonder that our trail should have been crossed. Itis much used now, especially for the seasoning of wood. Poor Tobyis not to blame."
"We must get on the main scent again, I suppose."
"Yes. And, fortunately, we have no distance to go. Evidentlywhat puzzled the dog at the corner of Knight's Place was that therewere two different trails running in opposite directions. We tookthe wrong one. It only remains to follow the other."
There was no difficulty about this. On leading Toby to the placewhere he had committed his fault, he cast about in a wide circleand finally dashed off in a fresh direction.
"We must take care that he does not now bring us to the placewhere the creasote-barrel came from," I observed.
"I had thought of that. But you notice that he keeps on thepavement, whereas the barrel passed down the roadway. No, we are onthe true scent now."
It tended down towards the river-side, running through BelmontPlace and Prince's Street. At the end of Broad Street it ran rightdown to the water's edge, where there was a small wooden wharf.Toby led us to the very edge of this, and there stood whining,looking out on the dark current beyond.
"We are out of luck," said Holmes. "They have taken to a boathere." Several small punts and skiffs were lying about in the waterand on the edge of the wharf. We took Toby round to each in turn,but, though he sniffed earnestly, he made no sign.
Close to the rude landing-stage was a small brick house, with awooden placard slung out through the second window. "MordecaiSmith" was printed across it in large letters, and, underneath,"Boats to hire by the hour or day." A second inscription above thedoor informed us that a steam launch was kept,--a statement whichwas confirmed by a great pile of coke upon the jetty. SherlockHolmes looked slowly round, and his face assumed an ominousexpression.
"This looks bad," said he. "These fellows are sharper than Iexpected. They seem to have covered their tracks. There has, Ifear, been preconcerted management here."
He was approaching the door of the house, when it opened, and alittle, curly-headed lad of six came running out, followed by astoutish, red-faced woman with a large sponge in her hand.
"You come back and be washed, Jack," she shouted. "Come back,you young imp; for if your father comes home and finds you likethat, he'll let us hear of it."
"Dear little chap!" said Holmes, strategically. "What arosycheeked young rascal! Now, Jack, is there anything you wouldlike?"
The youth pondered for a moment. "I'd like a shillin'," saidhe.
"Nothing you would like better?"
"I'd like two shillin' better," the prodigy answered, after somethought.
"Here you are, then! Catch!--A fine child, Mrs. Smith!"
"Lor' bless you, sir, he is that, and forward. He gets a'mosttoo much for me to manage, 'specially when my man is away days at atime."
"Away, is he?" said Holmes, in a disappointed voice. "I am sorryfor that, for I wanted to speak to Mr. Smith."
"He's been away since yesterday mornin', sir, and, truth totell, I am beginnin' to feel frightened about him. But if it wasabout 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 hasgone. That's what puzzles me; for I know there ain't more coals inher than would take her to about Woolwich and back. If he'd beenaway in the barge I'd ha' thought nothin'; for many a time a jobhas taken him as far as Gravesend, and then if there was much doin'there he might ha' stayed over. But what good is a steam launchwithout coals?"
"He might have bought some at a wharf down the river."
"He might, sir, but it weren't his way. Many a time I've heardhim call out at the prices they charge for a few odd bags. Besides,I don't like that wooden-legged man, wi' his ugly face andoutlandish talk. What did he want always knockin' about herefor?"
"A wooden-legged man?" said Holmes, with bland surprise.
"Yes, sir, a brown, monkey-faced chap that's called more'n oncefor my old man. It was him that roused him up yesternight, and,what's more, my man knew he was comin', for he had steam up in thelaunch. I tell you straight, sir, I don't feel easy in my mindabout it."
"But, my dear Mrs. Smith," said Holmes, shrugging his shoulders,"You are frightening yourself about nothing. How could you possiblytell that it was the wooden-legged man who came in the night? Idon't quite understand how you can be so sure."
"His voice, sir. I knew his voice, which is kind o' thick andfoggy. He tapped at the winder,--about three it would be. 'Show aleg, matey,' says he: 'time to turn out guard.' My old man woke upJim,--that's my eldest,--and away they went, without so much as aword to me. I could hear the wooden leg clackin' on thestones."
"And was this wooden-legged man alone?"
"Couldn't say, I am sure, sir. I didn't hear no one else."
"I am sorry, Mrs. Smith, for I wanted a steam launch, and I haveheard good reports of the--Let me see, what is her name?"
"The Aurora, sir."
"Ah! She's not that old green launch with a yellow line, verybroad in the beam?"
"No, indeed. She's as trim a little thing as any on the river.She's been fresh painted, black with two red streaks."
"Thanks. I hope that you will hear soon from Mr. Smith. I amgoing down the river; and if I should see anything of the Aurora Ishall let him know that you are uneasy. A black funnel, yousay?"
"No, sir. Black with a white band."
"Ah, of course. It was the sides which were black. Goodmorning,Mrs. Smith.--There is a boatman here with a wherry, Watson. Weshall take it and cross the river.
"The main thing with people of that sort," said Holmes, as wesat in the sheets of the wherry, "is never to let them think thattheir information can be of the slightest importance to you. If youdo, they will instantly shut up like an oyster. If you listen tothem under protest, as it were, you are very likely to get what youwant."
"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 ofthe Aurora."
"My dear fellow, it would be a colossal task. She may havetouched at any wharf on either side of the stream between here andGreenwich. Below the bridge there is a perfect labyrinth oflanding-places for miles. It would take yo days and days to exhaustthem, if you set about it alone."
"Employ the police, then."
"No. I shall probably call Athelney Jones in at the last moment.He is not a bad fellow, and I should not like to do anything whichwould injure him professionally. But I have a fancy for working itout myself, now that we have gone so far."
"Could we advertise, then, asking for information fromwharfingers?"
"Worse and worse! Our men would know that the chase was hot attheir heels, and they would be off out of the country. As it is,they are likely enough to leave, but as long as they think they areperfectly safe they will be in no hurry. Jones's energy will be ofuse to us there, for his view of the case is sure to push itselfinto the daily press, and the runaways will think that every one isoff 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 anhour's sleep. It is quite on the cards that we may be afoot tonightagain. Stop at a telegraph-office, cabby! We will keep Toby, for hemay be of use to us yet."
We pulled up at the Great Peter Street post-office, and Holmesdespatched his wire. "Whom do you think that is to?" he asked, aswe resumed our journey.
"I am sure I don't know."
"You remember the Baker Street division of the detective policeforce whom I employed in the Jefferson Hope case?"
"Well," said I, laughing.
"This is just the case where they might be invaluable. If theyfail, I have other resources; but I shall try them first. That wirewas to my dirty little lieutenant, Wiggins, and I expect that heand his gang will be with us before we have finished ourbreakfast."
It was between eight and nine o'clock now, and I was consciousof a strong reaction after the successive excitements of the night.I was limp and weary, befogged in mind and fatigued in body. I hadnot the professional enthusiasm which carried my companion on, norcould I look at the matter as a mere abstract intellectual problem.As far as the death of Bartholomew Sholto went, I had heard littlegood of him, and could feel no intense antipathy to his murderers.The treasure, however, was a different matter. That, or part of it,belonged rightfully to Miss Morstan. While there was a chance ofrecovering it I was ready to devote my life to the one object.True, if I found it it would probably put her forever beyond myreach. Yet it would be a petty and selfish love which would beinfluenced by such a thought as that. If Holmes could work to findthe criminals, I had a tenfold stronger reason to urge me on tofind the treasure.
A bath at Baker Street and a complete change freshened me upwonderfully. When I came down to our room I found the breakfastlaid and Homes pouring out the coffee.
"Here it is," said he, laughing, and pointing to an opennewspaper. "The energetic Jones and the ubiquitous reporter havefixed it up between them. But you have had enough of the case.Better have your ham and eggs first."
I took the paper from him and read the short notice, which washeaded "Mysterious Business at Upper Norwood."
"About twelve o'clock last night," said the Standard, "Mr.Bartholomew Sholto, of Pondicherry Lodge, Upper Norwood, was founddead in his room under circumstances which point to foul play. Asfar as we can learn, no actual traces of violence were found uponMr. Sholto's person, but a valuable collection of Indian gems whichthe deceased gentleman had inherited from his father has beencarried off. The discovery was first made by Mr. Sherlock Holmesand Dr. Watson, who had called at the house with Mr. ThaddeusSholto, brother of the deceased. By a singular piece of goodfortune, Mr. Athelney Jones, the well-known member of the detectivepolice force, happened to be at the Norwood Police Station, and wason the ground within half an hour of the first alarm. His trainedand experienced faculties were at once directed towards thedetection of the criminals, with the gratifying result that thebrother, Thaddeus Sholto, has already been arrested, together withthe housekeeper, Mrs. Bernstone, an Indian butler named Lal Rao,and a porter, or gatekeeper, named McMurdo. It is quite certainthat the thief or thieves were well acquainted with the house, forMr. Jones's well-known technical knowledge and his powers of minuteobservation have enabled him to prove conclusively that themiscreants could not have entered by the door or by the window, butmust have made their way across the roof of the building, and sothrough a trap-door into a room which communicated with that inwhich the body was found. This fact, which has been very clearlymade out, proves conclusively that it was no mere haphazardburglary. The prompt and energetic action of the officers of thelaw shows the great advantage of the presence on such occasions ofa single vigorous and masterful mind. We cannot but think that itsupplies an argument to those who would wish to see our detectivesmore decentralized, and so brought into closer and more effectivetouch with the cases which it is their duty to investigate."
"Isn't it gorgeous!" said Holmes, grinning over his coffee-cup."What do you think of it?"
I think that we have had a close shave ourselves of beingarrested for the crime."
"So do I. I wouldn't answer for our safety now, if he shouldhappen to have another of his attacks of energy."
At this moment there was a loud ring at the bell, and I couldhear Mrs. Hudson, our landlady, raising her voice in a wail ofexpostulation and dismay.
"By heaven, Holmes," I said, half rising, "I believe that theyare really after us."
"No, it's not quite so bad as that. It is the unofficialforce,--the Baker Street irregulars."
As he spoke, there came a swift pattering of naked feet upon thestairs, a clatter of high voices, and in rushed a dozen dirty andragged little street-Arabs. There was some show of discipline amongthem, despite their tumultuous entry, for they instantly drew up inline and stood facing us with expectant faces. One of their number,taller and older than the others, stood forward with an air oflounding superiority which was very funny in such a disreputablelittle carecrow.
"Got your message, sir," said he, "and brought 'em on sharp.Three bob and a tanner for tickets."
"Here you are," said Holmes, producing some silver. "In futurethey can report to you, Wiggins, and you to me. I cannot have thehouse invaded in this way. However, it is just as well that youshould all hear the instructions. I want to find the whereabouts ofa steam launch called the Aurora, owner Mordecai Smith, black withtwo red streaks, funnel black with a white band. She is down theriver somewhere. I want one boy to be at Mordecai Smith'slanding-stage opposite Millbank to say if the boat comes back. Youmust divide it out among yourselves, and do both banks thoroughly.Let me know the moment yo have news. Is that all clear?"
"Yes, guv'nor," said Wiggins.
"The old scale of pay, and a guinea to the boy who finds theboat. Here's a day in advance. Now off you go!" He handed them ashilling each, and away they buzzed down the stairs, and I saw thema moment later streaming down the street.
"If the launch is above water they will find her," said Holmes,as he rose from the table and lit his pipe. "They can goeverywhere, see everything, overhear every one. I expect to hearbefore evening that they have spotted her. In the mean while, wecan do nothing but await results. We cannot pick up the brokentrail until we find either the Aurora or Mr. Mordecai Smith."
"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 neverremember feeling tired by work, though idleness exhausts mecompletely. I am going to smoke and to think over this queerbusiness to which my fair client has introduced us. If ever man hadan easy task, this of ours ought to be. Wooden-legged men are notso common, but the other man must, I should think, be absolutelyunique."
"That other man again!"
"I have no wish to make a mystery of him,--to you, anyway. Butyou must have formed your own opinion. Now, do consider the data.Diminutive footmarks, toes never fettered by boots, naked feet,stone-headed wooden mace, great agility, small poisoned darts. Whatdo you make of all this?"
"A savage!" I exclaimed. "Perhaps one of those Indians who werethe associates of Jonathan Small."
"Hardly that," said he. "When first I saw signs of strangeweapons I was inclined to think so; but the remarkable character ofthe footmarks caused me to reconsider my views. Some of theinhabitants of the Indian Peninsula are small men, but none couldhave left such marks as that. The Hindoo proper has long and thinfeet. The sandal-wearing Mohammedan has the great toe wellseparated from the others, because the thong is commonly passedbetween. These little darts, too, could only be shot in one way.They are from a blow-pipe. Now, then, where are we to find oursavage?"
"South American," I hazarded.
He stretched his hand up, and took down a bulky volume from theshelf. "This is the first volume of a gazetteer which is now beingpublished. It may be looked upon as the very latest authority. Whathave we here? 'Andaman Islands, situated 340 miles to the north ofSumatra, in the Bay of Bengal.' Hum! hum! What's all this? Moistclimate, coral reefs, sharks, Port Blair, convict-barracks, RutlandIsland, cottonwoods--Ah, here we are. 'The aborigines of theAndaman Islands may perhaps claim the distinction of being thesmallest race upon this earth, though some anthropologists preferthe Bushmen of Africa, the Digger Indians of America, and the Terradel Fuegians. The average height is rather below four feet,although many full-grown adults may be found who are very muchsmaller than this. They are a fierce, morose, and intractablepeople, though capable of forming most devoted friendships whentheir 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. Theirfeet and hands, however, are remarkably small. So intractable andfierce are they that all the efforts of the British official havefailed to win them over in any degree. They have always been aterror to shipwrecked crews, braining the survivors with theirstone-headed clubs, or shooting them with their poisoned arrows.These massacres are invariably concluded by a cannibal feast.'Nice, amiable people, Watson! If this fellow had been left to hisown unaided devices this affair might have taken an even moreghastly turn. I fancy that, even as it is, Jonathan Small wouldgive a good deal not to have employed him."
"But how came he to have so singular a companion?"
"Ah, that is more than I can tell. Since, however, we hadalready determined that Small had come from the Andamans, it is notso very wonderful that this islander should be with him. No doubtwe shall now all about it in time. Look here, Watson; you lookregularly done. Lie down there on the sofa, and see if I can putyou to sleep."
He took up his violin from the corner, and as I stretched myselfout he began to play some low, dreamy, melodious air,--his own, nodoubt, for he had a remarkable gift for improvisation. I have avague remembrance of his gaunt limbs, his earnest face, and therise and fall of his bow. Then I seemed to be floated peacefullyaway upon a soft sea of sound, until I found myself in dreamland,with the sweet face of Mary Morstan looking down upon me.
CHAPTER IX. A BREAK IN THE CHAIN
It was late in the afternoon before I woke, strengthened andrefreshed. Sherlock Holmes still sat exactly as I had left him,save that he had laid aside his violin and was deep in a book. Helooked across at me, as I stirred, and I noticed that his face wasdark and troubled.
"You have slept soundly," he said. "I feared that our talk wouldwake you."
"I heard nothing," I answered. "Have you had fresh news,then?"
"Unfortunately, no. I confess that I am surprised anddisappointed. I expected something definite by this time. Wigginshas just been up to report. He says that no trace can be found ofthe launch. It is a provoking check, for every hour is ofimportance."
"Can I do anything? I am perfectly fresh now, and quite readyfor another night's outing."
"No, we can do nothing. We can only wait. If we go ourselves,the message might 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 asmile in his eyes.
"Well, of course Miss Morstan too. They were anxious to hearwhat happened."
"I would not tell them too much," said Holmes. "Women are neverto be entirely trusted,--not the best of them."
I did not pause to argue over this atrocious sentiment. "I shallbe back in an hour or two," I remarked.
"All right! Good luck! But, I say, if you are crossing the riveryou may as well return Toby, for I don't think it is at all likelythat we shall have any use for him now."
I took our mongrel accordingly, and left him, together with ahalf-sovereign, at the old naturalist's in Pinchin Lane. AtCamberwell I found Miss Morstan a little weary after her night'sadventures, but very eager to hear the news. Mrs. Forrester, too,was full of curiosity. I told them all that we had done,suppressing, however, the more dreadful parts of the tragedy. Thus,although I spoke of Mr. Sholto's death, I said nothing of the exactmanner and method of it. With all my omissions, however, there wasenough to startle and amaze them.
"It is a romance!" cried Mrs. Forrester. "An injured lady, halfa million in treasure, a black cannibal, and a wooden-leggedruffian. They take the place of the conventional dragon or wickedearl."
"And two knight-errants to the rescue," added Miss Morstan, witha bright glance at me.
"Why, Mary, your fortune depends upon the issue of this search.I don't think that you are nearly excited enough. Just imagine whatit must be to be so rich, and to have the world at your feet!"
It sent a little thrill of joy to my heart to notice that sheshowed no sign of elation at the prospect. On the contrary, shegave a toss of her proud head, as though the matter were one inwhich she took small interest.
"It is for Mr. Thaddeus Sholto that I am anxious," she said."Nothing else is of any consequence; but I think that he hasbehaved most kindly and honorably throughout. It is our duty toclear him of this dreadful and unfounded charge."
It was evening before I left Camberwell, and quite dark by thetime I reached home. My companion's book and pipe lay by his chair,but he had disappeared. I looked about in the hope of seeing anote, but there was none.
"I suppose that Mr. Sherlock Holmes has gone out," I said toMrs. Hudson as she came up to lower the blinds.
"No, sir. He has gone to his room, sir. Do you know, sir,"sinking her voice into an impressive whisper, "I am afraid for hishealth?"
"Why so, Mrs. Hudson?"
"Well, he's that strange, sir. After you was gone he walked andhe walked, up and down, and up and down, until I was weary of thesound of his footstep. Then I heard him talking to himself andmuttering, and every time the bell rang out he came on thestairhead, with 'What is that, Mrs. Hudson?' And now he has slammedoff to his room, but I can hear him walking away the same as ever.I hope he's not going to be ill, sir. I ventured to say somethingto him about cooling medicine, but he turned on me, sir, with sucha look that I don't know how ever I got out of the room."
"I don't think that you have any cause to be uneasy, Mrs.Hudson," I answered. "I have seen him like this before. He has somesmall matter upon his mind which makes him restless." I tried tospeak lightly to our worthy landlady, but I was myself somewhatuneasy when through the long night I still from time to time heardthe 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 littlefleck of feverish color upon either cheek.
"You are knocking yourself up, old man," I remarked. "I heardyou marching 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,when all else had been overcome. I know the men, the launch,everything; and yet I can get no news. I have set other agencies atwork, and used every means at my disposal. The whole river has beensearched on either side, but there is no news, nor has Mrs. Smithheard of her husband. I shall come to the conclusion soon that theyhave scuttled the craft. But there are 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, andthere is a launch of that description."
"Could it have gone up the river?"
"I have considered that possibility too, and there is asearchparty who will work up as far as Richmond. If no news comestoday, I shall start off myself to-morrow, and go for the menrather than the boat. But surely, surely, we shall hearsomething."
We did not, however. Not a word came to us either from Wigginsor from the other agencies. There were articles in most of thepapers upon the Norwood tragedy. They all appeared to be ratherhostile to the unfortunate Thaddeus Sholto. No fresh details wereto be found, however, in any of them, save that an inquest was tobe held upon the following day. I walked over to Camberwell in theevening to report our ill success to the ladies, and on my return Ifound Holmes dejected and somewhat morose. He would hardly reply tomy questions, and busied himself all evening in an abstrusechemical analysis which involved much heating of retorts anddistilling of vapors, ending at last in a smell which fairly droveme 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 wasstill engaged in his malodorous experiment.
In the early dawn I woke with a start, and was surprised to findhim standing by my bedside, clad in a rude sailor dress with apea-jacket, and a coarse red scarf round his neck.
"I am off down the river, Watson," said he. "I have been turningit over in my mind, and I can see only one way out of it. It isworth trying, at all events."
"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 thatsome message may come during the day, though Wiggins was despondentabout it last night. I want you to open all notes and telegrams,and to act on your own judgment if any news should come. Can I relyupon you?"
"Most certainly."
"I am afraid that you will not be able to wire to me, for I canhardly tell yet where I may find myself. If I am in luck, however,I may not be gone so very long. I shall have news of some sort orother before I get back."
I had heard nothing of him by breakfast-time. On opening theStandard, however, I found that there was a fresh allusion to thebusiness. "With reference to the Upper Norwood tragedy," itremarked, "we have reason to believe that the matter promises to beeven more complex and mysterious than was originally supposed.Fresh evidence has shown that it is quite impossible that Mr.Thaddeus Sholto could have been in any way concerned in the matter.He and 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 byMr. Athelney Jones, of Scotland Yard, with all his well-knownenergy and sagacity. Further arrests may be expected at anymoment."
"That is satisfactory so far as it goes," thought I. "FriendSholto is safe, at any rate. I wonder what the fresh clue may be;though it seems to be a stereotyped form whenever the police havemade a blunder."
I tossed the paper down upon the table, but at that moment myeye caught an advertisement in the agony column. It ran in thisway:
"Lost.--Whereas Mordecai Smith, boatman, and his son, Jim, leftSmith's Wharf at or about three o'clock last Tuesday morning in thesteam launch Aurora, black with two red stripes, funnel black witha white band, the sum of five pounds will be paid to any one whocan give information to Mrs. Smith, at Smith's Wharf, or at 221bBaker Street, as to the whereabouts of the said Mordecai Smith andthe launch Aurora."
This was clearly Holmes's doing. The Baker Street address wasenough to prove that. It struck me as rather ingenious, because itmight be read by the fugitives without their seeing in it more thanthe natural anxiety of a wife for her missing husband.
It was a long day. Every time that a knock came to the door, ora sharp step passed in the street, I imagined that it was eitherHolmes returning or an answer to his advertisement. I tried toread, but my thoughts would wander off to our strange quest and tothe ill-assorted and villainous pair whom we were pursuing. Couldthere be, I wondered, some radical flaw in my companion'sreasoning. Might he be suffering from some huge self-deception? Wasit not possible that his nimble and speculative mind had built upthis wild theory upon faulty premises? I had never known him to bewrong; and yet the keenest reasoner may occasionally be deceived.He was likely, I thought, to fall into error through theover-refinement of his logic,--his preference for a subtle andbizarre explanation when a plainer and more commonplace one layready to his hand. Yet, on the other hand, I had myself seen theevidence, and I had heard the reasons for his deductions. When Ilooked back on the long chain of curious circumstances, many ofthem trivial in themselves, but all tending in the same direction,I could not disguise from myself that even if Holmes's explanationwere incorrect the true theory must be equally outre andstartling.
At three o'clock in the afternoon there was a loud peal at thebell, an authoritative voice in the hall, and, to my surprise, noless a person than Mr. Athelney Jones was shown up to me. Verydifferent was he, however, from the brusque and masterful professorof common sense who had taken over the case so confidently at UpperNorwood. His expression was downcast, and his bearing meek and evenapologetic.
"Good-day, sir; good-day," said he. "Mr. Sherlock Holmes is out,I understand."
"Yes, and I cannot be sure when he will be back. But perhaps youwould care to wait. Take that chair and try one of thesecigars."
"Thank you; I don't mind if I do," said he, mopping his facewith a red bandanna handkerchief.
"And a whiskey-and-soda?"
"Well, half a glass. It is very hot for the time of year; and Ihave had a good deal to worry and try me. You know my theory aboutthis Norwood case?"
"I remember that you expressed one."
"Well, I have been obliged to reconsider it. I had my net drawntightly round Mr. Sholto, sir, when pop he went through a hole inthe middle of it. He was able to prove an alibi which could not beshaken. From the time that he left his brother's room he was neverout of sight of some one or other. So it could not be he whoclimbed over roofs and through trap-doors. It's a very dark case,and my professional credit is at stake. I should be very glad of alittle assistance."
"We all need help sometimes," said I.
"Your friend Mr. Sherlock Holmes is a wonderful man, sir," saidhe, in a husky and confidential voice. "He's a man who is not to bebeat. I have known that young man go into a good many cases, but Inever saw the case yet that he could not throw a light upon. He isirregular in his methods, and a little quick perhaps in jumping attheories, but, on the whole, I think he would have made a mostpromising officer, and I don't care who knows it. I have had a wirefrom him this morning, by which I understand that he has got someclue to this Sholto business. Here is the message."
He took the telegram out of his pocket, and handed it to me. Itwas dated from Poplar at twelve o'clock. "Go to Baker Street atonce," it said. "If I have not returned, wait for me. I am close onthe track of the Sholto gang. You can come with us tonight if youwant 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, withevident satisfaction. "Even the best of us are thrown offsometimes. Of course this may prove to be a false alarm; but it ismy duty as an officer of the law to allow no chance to slip. Butthere is some one at the door. Perhaps this is he."
A heavy step was heard ascending the stair, with a greatwheezing and rattling as from a man who was sorely put to it forbreath. Once or twice he stopped, as though the climb were too muchfor him, but at last he made his way to our door and entered. Hisappearance corresponded to the sounds which we had heard. He was anaged man, clad in seafaring garb, with an old pea-jacket buttonedup to his throat. His back was bowed, his knees were shaky, and hisbreathing was painfully asthmatic. As he leaned upon a thick oakencudgel his shoulders heaved in the effort to draw the air into hislungs. He had a colored scarf round his chin, and I could seelittle of his face save a pair of keen dark eyes, overhung by bushywhite brows, and long gray side-whiskers. Altogether he gave me theimpression of a respectable master mariner who had fallen intoyears and poverty.
"What is it, my man?" I asked.
He looked about him in the slow methodical fashion of oldage.
"Is Mr. Sherlock Holmes here?" said he.
"No; but I am acting for him. You can tell me any message youhave for 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 MordecaiSmith's boat?"
"Yes. I knows well where it is. An' I knows where the men he isafter are. An' I knows where the treasure is. I knows all aboutit."
"Then tell me, and I shall let him know."
"It was to him I was to tell it," he repeated, with the petulantobstinacy of a very old man.
"Well, you must wait for him."
"No, no; I ain't goin' to lose a whole day to please no one. IfMr. Holmes ain't here, then Mr. Holmes must find it all out forhimself. I don't care about the look of either of you, and I won'ttell a word."
He shuffled towards the door, but Athelney Jones got in front ofhim.
"Wait a bit, my friend," said he. "You have importantinformation, and you must not walk off. We shall keep you, whetheryou like or not, until our friend returns."
The old man made a little run towards the door, but, as AthelneyJones put his broad back up against it, he recognized theuselessness of resistance.
"Pretty sort o' treatment this!" he cried, stamping his stick."I come here to see a gentleman, and you two, who I never saw in mylife, seize me and treat me in this fashion!"
"You will be none the worse," I said. "We shall recompense youfor the loss of your time. Sit over here on the sofa, and you willnot have long to wait."
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, Holmes's 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 tous with 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 whitehair. "Here he is,--wig, whiskers, eyebrows, and all. I thought mydisguise was pretty good, but I hardly expected that it would standthat test."
"Ah, You rogue!" cried Jones, highly delighted. "You would havemade an actor, and a rare one. You had the proper workhouse cough,and those weak legs of yours are worth ten pound a week. I thoughtI knew the glint of your eye, though. You didn't get away from usso easily, You see."
"I have been working in that get-up all day," said he, lightinghis cigar. "You see, a good many of the criminal classes begin toknow me,--especially since our friend here took to publishing someof my cases: so I can only go on the war-path under some simpledisguise like this. You got my wire?"
"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 myprisoners, and there is no evidence against the other two."
"Never mind. We shall give you two others in the place of them.But you must put yourself under my orders. You are welcome to allthe official credit, but you must act on the line that I point out.Is that agreed?"
"Entirely, if you will help me to the men."
"Well, then, in the first place I shall want a fastpolice-boat-- a steam launch--to be at the Westminster Stairs atseven o'clock."
"That is easily managed. There is always one about there; but Ican step across the road and telephone to make sure."
"Then I shall want two stanch 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 thatit would be a pleasure to my friend here to take the box round tothe young lady to whom half of it rightfully belongs. Let her bethe 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 winkat it. The treasure must afterwards be handed over to theauthorities until after the official investigation."
"Certainly. That is easily managed. One other point. I shouldmuch like to have a few details about this matter from the lips ofJonathan Small himself. You know I like to work the detail of mycases out. There is no objection to my having an unofficialinterview with him, either here in my rooms or elsewhere, as longas he is efficiently guarded?"
"Well, you are master of the situation. I have had no proof yetof the existence of this Jonathan Small. However, if you can catchhim I don't see 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 readyin half an hour. I have oysters and a brace of grouse, withsomething a little choice in white wines.--Watson, you have neveryet recognized my merits as a housekeeper."
CHAPTER X. THE END OF THE ISLANDER
Our meal was a merry one. Holmes coud talk exceedingly well whenhe chose, and that night he did choose. He appeared to be in astate of nervous exaltation. I have never known him so brilliant.He spoke on a quick succession of subjects,--on miracle-plays, onmedieval pottery, on Stradivarius violins, on the Buddhism ofCeylon, and on the war-ships of the future,-- handling each asthough he had made a special study of it. His bright humor markedthe reaction from his black depression of the preceding days.Athelney Jones proved to be a sociable soul in his hours ofrelaxation, and face his dinner with the air of a bon vivant. Formyself, I felt elated at the thought that we were nearing the endof our task, and I caught something of Holmes's gaiety. None of usalluded during dinner to the cause which had brought ustogether.
When the cloth was cleared, Holmes glanced at this watch, andfilled up three glasses with port. "One bumper," said he, "to thesuccess of our little expedition. And now it is high time we wereoff. 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 seethat the cab is at the door. I ordered it for half-past six."
It was a little past seven before we reached the Westminsterwharf, and found our launch awaiting us. Holmes eyed itcritically.
"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 ropeswere cast off. Jones, Holmes, and I sat in the stern. There was oneman at the rudder, one to tend the engines, and two burlypolice-inspectors forward.
"Where to?" asked Jones.
"To the Tower. Tell them to stop opposite Jacobson's Yard."
Our craft was evidently a very fast one. We shot past the longlines of loaded barges as though they were stationary. Holmessmiled with satisfaction as we overhauled a river steamer and lefther behind us.
"We ought to be able to catch anything on the river," hesaid.
"Well, hardly that. But there are not many launches to beatus."
"We shall have to catch the Aurora, and she has a name for beinga clipper. I will tell you how the land lies, Watson. You recollecthow annoyed I was at being balked by so small a thing?"
"Yes."
"Well, I gave my mind a thorough rest by plunging into achemical analysis. One of our greatest statesmen has said that achange of work is the best rest. So it is. When I had succeeded indissolving the hydrocarbon which I was at work at, I came back toour problem of the Sholtos, and thought the whole matter out again.My boys had been up the river and down the river without result.The launch was not at any landing-stage or wharf, nor had itreturned. Yet it could hardly have been scuttled to hide theirtraces,--though that always remained as a possible hypothesis ifall else failed. I knew this man Small had a certain degree of lowcunning, but I did not think him capable of anything in the natureof delicate finesse. That is usually a product of higher education.I then reflected that since he had certainly been in London sometime--as we had evidence that he maintained a continual watch overPondicherry Lodge--he could hardly leave at a moment's notice, butwould need some little time, if it were only a day, to arrange hisaffairs. That was the balance of probability, at any rate."
"It seems to me to be a little weak," said I. "It is moreprobable that he had arranged his affairs before ever he set outupon his expedition."
"No, I hardly think so. This lair of his would be too valuable aretreat in case of need for him to give it up until he was surethat he could do without it. But a second consideration struck me.Jonathan Small must have felt that the peculiar appearance of hiscompanion, however much he may have top-coated him, would give riseto gossip, and possibly be associated with this Norwood tragedy. Hewas quite sharp enough to see that. They had started from theirhead-quarters under cover of darkness, and he would wish to getback before it was broad light. Now, it was past three o'clock,according to Mrs. Smith, when they got the boat. It would be quitebright, and people would be about in an hour or so. Therefore, Iargued, they did not go very far. They paid Smith well to hold histongue, reserved his launch for the final escape, and hurried totheir lodgings with the treasurebox. In a couple of nights, whenthey had time to see what view the papers took, and whether therewas any suspicion, they would make their way under cover ofdarkness to some ship at Gravesend or in the Downs, where no doubtthey had already arranged for passages to America or theColonies."
"But the launch? They could not have taken that to theirlodgings."
"Quite so. I argued that the launch must be no great way off, inspite of its invisibility. I then put myself in the place of Small,and looked at it as a man of his capacity would. He would probablyconsider that to send back the launch or to keep it at a wharfwould make pursuit easy if the police did happen to get on histrack. How, then, could he conceal the launch and yet have her athand when wanted? I wondered what I should do myself if I were inhis shoes. I could only think of one way of doing it. I might landthe launch over to some boat-builder or repairer, with directionsto make a trifling change in her. She would then be removed to hisshed or hard, and so be effectually concealed, while at the sametime I could have her at a few hours' notice."
"That seems simple enough."
"It is just these very simple things which are extremely liableto be overlooked. However, I determined to act on the idea. Istarted at once in this harmless seaman's rig and inquired at allthe yards down the river. I drew blank at fifteen, but at thesixteenth--Jacobson's--I learned that the Aurora had been handedover to them two days ago by a wooden-legged man, with some trivialdirections as to her rudder. 'There ain't naught amiss with herrudder,' said the foreman. 'There she lies, with the red streaks.'At that moment who should come down but Mordecai Smith, the missingowner? He was rather the worse for liquor. I should not, of course,have known him, but he bellowed out his name and the name of hislaunch. 'I want her to-night at eight o'clock,' said he,--'eighto'clock sharp, mind, for I have two gentlemen who won't be keptwaiting.' They had evidently paid him well, for he was very flushof money, chucking shillings about to the men. I followed him somedistance, but he subsided into an ale-house: so I went back to theyard, and, happening to pick up one of my boys on the way, Istationed him as a sentry over the launch. He is to stand atwater's edge and wave his handkerchief to us when they start. Weshall be lying off in the stream, and it will be a strange thing ifwe do not take men, treasure, and all."
"You have planned it all very neatly, whether they are the rightmen or not," said Jones; "but if the affair were in my hands Ishould have had a body of police in Jacobson's Yard, and arrestedthem when they came down."
"Which would have been never. This man Small is a pretty shrewdfellow. He would send a scout on ahead, and if anything made himsuspicious lie snug for another week."
"But you might have stuck to Mordecai Smith, and so been led totheir hiding-place," said I.
"In that case I should have wasted my day. I think that it is ahundred to one against Smith knowing where they live. As long as hehas liquor and good pay, why should he ask questions? They send himmessages what to do. No, I thought over every possible course, andthis is the best."
While this conversation had been proceeding, we had beenshooting the long series of bridges which span the Thames. As wepassed the City the last rays of the sun were gilding the crossupon the summit of St. Paul's. It was twilight before we reachedthe Tower.
"That is Jacobson's Yard," said Holmes, pointing to a bristle ofmasts and rigging on the Surrey side. "Cruise gently up and downhere under cover of this string of lighters." He took a pair ofnight-glasses from his pocket and gazed some time at the shore. "Isee my sentry at his post," he remarked, "but no sign of ahandkerchief."
"Suppose we go down-stream a short way and lie in wait forthem," said Jones, eagerly. We were all eager by this time, eventhe policemen and stokers, who had a very vague idea of what wasgoing forward.
"We have no right to take anything for granted," Holmesanswered. "It is certainly ten to one that they go down-stream, butwe cannot be certain. From this point we can see the entrance ofthe yard, and they can hardly see us. It will be a clear night andplenty of light. We must stay where we are. See how the folk swarmover 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 lookat them. There is no a priori probability about it. A strangeenigma is man!"
"Some one calls him a soul concealed in an animal," Isuggested.
"Winwood Reade is good upon the subject," said Holmes. "Heremarks that, while the individual man is an insoluble puzzle, inthe aggregate he becomes a mathematical certainty. You can, forexample, never foretell what any one man will do, but you can saywith precision what an average number will be up to. Individualsvary, but percentages remain constant. So says the statistician.But do I see a handkerchief? Surely there is a white flutter overyonder."
"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 theyellow light. By heaven, I shall never forgive myself if she provesto have the heels of us!"
She had slipped unseen through the yard-entrance and passedbehind two or three small craft, so that she had fairly got herspeed up before we saw her. Now she was flying down the stream,near in to the shore, going at a tremendous rate. Jones lookedgravely at her and shook his head.
"She is very fast," he said. "I doubt if we shall catchher."
"We MUST catch her!" cried Holmes, between his teeth. "Heap iton, stokers! Make her do all she can! If we burn the boat we musthave them!"
We were fairly after her now. The furnaces roared, and thepowerful engines whizzed and clanked, like a great metallic heart.Her sharp, steep prow cut through the river-water and sent tworolling waves to right and to left of us. With every throb of theengines we sprang and quivered like a living thing. One greatyellow lantern in our bows threw a long, flickering funnel of lightin front of us. Right ahead a dark blur upon the water showed wherethe Aurora lay, and the swirl of white foam behind her spoke of thepace at which she was going. We flashed past barges, steamers,merchant-vessels, in and out, behind this one and round the 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 intothe engine-room, while the fierce glow from below beat upon hiseager, aquiline face. "Get every pound of steam you can."
"I think we gain a little," said Jones, with his eyes on theAurora.
"I am sure of it," said I. "We shall be up with her in a veryfew minutes."
At that moment, however, as our evil fate would have it, a tugwith three barges in tow blundered in between us. It was only byputting our helm hard down that we avoided a collision, and beforewe could round them and recover our way the Aurora had gained agood two hundred yards. She was still, however, well in view, andthe murky uncertain twilight was setting into a clear starlitnight. Our boilers were strained to their utmost, and the frailshell vibrated and creaked with the fierce energy which was drivingus along. We had shot through the Pool, past the West India Docks,down the long Deptford Reach, and up again after rounding the Isleof Dogs. The dull blur in front of us resolved itself now clearlyenough into the dainty Aurora. Jones turned our search-light uponher, so that we could plainly see the figures upon her deck. Oneman sat by the stern, with something black between his knees overwhich he stooped. Beside him lay a dark mass which looked like aNewfoundland dog. The boy held the tiller, while against the redglare of the furnace I could see old Smith, stripped to the waist,and shovelling coals for dear life. They may have had some doubt atfirst as to whether we were really pursuing them, but now as wefollowed every winding and turning which they took there could nolonger be any question about it. At Greenwich we were about threehundred paces behind them. At Blackwall we could not have been morethan two hundred and fifty. I have coursed many creatures in manycountries during my checkered career, but never did sport give mesuch a wild thrill as this mad, flying man-hunt down the Thames.Steadily we drew in upon them, yard by yard. In the silence of thenight we could hear the panting and clanking of their machinery.The man in the stern still crouched upon the deck, and his armswere moving as though he were busy, while every now and then hewould look up and measure with a glance the distance which stillseparated us. Nearer we came and nearer. Jones yelled to them tostop. We were not more than four boat's lengths behind them, bothboats flying at a tremendous pace. It was a clear reach of theriver, with Barking Level upon one side and the melancholyPlumstead Marshes upon the other. At our hail the man in the sternsprang up from the deck and shook his two clinched fists at us,cursing the while in a high, cracked voice. He was a good-sized,powerful man, and as he stood poising himself with legs astride Icould see that from the thigh downwards there was but a woodenstump upon the right side. At the sound of his strident, angrycries there was movement in the huddled bundle upon the deck. Itstraightened itself into a little black man--the smallest I haveever seen--with a great, misshapen head and a shock of tangled,dishevelled hair. Holmes had already drawn his revolver, and Iwhipped out mine at the sight of this savage, distorted creature.He was wrapped in some sort of dark ulster or blanket, which leftonly his face exposed; but that face was enough to give a man asleepless night. Never have I seen features so deeply marked withall bestiality and cruelty. His small eyes glowed and burned with asombre light, and his thick lips were writhed back from his teeth,which grinned and chattered at us with a half animal fury.
"Fire if he raises his hand," said Holmes, quietly. We werewithin a boat's-length by this time, and almost within touch of ourquarry. I can see the two of them now as they stood, the white manwith his legs far apart, shrieking out curses, and the unhalloweddwarf with his hideous face, and his strong yellow teeth gnashingat us in the light of our lantern.
It was well that we had so clear a view of him. Even as welooked he plucked out from under his covering a short, round pieceof wood, like a school-ruler, and clapped it to his lips. Ourpistols rang out together. He whirled round, threw up his arms, andwith a kind of choking cough fell sideways into the stream. Icaught one glimpse of his venomous, menacing eyes amid the whiteswirl of the waters. At the same moment the woodenlegged man threwhimself upon the rudder and put it hard down, so that his boat madestraight in for the southern bank, while we shot past her stern,only clearing her by a few feet. We were round after her in aninstant, but she was already nearly at the bank. It was a wild anddesolate place, where the moon glimmered upon a wide expanse ofmarsh-land, with pools of stagnant water and beds of decayingvegetation. The launch with a dull thud ran up upon the mud-bank,with her bow in the air and her stern flush with the water. Thefugitive sprang out, but his stump instantly sank its whole lengthinto the sodden soil. In vain he struggled and writhed. Not onestep could he possibly take either forwards or backwards. He yelledin impotent rage, and kicked frantically into the mud with hisother foot, but his struggles only bored his wooden pin the deeperinto the sticky bank. When we brought our launch alongside he wasso 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 draghim, like some evil fish, over our side. The two Smiths, father andson, sat sullenly in their launch, but came aboard meekly enoughwhen commanded. The Aurora herself we hauled off and made fast toour stern. A solid iron chest of Indian workmanship stood upon thedeck. This, there could be no question, was the same that hadcontained the illomened treasure of the Sholtos. There was no key,but it was of considerable weight, so we transferred it carefullyto our own little cabin. As we steamed slowly up-stream again, weflashed our search-light in every direction, but there was no signof the Islander. Somewhere in the dark ooze at the bottom of theThames lie the bones of that strange visitor to our shores.
"See here," said Holmes, pointing to the wooden hatchway. "Wewere hardly quick enough with our pistols." There, sure enough,just behind where we had been standing, stuck one of thosemurderous darts which we knew so well. It must have whizzed betweenus at the instant that we fired. Holmes smiled at it and shruggedhis shoulders in his easy fashion, but I confess that it turned mesick to think of the horrible death which had passed so close to usthat night.
CHAPTER XI. THE GREAT AGRA TREASURE
Our captive sat in the cabin opposite to the iron box which hehad done so much and waited so long to gain. He was a sunburned,reckless-eyed fellow, with a net-work of lines and wrinkles allover his mahogany features, which told of a hard, open-air life.There was a singular prominence about his bearded chin which markeda man who was not to be easily turned from his purpose. His age mayhave been fifty or thereabouts, for his black, curly hair wasthickly shot with gray. His face in repose was not an unpleasingone, though his heavy brows and aggressive chin gave him, as I hadlately seen, a terrible expression when moved to anger. He sat nowwith his handcuffed hands upon his lap, and his head sunk upon hisbreast, while he looked with his keen, twinkling eyes at the boxwhich had been the cause of his illdoings. It seemed to me thatthere was more sorrow than anger in his rigid and containedcountenance. Once he looked up at me with a gleam of something likehumor in his eyes.
"Well, Jonathan Small," said Holmes, lighting a cigar, "I amsorry that it has come to this."
"And so am I, sir," he answered, frankly. "I don't believe thatI can swing over the job. I give you my word on the book that Inever raised hand against Mr. Sholto. It was that little hellhoundTonga who shot one of his cursed darts into him. I had no part init, sir. I was as grieved as if it had been my bloodrelation. Iwelted the little devil with the slack end of the rope for it, butit was done, and I could not undo it again."
"Have a cigar," said Holmes; "and you had best take a pull outof my flask, for you are very wet. How could you expect so smalland weak a man as this black fellow to overpower Mr. Sholto andhold him while you were climbing the rope?"
"You seem to know as much about it as if you were there, sir.The truth is that I hoped to find the room clear. I knew the habitsof the house pretty well, and it was the time when Mr. Sholtousually went down to his supper. I shall make no secret of thebusiness. The best defence that I can make is just the simpletruth. Now, if it had been the old major I would have swung for himwith a light heart. I would have thought no more of knifing himthan of smoking this cigar. But it's cursed hard that I should belagged over this young Sholto, with whom I had no quarrelwhatever."
"You are under the charge of Mr. Athelney Jones, of ScotlandYard. He is going to bring you up to my rooms, and I shall ask youfor a true account of the matter. You must make a clean breast ofit, for if you do I hope that I may be of use to you. I think I canprove that the poison acts so quickly that the man was dead beforeever you reached the room."
"That he was, sir. I never got such a turn in my life as when Isaw him grinning at me with his head on his shoulder as I climbedthrough the window. It fairly shook me, sir. I'd have half killedTonga for it if he had not scrambled off. That was how he came toleave his club, and some of his darts too, as he tells me, which Idare say helped to put you on our track; though how you kept on itis more than I can tell. I don't feel no malice against you for it.But it does seem a queer thing," he added, with a bitter smile,"that I who have a fair claim to nigh upon half a million of moneyshould 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 uponthe merchant Achmet and had to do with the Agra treasure, whichnever brought anything but a curse yet upon the man who owned it.To him it brought murder, to Major Sholto it brought fear andguilt, to me it has meant 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 that flask, Holmes. Well, I thinkwe may all congratulate each other. Pity we didn't take the otheralive; but there was no choice. I say, Holmes, you must confessthat you cut it rather fine. It was all we could do to overhaulher."
"All is well that ends well," said Holmes. "But I certainly didnot know that the Aurora was such a clipper."
"Smith says she is one of the fastest launches on the river, andthat if he had had another man to help him with the engines weshould never have caught her. He swears he knew nothing of thisNorwood business."
"Neither he did," cried our prisoner,--"not a word. I chose hislaunch because I heard that she was a flier. We told him nothing,but we paid him well, and he was to get something handsome if wereached our vessel, the Esmeralda, at Gravesend, outward bound forthe Brazils."
"Well, if he has done no wrong we shall see that no wrong comesto him. If we are pretty quick in catching our men, we are not soquick in condemning them." It was amusing to notice how theconsequential Jones was already beginning to give himself airs onthe strength of the capture. From the slight smile which playedover Sherlock Holmes's face, I could see that the speech had notbeen lost upon him.
"We will be at Vauxhall Bridge presently," said Jones, "andshall land you, Dr. Watson, with the treasure-box. I need hardlytell you that I am taking a very grave responsibility upon myselfin doing this. It is most irregular; but of course an agreement isan agreement. I must, however, as a matter of duty, send aninspector with you, since you have so valuable a charge. You willdrive, no doubt?"
"Yes, I shall drive."
"It is a pity there is no key, that we may make an inventoryfirst. You will have to break it open. Where is the key, myman?"
"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 neednot warn you to be careful. Bring the box back with you to theBaker Street rooms. You will find us there, on our way to thestation."
They landed me at Vauxhall, with my heavy iron box, and with abluff, genial inspector as my companion. A quarter of an hour'sdrive brought us to Mrs. Cecil Forrester's. The servant seemedsurprised at so late a visitor. Mrs. Cecil Forrester was out forthe evening, she explained, and likely to be very late. MissMorstan, however, was in the drawing-room: so to the drawingroom Iwent, box in hand, leaving the obliging inspector in the cab.
She was seated by the open window, dressed n some sort of whitediaphanous material, with a little touch of scarlet at the neck andwaist. The soft light of a shaded lamp fell upon her as she leanedback in the basket chair, playing over her sweet, grave face, andtinting with a dull, metallic sparkle the rich coils of herluxuriant hair. One white arm and hand drooped over the side of thechair, and her whole pose and figure spoke of an absorbingmelancholy. At the sound of my foot-fall she sprang to her feet,however, and a bright flush of surprise and of pleasure colored herpale cheeks.
"I heard a cab drive up," she said. "I thought that Mrs.Forrester had come back very early, but I never dreamed that itmight be you. What news have you brought me?"
"I have brought something better than news," said I, puttingdown the box upon the table and speaking jovially and boisterously,though my heart was heavy within me. "I have brought you somethingwhich is worth all the news in the world. I have brought you afortune."
She glanced at iron box. "Is that the treasure, then?" sheasked, coolly enough.
"Yes, this is the great Agra treasure. Half of it is yours andhalf is Thaddeus Sholto's. You will have a couple of hundredthousand each. Think of that! An annuity of ten thousand pounds.There will be few richer young ladies in England. Is it notglorious?"
I think that I must have been rather overacting my delight, andthat she detected a hollow ring in my congratulations, for I sawher eyebrows rise a 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 SherlockHolmes. With all the will in the world, I could never have followedup a clue which has taxed even his analytical genius. As it was, wevery nearly lost it at the last moment."
"Pray sit down and tell me all about it, Dr. Watson," saidshe.
I narrated briefly what had occurred since I had seen herlast,-- Holmes's new method of search, the discovery of the Aurora,the appearance of Athelney Jones, our expedition in the evening,and the wild chase down the Thames. She listened with parted lipsand shining eyes to my recital of our adventures. When I spoke ofthe dart which had so narrowly missed us, she turned so white thatI feared that she was about to faint.
"It is nothing," she said, as I hastened to pour her out somewater. "I am all right again. It was a shock to me to hear that Ihad placed my friends in such horrible peril."
"That is all over," I answered. "It was nothing. I will tell youno more gloomy details. Let us turn to something brighter. There isthe treasure. What could be brighter than that? I got leave tobring it with me, thinking that it would interest you to be thefirst to see it."
"It would be of the greatest interest to me," she said. Therewas no eagerness in her voice, however. It had struck her,doubtless, that it might seem ungracious upon her part to beindifferent to a prize which had cost so much to win.
"What a pretty box!" she said, stooping over it. This is Indianwork, I suppose?"
"Yes; it is Benares metal-work."
And so heavy!" she exclaimed, trying to raise it. "The box alonemust be of some value. Where is the key?"
"Small threw it into the Thames," I answered. "I must borrowMrs. Forrester's poker." There was in the front a thick and broadhasp, wrought in the image of a sitting Buddha. Under this I thrustthe end of the poker and twisted it outward as a lever. The haspsprang open with a loud snap. With trembling fingers I flung backthe lid. We both stood gazing in astonishment. The box wasempty!
No wonder that it was heavy. The iron-work was two-thirds of aninch thick all round. It was massive, well made, and solid, like achest constructed to carry things of great price, but not one shredor crumb of metal or jewelry lay within it. It was absolutely andcompletely empty.
"The treasure is lost," said Miss Morstan, calmly.
As I listened to the words and realized what they meant, a greatshadow seemed to pass from my soul. I did not know how this Agratreasure had weighed me down, until now that it was finallyremoved. It was selfish, no doubt, disloyal, wrong, but I couldrealize nothing save that the golden barrier was gone from betweenus. "Thank God!" I ejaculated from my very heart.
She looked at me with a quick, questioning smile. "Why do yousay that?" she asked.
"Because you are within my reach again," I said, taking herhand. She did not withdraw it. "Because I love you, Mary, as trulyas ever a man loved a woman. Because this treasure, these riches,sealed my lips. Now that they are gone I can tell you how I loveyou. That is why I said, 'Thank God.'"
"Then I say, 'Thank God,' too," she whispered, as I drew her tomy side. Whoever had lost a treasure, I knew that night that I hadgained one.
CHAPTER XII. THE STRANGE STORY OF JONATHANSMALL
A very patient man was that inspector in the cab, for it was aweary time before I rejoined him. His face clouded over when Ishowed him the empty box.
"There goes the reward!" said he, gloomily. "Where there is nomoney there is no pay. This night's work would have been worth atenner each to Sam Brown and me if the treasure had beenthere."
"Mr. Thaddeus Sholto is a rich man," I said. "He will see thatyou are rewarded, treasure or no."
The inspector shook his head despondently, however. "It's a badjob," he repeated; "and so Mr. Athelney Jones will think."
His forecast proved to be correct, for the detective lookedblank enough when I got to Baker Street and showed him the emptybox. They had only just arrived, Holmes, the prisoner, and he, forthey had changed their plans so far as to report themselves at astation upon the way. My companion lounged in his arm-chair withhis usual listless expression, while Small sat stolidly opposite tohim with his wooden leg cocked over his sound one. As I exhibitedthe empty box he leaned back in his chair and laughed aloud.
"This is your doing, Small," said Athelney Jones, angrily.
"Yes, I have put it away where you shall never lay hand uponit," he cried, exultantly. "It is my treasure; and if I can't havethe loot I'll take darned good care that no one else does. I tellyou that no living man has any right to it, unless it is three menwho are in the Andaman convict-barracks and myself. I know now thatI cannot have the use of it, and I know that they cannot. I haveacted all through for them as much as for myself. It's been thesign of four with us always. Well I know that they would have hadme do just what I have done, and throw the treasure into the Thamesrather than let it go to kith or kin of Sholto or of Morstan. Itwas not to make them rich that we did for Achmet. You'll find thetreasure where the key is, and where little Tonga is. When I sawthat your launch must catch us, I put the loot away in a safeplace. There are no rupees for you this journey."
"You are deceiving us, Small," said Athelney Jones, sternly. "Ifyou had wished to throw the treasure into the Thames it would havebeen easier for you to have thrown box and all."
"Easier for me to throw, and easier for you to recover," heanswered, with a shrewd, sidelong look. "The man that was cleverenough to hunt me down is clever enough to pick an iron box fromthe bottom of a river. Now that they are scattered over five milesor so, it may be a harder job. It went to my heart to do it,though. I was half mad when you came up with us. However, there'sno good grieving over it. I've had ups in my life, and I've haddowns, but I've learned not to cry over spilled milk."
"This is a very serious matter, Small," said the detective. "Ifyou had helped justice, instead of thwarting it in this way, youwould have had a better chance at your trial."
"Justice!" snarled the ex-convict. "A pretty justice! Whose lootis this, if it is not ours? Where is the justice that I should giveit up to those who have never earned it? Look how I have earned it!Twenty long years in that fever-ridden swamp, all day at work underthe mangrove-tree, all night chained up in the filthy convict-huts,bitten by mosquitoes, racked with ague, bullied by every cursedblack-faced policeman who loved to take it out of a white man. Thatwas how I earned the Agra treasure; and you talk to me of justicebecause I cannot bear to feel that I have paid this price only thatanother may enjoy it! I would rather swing a score of times, orhave one of Tonga's darts in my hide, than live in a convict's celland feel that another man is at his ease in a palace with the moneythat should be mine." Small had dropped his mask of stoicism, andall this came out in a wild whirl of words, while his eyes blazed,and the handcuffs clanked together with the impassioned movement ofhis hands. I could understand, as I saw the fury and the passion ofthe man, that it was no groundless or unnatural terror which hadpossessed Major Sholto when he first learned that the injuredconvict was upon his track.
'You forget that we know nothing of all this," said Holmesquietly. "We have not heard your story, and we cannot tell how farjustice may originally have been on your side."
"Well, sir, you have been very fair-spoken to me, though I cansee that I have you to thank that I have these bracelets upon mywrists. Still, I bear no grudge for that. It is all fair andabove-board. If you want to hear my story I have no wish to hold itback. What I say to you is God's truth, every word of it. Thankyou; you can put the glass beside me here, and I'll put my lips toit if I am dry.
"I am a Worcestershire man myself,--born near Pershore. I daresay you would find a heap of Smalls living there now if you were tolook. I have often thought of taking a look round there, but thetruth is that I was never much of a credit to the family, and Idoubt if they would be so very glad to see me. They were allsteady, chapel-going folk, small farmers, well known and respectedover the country-side, while I was always a bit of a rover. Atlast, however, when I was about eighteen, I gave them no moretrouble, for I got into a mess over a girl, and could only get outof it again by taking the queen's shilling and joining the 3dBuffs, which was just starting for India.
"I wasn't destined to do much soldiering, however. I had justgot past the goose-step, and learned to handle my musket, when Iwas fool enough to go swimming in the Ganges. Luckily for me, mycompany sergeant, John Holder, was in the water at the same time,and he was one of the finest swimmers in the service. A crocodiletook me, just as I was half-way across, and nipped off my right legas clean as a surgeon could have done it, just above the knee. Whatwith the shock and the loss of blood, I fainted, and should havedrowned if Holder had not caught hold of me and paddled for thebank. I was five months in hospital over it, and when at last I wasable to limp out of it with this timber toe strapped to my stump Ifound myself invalided out of the army and unfitted for any activeoccupation.
"I was, as you can imagine, pretty down on my luck at this time,for I was a useless cripple though not yet in my twentieth year.However, my misfortune soon proved to be a blessing in disguise. Aman named Abelwhite, who had come out there as an indigoplanter,wanted an overseer to look after his coolies and keep them up totheir work. He happened to be a friend of our colonel's, who hadtaken an interest in me since the accident. To make a long storyshort, the colonel recommended me strongly for the post and, as thework was mostly to be done on horseback, my leg was no greatobstacle, for I had enough knee left to keep good grip on thesaddle. What I had to do was to ride over the plantation, to keepan eye on the men as they worked, and to report the idlers. The paywas fair, I had comfortable quarters, and altogether I was contentto spend the remainder of my life in indigo-planting. Mr. Abelwhitewas a kind man, and he would often drop into my little shanty andsmoke a pipe with me, for white folk out there feel their heartswarm to each other as they never do here at home.
"Well, I was never in luck's way long. Suddenly, without a noteof warning, the great mutiny broke upon us. One month India lay asstill and peaceful, to all appearance, as Surrey or Kent; the nextthere were two hundred thousand black devils let loose, and thecountry was a perfect hell. Of course you know all about it,gentlemen,--a deal more than I do, very like, since reading is notin my line. I only know what I saw with my own eyes. Our plantationwas at a place called Muttra, near the border of the NorthwestProvinces. Night after night the whole sky was alight with theburning bungalows, and day after day we had small companies ofEuropeans passing through our estate with their wives and children,on their way to Agra, where were the nearest troops. Mr. Abelwhitewas an obstinate man. He had it in his head that the affair hadbeen exaggerated, and that it would blow over as suddenly as it hadsprung up. There he sat on his veranda, drinking whiskey-pegs andsmoking cheroots, while the country was in a blaze about him. Ofcourse we stuck by him, I and Dawson, who, with his wife, used todo the book-work and the managing. Well, one fine day the crashcame. I had been away on a distant plantation, and was ridingslowly home in the evening, when my eye fell upon something allhuddled together at the bottom of a steep nullah. I rode down tosee what it was, and the cold struck through my heart when I foundit was Dawson's wife, all cut into ribbons, and half eaten byjackals and native dogs. A little further up the road Dawsonhimself was lying on his face, quite dead, with an empty revolverin his hand and four Sepoys lying across each other in front ofhim. I reined up my horse, wondering which way I should turn, butat that moment I saw thick smoke curling up from Abelwhite'sbungalow and the flames beginning to burst through the roof. I knewthen that I could do my employer no good, but would only throw myown life away if I meddled in the matter. From where I stood Icould see hundreds of the black fiends, with their red coats stillon their backs, dancing and howling round the burning house. Someof them pointed at me, and a couple of bullets sang past my head;so I broke away across the paddy-fields, and found myself late atnight safe within the walls at Agra.
"As it proved, however, there was no great safety there, either.The whole country was up like a swarm of bees. Wherever the Englishcould collect in little bands they held just the ground that theirguns commanded. Everywhere else they were helpless fugitives. Itwas a fight of the millions against the hundreds; and the cruellestpart of it was that these men that we fought against, foot, horse,and gunners, were our own picked troops, whom we had taught andtrained, handling our own weapons, and blowing our own bugle-calls.At Agra there were the 3d Bengal Fusiliers, some Sikhs, two troopsof horse, and a battery of artillery. A volunteer corps of clerksand merchants had been formed, and this I joined, wooden leg andall. We went out to meet the rebels at Shahgunge early in July, andwe beat them back for a time, but our powder gave out, and we hadto fall back upon the city. Nothing but the worst news came to usfrom every side,--which is not to be wondered at, for if you lookat the map you will see that we were right in the heart of it.Lucknow is rather better than a hundred miles to the east, andCawnpore about as far to the south. From every point on the compassthere was nothing but torture and murder and outrage.
"The city of Agra is a great place, swarming with fanatics andfierce devil-worshippers of all sorts. Our handful of men were lostamong the narrow, winding streets. Our leader moved across theriver, therefore, and took up his position in the old fort at Agra.I don't know if any of you gentlemen have ever read or heardanything of that old fort. It is a very queer place,--the queerestthat ever I was in, and I have been in some rum corners, too. Firstof all, it is enormous in size. I should think that the enclosuremust be acres and acres. There is a modern part, which took all ourgarrison, women, children, stores, and everything else, with plentyof room over. But the modern part is nothing like the size of theold quarter, where nobody goes, and which is given over to thescorpions and the centipedes. It is all full of great desertedhalls, and winding passages, and long corridors twisting in andout, so that it is easy enough for folk to get lost in it. For thisreason it was seldom that any one went into it, though now andagain a party with torches might go exploring.
"The river washes along the front of the old fort, and soprotects it, but on the sides and behind there are many doors, andthese had to be guarded, of course, in the old quarter as well asin that which was actually held by our troops. We wereshort-handed, with hardly men enough to man the angles of thebuilding and to serve the guns. It was impossible for us,therefore, to station a strong guard at every one of theinnumerable gates. What we did was to organize a central guardhousein the middle of the fort, and to leave each gate under the chargeof one white man and two or three natives. I was selected to takecharge during certain hours of the night of a small isolated doorupon the southwest side of the building. Two Sikh troopers wereplaced under my command, and I was instructed if anything wentwrong to fire my musket, when I might rely upon help coming at oncefrom the central guard. As the guard was a good two hundred pacesaway, however, and as the space between was cut up into a labyrinthof passages and corridors, I had great doubts as to whether theycould arrive in time to be of any use in case of an actualattack.
"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 twonights I kept the watch with my Punjaubees. They were tall,fierce-looking chaps, Mahomet Singh and Abdullah Khan by name, bothold fighting-men who had borne arms against us at Chilianwallah.They could talk English pretty well, but I could get little out ofthem. They preferred to stand together and jabber all night intheir queer Sikh lingo. For myself, I used to stand outside thegate-way, looking down on the broad, winding river and on thetwinkling lights of the great city. The beating of drums, therattle of tomtoms, and the yells and howls of the rebels, drunkwith opium and with bang, were enough to remind us all night of ourdangerous neighbors across the stream. Every two hours the officerof the night used to come round to all the posts, to make sure thatall was well.
"The third night of my watch was dark and dirty, with a small,driving rain. It was dreary work standing in the gate-way hourafter hour in such weather. I tried again and again to make mySikhs talk, but without much success. At two in the morning therounds passed, and broke for a moment the weariness of the night.Finding that my companions would not be led into conversation, Itook out my pipe, and laid down my musket to strike the match. Inan instant the two Sikhs were upon me. One of them snatched myfirelock up and levelled it at my head, while the other held agreat knife to my throat and swore between his teeth that he wouldplunge it into me if I moved a step.
"My first thought was that these fellows were in league with therebels, and that this was the beginning of an assault. If our doorwere in the hands of the Sepoys the place must fall,and the womenand children be treated as they were in Cawnpore. Maybe yougentlemen think that I am just making out a case for myself, but Igive you my word that when I thought of that, though I felt thepoint of the knife at my throat, I opened my mouth with theintention of giving a scream, if it was my last one, which mightalarm the main guard. The man who held me seemed to know mythoughts; for, even as I braced myself to it, he whispered, 'Don'tmake 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 hesaid, and I knew that if I raised my voice I was a dead man. Icould read it in the fellow's brown eyes. I waited, therefore, insilence, to see what it was that they wanted from me.
"'Listen to me, Sahib,' said the taller and fiercer of the pair,the one whom they called Abdullah Khan. 'You must either be with usnow or you must be silenced forever. The thing is too great a onefor us to hesitate. Either you are heart and soul with us on youroath on the cross of the Christians, or your body this night shallbe thrown into the ditch and we shall pass over to our brothers inthe rebel army. There is no middle way. Which is it to be, death orlife? We can only give you three minutes to decide, for the time ispassing, and all must be done before the rounds come again.'
"'How can I decide?' said I. 'You have not told me what you wantof me. But I tell you know that if it is anything against thesafety of the fort I will have no truck with it, so you can drivehome your knife and welcome.'
"'It is nothing against the fort,' said he. 'We only ask you todo that which your countrymen come to this land for. We ask you tobe rich. If you will be one of us this night, we will swear to youupon the naked knife, and by the threefold oath which no Sikh wasever known to break, that you shall have your fair share of theloot. A quarter of the treasure shall be yours. We can say nofairer.'
"'But what is the treasure, then?' I asked. 'I am as ready to berich as you can be, if you will but show me how it can bedone.'
"'You will swear, then,' said he, 'by the bones of your father,by the honor of your mother, by the cross of your faith, to raiseno hand and speak no word against us, either now orafterwards?'
"'I will swear it,' I answered, 'provided that the fort is notendangered.'
"'Then my comrade and I will swear that you shall have a quarterof the treasure which shall be equally divided among the four ofus.'
"'There are but three,' said I.
"'No; Dost Akbar must have his share. We can tell the tale toyou while we await them. Do you stand at the gate, Mahomet Singh,and give notice of their coming. The thing stands thus, Sahib, andI tell it to you because I know that an oath is binding upon aFeringhee, and that we may trust you. Had you been a lying Hindoo,though you had sworn by all the gods in their false temples, yourblood would have been upon the knife, and your body in the water.But the Sikh knows the Englishman, and the Englishman knows theSikh. Hearken, then, to what I have to say.
"'There is a rajah in the northern provinces who has muchwealth, though his lands are small. Much has come to him from hisfather, and more still he has set by himself, for he is of a lownature and hoards his gold rather than spend it. When the troublesbroke out he would be friends both with the lion and thetiger,--with the Sepoy and with the Company's Raj. Soon, however,it seemed to him that the white men's day was come, for through allthe land he could hear of nothing but of their death and theiroverthrow. Yet, being a careful man, he made such plans that, comewhat 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 ofhis palace, but the most precious stones and the choicest pearlsthat he had he put in an iron box, and sent it by a trusty servantwho, under the guise of a merchant, should take it to the fort atAgra, there to lie until the land is at peace. Thus, if the rebelswon he would have his money, but if the Company conquered hisjewels would be saved to him. Having thus divided his hoard, hethrew himself into the cause of the Sepoys, since they were strongupon his borders. By doing this, mark you, Sahib, his propertybecomes the due of those who have been true to their salt.
"'This pretended merchant, who travels under the name of Achmet,is now in the city of Agra, and desires to gain his way into thefort. He has with him as travelling-companion my foster-brotherDost Akbar, who knows his secret. Dost Akbar has promised thisnight to lead him to a side-postern of the fort, and has chosenthis one for his purpose. Here he will come presently, and here hewill find Mahomet Singh and myself awaiting him. The place islonely, and none shall know of his coming. The world shall know ofthe merchant Achmet no more, but the great treasure of the rajahshall be divided among us. What say you to it, Sahib?'
"In Worcestershire the life of a man seems a great and a sacredthing; but it is very different when there is fire and blood allround you and you have been used to meeting death at every turn.Whether Achmet the merchant lived or died was a thing as light asair to me, but at the talk about the treasure my heart turned toit, and I thought of what I might do in the old country with it,and how my folk would stare when they saw their ne'er-do-wellcoming back with his pockets full of gold moidores. I had,therefore, already made up my mind. 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 restas well? The jewels will be as well with us as in the Company'scoffers. There will be enough to make every one of us rich men andgreat chiefs. No one can know about the matter, for here we are cutoff from all men. What could be better for the purpose? Say again,then, Sahib, whether you are with us, or if we must look upon youas an enemy.'
"'I am with you heart and soul,' said I.
"'It is well,' he answered, handing me back my firelock. 'Yousee that we trust you, for your word, like ours, is not to bebroken. We have now only to wait for my brother and themerchant.'
"'Does your brother know, then, of what you will do?' Iasked.
"'The plan is his. He has devised it. We will go to the gate andshare the watch with Mahomet Singh.'
"The rain was still falling steadily, for it was just thebeginning of the wet season. Brown, heavy clouds were driftingacross the sky, and it was hard to see more than a stone-cast. Adeep moat lay in front of our door, but the water was in placesnearly dried up, and it could easily be crossed. It was strange tome to be standing there with those two wild Punjaubees waiting forthe man who was coming to his death.
"Suddenly my eye caught the glint of a shaded lantern at theother side of the moat. It vanished among the mound-heaps, and thenappeared again coming slowly in our direction.
"'Here they are!' I exclaimed.
"'You will challenge him, Sahib, as usual,' whispered Abdullah.'Give him no cause for fear. Send us in with him, and we shall dothe rest while you stay here on guard. Have the lantern ready touncover, that we may be sure that it is indeed the man.'
"The light had flickered onwards, now stopping and nowadvancing, until I could see two dark figures upon the other sideof the moat. I let them scramble down the sloping bank, splashthrough the mire, and climb half-way up to the gate, before Ichallenged them.
"'Who goes there?' said I, in a subdued voice.
"'Friends,' came the answer. I uncovered my lantern and threw aflood of light upon them. The first was an enormous Sikh, with ablack beard which swept nearly down to his cummerbund. Outside of ashow I have never seen so tall a man. The other was a little, fat,round fellow, with a great yellow turban, and a bundle in his hand,done up in a shawl. He seemed to be all in a quiver with fear, forhis hands twitched as if he had the ague, and his head kept turningto left and right with two bright little twinkling eyes, like amouse when he ventures out from his hole. It gave me the chills tothink of killing him, but I thought of the treasure, and my heartset 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 theunhappy merchant Achmet. I have travelled across Rajpootana that Imight seek the shelter of the fort at Agra. I have been robbed andbeaten and abused because I have been the friend of the Company. Itis a blessed night this when I am once more in safety,--I and mypoor possessions.'
"'What have you in the bundle?' I asked.
"'An iron box,' he answered, 'which contains one or two littlefamily matters which are of no value to others, but which I shouldbe sorry to lose. Yet I am not a beggar; and I shall reward you,young Sahib, and your governor also, if he will give me the shelterI ask.'
"I could not trust myself to speak longer with the man. The moreI looked at his fat, frightened face, the harder did it seem thatwe should slay him in cold blood. It was best to get it over.
"'Take him to the main guard,' said I. The two Sikhs closed inupon him on each side, and the giant walked behind, while theymarched in through the dark gate-way. Never was a man so compassedround with death. I remained at the gate-way with the lantern.
"I could hear the measured tramp of their footsteps soundingthrough the lonely corridors. Suddenly it ceased, and I heardvoices, and a scuffle, with the sound of blows. A moment laterthere came, to my horror, a rush of footsteps coming in mydirection, with the loud breathing of a running man. I turned mylantern down the long, straight passage, and there was the fat man,running like the wind, with a smear of blood across his face, andclose at his heels, bounding like a tiger, the great black-beardedSikh, with a knife flashing in his hand. I have never seen a manrun so fast as that little merchant. He was gaining on the Sikh,and I could see that if he once passed me and got to the open airhe would save himself yet. My heart softened to him, but again thethought of his treasure turned me hard and bitter. I cast myfirelock between his legs as he raced past, and he rolled twiceover like a shot rabbit. Ere he could stagger to his feet the Sikhwas upon him, and buried his knife twice in his side. The man neveruttered moan nor moved muscle, but lay were 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 everywork of the business just exactly as it happened, whether it is inmy favor or not."
He stopped, and held out his manacled hands for thewhiskey-andwater which Holmes had brewed for him. For myself, Iconfess that I had now conceived the utmost horror of the man, notonly for this cold-blooded business in which he had been concerned,but even more for the somewhat flippant and careless way in whichhe narrated it. Whatever punishment was in store for him, I feltthat he might expect no sympathy from me. Sherlock Holmes and Jonessat with their hands upon their knees, deeply interested in thestory, but with the same disgust written upon their faces. He mayhave 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 knowhow many fellows in my shoes would have refused a share of thisloot when they knew that they would have their throats cut fortheir pains. Besides, it was my life or his when once he was in thefort. If he had got out, the whole business would come to light,and I should have been court-martialled and shot as likely as not;for people were not very lenient at a time like that."
"Go on with your story," said Holmes, shortly.
"Well, we carried him in, Abdullah, Akbar, and I. A fine weighthe was, too, for all that he was so short. Mahomet Singh was leftto guard the door. We took him to a place which the Sikhs hadalready prepared. It was some distance off, where a winding passageleads to a great empty hall, the brick walls of which were allcrumbling to pieces. The earth floor had sunk in at one place,making a natural grave, so we left Achmet the merchant there,having first covered him over with loose bricks. This done, we allwent back to the treasure.
"It lay where he had dropped it when he was first attacked. Thebox was the same which now lies open upon your table. A key washung by a silken cord to that carved handle upon the top. We openedit, and the light of the lantern gleamed upon a collection of gemssuch as I have read of and thought about when I was a little lad atPershore. It was blinding to look upon them. When we had feastedour eyes we took them all out and made a list of them. There wereone hundred and forty-three diamonds of the first water, includingone which has been called, I believe, 'the Great Mogul' and is saidto be the second largest stone in existence. Then there wereninety-seven very fine emeralds, and one hundred and seventyrubies, some of which, however, were small. There were fortycarbuncles, two hundred and ten sapphires, sixty-one agates, and agreat quantity of beryls, onyxes, cats'-eyes, turquoises, and otherstones, the very names of which I did not know at the time, thoughI have become more familiar with them since. Besides this, therewere nearly three hundred very fine pearls, twelve of which wereset in a gold coronet. By the way, these last had been taken out ofthe chest and were not there when I recovered it.
"After we had counted our treasures we put them back into thechest and carried them to the gate-way to show them to MahometSingh. Then we solemnly renewed our oath to stand by each other andbe true to our secret. We agreed to conceal our loot in a safeplace until the country should be at peace again, and then todivide it equally among ourselves. There was no use dividing it atpresent, for if gems of such value were found upon us it wouldcause suspicion, and there was no privacy in the fort nor any placewhere we could keep them. We carried the box, therefore, into thesame hall where we had buried the body, and there, under certainbricks in the best-preserved wall, we made a hollow and put ourtreasure. We made careful note of the place, and next day I drewfour plans, one for each of us, and put the sign of the four of usat the bottom, for we had sworn that we should each always act forall, so that none might take advantage. That is an oath that I canput my hand to my heart and swear that I have never broken.
"Well, there's no use my telling you gentlemen what came of theIndian mutiny. After Wilson took Delhi and Sir Colin relievedLucknow the back of the business was broken. Fresh troops camepouring in, and Nana Sahib made himself scarce over the frontier. Aflying column under Colonel Greathed came round to Agra and clearedthe Pandies away from it. Peace seemed to be settling upon thecountry, and we four were beginning to hope that the time was athand when we might safely go off with our shares of the plunder. Ina moment, however, our hopes were shattered by our being arrestedas the murderers of Achmet.
"It came about in this way. When the rajah put his jewels intothe hands of Achmet he did it because he knew that he was a trustyman. They are suspicious folk in the East, however: so what doesthis rajah do but take a second even more trusty servant and sethim to play the spy upon the first? This second man was orderednever to let Achmet out of his sight, and he followed him like hisshadow. He went after him that night and saw him pass through thedoorway. Of course he thought he had taken refuge in the fort, andapplied for admission there himself next day, but could find notrace of Achmet. This seemed to him so strange that he spoke aboutit 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 wassafe we were all four seized and brought to trial on a charge ofmurder,--three of us because we had held the gate that night, andthe fourth because he was known to have been in the company of themurdered man. Not a word about the jewels came out at the trial,for the rajah had been deposed and driven out of India: so no onehad any particular interest in them. The murder, however, wasclearly made out, and it was certain that we must all have beenconcerned in it. The three Sikhs got penal servitude for life, andI was condemned to death, though my sentence was afterwardscommuted into the same as the others.
"It was rather a queer position that we found ourselves in then.There we were all four tied by the leg and with precious littlechance of ever getting out again, while we each held a secret whichmight have put each of us in a palace if we could only have madeuse of it. It was enough to make a man eat his heart out to have tostand the kick and the cuff of every petty jack-inoffice, to haverice to eat and water to drink, when that gorgeous fortune wasready for him outside, just waiting to be picked up. It might havedriven me mad; but I was always a pretty stubborn one, so I justheld on and bided my time.
"At last it seemed to me to have come. I was changed from Agrato Madras, and from there to Blair Island in the Andamans. Thereare very few white convicts at this settlement, and, as I hadbehaved well from the first, I soon found myself a sort ofprivileged person. I was given a hut in Hope Town, which is a smallplace on the slopes of Mount Harriet, and I was left pretty much tomyself. It is a dreary, fever-stricken place, and all beyond ourlittle clearings was infested with wild cannibal natives, who wereready enough to blow a poisoned dart at us if they saw a chance.There was digging, and ditching, and yamplanting, and a dozen otherthings to be done, so we were busy enough al day; though in theevening we had a little time to ourselves. Among other things, Ilearned to dispense drugs for the surgeon, and picked up asmattering of his knowledge. All the time I was on the lookout fora chance of escape; but it is hundreds of miles from any otherland, and there is little or no wind in those seas: so it was aterribly difficult job to get away.
"The surgeon, Dr. Somerton, was a fast, sporting young chap, andthe other young officers would meet in his rooms of an evening andplay cards. The surgery, where I used to make up my drugs, was nextto his sitting-room, with a small window between us. Often, if Ifelt lonesome, I used to turn out the lamp in the surgery, andthen, standing there, I could hear their talk and watch their play.I am fond of a hand at cards myself, and it was almost as good ashaving one to watch the others. There was Major Sholto, CaptainMorstan, and Lieutenant Bromley Brown, who were in command of thenative troops, and there was the surgeon himself, and two or threeprison-officials, crafty old hands who played a nice sly safe game.A very snug little party they used to make.
"Well, there was one thing which very soon struck me, and thatwas that the soldiers used always to lose and the civilians to win.Mind, I don't say that there was anything unfair, but so it was.These prison-chaps had done little else than play cards ever sincethey had been at the Andamans, and they knew each other's game to apoint, while the others just played to pass the time and threwtheir cards down anyhow. Night after night the soldiers got uppoorer men, and the poorer they got the more keen they were toplay. Major Sholto was the hardest hit. He used to pay in notes andgold at first, but soon it came to notes of hand and for big sums.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 hewould wander about as black as thunder, and he took to drinking adeal more than was good for him.
"One night he lost even more heavily than usual. I was sittingin my hut when he and Captain Morstan came stumbling along on theway to their quarters. They were bosom friends, those two, andnever far apart. The major was raving about his losses.
"'It's all up, Morstan,' he was saying, as they passed my hut.'I shall have to send in my papers. I am a ruined man.'
"'Nonsense, old chap!' said the other, slapping him upon theshoulder. 'I've had a nasty facer myself, but--' That was all Icould hear, but it was enough to set me thinking.
A couple of days later Major Sholto was strolling on the beach:so I took 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 fromhis lips.
"'I wanted to ask you, sir,' said I, 'who is the proper personto whom hidden treasure should be handed over. I know where half amillion worth lies, and, as I cannot use it myself, I thoughtperhaps the best thing that I could do would be to hand it over tothe proper authorities, and then perhaps they would get my sentenceshortened for me.'
"'Half a million, Small?' he gasped, looking hard at me to seeif I was in earnest.
"'Quite that, sir,--in jewels and pearls. It lies there readyfor any one. And the queer thing about it is that the real owner isoutlawed and cannot hold property, so that it belongs to the firstcomer.'
"'To government, Small,' he stammered,--'to government.' But hesaid it in a halting fashion, and I knew in my heart that I had gothim.
"'You think, then, sir, that I should give the information tothe Governor-General?' said I, quietly.
"'Well, well, you must not do anything rash, or that you mightrepent. Let me hear all about it, Small. Give me the facts.'
"I told him the whole story, with small changes so that he couldnot identify the places. When I had finished he stood stock stilland full of thought. I could see by the twitch of his lip thatthere was a struggle going on within him.
"'This is a very important matter, Small,' he said, at last.'You must not say a word to any one about it, and I shall see youagain soon.'
"Two nights later he and his friend Captain Morstan came to myhut in the dead of the night with a lantern.
"'I want you just to let Captain Morstan hear that story fromyour own lips, Small,' said he.
"I repeated it as I had told it before.
"'It rings true, eh?' said he. 'It's good enough to actupon?'
"Captain Morstan nodded.
"'Look here, Small,' said the major. 'We have been talking itover, my friend here and I, and we have come to the conclusion thatthis secret of yours is hardly a government matter, after all, butis a private concern of your own, which of course you have thepower of disposing of as you think best. Now, the question is, whatprice would you ask for it? We might be inclined to take it up, andat least look into it, if we could agree as to terms.' He tried tospeak in a cool, careless way, but his eyes were shining withexcitement and greed.
"'Why, as to that, gentlemen,' I answered, trying also to becool, but feeling as excited as he did, 'there is only one bargainwhich a man in my position can make. I shall want yo to help me tomy freedom, and to help my three companions to theirs. We shallthen take yo into partnership, and give you a fifth share to dividebetween 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 outto the last detail. The only bar to our escape is that we can getno boat fit for the voyage, and no provisions to last us for solong a time. There are plenty of little yachts and yawls atCalcutta or Madras which would serve our turn well. Do you bringone over. We shall engage to get aboard her by night, and if youwill 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 usmust always act together.'
"'You see, Morstan,' said he, 'Small is a man of his word. Hedoes not flinch from his friend. I think we may very well trusthim.'
"'It's a dirty business,' the other answered. 'Yet, as you say,the money would save our commissions handsomely.'
"'Well, Small,' said the major, 'we must, I suppose, try andmeet you. We must first, of course, test the truth of your story.Tell me where the box is hid, and I shall get leave of absence andgo back to India in the monthly relief-boat to inquire into theaffair.'
"'Not so fast,' said I, growing colder as he got hot. 'I musthave the consent of my three comrades. I tell you that it is fouror none with us.'
"'Nonsense!' he broke in. 'What have three black fellows to dowith our agreement?'
"'Black or blue,' said I, 'they are in with me, and we all gotogether.'
"Well, the matter ended by a second meeting, at which MahometSingh, Abdullah Khan, and Dost Akbar were all present. We talkedthe matter over again, and at last we came to an arrangement. Wewere to provide both the officers with charts of the part of theAgra fort and mark the place in the wall where the treasure washid. Major Sholto was to go to India to test our story. If he foundthe box he was to leave it there, to send out a small yachtprovisioned for a voyage, which was to lie off Rutland Island, andto which we were to make our way, and finally to return to hisduties. Captain Morstan was then to apply for leave of absence, tomeet us at Agra, and there we were to have a final division of thetreasure, he taking the major's share as well as his own. All thiswe sealed by the most solemn oaths that the mind could think or thelips utter. I sat up all night with paper and ink, and by themorning I had the two charts all ready, signed with the sign offour,--that is, of Abdullah, Akbar, Mahomet, and myself.
"Well, gentlemen, I weary you with my long story, and I knowthat my friend Mr. Jones is impatient to get me safely stowed inchokey. I'll make it as short as I can. The villain Sholto went offto India, but he never came back again. Captain Morstan showed mehis name among a list of passengers in one of the mailboats veryshortly afterwards. His uncle had died, leaving him a fortune, andhe had left the army, yet he could stoop to treat five men as hehad treated us. Morstan went over to Agra shortly afterwards, andfound, as we expected, that the treasure was indeed gone. Thescoundrel had stolen it all, without carrying out one of theconditions on which we had sold him the secret. >From that day Ilived only for vengeance. I thought of it by day and I nursed it bynight. It became an overpowering, absorbing passion with me. Icared nothing for the law,--nothing for the gallows. To escape, totrack down Sholto, to have my hand upon his throat,--that was myone thought. Even the Agra treasure had come to be a smaller thingin my mind than the slaying of Sholto.
"Well, I have set my mind on many things in this life, and neverone which I did not carry out. But it was weary years before mytime came. I have told you that I had picked up something ofmedicine. One day when Dr. Somerton was down with a fever a littleAndaman Islander was picked up by a convict-gang in the woods. Hewas sick to death, and had gone to a lonely place to die. I tookhim in hand, though he was as venomous as a young snake, and aftera couple of months I got him all right and able to walk. He took akind of fancy to me then, and would hardly go back to his woods,but was always hanging about my hut. I learned a little of hislingo from him, and this made him all the fonder of me.
"Tonga--for that was his name--was a fine boatman, and owned abig, roomy canoe of his own. When I found that he was devoted to meand would do anything to serve me, I saw my chance of escape. Italked it over with him. He was to bring his boat round on acertain night to an old wharf which was never guarded, and there hewas to pick me up. I gave him directions to have several gourds ofwater and a lot of yams, cocoa-nuts, and sweet potatoes.
"He was stanch and true, was little Tonga. No man ever had amore faithful mate. At the night named he had his boat at thewharf. As it chanced, however, there was one of the convictguarddown there,--a vile Pathan who had never missed a chance ofinsulting and injuring me. I had always vowed vengeance, and now Ihad my chance. It was as if fate had placed him in my way that Imight pay my debt before I left the island. He stood on the bankwith his back to me, and his carbine on his shoulder. I looked abutfor a stone to beat out his brains with, but none could I see. Thena queer thought came into my head and showed me where I could laymy hand on a weapon. I sat down in the darkness and unstrapped mywooden leg. With three long hops I was on him. He put his carbineto his shoulder, but I struck him full, and knocked the whole frontof 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,but when I got up I found him still lying quiet enough. I made forthe boat, and in an hour we were well out at sea. Tonga had broughtall his earthly possessions with him, his arms and his gods. Amongother things, he had a long bamboo spear, and some Andamancocoa-nut matting, with which I make a sort of sail. For ten dayswe were beating about, trusting to luck, and on the eleventh wewere picked up by a trader which was going from Singapore to Jiddahwith a cargo of Malay pilgrims. They were a rum crowd, and Tongaand I soon managed to settle down among them. They had one verygood quality: they let you alone and asked no questions.
"Well, if I were to tell you all the adventures that my littlechum and I went through, you would not thank me, for I would haveyou here until the sun was shining. Here and there we drifted aboutthe world, something always turning up to keep us from London. Allthe time, however, I never lost sight of my purpose. I would dreamof Sholto at night. A hundred times I have killed him in my sleep.At last, however, some three or four years ago, we found ourselvesin England. I had no great difficulty in finding where Sholtolived, and I set to work to discover whether he had realized thetreasure, or if he still had it. I made friends with someone whocould help me,--I name no names, for I don't want to get any oneelse in a hole,--and I soon found that he still had the jewels.Then I tried to get at him in many ways; but he was pretty sly, andhad always two prize-fighters, besides his sons and his khitmutgar,on guard over him.
"One day, however, I got word that he was dying. I hurried atonce to the garden, mad that he should slip out of my clutches likethat, and, looking through the window, I saw him lying in his bed,with his sons on each side of him. I'd have come through and takenmy chance with the three of them, only even as I looked at him hisjaw dropped, and I knew that he was gone. I got into his room thatsame night, though, and I searched his papers to see if there wasany record of where he had hidden our jewels. There was not a line,however: so I came away, bitter and savage as a man could be.Before I left I bethought me that if I ever met my Sikh friendsagain it would be a satisfaction to know that I had left some markof our hatred: so I scrawled down the sign of the four of us, as ithad been on the chart, and I pinned it on his bosom. It was toomuch that he should be taken to the grave without some token fromthe men whom he had robbed and befooled.
"We earned a living at this time by my exhibiting poor Tonga atfairs and other such places as the black cannibal. He would eat rawmeat and dance his war-dance: so we always had a hatful of penniesafter a day's work. I still heard all the news from PondicherryLodge, and for some years there was no news to hear, except thatthey were hunting for the treasure. At last, however, came what wehad waited for so long. The treasure had been found. It was up atthe top of the house, in Mr. Bartholomew Sholto's chemicallaboratory. I came at once and had a look at the place, but I couldnot see how with my wooden leg I was to make my way up to it. Ilearned, however, about a trapdoor in the roof, and also about Mr.Sholto's supper-hour. It seemed to me that I could manage the thingeasily through Tonga. I brought him out with me with a long ropewound round his waist. He could climb like a cat, and he soon madehis way through the roof, but, as ill luck would have it,Bartholomew Sholto was still in the room, to his cost. Tongathought he had done something very clever in killing him, for whenI came up by the rope I found him strutting about as proud as apeacock. Very much surprised was he when I made at him with therope's end and cursed him for a little blood-thirsty imp. I tookthe treasurebox and let it down, and then slid down myself, havingfirst left the sign of the four upon the table, to show that thejewels had come back at last to those who had most right to them.Tonga then pulled up the rope, closed the window, and made off theway that he had come.
"I don't know that I have anything else to tell you. I had hearda waterman speak of the speed of Smith's launch the Aurora, so Ithought she would be a handy craft for our escape. I engaged withold Smith, and was to give him a big sum if he got us safe to ourship. He knew, no doubt, that there was some screw loose, but hewas not in our secrets. All this is the truth, and if I tell it toyou, gentlemen, it is not to amuse you,--for you have not done me avery good turn,--but it is because I believe the best defence I canmake is just to hold back nothing, but let all the wold know howbadly I have myself been served by Major Sholto, and how innocent Iam of the death of his son."
"A very remarkable account," said Sherlock Holmes. "A fittingwind-up to an extremely interesting case. There is nothing at allnew to me in the latter part of your narrative, except that youbrought your own rope. That I did not know. By the way, I had hopedthat Tonga had lost all his darts; yet he managed to shoot one atus in the boat."
"He had lost them all, sir, except the one which was in hisblowpipe at the 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 the convict, affably.
"I think not, thank you," my companion answered.
"Well, Holmes," said Athelney Jones, "You are a man to behumored, and we all know that you are a connoisseur of crime, butduty is duty, and I have gone rather far in doing what you and yourfriend asked me. I shall feel more at ease when we have ourstory-teller here safe under lock and key. The cab still waits, andthere are two inspectors down-stairs. I am much obliged to you bothfor your assistance. Of course you will be wanted at the trial.Good-night to you."
"Good-night, gentlemen both," said Jonathan Small.
"You first, Small," remarked the wary Jones as they left theroom. "I'll take particular care that you don't club me with yourwooden leg, whatever you may have done to the gentleman at theAndaman Isles."
"Well, and there is the end of our little drama," I remarked,after we had set some time smoking in silence. "I fear that it maybe the last investigation in which I shall have the chance ofstudying your methods. Miss Morstan has done me the honor to acceptme as a husband in prospective."
He gave a most dismal groan. "I feared as much," said he. "Ireally cannot congratulate you."
I was a little hurt. "Have you any reason to be dissatisfiedwith my choice?" I asked.
"Not at all. I think she is one of the most charming youngladies I ever met, and might have been most useful in such work aswe have been doing. She had a decided genius that way: witness theway in which she preserved that Agra plan from all the other papersof her father. But love is an emotional thing, and whatever isemotional is opposed to that true cold reason which I place aboveall things. I should never marry myself, lest I bias myjudgment."
"I trust," said I, laughing, "that my judgment may survive theordeal. But you look weary."
"Yes, the reaction is already upon me. I shall be as limp as arag for a week."
"Strange," said I, "how terms of what in another man I shouldcall laziness alternate with your fits of splendid energy andvigor."
"Yes," he answered, "there are in me the makings of a very fineloafer and also of a pretty spry sort of fellow. I often think ofthose lines of old Goethe,--
Schade dass die Natur nur EINEN Mensch aus Dir schuf, Denn zumwuerdigen Mann war und zum Schelmen der Stoff.
By the way, a propos of this Norwood business, you see that theyhad, as I surmised, a confederate in the house, who could be noneother than Lal Rao, the butler: so Jones actually has the undividedhonor of having caught one fish in his great haul."
"The division seems rather unfair," I remarked. "You have doneall the work in this business. I get a wife out of it, Jones getsthe credit, pray what remains for you?"
"For me," said Sherlock Holmes, "there still remains thecocainebottle." And he stretched his long white hand up for it.
THE ADVENTURES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES
ADVENTURE I. A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA
I.
To 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 anyemotion akin to love for Irene Adler. All emotions, and that oneparticularly, were abhorrent to his cold, precise but admirablybalanced mind. He was, I take it, the most perfect reasoning andobserving machine that the world has seen, but as a lover he wouldhave placed himself in a false position. He never spoke of thesofter passions, save with a gibe and a sneer. They were admirablethings for the observer--excellent for drawing the veil from men'smotives and actions. But for the trained reasoner to admit suchintrusions into his own delicate and finely adjusted temperamentwas to introduce a distracting factor which might throw a doubtupon all his mental results. Grit in a sensitive instrument, or acrack in one of his own high-power lenses, would not be moredisturbing than a strong emotion in a nature such as his. And yetthere was but one woman to him, and that woman was the late IreneAdler, of dubious and questionable memory.
I had seen little of Holmes lately. My marriage had drifted usaway from each other. My own complete happiness, and thehome-centred interests which rise up around the man who first findshimself master of his own establishment, were sufficient to absorball my attention, while Holmes, who loathed every form of societywith his whole Bohemian soul, remained in our lodgings in BakerStreet, buried among his old books, and alternating from week toweek between cocaine and ambition, the drowsiness of the drug, andthe fierce energy of his own keen nature. He was still, as ever,deeply attracted by the study of crime, and occupied his immensefaculties and extraordinary powers of observation in following outthose clews, and clearing up those mysteries which had beenabandoned as hopeless by the official police. From time to time Iheard some vague account of his doings: of his summons to Odessa inthe case of the Trepoff murder, of his clearing up of the singulartragedy of the Atkinson brothers at Trincomalee, and finally of themission which he had accomplished so delicately and successfullyfor the reigning family of Holland. Beyond these signs of hisactivity, however, which I merely shared with all the readers ofthe daily press, I knew little of my former friend andcompanion.
One night--it was on the twentieth of March, 1888--I wasreturning from a journey to a patient (for I had now returned tocivil practice), when my way led me through Baker Street. As Ipassed the well-remembered door, which must always be associated inmy mind with my wooing, and with the dark incidents of the Study inScarlet, I was seized with a keen desire to see Holmes again, andto know how he was employing his extraordinary powers. His roomswere brilliantly lit, and, even as I looked up, I saw his tall,spare figure pass twice in a dark silhouette against the blind. Hewas pacing the room swiftly, eagerly, with his head sunk upon hischest and his hands clasped behind him. To me, who knew his everymood and habit, his attitude and manner told their own story. Hewas at work again. He had risen out of his drug-created dreams andwas hot upon the scent of some new problem. I rang the bell and wasshown up to the chamber which had formerly been in part my own.
His manner was not effusive. It seldom was; but he was glad, Ithink, to see me. With hardly a word spoken, but with a kindly eye,he waved me to an armchair, threw across his case of cigars, andindicated a spirit case and a gasogene in the corner. Then he stoodbefore the fire and looked me over in his singular introspectivefashion.
"Wedlock suits you," he remarked. "I think, Watson, that youhave put on seven and a half pounds since I saw you."
"Seven!" I answered.
"Indeed, I should have thought a little more. Just a triflemore, I fancy, Watson. And in practice again, I observe. You didnot tell me that you intended to go into harness."
"Then, how do you know?"
"I see it, I deduce it. How do I know that you have been gettingyourself very wet lately, and that you have a most clumsy andcareless servant girl?"
"My dear Holmes," said I, "this is too much. You would certainlyhave been burned, had you lived a few centuries ago. It is truethat I had a country walk on Thursday and came home in a dreadfulmess, but as I have changed my clothes I can't imagine how youdeduce it. As to Mary Jane, she is incorrigible, and my wife hasgiven her notice, but there, again, I fail to see how you work itout."
He chuckled to himself and rubbed his long, nervous handstogether.
"It is simplicity itself," said he; "my eyes tell me that on theinside of your left shoe, just where the firelight strikes it, theleather is scored by six almost parallel cuts. Obviously they havebeen caused by someone who has very carelessly scraped round theedges of the sole in order to remove crusted mud from it. Hence,you see, my double deduction that you had been out in vile weather,and that you had a particularly malignant boot-slitting specimen ofthe London slavey. As to your practice, if a gentleman walks intomy rooms smelling of iodoform, with a black mark of nitrate ofsilver upon his right forefinger, and a bulge on the right side ofhis top-hat to show where he has secreted his stethoscope, I mustbe dull, indeed, if I do not pronounce him to be an active memberof the medical profession."
I could not help laughing at the ease with which he explainedhis process of deduction. "When I hear you give your reasons," Iremarked, "the thing always appears to me to be so ridiculouslysimple that I could easily do it myself, though at each successiveinstance of your reasoning I am baffled until you explain yourprocess. And yet I believe that my eyes are as good as yours."
"Quite so," he answered, lighting a cigarette, and throwinghimself down into an armchair. "You see, but you do not observe.The distinction is clear. For example, you have frequently seen thesteps which lead up from the hall to this room."
"Frequently."
"How often?"
"Well, some hundreds of times."
"Then how many are there?"
"How many? I don't know."
"Quite so! You have not observed. And yet you have seen. That isjust my point. Now, I know that there are seventeen steps, becauseI have both seen and observed. By-the-way, since you are interestedin these little problems, and since you are good enough tochronicle one or two of my trifling experiences, you may beinterested in this." He threw over a sheet of thick, pink-tintednote-paper which had been lying open upon the table. "It came bythe last post," said he. "Read it aloud."
The note was undated, and without either signature oraddress.
"There will call upon you to-night, at a quarter to eighto'clock," it said, "a gentleman who desires to consult you upon amatter of the very deepest moment. Your recent services to one ofthe royal houses of Europe have shown that you are one who maysafely be trusted with matters which are of an importance which canhardly be exaggerated. This account of you we have from allquarters received. Be in your chamber then at that hour, and do nottake it amiss if your visitor wear a mask.
"This is indeed a mystery," I remarked. "What do you imaginethat it means?"
"I have no data yet. It is a capital mistake to theorize beforeone has data. Insensibly one begins to twist facts to suittheories, instead of theories to suit facts. But the note itself.What do you deduce from it?"
I carefully examined the writing, and the paper upon which itwas written.
"The man who wrote it was presumably well to do," I remarked,endeavoring to imitate my companion's processes. "Such paper couldnot be bought under half a crown a packet. It is peculiarly strongand stiff."
"Peculiar--that is the very word," said Holmes. "It is not anEnglish paper at all. Hold it up to the light."
I did so, and saw a large "E" with a small "g," a "P," and alarge "G" with a small "t" woven into the texture of the paper.
"What do you make of that?" asked Holmes.
"The name of the maker, no doubt; or his monogram, rather."
"Not at all. The 'G' with the small 't' stands for'Gesellschaft,' which is the German for 'Company.' It is acustomary contraction like our 'Co.' 'P,' of course, stands for'Papier.' Now for the 'Eg.' Let us glance at our ContinentalGazetteer." He took down a heavy brown volume from his shelves."Eglow, Eglonitz--here we are, Egria. It is in a German-speakingcountry--in Bohemia, not far from Carlsbad. 'Remarkable as beingthe scene of the death of Wallenstein, and for its numerousglass-factories and paper-mills.' Ha, ha, my boy, what do you makeof that?" His eyes sparkled, and he sent up a great blue triumphantcloud from his cigarette.
"The paper was made in Bohemia," I said.
"Precisely. And the man who wrote the note is a German. Do younote the peculiar construction of the sentence--'This account ofyou we have from all quarters received.' A Frenchman or Russiancould not have written that. It is the German who is so uncourteousto his verbs. It only remains, therefore, to discover what iswanted by this German who writes upon Bohemian paper and preferswearing a mask to showing his face. And here he comes, if I am notmistaken, to resolve all our doubts."
As he spoke there was the sharp sound of horses' hoofs andgrating wheels against the curb, followed by a sharp pull at thebell. Holmes whistled.
"A pair, by the sound," said he. "Yes," he continued, glancingout of the window. "A nice little brougham and a pair of beauties.A hundred and fifty guineas apiece. There's money in this case,Watson, if there is nothing else."
"I think that I had better go, Holmes."
"Not a bit, Doctor. Stay where you are. I am lost without myBoswell. And this promises to be interesting. It would be a pity tomiss it."
"But your client--"
"Never mind him. I may want your help, and so may he. Here hecomes. Sit down in that armchair, Doctor, and give us your bestattention."
A slow and heavy step, which had been heard upon the stairs andin the passage, paused immediately outside the door. Then there wasa loud and authoritative tap.
"Come in!" said Holmes.
A man entered who could hardly have been less than six feet sixinches in height, with the chest and limbs of a Hercules. His dresswas rich with a richness which would, in England, be looked upon asakin to bad taste. Heavy bands of astrakhan were slashed across thesleeves and fronts of his double-breasted coat, while the deep bluecloak which was thrown over his shoulders was lined withflame-colored silk and secured at the neck with a brooch whichconsisted of a single flaming beryl. Boots which extended halfwayup his calves, and which were trimmed at the tops with rich brownfur, completed the impression of barbaric opulence which wassuggested by his whole appearance. He carried a broad-brimmed hatin his hand, while he wore across the upper part of his face,extending down past the cheekbones, a black vizard mask, which hehad apparently adjusted that very moment, for his hand was stillraised to it as he entered. From the lower part of the face heappeared to be a man of strong character, with a thick, hanginglip, and a long, straight chin suggestive of resolution pushed tothe length of obstinacy.
"You had my note?" he asked with a deep harsh voice and astrongly marked German accent. "I told you that I would call." Helooked from one to the other of us, as if uncertain which toaddress.
"Pray take a seat," said Holmes. "This is my friend andcolleague, Dr. Watson, who is occasionally good enough to help mein my cases. Whom have I the honor to address?"
"You may address me as the Count Von Kramm, a Bohemian nobleman.I understand that this gentleman, your friend, is a man of honorand discretion, whom I may trust with a matter of the most extremeimportance. If not, I should much prefer to communicate with youalone."
I rose to go, but Holmes caught me by the wrist and pushed meback into my chair. "It is both, or none," said he. "You may saybefore this gentleman anything which you may say to me."
The Count shrugged his broad shoulders. "Then I must begin,"said he, "by binding you both to absolute secrecy for two years; atthe end of that time the matter will be of no importance. Atpresent it is not too much to say that it is of such weight it mayhave an influence upon European history."
"I promise," said Holmes.
"And I."
"You will excuse this mask," continued our strange visitor. "Theaugust person who employs me wishes his agent to be unknown to you,and I may confess at once that the title by which I have justcalled myself is not exactly my own."
"I was aware of it," said Holmes drily.
"The circumstances are of great delicacy, and every precautionhas to be taken to quench what might grow to be an immense scandaland seriously compromise 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 himselfdown in his armchair and closing his eyes.
Our visitor glanced with some apparent surprise at the languid,lounging figure of the man who had been no doubt depicted to him asthe most incisive reasoner and most energetic agent in Europe.Holmes slowly reopened his eyes and looked impatiently at hisgigantic client.
"If your Majesty would condescend to state your case," heremarked, "I should 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, hetore the mask from his face and hurled it upon the ground. "You areright," he cried; "I am the King. Why should I attempt to concealit?"
"Why, indeed?" murmured Holmes. "Your Majesty had not spokenbefore I was aware that I was addressing Wilhelm GottsreichSigismond von Ormstein, Grand Duke of Cassel-Felstein, andhereditary King of Bohemia."
"But you can understand," said our strange visitor, sitting downonce more and passing his hand over his high white forehead, "youcan understand that I am not accustomed to doing such business inmy own person. Yet the matter was so delicate that I could notconfide it to an agent without putting myself in his power. I havecome incognito from Prague for the purpose of consulting you."
"Then, pray consult," said Holmes, shutting his eyes oncemore.
"The facts are briefly these: Some five years ago, during alengthy visit to Warsaw, I made the acquaintance of the wellknownadventuress, Irene Adler. The name is no doubt familiar toyou."
"Kindly look her up in my index, Doctor," murmured Holmeswithout opening his eyes. For many years he had adopted a system ofdocketing all paragraphs concerning men and things, so that it wasdifficult to name a subject or a person on which he could not atonce furnish information. In this case I found her biographysandwiched in between that of a Hebrew rabbi and that of astaff-commander who had written a monograph upon the deep-seafishes.
"Let me see!" said Holmes. "Hum! Born in New Jersey in the year1858. Contralto--hum! La Scala, hum! Prima donna Imperial Opera ofWarsaw--yes! Retired from operatic stage--ha! Living inLondon--quite so! Your Majesty, as I understand, became entangledwith this young person, wrote her some compromising letters, and isnow desirous of getting those letters back."
"Precisely so. But how--"
"Was there a secret marriage?"
"None."
"No legal papers or certificates?"
"None."
"Then I fail to follow your Majesty. If this young person shouldproduce her letters for blackmailing or other purposes, how is sheto prove their authenticity?"
"There is the writing."
"Pooh, pooh! Forgery."
"My private note-paper."
"Stolen."
"My own seal."
"Imitated."
"My photograph."
"Bought."
"We were both in the photograph."
"Oh, dear! That is very bad! Your Majesty has indeed committedan indiscretion."
"I was mad--insane."
"You have compromised yourself seriously."
"I was only Crown Prince then. I was young. I am but thirtynow."
"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 payransacked her house. Once we diverted her luggage when shetravelled. Twice she has been waylaid. There has been noresult."
"No sign of it?"
"Absolutely none."
Holmes laughed. "It is quite a pretty little problem," saidhe.
"But a very serious one to me," returned the Kingreproachfully.
"Very, indeed. And what does she propose to do with thephotograph?"
"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 herfamily. She is herself the very soul of delicacy. A shadow of adoubt as to my conduct would bring the matter to an end."
"And Irene Adler?"
"Threatens to send them the photograph. And she will do it. Iknow that she will do it. You do not know her, but she has a soulof steel. She has the face of the most beautiful of women, and themind of the most resolute of men. Rather than I should marryanother woman, there are no lengths to which she would notgo--none."
"You are sure that she has not sent it yet?"
"I am sure."
"And why?"
"Because she has said that she would send it on the day when thebetrothal was publicly proclaimed. That will be next Monday."
"Oh, then we have three days yet," said Holmes with a yawn."That is very fortunate, as I have one or two matters of importanceto look into just at present. Your Majesty will, of course, stay inLondon for the present?"
"Certainly. You will find me at the Langham under the name ofthe Count Von Kramm."
"Then I shall drop you a line to let you know how weprogress."
"Pray do so. I shall be all anxiety."
"Then, as to money?"
"You have carte blanche."
"Absolutely?"
"I tell you that I would give one of the provinces of my kingdomto have that photograph."
"And for present expenses?"
The King took a heavy chamois leather bag from under his cloakand laid it on the table.
"There are three hundred pounds in gold and seven hundred innotes," he said.
Holmes scribbled a receipt upon a sheet of his note-book andhanded it to him.
"And Mademoiselle's address?" he asked.
"Is Briony Lodge, Serpentine Avenue, St. John's Wood."
Holmes took a note of it. "One other question," said he. "Wasthe photograph a cabinet?"
"It was."
"Then, good-night, your Majesty, and I trust that we shall soonhave some good news for you. And good-night, Watson," he added, asthe wheels of the royal brougham rolled down the street. "If youwill be good enough to call to-morrow afternoon at three o'clock Ishould like to chat this little matter over with you."
II.
At three o'clock precisely I was at Baker Street, but Holmes hadnot yet returned. The landlady informed me that he had left thehouse shortly after eight o'clock in the morning. I sat down besidethe fire, however, with the intention of awaiting him, however longhe might be. I was already deeply interested in his inquiry, for,though it was surrounded by none of the grim and strange featureswhich were associated with the two crimes which I have alreadyrecorded, still, the nature of the case and the exalted station ofhis client gave it a character of its own. Indeed, apart from thenature of the investigation which my friend had on hand, there wassomething in his masterly grasp of a situation, and his keen,incisive reasoning, which made it a pleasure to me to study hissystem of work, and to follow the quick, subtle methods by which hedisentangled the most inextricable mysteries. So accustomed was Ito his invariable success that the very possibility of his failinghad ceased to enter into my head.
It was close upon four before the door opened, and adrunkenlooking groom, ill-kempt and side-whiskered, with aninflamed face and disreputable clothes, walked into the room.Accustomed as I was to my friend's amazing powers in the use ofdisguises, I had to look three times before I was certain that itwas indeed he. With a nod he vanished into the bedroom, whence heemerged in five minutes tweed-suited and respectable, as of old.Putting his hands into his pockets, he stretched out his legs infront of the fire and laughed heartily for some minutes.
"Well, really!" he cried, and then he choked and laughed againuntil he was obliged to lie back, limp and helpless, in thechair.
"What is it?"
"It's quite too funny. I am sure you could never guess how Iemployed my morning, or what I ended by doing."
"I can't imagine. I suppose that you have been watching thehabits, and perhaps the house, of Miss Irene Adler."
"Quite so; but the sequel was rather unusual. I will tell you,however. I left the house a little after eight o'clock this morningin the character of a groom out of work. There is a wonderfulsympathy and freemasonry among horsy men. Be one of them, and youwill know all that there is to know. I soon found Briony Lodge. Itis a bijou villa, with a garden at the back. but built out in frontright up to the road, two stories. Chubb lock to the door. Largesitting-room on the right side, well furnished, with long windowsalmost to the floor, and those preposterous English windowfasteners which a child could open. Behind there was nothingremarkable, save that the passage window could be reached from thetop of the coach-house. I walked round it and examined it closelyfrom every point of view, but without noting anything else ofinterest.
"I then lounged down the street and found, as I expected, thatthere was a mews in a lane which runs down by one wall of thegarden. I lent the ostlers a hand in rubbing down their horses, andreceived in exchange twopence, a glass of half and half, two fillsof shag tobacco, and as much information as I could desire aboutMiss Adler, to say nothing of half a dozen other people in theneighborhood in whom I was not in the least interested, but whosebiographies I was compelled to listen to."
"And what of Irene Adler?" I asked.
"Oh, she has turned all the men's heads down in that part. Sheis the daintiest thing under a bonnet on this planet. So say theSerpentine-mews, to a man. She lives quietly, sings at concerts,drives out at five every day, and returns at seven sharp fordinner. Seldom goes out at other times, except when she sings. Hasonly one male visitor, but a good deal of him. He is dark,handsome, and dashing, never calls less than once a day, and oftentwice. 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 Ihad listened to all they had to tell, I began to walk up and downnear Briony Lodge once more, and to think over my plan ofcampaign.
"This Godfrey Norton was evidently an important factor in thematter. He was a lawyer. That sounded ominous. What was therelation between them, and what the object of his repeated visits?Was she his client, his friend, or his mistress? If the former, shehad probably transferred the photograph to his keeping. If thelatter, it was less likely. On the issue of this question dependedwhether I should continue my work at Briony Lodge, or turn myattention to the gentleman's chambers in the Temple. It was adelicate point, and it widened the field of my inquiry. I fear thatI bore you with these details, but I have to let you see my littledifficulties, 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 cabdrove up to Briony Lodge, and a gentleman sprang out. He was aremarkably handsome man, dark, aquiline, and moustached-- evidentlythe man of whom I had heard. He appeared to be in a great hurry,shouted to the cabman to wait, and brushed past the maid who openedthe door with the air of a man who was thoroughly at home.
"He was in the house about half an hour, and I could catchglimpses of him in the windows of the sitting-room, pacing up anddown, talking excitedly, and waving his arms. Of her I could seenothing. Presently he emerged, looking even more flurried thanbefore. As he stepped up to the cab, he pulled a gold watch fromhis pocket and looked at it earnestly, 'Drive like the devil,' heshouted, 'first to Gross & Hankey's in Regent Street, and thento the Church of St. Monica in the Edgeware Road. Half a guinea ifyou do it in twenty minutes!'
"Away they went, and I was just wondering whether I should notdo well to follow them when up the lane came a neat little landau,the coachman with his coat only half-buttoned, and his tie underhis ear, while all the tags of his harness were sticking out of thebuckles. It hadn't pulled up before she shot out of the hall doorand into it. I only caught a glimpse of her at the moment, but shewas a lovely woman, with a face that a man might die for.
"'The Church of St. Monica, John,' she cried, 'and half asovereign if you reach it in twenty minutes.'
"This was quite too good to lose, Watson. I was just balancingwhether I should run for it, or whether I should perch behind herlandau when a cab came through the street. The driver looked twiceat such a shabby fare, but I jumped in before he could object. 'TheChurch of St. Monica,' said I, 'and half a sovereign if you reachit in twenty minutes.' It was twenty-five minutes to twelve, and ofcourse it was clear enough what was in the wind.
"My cabby drove fast. I don't think I ever drove faster, but theothers were there before us. The cab and the landau with theirsteaming horses were in front of the door when I arrived. I paidthe man and hurried into the church. There was not a soul theresave the two whom I had followed and a surprised clergyman, whoseemed to be expostulating with them. They were all three standingin a knot in front of the altar. I lounged up the side aisle likeany other idler who has dropped into a church. Suddenly, to mysurprise, the three at the altar faced round to me, and GodfreyNorton came running as hard as he could towards me.
"Thank God," he cried. "You'll do. Come! Come!"
"What then?" I asked.
"Come, man, come, only three minutes, or it won't be legal."
I was half-dragged up to the altar, and before I knew where Iwas I found myself mumbling responses which were whispered in myear. and vouching for things of which I knew nothing, and generallyassisting in the secure tying up of Irene Adler, spinster, toGodfrey Norton, bachelor. It was all done in an instant, and therewas the gentleman thanking me on the one side and the lady on theother, while the clergyman beamed on me in front. It was the mostpreposterous position in which I ever found myself in my life, andit was the thought of it that started me laughing just now. Itseems that there had been some informality about their license,that the clergyman absolutely refused to marry them without awitness of some sort, and that my lucky appearance saved thebridegroom from having to sally out into the streets in search of abest man. The bride gave me a sovereign, and I mean to wear it onmy watch-chain in memory of the occasion."
"This is a very unexpected turn of affairs," said I; "and whatthen?"
"Well, I found my plans very seriously menaced. It looked as ifthe pair might take an immediate departure, and so necessitate veryprompt and energetic measures on my part. At the church door,however, they separated, he driving back to the Temple, and she toher own house. 'I shall drive out in the park at five as usual,'she said as she left him. I heard no more. They drove away indifferent directions, and I went off to make my ownarrangements."
"Which are?"
"Some cold beef and a glass of beer," he answered, ringing thebell. "I have been too busy to think of food, and I am likely to bebusier still this evening. By the way, Doctor, I shall want yourcooperation."
"I shall be delighted."
"You don't mind breaking the law?"
"Not in the least."
"Nor running a chance of arrest?"
"Not in a good cause."
"Oh, the cause is excellent!"
"Then I am your man."
"I was sure that I might rely on you."
"But what is it you wish?"
"When Mrs. Turner has brought in the tray I will make it clearto you. Now," he said as he turned hungrily on the simple fare thatour landlady had provided, "I must discuss it while I eat, for Ihave not much time. It is nearly five now. In two hours we must beon the scene of action. Miss Irene, or Madame, rather, returns fromher drive at seven. We must be at Briony Lodge to meet her."
"And what then?"
"You must leave that to me. I have already arranged what is tooccur. There is only one point on which I must insist. You must notinterfere, 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 conveyedinto the house. Four or five minutes afterwards the sitting-roomwindow will open. You are to station yourself close to that openwindow."
"Yes."
"You are to watch me, for I will be visible to you."
"Yes."
"And when I raise my hand--so--you will throw into the room whatI give you to throw, and will, at the same time, raise the cry offire. You quite follow me?"
"Entirely."
"It is nothing very formidable," he said, taking a longcigarshaped roll from his pocket. "It is an ordinary plumber'ssmokerocket, fitted with a cap at either end to make itself-lighting. Your task is confined to that. When you raise yourcry of fire, it will be taken up by quite a number of people. Youmay then walk to the end of the street, and I will rejoin you inten minutes. I hope that I have made myself clear?"
"I am to remain neutral, to get near the window, to watch you,and at the signal to throw in this object, then to raise the cry offire, and to wait you at the corner of the street."
"Precisely."
"Then you may entirely rely on me."
"That is excellent. I think, perhaps, it is almost time that Iprepare for the new role I have to play."
He disappeared into his bedroom and returned in a few minutes inthe character of an amiable and simple-minded Nonconformistclergyman. His broad black hat, his baggy trousers, his white tie,his sympathetic smile, and general look of peering and benevolentcuriosity were such as Mr. John Hare alone could have equalled. Itwas not merely that Holmes changed his costume. His expression, hismanner, his very soul seemed to vary with every fresh part that heassumed. The stage lost a fine actor, even as science lost an acutereasoner, when he became a specialist in crime.
It was a quarter past six when we left Baker Street, and itstill wanted ten minutes to the hour when we found ourselves inSerpentine Avenue. It was already dusk, and the lamps were justbeing lighted as we paced up and down in front of Briony Lodge,waiting for the coming of its occupant. The house was just such asI had pictured it from Sherlock Holmes's succinct description, butthe locality appeared to be less private than I expected. On thecontrary, for a small street in a quiet neighborhood, it wasremarkably animated. There was a group of shabbily dressed mensmoking and laughing in a corner, a scissors-grinder with hiswheel, two guardsmen who were flirting with a nurse-girl, andseveral well-dressed young men who were lounging up and down withcigars in their mouths.
"You see," remarked Holmes, as we paced to and fro in front ofthe house, "this marriage rather simplifies matters. The photographbecomes a double-edged weapon now. The chances are that she wouldbe as averse to its being seen by Mr. Godfrey Norton, as our clientis to its coming to the eyes of his princess. Now the question is,Where are we to find the photograph?"
"Where, indeed?"
"It is most unlikely that she carries it about with her. It iscabinet size. Too large for easy concealment about a woman's dress.She knows that the King is capable of having her waylaid andsearched. Two attempts of the sort have already been made. We maytake it, then, that she does not carry it about with her."
"Where, then?"
"Her banker or her lawyer. There is that double possibility. ButI am inclined to think neither. Women are naturally secretive, andthey like to do their own secreting. Why should she hand it over toanyone else? She could trust her own guardianship, but she couldnot tell what indirect or political influence might be brought tobear upon a business man. Besides, remember that she had resolvedto use it within a few days. It must be where she can lay her handsupon 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 isher carriage. Now carry out my orders to the letter."
As he spoke the gleam of the side-lights of a carriage cameround the curve of the avenue. It was a smart little landau whichrattled up to the door of Briony Lodge. As it pulled up, one of theloafing men at the corner dashed forward to open the door in thehope of earning a copper, but was elbowed away by another loafer,who had rushed up with the same intention. A fierce quarrel brokeout, which was increased by the two guardsmen, who took sides withone of the loungers, and by the scissorsgrinder, who was equallyhot upon the other side. A blow was struck, and in an instant thelady, who had stepped from her carriage, was the centre of a littleknot of flushed and struggling men, who struck savagely at eachother with their fists and sticks. Holmes dashed into the crowd toprotect the lady; but just as he reached her he gave a cry anddropped to the ground, with the blood running freely down his face.At his fall the guardsmen took to their heels in one direction andthe loungers in the other, while a number of better-dressed people,who had watched the scuffle without taking part in it, crowded into help the lady and to attend to the injured man. Irene Adler, asI will still call her, had hurried up the steps; but she stood atthe top with her superb figure outlined against the lights of thehall, looking back into the street.
"Is the poor gentleman much hurt?" she asked.
"He is dead," cried several voices.
"No, no, there's life in him!" shouted another. "But he'll begone before you can get him to hospital."
"He's a brave fellow," said a woman. "They would have had thelady's purse and watch if it hadn't been for him. They were a gang,and a rough one, too. Ah, he's breathing now."
"He can't lie in the street. May we bring him in, marm?"
"Surely. Bring him into the sitting-room. There is a comfortablesofa. This way, please!"
Slowly and solemnly he was borne into Briony Lodge and laid outin the principal room, while I still observed the proceedings frommy post by the window. The lamps had been lit, but the blinds hadnot been drawn, so that I could see Holmes as he lay upon thecouch. I do not know whether he was seized with compunction at thatmoment for the part he was playing, but I know that I never feltmore heartily ashamed of myself in my life than when I saw thebeautiful creature against whom I was conspiring, or the grace andkindliness with which she waited upon the injured man. And yet itwould be the blackest treachery to Holmes to draw back now from thepart which he had intrusted to me. I hardened my heart, and tookthe smoke-rocket from under my ulster. After all, I thought, we arenot injuring her. We are but preventing her from injuringanother.
Holmes had sat up upon the couch, and I saw him motion like aman who is in need of air. A maid rushed across and threw open thewindow. At the same instant I saw him raise his hand and at thesignal I tossed my rocket into the room with a cry of "Fire!" Theword was no sooner out of my mouth than the whole crowd ofspectators, well dressed and ill--gentlemen, ostlers, andservant-maids--joined in a general shriek of "Fire!" Thick cloudsof smoke curled through the room and out at the open window. Icaught a glimpse of rushing figures, and a moment later the voiceof Holmes from within assuring them that it was a false alarm.Slipping through the shouting crowd I made my way to the corner ofthe street, and in ten minutes was rejoiced to find my friend's armin mine, and to get away from the scene of uproar. He walkedswiftly and in silence for some few minutes until we had turneddown one of the quiet streets which lead towards the EdgewareRoad.
"You did it very nicely, Doctor," he remarked. "Nothing couldhave been better. It is all right."
"You have the photograph?"
"I know where it is."
"And how did you find out?"
"She showed me, as I told you she would."
"I am still in the dark."
"I do not wish to make a mystery," said he, laughing. "Thematter was perfectly simple. You, of course, saw that everyone inthe street was an accomplice. They were all engaged for theevening."
"I guessed as much."
"Then, when the row broke out, I had a little moist red paint inthe palm of my hand. I rushed forward, fell down. clapped my handto my face, and became a piteous spectacle. It is an oldtrick."
"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 roomwhich I suspected. It lay between that and her bedroom, and I wasdetermined to see which. They laid me on a couch, I motioned forair, they were compelled to open the window, and you had yourchance."
"How did that help you?"
"It was all-important. When a woman thinks that her house is onfire, her instinct is at once to rush to the thing which she valuesmost. It is a perfectly overpowering impulse, and I have more thanonce taken advantage of it. In the case of the Darlingtonsubstitution scandal it was of use to me, and also in the ArnsworthCastle business. A married woman grabs at her baby; an unmarriedone reaches for her jewel-box. Now it was clear to me that our ladyof to-day had nothing in the house more precious to her than whatwe are in quest of. She would rush to secure it. The alarm of firewas admirably done. The smoke and shouting were enough to shakenerves of steel. She responded beautifully. The photograph is in arecess behind a sliding panel just above the right bell-pull. Shewas there in an instant, and I caught a glimpse of it as shehalf-drew it out. When I cried out that it was a false alarm, shereplaced it, glanced at the rocket, rushed from the room, and Ihave not seen her since. I rose, and, making my excuses, escapedfrom the house. I hesitated whether to attempt to secure thephotograph at once; but the coachman had come in, and as he waswatching me narrowly it seemed safer to wait. A littleover-precipitance may ruin all."
"And now?" I asked.
"Our quest is practically finished. I shall call with the Kingto-morrow, and with you, if you care to come with us. We will beshown into the sitting-room to wait for the lady; but it isprobable that when she comes she may find neither us nor thephotograph. It might be a satisfaction to his Majesty to regain itwith his own hands."
"And when will you call?"
"At eight in the morning. She will not be up, so that we shallhave a clear field. Besides, we must be prompt, for this marriagemay mean a complete change in her life and habits. I must wire tothe King without delay."
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 thegreeting appeared to come from a slim youth in an ulster who hadhurried by.
"I've heard that voice before," said Holmes, staring down thedimly lit street. "Now, I wonder who the deuce that could havebeen."
III.
I slept at Baker Street that night, and we were engaged upon ourtoast and coffee in the morning when the King of Bohemia rushedinto the room.
"You have really got it!" he cried, grasping Sherlock Holmes byeither shoulder and looking eagerly into his face.
"Not yet."
"But you have hopes?"
"I have hopes."
"Then, come. I am all impatience to be gone."
"We must have a cab."
"No, my brougham is waiting."
"Then that will simplify matters." We descended and started offonce more for Briony Lodge.
"Irene Adler is married," remarked Holmes.
"Married! When?"
"Yesterday."
"But to whom?"
"To an English lawyer named Norton."
"But she could not love him."
"I am in hopes that she does."
"And why in hopes?"
"Because it would spare your Majesty all fear of futureannoyance. If the lady loves her husband, she does not love yourMajesty. If she does not love your Majesty, there is no reason whyshe should interfere with your Majesty's plan."
"It is true. And yet--Well! I wish she had been of my ownstation! What a queen she would have made!" He relapsed into amoody silence, which was not broken until we drew up in SerpentineAvenue.
The door of Briony Lodge was open, and an elderly woman stoodupon the steps. She watched us with a sardonic eye as we steppedfrom the brougham.
"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. Sheleft this morning with her husband by the 5:15 train from CharingCross for the Continent."
"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 thedrawing-room, followed by the King and myself. The furniture wasscattered about in every direction, with dismantled shelves andopen drawers, as if the lady had hurriedly ransacked them beforeher flight. Holmes rushed at the bell-pull, tore back a smallsliding shutter, and, plunging in his hand, pulled out a photographand a letter. The photograph was of Irene Adler herself in eveningdress, the letter was superscribed to "Sherlock Holmes, Esq. To beleft till called for." My friend tore it open and we all three readit together. It was dated at midnight of the preceding night andran in this way:
MY DEAR MR. SHERLOCK HOLMES,--You really did it very well. Youtook me in completely. Until after the alarm of fire, I had not asuspicion. But then, when I found how I had betrayed myself, Ibegan to think. I had been warned against you months ago. I hadbeen told that if the King employed an agent it would certainly beyou. And your address had been given me. Yet, with all this, youmade me reveal what you wanted to know. Even after I becamesuspicious, I found it hard to think evil of such a dear, kind oldclergyman. But, you know, I have been trained as an actress myself.Male costume is nothing new to me. I often take advantage of thefreedom which it gives. I sent John, the coachman, to watch you,ran up stairs, got into my walking-clothes, as I call them, andcame down just as you departed.
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 wasflight, when pursued by so formidable an antagonist; so you willfind the nest empty when you call to-morrow. As to the photograph,your client may rest in peace. I love and am loved by a better manthan he. The King may do what he will without hindrance from onewhom he has cruelly wronged. I keep it only to safeguard myself,and to preserve a weapon which will always secure me from any stepswhich he might take in the future. I leave a photograph which hemight care to possess; and I remain, dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes,
Very truly yours,
IRENE NORTON, nee ADLER.
"What a woman--oh, what a woman!" cried the King of Bohemia,when we had all three read this epistle. "Did I not tell you howquick and resolute she was? Would she not have made an admirablequeen? Is it not a pity that she was not on my level?"
"From what I have seen of the lady she seems indeed to be on avery different level to your Majesty," said Holmes coldly. "I amsorry that I have not been able to bring your Majesty's business toa more successful conclusion."
"On the contrary, my dear sir," cried the King; "nothing couldbe more successful. I know that her word is inviolate. Thephotograph is now as safe as if it were in the fire."
"I am glad to hear your Majesty say so."
"I am immensely indebted to you. Pray tell me in what way I canreward you. This ring--" 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 morehighly," said Holmes.
"You have but to name it."
"This photograph!"
The King stared at him in amazement.
"Irene's photograph!" he cried. "Certainly, if you wish it."
"I thank your Majesty. Then there is no more to be done in thematter. I have the honor to wish you a very good-morning." Hebowed, and, turning away without observing the hand which the Kinghad stretched out to him, he set off in my company for hischambers.
And that was how a great scandal threatened to affect thekingdom of Bohemia, and how the best plans of Mr. Sherlock Holmeswere beaten by a woman's wit. He used to make merry over thecleverness of women, but I have not heard him do it of late. Andwhen he speaks of Irene Adler, or when he refers to her photograph,it is always under the honorable title of the woman.
ADVENTURE II. THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE
I had called upon my friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, one day in theautumn of last year and found him in deep conversation with a verystout, florid-faced, elderly gentleman with fiery red hair. With anapology for my intrusion, I was about to withdraw when Holmespulled me abruptly into the room and closed the door behind me.
"You could not possibly have come at a better time, my dearWatson," 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 doubtthat he will 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 smallfat-encircled eyes.
"Try the settee," said Holmes, relapsing into his armchair andputting his fingertips together, as was his custom when in judicialmoods. "I know, my dear Watson, that you share my love of all thatis bizarre and outside the conventions and humdrum routine ofeveryday life. You have shown your relish for it by the enthusiasmwhich has prompted you to chronicle, and, if you will excuse mysaying so, somewhat to embellish so many of my own littleadventures."
"Your cases have indeed been of the greatest interest to me," Iobserved.
"You will remember that I remarked the other day, just before wewent into the very simple problem presented by Miss MarySutherland, that for strange effects and extraordinary combinationswe must go to life itself, which is always far more daring than anyeffort of the imagination."
"A proposition which I took the liberty of doubting."
"You did, Doctor, but none the less you must come round to myview, for otherwise I shall keep on piling fact upon fact on youuntil your reason breaks down under them and acknowledges me to beright. Now, Mr. Jabez Wilson here has been good enough to call uponme this morning, and to begin a narrative which promises to be oneof the most singular which I have listened to for some time. Youhave heard me remark that the strangest and most unique things arevery often connected not with the larger but with the smallercrimes, and occasionally, indeed, where there is room for doubtwhether any positive crime has been committed. As far as I haveheard it is impossible for me to say whether the present case is aninstance of crime or not, but the course of events is certainlyamong 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 hasnot heard the opening part but also because the peculiar nature ofthe story makes me anxious to have every possible detail from yourlips. As a rule, when I have heard some slight indication of thecourse of events, I am able to guide myself by the thousands ofother similar cases which occur to my memory. In the presentinstance I am forced to admit that the facts are, to the best of mybelief, unique."
The portly client puffed out his chest with an appearance ofsome little pride and pulled a dirty and wrinkled newspaper fromthe inside pocket of his greatcoat. As he glanced down theadvertisement column, with his head thrust forward and the paperflattened out upon his knee, I took a good look at the man andendeavored, after the fashion of my companion, to read theindications which might be presented by his dress orappearance.
I did not gain very much, however, by my inspection. Our visitorbore every mark of being an average commonplace British tradesman,obese, pompous, and slow. He wore rather baggy gray shepherd'scheck trousers, a not over-clean black frock-coat, unbuttoned inthe front, and a drab waistcoat with a heavy brassy Albert chain,and a square pierced bit of metal dangling down as an ornament. Afrayed top-hat and a faded brown overcoat with a wrinkled velvetcollar lay upon a chair beside him. Altogether, look as I would,there was nothing remarkable about the man save his blazing redhead, and the expression of extreme chagrin and discontent upon hisfeatures.
Sherlock Holmes's quick eye took in my occupation, and he shookhis head with a smile as he noticed my questioning glances. "Beyondthe obvious facts that he has at some time done manual labour, thathe takes snuff, that he is a Freemason, that he has been in China,and that he has done a considerable amount of writing lately, I candeduce nothing else."
Mr. Jabez Wilson started up in his chair, with his forefingerupon the paper, but his eyes upon my companion.
"How, in the name of good-fortune, did you know all that, Mr.Holmes?" he asked. "How did you know, for example, that I didmanual labour. It's as true as gospel, for I began as a ship'scarpenter."
"Your hands, my dear sir. Your right hand is quite a size largerthan your left. You have worked with it, and the muscles are moredeveloped."
"Well, the snuff, then, and the Freemasonry?"
"I won't insult your intelligence by telling you how I readthat, especially as, rather against the strict rules of your order,you use an arc-and-compass breastpin."
"Ah, of course, I forgot that. But the writing?"
"What else can be indicated by that right cuff so very shiny forfive inches, and the left one with the smooth patch near the elbowwhere you rest it upon the desk?"
"Well, but China?"
"The fish that you have tattooed immediately above your rightwrist could only have been done in China. I have made a small studyof tattoo marks and have even contributed to the literature of thesubject. That trick of staining the fishes' scales of a delicatepink is quite peculiar to China. When, in addition, I see a Chinesecoin hanging from your watch-chain, the matter becomes even moresimple."
Mr. Jabez Wilson laughed heavily. "Well, I never!" said he. "Ithought at first that you had done something clever, but I see thatthere was nothing in it, after all."
"I begin to think, Watson," said Holmes, "that I make a mistakein explaining. 'Omne ignotum pro magnifico,' you know, and my poorlittle reputation, such as it is, will suffer shipwreck if I am socandid. Can you not find the advertisement, Mr. Wilson?"
"Yes, I have got it now," he answered with his thick red fingerplanted halfway down the column. "Here it is. This is what began itall. 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 lateEzekiah Hopkins, of Lebanon, Pennsylvania, U. S. A., there is nowanother vacancy open which entitles a member of the League to asalary of 4 pounds a week for purely nominal services. Allred-headed men who are sound in body and mind and above the age oftwenty-one years, are eligible. Appiy in person on Monday, ateleven o'clock, to Duncan Ross, at the offices of the League, 7Pope's Court, Fleet Street.
"What on earth does this mean?" I ejaculated after I had twiceread over the extraordinary announcement.
Holmes chuckled and wriggled in his chair, as was his habit whenin high spirits. "It is a little off the beaten track, isn't it?"said he. "And now, Mr. Wilson, off you go at scratch and tell usall about yourself, your household, and the effect which thisadvertisement had upon your fortunes. You will first make a note,Doctor, of the paper and the date."
"It is The Morning Chronicle of April 27, 1890. Just two monthsago."
"Very good. Now, Mr. Wilson?"
"Well, it is just as I have been telling you, Mr. SherlockHolmes," said Jabez Wilson, mopping his forehead; "I have a smallpawnbroker's business at Coburg Square, near the City. It's not avery large affair, and of late years it has not done more than justgive me a living. I used to be able to keep two assistants, but nowI only keep one; and I would have a job to pay him but that he iswilling to come for half wages so as to learn the business."
"What is the name of this obliging youth?" asked SherlockHolmes.
"His name is Vincent Spaulding, and he's not such a youth,either. It's hard to say his age. I should not wish a smarterassistant, Mr. Holmes; and I know very well that he could betterhimself and earn twice what I am able to give him. But, after all,if he is satisfied, why should I put ideas in his head?"
"Why, indeed? You seem most fortunate in having an employee whocomes under the full market price. It is not a common experienceamong employers in this age. I don't know that your assistant isnot as remarkable as your advertisement."
"Oh, he has his faults, too," said Mr. Wilson. "Never was such afellow for photography. Snapping away with a camera when he oughtto be improving his mind, and then diving down into the cellar likea rabbit into its hole to develop his pictures. That is his mainfault, but on the whole he's a good worker. There's no vice inhim."
"He is still with you, I presume?"
"Yes, sir. He and a girl of fourteen, who does a bit of simplecooking and keeps the place clean--that's all I have in the house,for I am a widower and never had any family. We live very quietly,sir, the three of us; and we keep a roof over our heads and pay ourdebts, if we do nothing more.
"The first thing that put us out was that advertisement.Spaulding, he came down into the office just this day eight weeks,with this very paper in his hand, and he says:
"'I wish to the Lord, Mr. Wilson, that I was a red-headedman.'
"'Why that?' I asks.
"'Why,' says he, 'here's another vacancy on the League of theRed-headed Men. It's worth quite a little fortune to any man whogets it, and I understand that there are more vacancies than thereare men, so that the trustees are at their wits' end what to dowith the money. If my hair would only change color, here's a nicelittle crib all ready for me to step into.'
"'Why, what is it, then?' I asked. You see. Mr. Holmes, I am avery stay-at-home man, and as my business came to me instead of myhaving to go to it, I was often weeks on end without putting myfoot over the door-mat. In that way I didn't know much of what wasgoing 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 eligibile yourself for oneof the vacancies.'
"'And what are they worth?' I asked.
"'Oh, merely a couple of hundred a year, but the work is slight,and it need not interfere very much with one's otheroccupations.'
"Well, you can easily think that that made me prick up my ears,for the business has not been over-good for some years, and anextra couple of hundred would have been very handy.
"'Tell me all about it,' said I.
"'Well ' said he, showing me the advertisement, 'you can see foryourself that the League has a vacancy, and there is the addresswhere you should apply for particulars. As far as I can make out,the League was founded by an American millionaire, Ezekiah Hopkins,who was very peculiar in his ways. He was himself red-headed, andhe had a great sympathy for all red-headed men; so when he died itwas found that he had left his enormous fortune in the hands oftrustees, with instructions to apply the interest to the providingof easy berths to men whose hair is of that color. From all I hearit is splendid pay and very little to do.'
"'But,' said I, 'there would be millions of red-headed men whowould apply.'
"'Not so many as you might think,' he answered. 'You see it isreally confined to Londoners, and to grown men. This American hadstarted from London when he was young, and he wanted to do the oldtown a good turn. Then, again, I have heard it is no use yourapplying if your hair is light red, or dark red, or anything butreal bright, blazing, fiery red. Now, if you cared to apply, Mr.Wilson, you would just walk in; but perhaps it would hardly beworth your while to put yourself out of the way for the sake of afew hundred pounds.'
"Now, it is a fact, gentlemen, as you may see for yourselves,that my hair is of a very full and rich tint, so that it seemed tome that if there was to be any competition in the matter I stood asgood a chance as any man that I had ever met. Vincent Spauldingseemed to know so much about it that I thought he might proveuseful, so I just ordered him to put up the shutters for the dayand to come right away with me. He was very willing to have aholiday, so we shut the business up and started off for the addressthat was given us in the advertisement.
"I never hope to see such a sight as that again, Mr. Holmes.From north, south, east, and west every man who had a shade of redin his hair had tramped into the city to answer the advertisement.Fleet Street was choked with red-headed folk, and Pope's Courtlooked like a coster's orange barrow. I should not have thoughtthere were so many in the whole country as were brought together bythat single advertisement. Every shade of color they were--straw,lemon, orange, brick, Irish-setter, liver, clay; but, as Spauldingsaid, there were not many who had the real vivid flame-coloredtint. When I saw how many were waiting, I would have given it up indespair; but Spaulding would not hear of it. How he did it I couldnot imagine, but he pushed and pulled and butted until he got methrough the crowd, and right up to the steps which led to theoffice. There was a double stream upon the stair, some going up inhope, and some coming back dejected; but we wedged in as well as wecould and soon found ourselves in the office."
"Your experience has been a most entertaining one," remarkedHolmes as his client paused and refreshed his memory with a hugepinch of snuff. "Pray continue your very interestingstatement."
"There was nothing in the office but a couple of wooden chairsand a deal table, behind which sat a small man with a head that waseven redder than mine. He said a few words to each candidate as hecame up, and then he always managed to find some fault in themwhich would disqualify them. Getting a vacancy did not seem to besuch a very easy matter, after all. However, when our turn came thelittle man was much more favorable to me than to any of the others,and he closed the door as we entered, so that he might have aprivate word with us.
"'This is Mr. Jabez Wilson,' said my assistant, 'and he iswilling to fill a vacancy in the League.'
"'And he is admirably suited for it,' the other answered. 'Hehas every requirement. I cannot recall when I have seen anything sofine.' He took a step backward, cocked his head on one side, andgazed at my hair until I felt quite bashful. Then suddenly heplunged forward, wrung my hand, and congratulated me warmly on mysuccess.
"'It would be injustice to hesitate,' said he. 'You will,however, I am sure, excuse me for taking an obvious precaution.'With that he seized my hair in both his hands, and tugged until Iyelled with the pain. 'There is water in your eyes,' said he as hereleased me. 'I perceive that all is as it should be. But we haveto be careful, for we have twice been deceived by wigs and once bypaint. I could tell you tales of cobbler's wax which would disgustyou with human nature.' He stepped over to the window and shoutedthrough it at the top of his voice that the vacancy was filled. Agroan of disappointment came up from below, and the folk alltrooped away in different directions until there was not a red-headto be seen except my own and that of the manager.
"'My name,' said he, 'is Mr. Duncan Ross, and I am myself one ofthe pensioners upon the fund left by our noble benefactor. Are youa married man, Mr. Wilson? Have you a family?'
"I answered that I had not.
"His face fell immediately.
"'Dear me!' he said gravely, 'that is very serious indeed! I amsorry to hear you say that. The fund was, of course, for thepropagation and spread of the red-heads as well as for theirmaintenance. It is exceedingly unfortunate that you should be abachelor.'
"My face lengthened at this, Mr. Holmes, for I thought that Iwas not to have the vacancy after all; but after thinking it overfor a few minutes he said that it would be all right.
"'In the case of another,' said he, 'the objection might befatal, but we must stretch a point in favor of a man with such ahead of hair as yours. When shall you be able to enter upon yournew duties?'
"'Well, it is a little awkward, for I have a business already,'said I.
"'Oh, never mind about that, Mr. Wilson!' said VincentSpaulding. 'I should be able to look after that for you.'
"'What would be the hours?' I asked.
"'Ten to two.'
"Now a pawnbroker's business is mostly done of an evening, Mr.Holmes, especially Thursday and Friday evening, which is justbefore pay-day; so it would suit me very well to earn a little inthe mornings. Besides, I knew that my assistant was a good man, andthat he would see to anything that turned up.
"'That would suit me very well,' said I. 'And the pay?'
"'Is 4 pounds a week.'
"'And the work?'
"'Is purely nominal.'
"'What do you call purely nominal?'
"'Well, you have to be in the office, or at least in thebuilding, the whole time. If you leave, you forfeit your wholeposition forever. The will is very clear upon that point. You don'tcomply with the conditions if you budge from the office during thattime.'
"'It's only four hours a day, and I should not think ofleaving,' said I.
"'No excuse will avail,' said Mr. Duncan Ross; 'neither sicknessnor business nor anything else. There you must stay, or you loseyour billet.'
"'And the work?'
"'Is to copy out the Encyclopaedia Britannica. There is thefirst volume of it in that press. You must find your own ink, pens,and blotting-paper, but we provide this table and chair. Will yoube ready to-morrow?'
"'Certainly,' I answered.
"'Then, good-bye, Mr. Jabez Wilson, and let me congratulate youonce more on the important position which you have been fortunateenough to gain.' He bowed me out of the room and I went home withmy assistant, hardly knowing what to say or do, I was so pleased atmy own good fortune.
"Well, I thought over the matter all day, and by evening I wasin low spirits again; for I had quite persuaded myself that thewhole affair must be some great hoax or fraud, though what itsobject might be I could not imagine. It seemed altogether pastbelief that anyone could make such a will, or that they would paysuch a sum for doing anything so simple as copying out theEncyclopaedia Britannica. Vincent Spaulding did what he could tocheer me up, but by bedtime I had reasoned myself out of the wholething. 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 seven sheets of foolscap paper, I started off for Pope'sCourt.
"Well, to my surprise and delight, everything was as right aspossible. The table was set out ready for me, and Mr. Duncan Rosswas there to see that I got fairly to work. He started me off uponthe letter A, and then he left me; but he would drop in from timeto time to see that all was right with me. At two o'clock he bademe good-day, complimented me upon the amount that I had written,and locked the door of the office after me.
"This went on day after day, Mr. Holmes, and on Saturday themanager came in and planked down four golden sovereigns for myweek's work. It was the same next week, and the same the weekafter. Every morning I was there at ten, and every afternoon I leftat two. By degrees Mr. Duncan Ross took to coming in only once of amorning, and then, after a time, he did not come in at all. Still,of course, I never dared to leave the room for an instant, for Iwas not sure when he might come, and the billet was such a goodone, and suited me so well, that I would not risk the loss ofit.
"Eight weeks passed away like this, and I had written aboutAbbots and Archery and Armour and Architecture and Attica, andhoped with diligence that I might get on to the B's before verylong. It cost me something in foolscap, and I had pretty nearlyfilled a shelf with my writings. And then suddenly the wholebusiness came to an end."
"To an end?"
"Yes, sir. And no later than this morning. I went to my work asusual at ten o'clock, but the door was shut and locked, with alittle square of card-board hammered on to the middle of the panelwith a tack. Here it is, and you can read for yourself."
He held up a piece of white card-board about the size of a sheetof note-paper. It read in this fashion:
THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE
IS
DISSOLVED.
October 9, 1890.
Sherlock Holmes and I surveyed this curt announcement and therueful face behind it, until the comical side of the affair socompletely overtopped every other consideration that we both burstout into a roar of laughter.
"I cannot see that there is anything very funny," cried ourclient, flushing up to the roots of his flaming head. "If you cando nothing better than laugh at me, I can go elsewhere."
"No, no," cried Holmes, shoving him back into the chair fromwhich he had half risen. "I really wouldn't miss your case for theworld. It is most refreshingly unusual. But there is, if you willexcuse my saying so, something just a little funny about it. Praywhat steps did you take when you found the card upon the door?"
"I was staggered, sir. I did not know what to do. Then I calledat the offices round, but none of them seemed to know anythingabout it. Finally, I went to the landlord, who is an accountantliving on the ground-floor, and I asked him if he could tell mewhat had become of the Red-headed League. He said that he had neverheard of any such body. Then I asked him who Mr. Duncan Ross was.He answered that the name was new to him.
"'Well,' said I, 'the gentleman at No. 4.'
"'What, the red-headed man?'
"'Yes.'
"'Oh,' said he, 'his name was William Morris. He was a solicitorand was using my room as a temporary convenience until his newpremises were ready. He moved out yesterday.'
"'Where could I find him?'
"'Oh, at his new offices. He did tell me the address. Yes, 17King Edward Street, near St. Paul's.'
"I started off, Mr. Holmes, but when I got to that address itwas a manufactory of artificial knee-caps, and no one in it hadever heard of either Mr. William Morris or Mr. Duncan Ross."
"And what did you do then?" asked Holmes.
"I went home to Saxe-Coburg Square, and I took the advice of myassistant. But he could not help me in any way. He could only saythat if I waited I should hear by post. But that was not quite goodenough, Mr. Holmes. I did not wish to lose such a place without astruggle, so, as I had heard that you were good enough to giveadvice to poor folk who were in need of it, I came right away toyou."
"And you did very wisely," said Holmes. "Your case is anexceedingly remarkable one, and I shall be happy to look into it.From what you have told me I think that it is possible that graverissues hang from it than might at first sight appear."
"Grave enough!" said Mr. Jabez Wilson. "Why, I have lost fourpound a week."
"As far as you are personally concerned," remarked Holmes, "I donot see that you have any grievance against this extraordinaryleague. On the contrary, you are, as I understand, richer by some30 pounds, to say nothing of the minute knowledge which you havegained on every subject which comes under the letter A. You havelost nothing by them."
"No, sir. But I want to find out about them, and who they are,and what their object was in playing this prank--if it was aprank--upon me. It was a pretty expensive joke for them, for itcost them two and thirty pounds."
"We shall endeavor to clear up these points for you. And, first,one or two questions, Mr. Wilson. This assistant of yours who firstcalled your attention to the advertisement--how long had he beenwith 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 hisface, though he's not short of thirty. Has a white splash of acidupon his forehead."
Holmes sat up in his chair in considerable excitement. "Ithought as much," said he. "Have you ever observed that his earsare pierced for earrings?"
"Yes, sir. He told me that a gypsy had done it for him when hewas a lad."
"Hum!" said Holmes, sinking back in deep thought. "He is stillwith you?"
"Oh, yes, sir; I have only just left him."
"And has your business been attended to in your absence?"
"Nothing to complain of, sir. There's never very much to do of amorning."
"That will do, Mr. Wilson. I shall be happy to give you anopinion upon the subject in the course of a day or two. To-day isSaturday, and I hope that by Monday we may come to aconclusion."
"Well, Watson," said Holmes when our visitor had left us, "whatdo you make of it all?"
"I make nothing of it," I answered frankly. "It is a mostmysterious business."
"As a rule," said Holmes, "the more bizarre a thing is the lessmysterious it proves to be. It is your commonplace, featurelesscrimes which are really puzzling, just as a commonplace face is themost difficult to identify. But I must be prompt over thismatter."
"What are you going to do, then?" I asked.
"To smoke," he answered. "It is quite a three pipe problem, andI beg that you won't speak to me for fifty minutes." He curledhimself up in his chair, with his thin knees drawn up to hishawk-like nose, and there he sat with his eyes closed and his blackclay pipe thrusting out like the bill of some strange bird. I hadcome to the conclusion that he had dropped asleep, and indeed wasnodding myself, when he suddenly sprang out of his chair with thegesture of a man who has made up his mind and put his pipe downupon the mantelpiece.
"Sarasate plays at the St. James's Hall this afternoon," heremarked. "What do you think, Watson? Could your patients spare youfor a few hours?"
"I have nothing to do to-day. My practice is never veryabsorbing."
"Then put on your hat and come. I am going through the Cityfirst, and we can have some lunch on the way. I observe that thereis a good deal of German music on the programme, which is rathermore to my taste than Italian or French. It is introspective, and Iwant to introspect. Come along!"
We travelled by the Underground as far as Aldersgate; and ashort walk took us to Saxe-Coburg Square, the scene of the singularstory which we had listened to in the morning. It was a poky,little, shabby-genteel place, where four lines of dingy two-storiedbrick houses looked out into a small railed-in enclosure, where alawn of weedy grass and a few clumps of faded laurel-bushes made ahard fight against a smoke-laden and uncongenial atmosphere. Threegilt balls and a brown board with "JABEZ WILSON" in white letters,upon a corner house, announced the place where our red-headedclient carried on his business. Sherlock Holmes stopped in front ofit with his head on one side and looked it all over, with his eyesshining brightly between puckered lids. Then he walked slowly upthe street, and then down again to the corner, still looking keenlyat the houses. Finally he returned to the pawnbroker's, and, havingthumped vigorously upon the pavement with his stick two or threetimes, he went up to the door and knocked. It was instantly openedby a bright-looking, clean-shaven young fellow, who asked him tostep in.
"Thank you," said Holmes, "I only wished to ask you how youwould go from here to the Strand."
"Third right, fourth left," answered the assistant promptly,closing the door.
"Smart fellow, that," observed Holmes as we walked away. "He is,in my judgment. the fourth smartest man in London, and for daring Iam not sure that he has not a claim to be third. I have knownsomething of him before."
"Evidently," said I, "Mr. Wilson's assistant counts for a gooddeal in this mystery of the Red-headed League. I am sure that youinquired your way merely in order that you might see him."
"Not him."
"What then?"
"The knees of his trousers."
"And what did you see?"
"What I expected to see."
"Why did you beat the pavement?"
"My dear doctor, this is a time for observation, not for talk.We are spies in an enemy's country. We know something ofSaxe-Coburg Square. Let us now explore the parts which lie behindit."
The road in which we found ourselves as we turned round thecorner from the retired Saxe-Coburg Square presented as great acontrast to it as the front of a picture does to the back. It wasone of the main arteries which conveyed the traffic of the City tothe north and west. The roadway was blocked with the immense streamof commerce flowing in a double tide inward and outward, while thefootpaths were black with the hurrying swarm of pedestrians. It wasdifficult to realize as we looked at the line of fine shops andstately business premises that they really abutted on the otherside upon the faded and stagnant square which we had justquitted.
"Let me see," said Holmes, standing at the corner and glancingalong the line, "I should like just to remember the order of thehouses here. It is a hobby of mine to have an exact knowledge ofLondon. There is Mortimer's, the tobacconist, the little newspapershop, the Coburg branch of the City and Suburban Bank, theVegetarian Restaurant, and McFarlane's carriage-building depot.That carries us right on to the other block. And now, Doctor, we'vedone our work, so it's time we had some play. A sandwich and a cupof coffee, and then off to violin-land, where all is sweetness anddelicacy and harmony, and there are no red-headed clients to vex uswith their conundrums."
My friend was an enthusiastic musician, being himself not only avery capable perfomer but a composer of no ordinary merit. All theafternoon he sat in the stalls wrapped in the most perfecthappiness, gently waving his long, thin fingers in time to themusic, while his gently smiling face and his languid, dreamy eyeswere as unlike those of Holmes, the sleuth-hound, Holmes therelentless, keen-witted, ready-handed criminal agent, as it waspossible to conceive. In his singular character the dual naturealternately asserted itself, and his extreme exactness andastuteness represented, as I have often thought, the reactionagainst the poetic and contemplative mood which occasionallypredominated in him. The swing of his nature took him from extremelanguor to devouring energy; and, as I knew well, he was never sotruly formidable as when, for days on end, he had been lounging inhis armchair amid his improvisations and his black-letter editions.Then it was that the lust of the chase would suddenly come uponhim, and that his brilliant reasoning power would rise to the levelof intuition, until those who were unacquainted with his methodswould look askance at him as on a man whose knowledge was not thatof other mortals. When I saw him that afternoon so enwrapped in themusic at St. James's Hall I felt that an evil time might be comingupon those whom he had set himself to hunt down.
"You want to go home, no doubt, Doctor," he remarked as weemerged.
"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 reasonto believe that we shall be in time to stop it. But to-day beingSaturday rather complicates matters. I shall want your helpto-night."
"At what time?"
"Ten will be early enough."
"I shall be at Baker Street at ten."
"Very well. And, I say, Doctor, there may be some little danger,so kindly put your army revolver in your pocket." He waved hishand, turned on his heel, and disappeared in an instant among thecrowd.
I trust that I am not more dense than my neighbors, but I wasalways oppressed with a sense of my own stupidity in my dealingswith Sherlock Holmes. Here I had heard what he had heard, I hadseen what he had seen, and yet from his words it was evident thathe saw clearly not only what had happened but what was about tohappen, while to me the whole business was still confused andgrotesque. As I drove home to my house in Kensington I thought overit all, from the extraordinary story of the red-headed copier ofthe Encyclopaedia down to the visit to Saxe-Coburg Square, and theominous words with which he had parted from me. What was thisnocturnal expedition, and why should I go armed? Where were wegoing, and what were we to do? I had the hint from Holmes that thissmooth-faced pawnbroker's assistant was a formidable man--a man whomight play a deep game. I tried to puzzle it out, but gave it up indespair and set the matter aside until night should bring anexplanation.
It was a quarter-past nine when I started from home and made myway across the Park, and so through Oxford Street to Baker Street.Two hansoms were standing at the door, and as I entered the passageI heard the sound of voices from above. On entering his room Ifound Holmes in animated conversation with two men, one of whom Irecognized as Peter Jones, the official police agent, while theother was a long, thin, sad-faced man, with a very shiny hat andoppressively respectable frock-coat.
"Ha! Our party is complete," said Holmes, buttoning up hispeajacket and taking his heavy hunting crop from the rack. "Watson,I think you know Mr. Jones, of Scotland Yard? Let me introduce youto Mr. Merryweather, who is to be our companion in to-night'sadventure."
"We're hunting in couples again, Doctor, you see," said Jones inhis consequential way. "Our friend here is a wonderful man forstarting a chase. All he wants is an old dog to help him to do therunning 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," saidthe police agent loftily. "He has his own little methods, whichare, if he won't mind my saying so, just a little too theoreticaland fantastic, but he has the makings of a detective in him. It isnot too much to say that once or twice, as in that business of theSholto murder and the Agra treasure, he has been more nearlycorrect than the official force."
"Oh, if you say so, Mr. Jones, it is all right," said thestranger with deference. "Still, I confess that I miss my rubber.It is the first Saturday night for seven-and-twenty years that Ihave not had my rubber."
"I think you will find," said Sherlock Holmes, "that you willplay for a higher stake to-night than you have ever done yet, andthat the play will be more exciting. For you, Mr. Merryweather, thestake will be some 30,000 pounds; and for you, Jones, it will bethe man upon whom you wish to lay your hands."
"John Clay, the murderer, thief, smasher, and forger. He's ayoung man, Mr. Merryweather, but he is at the head of hisprofession, and I would rather have my bracelets on him than on anycriminal in London. He's a remarkable man, is young John Clay. Hisgrandfather was a royal duke, and he himself has been to Eton andOxford. His brain is as cunning as his fingers, and though we meetsigns of him at every turn, we never know where to find the manhimself. He'll crack a crib in Scotland one week, and be raisingmoney to build an orphanage in Cornwall the next. I've been on histrack for years and have never set eyes on him yet."
"I hope that I may have the pleasure of introducing youto-night. I've had one or two little turns also with Mr. John Clay,and I agree with you that he is at the head of his profession. Itis past ten, however, and quite time that we started. If you twowill take the first hansom, Watson and I will follow in thesecond."
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-litstreets until we emerged into Farrington Street.
"We are close there now," my friend remarked. "This fellowMerryweather is a bank director, and personally interested in thematter. I thought it as well to have Jones with us also. He is nota bad fellow, though an absolute imbecile in his profession. He hasone positive virtue. He is as brave as a bulldog and as tenaciousas a lobster if he gets his claws upon anyone. Here we are, andthey are waiting for us."
We had reached the same crowded thoroughfare in which we hadfound ourselves in the morning. Our cabs were dismissed, and,following the guidance of Mr. Merryweather, we passed down a narrowpassage and through a side door, which he opened for us. Withinthere was a small corridor, which ended in a very massive irongate. This also was opened, and led down a flight of winding stonesteps, which terminated at another formidable gate. Mr.Merryweather stopped to light a lantern, and then conducted us downa dark, earth-smelling passage, and so, after opening a third door,into a huge vault or cellar, which was piled all round with cratesand 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 uponthe flags which lined the floor. "Why, dear me, it sounds quitehollow!" he remarked, looking up in surprise.
"I must really ask you to be a little more quiet!" said Holmesseverely. "You have already imperilled the whole success of ourexpedition. Might I beg that you would have the goodness to sitdown upon one of those boxes, and not to interfere?"
The solemn Mr. Merryweather perched himself upon a crate, with avery injured expression upon his face, while Holmes fell upon hisknees upon the floor and, with the lantern and a magnifying lens,began to examine minutely the cracks between the stones. A fewseconds sufficed to satisfy him, for he sprang to his feet againand put his glass in his pocket.
"We have at least an hour before us," he remarked, "for they canhardly take any steps until the good pawnbroker is safely in bed.Then they will not lose a minute, for the sooner they do their workthe longer time they will have for their escape. We are at present,Doctor--as no doubt you have divined--in the cellar of the Citybranch of one of the principal London banks. Mr. Merryweather isthe chairman of directors, and he will explain to you that thereare reasons why the more daring criminals of London should take aconsiderable interest in this cellar at present."
"It is our French gold," whispered the director. "We have hadseveral warnings that an attempt might be made upon it."
"Your French gold?"
"Yes. We had occasion some months ago to strengthen ourresources and borrowed for that purpose 30,000 napoleons from theBank of France. It has become known that we have never had occasionto unpack the money, and that it is still lying in our cellar. Thecrate upon which I sit contains 2,000 napoleons packed betweenlayers of lead foil. Our reserve of bullion is much larger atpresent than is usually kept in a single branch office, and thedirectors have had misgivings upon the subject."
"Which were very well justified," observed Holmes. "And now itis time that we arranged our little plans. I expect that within anhour matters will come to a head. In the meantime Mr. Merryweather,we must put the screen over that dark lantern."
"And sit in the dark?"
"I am afraid so. I had brought a pack of cards in my pocket, andI thought that, as we were a partie carree, you might have yourrubber after all. But I see that the enemy's preparations have goneso far that we cannot risk the presence of a light. And, first ofall, we must choose our positions. These are daring men, and thoughwe shall take them at a disadvantage, they may do us some harmunless we are careful. I shall stand behind this crate, and do youconceal yourselves behind those. Then, when I flash a light uponthem, close in swiftly. If they fire, Watson, have no compunctionabout shooting them down."
I placed my revolver, cocked, upon the top of the wooden casebehind which I crouched. Holmes shot the slide across the front ofhis lantern and left us in pitch darkness--such an absolutedarkness as I have never before experienced. The smell of hot metalremained to assure us that the light was still there, ready toflash out at a moment's notice. To me, with my nerves worked up toa pitch of expectancy, there was something depressing and subduingin the sudden gloom, and in the cold dank air of the vault.
"They have but one retreat," whispered Holmes. "That is backthrough the house into Saxe-Coburg Square. I hope that you havedone what I asked you, Jones?"
"l have an inspector and two officers waiting at the frontdoor."
"Then we have stopped all the holes. And now we must be silentand wait."
What a time it seemed! From comparing notes afterwards it wasbut an hour and a quarter, yet it appeared to me that the nightmust have almost gone and the dawn be breaking above us. My limbswere weary and stiff, for I feared to change my position; yet mynerves were worked up to the highest pitch of tension, and myhearing was so acute that I could not only hear the gentlebreathing of my companions, but I could distinguish the deeper,heavier in-breath of the bulky Jones from the thin, sighing note ofthe bank director. From my position I could look over the case inthe direction of the floor. Suddenly my eyes caught the glint of alight.
At first it was but a lurid spark upon the stone pavement. Thenit lengthened out until it became a yellow line, and then, withoutany warning or sound, a gash seemed to open and a hand appeared; awhite, almost womanly hand, which felt about in the centre of thelittle area of light. For a minute or more the hand, with itswrithing fingers, protruded out of the floor. Then it was withdrawnas suddenly as it appeared, and all was dark again save the singlelurid spark which marked a chink between the stones.
Its disappearance, however, was but momentary. With a rending,tearing sound, one of the broad, white stones turned over upon itsside and left a square, gaping hole, through which streamed thelight of a lantern. Over the edge there peeped a clean-cut, boyishface, which looked keenly about it, and then, with a hand on eitherside of the aperture, drew itself shoulder-high and waist-high,until one knee rested upon the edge. In another instant he stood atthe side of the hole and was hauling after him a companion, litheand small like himself, with a pale face and a shock of very redhair.
"It's all clear," he whispered. "Have you the chisel and thebags? Great Scott! Jump, Archie, jump, and I'll swing for it!"
Sherlock Holmes had sprung out and seized the intruder by thecollar. The other dived down the hole, and I heard the sound ofrending cloth as Jones clutched at his skirts. The light flashedupon the barrel of a revolver, but Holmes's hunting crop came downon the man's wrist, and the pistol clinked upon the stonefloor.
"It's no use, John Clay," said Holmes blandly. "You have nochance at all."
"So I see," the other answered with the utmost coolness. "Ifancy that my pal is all right, though I see you have got hiscoat-tails."
"There are three men waiting for him at the door," saidHolmes.
"Oh, indeed! You seem to have done the thing very completely. Imust compliment you."
"And I you," Holmes answered. "Your red-headed idea was very newand effective."
"You'll see your pal again presently," said Jones. "He's quickerat climbing down holes than I am. Just hold out while I fix thederbies."
"I beg that you will not touch me with your filthy hands,"remarked our prisoner as the handcuffs clattered upon his wrists."You may not be aware that I have royal blood in my veins. Have thegoodness, also, when you address me always to say 'sir' and'please.'"
"All right," said Jones with a stare and a snigger. "Well, wouldyou please, sir, march upstairs, where we can get a cab to carryyour Highness to the police-station?"
"That is better," said John Clay serenely. He made a sweepingbow to the three of us and walked quietly off in the custody of thedetective.
"Really, Mr. Holmes," said Mr. Merryweather as we followed themfrom the cellar, "I do not know how the bank can thank you or repayyou. There is no doubt that you have detected and defeated in themost complete manner one of the most determined attempts at bankrobbery that have ever come within my experience."
"I have had one or two little scores of my own to settle withMr. John Clay," said Holmes. "I have been at some small expenseover this matter, which I shall expect the bank to refund, butbeyond that I am amply repaid by having had an experience which isin many ways unique, and by hearing the very remarkable narrativeof the Red-headed League."
"You see, Watson," he explained in the early hours of themorning as we sat over a glass of whisky and soda in Baker Street,"it was perfectly obvious from the first that the only possibleobject of this rather fantastic business of the advertisement ofthe League, and the copying of the Encyclopaedia, must be to getthis not over-bright pawnbroker out of the way for a number ofhours every day. It was a curious way of managing it, but, really,it would be difficult to suggest a better. The method was no doubtsuggested to Clay's ingenious mind by the color of his accomplice'shair. The 4 pounds a week was a lure which must draw him, and whatwas it to them, who were playing for thousands? They put in theadvertisement, one rogue has the temporary office, the other rogueincites the man to apply for it. and together they manage to securehis absence every morning in the week. From the time that I heardof the assistant having come for half wages, it was obvious to methat he had some strong motive for securing the situation."
"But how could you guess what the motive was?"
"Had there been women in the house, I should have suspected amere vulgar intrigue. That, however, was out of the question. Theman's business was a small one, and there was nothing in his housewhich could account for such elaborate preparations, and such anexpenditure as they were at. It must, then, be something out of thehouse. What could it be? I thought of the assistant's fondness forphotography, and his trick of vanishing into the cellar. Thecellar! There was the end of this tangled clew. Then I madeinquiries as to this mysterious assistant and found that I had todeal with one of the coolest and most daring criminals in London.He was doing something in the cellar--something which took manyhours a day for months on end. What could it be, once more? I couldthink of nothing save that he was running a tunnel to some otherbuilding.
"So far I had got when we went to visit the scene of action. Isurprised you by beating upon the pavement with my stick. I wasascertaining whether the cellar stretched out in front or behind.It was not in front. Then I rang the bell, and, as I hoped, theassistant answered it. We have had some skirmishes, but we hadnever set eyes upon each other before. I hardly looked at his face.His knees were what I wished to see. You must yourself haveremarked how worn, wrinkled, and stained they were. They spoke ofthose hours of burrowing. The only remaining point was what theywere burrowing for. I walked round the corner, saw the City andSuburban Bank abutted on our friend's premises, and felt that I hadsolved my problem. When you drove home after the concert I calledupon Scotland Yard and upon the chairman of the bank directors,with the result that you have seen."
"And how could you tell that they would make their attemptto-night?" I asked.
"Well, when they closed their League offices that was a signthat they cared no longer about Mr. Jabez Wilson's presence--inother words, that they had completed their tunnel. But it wasessential that they should use it soon, as it might be discovered,or the bullion might be removed. Saturday would suit them betterthan any other day, as it would give them two days for theirescape. For all these reasons I expected them to cometo-night."
"You reasoned it out beautifully," I exclaimed in unfeignedadmiration "It is so long a chain, and yet every link ringstrue."
"It saved me from ennui," he answered, yawning. "Alas! I alreadyfeel it closing in upon me. My life is spent in one long effort toescape from the commonplaces of existence. These little problemshelp me to do so."
"And you are a benefactor of the race," said I.
He shrugged his shoulders. "Well, perhaps, after all, it is ofsome little use," he remarked. " 'L'homme c'est rien--l'oeuvrec'est tout,' as Gustave Flaubert wrote to George Sand."
ADVENTURE III. A CASE OF IDENTITY
"My dear fellow," said Sherlock Holmes as we sat on either sideof the fire in his lodgings at Baker Street, "life is infinitelystranger than anything which the mind of man could invent. We wouldnot dare to conceive the things which are really mere commonplacesof existence. If we could fly out of that window hand in hand,hover over this great city, gently remove the roofs, and peep in atthe queer things which are going on, the strange coincidences, theplannings, the cross-purposes, the wonderful chains of events,working through generation, and leading to the most outre results,it would make all fiction with its conventionalities and foreseenconclusions most stale and unprofitable."
"And yet I am not convinced of it," I answered. "The cases whichcome to light in the papers are, as a rule, bald enough, and vulgarenough. We have in our police reports realism pushed to its extremelimits, and yet the result is, it must be confessed, neitherfascinating nor artistic."
"A certain selection and discretion must be used in producing arealistic effect," remarked Holmes. "This is wanting in the policereport, where more stress is laid, perhaps, upon the platitudes ofthe magistrate than upon the details, which to an observer containthe vital essence of the whole matter. Depend upon it, there isnothing so unnatural as the commonplace."
I smiled and shook my head. "I can quite understand yourthinking so." I said. "Of course, in your position of unofficialadviser and helper to everybody who is absolutely puzzled,throughout three continents, you are brought in contact with allthat is strange and bizarre. But here"--I picked up the morningpaper from the ground--"let us put it to a practical test. Here isthe first heading upon which I come. 'A husband's cruelty to hiswife.' There is half a column of print, but I know without readingit that it is all perfectly familiar to me. There is, of course,the other woman, the drink, the push, the blow, the bruise, thesympathetic sister or landlady. The crudest of writers could inventnothing more crude."
"Indeed, your example is an unfortunate one for your argument,"said Holmes, taking the paper and glancing his eye down it. "Thisis the Dundas separation case, and, as it happens, I was engaged inclearing up some small points in connection with it. The husbandwas a teetotaler, there was no other woman, and the conductcomplained of was that he had drifted into the habit of winding upevery meal by taking out his false teeth and hurling them at hiswife, which, you will allow, is not an action likely to occur tothe imagination of the average story-teller. Take a pinch of snuff,Doctor, and acknowledge that I have scored over you in yourexample."
He held out his snuffbox of old gold, with a great amethyst inthe centre of the lid. Its splendour was in such contrast to hishomely ways and simple life that I could not help commenting uponit.
"Ah," said he, "I forgot that I had not seen you for some weeks.It is a little souvenir from the King of Bohemia in return for myassistance in the case of the Irene Adler papers."
"And the ring?" I asked, glancing at a remarkable brilliantwhich sparkled upon his finger.
"It was from the reigning family of Holland, though the matterin which I served them was of such delicacy that I cannot confideit even to you, who have been good enough to chronicle one or twoof my little problems."
"And have you any on hand just now?" I asked with interest.
"Some ten or twelve, but none which present any feature ofinterest. They are important, you understand, without beinginteresting. Indeed, I have found that it is usually in unimportantmatters that there is a field for the observation, and for thequick analysis of cause and effect which gives the charm to aninvestigation. The larger crimes are apt to be the simpler, for thebigger the crime the more obvious, as a rule, is the motive. Inthese 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 havesomething better before very many minutes are over, for this is oneof my clients, or I am much mistaken."
He had risen from his chair and was standing between the partedblinds gazing down into the dull neutral-tinted London street.Looking over his shoulder, I saw that on the pavement oppositethere stood a large woman with a heavy fur boa round her neck, anda large curling red feather in a broad-brimmed hat which was tiltedin a coquettish Duchess of Devonshire fashion over her ear. Fromunder this great panoply she peeped up in a nervous, hesitatingfashion at our windows, while her body oscillated backward andforward, and her fingers fidgeted with her glove buttons. Suddenly,with a plunge, as of the swimmer who leaves the bank, she hurriedacross 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 alwaysmeans an affaire de coeur. She would like advice, but is not surethat the matter is not too delicate for communication. And yet evenhere we may discriminate. When a woman has been seriously wrongedby a man she no longer oscillates, and the usual symptom is abroken bell wire. Here we may take it that there is a love matter,but that the maiden is not so much angry as perplexed, or grieved.But here she comes in person to resolve our doubts."
As he spoke there was a tap at the door, and the boy in buttons.entered to announce Miss Mary Sutherland, while the lady herselfloomed behind his small black figure like a full-sailedmerchant-man behind a tiny pilot boat. Sherlock Holmes welcomed herwith the easy courtesy for which he was remarkable, and, havingclosed the door and bowed her into an armchair, he looked her overin the minute and yet abstracted fashion which was peculiar tohim.
"Do you not find," he said, "that with your short sight it is alittle trying to do so much typewriting?"
"I did at first," she answered, "but now I know where theletters are without looking." Then, suddenly realizing the fullpurport of his words, she gave a violent start and looked up, withfear and astonishment upon her broad, good-humoured face. "You'veheard about me, Mr. Holmes," she cried, "else how could you knowall 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,whose husband you found so easy when the police and everyone hadgiven him up for dead. Oh, Mr. Holmes, I wish you would do as muchfor me. I'm not rich, but still I have a hundred a year in my ownright, besides the little that I make by the machine, and I wouldgive it all to know what has become 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 theceiling.
Again a startled look came over the somewhat vacuous face ofMiss Mary Sutherland. "Yes, I did bang out of the house," she said,"for it made me angry to see the easy way in which Mr.Windibank--that is, my father--took it all. He would not go to thepolice, and he would not go to you, and so at last, as he would donothing and kept on saying that there was no harm done, it made memad, and I just on with my things and came right away to you."
"Your father," said Holmes, "your stepfather, surely, since thename is different."
"Yes, my stepfather. I call him father, though it sounds funny,too, for he is only five years and two months older thanmyself."
"And your mother is alive?"
"Oh, yes, mother is alive and well. I wasn't best pleased, Mr.Holmes, when she married again so soon after father's death, and aman who was nearly fifteen years younger than herself. Father was aplumber in the Tottenham Court Road, and he left a tidy businessbehind him, which mother carried on with Mr. Hardy, the foreman;but when Mr. Windibank came he made her sell the business, for hewas very superior, being a traveller in wines. They got 4700 poundsfor the goodwill and interest, which wasn't near as much as fathercould have got if he had been alive."
I had expected to see Sherlock Holmes impatient under thisrambling and inconsequential narrative, but, on the contrary he hadlistened with the greatest concentration of attention.
"Your own little income," he asked, "does it come out of thebusiness?"
"Oh, no, sir. It is quite separate and was left me by my uncleNed in Auckland. It is in New Zealand stock, paying 4 1/2 per cent.Two thousand five hundred pounds was the amount, but I can onlytouch 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 thebargain, you no doubt travel a little and indulge yourself in everyway. I believe that a single lady can get on very nicely upon anincome of about 60 pounds."
"I could do with much less than that, Mr. Holmes, but youunderstand that as long as I live at home I don't wish to be aburden to them, and so they have the use of the money just while Iam staying with them. Of course, that is only just for the time.Mr. Windibank draws my interest every quarter and pays it over tomother, and I find that I can do pretty well with what I earn attypewriting. It brings me twopence a sheet, and I can often do fromfifteen to twenty sheets in a-day."
"You have made your position very clear to me," said Holmes."This is my friend, Dr. Watson, before whom you can speak as freelyas before myself. Kindly tell us now all about your connection withMr. Hosmer Angel."
A flush stole over Miss Sutherland's face, and she pickednervously at the fringe of her jacket. "I met him first at thegasfitters' ball," she said. "They used to send father tickets whenhe was alive, and then afterwards they remembered us, and sent themto mother. Mr. Windibank did not wish us to go. He never did wishus to go anywhere. He would get quite mad if I wanted so much as tojoin a Sunday-school treat. But this time I was set on going, and Iwould go; for what right had he to prevent? He said the folk werenot fit for us to know, when all father's friends were to be there.And he said that I had nothing fit to wear, when I had my purpleplush that I had never so much as taken out of the drawer. At last,when nothing else would do, he went off to France upon the businessof the firm, but we went, mother and I, with Mr. Hardy, who used tobe our foreman, and it was there I met Mr. Hosmer Angel."
"I suppose," said Holmes, "that when Mr. Windibank came backfrom France he was very annoyed at your having gone to theball."
"Oh, well, he was very good about it. He laughed, I remember,and shrugged his shoulders, and said there was no use denyinganything to a woman, for she would have her way."
"I see. Then at the gasfitters' ball you met, as I understand, agentleman called Mr. Hosmer Angel."
"Yes, sir. I met him that night, and he called next day to askif we had got home all safe, and after that we met him--that is tosay, Mr. Holmes, I met him twice for walks, but after that fathercame back again, and Mr. Hosmer Angel could not come to the houseany more."
"No?"
"Well, you know father didn't like anything of the sort. Hewouldn't have any visitors if he could help it, and he used to saythat a woman should be happy in her own family circle. But then, asI used to say to mother, a woman wants her own circle to beginwith, and I had not got mine 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, andHosmer wrote and said that it would be safer and better not to seeeach other until he had gone. We could write in the meantime, andhe used to write every day. I took the letters in in the morning,so there was no need for father to know."
"Were you engaged to the gentleman at this time?"
"Oh, yes, Mr. Holmes. We were engaged after the first walk thatwe took. Hosmer--Mr. Angel--was a cashier in an office inLeadenhall Street--and--"
"What office?"
"That's the worst of it, Mr. Holmes, I don't know."
"Where did he live, then?"
"He slept on the premises."
"And you don't know his address?"
"No--except that it was Leadenhall Street."
"Where did you address your letters, then?"
"To the Leadenhall Street Post-Office, to be left till calledfor. He said that if they were sent to the office he would bechaffed by all the other clerks about having letters from a lady,so I offered to typewrite them, like he did his, but he wouldn'thave that, for he said that when I wrote them they seemed to comefrom me, but when they were typewritten he always felt that themachine had come between us. That will just show you how fond hewas of me, Mr. Holmes, and the little things that he would thinkof."
"It was most suggestive," said Holmes. "It has long been anaxiom of mine that the little things are infinitely the mostimportant. Can you remember any other little things about Mr.Hosmer Angel?"
"He was a very shy man, Mr. Holmes. He would rather walk with mein the evening than in the daylight, for he said that he hated tobe conspicuous. Very retiring and gentlemanly he was. Even hisvoice was gentle. He'd had the quinsy and swollen glands when hewas young, he told me, and it had left him with a weak throat, anda hesitating, whispering fashion of speech. He was always welldressed, very neat and plain, but his eyes were weak, just as mineare, and he wore tinted glasses against the glare."
"Well, and what happened when Mr. Windibank, your stepfather,returned to France?"
"Mr. Hosmer Angel came to the house again and proposed that weshould marry before father came back. He was in dreadful earnestand made me swear, with my hands on the Testament, that whateverhappened I would always be true to him. Mother said he was quiteright to make me swear, and that it was a sign of his passion.Mother was all in his favor from the first and was even fonder ofhim than I was. Then, when they talked of marrying within the week,I began to ask about father; but they both said never to mind aboutfather, but just to tell him afterwards, and mother said she wouldmake it all right with him. I didn't quite like that, Mr. Holmes.It seemed funny that I should ask his leave, as he was only a fewyears older than me; but I didn't want to do anything on the sly,so I wrote to father at Bordeaux, where the company has its Frenchoffices, 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 itarrived."
"Ha! that was unfortunate. Your wedding was arranged, then, forthe Friday. Was it to be in church?"
"Yes, sir, but very quietly. It was to be at St. Saviour's, nearKing's Cross, and we were to have breakfast afterwards at the St.Pancras Hotel. Hosmer came for us in a hansom, but as there weretwo of us he put us both into it and stepped himself into afour-wheeler, which happened to be the only other cab in thestreet. We got to the church first, and when the four-wheeler droveup we waited for him to step out, but he never did, and when thecabman got down from the box and looked there was no one there! Thecabman said that he could not imagine what had become of him, forhe had seen him get in with his own eyes. That was last Friday, Mr.Holmes, and I have never seen or heard anything since then to throwany light upon what became of him."
"It seems to me that you have been very shamefully treated,"said Holmes.
"Oh, no, sir! He was too good and kind to leave me so. Why, allthe morning he was saying to me that, whatever happened, I was tobe true; and that even if something quite unforeseen occurred toseparate us, I was always to remember that I was pledged to him,and that he would claim his pledge sooner or later. It seemedstrange talk for a wedding-morning, but what has happened sincegives 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 hewould not have talked so. And then I think that what he foresawhappened."
"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 matteragain."
"And your father? Did you tell him?"
"Yes; and he seemed to think, with me, that something hadhappened, and that I should hear of Hosmer again. As he said, whatinterest could anyone have in bringing me to the doors of thechurch, and then leaving me? Now, if he had borrowed my money, orif he had married me and got my money settled on him, there mightbe some reason, but Hosmer was very independent about money andnever would look at a shilling of mine. And yet, what could havehappened? And why could he not write? Oh, it drives me half-mad tothink of it, and I can't sleep a wink at night." She pulled alittle handkerchief out of her muff and began to sob heavily intoit.
"I shall glance into the case for you," said Holmes, rising,"and I have no doubt that we shall reach some definite result. Letthe weight of the matter rest upon me now, and do not let your minddwell upon it further. Above all, try to let Mr. Hosmer Angelvanish from your memory, as he has done from your life."
"Then you don't think I'll see him again?"
"I fear not."
"Then what has happened to him?"
"You will leave that question in my hands. I should like anaccurate description of him and any letters of his which you canspare."
"I advertised for him in last Saturday's Chronicle," said she."Here is the slip and here are four letters from him."
"Thank you. And your address?"
"No. 31 Lyon Place, Camberwell."
"Mr. Angel's address you never had, I understand. Where is yourfather's place of business?"
"He travels for Westhouse & Marbank, the great claretimporters of Fenchurch Street."
"Thank you. You have made your statement very clearly. You willleave the papers here, and remember the advice which I have givenyou. Let the whole incident be a sealed book, and do not allow itto affect your life."
"You are very kind, Mr. Holmes, but I cannot do that. I shall betrue to Hosmer. He shall find me ready when he comes back."
For all the preposterous hat and the vacuous face, there wassomething noble in the simple faith of our visitor which compelledour respect. She laid her little bundle of papers upon the tableand went her way, with a promise to come again whenever she mightbe summoned.
Sherlock Holmes sat silent for a few minutes with his fingertipsstill pressed together, his legs stretched out in front of him, andhis gaze directed upward to the ceiling. Then he took down from therack the old and oily clay pipe, which was to him as a counsellor,and, having lit it, he leaned back in his chair, with the thickblue cloud-wreaths spinning up from him, and a look of infinitelanguor in his face.
"Quite an interesting study, that maiden," he observed. "I foundher more interesting than her little problem, which, by the way, israther a trite one. You will find parallel cases, if you consult myindex, in Andover in '77, and there was something of the sort atThe Hague last year. Old as is the idea, however, there were one ortwo details which were new to me. But the maiden herself was mostinstructive."
"You appeared to read a good deal upon her which was quiteinvisible to me," I remarked.
"Not invisible but unnoticed, Watson. You did not know where tolook, and so you missed all that was important. I can never bringyou to realize the importance of sleeves, the suggestiveness ofthumb-nails, or the great issues that may hang from a boot-lace.Now, what did you gather from that woman's appearance? Describeit."
"Well, she had a slate-colored, broad-brimmed straw hat, with afeather of a brickish red. Her jacket was black, with black beadssewn upon it, and a fringe of little black jet ornaments. Her dresswas brown, rather darker than coffee color, with a little purpleplush at the neck and sleeves. Her gloves were grayish and wereworn through at the right forefinger. Her boots I didn't observe.She had small round, hanging gold earrings, and a general air ofbeing fairly well-to-do in a vulgar, comfortable, easy-goingway."
Sherlock Holmes clapped his hands softly together andchuckled.
"'Pon my word, Watson, you are coming along wonderfully. Youhave really done very well indeed. It is true that you have missedeverything of importance, but you have hit upon the method, and youhave a quick eye for color. Never trust to general impressions, myboy, but concentrate yourself upon details. My first glance isalways at a woman's sleeve. In a man it is perhaps better first totake the knee of the trouser. As you observe, this woman had plushupon her sleeves, which is a most useful material for showingtraces. The double line a little above the wrist, where thetypewritist presses against the table, was beautifully defined. Thesewing-machine, of the hand type, leaves a similar mark, but onlyon the left arm, and on the side of it farthest from the thumb,instead of being right across the broadest part, as this was. Ithen glanced at her face, and, observing the dint of a pince-nez ateither side of her nose, I ventured a remark upon short sight andtypewriting, which seemed to surprise her."
"It surprised me."
"But, surely, it was obvious. I was then much surprised andinterested on glancing down to observe that, though the boots whichshe was wearing were not unlike each other, they were really oddones; the one having a slightly decorated toe-cap, and the other aplain one. One was buttoned only in the two lower buttons out offive, and the other at the first, third, and fifth. Now, when yousee that a young lady, otherwise neatly dressed, has come away fromhome with odd boots, half-buttoned, it is no great deduction to saythat she came away in a hurry."
"And what else?" I asked, keenly interested, as I always was, bymy friend's incisive reasoning.
"I noted, in passing, that she had written a note before leavinghome but after being fully dressed. You observed that her rightglove was torn at the forefinger, but you did not apparently seethat both glove and finger were stained with violet ink. She hadwritten in a hurry and dipped her pen too deep. It must have beenthis morning, or the mark would not remain clear upon the finger.All this is amusing, though rather elementary, but I must go backto business, Watson. Would you mind reading me the advertiseddescription 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 ft. seven in. in height; stronglybuilt, sallow complexion, black hair, a little bald in the centre,bushy, black side-whiskers and moustache; tinted glasses, slightinfirmity 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 bringing--"
"That will do," said Holmes. "As to the letters," he continued,glancing over them, "they are very commonplace. Absolutely no clewin them to Mr. Angel, save that he quotes Balzac once. There is oneremarkable point, however, which will no doubt strike you."
"They are typewritten," I remarked.
"Not only that, but the signature is typewritten. Look at theneat little 'Hosmer Angel' at the bottom. There is a date, you see,but no superscription except Leadenhall Street, which is rathervague. The point about the signature is very suggestive --in fact,we may call it conclusive."
"Of what?"
"My dear fellow, is it possible you do not see how strongly itbears upon the case?"
"I cannot say that I do unless it were that he wished to be ableto deny his signature if an action for breach of promise wereinstituted."
"No, that was not the point. However, I shall write two letters,which should settle the matter. One is to a firm in the City, theother is to the young lady's stepfather, Mr. Windibank, asking himwhether he could meet us here at six o'clock tomorrow evening. Itis just as well that we should do business with the male relatives.And now, Doctor, we can do nothing until the answers to thoseletters come, so we may put our little problem upon the shelf forthe interim."
I had had so many reasons to believe in my friend's subtlepowers of reasoning and extraordinary energy in action that I feltthat he must have some solid grounds for the assured and easydemeanour with which he treated the singular mystery which he hadbeen called upon to fathom. Once only had I known him to fail, inthe case of the King of Bohemia and of the Irene Adler photograph;but when I looked back to the weird business of 'The Sign of Four',and the extraordinary circumstances connected with 'A Study inScarlet', I felt that it would be a strange tangle indeed which hecould not unravel.
I left him then, still puffing at his black clay pipe, with theconviction that when I came again on the next evening I would findthat he held in his hands all the clews which would lead up to theidentity of the disappearing bridegroom of Miss MarySutherland.
A professional case of great gravity was engaging my ownattention at the time, and the whole of next day I was busy at thebedside of the sufferer. It was not until close upon six o'clockthat I found myself free and was able to spring into a hansom anddrive to Baker Street, half afraid that I might be too late toassist at the denouement of the little mystery. I found SherlockHolmes alone, however, half asleep, with his long, thin form curledup in the recesses of his armchair. A formidable array of bottlesand test-tubes, with the pungent cleanly smell of hydrochloricacid, told me that he had spent his day in the chemical work whichwas so dear to him.
"Well, have you solved it?" I asked as I entered.
"Yes. It was the bisulphate of baryta."
"No, no, the mystery!" I cried.
"Oh, that! I thought of the salt that I have been working upon.There was never any mystery in the matter, though, as I saidyesterday, some of the details are of interest. The only drawbackis 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 thepassage and a tap at the door.
"This is the girl's stepfather, Mr. James Windibank," saidHolmes. "He has written to me to say that he would be here at six.Come in!"
The man who entered was a sturdy, middle-sized fellow, somethirty years of age, clean-shaven, and sallow-skinned, with abland, insinuating manner, and a pair of wonderfully sharp andpenetrating gray eyes. He shot a questioning glance at each of us,placed his shiny top-hat upon the sideboard, and with a slight bowsidled down into the nearest chair.
"Good-evening, Mr. James Windibank," said Holmes. "I think thatthis typewritten letter is from you, in which you made anappointment with me for six o'clock?"
"Yes, sir. I am afraid that I am a little late, but I am notquite my own master, you know. I am sorry that Miss Sutherland hastroubled you about this little matter, for I think it is far betternot to wash linen of the sort in public. It was quite against mywishes that she came, but she is a very excitable, impulsive girl,as you may have noticed, and she is not easily controlled when shehas made up her mind on a point. Of course, I did not mind you somuch, as you are not connected with the official police, but it isnot pleasant to have a family misfortune like this noised abroad.Besides, it is a useless expense, for how could you possibly findthis Hosmer Angel?"
"On the contrary," said Holmes quietly; "I have every reason tobelieve that 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 hasreally quite as much individuality as a man's handwriting. Unlessthey are quite new, no two of them write exactly alike. Someletters get more worn than others, and some wear only on one side.Now, you remark in this note of yours, Mr. Windibank, that in everycase there is some little slurring over of the 'e,' and a slightdefect 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 no doubt it is a little worn," our visitor answered, glancingkeenly at Holmes with his bright little eyes.
"And now I will show you what is really a very interestingstudy, Mr. Windibank," Holmes continued. "I think of writinganother little monograph some of these days on the typewriter andits relation to crime. It is a subject to which I have devoted somelittle attention. I have here four letters which purport to comefrom the missing man. They are all typewritten. In each case, notonly are the 'e's' slurred and the 'r's' tailless, but you willobserve, if you care to use my magnifying lens, that the fourteenother characteristics to which I have alluded are there aswell."
Mr. Windibank sprang out of his chair and picked up his hat. "Icannot waste time over this sort of fantastic talk, Mr. Holmes," hesaid. "If you can catch the man, catch him, and let me know whenyou have done it."
"Certainly," said Holmes, stepping over and turning the key inthe door. "I let you know, then, that I have caught him!"
"What! where?" shouted Mr. Windibank, turning white to his lipsand glancing about him like a rat in a trap.
"Oh, it won't do--really it won't," said Holmes suavely. "Thereis no possible getting out of it, Mr. Windibank. It is quite tootransparent, and it was a very bad compliment when you said that itwas impossible for me to solve so simple a question. That's right!Sit down and let us talk it over."
Our visitor collapsed into a chair, with a ghastly face and aglitter of moisture on his brow. "It--it's not actionable," hestammered.
"I am very much afraid that it is not. But between ourselves,Windibank, it was as cruel and selfish and heartless a trick in apetty way as ever came before me. Now, let me just run over thecourse 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 upon the corner of the mantelpiece and, leaning back with his handsin 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 thedaughter as long as she lived with them. It was a considerable sum,for people in their position, and the loss of it would have made aserious difference. It was worth an effort to preserve it. Thedaughter was of a good, amiable disposition, but affectionate andwarm-hearted in her ways, so that it was evident that with her fairpersonal advantages, and her little income, she would not beallowed to remain single long. Now her marriage would mean, ofcourse, the loss of a hundred a year, so what does her stepfatherdo to prevent it? He takes the obvious course of keeping her athome and forbidding her to seek the company of people of her ownage. But soon he found that that would not answer forever. Shebecame restive, insisted upon her rights, and finally announced herpositive intention of going to a certain ball. What does her cleverstepfather do then? He conceives an idea more creditable to hishead than to his heart. With the connivance and assistance of hiswife he disguised himself, covered those keen eyes with tintedglasses, masked the face with a moustache and a pair of bushywhiskers, sunk that clear voice into an insinuating whisper, anddoubly secure on account of the girl's short sight, he appears asMr. Hosmer Angel, and keeps off other lovers by making lovehimself."
"It was only a joke at first," groaned our visitor. "We neverthought that she 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 aninstant entered her mind. She was flattered by the gentleman'sattentions, and the effect was increased by the loudly expressedadmiration of her mother. Then Mr. Angel began to call, for it wasobvious that the matter should be pushed as far as it would go if areal effect were to be produced. There were meetings, and anengagement, which would finally secure the girl's affections fromturning towards anyone else. But the deception could not be kept upforever. These pretended journeys to France were rather cumbrous.The thing to do was clearly to bring the business to an end in sucha dramatic manner that it would leave a permanent impression uponthe young lady's mind and prevent her from looking upon any othersuitor for some time to come. Hence those vows of fidelity exactedupon a Testament, and hence also the allusions to a possibility ofsomething happening on the very morning of the wedding. JamesWindibank wished Miss Sutherland to be so bound to Hosmer Angel,and so uncertain as to his fate, that for ten years to come, at anyrate, she would not listen to another man. As far as the churchdoor he brought her, and then, as he could go no farther, heconveniently vanished away by the old trick of stepping in at onedoor of a four-wheeler and out at the other. I think that was thechain of events, Mr. Windibank!"
Our visitor had recovered something of his assurance whileHolmes had been talking, and he rose from his chair now with a coldsneer upon his pale face.
"It may be so, or it may not. Mr. Holmes," said he, "but if youare so very sharp you ought to be sharp enough to know that it isyou who are breaking the law now, and not me. I have done nothingactionable from the first, but as long as you keep that door lockedyou lay yourself open to an action for assault and illegalconstraint."
"The law cannot, as you say, touch you," said Holmes, unlockingand throwing open the door, "yet there never was a man who deservedpunishment more. If the young lady has a brother or a friend, heought to lay a whip across your shoulders. By Jove!" he continued,flushing up at the sight of the bitter sneer upon the man's face,"it is not part of my duties to my client, but here's a huntingcrop handy, and I think I shall just treat myself to--" He took twoswift steps to the whip, but before he could grasp it there was awild clatter of steps upon the stairs, the heavy hall door banged,and from the window we could see Mr. James Windibank running at thetop of his speed down the road.
"There's a cold-blooded scoundrel!" said Holmes, laughing, as hethrew himself down into his chair once more. "That fellow will risefrom crime to crime until he does something very bad, and ends on agallows. The case has, in some respects, been not entirely devoidof interest."
"I cannot now entirely see all the steps of your reasoning," Iremarked.
"Well, of course it was obvious from the first that this Mr.Hosmer Angel must have some strong object for his curious conduct,and it was equally clear that the only man who really profited bythe incident, as far as we could see, was the stepfather. Then thefact that the two men were never together, but that the one alwaysappeared when the other was away, was suggestive. So were thetinted spectacles and the curious voice, which both hinted at adisguise, as did the bushy whiskers. My suspicions were allconfirmed by his peculiar action in typewriting his signature,which, of course, inferred that his handwriting was so familiar toher that she would recognize even the smallest sample of it. Yousee all these isolated facts, together with many minor ones, allpointed in the same direction."
"And how did you verify them?"
"Having once spotted my man, it was easy to get corroboration. Iknew the firm for which this man worked. Having taken the printeddescription. I eliminated everything from it which could be theresult of a disguise--the whiskers, the glasses, the voice, and Isent it to the firm, with a request that they would inform mewhether it answered to the description of any of their travellers.I had already noticed the peculiarities of the typewriter, and Iwrote to the man himself at his business address asking him if hewould come here. As I expected, his reply was typewritten andrevealed the same trivial but characteristic defects. The same postbrought me a letter from Westhouse & Marbank, of FenchurchStreet, to say that the description tallied in every respect withthat of their employee, James Windibank. 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,and danger also for whoso snatches a delusion from a woman.' Thereis as much sense in Hafiz as in Horace, and as much knowledge ofthe world."
ADVENTURE IV. THE BOSCOMBE VALLEY MYSTERY
We were seated at breakfast one morning, my wife and I, when themaid brought in a telegram. It was from Sherlock Holmes and ran inthis 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."Will you go?"
"I really don't know what to say. I have a fairly long list atpresent."
"Oh, Anstruther would do your work for you. You have beenlooking a little pale lately. I think that the change would do yougood, and you are always so interested in Mr. Sherlock Holmes'scases."
"I should be ungrateful if I were not, seeing what I gainedthrough one of them," I answered. "But if I am to go, I must packat once, for I have only half an hour."
My experience of camp life in Afghanistan had at least had theeffect of making me a prompt and ready traveller. My wants were fewand simple, so that in less than the time stated I was in a cabwith my valise, rattling away to Paddington Station. SherlockHolmes was pacing up and down the platform, his tall, gaunt figuremade even gaunter and taller by his long gray travelling-cloak andclose-fitting cloth cap.
"It is really very good of you to come, Watson," said he. "Itmakes a considerable difference to me, having someone with me onwhom I can thoroughly rely. Local aid is always either worthless orelse biassed. If you will keep the two corner seats I shall get thetickets."
We had the carriage to ourselves save for an immense litter ofpapers which Holmes had brought with him. Among these he rummagedand read, with intervals of note-taking and of meditation, until wewere past Reading. Then he suddenly rolled them all into a giganticball and tossed them up onto the rack.
"Have you heard anything of the case?" he asked.
"Not a word. I have not seen a paper for some days."
"The London press has not had very full accounts. I have justbeen looking through all the recent papers in order to master theparticulars. It seems, from what I gather, to be one of thosesimple cases which are so extremely difficult."
"That sounds a little paradoxical."
"But it is profoundly true. Singularity is almost invariably aclew. The more featureless and commonplace a crime is, the moredifficult it is to bring it home. In this case, however, they haveestablished a very serious case against the son of the murderedman."
"It is a murder, then?"
"Well, it is conjectured to be so. I shall take nothing forgranted until I have the opportunity of looking personally into it.I will explain the state of things to you, as far as I have beenable to understand it, in a very few words.
"Boscombe Valley is a country district not very far from Ross,in Herefordshire. The largest landed proprietor in that part is aMr. John Turner, who made his money in Australia and returned someyears ago to the old country. One of the farms which he held, thatof Hatherley, was let to Mr. Charles McCarthy, who was also anex-Australian. The men had known each other in the colonies, sothat it was not unnatural that when they came to settle down theyshould do so as near each other as possible. Turner was apparentlythe richer man, so McCarthy became his tenant but still remained,it seems, upon terms of perfect equality, as they were frequentlytogether. McCarthy had one son, a lad of eighteen, and Turner hadan only daughter of the same age, but neither of them had wivesliving. They appear to have avoided the society of the neighboringEnglish families and to have led retired lives, though both theMcCarthys were fond of sport and were frequently seen at therace-meetings of the neighborhood. McCarthy kept two servants--aman and a girl. Turner had a considerable household, somehalf-dozen at the least. That is as much as I have been able togather about the families. Now for the facts.
"On June 3rd, that is, on Monday last, McCarthy left his houseat Hatherley about three in the afternoon and walked down to theBoscombe Pool, which is a small lake formed by the spreading out ofthe stream which runs down the Boscombe Valley. He had been outwith his serving-man in the morning at Ross, and he had told theman that he must hurry, as he had an appointment of importance tokeep at three. From that appointment he never came back alive.
"From Hatherley Farm-house to the Boscombe Pool is a quarter ofa mile, and two people saw him as he passed over this ground. Onewas an old woman, whose name is not mentioned, and the other wasWilliam Crowder, a game-keeper in the employ of Mr. Turner. Boththese witnesses depose that Mr. McCarthy was walking alone. Thegame-keeper adds that within a few minutes of his seeing Mr.McCarthy pass he had seen his son, Mr. James McCarthy, going thesame way with a gun under his arm. To the best of his belief, thefather was actually in sight at the time, and the son was followinghim. He thought no more of the matter until he heard in the eveningof the tragedy that had occurred.
"The two McCarthys were seen after the time when WilliamCrowder, the game-keeper, lost sight of them. The Boscombe Pool isthickly wooded round, with just a fringe of grass and of reedsround the edge. A girl of fourteen, Patience Moran, who is thedaughter of the lodge-keeper of the Boscombe Valley estate, was inone of the woods picking flowers. She states that while she wasthere she saw, at the border of the wood and close by the lake, Mr.McCarthy and his son, and that they appeared to be having a violentquarrel. She heard Mr. McCarthy the elder using very stronglanguage to his son, and she saw the latter raise up his hand as ifto strike his father. She was so frightened by their violence thatshe ran away and told her mother when she reached home that she hadleft the two McCarthys quarrelling near Boscombe Pool, and that shewas afraid that they were going to fight. She had hardly said thewords when young Mr. McCarthy came running up to the lodge to saythat he had found his father dead in the wood, and to ask for thehelp of the lodge-keeper. He was much excited, without either hisgun or his hat, and his right hand and sleeve were observed to bestained with fresh blood. On following him they found the dead bodystretched out upon the grass beside the pool. The head had beenbeaten in by repeated blows of some heavy and blunt weapon. Theinjuries were such as might very well have been inflicted by thebutt-end of his son's gun, which was found lying on the grasswithin a few paces of the body. Under these circumstances the youngman was instantly arrested, and a verdict of 'wilful murder' havingbeen returned at the inquest on Tuesday, he was on Wednesdaybrought before the magistrates at Ross, who have referred the caseto the next Assizes. Those are the main facts of the case as theycame out before the coroner and the police-court."
"I could hardly imagine a more damning case," I remarked. "Ifever circumstantial evidence pointed to a criminal it does sohere."
"Circumstantial evidence is a very tricky thing," answeredHolmes thoughtfully. "It may seem to point very straight to onething, but if you shift your own point of view a little, you mayfind it pointing in an equally uncompromising manner to somethingentirely different. It must be confessed, however, that the caselooks exceedingly grave against the young man, and it is verypossible that he is indeed the culprit. There are several people inthe neighborhood, however, and among them Miss Turner, the daughterof the neighboring landowner, who believe in his innocence, and whohave retained Lestrade, whom you may recollect in connection with'A Study in Scarlet', to work out the case in his interest.Lestrade, being rather puzzled, has referred the case to me, andhence it is that two middle-aged gentlemen are flying westward atfifty miles an hour instead of quietly digesting their breakfastsat home."
"I am afraid," said I, "that the facts are so obvious that youwill find little credit to be gained out of this case."
"There is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact," heanswered, laughing. "Besides, we may chance to hit upon some otherobvious facts which may have been by no means obvious to Mr.Lestrade. You know me too well to think that I am boasting when Isay that I shall either confirm or destroy his theory by meanswhich he is quite incapable of employing, or even of understanding.To take the first example to hand, I very clearly perceive that inyour bedroom the window is upon the right-hand side, and yet Iquestion whether Mr. Lestrade would have noted even so self-evidenta thing as that."
"How on earth--"
"My dear fellow, I know you well. I know the military neatnesswhich characterizes you. You shave every morning, and in thisseason you shave by the sunlight; but since your shaving is lessand less complete as we get farther back on the left side, until itbecomes positively slovenly as we get round the angle of the jaw,it is surely very clear that that side is less illuminated than theother. I could not imagine a man of your habits looking at himselfin an equal light and being satisfied with such a result. I onlyquote this as a trivial example of observation and inference.Therein lies my metier, and it is just possible that it may be ofsome service in the investigation which lies before us. There areone or two minor points which were brought out in the inquest, andwhich are worth considering."
"What are they?"
"It appears that his arrest did not take place at once, butafter the return to Hatherley Farm. On the inspector ofconstabulary informing him that he was a prisoner, he remarked thathe was not surprised to hear it, and that it was no more than hisdeserts. This observation of his had the natural effect of removingany traces of doubt which might have remained in the minds of thecoroner's jury."
"It was a confession," I ejaculated.
"No, for it was followed by a protestation of innocence."
"Coming on the top of such a damning series of events, it was atleast a most suspicious remark."
"On the contrary," said Holmes, "it is the brightest rift whichI can at present see in the clouds. However innocent he might be,he could not be such an absolute imbecile as not to see that thecircumstances were very black against him. Had he appearedsurprised at his own arrest, or feigned indignation at it, I shouldhave looked upon it as highly suspicious, because such surprise oranger would not be natural under the circumstances, and yet mightappear to be the best policy to a scheming man. His frankacceptance of the situation marks him as either an innocent man, orelse as a man of considerable self-restraint and firmness. As tohis remark about his deserts, it was also not unnatural if youconsider that he stood beside the dead body of his father, and thatthere is no doubt that he had that very day so far forgotten hisfilial duty as to bandy words with him, and even, according to thelittle girl whose evidence is so important, to raise his hand as ifto strike him. The self-reproach and contrition which are displayedin his remark appear to me to be the signs of a healthy mind ratherthan of a guilty on."
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 man's own account of the matter?"
"It is, I am afraid, not very encouraging to his supporters,though there are one or two points in it which are suggestive. Youwill find it here, and may read it for yourself."
He picked out from his bundle a copy of the local Herefordshirepaper, and having turned down the sheet he pointed out theparagraph in which the unfortunate young man had given his ownstatement of what had occurred. I settled myself down in the cornerof the carriage and read it very 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 home forthree days at Bristol, and had only just returned upon the morningof last Monday, the 3d. My father was absent from home at the timeof my arrival, and I was informed by the maid that he had drivenover to Ross with John Cobb, the groom. Shortly after my return Iheard the wheels of his trap in the yard, and, looking out of mywindow, I saw him get out and walk rapidly out of the yard, thoughI was not aware in which direction he was going. I then took my gunand strolled out in the direction of the Boscombe Pool, with theintention of visiting the rabbit warren which is upon the otherside. On my way I saw William Crowder, the game-keeper, as he hadstated in his evidence; but he is mistaken in thinking that I wasfollowing my father. I had no idea that he was in front of me. Whenabout a hundred yards from the pool I heard a cry of 'Cooee!' whichwas a usual signal between my father and myself. I then hurriedforward, and found him standing by the pool. He appeared to be muchsurprised at seeing me and asked me rather roughly what I was doingthere. A conversation ensued which led to high words and almost toblows, for my father was a man of a very violent temper. Seeingthat his passion was becoming ungovernable, I left him and returnedtowards Hatherley Farm. I had not gone more than 150 yards,however, when I heard a hideous outcry behind me, which caused meto run back again. I found my father expiring upon the ground, withhis head terribly injured. I dropped my gun and held him in myarms, but he almost instantly expired. I knelt beside him for someminutes, and then made my way to Mr. Turner's lodge-keeper, hishouse being the nearest, to ask for assistance. I saw no one nearmy father when I returned, and I have no idea how he came by hisinjuries. He was not a popular man, being somewhat cold andforbidding in his manners, but he had, as far as I know, no activeenemies. I know 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 your fatherhad 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 canassure you that it has nothing to do with the sad tragedy whichfollowed.'
"The Coroner: 'That is for the court to decide. I need not pointout to 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 a commonsignal between you and your father?'
"Witness: 'It was.'
"The Coroner: 'How was it, then, that he uttered it before hesaw you, and before he even knew that you had returned fromBristol?'
"Witness (with considerable confusion): 'I do not know.'
"A Juryman: 'Did you see nothing which aroused your suspiclonswhen 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 intothe open, that I could think of nothing except of my father. Yet Ihave a vague impression that as I ran forward something lay uponthe ground to the left of me. It seemed to me to be something grayin color, 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?'
"'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 coronerin his concluding remarks was rather severe upon young McCarthy. Hecalls attention, and with reason, to the discrepancy about hisfather having signalled to him before seeing him also to hisrefusal to give details of his conversation with his father, andhis singular account of his father's dying words. They are all, ashe remarks, very much against the son."
Holmes laughed softly to himself and stretched himself out uponthe cushioned seat. "Both you and the coroner have been at somepains," said he, "to single out the very strongest points in theyoung man's favor. Don't you see that you alternately give himcredit for having too much imagination and too little? Too little,if he could not invent a cause of quarrel which would give him thesympathy of the jury; too much, if he evolved from his own innerconsciousness anything so outre as a dying reference to a rat, andthe incident of the vanishing cloth. No, sir, I shall approach thiscase from the point of view that what this young man says is true,and we shall see whither that hypothesis will lead us. And now hereis my pocket Petrarch, and not another word shall I say of thiscase until we are on the scene of action. We lunch at Swindon, andI see that we shall be there in twenty minutes."
It was nearly four o'clock when we at last, after passingthrough the beautiful Stroud Valley, and over the broad gleamingSevern, found ourselves at the pretty little country-town of Ross.A lean, ferret-like man, furtive and sly-looking, was waiting forus upon the platform. In spite of the light brown dustcoat andleather-leggings which he wore in deference to his rusticsurroundings, 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 cupof tea. "I knew your energetic nature, and that you would not behappy until you had been on the scene of the crime."
"It was very nice and complimentary of you," Holmes answered."It is entirely a question of barometric pressure."
Lestrade looked startled. "I do not quite follow," he said.
"How is the glass? Twenty-nine, I see. No wind, and not a cloudin the sky. I have a caseful of cigarettes here which need smoking,and the sofa is very much superior to the usual country hotelabomination. I do not think that it is probable that I shall usethe carriage to-night."
Lestrade laughed indulgently. "You have, no doubt, alreadyformed your conclusions from the newspapers," he said. "The case isas plain as a pikestaff, and the more one goes into it the plainerit becomes. Still, of course, one can't refuse a lady, and such avery positive one, too. She has heard of you, and would have youropinion, though I repeatedly told her that there was nothing whichyou could do which I had not already done. Why, bless my soul! hereis her carriage at the door."
He had hardly spoken before there rushed into the room one ofthe most lovely young women that I have ever seen in my life. Herviolet eyes shining, her lips parted, a pink flush upon her cheeks,all thought of her natural reserve lost in her overpoweringexcitement and concern.
"Oh, Mr. Sherlock Holmes!" she cried, glancing from one to theother of us, and finally, with a woman's quick intuition, fasteningupon my companion, "I am so glad that you have come. I have drivendown to tell you so. I know that James didn't do it. I know it, andI want you to start upon your work knowing it, too. Never letyourself doubt upon that point. We have known each other since wewere little children, and I know his faults as no one else does;but he is too tenderhearted to hurt a fly. Such a charge is absurdto anyone who really knows him."
"I hope we may clear him, Miss Turner," said Sherlock Holmes."You may rely upon my doing all that I can."
"But you have read the evidence. You have formed someconclusion? Do you not see some loophole, some flaw? Do you notyourself think that he is innocent?"
"I think that it is very probable."
"There, now!" she cried, throwing back her head and lookingdefiantly at Lestrade. "You hear! He gives me hopes."
Lestrade shrugged his shoulders. "I am afraid that my colleaguehas been a little quick in forming his conclusions," he said.
"But he is right. Oh! I know that he is right. James never didit. And about his quarrel with his father, I am sure that thereason why he would not speak about it to the coroner was because Iwas concerned in it."
"In what way?" asked Holmes.
"It is no time for me to hide anything. James and his father hadmany disagreements about me. Mr. McCarthy was very anxious thatthere should be a marriage between us. James and I have alwaysloved each other as brother and sister; but of course he is youngand has seen very little of life yet, and--and--well, he naturallydid not wish to do anything like that yet. So there were quarrels,and this, I am sure, was one of them."
"And your father?" asked Holmes. "Was he in favor of such aunion?"
"No, he was averse to it also. No one but Mr. McCarthy was infavor of it." A quick blush passed over her fresh young face asHolmes shot one of his keen, questioning glances at her.
"Thank you for this information," said he. "May I see yourfather if I call to-morrow?"
"I am afraid the doctor won't allow it."
"The doctor?"
"Yes, have you not heard? Poor father has never been strong foryears back, but this has broken him down completely. He has takento his bed, and Dr. Willows says that he is a wreck and that hisnervous system is shattered. Mr. McCarthy was the only man alivewho had known dad in the old days in Victoria."
"Ha! In Victoria! That is important."
"Yes, at the mines."
"Quite so; at the gold-mines, where, as I understand, Mr. Turnermade his money."
"Yes, certainly."
"Thank you, Miss Turner. You have been of material assistance tome."
"You will tell me if you have any news to-morrow. No doubt youwill go to the prison to see James. Oh, if you do, Mr. Holmes, dotell him that I know him to be innocent."
"I will, Miss Turner."
"I must go home now, for dad is very ill, and he misses me so ifI leave him. Good-bye, and God help you in your undertaking." Shehurried from the room as impulsively as she had entered, and weheard the wheels of her carriage rattle off down the street.
"I am ashamed of you, Holmes," said Lestrade with dignity aftera few minutes' silence. "Why should you raise up hopes which youare bound to disappoint? I am not over-tender of heart, but I callit cruel."
"I think that I see my way to clearing James McCarthy," saidHolmes. "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 havestill time to take a train to Hereford and see him to-night?"
"Ample."
"Then let us do so. Watson, I fear that you will find it veryslow, but I shall only be away a couple of hours."
I walked down to the station with them, and then wanderedthrough the streets of the little town, finally returning to thehotel, where I lay upon the sofa and tried to interest myself in ayellow-backed novel. The puny plot of the story was so thin,however, when compared to the deep mystery through which we weregroping, and I found my attention wander so continually from theaction to the fact, that I at last flung it across the room andgave myself up entirely to a consideration of the events of theday. Supposing that this unhappy young man's story were absolutelytrue, 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 hisscreams, he rushed into the glade? It was something terrible anddeadly. What could it be? Might not the nature of the injuriesreveal something to my medical instincts? I rang the bell andcalled for the weekly county paper, which contained a verbatimaccount of the inquest. In the surgeon's deposition it was statedthat the posterior third of the left parietal bone and the lefthalf of the occipital bone hail been shattered by a heavy blow froma blunt weapon. I marked the spot upon my own head. Clearly such ablow must have been struck from behind. That was to some extent infavor of the accused, as when seen quarrelling he was face to facewith his father. Still, it did not go for very much, for the olderman might have turned his back before the blow fell. Still, itmight be worth while to call Holmes's attention to it. Then therewas the peculiar dying reference to a rat. What could that mean? Itcould not be delirium. A man dying from a sudden blow does notcommonly become delirious. No, it was more likely to be an attemptto explain how he met his fate. But what could it indicate? Icudgelled my brains to find some possible explanation. And then theincident of the gray cloth seen by young McCarthy. If that weretrue the murderer must have dropped some part of his dress,presumably his overcoat, in his flight, and must have had thehardihood to return and to carry it away at the instant when theson was kneeling with his back turned not a dozen paces off. What atissue of mysteries and improbabilities the whole thing was! I didnot wonder at Lestrade's opinion, and yet I had so much faith inSherlock Holmes's insight that I could not lose hope as long asevery fresh fact seemed to strengthen his conviction of youngMcCarthy's innocence.
It was late before Sherlock Holmes returned. He came back alone,for Lestrade was staying in lodgings in the town.
"The glass still keeps very high," he remarked as he sat down."It is of importance that it should not rain before we are able togo over the ground. On the other hand, a man should be at his verybest and keenest for such nice work as that, and I did not wish todo it when fagged by a long journey. I have seen youngMcCarthy."
"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 knewwho had done it and was screening him or her, but I am convincednow that he is as puzzled as everyone else. He is not a veryquick-witted youth, though comely to look at and, I should think,sound at heart."
"I cannot admire his taste," I remarked, "if it is indeed a factthat he was averse to a marriage with so charming a young lady asthis Miss Turner."
"Ah, thereby hangs a rather painful tale. This fellow is madly,insanely, in love with her, but some two years ago, when he wasonly a lad, and before he really knew her, for she had been awayfive years at a boarding-school, what does the idiot do but getinto the clutches of a barmaid in Bristol and marry her at aregistry office? No one knows a word of the matter, but you canimagine how maddening it must be to him to be upbraided for notdoing what he would give his very eyes to do, but what he knows tobe absolutely impossible. It was sheer frenzy of this sort whichmade him throw his hands up into the air when his father, at theirlast interview, was goading him on to propose to Miss Turner. Onthe other hand, he had no means of supporting himself, and hisfather, who was by all accounts a very hard man, would have thrownhim over utterly had he known the truth. It was with his barmaidwife that he had spent the last three days in Bristol, and hisfather did not know where he was. Mark that point. It is ofimportance. Good has come out of evil, however, for the barmaid,finding from the papers that he is in serious trouble and likely tobe hanged, has thrown him over utterly and has written to him tosay that she has a husband already in the Bermuda Dockyard, so thatthere is really no tie between them. I think that that bit of newshas consoled young McCarthy for all that he has suffered."
"But if he is innocent, who has done it?"
"Ah! who? I would call your attention very particularly to twopoints. One is that the murdered man had an appointment withsomeone at the pool, and that the someone could not have been hisson, for his son was away, and he did not know when he wouldreturn. The second is that the murdered man was heard to cry'Cooee!' before he knew that his son had returned. Those are thecrucial points upon which the case depends. And now let us talkabout George Meredith, if you please, and we shall leave all minormatters until to-morrow."
There was no rain, as Holmes had foretold, and the morning brokebright and cloudless. At nine o'clock Lestrade called for us withthe carriage, and we set off for Hatherley Farm and the BoscombePool.
"There is serious news this morning," Lestrade observed. "It issaid that Mr. Turner, of the Hall, is so ill that his life isdespaired of."
"An elderly man, I presume?" said Holmes.
"About sixty; but his constitution has been shattered by hislife abroad, and he has been in failing health for some time. Thisbusiness has had a very bad effect upon him. He was an old friendof McCarthy's, and, I may add, a great benefactor to him, for Ihave learned that he gave him Hatherley Farm rent free."
"Indeed! That is interesting," said Holmes.
"Oh, yes! In a hundred other ways he has helped him. Everybodyabout here speaks of his kindness to him."
"Really! Does it not strike you as a little singular that thisMcCarthy, who appears to have had little of his own, and to havebeen under such obligations to Turner, should still talk ofmarrying his son to Turner's daughter, who is, presumably, heiressto the estate, and that in such a very cocksure manner, as if itwere merely a case of a proposal and all else would follow? It isthe more strange, since we know that Turner himself was averse tothe idea. The daughter told us as much. Do you not deduce somethingfrom that?"
"We have got to the deductions and the inferences," saidLestrade, winking at me. "I find it hard enough to tackle facts,Holmes, without flying away after theories and fancies."
"You are right," said Holmes demurely; "you do find it very hardto tackle the facts."
"Anyhow, I have grasped one fact which you seem to find itdifficult to get hold of," replied Lestrade with some warmth.
"And that is--"
"That McCarthy senior met his death from McCarthy junior andthat all theories to the contrary are the merest moonshine."
"Well, moonshine is a brighter thing than fog," said Holmes,laughing. "But I am very much mistaken if this is not HatherleyFarm upon the left."
"Yes, that is it." It was a widespread, comfortable-lookingbuilding, two-storied, slate-roofed, with great yellow blotches oflichen upon the gray walls. The drawn blinds and the smokelesschimneys, however, gave it a stricken look, as though the weight ofthis horror still lay heavy upon it. We called at the door, whenthe maid, at Holmes's request, showed us the boots which her masterwore at the time of his death, and also a pair of the son's, thoughnot the pair which he had then had. Having measured these verycarefully from seven or eight different points, Holmes desired tobe led to the court-yard, from which we all followed the windingtrack which led to Boscombe Pool.
Sherlock Holmes was transformed when he was hot upon such ascent as this. Men who had only known the quiet thinker andlogician of Baker Street would have failed to recognize him. Hisface flushed and darkened. His brows were drawn into two hard blacklines, while his eyes shone out from beneath them with a steelyglitter. His face was bent downward, his shoulders bowed, his lipscompressed, and the veins stood out like whipcord in his long,sinewy neck. His nostrils seemed to dilate with a purely animallust for the chase, and his mind was so absolutely concentratedupon the matter before him that a question or remark fell unheededupon his ears, or, at the most, only provoked a quick, impatientsnarl in reply. Swiftly and silently he made his way along thetrack which ran through the meadows, and so by way of the woods tothe Boscombe Pool. It was damp, marshy ground, as is all thatdistrict, and there were marks of many feet, both upon the path andamid the short grass which bounded it on either side. SometimesHolmes would hurry on, sometimes stop dead, and once he made quitea little detour into the meadow. Lestrade and I walked behind him,the detective indifferent and contemptuous, while I watched myfriend with the interest which sprang from the conviction thatevery one of his actions was directed towards a definite end.
The Boscombe Pool, which is a little reed-girt sheet of watersome fifty yards across, is situated at the boundary between theHatherley Farm and the private park of the wealthy Mr. Turner.Above the woods which lined it upon the farther side we could seethe red, jutting pinnacles which marked the site of the richlandowner's dwelling. On the Hatherley side of the pool the woodsgrew very thick, and there was a narrow belt of sodden grass twentypaces across between the edge of the trees land the reeds whichlined the lake. Lestrade showed us the exact spot at which the bodyhad been found, and, indeed, so moist was the ground, that I couldplainly see the traces which had been left by the fall of thestricken man. To Holmes, as I could see by his eager face andpeering eyes, very many other things were to be read upon thetrampled grass. He ran round, like a dog who is picking up a scent,and then turned upon my companion.
"What did you go into the pool for?" he asked.
"I fished about with a rake. I thought there might be someweapon or other trace. But how on earth--"
"Oh, tut, tut! I have no time! That left foot of yours with itsinward twist is all over the place. A mole could trace it, andthere it vanishes among the reeds. Oh, how simple it would all havebeen had I been here before they came like a herd of buffalo andwallowed all over it. Here is where the party with the lodge-keepercame, and they have covered all tracks for six or eight feet roundthe body. But here are three separate tracks of the same feet." Hedrew out a lens and lay down upon his waterproof to have a betterview, talking all the time rather to himself than to us. "These areyoung McCarthy's feet. Twice he was walking, and once he ranswiftly, so that the soles are deeply marked and the heels hardlyvisible. That bears out his story. He ran when he saw his father onthe ground. Then here are the father's feet as he paced up anddown. What is this, then? It is the butt-end of the gun as the sonstood listening. And this? Ha, ha! What have we here? Tiptoes!tiptoes! Square, too, quite unusual boots! They come, they go, theycome again--of course that was for the cloak. Now where did theycome from?" He ran up and down, sometimes losing, sometimes findingthe track until we were well within the edge of the wood and underthe shadow of a great beech, the largest tree in the neighborhood.Holmes traced his way to the farther side of this and lay down oncemore upon his face with a little cry of satisfaction. For a longtime he remained there, turning over the leaves and dried sticks,gathering up what seemed to me to be dust into an envelope andexamining with his lens not only the ground but even the bark ofthe tree as far as he could reach. A jagged stone was lying amongthe moss, and this also he carefully examined and retained. Then hefollowed a pathway through the wood until he came to the highroad,where all traces were lost.
"It has been a case of considerable interest," he remarked,returning to his natural manner. "I fancy that this gray house onthe right must be the lodge. I think that I will go in and have aword with Moran, and perhaps write a little note. Having done that,we may drive back to our luncheon. You may walk to the cab, and Ishall be with you presently."
It was about ten minutes before we regained our cab and droveback into Ross, Holmes still carrying with him the stone which hehad picked up in the wood.
"This may interest you, Lestrade," he remarked, holding it out."The murder was done with it."
"I see no marks."
"There are none."
"How do you know, then?"
"The grass was growing under it. It had only lain there a fewdays. There was no sign of a place whence it had been taken. Itcorresponds with the injuries. There is no sign of any otherweapon."
"And the murderer?"
"Is a tall man, left-handed, limps with the right leg, wearsthick-soled shooting-boots and a gray cloak, smokes Indian cigars,uses a cigar-holder, and carries a blunt pen-knife in his pocket.There are several other indications, but these may be enough to aidus in our search."
Lestrade laughed. "I am afraid that I am still a sceptic," hesaid. "Theories are all very well, but we have to deal with ahard-headed British jury."
"Nous verrons," answered Holmes calmly. "You work your ownmethod, and I shall work mine. I shall be busy this afternoon, andshall probably return to London by the evening train."
"And leave your case unfinished?"
"No, finished."
"But the mystery?"
"It is solved."
"Who was the criminal, then?"
"The gentleman I describe."
"But who is he?"
"Surely it would not be difficult to find out. This is not sucha populous neighborhood."
Lestrade shrugged his shoulders. "I am a practical man," hesaid, "and I really cannot undertake to go about the countrylooking for a left-handed gentleman with a game leg. I shouldbecome the laughing-stock of Scotland Yard."
"All right," said Holmes quietly. "I have given you the chance.Here are your lodgings. Good-bye. I shall drop you a line before Ileave."
Having left Lestrade at his rooms, we drove to our hotel, wherewe found lunch upon the table. Holmes was silent and buried inthought with a pained expression upon his face, as one who findshimself in a perplexing position.
"Look here, Watson," he said when the cloth was cleared "justsit down in this chair and let me preach to you for a little. Idon't know quite what to do, and I should value your advice. Lighta cigar and let me expound."
"Pray do so."
"Well, now, in considering this case there are two points aboutyoung McCarthy's narrative which struck us both instantly, althoughthey impressed me in his favor and you against him. One was thefact that his father should, according to his account, cry 'Cooee!'before seeing him. The other was his singular dying reference to arat. He mumbled several words, you understand, but that was allthat caught the son's ear. Now from this double point our researchmust commence, and we will begin it by presuming that what the ladsays is absolutely true."
"What of this 'Cooee!' then?"
"Well, obviously it could not have been meant for the son. Theson, as far as he knew, was in Bristol. It was mere chance that hewas within earshot. The 'Cooee!' was meant to attract the attentionof whoever it was that he had the appointment with. But 'Cooee' isa distinctly Australian cry, and one which is used betweenAustralians. There is a strong presumption that the person whomMcCarthy expected to meet him at Boscombe Pool was someone who hadbeen in Australia."
"What of the rat, then?"
Sherlock Holmes took a folded paper from his pocket andflattened it out on the table. "This is a map of the Colony ofVictoria," he said. "I wired to Bristol for it last night." He puthis 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 hisson only caught the last two syllables. He was trying to utter thename of his murderer. So and so, of Ballarat."
"It is wonderful!" I exclaimed.
"It is obvious. And now, you see, I had narrowed the field downconsiderably. The possession of a gray garment was a third pointwhich, granting the son's statement to be correct, was a certainty.We have come now out of mere vagueness to the definite conceptionof an Australian from Ballarat with a gray cloak."
"Certainly."
"And one who was at home in the district, for the pool can onlybe approached by the farm or by the estate, where strangers couldhardly wander."
"Quite so."
"Then comes our expedition of to-day. By an examination of theground I gained the trifling details which I gave to that imbecileLestrade, as to the personality of the criminal."
"But how did you gain them?"
"You know my method. It is founded upon the observation oftrifles."
"His height I know that you might roughly judge from the lengthof his stride. His boots, too, might be told from theirtraces."
"Yes, they were peculiar boots."
"But his lameness?"
"The impression of his right foot was always less distinct thanhis left. He put less weight upon it. Why? Because he limped--hewas lame."
"But his left-handedness."
"You were yourself struck by the nature of the injury asrecorded by the surgeon at the inquest. The blow was struck fromimmediately behind, and yet was upon the left side. Now, how canthat be unless it were by a left-handed man? He had stood behindthat tree during the interview between the father and son. He hadeven smoked there. I found the ash of a cigar, which my specialknowledge of tobacco ashes enables me to pronounce as an Indiancigar. I have, as you know, devoted some attention to this, andwritten a little monograph on the ashes of 140 different varietiesof pipe, cigar, and cigarette tobacco. Having found the ash, I thenlooked round and discovered the stump among the moss where he hadtossed it. It was an Indian cigar, of the variety which are rolledin Rotterdam."
"And the cigar-holder?"
"I could see that the end had not been in his mouth. Thereforehe used a holder. The tip had been cut off, not bitten off, but thecut was not a clean one, so I deduced a blunt pen-knife."
"Holmes," I said, "you have drawn a net round this man fromwhich he cannot escape, and you have saved an innocent human lifeas truly as if you had cut the cord which was hanging him. I seethe direction in which all this points. The culprit is--"
"Mr. John Turner," cried the hotel waiter, opening the door ofour sitting-room, and ushering in a visitor.
The man who entered was a strange and impressive figure. Hisslow, limping step and bowed shoulders gave the appearance ofdecrepitude, and yet his hard, deep-lined, craggy features, and hisenormous limbs showed that he was possessed of unusual strength ofbody and of character. His tangled beard, grizzled hair, andoutstanding, drooping eyebrows combined to give an air of dignityand power to his appearance, but his face was of an ashen white,while his lips and the corners of his nostrils were tinged with ashade of blue. It was clear to me at a glance that he was in thegrip of some deadly and chronic disease.
"Pray sit down on the sofa," said Holmes gently. "You had mynote?"
"Yes, the lodge-keeper brought it up. You said that you wishedto see me here to avoid scandal."
"I thought people would talk if I went to the Hall."
"And why did you wish to see me?" He looked across at mycompanion with despair in his weary eyes, as though his questionwas already answered.
"Yes," said Holmes, answering the look rather than the words."It is so. I know all about McCarthy."
The old man sank his face in his hands. "God help me!" he cried."But I would not have let the young man come to harm. I give you myword that I would have spoken out if it went against him at theAssizes."
"I am glad to hear you say so," said Holmes gravely.
"I would have spoken now had it not been for my dear girl. Itwould break her heart--it will break her heart when she hears thatI am arrested."
"It may not come to that," said Holmes.
"What?"
"I am no official agent. I understand that it was your daughterwho required my presence here, and I am acting in her interests.Young McCarthy must be got off, however."
"I am a dying man," said old Turner. "I have had diabetes foryears. My doctor says it is a question whether I shall live amonth. Yet I would rather die under my own roof than in ajail."
Holmes rose and sat down at the table with his pen in his handand a bundle of paper before him. "Just tell us the truth," hesaid. "I shall jot down the facts. You will sign it, and Watsonhere can witness it. Then I could produce your confession at thelast extremity to save young McCarthy. I promise you that I shallnot use it unless it is absolutely needed."
"It's as well," said the old man; "it's a question whether Ishall live to the Assizes, so it matters little to me, but I shouldwish to spare Alice the shock. And now I will make the thing clearto you; it has been a long time in the acting, but will not take melong to tell.
"You didn't know this dead man, McCarthy. He was a devilincarnate. I tell you that. God keep you out of the clutches ofsuch a man as he. His grip has been upon me these twenty years, andhe has blasted my life. I'll tell you first how I came to be in hispower.
"It was in the early '60's at the diggings. I was a young chapthen, hot-blooded and reckless, ready to turn my hand at anything;I got among bad companions, took to drink, had no luck with myclaim, took to the bush, and in a word became what you would callover here a highway robber. There were six of us, and we had awild, free life of it, sticking up a station from time to time, orstopping the wagons on the road to the diggings. Black Jack ofBallarat was the name I went under, and our party is stillremembered 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 andsix of us, so it was a close thing, but we emptied four of theirsaddles at the first volley. Three of our boys were killed,however, before we got the swag. I put my pistol to the head of thewagon-driver, who was this very man McCarthy. I wish to the Lordthat I had shot him then, but I spared him, though I saw his wickedlittle eyes fixed on my face, as though to remember every feature.We got away with the gold, became wealthy men, and made our wayover to England without being suspected. There I parted from my oldpals and determined to settle down to a quiet and respectable life.I bought this estate, which chanced to be in the market, and I setmyself to do a little good with my money, to make up for the way inwhich I had earned it. I married, too, and though my wife diedyoung she left me my dear little Alice. Even when she was just ababy her wee hand seemed to lead me down the right path as nothingelse had ever done. In a word, I turned over a new leaf and did mybest to make up for the past. All was going well when McCarthy laidhis grip upon me.
"I had gone up to town about an investment, and I met him inRegent Street with hardly a coat to his back or a boot to hisfoot.
"'Here we are, Jack,' says he, touching me on the arm; 'we'll beas good as a family to you. There's two of us, me and my son, andyou can have the keeping of us. If you don't--it's a fine,law-abiding country is England, and there's always a policemanwithin hail.'
"Well, down they came to the west country, there was no shakingthem off, and there they have lived rent free on my best land eversince. There was no rest for me, no peace, no forgetfulness; turnwhere I would, there was his cunning, grinning face at my elbow. Itgrew worse as Alice grew up, for he soon saw I was more afraid ofher knowing my past than of the police. Whatever he wanted he musthave, and whatever it was I gave him without question, land, money,houses, until at last he asked a thing which I could not give. Heasked for Alice.
"His son, you see, had grown up, and so had my girl, and as Iwas known to be in weak health, it seemed a fine stroke to him thathis lad should step into the whole property. But there I was firm.I would not have his cursed stock mixed with mine; not that I hadany dislike to the lad, but his blood was in him, and that wasenough. I stood firm. McCarthy threatened. I braved him to do hisworst. We were to meet at the pool midway between our houses totalk it over.
"When we went down there I found him talking with his son, sosmoked a cigar and waited behind a tree until he should be alone.But as I listened to his talk all that was black and bitter in meseemed to come uppermost. He was urging his son to marry mydaughter with as little regard for what she might think as if shewere a slut from off the streets. It drove me mad to think that Iand all that I held most dear should be in the power of such a manas this. Could I not snap the bond? I was already a dying and adesperate man. Though clear of mind and fairly strong of limb, Iknew that my own fate was sealed. But my memory and my girl! Bothcould be saved if I could but silence that foul tongue. I did it,Mr. Holmes. I would do it again. Deeply as I have sinned, I haveled a life of martyrdom to atone for it. But that my girl should beentangled in the same meshes which held me was more than I couldsuffer. I struck him down with no more compunction than if he hadbeen 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 goback to fetch the cloak which I had dropped in my flight. That isthe true story, gentlemen, of all that occurred."
"Well, it is not for me to judge you," said Holmes as the oldman signed the statement which had been drawn out. "I pray that wemay never be exposed to such a temptation."
"I pray not, sir. And what do you intend to do?"
"In view of your health, nothing. You are yourself aware thatyou will soon have to answer for your deed at a higher court thanthe Assizes. I will keep your confession, and if McCarthy iscondemned I shall be forced to use it. If not, it shall never beseen by mortal eye; and your secret, whether you be alive or dead,shall be safe with us."
"Farewell, then," said the old man solemnly. "Your owndeathbeds, when they come, will be the easier for the thought ofthe peace which you have given to mine." Tottering and shaking inall his giant frame, he stumbled slowly from the room.
"God help us!" said Holmes after a long silence. "Why does fateplay such tricks with poor, helpless worms? I never hear of such acase as this that I do not think of Baxter's words, and say,'There, but for the grace of God, goes Sherlock Holmes.'"
James McCarthy was acquitted at the Assizes on the strength of anumber of objections which had been drawn out by Holmes andsubmitted to the defending counsel. Old Turner lived for sevenmonths after our interview, but he is now dead; and there is everyprospect that the son and daughter may come to live happilytogether in ignorance of the black cloud which rests upon theirpast.
ADVENTURE V. THE FIVE ORANGE PIPS
When I glance over my notes and records of the Sherlock Holmescases between the years '82 and '90, I am faced by so many whichpresent strange and interesting features that it is no easy matterto know which to choose and which to leave. Some, however, havealready gained publicity through the papers, and others have notoffered a field for those peculiar qualities which my friendpossessed in so high a degree, and which it is the object of thesepapers to illustrate. Some, too, have baffled his analytical skill,and would be, as narratives, beginnings without an ending, whileothers have been but partially cleared up, and have theirexplanations founded rather upon conjecture and surmise than onthat absolute logical proof which was so dear to him. There is,however, one of these last which was so remarkable in its detailsand so startling in its results that I am tempted to give someaccount of it in spite of the fact that there are points inconnection with it which never have been, and probably never willbe, entirely cleared up.
The year '87 furnished us with a long series of cases of greateror less interest, of which I retain the records. Among my headingsunder this one twelve months I find an account of the adventure ofthe Paradol Chamber, of the Amateur Mendicant Society, who held aluxurious club in the lower vault of a furniture warehouse, of thefacts connected with the loss of the British bark Sophy Anderson,of the singular adventures of the Grice Patersons in the island ofUffa, and finally of the Camberwell poisoning case. In the latter,as may be remembered, Sherlock Holmes was able, by winding up thedead man's watch, to prove that it had been wound up two hoursbefore, and that therefore the deceased had gone to bed within thattime--a deduction which was of the greatest importance in clearingup 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 equinoctialgales had set in with exceptional violence. All day the wind hadscreamed and the rain had beaten against the windows, so that evenhere in the heart of great, hand-made London we were forced toraise our minds for the instant from the routine of life and torecognize the presence of those great elemental forces which shriekat mankind through the bars of his civilization, like untamedbeasts 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 fireplacecross-indexing his records of crime, while I at the other was deepin one of Clark Russell's fine sea-stories until the howl of thegale from without seemed to blend with the text, and the splash ofthe rain to lengthen out into the long swash of the sea waves. Mywife was on a visit to her mother's, and for a few days I was adweller once more in my old quarters at Baker Street.
"Why," said I, glancing up at my companion, "that was surely thebell. 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 outon such a day and at such an hour. But I take it that it is morelikely to be some crony of the landlady's."
Sherlock Holmes was wrong in his conjecture, however, for therecame a step in the passage and a tapping at the door. He stretchedout his long arm to turn the lamp away from himself and towards thevacant chair upon which a newcomer must sit.
"Come in!" said he.
The man who entered was young, some two-and-twenty at theoutside, well-groomed and trimly clad, with something of refinementand delicacy in his bearing. The streaming umbrella which he heldin his hand, and his long shining waterproof told of the fierceweather through which he had come. He looked about him anxiously inthe glare of the lamp, and I could see that his face was pale andhis eyes heavy, like those of a man who is weighed down with somegreat anxiety.
"I owe you an apology," he said, raising his golden pince-nez tohis eyes. "I trust that I am not intruding. I fear that I havebrought some traces of the storm and rain into your snugchamber."
"Give me your coat and umbrella," said Holmes. "They may resthere on the hook and will be dry presently. You have come up fromthe south-west, I see."
"Yes, from Horsham."
"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 Prendergasthow you saved him in the Tankerville Club scandal."
"Ah, of course. He was wrongfully accused of cheating atcards."
"He said that you could solve anything."
"He said too much."
"That you are never beaten."
"I have been beaten four times--three times by men, and once bya woman."
"But what is that compared with the number of yoursuccesses?"
"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 favor mewith some details as to your case."
"It is no ordinary one."
"None of those which come to me are. I am the last court ofappeal."
"And yet I question, sir, whether, in all your experience, youhave ever listened to a more mysterious and inexplicable chain ofevents than those which have happened in my own family."
"You fill me with interest," said Holmes. "Pray give us theessential facts from the commencement, and I can afterwardsquestion you as to those details which seem to me to be mostimportant."
The young man pulled his chair up and pushed his wet feet outtowards the blaze.
"My name," said he, "is John Openshaw, but my own affairs have,as far as I can understand, little to do with this awful business.It is a hereditary matter; so in order to give you an idea of thefacts, I must go back to the commencement of the affair.
"You must know that my grandfather had two sons--my uncle Eliasand my father Joseph. My father had a small factory at Coventry,which he enlarged at the time of the invention of bicycling. He wasa patentee of the Openshaw unbreakable tire, and his business metwith such success that he was able to sell it and to retire upon ahandsome competence.
"My uncle Elias emigrated to America when he was a young man andbecame a planter in Florida, where he was reported to have donevery well. At the time of the war he fought in Jackson's army, andafterwards under Hood, where he rose to be a colonel. When Lee laiddown his arms my uncle returned to his plantation, where heremained for three or four years. About 1869 or 1870 he came backto Europe and took a small estate in Sussex, near Horsham. He hadmade a very considerable fortune in the States, and his reason forleaving them was his aversion to the negroes, and his dislike ofthe Republican policy in extending the franchise to them. He was asingular man, fierce and quick-tempered, very foul-mouthed when hewas angry, and of a most retiring disposition. During all the yearsthat he lived at Horsham, I doubt if ever he set foot in the town.He had a garden and two or three fields round his house, and therehe would take his exercise, though very often for weeks on end hewould never leave his room. He drank a great deal of brandy andsmoked very heavily, but he would see no society and did not wantany friends, not even his own brother.
"He didn't mind me; in fact, he took a fancy to me, for at thetime when he saw me first I was a youngster of twelve or so. Thiswould be in the year 1878, after he had been eight or nine years inEngland. He begged my father to let me live with him and he wasvery kind to me in his way. When he was sober he used to be fond ofplaying backgammon and draughts with me, and he would make me hisrepresentative both with the servants and with the tradespeople, sothat by the time that I was sixteen I was quite master of thehouse. I kept all the keys and could go where I liked and do what Iliked, so long as I did not disturb him in his privacy. There wasone 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. Witha boy's curiosity I have peeped through the keyhole, but I wasnever able to see more than such a collection of old trunks andbundles as would be expected in such a room.
"One day--it was in March, 1883--a letter with a foreign stamplay upon the table in front of the colonel's plate. It was not acommon thing for him to receive letters, for his bills were allpaid in ready money, and he had no friends of any sort. 'FromIndia!' said he as he took it up, 'Pondicherry postmark! What canthis be?' Opening it hurriedly, out there jumped five little driedorange pips, which pattered down upon his plate. I began to laughat this, but the laugh was struck from my lips at the sight of hisface. His lip had fallen, his eyes were protruding, his skin thecolor of putty, and he glared at the envelope which he still heldin his trembling hand, 'K. K. K.!' he shrieked, and then, 'My God,my God, my sins have overtaken me!'
"'What is it, uncle?' I cried.
"'Death,' said he, and rising from the table he retired to hisroom, leaving me palpitating with horror. I took up the envelopeand saw scrawled in red ink upon the inner flap, just above thegum, the letter K three times repeated. There was nothing else savethe five dried pips. What could be the reason of his overpoweringterror? I left the breakfast-table, and as I ascended the stair Imet him coming down with an old rusty key, which must have belongedto the attic, in one hand, and a small brass box, like a cashbox,in the other.
"'They may do what they like, but I'll checkmate them still,'said he with an oath. 'Tell Mary that I shall want a fire in myroom to-day, and send down to Fordham, the Horsham lawyer.'
"I did as he ordered, and when the lawyer arrived I was asked tostep up to the room. The fire was burning brightly, and in thegrate there was a mass of black, fluffy ashes, as of burned paper,while the brass box stood open and empty beside it. As I glanced atthe box I noticed, with a start, that upon the lid was printed thetreble K which I had read in the morning upon the envelope.
"'I wish you, John,' said my uncle, 'to witness my will. I leavemy estate, with all its advantages and all its disadvantages, to mybrother, your father, whence it will, no doubt, descend to you. Ifyou can enjoy it in peace, well and good! If you find you cannot,take my advice, my boy, and leave it to your deadliest enemy. I amsorry to give you such a two-edged thing, but I can't say what turnthings are going to take. Kindly sign the paper where Mr. Fordhamshows you.'
"I signed the paper as directed, and the lawyer took it awaywith him. The singular incident made, as you may think, the deepestimpression upon me, and I pondered over it and turned it every wayin my mind without being able to make anything of it. Yet I couldnot shake off the vague feeling of dread which it left behind,though the sensation grew less keen as the weeks passed and nothinghappened to disturb the usual routine of our lives. I could see achange in my uncle, however. He drank more than ever, and he wasless inclined for any sort of society. Most of his time he wouldspend in his room, with the door locked upon the inside, butsometimes he would emerge in a sort of drunken frenzy and wouldburst 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 hewas not to be cooped up, like a sheep in a pen, by man or devil.When these hot fits were over however, he would rush tumultuouslyin at the door and lock and bar it behind him, like a man who canbrazen it out no longer against the terror which lies at the rootsof his soul. At such times I have seen his face, even on a coldday, glisten with moisture, as though it were new raised from abasin.
"Well, to come to an end of the matter, Mr. Holmes, and not toabuse your patience, there came a night when he made one of thosedrunken sallies from which he never came back. We found him, whenwe went to search for him, face downward in a little green-scummedpool, which lay at the foot of the garden. There was no sign of anyviolence, and the water was but two feet deep, so that the jury,having regard to his known eccentricity, brought in a verdict of'suicide.' But I, who knew how he winced from the very thought ofdeath, had much ado to persuade myself that he had gone out of hisway to meet it. The matter passed, however, and my father enteredinto possession of the estate, and of some 14,000 pounds, which layto his credit at the bank."
"One moment," Holmes interposed, "your statement is, I foresee,one of the most remarkable to which I have ever listened. Let mehave the date of the reception by your uncle of the letter, and thedate of his supposed 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 myrequest, made a careful examination of the attic, which had beenalways locked up. We found the brass box there, although itscontents had been destroyed. On the inside of the cover was a paperlabel, with the initials of K. K. K. repeated upon it, and'Letters, memoranda, receipts, and a register' written beneath.These, we presume, indicated the nature of the papers which hadbeen destroyed by Colonel Openshaw. For the rest, there was nothingof much importance in the attic save a great many scattered papersand note-books bearing upon my uncle's life in America. Some ofthem were of the war time and showed that he had done his duty welland 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 partin opposing the carpet-bag politicians who had been sent down fromthe North.
"Well, it was the beginning of '84 when my father came to liveat Horsham, and all went as well as possible with us until theJanuary of '85. On the fourth day after the new year I heard myfather give a sharp cry of surprise as we sat together at thebreakfast-table. There he was, sitting with a newly opened envelopein one hand and five dried orange pips in the outstretched palm ofthe other one. He had always laughed at what he called mycock-and-bull story about the colonel, but he looked very scaredand 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 arethe very letters. But what is this written above them?'
"'Put the papers on the sundial,' I read, peeping over hisshoulder.
"'What papers? What sundial?' he asked.
"'The sundial in the garden. There is no other,' said I; 'butthe papers must be those that are destroyed.'
"'Pooh!' said he, gripping hard at his courage. 'We are in acivilized land here, and we can't have tomfoolery of this kind.Where does the thing come from?'
"'From Dundee,' I answered, glancing at the postmark.
"'Some preposterous practical joke,' said he. 'What have I to dowith sundials and papers? I shall take no notice of suchnonsense.'
"'I should certainly speak to the police,' I said.
"'And be laughed at for my pains. Nothing of the sort.'
"'Then let me do so?'
"'No, I forbid you. I won't have a fuss made about suchnonsense.'
"It was in vain to argue with him, for he was a very obstinateman. I went about, however, with a heart which was full offorebodings.
"On the third day after the coming of the letter my father wentfrom home to visit an old friend of his, Major Freebody, who is incommand of one of the forts upon Portsdown Hill. I was glad that heshould go, for it seemed to me that he was farther from danger whenhe was away from home. In that, however, I was in error. Upon thesecond day of his absence I received a telegram from the major,imploring me to come at once. My father had fallen over one of thedeep chalk-pits which abound in the neighborhood, and was lyingsenseless, with a shattered skull. I hurried to him, but he passedaway without having ever recovered his consciousness. He had, as itappears, been returning from Fareham in the twilight, and as thecountry was unknown to him, and the chalk-pit unfenced, the juryhad no hesitation in bringing in a verdict of 'death fromaccidental causes.' Carefully as I examined every fact connectedwith his death, I was unable to find anything which could suggestthe idea of murder. There were no signs of violence, no footmarks,no robbery, no record of strangers having been seen upon the roads.And yet I need not tell you that my mind was far from at ease, andthat I was well-nigh certain that some foul plot had been wovenround him.
"In this sinister way I came into my inheritance. You will askme why I did not dispose of it? I answer, because I was wellconvinced that our troubles were in some way dependent upon anincident in my uncle's life, and that the danger would be aspressing in one house as in another.
"It was in January, '85, that my poor father met his end, andtwo years and eight months have elapsed since then. During thattime I have lived happily at Horsham, and I had begun to hope thatthis curse had passed way from the family, and that it had endedwith the last generation. I had begun to take comfort too soon,however; yesterday morning the blow fell in the very shape in whichit 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 orangepips.
"This is the envelope," he continued. "The postmark isLondon--eastern division. Within are the very words which were uponmy father's last message: 'K. K. K.'; and then 'Put the papers onthe sundial.'"
"What have you done?" asked Holmes.
"Nothing."
"Nothing?"
"To tell the truth"--he sank his face into his thin, whitehands--"I have felt helpless. I have felt like one of those poorrabbits when the snake is writhing towards it. I seem to be in thegrasp of some resistless, inexorable evil, which no foresight andno precautions can guard against."
"Tut! tut!" cried Sherlock Holmes. "You must act, man, or youare lost. Nothing but energy can save you. This is no time fordespair."
"I have seen the police."
"Ah!"
"But they listened to my story with a smile. I am convinced thatthe inspector has formed the opinion that the letters are allpractical jokes, and that the deaths of my relations were reallyaccidents, as the jury stated, and were not to be connected withthe warnings."
Holmes shook his clenched hands in the air. "Incredibleimbecility!" he cried.
"They have, however, allowed me a policeman, who may remain inthe house with me."
"Has he come with you to-night?"
"No. His orders were to stay in the house."
Again Holmes raved in the air.
"Why did you come to me," he cried, "and, above all, why did younot come at once?"
"I did not know. It was only to-day that I spoke to MajorPrendergast about my troubles and was advised by him to come toyou."
"It is really two days since you had the letter. We should haveacted before this. You have no further evidence, I suppose, thanthat which you have placed before us--no suggestive detail whichmight help us?"
"There is one thing," said John Openshaw. He rummaged in hiscoat pocket, and, drawing out a piece of discolored, blue-tintedpaper, he laid it out upon the table. "I have some remembrance,"said he, "that on the day when my uncle burned the papers Iobserved that the small, unburned margins which lay amid the asheswere of this particular color. I found this single sheet upon thefloor of his room, and I am inclined to think that it may be one ofthe papers which has, perhaps, fluttered out from among the others,and in that way has escaped destruction. Beyond the mention ofpips, I do not see that it helps us much. I think myself that it isa page from some private diary. The writing is undoubtedly myuncle's."
Holmes moved the lamp, and we both bent over the sheet of paper,which showed by its ragged edge that it had indeed been torn from 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, of St.Augustine.
9th. McCauley cleared.
10th. John Swain cleared.
12th. Visited Paramore. All well.
"Thank you!" said Holmes, folding up the paper and returning itto our visitor. "And now you must on no account lose anotherinstant. We cannot spare time even to discuss what you have toldme. You must get home instantly and act."
"What shall I do?"
"There is but one thing to do. It must be done at once. You mustput this piece of paper which you have shown us into the brass boxwhich you have described. You must also put in a note to say thatall the other papers were burned by your uncle, and that this isthe only one which remains. You must assert that in such words aswill carry conviction with them. Having done this, you must at onceput the box out upon the sundial, as directed. Do youunderstand?"
"Entirely."
"Do not think of revenge, or anything of the sort, at present. Ithink that we may gain that by means of the law; but we have ourweb to weave, while theirs is already woven. The firstconsideration is to remove the pressing danger which threatens you.The second is to clear up the mystery and to punish the guiltyparties."
"I thank you," said the young man, rising and pulling on hisovercoat. "You have given me fresh life and hope. I shall certainlydo as you advise."
"Do not lose an instant. And, above all, take care of yourselfin the meanwhile, for I do not think that there can be a doubt thatyou are threatened by a very real and imminent danger. How do yougo back?
"By train from Waterloo."
"It is not yet nine. The streets will be crowded, so I trustthat you may be in safety. And yet you cannot guard yourself tooclosely."
"I am armed."
"That is well. To-morrow I shall set to work upon yourcase."
"I shall see you at Horsham, then?"
"No, your secret lies in London. It is there that I shall seekit."
"Then I shall call upon you in a day, or in two days, with newsas to the box and the papers. I shall take your advice in everyparticular." He shook hands with us and took his leave. Outside thewind still screamed and the rain splashed and pattered against thewindows. This strange, wild story seemed to have come to us fromamid the mad elements--blown in upon us like a sheet of sea-weed ina gale--and now to have been reabsorbed by them 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 helit his pipe, and leaning back in his chair he watched the bluesmoke-rings as they chased each other up to the ceiling.
"I think, Watson," he remarked at last, "that of all our caseswe have had none more fantastic than this."
"Save, perhaps, the Sign of Four."
"Well, yes. Save, perhaps, that. And yet this John Openshawseems to me to be walking amid even greater perils than did theSholtos."
"But have you," I asked, "formed any definite conception as towhat these perils are?"
"There can be no question as to their nature," he answered.
"Then what are they? Who is this K. K. K., and why does hepursue this unhappy family?"
Sherlock Holmes closed his eyes and placed his elbows upon thearms of his chair, with his finger-tips together. "The idealreasoner," he remarked, "would, when he had once been shown asingle fact in all its bearings, deduce from it not only all thechain of events which led up to it but also all the results whichwould follow from it. As Cuvier could correctly describe a wholeanimal by the contemplation of a single bone, so the observer whohas thoroughly understood one link in a series of incidents shouldbe able to accurately state all the other ones, both before andafter. We have not yet grasped the results which the reason alonecan attain to. Problems may be solved in the study which havebaffled all those who have sought a solution by the aid of theirsenses. To carry the art, however, to its highest pitch, it isnecessary that the reasoner should be able to utilize all the factswhich have come to his knowledge; and this in itself implies, asyou will readily see, a possession of all knowledge, which, even inthese days of free education and encyclopaedias, is a somewhat rareaccomplishment. It is not so impossible, however, that a man shouldpossess all knowledge which is likely to be useful to him in hiswork, and this I have endeavored in my case to do. If I rememberrightly, you on one occasion, in the early days of our friendship,defined my limits in a very precise fashion."
"Yes," I answered, laughing. "It was a singular document.Philosophy, astronomy, and politics were marked at zero, Iremember. Botany variable, geology profound as regards themud-stains from any region within fifty miles of town, chemistryeccentric, anatomy unsystematic, sensational literature and crimerecords unique, violin-player, boxer, swordsman, lawyer, andself-poisoner by cocaine and tobacco. Those, I think, were the mainpoints of my analysis."
Holmes grinned at the last item. "Well," he said, "I say now, asI said then, that a man should keep his little brain-attic stockedwith all the furniture that he is likely to use, and the rest hecan put away in the lumber-room of his library, where he can get itif he wants it. Now, for such a case as the one which has beensubmitted to us to-night, we need certainly to muster all ourresources. Kindly hand me down the letter K of the AmericanEncyclopaedia which stands upon the shelf beside you. Thank you.Now let us consider the situation and see what may be deduced fromit. In the first place, we may start with a strong presumption thatColonel 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 anEnglish provincial town. His extreme love of solitude in Englandsuggests the idea that he was in fear of someone or something, sowe may assume as a working hypothesis that it was fear of someoneor something which drove him from America. As to what it was hefeared, we can only deduce that by considering the formidableletters which were received by himself and his successors. Did youremark 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 aship."
"Excellent. We have already a clew. There can be no doubt thatthe probability--the strong probability--is that the writer was onboard of a ship. And now let us consider another point. In the caseof Pondicherry, seven weeks elapsed between the threat and itsfulfillment, in Dundee it was only some three or four days. Doesthat suggest anything?"
"A greater distance to travel."
"But the letter had also a greater distance to come."
"Then I do not see the point."
"There is at least a presumption that the vessel in which theman or men are is a sailing-ship. It looks as if they always sendtheir singular warning or token before them when starting upontheir mission. You see how quickly the deed followed the sign whenit came from Dundee. If they had come from Pondicherry in a steamerthey would have arrived almost as soon as their letter. But, as amatter of fact, seven weeks elapsed. I think that those seven weeksrepresented the difference between the mailboat which brought theletter and the sailing vessel which brought the writer."
"It is possible."
"More than that. It is probable. And now you see the deadlyurgency of this new case, and why I urged young Openshaw tocaution. The blow has always fallen at the end of the time which itwould take the senders to travel the distance. But this one comesfrom London, and therefore we cannot count upon delay."
"Good God!" I cried. "What can it mean, this relentlesspersecution?"
"The papers which Openshaw carried are obviously of vitalimportance to the person or persons in the sailing-ship. I thinkthat it is quite clear that there must be more than one of them. Asingle man could not have carried out two deaths in such a way asto deceive a coroner's jury. There must have been several in it,and they must have been men of resource and determination. Theirpapers they mean to have, be the holder of them who it may. In thisway you see K. K. K. ceases to be the initials of an individual andbecomes the badge of a society."
"But of what society?"
"Have you never--" said Sherlock Holmes, bending forward andsinking his voice--"have you never heard of the Ku Klux Klan?"
"I never have."
Holmes turned over the leaves of the book upon his knee. "Hereit is," said he presently:
"Ku Klux Klan. A name derived from the fanciful resemblance tothe sound produced by cocking a rifle. This terrible secret societywas formed by some ex-Confederate soldiers in the Southern statesafter the Civil War, and it rapidly formed local branches indifferent parts of the country, notably in Tennessee, Louisiana,the Carolinas, Georgia, and Florida. Its power was used forpolitical purposes, principally for the terrorizing of the negrovoters and the murdering and driving from the country of those whowere opposed to its views. Its outrages were usually preceded by awarning sent to the marked man in some fantastic but generallyrecognized shape--a sprig of oak-leaves in some parts, melon seedsor orange pips in others. On receiving this the victim might eitheropenly abjure his former ways, or might fly from the country. If hebraved the matter out, death would unfailingly come upon him, andusually in some strange and unforeseen manner. So perfect was theorganization of the society, and so systematic its methods, thatthere is hardly a case upon record where any man succeeded inbraving it with impunity, or in which any of its outrages weretraced home to the perpetrators. For some years the organizationflourished in spite of the efforts of the United States governmentand of the better classes of the community in the South.Eventually, in the year 1869, the movement rather suddenlycollapsed, although there have been sporadic outbreaks of the samesort since that date.
"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 maywell have been cause and effect. It is no wonder that he and hisfamily have some of the more implacable spirits upon their track.You can understand that this register and diary may implicate someof the first men in the South, and that there may be many who willnot sleep easy at night until it is recovered."
"Then the page we have seen--"
"Is such as we might expect. It ran, if I remember right, 'sentthe pips to A, B, and C'--that is, sent the society's warning tothem. Then there are successive entries that A and B cleared, orleft the country, and finally that C was visited, with, I fear, asinister result for C. Well, I think, Doctor, that we may let somelight into this dark place, and I believe that the only chanceyoung Openshaw has in the meantime is to do what I have told him.There is nothing more to be said or to be done to-night, so hand meover my violin and let us try to forget for half an hour themiserable weather and the still more miserable ways of ourfellow-men."
It had cleared in the morning, and the sun was shining with asubdued brightness through the dim veil which hangs over the greatcity. Sherlock Holmes was already at breakfast when I camedown.
"You will excuse me for not waiting for you," said he; "I have,I foresee, a very busy day before me in looking into this case ofyoung Openshaw's."
"What steps will you take?" I asked.
"It will very much depend upon the results of my firstinquiries. I may have to go down to Horsham, after all."
"You will not go there first?"
"No, I shall commence with the City. Just ring the bell and themaid will 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 chillto my heart.
"Holmes," I cried, "you are too late."
"Ah!" said he, laying down his cup, "I feared as much. How wasit done?" He spoke calmly, but I could see that he was deeplymoved.
"My eye caught the name of Openshaw, and the heading 'TragedyNear Waterloo Bridge.' Here is the account:
"Between nine and ten last night Police-Constable Cook, of the HDivision, on duty near Waterloo Bridge, heard a cry for help and asplash 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, was given,and, by the aid of the water-police, the body was eventuallyrecovered. It proved to be that of a young gentleman whose name, asit appears from an envelope which was found in his pocket, was JohnOpenshaw, and whose residence is near Horsham. It is conjecturedthat he may have been hurrying down to catch the last train fromWaterloo Station, and that in his haste and the extreme darkness hemissed his path and walked over the edge of one of the smalllanding-places for river steamboats. The body exhibited no tracesof violence, and there can be no doubt that the deceased had beenthe victim of an unfortunate accident, which should have the effectof calling the attention of the authorities to the condition of theriverside 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 pettyfeeling, no doubt, but it hurts my pride. It becomes a personalmatter with me now, and, if God sends me health, I shall set myhand upon this gang. That he should come to me for help, and that Ishould send him away to his death--!" He sprang from his chair andpaced about the room in uncontrollable agitation, with a flush uponhis sallow cheeks and a nervous clasping and unclasping of his longthin hands.
"They must be cunning devils," he exclaimed at last. "How couldthey have decoyed him down there? The Embankment is not on thedirect line to the station. The bridge, no doubt, was too crowded,even on such a night, for their purpose. Well, Watson, we shall seewho will win in the long run. I am going out now!"
"To the police?"
"No; I shall be my own police. When I have spun the web they maytake the flies, but not before."
All day I was engaged in my professional work, and it was latein the evening before I returned to Baker Street. Sherlock Holmeshad not come back yet. It was nearly ten o'clock before he entered,looking pale and worn. He walked up to the sideboard, and tearing apiece from the loaf he devoured it voraciously, washing it downwith 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 clew?"
"I have them in the hollow of my hand. Young Openshaw shall notlong remain unavenged. Why, Watson, let us put their own devilishtrade-mark upon 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 andthrust them into an envelope. On the inside of the flap he wrote"S. H. for J. 0." Then he sealed it and addressed it to "CaptainJames Calhoun, Bark Lone Star, Savannah, Georgia."
"That will await him when he enters port," said he, chuckling."It may give him a sleepless night. He will find it as sure aprecursor of his fate as Openshaw did before him."
"And who is this Captain Calhoun?"
"The leader of the gang. I shall have the others, but hefirst."
"How did you trace it, then?"
He took a large sheet of paper from his pocket, all covered withdates and names.
"I have spent the whole day," said he, "over Lloyd's registersand files of the old papers, following the future career of everyvessel which touched at Pondicherry in January and February in '83.There were thirty-six ships of fair tonnage which were reportedthere during those months. Of these, one, the Lone Star, instantlyattracted my attention, since, although it was reported as havingcleared from London, the name is that which is given to one of thestates of the Union."
"Texas, I think."
"I was not and am not sure which; but I knew that the ship musthave an American origin."
"What then?"
"I searched the Dundee records, and when I found that the barkLone Star was there in January, '85, my suspicion became acertainty. I then inquired as to the vessels which lay at presentin the port of London."
"Yes?"
"The Lone Star had arrived here last week. I went down to theAlbert Dock and found that she had been taken down the river by theearly tide this morning, homeward bound to Savannah. I wired toGravesend and learned that she had passed some time ago, and as thewind is easterly I have no doubt that she is now past the Goodwinsand not very far from the Isle of Wight."
"What will you do, then?"
"Oh, I have my hand upon him. He and the two mates, are as Ilearn, the only native-born Americans in the ship. The others areFinns and Germans. I know, also, that they were all three away fromthe ship last night. I had it from the stevedore who has beenloading their cargo. By the time that their sailing-ship reachesSavannah the mail-boat will have carried this letter, and the cablewill have informed the police of Savannah that these threegentlemen are badly wanted here upon a charge of murder."
There is ever a flaw, however, in the best laid of human plans,and the murderers of John Openshaw were never to receive the orangepips which would show them that another, as cunning and as resoluteas themselves, was upon their track. Very long and very severe werethe equinoctial gales that year. We waited long for news of theLone Star of Savannah, but none ever reached us. We did at lasthear that somewhere far out in the Atlantic a shattered stern-postof the boat was seen swinging in the trough of a wave, with theletters "L. S." carved upon it, and that is all which we shall everknow of the fate of the Lone Star.
ADVENTURE VI. THE MAN WITH THE TWISTED LIP
Isa Whitney, brother of the late Elias Whitney, D.D., Principalof the Theological College of St. George's, was much addicted toopium. The habit grew upon him, as I understand, from some foolishfreak when he was at college; for having read De Quincey'sdescription of his dreams and sensations, he had drenched histobacco with laudanum in an attempt to produce the same effects. Hefound, as so many more have done, that the practice is easier toattain than to get rid of, and for many years he continued to be aslave to the drug, an object of mingled horror and pity to hisfriends and relatives. I can see him now, with yellow, pasty face,drooping lids, and pin-point pupils, all huddled in a chair, thewreck and ruin of a noble man.
One night--it was in June, '89--there came a ring to my bell,about the hour when a man gives his first yawn and glances at theclock. I sat up in my chair, and my wife laid her needle-work downin her lap and made a little face of disappointment.
"A patient!" said she. "You'll have to go out."
I groaned, for I was newly come back from a weary day.
We heard the door open, a few hurried words, and then quicksteps upon the linoleum. Our own door flew open, and a lady, cladin some dark-colored stuff, with a black veil, entered theroom.
"You will excuse my calling so late," she began, and then,suddenly losing her self-control, she ran forward, threw her armsabout my wife's neck, and sobbed upon her shoulder. "Oh, I'm insuch trouble!" she cried; "I do so want a little help."
"Why," said my wife, pulling up her veil, "it is Kate Whitney.How you startled me, Kate! I had not an idea who you were when youcame in."
"I didn't know what to do, so l came straight to you." That wasalways the way. Folk who were in grief came to my wife like birdsto a light-house.
"It was very sweet of you to come. Now, you must have some wineand water, and sit here comfortably and tell us all about it. Orshould you rather that I sent James off to bed?"
"Oh, no, no! I want the doctor's advice and help, too. It'sabout Isa. He has not been home for two days. I am so frightenedabout him!"
It was not the first time that she had spoken to us of herhusband's trouble, to me as a doctor, to my wife as an old friendand school companion. We soothed and comforted her by such words aswe could find. Did she know where her husband was? Was it possiblethat we could bring him back to her?
It seems that it was. She had the surest information that oflate he had, when the fit was on him, made use of an opium den inthe farthest east of the City. Hitherto his orgies had always beenconfined to one day, and he had come back, twitching and shattered,in the evening. But now the spell had been upon him eight-and-fortyhours, and he lay there, doubtless among the dregs of the docks,breathing in the poison or sleeping off the effects. There he wasto be found, she was sure of it, at the Bar of Gold, in UpperSwandam Lane. But what was she to do? How could she, a young andtimid 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 ofit. Might I not escort her to this place? And then, as a secondthought, why should she come at all? I was Isa Whitney's medicaladviser, and as such I had influence over him. I could manage itbetter if I were alone. I promised her on my word that I would sendhim home in a cab within two hours if he were indeed at the addresswhich she had given me. And so in ten minutes I had left myarmchair and cheery sitting-room behind me, and was speedingeastward in a hansom on a strange errand, as it seemed to me at thetime, though the future only could show how strange it was tobe.
But there was no great difficulty in the first stage of myadventure. Upper Swandam Lane is a vile alley lurking behind thehigh wharves which line the north side of the river to the east ofLondon Bridge. Between a slop-shop and a gin-shop, approached by asteep flight of steps leading down to a black gap like the mouth ofa cave, I found the den of which I was in search. Ordering my cabto wait, I passed down the steps, worn hollow in the centre by theceaseless tread of drunken feet; and by the light of a flickeringoil-lamp above the door I found the latch and made my way into along, low room, thick and heavy with the brown opium smoke, andterraced with wooden berths, like the forecastle of an emigrantship.
Through the gloom one could dimly catch a glimpse of bodieslying in strange fantastic poses, bowed shoulders, bent knees,heads thrown back, and chins pointing upward, with here and there adark, lack-lustre eye turned upon the newcomer. Out of the blackshadows there glimmered little red circles of light, now bright,now faint, as the burning poison waxed or waned in the bowls of themetal pipes. The most lay silent, but some muttered to themselves,and others talked together in a strange, low, monotonous voice,their conversation coming in gushes, and then suddenly tailing offinto silence, each mumbling out his own thoughts and paying littleheed to the words of his neighbor. At the farther end was a smallbrazier of burning charcoal, beside which on a three-legged woodenstool there sat a tall, thin old man, with his jaw resting upon histwo fists, and his elbows upon his knees, staring into thefire.
As I entered, a sallow Malay attendant had hurried up with apipe for me and a supply of the drug, beckoning me to an emptyberth.
"Thank you. I have not come to stay," said I. "There is a friendof mine here, Mr. Isa Whitney, and I wish to speak with him."
There was a movement and an exclamation from my right, andpeering through the gloom I saw Whitney, pale, haggard, andunkempt, staring out at me.
"My God! It's Watson," said he. He was in a pitiable state ofreaction, with every nerve in a twitter. "I say, Watson, whato'clock is it?"
"Nearly eleven."
"Of what day?"
"Of Friday, June 19th."
"Good heavens! I thought it was Wednesday. It is Wednesday. Whatd'you want to frighten the chap for?" He sank his face onto hisarms and began to sob in a high treble key.
"I tell you that it is Friday, man. Your wife has been waitingthis two days for you. You should be ashamed of yourself!"
"So I am. But you've got mixed, Watson, for I have only beenhere a few hours, three pipes, four pipes--I forget how many. ButI'll go home with you. I wouldn't frighten Kate--poor little Kate.Give me your hand! Have you a cab?"
"Yes, I have one waiting."
"Then I shall go in it. But I must owe something. Find what Iowe, Watson. I am all off color. I can do nothing for myself."
I walked down the narrow passage between the double row ofsleepers, holding my breath to keep out the vile, stupefying fumesof the drug, and looking about for the manager. As I passed thetall man who sat by the brazier I felt a sudden pluck at my skirt,and a low voice whispered, "Walk past me, and then look back atme." The words fell quite distinctly upon my ear. I glanced down.They could only have come from the old man at my side, and yet hesat now as absorbed as ever, very thin, very wrinkled, bent withage, an opium pipe dangling down from between his knees, as thoughit had dropped in sheer lassitude from his fingers. I took twosteps forward and looked back. It took all my self-control toprevent me from breaking out into a cry of astonishment. He hadturned his back so that none could see him but I. His form hadfilled out, his wrinkles were gone, the dull eyes had regainedtheir fire, and there, sitting by the fire and grinning at mysurprise, was none other than Sherlock Holmes. He made a slightmotion to me to approach him, and instantly, as he turned his facehalf round to the company once more, subsided into a doddering,loose-lipped senility.
"Holmes!" I whispered, "what on earth are you doing in thisden?"
"As low as you can," he answered; "I have excellent ears. If youwould have the great kindness to get rid of that sottish friend ofyours I should be exceedingly glad to have a little talk withyou."
"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 recommendyou also to send a note by the cabman to your wife to say that youhave thrown in your lot with me. If you will wait outside, I shallbe with you in five minutes."
It was difficult to refuse any of Sherlock Holmes's requests,for they were always so exceedingly definite, and put forward withsuch a quiet air of mastery. I felt, however, that when Whitney wasonce confined in the cab my mission was practically accomplished;and for the rest, I could not wish anything better than to beassociated with my friend in one of those singular adventures whichwere the normal condition of his existence. In a few minutes I hadwritten my note, paid Whitney's bill, led him out to the cab, andseen him driven through the darkness. In a very short time adecrepit figure had emerged from the opium den, and I was walkingdown the street with Sherlock Holmes. For two streets he shuffledalong with a bent back and an uncertain foot. Then, glancingquickly round, he straightened himself out and burst into a heartyfit of laughter.
"I suppose, Watson," said he, "that you imagine that I haveadded opium-smoking to cocaine injections, and all the other littleweaknesses on which you have favored me with your medicalviews."
"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 naturalprey. Briefly, Watson, I am in the midst of a very remarkableinquiry, and I have hoped to find a clew in the incoherentramblings of these sots, as I have done before now. Had I beenrecognized in that den my life would not have been worth an hour'spurchase; for I have used it before now for my own purposes, andthe rascally Lascar who runs it has sworn to have vengeance uponme. There is a trap-door at the back of that building, near thecorner of Paul's 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 poundsfor every poor devil who has been done to death in that den. It isthe vilest murder-trap on the whole riverside, and I fear thatNeville St. Clair has entered it never to leave it more. But ourtrap should be here." He put his two forefingers between his teethand whistled shrilly--a signal which was answered by a similarwhistle from the distance, followed shortly by the rattle of wheelsand the clink of horses' hoofs.
"Now, Watson," said Holmes, as a tall dog-cart dashed up throughthe gloom, throwing out two golden tunnels of yellow light from itsside lanterns. "You'll come with me, won't you?
"If I can be of use."
"Oh, a trusty comrade is always of use; and a chronicler stillmore so. My room at The Cedars is a double-bedded one."
"The Cedars?"
"Yes; that is Mr. St. Clair's house. I am staying there while Iconduct the inquiry."
"Where is it, then?"
"Near Lee, in Kent. We have a seven-mile drive before us."
"But I am all in the dark."
"Of course you are. You'll know all about it presently. Jump uphere. All right, John; we shall not need you. Here's half a crown.Look out for me to-morrow, about eleven. Give her her head. Solong, then!"
He flicked the horse with his whip, and we dashed away throughthe endless succession of sombre and deserted streets, whichwidened gradually, until we were flying across a broad balustradedbridge, with the murky river flowing sluggishly beneath us. Beyondlay another dull wilderness of bricks and mortar, its silencebroken only by the heavy, regular footfall of the policeman, or thesongs and shouts of some belated party of revellers. A dull wrackwas drifting slowly across the sky, and a star or two twinkleddimly here and there through the rifts of the clouds. Holmes drovein silence, with his head sunk upon his breast, and the air of aman who is lost in thought, while I sat beside him, curious tolearn what this new quest might be which seemed to tax his powersso sorely, and yet afraid to break in upon the current of histhoughts. We had driven several miles, and were beginning to get tothe fringe of the belt of suburban villas, when he shook himself,shrugged his shoulders, and lit up his pipe with the air of a manwho has satisfied himself that he is acting for the best.
"You have a grand gift of silence, Watson," said he. "It makesyou quite invaluable as a companion. 'Pon my word, it is a greatthing for me to have someone to talk to, for my own thoughts arenot over-pleasant. I was wondering what I should say to this dearlittle woman to-night when she meets me at the door."
"You forget that I know nothing about it."
"I shall just have time to tell you the facts of the case beforewe get to Lee. It seems absurdly simple, and yet, somehow I can getnothing to go upon. There's plenty of thread, no doubt, but I can'tget the end of it into my hand. Now, I'll state the case clearlyand concisely to you, Watson, and maybe you can see a spark whereall is dark to me."
"Proceed, then."
"Some years ago--to be definite, in May, 1884--there came to Leea gentleman, Neville St. Clair by name, who appeared to have plentyof money. He took a large villa, laid out the grounds very nicely,and lived generally in good style. By degrees he made friends inthe neighborhood, and in 1887 he married the daughter of a localbrewer, by whom he now has two children. He had no occupation, butwas interested in several companies and went into town as a rule inthe morning, returning by the 5:14 from Cannon Street every night.Mr. St. Clair is now thirty-seven years of age, is a man oftemperate habits, a good husband, a very affectionate father, and aman who is popular with all who know him. I may add that his wholedebts at the present moment, as far as we have been able toascertain amount to 88 pounds l0s., while he has 220 poundsstanding to his credit in the Capital and Counties Bank. There isno reason, therefore, to think that money troubles have beenweighing upon his mind.
"Last Monday Mr. Neville St. Clair went into town rather earlierthan usual, remarking before he started that he had two importantcommissions to perform, and that he would bring his little boy homea box of bricks. Now, by the merest chance, his wife received atelegram upon this same Monday, very shortly after his departure,to the effect that a small parcel of considerable value which shehad been expecting was waiting for her at the offices of theAberdeen Shipping Company. Now, if you are well up in your London,you will know that the office of the company is in Fresno Street,which branches out of Upper Swandam Lane, where you found meto-night. Mrs. St. Clair had her lunch, started for the City, didsome shopping, proceeded to the company's office, got her packet,and found herself at exactly 4:35 walking through Swandam Lane onher way back to the station. Have you followed me so far?"
"It is very clear."
"If you remember, Monday was an exceedingly hot day, and Mrs.St. Clair walked slowly, glancing about in the hope of seeing acab, as she did not like the neighborhood in which she foundherself. While she was walking in this way down Swandam Lane, shesuddenly heard an ejaculation or cry, and was struck cold to seeher husband looking down at her and, as it seemed to her, beckoningto her from a second-floor window. The window was open, and shedistinctly saw his face, which she describes as being terriblyagitated. He waved his hands frantically to her, and then vanishedfrom the window so suddenly that it seemed to her that he had beenplucked back by some irresistible force from behind. One singularpoint which struck her quick feminine eye was that although he woresome 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 downthe steps--for the house was none other than the opium den in whichyou found me to-night--and running through the front room sheattempted to ascend the stairs which led to the first floor. At thefoot of the stairs, however, she met this Lascar scoundrel of whomI have spoken, who thrust her back and, aided by a Dane, who actsas assistant there, pushed her out into the street. Filled with themost maddening doubts and fears, she rushed down the lane and, byrare good-fortune, met in Fresno Street a number of constables withan inspector, all on their way to their beat. The inspector and twomen accompanied her back, and in spite of the continued resistanceof the proprietor, they made their way to the room in which Mr. St.Clair had last been seen. There was no sign of him there. In fact,in the whole of that floor there was no one to be found save acrippled wretch of hideous aspect, who, it seems, made his homethere. Both he and the Lascar stoutly swore that no one else hadbeen in the front room during the afternoon. So determined wastheir denial that the inspector was staggered, and had almost cometo believe that Mrs. St. Clair had been deluded when, with a cry,she sprang at a small deal box which lay upon the table and torethe lid from it. Out there fell a cascade of children's bricks. Itwas the toy which he had promised to bring home.
"This discovery, and the evident confusion which the crippleshowed, made the inspector realize that the matter was serious. Therooms were carefully examined, and results all pointed to anabominable crime. The front room was plainly furnished as asitting-room and led into a small bedroom, which looked out uponthe back of one of the wharves. Between the wharf and the bedroomwindow is a narrow strip, which is dry at low tide but is coveredat high tide with at least four and a half feet of water. Thebedroom window was a broad one and opened from below. Onexamination traces of blood were to be seen upon the windowsill,and several scattered drops were visible upon the wooden floor ofthe bedroom. Thrust away behind a curtain in the front room wereall the clothes of Mr. Neville St. Clair, with the exception of hiscoat. His boots, his socks, his hat, and his watch--all were there.There were no signs of violence upon any of these garments, andthere were no other traces of Mr. Neville St. Clair. Out of thewindow he must apparently have gone for no other exit could bediscovered, and the ominous bloodstains upon the sill gave littlepromise that he could save himself by swimming, for the tide was atits very highest at the moment of the tragedy.
"And now as to the villains who seemed to be immedlatelyimplicated in the matter. The Lascar was known to be a man of thevilest antecedents, but as, by Mrs. St. Clair's story, he was knownto have been at the foot of the stair within a very few seconds ofher husband's appearance at the window, he could hardly have beenmore than an accessory to the crime. His defense was one ofabsolute ignorance, and he protested that he had no knowledge as tothe doings of Hugh Boone, his lodger, and that he could not accountin any way for the presence of the missing gentleman's clothes.
"So much for the Lascar manager. Now for the sinister cripplewho lives upon the second floor of the opium den, and who wascertainly the last human being whose eyes rested upon Neville St.Clair. His name is Hugh Boone, and his hideous face is one which isfamiliar to every man who goes much to the City. He is aprofessional beggar, though in order to avoid the policeregulations he pretends to a small trade in wax vestas. Some littledistance down Threadneedle Street, upon the left-hand side, thereis, as you may have remarked, a small angle in the wall. Here it isthat this creature takes his daily seat, cross-legged with his tinystock of matches on his lap, and as he is a piteous spectacle asmall rain of charity descends into the greasy leather cap whichlies upon the pavement beside him. I have watched the fellow morethan once before ever I thought of making his professionalacquaintance, and I have been surprised at the harvest which he hasreaped in a short time. His appearance, you see, is so remarkablethat no one can pass him without observing him. A shock of orangehair, a pale face disfigured by a horrible scar, which, by itscontraction, has turned up the outer edge of his upper lip, abulldog chin, and a pair of very penetrating dark eyes, whichpresent a singular contrast to the color of his hair, all mark himout from amid the common crowd of mendicants and so, too, does hiswit, for he is ever ready with a reply to any piece of chaff whichmay be thrown at him by the passers-by. This is the man whom we nowlearn to have been the lodger at the opium den, and to have beenthe last man to see the gentleman of whom we are in quest."
"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 inother respects he appears to be a powerful and well-nurtured man.Surely your medical experience would tell you, Watson, thatweakness in one limb is often compensated for by exceptionalstrength in the others."
"Pray continue your narrative."
"Mrs. St. Clair had fainted at the sight of the blood upon thewindow, and she was escorted home in a cab by the police, as herpresence could be of no help to them in their investigations.Inspector Barton, who had charge of the case, made a very carefulexamination of the premises, but without finding anything whichthrew any light upon the matter. One mistake had been made in notarresting Boone instantly, as he was allowed some few minutesduring which he might have communicated with his friend the Lascar,but this fault was soon remedied, and he was seized and searched,without anything being found which could incriminate him. Therewere, it is true, some blood-stains upon his right shirt-sleeve,but he pointed to his ring-finger, which had been cut near thenail, and explained that the bleeding came from there, adding thathe had been to the window not long before, and that the stainswhich had been observed there came doubtless from the same source.He denied strenuously having ever seen Mr. Neville St. Clair andswore that the presence of the clothes in his room was as much amystery to him as to the police. As to Mrs. St. Clair's assertionthat she had actually seen her husband at the window, he declaredthat she must have been either mad or dreaming. He was removed,loudly protesting, to the police-station, while the inspectorremained upon the premises in the hope that the ebbing tide mightafford some fresh clew.
"And it did, though they hardly found upon the mud-bank whatthey had feared to find. It was Neville St. Clair's coat, and notNeville St. Clair, which lay uncovered as the tide receded. Andwhat do you think they found in the pockets?"
"I cannot imagine."
"No, I don't think you would guess. Every pocket stuffed withpennies and half-pennies--421 pennies and 270 half-pennies. It wasno wonder that it had not been swept away by the tide. But a humanbody is a different matter. There is a fierce eddy between thewharf and the house. It seemed likely enough that the weighted coathad remained when the stripped body had been sucked away into theriver."
"But I understand that all the other clothes were found in theroom. Would the body be dressed in a coat alone?"
"No, sir, but the facts might be met speciously enough. Supposethat this man Boone had thrust Neville St. Clair through thewindow, there is no human eye which could have seen the deed. Whatwould he do then? It would of course instantly strike him that hemust get rid of the tell-tale garments. He would seize the coat,then, and be in the act of throwing it out, when it would occur tohim that it would swim and not sink. He has little time, for he hasheard the scuffle downstairs when the wife tried to force her wayup, and perhaps he has already heard from his Lascar confederatethat the police are hurrying up the street. There is not an instantto be lost. He rushes to some secret hoard, where he hasaccumulated the fruits of his beggary, and he stuffs all the coinsupon which he can lay his hands into the pockets to make sure ofthe coat's sinking. He throws it out, and would have done the samewith the other garments had not he heard the rush of steps below,and only just had time to close the window when the policeappeared."
"It certainly sounds feasible."
"Well, we will take it as a working hypothesis for want of abetter. Boone, as I have told you, was arrested and taken to thestation, but it could not be shown that there had ever before beenanything against him. He had for years been known as a professionalbeggar, but his life appeared to have been a very quiet andinnocent one. There the matter stands at present, and the questionswhich have to be solved--what Neville St. Clair was doing in theopium den, what happened to him when there, where is he now, andwhat Hugh Boone had to do with his disappearance--are all as farfrom a solution as ever. I confess that I cannot recall any casewithin my experience which looked at the first glance so simple andyet which presented such difficulties."
While Sherlock Holmes had been detailing this singular series ofevents, we had been whirling through the outskirts of the greattown until the last straggling houses had been left behind, and werattled along with a country hedge upon either side of us. Just ashe finished, however, we drove through two scattered villages,where a few lights still glimmered in the windows.
"We are on the outskirts of Lee," said my companion. "We havetouched on three English counties in our short drive, starting inMiddlesex, passing over an angle of Surrey, and ending in Kent. Seethat light among the trees? That is The Cedars, and beside thatlamp sits a woman whose anxious ears have already, I have littledoubt, caught the clink of our horse's feet."
"But why are you not conducting the case from Baker Street?" Iasked.
"Because there are many inquiries which must be made out here.Mrs. St. Clair has most kindly put two rooms at my disposal, andyou may rest assured that she will have nothing but a welcome formy friend and colleague. I hate to meet her, Watson, when I have nonews of her husband. Here we are. Whoa, there, whoa!"
We had pulled up in front of a large villa which stood withinits own grounds. A stable-boy had run out to the horse's head, andspringing down, I followed Holmes up the small, windinggravel-drive which led to the house. As we approached, the doorflew open, and a little blonde woman stood in the opening, clad insome sort of light mousseline de soie, with a touch of fluffy pinkchiffon at her neck and wrists. She stood with her figure outlinedagainst the flood of light, one hand upon the door, one half-raisedin her eagerness, her body slightly bent, her head and faceprotruded, with eager eyes and parted lips, a standingquestion.
"Well?" she cried, "well?" And then, seeing that there were twoof us, she gave a cry of hope which sank into a groan as she sawthat my companion shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.
"No good news?"
"None."
"No bad?"
"No."
"Thank God for that. But come in. You must be weary, for youhave had a long day."
"This is my friend, Dr. Watson. He has been of most vital use tome in several of my cases, and a lucky chance has made it possiblefor me to bring him out and associate him with thisinvestigation."
"I am delighted to see you," said she, pressing my hand warmly."You will, 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 werenot I can very well see that no apology is needed. If I can be ofany assistance, either to you or to my friend here, I shall beindeed happy."
"Now, Mr. Sherlock Holmes," said the lady as we entered awell-lit dining-room, upon the table of which a cold supper hadbeen laid out, "I should very much like to ask you one or two plainquestions, to which I beg that you will give a plain answer."
"Certainly, madam."
"Do not trouble about my feelings. I am not hysterical, norgiven to fainting. I simply wish to hear your real, realopinion."
"Upon what point?"
"In your heart of hearts, do you think that Neville isalive?"
Sherlock Holmes seemed to be embarrassed by the question."Frankly, now!" she repeated, standing upon the rug and lookingkeenly down at him as he leaned back in a basket-chair.
"Frankly, then, madam, I do not."
"You think that he is dead?"
"I do."
"Murdered?"
"I don't say that. Perhaps."
"And on what day did he meet his death?"
"On Monday."
"Then perhaps, Mr. Holmes, you will be good enough to explainhow it is that I have received a letter from him to-day."
Sherlock Holmes sprang out of his chair as if he had beengalvanized.
"What!" he roared.
"Yes, to-day." She stood smiling, holding up a little slip ofpaper in the air.
"May I see it?"
"Certainly."
He snatched it from her in his eagerness, and smoothing it outupon the table he drew over the lamp and examined it intently. Ihad left my chair and was gazing at it over his shoulder. Theenvelope was a very coarse one and was stamped with the Gravesendpostmark and with the date of that very day, or rather of the daybefore, for it was considerably after midnight.
"Coarse writing," murmured Holmes. "Surely this is not yourhusband's writing, madam."
"No, but the enclosure is."
"I perceive also that whoever addressed the envelope had to goand inquire as to the address."
"How can you tell that?"
"The name, you see, is in perfectly black ink, which has drieditself. The rest is of the grayish color, which shows thatblotting-paper has been used. If it had been written straight off,and then blotted, none would be of a deep black shade. This man haswritten the name, and there has then been a pause before he wrotethe address, which can only mean that he was not familiar with it.It is, of course, a trifle, but there is nothing so important astrifles. Let us now see the letter. Ha! there has been an enclosurehere!"
"Yes, there was a ring. His signet-ring."
"And you are sure that this is your husband's hand?"
"One of his hands."
"One?"
"His hand when he wrote hurriedly. It is very unlike his usualwriting, 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.' Written in pencil upon the fly-leaf of a book,octavo size, no water-mark. Hum! Posted to-day in Gravesend by aman with a dirty thumb. Ha! And the flap has been gummed, if I amnot very much in error, by a person who had been chewing tobacco.And you have no doubt that it is your husband's hand, madam?"
"None. Neville wrote those words."
"And they were posted to-day at Gravesend. Well, Mrs. St. Clair,the clouds lighten, though I should not venture to say that thedanger 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 fromhim. '
"No, no; it is, it is his very own writing!"
"Very well. It may, however, have been written on Monday andonly posted to-day."
"That is possible."
"If so, much may have happened between."
"Oh, you must not discourage me, Mr. Holmes. I know that all iswell with him. There is so keen a sympathy between us that I shouldknow if evil came upon him. On the very day that I saw him last hecut himself in the bedroom, and yet I in the dining-room rushedupstairs instantly with the utmost certainty that something hadhappened. Do you think that I would respond to such a trifle andyet be ignorant of his death?"
"I have seen too much not to know that the impression of a womanmay be more valuable than the conclusion of an analytical reasoner.And in this letter you certainly have a very strong piece ofevidence to corroborate your view. But if your husband is alive andable to write letters, why should he remain away from you?"
"I cannot imagine. It is unthinkable."
"And on Monday he made no remarks before leaving you?"
"No."
"And you were surprised to see him in Swandam Lane?"
"Very much so."
"Was the window open?"
"Yes."
"Then he might have called to you?"
"He might."
"He only, as I understand, gave an inarticulate cry?"
"Yes."
"A call for help, you thought?"
"Yes. He waved his hands."
"But it might have been a cry of surprise. Astonishment at 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 theroom?"
"No, but this horrible man confessed to having been there, andthe Lascar was at the foot of the stairs."
"Quite so. Your husband, as far as you could see, had hisordinary clothes on?"
"But without his collar or tie. I distinctly saw his barethroat."
"Had he ever spoken of Swandam Lane?"
"Never."
"Had he ever showed any signs of having taken opium?"
"Never."
"Thank you, Mrs. St. Clair. Those are the principal points aboutwhich I wished to be absolutely clear. We shall now have a littlesupper and then retire, for we may have a very busy dayto-morrow."
A large and comfortable double-bedded room had been placed atour disposal, and I was quickly between the sheets, for I was wearyafter my night of adventure. Sherlock Holmes was a man, however,who, when he had an unsolved problem upon his mind, would go fordays, and even for a week, without rest, turning it over,rearranging his facts, looking at it from every point of view untilhe had either fathomed it or convinced himself that his data wereinsufficient. It was soon evident to me that he was now preparingfor an all-night sitting. He took off his coat and waistcoat, puton a large blue dressing-gown, and then wandered about the roomcollecting pillows from his bed and cushions from the sofa andarmchairs. With these he constructed a sort of Eastern divan, uponwhich he perched himself cross-legged, with an ounce of shagtobacco and a box of matches laid out in front of him. In the dimlight of the lamp I saw him sitting there, an old briar pipebetween his lips, his eyes fixed vacantly upon the corner of theceiling, the blue smoke curling up from him, silent, motionless,with the light shining upon his strong-set aquiline features. So hesat as I dropped off to sleep, and so he sat when a suddenejaculation caused me to wake up, and I found the summer sunshining into the apartment. The pipe was still between his lips,the smoke still curled upward, and the room was full of a densetobacco haze, but nothing remained of the heap of shag which I hadseen 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 thestable-boy sleeps, and we shall soon have the trap out." Hechuckled to himself as he spoke, his eyes twinkled, and he seemed adifferent man to the sombre thinker of the previous night.
As I dressed I glanced at my watch. It was no wonder that no onewas stirring. It was twenty-five minutes past four. I had hardlyfinished when Holmes returned with the news that the boy wasputting in the horse.
"I want to test a little theory of mine," said he, pulling onhis boots. "I think, Watson, that you are now standing in thepresence of one of the most absolute fools in Europe. I deserve tobe kicked from here to Charing Cross. But I think I have the key ofthe 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 I have taken it out, and I have got it in this Gladstone bag.Come on, my boy, and we shall see whether it will not fit thelock."
We made our way downstairs as quietly as possible, and out intothe bright morning sunshine. In the road stood our horse and trap,with the half-clad stable-boy waiting at the head. We both sprangin, and away we dashed down the London Road. A few country cartswere stirring, bearing in vegetables to the metropolis, but thelines of villas on either side were as silent and lifeless as somecity in a dream.
"It has been in some points a singular case," said Holmes,flicking the horse on into a gallop. "I confess that I have been asblind as a mole, but it is better to learn wisdom late than neverto learn it at all."
In town the earliest risers were just beginning to look sleepilyfrom their windows as we drove through the streets of the Surreyside. Passing down the Waterloo Bridge Road we crossed over theriver, and dashing up Wellington Street wheeled sharply to theright and found ourselves in Bow Street. Sherlock Holmes was wellknown to the force, and the two constables at the door saluted him.One of them held the horse's head while the other led us in.
"Who is on duty?" asked Holmes.
"Inspector Bradstreet, sir."
"Ah, Bradstreet, how are you?" A tall, stout official had comedown the stone-flagged passage, in a peaked cap and frogged jacket."I wish to have a quiet word with you, Bradstreet." "Certainly, Mr.Holmes. Step into my room here." It was a small, office-like room,with a huge ledger upon the table, and a telephone projecting fromthe wall. The inspector sat down at his desk.
"What can I do for you, Mr. Holmes?"
"I called about that beggarman, Boone--the one who was chargedwith being concerned in the disappearance of Mr. Neville St. Clair,of Lee."
"Yes. He was brought up and remanded for further inquiries."
"So I heard. You have him here?"
"In the cells."
"Is he quiet?"
"Oh, he gives no trouble. But he is a dirty scoundrel."
"Dirty?"
"Yes, it is all we can do to make him wash his hands, and hisface is as black as a tinker's. Well, when once his case has beensettled, he will have a regular prison bath; and I think, if yousaw him, you would agree with me that he needed it."
"I should like to see him very much."
"Would you? That is easily done. Come this way. You can leaveyour bag."
"No, I think that I'll take it."
"Very good. Come this way, if you please." He led us down apassage, opened a barred door, passed down a winding stair, andbrought us to a whitewashed corridor with a line of doors on eachside.
"The third on the right is his," said the inspector. "Here itis!" He quietly shot back a panel in the upper part of the door andglanced through.
"He is asleep," said he. "You can see him very well."
We both put our eyes to the grating. The prisoner lay with hisface towards us, in a very deep sleep, breathing slowly andheavily. He was a middle-sized man, coarsely clad as became hiscalling, with a colored shirt protruding through the rent in histattered coat. He was, as the inspector had said, extremely dirty,but the grime which covered his face could not conceal itsrepulsive ugliness. A broad wheal from an old scar ran right acrossit from eye to chin, and by its contraction had turned up one sideof the upper lip, so that three teeth were exposed in a perpetualsnarl. A shock of very bright red hair grew low over his eyes andforehead.
"He's a beauty, isn't he?" said the inspector.
"He certainly needs a wash," remarked Holmes. "I had an ideathat he might, and I took the liberty of bringing the tools withme." He opened the Gladstone bag as he spoke, and took out, to myastonishment, 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 respectablefigure."
"Well, I don't know why not," said the inspector. "He doesn'tlook a credit to the Bow Street cells, does he?" He slipped his keyinto the lock, and we all very quietly entered the cell. Thesleeper half turned, and then settled down once more into a deepslumber. Holmes stooped to the waterjug, moistened his sponge, andthen rubbed it twice vigorously across and down the prisoner'sface.
"Let me introduce you," he shouted, "to Mr. Neville St. Clair,of Lee, in the county of Kent."
Never in my life have I seen such a sight. The man's face peeledoff under the sponge like the bark from a tree. Gone was the coarsebrown tint! Gone, too, was the horrid scar which had seamed itacross, and the twisted lip which had given the repulsive sneer tothe face! A twitch brought away the tangled red hair, and there,sitting up in his bed, was a pale, sad-faced, refined-looking man,black-haired and smooth-skinned, rubbing his eyes and staring abouthim with sleepy bewilderment. Then suddenly realizing the exposure,he broke into a scream and threw himself down with his face to thepillow.
"Great heavens!" cried the inspector, "it is, indeed, themissing man. I know 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 Icharged with?"
"With making away with Mr. Neville St.-- Oh, come, you can't becharged with that unless they make a case of attempted suicide ofit," said the inspector with a grin. "Well, I have beentwenty-seven years in the force, but this really takes thecake."
"If I am Mr. Neville St. Clair, then it is obvious that no crimehas been committed, and that, therefore, I am illegallydetained."
"No crime, but a very great error has been committed," saidHolmes. "You would have done better to have trusted you wife."
"It was not the wife; it was the children," groaned theprisoner. "God help me, I would not have them ashamed of theirfather. My God! What an 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," saidhe, "of course you can hardly avoid publicity. On the other hand,if you convince the police authorities that there is no possiblecase against you, I do not know that there is any reason that thedetails should find their way into the papers. Inspector Bradstreetwould, I am sure, make notes upon anything which you might tell usand submit it to the proper authorities. The case would then nevergo 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 excellenteducation. I travelled in my youth, took to the stage, and finallybecame a reporter on an evening paper in London. One day my editorwished to have a series of articles upon begging in the metropolis,and I volunteered to supply them. There was the point from whichall my adventures started. It was only by trying begging as anamateur that I could get the facts upon which to base my articles.When an actor I had, of course, learned all the secrets of makingup, and had been famous in the greenroom for my skill. I tookadvantage now of my attainments. I painted my face, and to makemyself as pitiable as possible I made a good scar and fixed oneside of my lip in a twist by the aid of a small slip offlesh-colored plaster. Then with a red head of hair, and anappropriate dress, I took my station in the business part of thecity, ostensibly as a match-seller but really as a beggar. Forseven hours I plied my trade, and when I returned home in theevening I found to my surprise that I had received no less than26s. 4d.
"I wrote my articles and thought little more of the matteruntil, some time later, I backed a bill for a friend and had a writserved upon me for 25 pounds. I was at my wit's end where to getthe money, but a sudden idea came to me. I begged a fortnight'sgrace from the creditor, asked for a holiday from my employers, andspent the time in begging in the City under my disguise. In tendays I had the money and had paid the debt.
"Well, you can imagine how hard it was to settle down to arduouswork at 2 pounds a week when I knew that I could earn as much in aday by smearing my face with a little paint, laying my cap on theground, and sitting still. It was a long fight between my pride andthe money, but the dollars won at last, and I threw up reportingand sat day after day in the corner which I had first chosen,inspiring pity by my ghastly face and filling my pockets withcoppers. 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 transformmyself into a well-dressed man about town. This fellow, a Lascar,was well paid by me for his rooms, so that I knew that my secretwas safe in his possession.
"Well, very soon I found that I was saving considerable sums ofmoney. I do not mean that any beggar in the streets of London couldearn 700 pounds a year--which is less than my average takings--butI had exceptional advantages in my power of making up, and also ina facility of repartee, which improved by practice and made mequite a recognized character in the City. All day a stream ofpennies, varied by silver, poured in upon me, and it was a very badday in which I failed to take 2 pounds.
"As I grew richer I grew more ambitious, took a house in thecountry, and eventually married, without anyone having a suspicionas to my real occupation. My dear wife knew that I had business inthe City. She little knew what.
"Last Monday I had finished for the day and was dressing in myroom above the opium den when I looked out of my window and saw, tomy horror and astonishment, that my wife was standing in thestreet, with her eyes fixed full upon me. I gave a cry of surprise,threw up my arms to cover my face, and, rushing to my confidant,the Lascar, entreated him to prevent anyone from coming up to me. Iheard her voice downstairs, but I knew that she could not ascend.Swiftly I threw off my clothes, pulled on those of a beggar, andput on my pigments and wig. Even a wife's eyes could not pierce socomplete a disguise. But then it occurred to me that there might bea search in the room, and that the clothes might betray me. I threwopen the window, reopening by my violence a small cut which I hadinflicted upon myself in the bedroom that morning. Then I seized mycoat, which was weighted by the coppers which I had justtransferred to it from the leather bag in which I carried mytakings. I hurled it out of the window, and it disappeared into theThames. The other clothes would have followed, but at that momentthere was a rush of constables up the stair, and a few minutesafter I found, rather, I confess, to my relief, that instead ofbeing identified as Mr. Neville St. Clair, I was arrested as hismurderer.
"I do not know that there is anything else for me to explain. Iwas determined to preserve my disguise as long as possible, andhence my preference for a dirty face. Knowing that my wife would beterribly anxious, I slipped off my ring and confided it to theLascar at a moment when no constable was watching me, together witha 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 InspectorBradstreet, "and I can quite understand that he might find itdifficult to post a letter unobserved. Probably he handed it tosome sailor customer of his, who forgot all about it for somedays."
"That was it," said Holmes, nodding approvingly; "I have nodoubt of it. But have you never been prosecuted for begging?"
"Many times; but what was a fine to me?"
"It must stop here, however," said Bradstreet. "If the policeare to hush this thing up, there must be no more of HughBoone."
"I have sworn it by the most solemn oaths which a man cantake."
"In that case I think that it is probable that no further stepsmay be taken. But if you are found again, then all must come out. Iam sure, Mr. Holmes, that we are very much indebted to you forhaving cleared the matter up. I wish I knew how you reach yourresults."
"I reached this one," said my friend, "by sitting upon fivepillows and consuming an ounce of shag. I think, Watson, that if wedrive to Baker Street we shall just be in time for breakfast."
ADVENTURE VII. THE ADVENTURE OF THE BLUECARBUNCLE
I had called upon my friend Sherlock Holmes upon the secondmorning after Christmas, with the intention of wishing him thecompliments of the season. He was lounging upon the sofa in apurple dressing-gown, a pipe-rack within his reach upon the right,and a pile of crumpled morning papers, evidently newly studied,near at hand. Beside the couch was a wooden chair, and on the angleof the back hung a very seedy and disreputable hard-felt hat, muchthe worse for wear, and cracked in several places. A lens and aforceps lying upon the seat of the chair suggested that the hat hadbeen suspended in this manner for the purpose of examination.
"You are engaged," said I; "perhaps I interrupt you."
"Not at all. I am glad to have a friend with whom I can discussmy results. The matter is a perfectly trivial one"--he jerked histhumb in the direction of the old hat--"but there are points inconnection with it which are not entirely devoid of interest andeven 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 werethick with the ice crystals. "I suppose," I remarked, "that, homelyas it looks, this thing has some deadly story linked on to it--thatit is the clew which will guide you in the solution of some mysteryand the punishment of some crime."
"No, no. No crime," said Sherlock Holmes, laughing. "Only one ofthose whimsical little incidents which will happen when you havefour million human beings all jostling each other within the spaceof a few square miles. Amid the action and reaction of so dense aswarm of humanity, every possible combination of events may beexpected to take place, and many a little problem will be presentedwhich may be striking and bizarre without being criminal. We havealready had experience of such."
"So much so," l remarked, "that of the last six cases which Ihave added to my notes, three have been entirely free of any legalcrime."
"Precisely. You allude to my attempt to recover the Irene Adlerpapers, to the singular case of Miss Mary Sutherland, and to theadventure of the man with the twisted lip. Well, I have no doubtthat this small matter will fall into the same innocent category.You know Peterson, the commissionaire?"
"Yes."
"It is to him that this trophy belongs."
"It is his hat."
"No, no, he found it. Its owner is unknown. I beg that you willlook upon it not as a battered billycock but as an intellectualproblem. And, first, as to how it came here. It arrived uponChristmas morning, in company with a good fat goose, which is, Ihave no doubt, roasting at this moment in front of Peterson's fire.The facts are these: about four o'clock on Christmas morning,Peterson, who, as you know, is a very honest fellow, was returningfrom some small jollification and was making his way homeward downTottenham Court Road. In front of him he saw, in the gaslight, atallish man, walking with a slight stagger, and carrying a whitegoose slung over his shoulder. As he reached the corner of GoodgeStreet, a row broke out between this stranger and a little knot ofroughs. One of the latter knocked off the man's hat, on which heraised his stick to defend himself and, swinging it over his head,smashed the shop window behind him. Peterson had rushed forward toprotect the stranger from his assailants; but the man, shocked athaving broken the window, and seeing an official-looking person inuniform rushing towards him, dropped his goose, took to his heels,and vanished amid the labyrinth of small streets which lie at theback of Tottenham Court Road. The roughs had also fled at theappearance of Peterson, so that he was left in possession of thefield of battle, and also of the spoils of victory in the shape ofthis 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 'ForMrs. Henry Baker' was printed upon a small card which was tied tothe bird's left leg, and it is also true that the initials 'H. B.'are legible upon the lining of this hat, but as there are somethousands of Bakers, and some hundreds of Henry Bakers in this cityof ours, it is not easy to restore lost property to any one ofthem."
"What, then, did Peterson do?"
"He brought round both hat and goose to me on Christmas morning,knowing that even the smallest problems are of interest to me. Thegoose we retained until this morning, when there were signs that,in spite of the slight frost, it would be well that it should beeaten without unnecessary delay. Its finder has carried it off,therefore, to fulfil the ultimate destiny of a goose, while Icontinue to retain the hat of the unknown gentleman who lost hisChristmas dinner."
"Did he not advertise?"
"No."
"Then, what clew 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 batteredfelt?"
"Here is my lens. You know my methods. What can you gatheryourself as to the individuality of the man who has worn thisarticle?"
I took the tattered object in my hands and turned it over ratherruefully. It was a very ordinary black hat of the usual roundshape, hard and much the worse for wear. The lining had been of redsilk, but was a good deal discolored. There was no maker's name;but, as Holmes had remarked, the initials "H. B." were scrawledupon one side. It was pierced in the brim for a hat-securer, butthe elastic was missing. For the rest, it was cracked, exceedinglydusty, and spotted in several places, although there seemed to havebeen some attempt to hide the discolored patches by smearing themwith 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 drawingyour inferences."
"Then, pray tell me what it is that you can infer from thishat?"
He picked it up and gazed at it in the peculiar introspectivefashion which was characteristic of him. "It is perhaps lesssuggestive than it might have been," he remarked, "and yet thereare a few inferences which are very distinct, and a few otherswhich represent at least a strong balance of probability. That theman was highly intellectual is of course obvious upon the face ofit, and also that he was fairly well-to-do within the last threeyears, although he has now fallen upon evil days. He had foresight,but has less now than formerly, pointing to a moral retrogression,which, when taken with the decline of his fortunes, seems toindicate some evil influence, probably drink, at work upon him.This may account also for the obvious fact that his wife has ceasedto love him."
"My dear Holmes!"
"He has, however, retained some degree of self-respect," hecontinued, disregarding my remonstrance. "He is a man who leads asedentary life, goes out little, is out of training entirely, ismiddle-aged, has grizzled hair which he has had cut within the lastfew days, and which he anoints with lime-cream. These are the morepatent facts which are to be deduced from his hat. Also, by theway, that it is extremely improbable that he has gas laid on in hishouse."
"You are certainly joking, Holmes."
"Not in the least. Is it possible that even now, when I give youthese results, you are unable to see how they are attained?"
"I have no doubt that I am very stupid, but I must confess thatI am unable to follow you. For example, how did you deduce thatthis man was intellectual?"
For answer Holmes clapped the hat upon his head. It came rightover the forehead and settled upon the bridge of his nose. "It is aquestion of cubic capacity," said he; "a man with so large a brainmust have something in it."
"The decline of his fortunes, then?"
"This hat is three years old. These flat brims curled at theedge came in then. It is a hat of the very best quality. Look atthe band of ribbed silk and the excellent lining. If this man couldafford to buy so expensive a hat three years ago, and has had nohat since, then he has assuredly gone down in the world."
"Well, that is clear enough, certainly. But how about theforesight and the moral retrogression?"
Sherlock Holmes laughed. "Here is the foresight," said heputting his finger upon the little disc and loop of thehat-securer. "They are never sold upon hats. If this man orderedone, it is a sign of a certain amount of foresight, since he wentout of his way to take this precaution against the wind. But sincewe see that he has broken the elastic and has not troubled toreplace it, it is obvious that he has less foresight now thanformerly, which is a distinct proof of a weakening nature. On theother hand, he has endeavored to conceal some of these stains uponthe felt by daubing them with ink, which is a sign that he has notentirely lost his self-respect."
"Your reasoning is certainly plausible."
"The further points, that he is middle-aged, that his hair isgrizzled, that it has been recently cut, and that he useslimecream, are all to be gathered from a close examination of thelower part of the lining. The lens discloses a large number ofhair-ends, clean cut by the scissors of the barber. They all appearto be adhesive, and there is a distinct odour of lime-cream. Thisdust, you will observe, is not the gritty, gray dust of the streetbut the fluffy brown dust of the house, showing that it has beenhung up indoors most of the time, while the marks of moisture uponthe inside are proof positive that the wearer perspired veryfreely, and could therefore, hardly be in the best oftraining."
"But his wife--you said that she had ceased to love him."
"This hat has not been brushed for weeks. When I see you, mydear Watson, with a week's accumulation of dust upon your hat, andwhen your wife allows you to go out in such a state, I shall fearthat you also have been unfortunate enough to lose your wife'saffection."
"But he might be a bachelor."
"Nay, he was bringing home the goose as a peace-offering to hiswife. Remember the card upon the bird's leg."
"You have an answer to everything. But how on earth do youdeduce that the gas is not laid on in his house?"
"One tallow stain, or even two, might come by chance; but when Isee no less than five, I think that there can be little doubt thatthe individual must be brought into frequent contact with burningtallow--walks upstairs at night probably with his hat in one handand a guttering candle in the other. Anyhow, he never gottallow-stains from a gas-jet. Are you satisfied?"
"Well, it is very ingenious," said I, laughing; "but since, asyou said just now, there has been no crime committed, and no harmdone save the loss of a goose, all this seems to be rather a wasteof energy."
Sherlock Holmes had opened his mouth to reply, when the doorflew open, and Peterson, the commissionaire, rushed into theapartment with flushed cheeks and the face of a man who is dazedwith astonishment.
"The goose, Mr. Holmes! The goose, sir!" he gasped.
"Eh? What of it, then? Has it returned to life and flapped offthrough the kitchen window?" Holmes twisted himself round upon thesofa to get a fairer view of the man's excited face.
"See here, sir! See what my wife found in its crop!" He held outhis hand and displayed upon the centre of the palm a brilliantlyscintillating blue stone, rather smaller than a bean in size, butof such purity and radiance that it twinkled like an electric pointin the dark hollow of his hand.
Sherlock Holmes sat up with a whistle. "By Jove, Peterson!" saidhe, "this is treasure trove indeed. I suppose you know what youhave got?"
"A diamond, sir? A precious stone. It cuts into glass as thoughit were putty."
"It's more than a precious stone. It is the precious stone."
"Not the Countess of Morcar's blue carbuncle!" I ejaculated.
"Precisely so. I ought to know its size and shape, seeing that Ihave read the advertisement about it in The Times every day lately.It is absolutely unique, and its value can only be conjectured, butthe reward offered of 1000 pounds is certainly not within atwentieth part of the market price."
"A thousand pounds! Great Lord of mercy!" The commissionaireplumped down into a chair and stared from one to the other ofus.
"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 thegem."
"It was lost, if I remember aright, at the Hotel Cosmopolitan,"I remarked.
"Precisely so, on December 22d, just five days ago. John Horner,a plumber, was accused of having abstracted it from the lady'sjewel-case. The evidence against him was so strong that the casehas been referred to the Assizes. I have some account of the matterhere, I believe." He rummaged amid his newspapers, glancing overthe dates, until at last he smoothed one out, doubled it over, andread the following paragraph:
"Hotel Cosmopolitan Jewel Robbery. John Horner, 26, plumber, wasbrought up upon the charge of having upon the 22d inst., abstractedfrom the jewel-case of the Countess of Morcar the valuable gemknown as the blue carbuncle. James Ryder, upper-attendant at thehotel, gave his evidence to the effect that he had shown Horner upto the dressing-room of the Countess of Morcar upon the day of therobbery in order that he might solder the second bar of the grate,which was loose. He had remained with Horner some little time, buthad finally been called away. On returning, he found that Hornerhad disappeared, that the bureau had been forced open, and that thesmall morocco casket in which, as it afterwards transpired, theCountess was accustomed to keep her jewel, was lying empty upon thedressing-table. Ryder instantly gave the alarm, and Horner wasarrested the same evening; but the stone could not be found eitherupon his person or in his rooms. Catherine Cusack, maid to theCountess, deposed to having heard Ryder's cry of dismay ondiscovering the robbery, and to having rushed into the room, whereshe found matters as described by the last witness. InspectorBradstreet, B division, gave evidence as to the arrest of Horner,who struggled frantically, and protested his innocence in thestrongest terms. Evidence of a previous conviction for robberyhaving been given against the prisoner, the magistrate refused todeal summarily with the offence, but referred it to the Assizes.Horner, who had shown signs of intense emotion during theproceedings, fainted away at the conclusion and was carried out ofcourt.
"Hum! So much for the police-court," said Holmes thoughtfully,tossing aside the paper. "The question for us now to solve is thesequence of events leading from a rifled jewel-case at one end tothe crop of a goose in Tottenham Court Road at the other. You see,Watson, our little deductions have suddenly assumed a much moreimportant and less innocent aspect. Here is the stone; the stonecame from the goose, and the goose came from Mr. Henry Baker, thegentleman with the bad hat and all the other characteristics withwhich I have bored you. So now we must set ourselves very seriouslyto finding this gentleman and ascertaining what part he has playedin this little mystery. To do this, we must try the simplest meansfirst, and these lie undoubtedly in an advertisement in all theevening papers. If this fail, I shall have recourse to othermethods."
"What will you say?"
"Give me a pencil and that slip of paper. Now, then: 'Found atthe corner of Goodge Street, a goose and a black felt hat. Mr.Henry Baker can have the same by applying at 6:30 this evening at221B, 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 poorman, the loss was a heavy one. He was clearly so scared by hismischance in breaking the window and by the approach of Petersonthat he thought of nothing but flight, but since then he must havebitterly regretted the impulse which caused him to drop his bird.Then, again, the introduction of his name will cause him to see it,for everyone who knows him will direct his attention to it. Hereyou are, Peterson, run down to the advertising agency and have thisput in the evening papers."
"In which, sir?"
"Oh, in the Globe, Star, Pall Mall, St. James's, 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, just buy a goose on your way back and leave it here withme, for we must have one to give to this gentleman in place of theone which your family is now devouring."
When the commissionaire had gone, Holmes took up the stone andheld it against the light. "It's a bonny thing," said he. "Just seehow it glints and sparkles. Of course it is a nucleus and focus ofcrime. Every good stone is. They are the devil's pet baits. In thelarger and older jewels every facet may stand for a bloody deed.This stone is not yet twenty years old. It was found in the banksof the Amoy River in southern China and is remarkable in havingevery characteristic of the carbuncle, save that it is blue inshade instead of ruby red. In spite of its youth, it has already asinister history. There have been two murders, a vitriol-throwing,a suicide, and several robberies brought about for the sake of thisforty-grain weight of crystallized charcoal. Who would think thatso pretty a toy would be a purveyor to the gallows and the prison?I'll lock it up in my strong box now and drop a line to theCountess to say that we have it."
"Do you think that this man Horner is innocent?"
"I cannot tell."
"Well, then, do you imagine that this other one, Henry Baker,had anything to do with the matter?"
"It is, I think, much more likely that Henry Baker is anabsolutely innocent man, who had no idea that the bird which he wascarrying was of considerably more value than if it were made ofsolid gold. That, however, I shall determine by a very simple testif we have an answer to our advertisement."
"And you can do nothing until then?"
"Nothing."
"In that case I shall continue my professional round. But Ishall come back in the evening at the hour you have mentioned, forI should like to see the solution of so tangled a business."
"Very glad to see you. I dine at seven. There is a woodcock, Ibelieve. By the way, in view of recent occurrences, perhaps I oughtto ask Mrs. Hudson to examine its crop."
I had been delayed at a case, and it was a little afterhalf-past six when I found myself in Baker Street once more. As Iapproached the house I saw a tall man in a Scotch bonnet with acoat which was buttoned up to his chin waiting outside in thebright semicircle which was thrown from the fanlight. Just as larrived the door was opened, and we were shown up together toHolmes's room.
"Mr. Henry Baker, I believe," said he, rising from his armchairand greeting his visitor with the easy air of geniality which hecould so readily assume. "Pray take this chair by the fire, Mr.Baker. It is a cold night, and I observe that your circulation ismore adapted for summer than for winter. Ah, Watson, you have justcome 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 ofgrizzled brown. A touch of red in nose and cheeks, with a slighttremor of his extended hand, recalled Holmes's surmise as to hishabits. His rusty black frock-coat was buttoned right up in front,with the collar turned up, and his lank wrists protruded from hissleeves without a sign of cuff or shirt. He spoke in a slowstaccato fashion, choosing his words with care, and gave theimpression generally of a man of learning and letters who had hadill-usage at the hands of fortune.
"We have retained these things for some days," said Holmes,"because we expected to see an advertisement from you giving youraddress. I am at a loss to know now why you did not advertise."
Our visitor gave a rather shamefaced laugh. "Shillings have notbeen so plentiful with me as they once were," he remarked. "I hadno doubt that the gang of roughs who assaulted me had carried offboth my hat and the bird. I did not care to spend more money in ahopeless attempt at recovering them."
"Very naturally. By the way, about the bird, we were compelledto eat it."
"To eat it!" Our visitor half rose from his chair in hisexcitement.
"Yes, it would have been of no use to anyone had we not done so.But I presume that this other goose upon the sideboard, which isabout the same weight and perfectly fresh, will answer your purposeequally well?"
"Oh, certainly, certainly," answered Mr. Baker with a sigh ofrelief.
"Of course, we still have the feathers, legs, crop, and so on ofyour own bird, so if you wish--"
The man burst into a hearty laugh. "They might be useful to meas relics of my adventure," said he, "but beyond that I can hardlysee what use the disjecta membra of my late acquaintance are goingto be to me. No, sir, I think that, with your permission, I willconfine my attentions to the excellent bird which I perceive uponthe sideboard."
Sherlock Holmes glanced sharply across at me with a slight shrugof his shoulders.
"There is your hat, then, and there your bird," said he. "By theway, would it bore you to tell me where you got the other one from?I am somewhat of a fowl fancier, and I have seldom seen a bettergrown goose."
"Certainly, sir," said Baker, who had risen and tucked his newlygained property under his arm. "There are a few of us who frequentthe Alpha Inn, near the Museum--we are to be found in the Museumitself during the day, you understand. This year our good host,Windigate by name, instituted a goose club, by which, onconsideration of some few pence every week, we were each to receivea bird at Christmas. My pence were duly paid, and the rest isfamiliar to you. I am much indebted to you, sir, for a Scotchbonnet is fitted neither to my years nor my gravity." With acomical pomposity of manner he bowed solemnly to both of us andstrode off upon his way.
"So much for Mr. Henry Baker," said Holmes when he had closedthe door behind him. "It is quite certain that he knows nothingwhatever about the matter. Are you hungry, Watson?"
"Not particularly."
"Then I suggest that we turn our dinner into a supper and followup this clew while it is still hot."
"By all means."
It was a bitter night, so we drew on our ulsters and wrappedcravats about our throats. Outside, the stars were shining coldlyin a cloudless sky, and the breath of the passers-by blew out intosmoke like so many pistol shots. Our footfalls rang out crisply andloudly as we swung through the doctors' quarter, Wimpole Street,Harley Street, and so through Wigmore Street into Oxford Street. Ina quarter of an hour we were in Bloomsbury at the Alpha Inn, whichis a small public-house at the corner of one of the streets whichruns down into Holborn. Holmes pushed open the door of the privatebar and ordered two glasses of beer from the ruddy-faced,white-aproned landlord.
"Your beer should be excellent if it is as good as your geese,"said he.
"My geese!" The man seemed surprised.
"Yes. I was speaking only half an hour ago to Mr. Henry Baker,who was a member of your goose club."
"Ah! yes, I see. But you see, sir, them's not our geese."
"Indeed! Whose, then?"
"Well, I got the two dozen from a salesman in CoventGarden."
"Indeed? I know some of them. Which was it?"
"Breckinridge is his name."
"Ah! I don't know him. Well, here's your good health landlord,and prosperity to your house. Good-night.
"Now for Mr. Breckinridge," he continued, buttoning up his coatas we came out into the frosty air. "Remember, Watson that thoughwe have so homely a thing as a goose at one end of this chain, wehave at the other a man who will certainly get seven years' penalservitude unless we can establish his innocence. It is possiblethat our inquiry may but confirm his guilt but, in any case, wehave a line of investigation which has been missed by the police,and which a singular chance has placed in our hands. Let us followit out to the bitter end. Faces to the south, then, and quickmarch!"
We passed across Holborn, down Endell Street, and so through azigzag of slums to Covent Garden Market. One of the largest stallsbore the name of Breckinridge upon it, and the proprietor ahorsy-looking man, with a sharp face and trim side-whiskers washelping a boy to put up the shutters.
"Good-evening. It's a cold night," said Holmes.
The salesman nodded and shot a questioning glance at mycompanion.
"Sold out of geese, I see," continued Holmes, pointing at thebare slabs of marble.
"Let you have five hundred to-morrow morning."
"That's no good."
"Well, there are some on the stall with the gas-flare."
"Ah, but I was recommended to you."
"Who by?"
"The landlord of the Alpha."
"Oh, yes; I sent him a couple of dozen."
"Fine birds they were, too. Now where did you get themfrom?"
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? Let's have it straight, now."
"It is straight enough. I should like to know who sold you thegeese which you supplied to the Alpha."
"Well then, I shan't tell you. So now!"
"Oh, it is a matter of no importance; but I don't know why youshould be so warm over such a trifle."
"Warm! You'd be as warm, maybe, if you were as pestered as I am.When I pay good money for a good article there should be an end ofthe business; but it's 'Where are the geese?' and 'Who did you sellthe geese to?' and 'What will you take for the geese?' One wouldthink they were the only geese in the world, to hear the fuss thatis made over them."
"Well, I have no connection with any other people who have beenmaking inquiries," said Holmes carelessly. "If you won't tell usthe bet is off, that is all. But I'm always ready to back myopinion on a matter of fowls, and I have a fiver on it that thebird I ate is country bred."
"Well, then, you've lost your fiver, for it's town bred,"snapped the salesman.
"It's nothing of the kind."
"I say it is."
"I don't believe it."
"D'you think you know more about fowls than I, who have handledthem ever since I was a nipper? I tell you, all those birds thatwent to the Alpha were town bred."
"You'll never persuade me to believe that."
"Will you bet, then?"
"It's merely taking your money, for I know that I am right. ButI'll have a sovereign on with you, just to teach you not to beobstinate."
The salesman chuckled grimly. "Bring me the books, Bill," saidhe.
The small boy brought round a small thin volume and a greatgreasy-backed one, laying them out together beneath the hanginglamp.
"Now then, Mr. Cocksure," said the salesman, "I thought that Iwas out of geese, but before I finish you'll find that there isstill one left in my shop. You see this little book?"
"Well?"
"That's the list of the folk from whom I buy. D'you see? Well,then, here on this page are the country folk, and the numbers aftertheir names are where their accounts are in the big ledger. Now,then! You see this other page in red ink? Well, that is a list ofmy town suppliers. Now, look at that third name. Just read it outto me."
"Mrs. Oakshott, 117, Brixton Road--249," read Holmes.
"Quite so. Now turn that up in the ledger."
Holmes turned to the page indicated. "Here you are, 'Mrs.Oakshott, 117, Brixton Road, egg and poultry supplier."
"Now, then, what's the last entry?"
"'December 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 sovereignfrom his pocket and threw it down upon the slab, turning away withthe air of a man whose disgust is too deep for words. A few yardsoff he stopped under a lamp-post and laughed in the hearty,noiseless fashion which was peculiar to him.
"When you see a man with whiskers of that cut and the 'Pink 'un'protruding out of his pocket, you can always draw him by a bet,"said he. "I daresay that if I had put 100 pounds down in front ofhim, that man would not have given me such complete information aswas drawn from him by the idea that he was doing me on a wager.Well, Watson, we are, I fancy, nearing the end of our quest, andthe only point which remains to be determined is whether we shouldgo on to this Mrs. Oakshott to-night, or whether we should reserveit for to-morrow. It is clear from what that surly fellow said thatthere are others besides ourselves who are anxious about thematter, and I should--"
His remarks were suddenly cut short by a loud hubbub which brokeout from the stall which we had just left. Turning round we saw alittle rat-faced fellow standing in the centre of the circle ofyellow light which was thrown by the swinging lamp, whileBreckinridge, the salesman, framed in the door of his stall, wasshaking his fists fiercely at the cringing figure.
"I've had enough of you and your geese," he shouted. "I wish youwere all at the devil together. If you come pestering me any morewith your silly talk I'll set the dog at you. You bring Mrs.Oakshott here and I'll answer her, but what have you to do with it?Did I buy the geese off you?"
"No; but one of them was mine all the same," whined the littleman.
"Well, then, ask Mrs. Oakshott for it."
"She told me to ask you."
"Well, you can ask the King of Proosia, for all I care. I've hadenough of it. Get out of this!" He rushed fiercely forward, and theinquirer flitted away into the darkness.
"Ha! this may save us a visit to Brixton Road," whisperedHolmes. "Come with me, and we will see what is to be made of thisfellow." Striding through the scattered knots of people who loungedround the flaring stalls, my companion speedily overtook the littleman and touched him upon the shoulder. He sprang round, and I couldsee in the gas-light that every vestige of color had been drivenfrom 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. Ithink that I could be of assistance to you."
"You? Who are you? How could you know anything of thematter?"
"My name is Sherlock Holmes. It is my business to know whatother people don't know."
"But you can know nothing of this?"
"Excuse me, I know everything of it. You are endeavoring totrace some geese which were sold by Mrs. Oakshott, of Brixton Road,to a salesman named Breckinridge, by him in turn to Mr. Windigate,of the Alpha, and by him to his club, of which Mr. Henry Baker is amember."
"Oh, sir, you are the very man whom I have longed to meet,"cried the little fellow with outstretched hands and quiveringfingers. "I can hardly explain to you how interested I am in thismatter."
Sherlock Holmes hailed a four-wheeler which was passing. "Inthat case we had better discuss it in a cosy room rather than inthis wind-swept market-place," said he. "But pray tell me, beforewe go farther, who it is that I have the pleasure ofassisting."
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 alwaysawkward doing business with an alias."
A flush sprang to the white cheeks of the stranger. "Well then,"said he, "my real name is James Ryder."
"Precisely so. Head attendant at the Hotel Cosmopolitan. Praystep into the cab, and I shall soon be able to tell you everythingwhich you would wish to know."
The little man stood glancing from one to the other of us withhalf-frightened, half-hopeful eyes, as one who is not sure whetherhe is on the verge of a windfall or of a catastrophe. Then hestepped into the cab, and in half an hour we were back in thesitting-room at Baker Street. Nothing had been said during ourdrive, but the high, thin breathing of our new companion, and theclaspings and unclaspings of his hands, spoke of the nervoustension within him.
"Here we are!" said Holmes cheerily as we filed into the room."The fire looks very seasonable in this weather. You look cold, Mr.Ryder. Pray take the basket-chair. I will just put on my slippersbefore we settle this little matter of yours. Now, then! You wantto know what became of those geese?"
"Yes, sir."
"Or rather, I fancy, of that goose. It was one bird, I imaginein which you were interested--white, with a black bar across thetail."
Ryder quivered with emotion. "Oh, sir," he cried, "can you tellme where it went to?"
"It came here."
"Here?"
"Yes, and a most remarkable bird it proved. I don't wonder thatyou should take an interest in it. It laid an egg after it wasdead--the bonniest, brightest little blue egg that ever was seen. Ihave it here in my museum."
Our visitor staggered to his feet and clutched the mantelpiecewith his right hand. Holmes unlocked his strong-box and held up theblue carbuncle, which shone out like a star, with a cold brilliant,many-pointed radiance. Ryder stood glaring with a drawn face,uncertain whether to claim or to disown it.
"The game's up, Ryder," said Holmes quietly. "Hold up, man, oryou'll be into the fire! Give him an arm back into his chair,Watson. He's not got blood enough to go in for felony withimpunity. Give him a dash of brandy. So! Now he looks a little morehuman. What a shrimp it is, to be sure!"
For a moment he had staggered and nearly fallen, but the brandybrought a tinge of color into his cheeks, and he sat staring withfrightened eyes at his accuser.
"I have almost every link in my hands, and all the proofs whichI could possibly need, so there is little which you need tell me.Still, that little may as well be cleared up to make the casecomplete. You had heard, Ryder, of this blue stone of the Countessof Morcar's?"
"It was Catherine Cusack who told me of it," said he in acrackling voice.
"I see--her ladyship's waiting-maid. Well, the temptation ofsudden wealth so easily acquired was too much for you, as it hasbeen for better men before you; but you were not very scrupulous inthe means you used. It seems to me, Ryder, that there is the makingof a very pretty villain in you. You knew that this man Horner, theplumber, had been concerned in some such matter before, and thatsuspicion would rest the more readily upon him. What did you do,then? You made some small job in my lady's room--you and yourconfederate Cusack--and you managed that he should be the man sentfor. Then, when he had left, you rifled the jewel-case, raised thealarm, and had this unfortunate man arrested. You then--"
Ryder threw himself down suddenly upon the rug and clutched atmy companion's knees. "For God's sake, have mercy!" he shrieked."Think of my father! of my mother! It would break their hearts. Inever went wrong before! I never will again. I swear it. I'll swearit on a Bible. Oh, don't bring it into court! For Christ's sake,don't!"
"Get back into your chair!" said Holmes sternly. "It is verywell to cringe and crawl now, but you thought little enough of thispoor Horner in the dock for a crime of which he knew nothing."
"I will fly, Mr. Holmes. I will leave the country, sir. Then thecharge against him will break down."
"Hum! We will talk about that. And now let us hear a trueaccount of the next act. How came the stone into the goose, and howcame the goose into the open market? Tell us the truth, for therelies your only hope of safety."
Ryder passed his tongue over his parched lips. "I will tell youit just as it happened, sir," said he. "When Horner had beenarrested, it seemed to me that it would be best for me to get awaywith the stone at once, for I did not know at what moment thepolice might not take it into their heads to search me and my room.There was no place about the hotel where it would be safe. I wentout, as if on some commission, and I made for my sister's house.She had married a man named Oakshott, and lived in Brixton Road,where she fattened fowls for the market. All the way there everyman I met seemed to me to be a policeman or a detective; and, forall 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 upsetby the jewel robbery at the hotel. Then I went into the back yardand smoked a pipe and wondered what it would be best to do.
"I had a friend once called Maudsley, who went to the bad, andhas just been serving his time in Pentonville. One day he had metme, and fell into talk about the ways of thieves, and how theycould get rid of what they stole. I knew that he would be true tome, for I knew one or two things about him; so I made up my mind togo right on to Kilburn, where he lived, and take him into myconfidence. He would show me how to turn the stone into money. Buthow to get to him in safety? I thought of the agonies I had gonethrough in coming from the hotel. I might at any moment be seizedand searched, and there would be the stone in my waistcoat pocket.I was leaning against the wall at the time and looking at the geesewhich were waddling about round my feet, and suddenly an idea cameinto my head which showed me how I could beat the best detectivethat ever lived.
"My sister had told me some weeks before that I might have thepick of her geese for a Christmas present, and I knew that she wasalways as good as her word. I would take my goose now, and in it Iwould carry my stone to Kilburn. There was a little shed in theyard, and behind this I drove one of the birds--a fine big one,white, with a barred tail. I caught it, and prying its bill open, Ithrust the stone down its throat as far as my finger could reach.The bird gave a gulp, and I felt the stone pass along its gulletand down into its crop. But the creature flapped and struggled, andout came my sister to know what was the matter. As I turned tospeak to her the brute broke loose and fluttered off among theothers.
"'Whatever were you doing with that bird, Jem?' says she.
"'Well,' said I, 'you said you'd give me one for Christmas, andI was feeling which was the fattest.'
"'Oh,' says she, 'we've set yours aside for you--Jem's bird, wecall it. It's the big white one over yonder. There's twenty-six ofthem, which makes one for you, and one for us, and two dozen forthe market.'
"'Thank you, Maggie,' says I; 'but if it is all the same to you,I'd rather have that one I was handling just now.'
"'The other is a good three pound heavier,' said she, 'and wefattened it expressly for you.'
"'Never mind. I'll have the other, and I'll take it now,' saidI.
"'Oh, just as you like,' said she, a little huffed. 'Which is ityou want, then?'
"'That white one with the barred tail, right in the middle ofthe flock.'
"'Oh, very well. Kill it and take it with you.'
"Well, I did what she said, Mr. Holmes, and I carried the birdall the way to Kilburn. I told my pal what I had done, for he was aman that it was easy to tell a thing like that to. He laughed untilhe choked, and we got a knife and opened the goose. My heart turnedto water, for there was no sign of the stone, and I knew that someterrible mistake had occurred. I left the bird rushed back to mysister's, and hurried into the back yard. There was not a bird tobe seen there.
"'Where are they all, Maggie?' I cried.
"'Gone to the dealer's, Jem.'
"'Which dealer's?'
"'Breckinridge, of Covent Garden.'
"'But was there another with a barred tail?' I asked, 'the sameas the one I chose?'
"'Yes, Jem; there were two barred-tailed ones, and I could nevertell them apart.'
"Well, then, of course I saw it all, and I ran off as hard as myfeet would carry me to this man Breckinridge; but he had sold thelot at once, and not one word would he tell me as to where they hadgone. You heard him yourselves to-night. Well, he has alwaysanswered me like that. My sister thinks that I am going mad.Sometimes I think that I am myself. And now--and now I am myself abranded thief, without ever having touched the wealth for which Isold my character. God help me! God help me!" He burst intoconvulsive sobbing, with his face buried in his hands.
There was a long silence, broken only by his heavy breathing andby the measured tapping of Sherlock Holmes's finger-tips upon theedge of the table. Then my friend rose and threw open the door.
"Get out!" said he.
"What, sir! Oh, Heaven bless you!"
"No more words. Get out!"
And no more words were needed. There was a rush, a clatter uponthe stairs, the bang of a door, and the crisp rattle of runningfootfalls from the street.
"After all, Watson," said Holmes, reaching up his hand for hisclay pipe, "I am not retained by the police to supply theirdeficiencies. If Horner were in danger it would be another thing;but this fellow will not appear against him, and the case mustcollapse. I suppose that I am commuting a felony, but it is justpossible that I am saving a soul. This fellow will not go wrongagain; he is too terribly frightened. Send him to jail now, and youmake him a jail-bird for life. Besides, it is the season offorgiveness. Chance has put in our way a most singular andwhimsical problem, and its solution is its own reward. If you willhave the goodness to touch the bell, Doctor, we will begin anotherinvestigation, in which, also a bird will be the chieffeature."
ADVENTURE VIII. THE ADVENTURE OF THE SPECKLEDBAND
On glancing over my notes of the seventy odd cases in which Ihave during the last eight years studied the methods of my friendSherlock Holmes, I find many tragic, some comic, a large numbermerely strange, but none commonplace; for, working as he did ratherfor the love of his art than for the acquirement of wealth, herefused to associate himself with any investigation which did nottend towards the unusual, and even the fantastic. Of all thesevaried cases, however, I cannot recall any which presented moresingular features than that which was associated with thewell-known Surrey family of the Roylotts of Stoke Moran. The eventsin question occurred in the early days of my association withHolmes, when we were sharing rooms as bachelors in Baker Street. Itis possible that I might have placed them upon record before, but apromise of secrecy was made at the time, from which I have onlybeen freed during the last month by the untimely death of the ladyto whom the pledge was given. It is perhaps as well that the factsshould now come to light, for I have reasons to know that there arewidespread rumours as to the death of Dr. Grimesby Roylott whichtend to make the matter even more terrible than the truth.
It was early in April in the year '83 that I woke one morning tofind Sherlock Holmes standing, fully dressed, by the side of mybed. He was a late riser, as a rule, and as the clock on themantelpiece showed me that it was only a quarter-past seven, Iblinked up at him in some surprise, and perhaps just a littleresentment, for I was myself regular in my habits.
"Very sorry to knock you up, Watson," said he, "but it's thecommon lot this morning. Mrs. Hudson has been knocked up, sheretorted upon me, and I on you."
"What is it, then--a fire?"
"No; a client. It seems that a young lady has arrived in aconsiderable state of excitement, who insists upon seeing me. Sheis waiting now in the sitting-room. Now, when young ladies wanderabout the metropolis at this hour of the morning, and knock sleepypeople up out of their beds, I presume that it is something verypressing which they have to communicate. Should it prove to be aninteresting case, you would, I am sure, wish to follow it from theoutset. I thought, at any rate, that I should call you and give youthe chance."
"My dear fellow, I would not miss it for anything."
I had no keener pleasure than in following Holmes in hisprofessional investigations, and in admiring the rapid deductions,as swift as intuitions, and yet always founded on a logical basiswith which he unravelled the problems which were submitted to him.I rapidly threw on my clothes and was ready in a few minutes toaccompany my friend down to the sitting-room. A lady dressed inblack and heavily veiled, who had been sitting in the window, roseas we entered.
"Good-morning, madam," said Holmes cheerily. "My name isSherlock Holmes. This is my intimate friend and associate, Dr.Watson, before whom you can speak as freely as before myself. Ha! Iam glad to see that Mrs. Hudson has had the good sense to light thefire. Pray draw up to it, and I shall order you a cup of hotcoffee, for I observe that you are shivering."
"It is not cold which makes me shiver," said the woman in a lowvoice, changing her seat as requested.
"What, then?"
"It is fear, Mr. Holmes. It is terror." She raised her veil asshe spoke, and we could see that she was indeed in a pitiable stateof agitation, her face all drawn and gray, with restless frightenedeyes, like those of some hunted animal. Her features and figurewere those of a woman of thirty, but her hair was shot withpremature gray, and her expression was weary and haggard. SherlockHolmes ran her over with one of his quick, all-comprehensiveglances.
"You must not fear," said he soothingly, bending forward andpatting her forearm. "We shall soon set matters right, I have nodoubt. You have come in by train this morning, I see."
"You know me, then?"
"No, but I observe the second half of a return ticket in thepalm of your left glove. You must have started early, and yet youhad a good drive in a dog-cart, along heavy roads, before youreached the station."
The lady gave a violent start and stared in bewilderment at mycompanion.
"There is no mystery, my dear madam," said he, smiling. "Theleft arm of your jacket is spattered with mud in no less than sevenplaces. The marks are perfectly fresh. There is no vehicle save adog-cart which throws up mud in that way, and then only when yousit on the left-hand side of the driver."
"Whatever your reasons may be, you are perfectly correct," saidshe. "I started from home before six, reached Leatherhead at twentypast, and came in by the first train to Waterloo. Sir, I can standthis strain no longer; I shall go mad if it continues. I have noone to turn to--none, save only one, who cares for me, and he, poorfellow, can be of little aid. I have heard of you, Mr. Holmes; Ihave heard of you from Mrs. Farintosh, whom you helped in the hourof her sore need. It was from her that I had your address. Oh, sir,do you not think that you could help me, too, and at least throw alittle light through the dense darkness which surrounds me? Atpresent it is out of my power to reward you for your services, butin a month or six weeks I shall be married, with the control of myown income, and then at least you shall not find meungrateful."
Holmes turned to his desk and, unlocking it, drew out a smallcase-book, which he consulted.
"Farintosh," said he. "Ah yes, I recall the case; it wasconcerned with an opal tiara. I think it was before your time,Watson. I can only say, madam, that I shall be happy to devote thesame care to your case as I did to that of your friend. As toreward, my profession is its own reward; but you are at liberty todefray whatever expenses I may be put to, at the time which suitsyou best. And now I beg that you will lay before us everything thatmay help us in forming an opinion upon the matter."
"Alas!" replied our visitor, "the very horror of my situationlies in the fact that my fears are so vague, and my suspicionsdepend so entirely upon small points, which might seem trivial toanother, that even he to whom of all others I have a right to lookfor help and advice looks upon all that I tell him about it as thefancies of a nervous woman. He does not say so, but I can read itfrom his soothing answers and averted eyes. But I have heard, Mr.Holmes, that you can see deeply into the manifold wickedness of thehuman heart. You may advise me how to walk amid the dangers whichencompass me."
"I am all attention, madam."
"My name is Helen Stoner, and I am living with my stepfather,who is the last survivor of one of the oldest Saxon families inEngland, the Roylotts of Stoke Moran, on the western border ofSurrey."
Holmes nodded his head. "The name is familiar to me," saidhe.
"The family was at one time among the richest in England, andthe estates extended over the borders into Berkshire in the north,and Hampshire in the west. In the last century, however, foursuccessive heirs were of a dissolute and wasteful disposition, andthe family ruin was eventually completed by a gambler in the daysof the Regency. Nothing was left save a few acres of ground, andthe two-hundred-year-old house, which is itself crushed under aheavy mortgage. The last squire dragged out his existence there,living the horrible life of an aristocratic pauper; but his onlyson, my stepfather, seeing that he must adapt himself to the newconditions, obtained an advance from a relative, which enabled himto take a medical degree and went out to Calcutta, where, by hisprofessional skill and his force of character, he established alarge practice. In a fit of anger, however, caused by somerobberies which had been perpetrated in the house, he beat hisnative butler to death and narrowly escaped a capital sentence. Asit was, he suffered a long term of imprisonment and afterwardsreturned to England a morose and disappointed man.
"When Dr. Roylott was in India he married my mother, Mrs.Stoner, the young widow of Major-General Stoner, of the BengalArtillery. My sister Julia and I were twins, and we were only twoyears old at the time of my mother's re-marriage. She had aconsiderable sum of money--not less than 1000 pounds a year--andthis she bequeathed to Dr. Roylott entirely while we resided withhim, with a provision that a certain annual sum should be allowedto each of us in the event of our marriage. Shortly after ourreturn to England my mother died--she was killed eight years ago ina railway accident near Crewe. Dr. Roylott then abandoned hisattempts to establish himself in practice in London and took us tolive with him in the old ancestral house at Stoke Moran. The moneywhich my mother had left was enough for all our wants, and thereseemed to be no obstacle to our happiness.
"But a terrible change came over our stepfather about this time.Instead of making friends and exchanging visits with our neighbors,who had at first been overjoyed to see a Roylott of Stoke Moranback in the old family seat, he shut himself up in his house andseldom came out save to indulge in ferocious quarrels with whoevermight cross his path. Violence of temper approaching to mania hasbeen hereditary in the men of the family, and in my stepfather'scase it had, I believe, been intensified by his long residence inthe tropics. A series of disgraceful brawls took place, two ofwhich ended in the police-court, until at last he became the terrorof the village, and the folks would fly at his approach, for he isa man of immense strength, and absolutely uncontrollable in hisanger.
"Last week he hurled the local blacksmith over a parapet into astream, and it was only by paying over all the money which I couldgather together that I was able to avert another public exposure.He had no friends at all save the wandering gypsies, and he wouldgive these vagabonds leave to encamp upon the few acres ofbramble-covered land which represent the family estate, and wouldaccept in return the hospitality of their tents, wandering awaywith them sometimes for weeks on end. He has a passion also forIndian animals, which are sent over to him by a correspondent, andhe has at this moment a cheetah and a baboon, which wander freelyover his grounds and are feared by the villagers almost as much astheir master.
"You can imagine from what I say that my poor sister Julia and Ihad no great pleasure in our lives. No servant would stay with us,and for a long time we did all the work of the house. She was butthirty at the time of her death, and yet her hair had already begunto whiten, even as mine has."
"Your sister is dead, then?"
"She died just two years ago, and it is of her death that I wishto speak to you. You can understand that, living the life which Ihave described, we were little likely to see anyone of our own ageand position. We had, however, an aunt, my mother's maiden sister,Miss Honoria Westphail, who lives near Harrow, and we wereoccasionally allowed to pay short visits at this lady's house.Julia went there at Christmas two years ago, and met there ahalf-pay major of marines, to whom she became engaged. Mystepfather learned of the engagement when my sister returned andoffered no objection to the marriage; but within a fortnight of theday which had been fixed for the wedding, the terrible eventoccurred which has 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 lidsnow and glanced across at his visitor.
"Pray be precise as to details," said he.
"It is easy for me to be so, for every event of that dreadfultime is seared into my memory. The manor-house is, as I havealready said, very old, and only one wing is now inhabited. Thebedrooms in this wing are on the ground floor, the sitting-roomsbeing in the central block of the buildings. Of these bedrooms thefirst is Dr. Roylott's, the second my sister's, and the third myown. There is no communication between them, but they all open outinto the same corridor. Do I make myself plain?"
"Perfectly so."
"The windows of the three rooms open out upon the lawn. Thatfatal night Dr. Roylott had gone to his room early, though we knewthat he had not retired to rest, for my sister was troubled by thesmell of the strong Indian cigars which it was his custom to smoke.She left her room, therefore, and came into mine, where she sat forsome time, chatting about her approaching wedding. At eleveno'clock she rose to leave me, but she paused at the door and lookedback.
"'Tell me, Helen,' said she, 'have you ever heard anyone whistlein the dead of the night?'
"'Never,' said I.
"'I suppose that you could not possibly whistle, yourself, inyour sleep?'
"'Certainly not. But why?'
"'Because during the last few nights I have always, about threein the morning, heard a low, clear whistle. I am a light sleeper,and it has awakened me. I cannot tell where it came from, perhapsfrom the next room, perhaps from the lawn. I thought that I wouldjust ask you whether you had heard it.'
"'No, I have not. It must be those wretched gypsies in theplantation.'
"'Very likely. And yet if it were on the lawn, I wonder that youdid not hear it also.'
"'Ah, but I sleep more heavily than you.'
"'Well, it is of no great consequence, at any rate.' She smiledback at me, closed my door, and a few moments later I heard her keyturn in the lock."
"Indeed," said Holmes. "Was it your custom always to lockyourselves in at night?"
"Always."
"And why?"
"I think that I mentioned to you that the doctor kept a cheetahand a baboon. We had no feeling of security unless our doors werelocked."
"Quite so. Pray proceed with your statement."
"I could not sleep that night. A vague feeling of impendingmisfortune impressed me. My sister and I, you will recollect, weretwins, and you know how subtle are the links which bind two soulswhich are so closely allied. It was a wild night. The wind washowling outside, and the rain was beating and splashing against thewindows. Suddenly, amid all the hubbub of the gale, there burstforth the wild scream of a terrified woman. I knew that it was mysister's voice. I sprang from my bed, wrapped a shawl round me, andrushed into the corridor. As I opened my door I seemed to hear alow whistle, such as my sister described, and a few moments later aclanging sound, as if a mass of metal had fallen. As I ran down thepassage, my sister's door was unlocked, and revolved slowly uponits hinges. I stared at it horror-stricken, not knowing what wasabout to issue from it. By the light of the corridor-lamp I saw mysister appear at the opening, her face blanched with terror, herhands groping for help, her whole figure swaying to and fro likethat of a drunkard. I ran to her and threw my arms round her, butat that moment her knees seemed to give way and she fell to theground. She writhed as one who is in terrible pain, and her limbswere dreadfully convulsed. At first I thought that she had notrecognized me, but as I bent over her she suddenly shrieked out ina voice which I shall never forget, 'Oh, my God! Helen! It was theband! The speckled band!' There was something else which she wouldfain have said, and she stabbed with her finger into the air in thedirection of the doctor's room, but a fresh convulsion seized herand choked her words. I rushed out, calling loudly for mystepfather, and I met him hastening from his room in hisdressing-gown. When he reached my sister's side she wasunconscious, and though he poured brandy down her throat and sentfor medical aid from the village, all efforts were in vain, for sheslowly sank and died without having recovered her consciousness.Such was the dreadful end of my beloved sister."
"One moment," said Holmes, "are you sure about this whistle andmetallic sound? Could you swear to it?"
"That was what the county coroner asked me at the inquiry. It ismy strong impression that I heard it, and yet, among the crash ofthe gale and the creaking of an old house, I may possibly have beendeceived."
"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 whenthe alarm took place. That is important. And what conclusions didthe coroner come to?"
"He investigated the case with great care, for Dr. Roylott'sconduct had long been notorious in the county, but he was unable tofind any satisfactory cause of death. My evidence showed that thedoor had been fastened upon the inner side, and the windows wereblocked by old-fashioned shutters with broad iron bars, which weresecured every night. The walls were carefully sounded, and wereshown to be quite solid all round, and the flooring was alsothoroughly examined, with the same result. The chimney is wide, butis barred up by four large staples. It is certain, therefore, thatmy sister was quite alone when she met her end. Besides, there wereno marks of any violence upon her."
"How about poison?"
"The doctors examined her for it, but without success."
"What do you think that this unfortunate lady died of,then?"
"It is my belief that she died of pure fear and nervous shock,though what it was that frightened her I cannot imagine."
"Were there 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 band--aspeckled band?"
"Sometimes I have thought that it was merely the wild talk ofdelirium, sometimes that it may have referred to some band ofpeople, perhaps to these very gypsies in the plantation. I do notknow whether the spotted handkerchiefs which so many of them wearover their heads might have suggested the strange adjective whichshe used."
Holmes shook his head like a man who is far from beingsatisfied.
"These are very deep waters," said he; "pray go on with yournarrative."
"Two years have passed since then, and my life has been untillately lonelier than ever. A month ago, however, a dear friend,whom I have known for many years, has done me the honor to ask myhand in marriage. His name is Armitage--Percy Armitage--the secondson of Mr. Armitage, of Crane Water, near Reading. My stepfatherhas offered no opposition to the match, and we are to be married inthe course of the spring. Two days ago some repairs were started inthe west wing of the building, and my bedroom wall has beenpierced, so that I have had to move into the chamber in which mysister died, and to sleep in the very bed in which she slept.Imagine, then, my thrill of terror when last night, as I lay awake,thinking over her terrible fate, I suddenly heard in the silence ofthe 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 inthe room. I was too shaken to go to bed again, however, so Idressed, and as soon as it was daylight I slipped down, got adog-cart at the Crown Inn, which is opposite, and drove toLeatherhead, from whence I have come on this morning with the oneobject of seeing you and asking your advice."
"You have done wisely," said my friend. "But have you told meall?"
"Yes, all."
"Miss Roylott, you have not. You are screening yourstepfather."
"Why, what do you mean?"
For answer Holmes pushed back the frill of black lace whichfringed the hand that lay upon our visitor's knee. Five littlelivid spots, the marks of four fingers and a thumb, were printedupon the white wrist.
"You have been cruelly used," said Holmes.
The lady colored deeply and covered over her injured wrist. "Heis a hard man," she said, "and perhaps he hardly knows his ownstrength."
There was a long silence, during which Holmes leaned his chinupon his hands and stared into the crackling fire.
"This is a very deep business," he said at last. "There are athousand details which I should desire to know before I decide uponour course of action. Yet we have not a moment to lose. If we wereto come to Stoke Moran to-day, would it be possible for us to seeover these rooms without the knowledge of your stepfather?"
"As it happens, he spoke of coming into town to-day upon somemost important business. It is probable that he will be away allday, and that there would be nothing to disturb you. We have ahousekeeper now, but she is old and foolish, and I could easily gether 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 doyourself?"
"I have one or two things which I would wish to do now that I amin town. But I shall return by the twelve o'clock train, so as tobe there in time for your coming."
"And you may expect us early in the afternoon. I have myselfsome small business matters to attend to. Will you not wait andbreakfast?"
"No, I must go. My heart is lightened already since I haveconfided my trouble to you. I shall look forward to seeing youagain this afternoon." She dropped her thick black veil over herface and glided from the room.
"And what do you think of it all, Watson?" asked SherlockHolmes, 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 andwalls are sound, and that the door, window, and chimney areimpassable, then her sister must have been undoubtedly alone whenshe met her mysterious end."
"What becomes, then, of these nocturnal whistles, and what ofthe very peculiar words of the dying woman?"
"I cannot think."
"When you combine the ideas of whistles at night, the presenceof a band of gypsies who are on intimate terms with this olddoctor, the fact that we have every reason to believe that thedoctor has an interest in preventing his stepdaughter's marriage,the dying allusion to a band, and, finally, the fact that MissHelen Stoner heard a metallic clang, which might have been causedby one of those metal bars that secured the shutters falling backinto its place, I think that there is good ground to think that themystery 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 goingto Stoke Moran this day. I want to see whether the objections arefatal, or if they may be explained away. But what in the name ofthe devil!"
The ejaculation had been drawn from my companion by the factthat our door had been suddenly dashed open, and that a huge manhad framed himself in the aperture. His costume was a peculiarmixture of the professional and of the agricultural, having a blacktop-hat, a long frock-coat, and a pair of high gaiters, with ahunting-crop swinging in his hand. So tall was he that his hatactually brushed the cross bar of the doorway, and his breadthseemed to span it across from side to side. A large face, searedwith a thousand wrinkles, burned yellow with the sun, and markedwith every evil passion, was turned from one to the other of us,while his deep-set, bile-shot eyes, and his high, thin, fleshlessnose, gave him somewhat the resemblance to a fierce old bird ofprey.
"Which of you is Holmes?" asked this apparition.
"My name, sir; but you have the advantage of me," said mycompanion quietly.
"I am Dr. Grimesby Roylott, of Stoke Moran."
"Indeed, Doctor," said Holmes blandly. "Pray take a seat."
"I will do nothing of the kind. My stepdaughter has been here. Ihave traced her. What has she been saying to you?"
"It is a little cold for the time of the year," said Holmes.
"What has she been saying to you?" screamed the old manfuriously.
"But I have heard that the crocuses promise well," continued mycompanion imperturbably.
"Ha! You put me off, do you?" said our new visitor, taking astep forward and shaking his hunting-crop. "I know you, youscoundrel! I have heard of you before. You are Holmes, themeddler."
My friend smiled.
"Holmes, the busybody!"
His smile broadened.
"Holmes, the Scotland Yard Jack-in-office!"
Holmes chuckled heartily. "Your conversation is mostentertaining," said he. "When you go out close the door, for thereis a decided draught."
"I will go when I have said my say. Don't you dare to meddlewith my affairs. I know that Miss Stoner has been here. I tracedher! I am a dangerous man to fall foul of! See here." He steppedswiftly forward, seized the poker, and bent it into a curve withhis huge brown hands.
"See that you keep yourself out of my grip," he snarled, andhurling the twisted poker into the fireplace he strode out of theroom.
"He seems a very amiable person," said Holmes, laughing. "I amnot quite so bulky, but if he had remained I might have shown himthat my grip was not much more feeble than his own." As he spoke hepicked up the steel poker and, with a sudden effort, straightenedit 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 sufferfrom her imprudence in allowing this brute to trace her. And now,Watson, we shall order breakfast, and afterwards I shall walk downto Doctors' Commons, where I hope to get some data which may helpus in this matter."
It was nearly one o'clock when Sherlock Holmes returned from hisexcursion. He held in his hand a sheet of blue paper, scrawled overwith notes and figures.
"I have seen the will of the deceased wife," said he. "Todetermine its exact meaning I have been obliged to work out thepresent prices of the investments with which it is concerned. Thetotal income, which at the time of the wife's death was littleshort of 1100 pounds, is now, through the fall in agriculturalprices, not more than 750 pounds. Each daughter can claim an incomeof 250 pounds, in case of marriage. It is evident, therefore, thatif both girls had married, this beauty would have had a merepittance, while even one of them would cripple him to a veryserious extent. My morning's work has not been wasted, since it hasproved that he has the very strongest motives for standing in theway of anything of the sort. And now, Watson, this is too seriousfor dawdling, especially as the old man is aware that we areinteresting ourselves in his affairs; so if you are ready, we shallcall a cab and drive to Waterloo. I should be very much obliged ifyou would slip your revolver into your pocket. An Eley's No. 2 isan excellent argument with gentlemen who can twist steel pokersinto knots. That and a tooth-brush are, I think, all that weneed."
At Waterloo we were fortunate in catching a train forLeatherhead, where we hired a trap at the station inn and drove forfour or five miles through the lovely Surrey laries. It was aperfect day, with a bright sun and a few fleecy clouds in theheavens. The trees and wayside hedges were just throwing out theirfirst green shoots, and the air was full of the pleasant smell ofthe moist earth. To me at least there was a strange contrastbetween the sweet promise of the spring and this sinister questupon which we were engaged. My companion sat in the front of thetrap, his arms folded, his hat pulled down over his eyes, and hischin sunk upon his breast, buried in the deepest thought. Suddenly,however, he started, tapped me on the shoulder, and pointed overthe meadows.
"Look there!" said he.
A heavily timbered park stretched up in a gentle slope,thickening into a grove at the highest point. From amid thebranches there jutted out the gray gables and high roof-tree of avery old mansion.
"Stoke Moran?" said he.
"Yes, sir, that be the house of Dr. Grimesby Roylott," remarkedthe driver.
"There is some building going on there," said Holmes; "that iswhere we are going."
"There's the village," said the driver, pointing to a cluster ofroofs some distance to the left; "but if you want to get to thehouse, you'll find it shorter to get over this stile, and so by thefoot-path over the fields. There it is, where the lady iswalking."
"And the lady, I fancy, is Miss Stoner," observed Holmes,shading his eyes. "Yes, I think we had better do as yousuggest."
We got off, paid our fare, and the trap rattled back on its wayto Leatherhead.
"I thought it as well," said Holmes as we climbed the stile,"that this fellow should think we had come here as architects, oron some definite business. It may stop his gossip. Good-afternoon,Miss Stoner. You see that we have been as good as our word."
Our client of the morning had hurried forward to meet us with aface which spoke her joy. "I have been waiting so eagerly for you,"she cried, shaking hands with us warmly. "All has turned outsplendidly. Dr. Roylott has gone to town, and it is unlikely thathe will be back before evening."
"We have had the pleasure of making the doctor's acquaintance,"said Holmes, and in a few words he sketched out what had occurred.Miss Stoner turned white to the lips as she listened.
"Good heavens!" she cried, "he has followed me, then."
"So it appears."
"He is so cunning that I never know when I am safe from him.What will he say when he returns?"
"He must guard himself, for he may find that there is someonemore cunning than himself upon his track. You must lock yourself upfrom him to-night. If he is violent, we shall take you away to youraunt's at Harrow. Now, we must make the best use of our time, sokindly take us at once to the rooms which we are to examine."
The building was of gray, lichen-blotched stone, with a highcentral portion and two curving wings, like the claws of a crab,thrown out on each side. In one of these wings the windows werebroken and blocked with wooden boards, while the roof was partlycaved in, a picture of ruin. The central portion was in littlebetter repair, but the right-hand block was comparatively modern,and the blinds in the windows, with the blue smoke curling up fromthe chimneys, showed that this was where the family resided. Somescaffolding had been erected against the end wall, and thestone-work had been broken into, but there were no signs of anyworkmen at the moment of our visit. Holmes walked slowly up anddown the ill-trimmed lawn and examined with deep attention theoutsides of the windows.
"This, I take it, belongs to the room in which you used tosleep, the centre one to your sister's, and the one next to themain building to Dr. Roylott's chamber?"
"Exactly so. But I am now sleeping in the middle one."
"Pending the alterations, as I understand. By the way, theredoes not seem to be any very pressing need for repairs at that endwall."
"There were none. I believe that it was an excuse to move mefrom my room."
"Ah! that is suggestive. Now, on the other side of this narrowwing runs the corridor from which these three rooms open. There arewindows in it, of course?"
"Yes, but very small ones. Too narrow for anyone to passthrough."
"As you both locked your doors at night, your rooms wereunapproachable from that side. Now, would you have the kindness togo into your room and bar your shutters?"
Miss Stoner did so, and Holmes, after a careful examinationthrough the open window, endeavored in every way to force theshutter open, but without success. There was no slit through whicha knife could be passed to raise the bar. Then with his lens hetested the hinges, but they were of solid iron, built firmly intothe massive masonry. "Hum!" said he, scratching his chin in someperplexity, "my theory certainly presents some difficulties. No onecould pass these shutters if they were bolted. Well, we shall seeif the inside throws any light upon the matter."
A small side door led into the whitewashed corridor from whichthe three bedrooms opened. Holmes refused to examine the thirdchamber, so we passed at once to the second, that in which MissStoner was now sleeping, and in which her sister had met with herfate. It was a homely little room, with a low ceiling and a gapingfireplace, after the fashion of old country-houses. A brown chestof drawers stood in one corner, a narrow white-counterpaned bed inanother, and a dressing-table on the left-hand side of the window.These articles, with two small wicker-work chairs, made up all thefurniture in the room save for a square of Wilton carpet in thecentre. The boards round and the panelling of the walls were ofbrown, worm-eaten oak, so old and discolored that it may have datedfrom the original building of the house. Holmes drew one of thechairs into a corner and sat silent, while his eyes travelled roundand round and up and down, taking in every detail of theapartment.
"Where does that bell communicate with?" he asked at lastpointing to a thick belt-rope which hung down beside the bed, thetassel actually lying upon the pillow.
"It goes to the housekeeper's room."
"It looks newer than the other things?"
"Yes, it was only put there a couple of years ago."
"Your sister asked for it, I suppose?"
"No, I never heard of her using it. We used always to get whatwe wanted for ourselves."
"Indeed, it seemed unnecessary to put so nice a bell-pull there.You will excuse me for a few minutes while I satisfy myself as tothis floor." He threw himself down upon his face with his lens inhis hand and crawled swiftly backward and forward, examiningminutely the cracks between the boards. Then he did the same withthe wood-work with which the chamber was panelled. Finally hewalked over to the bed and spent some time in staring at it and inrunning his eye up and down the wall. Finally he took the bell-ropein his hand and gave it a brisk tug.
"Why, it's a dummy," said he.
"Won't it ring?"
"No, it is not even attached to a wire. This is veryinteresting. You can see now that it is fastened to a hook justabove where the little opening for the ventilator is."
"How very absurd! I never noticed that before."
"Very strange!" muttered Holmes, pulling at the rope. "There areone or two very singular points about this room. For example, whata fool a builder must be to open a ventilator into another room,when, with the same trouble, he might have communicated with theoutside air!"
"That is also quite modern," said the lady.
"Done about the same time as the bell-rope?" remarkedHolmes.
"Yes, there were several little changes carried out about thattime."
"They seem to have been of a most interesting character--dummybell-ropes, and ventilators which do not ventilate. With yourpermission, Miss Stoner, we shall now carry our researches into theinner apartment."
Dr. Grimesby Roylott's chamber was larger than that of hisstep-daughter, but was as plainly furnished. A camp-bed, a smallwooden shelf full of books, mostly of a technical character, anarmchair beside the bed, a plain wooden chair against the wall, around table, and a large iron safe were the principal things whichmet the eye. Holmes walked slowly round and examined each and allof them with the keenest interest.
"What's in here?" he asked, tapping the safe.
"My stepfather's business papers."
"Oh! you have seen inside, then?"
"Only once, some years ago. I remember that it was full ofpapers."
"There isn't a cat in it, for example?"
"No. What a strange idea!"
"Well, look at this!" He took up a small saucer of milk whichstood on the top of it.
"No; we don't keep a cat. But there is a cheetah and ababoon."
"Ah, yes, of course! Well, a cheetah is just a big cat, and yeta saucer of milk does not go very far in satisfying its wants, Idaresay. There is one point which I should wish to determine." Hesquatted down in front of the wooden chair and examined the seat ofit with the greatest attention.
"Thank you. That is quite settled," said he, rising and puttinghis lens in his pocket. "Hello! Here is something interesting!"
The object which had caught his eye was a small dog lash hung onone corner of the bed. The lash, however, was curled upon itselfand tied so as to make a loop of whipcord.
"What do you make of that, Watson?"
"It's a common enough lash. But I don't know why if should betied."
"That is not quite so common, is it? Ah, me! it's a wickedworld, and when a clever man turns his brains to crime it is theworst of all. I think that I have seen enough now, Miss Stoner, andwith your permission we shall walk out upon the lawn."
I had never seen my friend's face so grim or his brow so dark asit was when we turned from the scene of this investigation. We hadwalked several times up and down the lawn, neither Miss Stoner normyself liking to break in upon his thoughts before he rousedhimself from his reverie.
"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 maydepend upon your compliance."
"I assure you that I am in your hands."
"In the first place, both my friend and I must spend the nightin your room."
Both Miss Stoner and I gazed at him in astonishment.
"Yes, it must be so. Let me explain. I believe that that is thevillage inn over there?"
"Yes, that is the Crown."
"Very good. Your windows would be visible from there?"
"Certainly."
"You must confine yourself to your room, on pretence of aheadache, when your stepfather comes back. Then when you hear himretire for the night, you must open the shutters of your window,undo the hasp, put your lamp there as a signal to us, and thenwithdraw quietly with everything which you are likely to want intothe room which you used to occupy. I have no doubt that, in spiteof the repairs, you could manage there for one night."
"Oh, yes, easily."
"The rest you will leave in our hands."
"But what will you do?"
"We shall spend the night in your room, and we shall investigatethe cause of this noise which has disturbed you."
"I believe, Mr. Holmes, that you have already made up yourmind," said Miss Stoner, laying her hand upon my companion'ssleeve.
"Perhaps I have."
"Then, for pity's sake, tell me what was the cause of mysister's death."
"I should prefer to have clearer proofs before I speak."
"You can at least tell me whether my own thought is correct, andif she died from some sudden fright."
"No, I do not think so. I think that there was probably somemore tangible cause. And now, Miss Stoner, we must leave you, forif Dr. Roylott returned and saw us our journey would be in vain.Good-bye, and be brave, for if you will do what I have told you youmay rest assured that we shall soon drive away the dangers thatthreaten you."
Sherlock Holmes and I had no difficulty in engaging a bedroomand sitting-room at the Crown Inn. They were on the upper floor,and from our window we could command a view of the avenue gate, andof the inhabited wing of Stoke Moran Manor House. At dusk we sawDr. Grimesby Roylott drive past, his huge form looming up besidethe little figure of the lad who drove him. The boy had some slightdifficulty in undoing the heavy iron gates, and we heard the hoarseroar of the doctor's voice and saw the fury with which he shook hisclinched fists at him. The trap drove on, and a few minutes laterwe saw a sudden light spring up among the trees as the lamp was litin 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 youto-night. There is a distinct element of danger."
"Can I be of assistance?"
"Your presence might be invaluable."
"Then I shall certainly come."
"It is very kind of you."
"You speak of danger. You have evidently seen more in theserooms than was visible to me."
"No, but I fancy that I may have deduced a little more. Iimagine that you saw all that I did."
"I saw nothing remarkable save the bell-rope, and what purposethat could answer I confess is more than I can imagine."
"You saw the ventilator, too?"
"Yes, but I do not think that it is such a very unusual thing tohave a small opening between two rooms. It was so small that a ratcould hardly pass through."
"I knew that we should find a ventilator before ever we came toStoke Moran."
"My dear Holmes!"
"Oh, yes, I did. You remember in her statement she said that hersister could smell Dr. Roylott's cigar. Now, of course thatsuggested at once that there must be a communication between thetwo rooms. It could only be a small one, or it would have beenremarked upon at the coroner's inquiry. I deduced aventilator."
"But what harm can there be in that?"
"Well, there is at least a curious coincidence of dates. Aventilator is made, a cord is hung, and a lady who sleeps in thebed dies. Does not that strike you?"
"I cannot as yet see any connection."
"Did you observe anything very peculiar about that bed?"
"No."
"It was clamped to the floor. Did you ever see a bed fastenedlike that before?"
"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 rope--or so we maycall it, since it was clearly never meant for a bell-pull."
"Holmes," I cried, "I seem to see dimly what you are hinting at.We are only just in time to prevent some subtle and horriblecrime."
"Subtle enough and horrible enough. When a doctor does go wronghe is the first of criminals. He has nerve and he has knowledge.Palmer and Pritchard were among the heads of their profession. Thisman strikes even deeper, but I think, Watson, that we shall be ableto strike deeper still. But we shall have horrors enough before thenight is over; for goodness' sake let us have a quiet pipe and turnour minds for a few hours to something more cheerful."
About nine o'clock the light among the trees was extinguished,and all was dark in the direction of the Manor House. Two hourspassed slowly away, and then, suddenly, just at the stroke ofeleven, a single bright light shone out right in front of us.
"That is our signal," said Holmes, springing to his feet; "itcomes from the middle window."
As we passed out he exchanged a few words with the landlord,explaining that we were going on a late visit to an acquaintance,and that it was possible that we might spend the night there. Amoment later we were out on the dark road, a chill wind blowing inour faces, and one yellow light twinkling in front of us throughthe gloom to guide us on our sombre errand.
There was little difficulty in entering the grounds, forunrepaired breaches gaped in the old park wall. Making our wayamong the trees, we reached the lawn, crossed it, and were about toenter through the window when out from a clump of laurel bushesthere darted what seemed to be a hideous and distorted child, whothrew itself upon the grass with writhing limbs and then ranswiftly across the lawn into the darkness.
"My God!" I whispered; "did you see it?"
Holmes was for the moment as startled as I. His hand closed likea vise upon my wrist in his agitation. Then he broke into a lowlaugh and put his lips to my ear.
"It is a nice household," he murmured. "That is the baboon."
I had forgotten the strange pets which the doctor affected.There was a cheetah, too; perhaps we might find it upon ourshoulders at any moment. I confess that I felt easier in my mindwhen, after following Holmes's example and slipping off my shoes, Ifound myself inside the bedroom. My companion noiselessly closedthe shutters, moved the lamp onto the table, and cast his eyesround the room. All was as we had seen it in the daytime. Thencreeping up to me and making a trumpet of his hand, he whisperedinto 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 theventilator."
I nodded again.
"Do not go asleep; your very life may depend upon it. Have yourpistol ready in case we should need it. I will sit on the side ofthe bed, and you in that chair."
I took out my revolver and laid it on the corner of thetable.
Holmes had brought up a long thin cane, and this he placed uponthe bed beside him. By it he laid the box of matches and the stumpof a candle. Then he turned down the lamp, and we were left indarkness.
How shall I ever forget that dreadful vigil? I could not hear asound, not even the drawing of a breath, and yet I knew that mycompanion sat open-eyed, within a few feet of me, in the same stateof nervous tension in which I was myself. The shutters cut off theleast ray of light, and we waited in absolute darkness.
From outside came the occasional cry of a night-bird, and onceat our very window a long drawn catlike whine, which told us thatthe cheetah was indeed at liberty. Far away we could hear the deeptones of the parish clock, which boomed out every quarter of anhour. How long they seemed, those quarters! Twelve struck, and oneand two and three, and still we sat waiting silently for whatevermight befall.
Suddenly there was the momentary gleam of a light up in thedirection of the ventilator, which vanished immediately, but wassucceeded by a strong smell of burning oil and heated metal.Someone in the next room had lit a dark-lantern. I heard a gentlesound of movement, and then all was silent once more, though thesmell grew stronger. For half an hour I sat with straining ears.Then suddenly another sound became audible--a very gentle, soothingsound, like that of a small jet of steam escaping continually froma kettle. The instant that we heard it, Holmes sprang from 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 Iheard a low, clear whistle, but the sudden glare flashing into myweary eyes made it impossible for me to tell what it was at whichmy friend lashed so savagely. I could, however, see that his facewas deadly pale and filled with horror and loathing. He had ceasedto strike and was gazing up at the ventilator when suddenly therebroke from the silence of the night the most horrible cry to whichI have ever listened. It swelled up louder and louder, a hoarseyell of pain and fear and anger all mingled in the one dreadfulshriek. They say that away down in the village, and even in thedistant parsonage, that cry raised the sleepers from their beds. Itstruck cold to our hearts, and I stood gazing at Holmes, and he atme, until the last echoes of it had died away into the silence fromwhich 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 enterDr. Roylott's room."
With a grave face he lit the lamp and led the way down thecorridor. Twice he struck at the chamber door without any replyfrom within. Then he turned the handle and entered, I at his heels,with the cocked pistol in my hand.
It was a singular sight which met our eyes. On the table stood adark-lantern with the shutter half open, throwing a brilliant beamof light upon the iron safe, the door of which was ajar. Besidethis table, on the wooden chair, sat Dr. Grimesby Roylott clad in along gray dressing-gown, his bare ankles protruding beneath, andhis feet thrust into red heelless Turkish slippers. Across his laplay the short stock with the long lash which we had noticed duringthe day. His chin was cocked upward and his eyes were fixed in adreadful, rigid stare at the corner of the ceiling. Round his browhe had a peculiar yellow band, with brownish speckles, which seemedto be bound tightly round his head. As we entered he made neithersound nor motion.
"The band! the speckled band!" whispered Holmes.
I took a step forward. In an instant his strange headgear beganto move, and there reared itself from among his hair the squatdiamond-shaped head and puffed neck of a loathsome serpent.
"It is a swamp adder!" cried Holmes; "the deadliest snake inIndia. He has died within ten seconds of being bitten. Violencedoes, in truth, recoil upon the violent, and the schemer falls intothe pit which he digs for another. Let us thrust this creature backinto its den, and we can then remove Miss Stoner to some place ofshelter and let the county police know what has happened."
As he spoke he drew the dog-whip swiftly from the dead man'slap, and throwing the noose round the reptile's neck he drew itfrom its horrid perch and, carrying it at arm's length, threw itinto the iron safe, which he closed upon it.
Such are the true facts of the death of Dr. Grimesby Roylott, ofStoke Moran. It is not necessary that I should prolong a narrativewhich has already run to too great a length by telling how we brokethe sad news to the terrified girl, how we conveyed her by themorning train to the care of her good aunt at Harrow, of how theslow process of official inquiry came to the conclusion that thedoctor met his fate while indiscreetly playing with a dangerouspet. The little which I had yet to learn of the case was told me bySherlock Holmes as we travelled back next day.
"I had," said he, "come to an entirely erroneous conclusionwhich shows, my dear Watson, how dangerous it always is to reasonfrom insufficient data. The presence of the gypsies, and the use ofthe word 'band,' which was used by the poor girl, no doubt toexplain the appearance which she had caught a hurried glimpse of bythe light of her match, were sufficient to put me upon an entirelywrong scent. I can only claim the merit that I instantlyreconsidered my position when, however, it became clear to me thatwhatever danger threatened an occupant of the room could not comeeither from the window or the door. My attention was speedilydrawn, as I have already remarked to you, to this ventilator, andto the bell-rope which hung down to the bed. The discovery thatthis was a dummy, and that the bed was clamped to the floor,instantly gave rise to the suspicion that the rope was there as abridge for something passing through the hole and coming to thebed. The idea of a snake instantly occurred to me, and when Icoupled it with my knowledge that the doctor was furnished with asupply of creatures from India, I felt that I was probably on theright track. The idea of using a form of poison which could notpossibly be discovered by any chemical test was just such a one aswould occur to a clever and ruthless man who had had an Easterntraining. The rapidity with which such a poison would take effectwould also, from his point of view, be an advantage. It would be asharp-eyed coroner, indeed, who could distinguish the two littledark punctures which would show where the poison fangs had donetheir work. Then I thought of the whistle. Of course he must recallthe snake before the morning light revealed it to the victim. Hehad trained it, probably by the use of the milk which we saw, toreturn to him when summoned. He would put it through thisventilator at the hour that he thought best, with the certaintythat it would crawl down the rope and land on the bed. It might ormight not bite the occupant, perhaps she might escape every nightfor a week, but sooner or later she must fall a victim.
"I had come to these conclusions before ever I had entered hisroom. An inspection of his chair showed me that he had been in thehabit of standing on it, which of course would be necessary inorder that he should reach the ventilator. The sight of the safe,the saucer of milk, and the loop of whipcord were enough to finallydispel any doubts which may have remained. The metallic clang heardby Miss Stoner was obviously caused by her stepfather hastilyclosing the door of his safe upon its terrible occupant. Havingonce made up my mind, you know the steps which I took in order toput the matter to the proof. I heard the creature hiss as I have nodoubt 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 masterat the other side. Some of the blows of my cane came home androused its snakish temper, so that it flew upon the first person itsaw. In this way I am no doubt indirectly responsible for Dr.Grimesby Roylott's death, and I cannot say that it is likely toweigh very heavily upon my conscience."
ADVENTURE IX. THE ADVENTURE OF THE ENGINEER'STHUMB
Of all the problems which have been submitted to my friend, Mr.Sherlock Holmes, for solution during the years of our intimacy,there were only two which I was the means of introducing to hisnotice--that of Mr. Hatherley's thumb, and that of ColonelWarburton's madness. Of these the latter may have afforded a finerfield for an acute and original observer, but the other was sostrange in its inception and so dramatic in its details that it maybe the more worthy of being placed upon record, even if it gave myfriend fewer openings for those deductive methods of reasoning bywhich he achieved such remarkable results. The story has, Ibelieve, been told more than once in the newspapers, but, like allsuch narratives, its effect is much less striking when set forth enbloc in a single half-column of print than when the facts slowlyevolve before your own eyes, and the mystery clears gradually awayas each new discovery furnishes a step which leads on to thecomplete truth. At the time the circumstances made a deepimpression upon me, and the lapse of two years has hardly served toweaken the effect.
It was in the summer of '89, not long after my marriage, thatthe events occurred which I am now about to summarize. I hadreturned to civil practice and had finally abandoned Holmes in hisBaker Street rooms, although I continually visited him andoccasionally even persuaded him to forgo his Bohemian habits so faras to come and visit us. My practice had steadily increased, and asI happened to live at no very great distance from PaddingtonStation, I got a few patients from among the officials. One ofthese, whom I had cured of a painful and lingering disease, wasnever weary of advertising my virtues and of endeavoring to send meon every sufferer over whom he might have any influence.
One morning, at a little before seven o'clock, I was awakened bythe maid tapping at the door to announce that two men had come fromPaddington and were waiting in the consulting-room. I dressedhurriedly, for I knew by experience that railway cases were seldomtrivial, and hastened downstairs. As I descended, my old ally, theguard, came out of the room and closed the door tightly behindhim.
"I've got him here," he whispered, jerking his thumb over hisshoulder; "he's all right."
"What is it, then?" I asked, for his manner suggested that itwas some strange creature which he had caged up in my room.
"It's a new patient," he whispered. "I thought I'd bring himround myself; then he couldn't slip away. There he is, all safe andsound. I must go now, Doctor; I have my dooties, just the same asyou." And off he went, this trusty tout, without even giving metime 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 asoft cloth cap which he had laid down upon my books. Round one ofhis hands he had a handkerchief wrapped, which was mottled all overwith bloodstains. He was young, not more than five-and-twenty, Ishould say, with a strong, masculine face; but he was exceedinglypale and gave me the impression of a man who was suffering fromsome strong agitation, which it took all his strength of mind tocontrol.
"I am sorry to knock you up so early, Doctor," said he, "but Ihave had a very serious accident during the night. I came in bytrain this morning, and on inquiring at Paddington as to where Imight find a doctor, a worthy fellow very kindly escorted me here.I gave the maid a card, but I see that she has left it upon theside-table."
I took it up and glanced at it. "Mr. Victor Hatherley, hydraulicengineer, 16A. Victoria Street (3d floor)." That was the name,style, and abode of my morning visitor. "I regret that I have keptyou waiting," said I, sitting down in my library-chair. "You arefresh from a night journey, I understand, which is in itself amonotonous occupation."
"Oh, my night could not be called monotonous," said he, andlaughed. He laughed very heartily, with a high, ringing note,leaning back in his chair and shaking his sides. All my medicalinstincts rose up against that laugh.
"Stop it!" I cried; "pull yourself together!" and I poured outsome water from a caraffe.
It was useless, however. He was off in one of those hystericaloutbursts which come upon a strong nature when some great crisis isover and gone. Presently he came to himself once more, very wearyand pale-looking.
"I have been making a fool of myself," he gasped.
"Not at all. Drink this." I dashed some brandy into the water,and the color began to come back to his bloodless cheeks.
"That's better!" said he. "And now, Doctor, perhaps you wouldkindly attend to my thumb, or rather to the place where my thumbused to be."
He unwound the handkerchief and held out his hand. It gave evenmy hardened nerves a shudder to look at it. There were fourprotruding fingers and a horrid red, spongy surface where the thumbshould have been. It had been hacked or torn right out from theroots.
"Good heavens!" I cried, "this is a terrible injury. It musthave bled considerably."
"Yes, it did. I fainted when it was done, and I think that Imust have been senseless for a long time. When I came to I foundthat it was still bleeding, so I tied one end of my handkerchiefvery tightly round the wrist and braced it up with a twig."
"Excellent! You should have been a surgeon."
"It is a question of hydraulics, you see, and came within my ownprovince."
"This has been done," said I, examining the wound, "by a veryheavy and sharp instrument."
"A thing like a cleaver," said he.
"An accident, I presume?"
"By no means."
"What! a murderous attack?"
"Very murderous indeed."
"You horrify me."
I sponged the wound, cleaned it, dressed it, and finally coveredit over with cotton wadding and carbolized bandages. He lay backwithout wincing, though he bit his lip from time to time.
"How is that?" I asked when I had finished.
"Capital! Between your brandy and your bandage, I feel a newman. I was very weak, but I have had a good deal to gothrough."
"Perhaps you had better not speak of the matter. It is evidentlytrying to your nerves."
"Oh, no, not now. I shall have to tell my tale to the police;but, between ourselves, if it were not for the convincing evidenceof this wound of mine, I should be surprised if they believed mystatement, for it is a very extraordinary one, and I have not muchin the way of proof with which to back it up; and, even if theybelieve me, the clews which I can give them are so vague that it isa question whether justice will be done."
"Ha!" cried I, "if it is anything in the nature of a problemwhich you desire to see solved, I should strongly recommend you tocome to my friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, before you go to theofficial police."
"Oh, I have heard of that fellow," answered my visitor, "and Ishould be very glad if he would take the matter up, though ofcourse I must use the official police as well. Would you give me anintroduction to him?"
"I'll do better. I'll take you round to him myself."
"I should be immensely obliged to you."
"We'll call a cab and go together. We shall just be in time tohave a little breakfast with him. Do you feel equal to it?"
"Yes; I shall not feel easy until I have told my story."
"Then my servant will call a cab, and I shall be with you in aninstant." I rushed upstairs, explained the matter shortly to mywife, and in five minutes was inside a hansom, driving with my newacquaintance to Baker Street.
Sherlock Holmes was, as I expected, lounging about hissittingroom in his dressing-gown, reading the agony column of TheTimes and smoking his before-breakfast pipe, which was composed ofall the plugs and dottles left from his smokes of the day before,all carefully dried and collected on the corner of the mantelpiece.He received us in his quietly genial fashion, ordered fresh rashersand eggs, and joined us in a hearty meal. When it was concluded hesettled our new acquaintance upon the sofa, placed a pillow beneathhis head, and laid a glass of brandy and water within hisreach.
"It is easy to see that your experience has been no common one,Mr. Hatherley," said he. "Pray, lie down there and make yourselfabsolutely at home. Tell us what you can, but stop when you aretired and keep up your strength with a little stimulant."
"Thank you," said my patient. "but I have felt another man sincethe doctor bandaged me, and I think that your breakfast hascompleted the cure. I shall take up as little of your valuable timeas possible, so I shall start at once upon my peculiarexperiences."
Holmes sat in his big armchair with the weary, heavy-liddedexpression which veiled his keen and eager nature, while I satopposite to him, and we listened in silence to the strange storywhich 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 ahydraulic engineer, and I have had considerable experience of mywork during the seven years that I was apprenticed to Venner &Matheson, the well-known firm, of Greenwich. Two years ago, havingserved my time, and having also come into a fair sum of moneythrough my poor father's death, I determined to start in businessfor myself and took professional chambers in Victoria Street.
"I suppose that everyone finds his first independent start inbusiness a dreary experience. To me it has been exceptionally so.During two years I have had three consultations and one small job,and that is absolutely all that my profession has brought me. Mygross takings amount to 27 pounds 10s. Every day, from nine in themorning until four in the afternoon, I waited in my little den,until at last my heart began to sink, and I came to believe that Ishould never have any practice at all.
"Yesterday, however, just as I was thinking of leaving theoffice, my clerk entered to say there was a gentleman waiting whowished to see me upon business. He brought up a card, too, with thename of 'Colonel Lysander Stark' engraved upon it. Close at hisheels came the colonel himself, a man rather over the middle size,but of an exceeding thinness. I do not think that I have ever seenso thin a man. His whole face sharpened away into nose and chin,and the skin of his cheeks was drawn quite tense over hisoutstanding bones. Yet this emaciation seemed to be his naturalhabit, and due to no disease, for his eye was bright, his stepbrisk, and his bearing assured. He was plainly but neatly dressed,and his age, I should judge, would be nearer forty than thirty.
"'Mr. Hatherley?' said he, with something of a German accent.'You have been recommended to me, Mr. Hatherley, as being a man whois not only proficient in his profession but is also discreet andcapable of preserving 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 acharacter?'
"'Well, perhaps it is better that I should not tell you thatjust at this moment. I have it from the same source that you areboth an orphan and a bachelor and are residing alone inLondon.'
"'That is quite correct,' I answered; 'but you will excuse me ifI say that I cannot see how all this bears upon my professionalqualifications. I understand that it was on a professional matterthat you wished to speak to me?'
"'Undoubtedly so. But you will find that all I say is really tothe point. I have a professional commission for you, but absolutesecrecy is quite essential--absolute secrecy, you understand, andof course we may expect that more from a man who is alone than fromone who lives in the bosom of his family.'
"'If I promise to keep a secret,' said I, 'you may absolutelydepend upon my doing so.'
"He looked very hard at me as I spoke, and it seemed to me thatI had never seen so suspicious and questioning an eye.
"'Do you promise, then?' said he at last.
"'Yes, I promise.'
"'Absolute and complete silence before, during, and after? 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 lightningacross the room he flung open the door. The passage outside wasempty.
"'That's all right,' said he, coming back. 'I know the clerksare sometimes curious as to their master's affairs. Now we can talkin safety.' He drew up his chair very close to mine and began tostare at me again with the same questioning and thoughtfullook.
"A feeling of repulsion, and of something akin to fear had begunto rise within me at the strange antics of this fleshless man. Evenmy dread of losing a client could not restrain me from showing myimpatience.
"'I beg that you will state your business, sir,' said I; 'mytime is of value.' Heaven forgive me for that last sentence, butthe words came to my lips.
"'How would fifty guineas for a night's work suit you?' heasked.
"'Most admirably.'
"'I say a night's work, but an hour's would be nearer the mark.I simply want your opinion about a hydraulic stamping machine whichhas got out of gear. If you show us what is wrong we shall soon setit right ourselves. What do you think of such a commission asthat?'
"'The work appears to be light and the pay munificent.'
"'Precisely so. We shall want you to come to-night by the lasttrain.'
"'Where to?'
"'To Eyford, in Berkshire. It is a little place near the bordersof Oxfordshire, and within seven miles of Reading. There is a trainfrom Paddington which would bring you there at about 11:15.'
"'Very good.'
"'I shall come down in a carriage to meet you.'
"'There is a drive, then?'
"'Yes, our little place is quite out in the country. It is agood seven miles from Eyford Station.'
"'Then we can hardly get there before midnight. I suppose therewould be no chance of a train back. I should be compelled to stopthe 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 torecompense you for any inconvenience that we are paying to you, ayoung and unknown man, a fee which would buy an opinion from thevery heads of your profession. Still, of course, if you would liketo draw out of the business, there is plenty of time to do so.'
"I thought of the fifty guineas, and of how very useful theywould be to me. 'Not at all,' said I, 'I shall be very happy toaccommodate myself to your wishes. I should like, however, tounderstand a little more clearly what it is that you wish me todo.'
"'Quite so. It is very natural that the pledge of secrecy whichwe have exacted from you should have aroused your curiosity. I haveno wish to commit you to anything without your having it all laidbefore you. I suppose that we are absolutely safe fromeavesdroppers?'
"'Entirely.'
"'Then the matter stands thus. You are probably aware thatfuller's-earth is a valuable product, and that it is only found inone or two places in England?'
"'I have heard so.'
"'Some little time ago I bought a small place--a very smallplace--within ten miles of Reading. I was fortunate enough todiscover that there was a deposit of fuller's-earth in one of myfields. On examining it, however, I found that this deposit was acomparatively small one, and that it formed a link between two verymuch larger ones upon the right and left--both of them, however, inthe grounds of my neighbors. These good people were absolutelyignorant that their land contained that which was quite as valuableas a gold-mine. Naturally, it was to my interest to buy their landbefore they discovered its true value, but unfortunately I had nocapital by which I could do this. I took a few of my friends intothe secret, however, and they suggested that we should quietly andsecretly work our own little deposit and that in this way we shouldearn the money which would enable us to buy the neighboring fields.This we have now been doing for some time, and in order to help usin our operations we erected a hydraulic press. This press, as Ihave already explained, has got out of order, and we wish youradvice upon the subject. We guard our secret very jealously,however, and if it once became known that we had hydraulicengineers coming to our little house, it would soon rouse inquiry,and then, if the facts came out, it would be good-bye to any chanceof getting these fields and carrying out our plans. That is why Ihave made you promise me that you will not tell a human being thatyou are going to Eyford to-night. I hope that I make it allplain?'
"'I quite follow you,' said I. 'The only point which I could notquite understand was what use you could make of a hydraulic pressin excavating fuller's-earth, which, as I understand, is dug outlike gravel from a pit.'
"'Ah!' said he carelessly, 'we have our own process. We compressthe earth into bricks, so as to remove them without revealing whatthey are. But that is a mere detail. I have taken you fully into myconfidence now, Mr. Hatherley, and I have shown you how I trustyou.' He rose as he spoke. 'I shall expect you, then, at Eyford at11:15.'
"'I shall certainly be there.'
"'And not a word to a soul.' He looked at me with a last long,questioning gaze, and then, pressing my hand in a cold, dank grasp,he hurried from the room.
"Well, when I came to think it all over in cool blood I was verymuch astonished, as you may both think, at this sudden commissionwhich had been intrusted to me. On the one hand, of course, I wasglad, for the fee was at least tenfold what I should have asked hadI set a price upon my own services, and it was possible that thisorder might lead to other ones. On the other hand, the face andmanner of my patron had made an unpleasant impression upon me, andI could not think that his explanation of the fuller's-earth wassufficient to explain the necessity for my coming at midnight, andhis extreme anxiety lest I should tell anyone of my errand.However, I threw all fears to the winds, ate a hearty supper, droveto Paddington, and started off, having obeyed to the letter theinjunction as to holding my tongue.
"At Reading I had to change not only my carriage but my station.However, I was in time for the last train to Eyford, and I reachedthe little dim-lit station after eleven o'clock. I was the onlypassenger who got out there, and there was no one upon the platformsave a single sleepy porter with a lantern. As I passed out throughthe wicket gate, however, I found my acquaintance of the morningwaiting in the shadow upon the other side. Without a word hegrasped my arm and hurried me into a carriage, the door of whichwas standing open. He drew up the windows on either side, tapped onthe wood-work, and away we went as fast as the horse could go."
"One horse?" interjected Holmes.
"Yes, only one."
"Did you observe the color?"
"Yes, I saw it by the side-lights when I was stepping into thecarriage. It was a chestnut."
"Tired-looking or fresh?"
"Oh, fresh and glossy."
"Thank you. I am sorry to have interrupted you. Pray continueyour most 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 shouldthink, from the rate that we seemed to go, and from the time thatwe took, that it must have been nearer twelve. He sat at my side insilence all the time, and I was aware, more than once when Iglanced in his direction, that he was looking at me with greatintensity. The country roads seem to be not very good in that partof the world, for we lurched and jolted terribly. I tried to lookout of the windows to see something of where we were, but they weremade of frosted glass, and I could make out nothing save theoccasional bright blur of a passing light. Now and then I hazardedsome remark to break the monotony of the journey, but the colonelanswered only in monosyllables, and the conversation soon flagged.At last, however, the bumping of the road was exchanged for thecrisp smoothness of a gravel-drive, and the carriage came to astand. Colonel Lysander Stark sprang out, and, as I followed afterhim, pulled me swiftly into a porch which gaped in front of us. Westepped, as it were, right out of the carriage and into the hall,so that I failed to catch the most fleeting glance of the front ofthe house. The instant that I had crossed the threshold the doorslammed heavily behind us, and I heard faintly the rattle of thewheels as the carriage drove away.
"It was pitch dark inside the house, and the colonel fumbledabout looking for matches and muttering under his breath. Suddenlya door opened at the other end of the passage, and a long, goldenbar of light shot out in our direction. It grew broader, and awoman appeared with a lamp in her hand, which she held above herhead, pushing her face forward and peering at us. I could see thatshe was pretty, and from the gloss with which the light shone uponher dark dress I knew that it was a rich material. She spoke a fewwords in a foreign tongue in a tone as though asking a question,and when my companion answered in a gruff monosyllable she gavesuch a start that the lamp nearly fell from her hand. Colonel Starkwent up to her, whispered something in her ear, and then, pushingher back into the room from whence she had come, he walked towardsme again with the lamp in his hand.
"'Perhaps you will have the kindness to wait in this room for afew minutes,' said he, throwing open another door. It was a quiet,little, plainly furnished room, with a round table in the centre,on which several German books were scattered. Colonel Stark laiddown the lamp on the top of a harmonium beside the door. 'I shallnot keep you waiting an instant,' said he, and vanished into thedarkness.
"I glanced at the books upon the table, and in spite of myignorance of German I could see that two of them were treatises onscience, the others being volumes of poetry. Then I walked acrossto the window, hoping that I might catch some glimpse of thecountry-side, but an oak shutter, heavily barred, was folded acrossit. It was a wonderfully silent house. There was an old clockticking loudly somewhere in the passage, but otherwise everythingwas deadly still. A vague feeling of uneasiness began to steal overme. Who were these German people, and what were they doing livingin this strange, out-of-the-way place? And where was the place? Iwas ten miles or so from Eyford, that was all I knew, but whethernorth, south, east, or west I had no idea. For that matter,Reading, and possibly other large towns, were within that radius,so the place might not be so secluded, after all. Yet it was quitecertain, from the absolute stillness, that we were in the country.I paced up and down the room, humming a tune under my breath tokeep up my spirits and feeling that I was thoroughly earning myfifty-guinea fee.
"Suddenly, without any preliminary sound in the midst of theutter stillness, the door of my room swung slowly open. The womanwas standing in the aperture, the darkness of the hall behind her,the yellow light from my lamp beating upon her eager and beautifulface. I could see at a glance that she was sick with fear, and thesight sent a chill to my own heart. She held up one shaking fingerto warn me to be silent, and she shot a few whispered words ofbroken English at me, her eyes glancing back, like those of afrightened horse, into the gloom behind her.
"'I would go,' said she, trying hard, as it seemed to me, tospeak calmly; 'I would go. I should not stay here. There is no goodfor you to do.'
"'But, madam,' said I, 'I have not yet done what I came for. Icannot possibly leave until I have seen the machine.'
"'It is not worth your while to wait,' she went on. 'You canpass through the door; no one hinders.' And then, seeing that Ismiled and shook my head, she suddenly threw aside her constraintand made a step forward, with her hands wrung together. 'For thelove of Heaven!' she whispered, 'get away from here before it istoo late!'
"But I am somewhat headstrong by nature, and the more ready toengage in an affair when there is some obstacle in the way. Ithought of my fifty-guinea fee, of my wearisome journey, and of theunpleasant night which seemed to be before me. Was it all to go fornothing? Why should I slink away without having carried out mycommission, and without the payment which was my due? This womanmight, for all I knew, be a monomaniac. With a stout bearing,therefore, though her manner had shaken me more than I cared toconfess, I still shook my head and declared my intention ofremaining where I was. She was about to renew her entreaties when adoor slammed overhead, and the sound of several footsteps was heardupon the stairs. She listened for an instant, threw up her handswith a despairing gesture, and vanished as suddenly and asnoiselessly 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 doublechin, who was introduced to me as Mr. Ferguson.
"'This is my secretary and manager,' said the colonel. 'By theway, I was under the impression that I left this door shut justnow. I fear that you have felt the draught.'
"'On the contrary,' said I, 'I opened the door myself because Ifelt the room to be a little close.'
"He shot one of his suspicious looks at me. 'Perhaps we hadbetter proceed to business, then,' said he. 'Mr. Ferguson and Iwill take you up to see the machine.'
"'I had better put my hat on, I suppose.'
"'Oh, no, it is in the house.'
"'What, you dig fuller's-earth in the house?'
"'No, no. This is only where we compress it. But never mindthat. All we wish you to do is to examine the machine and to let usknow what is wrong with it.'
"We went upstairs together, the colonel first with the lamp, thefat manager and I behind him. It was a labyrinth of an old house,with corridors, passages, narrow winding staircases, and little lowdoors, the thresholds of which were hollowed out by the generationswho had crossed them. There were no carpets and no signs of anyfurniture above the ground floor, while the plaster was peeling offthe walls, and the damp was breaking through in green, unhealthyblotches. I tried to put on as unconcerned an air as possible, butI had not forgotten the warnings of the lady, even though Idisregarded them, and I kept a keen eye upon my two companions.Ferguson appeared to be a morose and silent man, but I could seefrom the little that he said that he was at least afellow-countryman.
"Colonel Lysander Stark stopped at last before a low door, whichhe unlocked. Within was a small, square room, in which the three ofus could hardly get at one time. Ferguson remained outside, and thecolonel ushered me in.
"'We are now,' said he, 'actually within the hydraulic press,and it would be a particularly unpleasant thing for us if anyonewere to turn it on. The ceiling of this small chamber is really theend of the descending piston, and it comes down with the force ofmany tons upon this metal floor. There are small lateral columns ofwater outside which receive the force, and which transmit andmultiply it in the manner which is familiar to you. The machinegoes readily enough, but there is some stiffness in the working ofit, 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 itright.'
"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 whishingsound that there was a slight leakage, which allowed aregurgitation of water through one of the side cylinders. Anexamination showed that one of the india-rubber bands which wasround the head of a driving-rod had shrunk so as not quite to fillthe socket along which it worked. This was clearly the cause of theloss of power, and I pointed it out to my companions, who followedmy remarks very carefully and asked several practical questions asto how they should proceed to set it right. When I had made itclear to them, I returned to the main chamber of the machine andtook a good look at it to satisfy my own curiosity. It was obviousat a glance that the story of the fuller's-earth was the merestfabrication, for it would be absurd to suppose that so powerful anengine could be designed for so inadequate a purpose. The wallswere of wood, but the floor consisted of a large iron trough, andwhen I came to examine it I could see a crust of metallic depositall over it. I had stooped and was scraping at this to see exactlywhat it was when I heard a muttered exclamation in German and sawthe cadaverous face of the colonel looking down at me.
"'What are you doing there?' he asked.
"I felt angry at having been tricked by so elaborate a story asthat which he had told me. 'I was admiring your fuller's-earth,'said I; 'I think that I should be better able to advise you as toyour machine if I knew what the exact purpose was for which it wasused.'
"The instant that I uttered the words I regretted the rashnessof my speech. His face set hard, and a baleful light sprang up inhis gray eyes.
"'Very well,' said he, 'you shall know all about the machine.'He took a step backward, slammed the little door, and turned thekey in the lock. I rushed towards it and pulled at the handle, butit was quite secure, and did not give in the least to my kicks andshoves. 'Hello!' I yelled. 'Hello! Colonel! Let me out!'
"And then suddenly in the silence I heard a sound which sent myheart into my mouth. It was the clank of the levers and the swishof the leaking cylinder. He had set the engine at work. The lampstill stood upon the floor where I had placed it when examining thetrough. By its light I saw that the black ceiling was coming downupon me, slowly, jerkily, but, as none knew better than myself,with a force which must within a minute grind me to a shapelesspulp. I threw myself, screaming, against the door, and dragged withmy nails at the lock. I implored the colonel to let me out, but theremorseless clanking of the levers drowned my cries. The ceilingwas only a foot or two above my head, and with my hand upraised Icould feel its hard, rough surface. Then it flashed through my mindthat the pain of my death would depend very much upon the positionin which I met it. If I lay on my face the weight would come uponmy spine, and I shuddered to think of that dreadful snap. Easierthe other way, perhaps; and yet, had I the nerve to lie and look upat that deadly black shadow wavering down upon me? Already I wasunable to stand erect, when my eye caught something which brought agush of hope back to my heart.
"I have said that though the floor and ceiling were of iron, thewalls were of wood. As I gave a last hurried glance around, I saw athin line of yellow light between two of the boards, whichbroadened and broadened as a small panel was pushed backward. Foran instant I could hardly believe that here was indeed a door whichled away from death. The next instant I threw myself through, andlay half-fainting upon the other side. The panel had closed againbehind me, but the crash of the lamp, and a few moments afterwardsthe clang of the two slabs of metal, told me how narrow had been myescape.
"I was recalled to myself by a frantic plucking at my wrist, andI found myself lying upon the stone floor of a narrow corridor,while a woman bent over me and tugged at me with her left hand,while she held a candle in her right. It was the same good friendwhose warning I had so foolishly rejected.
"'Come! come!' she cried breathlessly. 'They will be here in amoment. They will see that you are not there. Oh, do not waste theso-precious time, but come!'
"This time, at least, I did not scorn her advice. I staggered tomy feet and ran with her along the corridor and down a windingstair. The latter led to another broad passage, and just as wereached it we heard the sound of running feet and the shouting oftwo voices, one answering the other from the floor on which we wereand from the one beneath. My guide stopped and looked about herlike one who is at her wit's end. Then she threw open a door whichled into a bedroom, through the window of which the moon wasshining brightly.
"'It is your only chance,' said she. 'It is high, but it may bethat you can jump it.'
"As she spoke a light sprang into view at the further end of thepassage, and I saw the lean figure of Colonel Lysander Starkrushing forward with a lantern in one hand and a weapon like abutcher's cleaver in the other. I rushed across the bedroom, flungopen the window, and looked out. How quiet and sweet and wholesomethe garden looked in the moonlight, and it could not be more thanthirty feet down. I clambered out upon the sill, but I hesitated tojump until I should have heard what passed between my saviour andthe ruffian who pursued me. If she were ill-used, then at any risksI was determined to go back to her assistance. The thought hadhardly flashed through my mind before he was at the door, pushinghis way past her; but she threw her arms round him and tried tohold him back.
"'Fritz! Fritz!' she cried in English, 'remember your promiseafter the last time. You said it should not be again. He will besilent! Oh, he will be silent!'
"'You are mad, Elise!' he shouted, struggling to break away fromher. 'You will be the ruin of us. He has seen too much. Let mepass, I say!' He dashed her to one side, and, rushing to thewindow, cut at me with his heavy weapon. I had let myself go, andwas hanging by the hands to the sill, when his blow fell. I wasconscious of a dull pain, my grip loosened, and I fell into thegarden below.
"I was shaken but not hurt by the fall; so I picked myself upand rushed off among the bushes as hard as I could run, for Iunderstood that I was far from being out of danger yet. Suddenly,however, as I ran, a deadly dizziness and sickness came over me. Iglanced down at my hand, which was throbbing painfully, and then,for the first time, saw that my thumb had been cut off and that theblood was pouring from my wound. I endeavored to tie myhandkerchief round it, but there came a sudden buzzing in my ears,and next moment I fell in a dead faint among the rose-bushes.
"How long I remained unconscious I cannot tell. It must havebeen a very long time, for the moon had sunk, and a bright morningwas breaking when I came to myself. My clothes were all sodden withdew, and my coat-sleeve was drenched with blood from my woundedthumb. The smarting of it recalled in an instant all theparticulars of my night's adventure, and I sprang to my feet withthe feeling that I might hardly yet be safe from my pursuers. Butto my astonishment, when I came to look round me, neither house norgarden were to be seen. I had been lying in an angle of the hedgeclose by the highroad, and just a little lower down was a longbuilding, which proved, upon my approaching it, to be the verystation 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 morningtrain. There would be one to Reading in less than an hour. The sameporter was on duty, I found, as had been there when I arrived. Iinquired of him whether he had ever heard of Colonel LysanderStark. The name was strange to him. Had he observed a carriage thenight before waiting for me? No, he had not. Was there apolice-station anywhere near? There was one about three milesoff.
"It was too far for me to go, weak and ill as I was. Idetermined to wait until I got back to town before telling my storyto the police. It was a little past six when I arrived, so I wentfirst to have my wound dressed, and then the doctor was kind enoughto bring me along here. I put the case into your hands and shall doexactly what you advise."
We both sat in silence for some little time after listening tothis extraordinary narrative. Then Sherlock Holmes pulled down fromthe shelf one of the ponderous commonplace books in which he placedhis cuttings.
"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 o'clock at night, andhas not been heard of since. Was dressed in,' etc., etc. Ha! Thatrepresents the last time that the colonel needed to have hismachine overhauled, I fancy."
"Good heavens!" cried my patient. "Then that explains what thegirl said."
"Undoubtedly. It is quite clear that the colonel was a cool anddesperate man, who was absolutely determined that nothing shouldstand in the way of his little game, like those out-and-out pirateswho will leave no survivor from a captured ship. Well, every momentnow is precious, so if you feel equal to it we shall go down toScotland Yard at once as a preliminary to starting for Eyford."
Some three hours or so afterwards we were all in the traintogether, bound from Reading to the little Berkshire village. Therewere Sherlock Holmes, the hydraulic engineer, Inspector Bradstreet,of Scotland Yard, a plain-clothes man, and myself. Bradstreet hadspread an ordnance map of the county out upon the seat and was busywith his compasses drawing a circle with Eyford for its centre.
"There you are," said he. "That circle is drawn at a radius often miles from the village. The place we want must be somewherenear that line. You said ten miles, I think, sir."
"It was an hour's good drive."
"And you think that they brought you back all that way when youwere unconscious?"
"They must have done so. I have a confused memory, too, ofhaving been lifted and conveyed somewhere."
"What I cannot understand," said I, "is why they should havespared you when they found you lying fainting in the garden.Perhaps the villain was softened by the woman's entreaties."
"I hardly think that likely. I never saw a more inexorable facein my life."
"Oh, we shall soon clear up all that," said Bradstreet. "Well, Ihave drawn my circle, and I only wish I knew at what point upon itthe folk that we are in search of are to be found."
"I think I could lay my finger on it," said Holmes quietly.
"Really, now!" cried the inspector, "you have formed youropinion! Come, now, we shall see who agrees with you. I say it issouth, for the country is more deserted there."
"And I say east," said my patient.
"I am for west," remarked the plain-clothes man. "There areseveral quiet little villages up there."
"And I am for north," said I, "because there are no hills there,and our friend says that he did not notice the carriage go upany."
"Come," cried the inspector, laughing; "it's a very prettydiversity of opinion. We have boxed the compass among us. Who doyou give your casting vote to?"
"You are all wrong."
"But we can't all be."
"Oh, yes, you can. This is my point." He placed his finger inthe centre of the circle. "This is where we shall find them."
"But the twelve-mile drive?" gasped Hatherley.
"Six out and six back. Nothing simpler. You say yourself thatthe horse was fresh and glossy when you got in. How could it bethat if it had gone twelve miles over heavy roads?"
"Indeed, it is a likely ruse enough," observed Bradstreetthoughtfully. "Of course there can be no doubt as to the nature ofthis gang."
"None at all," said Holmes. "They are coiners on a large scale,and have used the machine to form the amalgam which has taken theplace of silver."
"We have known for some time that a clever gang was at work,"said the inspector. "They have been turning out half-crowns by thethousand. We even traced them as far as Reading, but could get nofarther, for they had covered their traces in a way that showedthat they were very old hands. But now, thanks to this luckychance, I think that we have got them right enough."
But the inspector was mistaken, for those criminals were notdestined to fall into the hands of justice. As we rolled intoEyford Station we saw a gigantic column of smoke which streamed upfrom behind a small clump of trees in the neighborhood and hunglike an immense ostrich feather over the landscape.
"A house on fire?" asked Bradstreet as the train steamed offagain on its way.
"Yes, sir!" said the station-master.
"When did it break out?"
"I hear that it was during the night, sir, but it has got worse,and the whole place is in a blaze."
"Whose house is it?"
"Dr. Becher's."
"Tell me," broke in the engineer, "is Dr. Becher a German, verythin, with a long, sharp nose?"
The station-master laughed heartily. "No, sir, Dr. Becher is anEnglishman, and there isn't a man in the parish who has abetter-lined waistcoat. But he has a gentleman staying with him, apatient, as I understand, who is a foreigner, and he looks as if alittle good Berkshire beef would do him no harm."
The station-master had not finished his speech before we wereall hastening in the direction of the fire. The road topped a lowhill, and there was a great widespread whitewashed building infront of us, spouting fire at every chink and window, while in thegarden in front three fire-engines were vainly striving to keep theflames under.
"That's it!" cried Hatherley, in intense excitement. "There isthe gravel-drive, and there are the rose-bushes where I lay. Thatsecond window is the one that I jumped from."
"Well, at least," said Holmes, "you have had your revenge uponthem. There can be no question that it was your oil-lamp which,when it was crushed in the press, set fire to the wooden walls,though no doubt they were too excited in the chase after you toobserve it at the time. Now keep your eyes open in this crowd foryour friends of last night, though I very much fear that they are agood hundred miles off by now."
And Holmes's fears came to be realized, for from that day tothis no word has ever been heard either of the beautiful woman, thesinister German, or the morose Englishman. Early that morning apeasant had met a cart containing several people and some verybulky boxes driving rapidly in the direction of Reading, but thereall traces of the fugitives disappeared, and even Holmes'singenuity failed ever to discover the least clew as to theirwhereabouts.
The firemen had been much perturbed at the strange arrangementswhich they had found within, and still more so by discovering anewly severed human thumb upon a window-sill of the second floor.About sunset, however, their efforts were at last successful, andthey subdued the flames, but not before the roof had fallen in, andthe whole place been reduced to such absolute ruin that, save sometwisted cylinders and iron piping, not a trace remained of themachinery which had cost our unfortunate acquaintance so dearly.Large masses of nickel and of tin were discovered stored in anout-house, but no coins were to be found, which may have explainedthe presence of those bulky boxes which have been already referredto.
How our hydraulic engineer had been conveyed from the garden tothe spot where he recovered his senses might have remained forevera mystery were it not for the soft mould, which told us a veryplain tale. He had evidently been carried down by two persons, oneof whom had remarkably small feet and the other unusually largeones. On the whole, it was most probable that the silentEnglishman, being less bold or less murderous than his companion,had assisted the woman to bear the unconscious man out of the wayof danger.
"Well," said our engineer ruefully as we took our seats toreturn once more to London, "it has been a pretty business for me!I have lost my thumb and I have lost a fifty-guinea fee, and whathave I gained?"
"Experience," said Holmes, laughing. "Indirectly it may be ofvalue, you know; you have only to put it into words to gain thereputation of being excellent company for the remainder of yourexistence."
ADVENTURE X. THE ADVENTURE OF THE NOBLEBACHELOR
The Lord St. Simon marriage, and its curious termination, havelong ceased to be a subject of interest in those exalted circles inwhich the unfortunate bridegroom moves. Fresh scandals haveeclipsed it, and their more piquant details have drawn the gossipsaway from this four-year-old drama. As I have reason to believe,however, that the full facts have never been revealed to thegeneral public, and as my friend Sherlock Holmes had a considerableshare in clearing the matter up, I feel that no memoir of him wouldbe complete without some little sketch of this remarkableepisode.
It was a few weeks before my own marriage, during the days whenI was still sharing rooms with Holmes in Baker Street, that he camehome from an afternoon stroll to find a letter on the table waitingfor him. I had remained indoors all day, for the weather had takena sudden turn to rain, with high autumnal winds, and the Jezailbullet which I had brought back in one of my limbs as a relic of myAfghan campaign throbbed with dull persistence. With my body in oneeasy-chair and my legs upon another, I had surrounded myself with acloud of newspapers until at last, saturated with the news of theday, I tossed them all aside and lay listless, watching the hugecrest and monogram upon the envelope upon the table and wonderinglazily who my friend's noble correspondent could be.
"Here is a very fashionable epistle," I remarked as he entered."Your morning letters, if I remember right, were from a fish-mongerand a tide-waiter."
"Yes, my correspondence has certainly the charm of variety," heanswered, smiling, "and the humbler are usually the moreinteresting. This looks like one of those unwelcome socialsummonses which call upon a man either to be bored or to lie."
He broke the seal and glanced over the contents.
"Oh, come, it may prove to be something of interest, afterall."
"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 ofmy client is a matter of less moment to me than the interest of hiscase. It is just possible, however, that that also may not bewanting in this new investigation. You have been reading the papersdiligently of late, have you not?"
"It looks like it," said I ruefully, pointing to a huge bundlein the corner. "I have had nothing else to do."
"It is fortunate, for you will perhaps be able to post me up. Iread nothing except the criminal news and the agony column. Thelatter is always instructive. But if you have followed recentevents so closely you must have read about Lord St. Simon and hiswedding?"
"Oh, yes, with the deepest interest."
"That is well. The letter which I hold in my hand is from LordSt. Simon. I will read it to you, and in return you must turn overthese papers and let me have whatever bears upon the matter. Thisis what he says:
"'MY DEAR MR. SHERLOCK HOLMES:--"Lord Backwater tells me that Imay place implicit reliance upon your judgment and discretion. Ihave determined, therefore, to call upon you and to consult you inreference to the very painful event which has occurred inconnection with my wedding. Mr. Lestrade, of Scotland Yard, isacting already in the matter, but he assures me that he sees noobjection to your cooperation, and that he even thinks that itmight be of some assistance. I will call at four o'clock in theafternoon, and, should you have any other engagement at that time,I hope that you will postpone it, as this matter is of paramountimportance. Yours faithfully, ST. SIMON.'
"It is dated from Grosvenor Mansions, written with a quill pen,and the noble lord has had the misfortune to get a smear of inkupon the outer side of his right little finger," remarked Holmes ashe folded up the epistle.
"He says four o'clock. It is three now. He will be here in anhour."
"Then I have just time, with your assistance, to get clear uponthe subject. Turn over those papers and arrange the extracts intheir order of time, while I take a glance as to who our clientis." He picked a red-covered volume from a line of books ofreference beside the mantelpiece. "Here he is," said he, sittingdown and flattening it out upon his knee. "Lord Robert Walsinghamde Vere St. Simon, second son of the Duke of Balmoral. Hum! Arms:Azure, three caltrops in chief over a fess sable. Born in 1846.He's forty-one years of age, which is mature for marriage. WasUnder-Secretary for the colonies in a late administration. TheDuke, his father, was at one time Secretary for Foreign Affairs.They inherit Plantagenet blood by direct descent, and Tudor on thedistaff side. Ha! Well, there is nothing very instructive in allthis. I think that I must turn to you Watson, for something moresolid."
"I have very little difficulty in finding what I want," said I,"for the facts are quite recent, and the matter struck me asremarkable. I feared to refer them to you, however, as I knew thatyou had an inquiry on hand and that you disliked the intrusion ofother matters."
"Oh, you mean the little problem of the Grosvenor Squarefurniture van. That is quite cleared up now--though, indeed, it wasobvious from the first. Pray give me the results of your newspaperselections."
"Here is the first notice which I can find. It is in thepersonal column of the Morning Post, and dates, as you see, someweeks back: 'A marriage has been arranged,' it says, 'and will, ifrumour is correct, very shortly take place, between Lord Robert St.Simon, second son of the Duke of Balmoral, and Miss Hatty Doran,the only daughter of Aloysius Doran. Esq., of San Francisco, Cal.,U.S.A.' That is all."
"Terse and to the point," remarked Holmes, stretching his long,thin legs towards the fire.
"There was a paragraph amplifying this in one of the societypapers of the same week. Ah, here it is: 'There will soon be a callfor protection in the marriage market, for the present free-tradeprinciple appears to tell heavily against our home product. One byone the management of the noble houses of Great Britain is passinginto the hands of our fair cousins from across the Atlantic. Animportant addition has been made during the last week to the listof the prizes which have been borne away by these charminginvaders. Lord St. Simon, who has shown himself for over twentyyears proof against the little god's arrows, has now definitelyannounced his approaching marriage with Miss Hatty Doran, thefascinating daughter of a California millionaire. Miss Doran, whosegraceful figure and striking face attracted much attention at theWestbury House festivities, is an only child, and it is currentlyreported that her dowry will run to considerably over the sixfigures, with expectancies for the future. As it is an open secretthat the Duke of Balmoral has been compelled to sell his pictureswithin the last few years, and as Lord St. Simon has no property ofhis own save the small estate of Birchmoor, it is obvious that theCalifornian heiress is not the only gainer by an alliance whichwill enable her to make the easy and common transition from aRepublican lady to a British peeress.'"
"Anything else?" asked Holmes, yawning.
"Oh, yes; plenty. Then there is another note in the Morning Postto say that the marriage would be an absolutely quiet one, that itwould be at St. George's, Hanover Square, that only half a dozenintimate friends would be invited, and that the party would returnto the furnished house at Lancaster Gate which has been taken byMr. Aloysius Doran. Two days later--that is, on Wednesdaylast--there is a curt announcement that the wedding had takenplace, and that the honeymoon would be passed at Lord Backwater'splace, near Petersfield. Those are all the notices which appearedbefore 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; quitedramatic, in fact."
"Yes; it struck me as being a little out of the common."
"They often vanish before the ceremony, and occasionally duringthe honeymoon; but I cannot call to mind anything quite so promptas this. Pray let me have the details."
"I warn you that they are very incomplete."
"Perhaps we may make them less so."
"Such as they are, they are set forth in a single article of amorning paper of yesterday, which I will read to you. It is headed,'Singular Occurrence at a Fashionable Wedding':
"'The family of Lord Robert St. Simon has been thrown into thegreatest consternation by the strange and painful episodes whichhave taken place in connection with his wedding. The ceremony, asshortly 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. George's, 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 Alicia Whittington.The whole party proceeded afterwards to the house of Mr. AloysiusDoran, at Lancaster Gate, where breakfast had been prepared. Itappears that some little trouble was caused by a woman, whose namehas not been ascertained, who endeavored to force her way into thehouse after the bridal party, alleging that she had some claim uponLord St. Simon. It was only after a painful and prolonged scenethat she was ejected by the butler and the footman. The bride, whohad fortunately entered the house before this unpleasantinterruption, had sat down to breakfast with the rest, when shecomplained of a sudden indisposition and retired to her room. Herprolonged absence having caused some comment, her father followedher, but learned from her maid that she had only come up to herchamber for an instant, caught up an ulster and bonnet, and hurrieddown to the passage. One of the footmen declared that he had seen alady leave the house thus apparelled, but had refused to creditthat it was his mistress, believing her to be with the company. Onascertaining that his daughter had disappeared, Mr. Aloysius Doran,in conjunction with the bridegroom, instantly put themselves incommunication with the police, and very energetic inquiries arebeing made, which will probably result in a speedy clearing up ofthis very singular business. Up to a late hour last night, however,nothing had transpired as to the whereabouts of the missing lady.There are rumours of foul play in the matter, and it is said thatthe police have caused the arrest of the woman who had caused theoriginal disturbance, in the belief that, from jealousy or someother motive, she may have been concerned in the strangedisappearance of the bride.'"
"And is that all?"
"Only one little item in another of the morning papers, but itis a suggestive one."
"And it is--"
"That Miss Flora Millar, the lady who had caused thedisturbance, has actually been arrested. It appears that she wasformerly a danseuse at the Allegro, and that she has known thebridegroom for some years. There are no further particulars, andthe whole case is in your hands now--so far as it has been setforth in the public press."
"And an exceedingly interesting case it appears to be. I wouldnot have missed it for worlds. But there is a ring at the bell,Watson, and as the clock makes it a few minutes after four, I haveno doubt that this will prove to be our noble client. Do not dreamof going, Watson, for I very much prefer having a witness, if onlyas a check to my own memory."
"Lord Robert St. Simon," announced our page-boy, throwing openthe door. A gentleman entered, with a pleasant, cultured face,high-nosed and pale, with something perhaps of petulance about themouth, and with the steady, well-opened eye of a man whose pleasantlot it had ever been to command and to be obeyed. His manner wasbrisk, and yet his general appearance gave an undue impression ofage, for he had a slight forward stoop and a little bend of theknees as he walked. His hair, too, as he swept off his verycurly-brimmed hat, was grizzled round the edges and thin upon thetop. As to his dress, it was careful to the verge of foppishness,with high collar, black frock-coat, white waistcoat, yellow gloves,patent-leather shoes, and light-colored gaiters. He advanced slowlyinto 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."Pray take the basket-chair. This is my friend and colleague, Dr.Watson. Draw up a little to the fire, and we will talk this matterover."
"A most painful matter to me, as you can most readily imagine,Mr. Holmes. I have been cut to the quick. I understand that youhave already managed several delicate cases of this sort sir,though I presume that they were hardly from the same class ofsociety."
"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 youin yours."
"Of course! Very right! very right! I'm sure I beg pardon. As tomy own case, I am ready to give you any information which mayassist you in forming an opinion."
"Thank you. I have already learned all that is in the publicprints, nothing more. I presume that I may take it as correct--this article, for example, as to the disappearance of thebride."
Lord St. Simon glanced over it. "Yes, it is correct, as far asit goes."
"But it needs a great deal of supplementing before anyone couldoffer an opinion. I think that I may arrive at my facts mostdirectly by questioning you."
"Pray do so."
"When did you first meet Miss Hatty Doran?"
"In San Francisco, a year ago."
"You were travelling in the States?"
"Yes."
"Did you become engaged then?"
"No."
"But you were on a friendly footing?"
"I was amused by her society, and she could see that I wasamused."
"Her father is very rich?"
"He is said to be the richest man on the Pacific slope."
"And how did he make his money?"
"In mining. He had nothing a few years ago. Then he struck gold,invested it, and came up by leaps and bounds."
"Now, what is your own impression as to the young lady's--yourwife's character?"
The nobleman swung his glasses a little faster and stared downinto the fire. "You see, Mr. Holmes," said he, "my wife was twentybefore her father became a rich man. During that time she ran freein a mining camp and wandered through woods or mountains, so thather education has come from Nature rather than from theschoolmaster. She is what we call in England a tomboy, with astrong nature, wild and free, unfettered by any sort of traditions.She is impetuous--volcanic, I was about to say. She is swift inmaking up her mind and fearless in carrying out her resolutions. Onthe other hand, I would not have given her the name which I havethe honor to bear"--he gave a little stately cough--"had not Ithought her to be at bottom a noble woman. I believe that she iscapable of heroic self-sacrifice and that anything dishonorablewould be repugnant to her."
"Have you her photograph?"
"I brought this with me." He opened a locket and showed us thefull face of a very lovely woman. It was not a photograph but anivory miniature, and the artist had brought out the full effect ofthe lustrous black hair, the large dark eyes, and the exquisitemouth. Holmes gazed long and earnestly at it. Then he closed thelocket and handed it back to Lord St. Simon.
"The young lady came to London, then, and you renewed youracquaintance?"
"Yes, her father brought her over for this last London season. Imet her several times, became engaged to her, and have now marriedher."
"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 afait accompli?"
"I really have made no inquiries on the subject."
"Very naturally not. Did you see Miss Doran on the day beforethe wedding?"
"Yes."
"Was she in good spirits?"
"Never better. She kept talking of what we should do in ourfuture lives."
"Indeed! That is very interesting. And on the morning of thewedding?"
"She was as bright as possible--at least until after theceremony."
"And did you observe any change in her then?"
"Well, to tell the truth, I saw then the first signs that I hadever seen that her temper was just a little sharp. The incidenthowever, was too trivial to relate and can have no possible bearingupon the case."
"Pray let us have it, for all that."
"Oh, it is childish. She dropped her bouquet as we went towardsthe vestry. She was passing the front pew at the time, and it fellover into the pew. There was a moment's delay, but the gentleman inthe pew handed it up to her again, and it did not appear to be theworse for the fall. Yet when I spoke to her of the matter, sheanswered me abruptly; and in the carriage, on our way home, sheseemed absurdly agitated over this trifling cause."
"Indeed! You say that there was a gentleman in the pew. Some ofthe general public were present, then?"
"Oh, yes. It is impossible to exclude them when the church isopen."
"This gentleman was not one of your wife's friends?"
"No, no; I call him a gentleman by courtesy, but he was quite acommon-looking person. I hardly noticed his appearance. But reallyI think that we are wandering rather far from the point."
"Lady St. Simon, then, returned from the wedding in a lesscheerful frame of mind than she had gone to it. What did she do onre-entering her father's house?"
"I saw her in conversation with her maid."
"And who is her maid?"
"Alice is her name. She is an American and came from Californiawith her."
"A confidential servant?"
"A little too much so. It seemed to me that her mistress allowedher to take great liberties. Still, of course, in America they lookupon these things in a different way."
"How long did she speak to this Alice?"
"Oh, a few minutes. I had something else to think of."
"You did not overhear what they said?"
"Lady St. Simon said something about 'jumping a claim.' She wasaccustomed to use slang of the kind. I have no idea what shemeant."
"American slang is very expressive sometimes. And what did yourwife do when she finished speaking to her maid?"
"She walked into the breakfast-room."
"On your arm?"
"No, alone. She was very independent in little matters likethat. Then, after we had sat down for ten minutes or so, she rosehurriedly, muttered some words of apology, and left the room. Shenever came back."
"But this maid, Alice, as I understand, deposes that she went toher room, covered her bride's dress with a long ulster, put on abonnet, and went 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. Doran's house thatmorning."
"Ah, yes. I should like a few particulars as to this young lady,and your relations to her."
Lord St. Simon shrugged his shoulders and raised his eyebrows."We have been on a friendly footing for some years--I may say on avery friendly footing. She used to be at the Allegro. I have nottreated her ungenerously, and she had no just cause of complaintagainst me, but you know what women are, Mr. Holmes. Flora was adear little thing, but exceedingly hot-headed and devotedlyattached to me. She wrote me dreadful letters when she heard that Iwas about to be married, and, to tell the truth, the reason why Ihad the marriage celebrated so quietly was that I feared lest theremight be a scandal in the church. She came to Mr. Doran's door justafter we returned, and she endeavored to push her way in, utteringvery abusive expressions towards my wife, and even threatening her,but I had foreseen the possibility of something of the sort, and Ihad two police fellows there in private clothes, who soon pushedher out again. She was quiet when she saw that there was no good inmaking 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 asso serious. It is thought that Flora decoyed my wife out and laidsome terrible trap for her."
"Well, it is a possible supposition."
"You think so, too?"
"I did not say a probable one. But you do not yourself look uponthis as likely?"
"I do not think Flora would hurt a fly."
"Still, jealousy is a strange transformer of characters. Praywhat is your own theory as to what took place?"
"Well, really, I came to seek a theory, not to propound one. Ihave given you all the facts. Since you ask me, however, I may saythat it has occurred to me as possible that the excitement of thisaffair, the consciousness that she had made so immense a socialstride, had the effect of causing some little nervous disturbancein my wife."
"In short, that she had become suddenly deranged?"
"Well, really, when I consider that she has turned her back--Iwill not say upon me, but upon so much that many have aspired towithout success--I can hardly explain it in any other fashion."
"Well, certainly that is also a conceivable hypothesis," saidHolmes, smiling. "And now, Lord St. Simon, I think that I havenearly all my data. May I ask whether you were seated at thebreakfast-table so that you could see out of the window?"
"We could see the other side of the road and the Park."
"Quite so. Then I do not think that I need to detain you longer.I shall communicate with you."
"Should you be fortunate enough to solve this problem," said ourclient, 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 takewiser heads than yours or mine," he remarked, and bowing in astately, old-fashioned manner he departed.
"It is very good of Lord St. Simon to honor my head by puttingit on a level with his own," said Sherlock Holmes, laughing. "Ithink that I shall have a whisky and soda and a cigar after allthis cross-questioning. I had formed my conclusions as to the casebefore our client came into the room."
"My dear Holmes!"
"I have notes of several similar cases, though none, as Iremarked before, which were quite as prompt. My whole examinationserved to turn my conjecture into a certainty. Circumstantialevidence is occasionally very convincing, as when you find a troutin the milk, to quote Thoreau's example."
"But I have heard all that you have heard."
"Without, however, the knowledge of pre-existing cases whichserves me so well. There was a parallel instance in Aberdeen someyears back, and something on very much the same lines at Munich theyear after the Franco-Prussian War. It is one of these cases--but,hello, here is Lestrade! Good-afternoon, Lestrade! You will find anextra tumbler upon the sideboard,and there are cigars in thebox."
The official detective was attired in a pea-jacket and cravat,which gave him a decidedly nautical appearance, and he carried ablack canvas bag in his hand. With a short greeting he seatedhimself and lit the cigar which had been offered to him.
"What's up, then?" asked Holmes with a twinkle in his eye. "Youlook dissatisfied."
"And I feel dissatisfied. It is this infernal St. Simon marriagecase. I can make neither head nor tail of the business."
"Really! You surprise me."
"Who ever heard of such a mixed affair? Every clew 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 heaven's name, what for?"
"In search of the body of Lady St. Simon."
Sherlock Holmes leaned back in his chair and laughedheartily.
"Have you dragged the basin of Trafalgar Square fountain?" heasked.
"Why? What do you mean?"
"Because you have just as good a chance of finding this lady inthe one as in the other."
Lestrade shot an angry glance at my companion. "I suppose youknow all about it," he snarled.
"Well, I have only just heard the facts, but my mind is madeup."
"Oh, indeed! Then you think that the Serpentine plays no part inthe maner?"
"I think it very unlikely."
"Then perhaps you will kindly explain how it is that we foundthis in it?" He opened his bag as he spoke, and tumbled onto thefloor a wedding-dress of watered silk, a pair of white satin shoesand a bride's wreath and veil, all discolored and soaked in water."There," said he, putting a new wedding-ring upon the top of thepile. "There is a little nut for you to crack, Master Holmes."
"Oh, indeed!" said my friend, blowing blue rings into the air."You dragged them from the Serpentine?"
"No. They were found floating near the margin by a park-keeper.They have been identified as her clothes, and it seemed to me thatif the clothes were there the body would not be far off."
"By the same brilliant reasoning, every man's body is to befound in the neighborhood of his wardrobe. And pray what did youhope to arrive at through this?"
"At some evidence implicating Flora Millar in thedisappearance."
"I am afraid that you will find it difficult."
"Are you, indeed, now?" cried Lestrade with some bitterness. "Iam afraid, Holmes, that you are not very practical with yourdeductions and your inferences. You have made two blunders in asmany minutes. This dress does implicate Miss Flora Millar."
"And how?"
"In the dress is a pocket. In the pocket is a card-case. In thecard-case is a note. And here is the very note." He slapped it downupon the table in front of him. "Listen to this: 'You will see mewhen all is ready. Come at once. F.H.M.' Now my theory all alonghas been that Lady St. Simon was decoyed away by Flora Millar, andthat she, with confederates, no doubt, was responsible for herdisappearance. Here, signed with her initials, is the very notewhich was no doubt quietly slipped into her hand at the door andwhich lured her within their reach."
"Very good, Lestrade," said Holmes, laughing. "You really arevery fine indeed. Let me see it." He took up the paper in alistless way, but his attention instantly became riveted, and hegave a little cry of satisfaction. "This is indeed important," saidhe.
"Ha! you find it so?"
"Extremely so. I congratulate you warmly."
Lestrade rose in his triumph and bent his head to look. "Why,"he shrieked, "you're looking at the wrong side!"
"On the contrary, this is the right side."
"The right side? You're mad! Here is the note written in pencilover here."
"And over here is what appears to be the fragment of a hotelbill, which interests me deeply."
"There's nothing in it. I looked at it before," said Lestrade."'Oct. 4th, rooms 8s., breakfast 2s. 6d., cocktail 1s., lunch 2s.6d., glass sherry, 8d.' I see nothing in that."
"Very likely not. It is most important, all the same. As to thenote, it is important also, or at least the initials are, so Icongratulate you again."
"I've wasted time enough," said Lestrade, rising. "I believe inhard work and not in sitting by the fire spinning fine theories.Good-day, Mr. Holmes, and we shall see which gets to the bottom ofthe matter first." He gathered up the garments, thrust them intothe bag, and made for the door.
"Just one hint to you, Lestrade," drawled Holmes before hisrival vanished; "I will tell you the true solution of the matter.Lady St. Simon is a myth. There is not, and there never has been,any such person."
Lestrade looked sadly at my companion. Then he turned to me,tapped his forehead three times, shook his head solemnly, andhurried away.
He had hardly shut the door behind him when Holmes rose to puton his overcoat. "There is something in what the fellow says aboutoutdoor work," he remarked, "so I think, Watson, that I must leaveyou to your papers for a little."
It was after five o'clock when Sherlock Holmes left me, but Ihad no time to be lonely, for within an hour there arrived aconfectioner's man with a very large flat box. This he unpackedwith the help of a youth whom he had brought with him, andpresently, to my very great astonishment, a quite epicurean littlecold supper began to be laid out upon our humble lodging-housemahogany. There were a couple of brace of cold woodcock, apheasant, a pate de foie gras pie with a group of ancient andcobwebby bottles. Having laid out all these luxuries, my twovisitors vanished away, like the genii of the Arabian Nights, withno explanation save that the things had been paid for and wereordered to this address.
Just before nine o'clock Sherlock Holmes stepped briskly intothe room. His features were gravely set, but there was a light inhis eye which made me think that he had not been disappointed inhis conclusions.
"They have laid the supper, then," he said, rubbing hishands.
"You seem to expect company. They have laid for five."
"Yes, I fancy we may have some company dropping in," said he. "Iam surprised that Lord St. Simon has not already arrived. Ha! Ifancy that I hear his step now upon the stairs."
It was indeed our visitor of the afternoon who came bustling in,dangling his glasses more vigorously than ever, and with a veryperturbed expression upon his aristocratic features.
"My messenger reached you, then?" asked Holmes.
"Yes, and I confess that the contents startled me beyondmeasure. Have you good authority for what you say?"
"The best possible."
Lord St. Simon sank into a chair and passed his hand over hisforehead.
"What will the Duke say," he murmured, "when he hears that oneof the family has been subjected to such humiliation?"
"It is the purest accident. I cannot allow that there is anyhumiliation. "
"Ah, you look on these things from another standpoint."
"I fail to see that anyone is to blame. I can hardly see how thelady could have acted otherwise, though her abrupt method of doingit was undoubtedly to be regretted. Having no mother, she had noone to advise her at such a crisis."
"It was a slight, sir, a public slight," said Lord St. Simon,tapping his fingers upon the table.
"You must make allowance for this poor girl, placed in sounprecedented a position."
"I will make no allowance. I am very angry indeed, and I havebeen shamefully used."
"I think that I heard a ring," said Holmes. "Yes, there aresteps on the landing. If I cannot persuade you to take a lenientview of the matter, Lord St. Simon, I have brought an advocate herewho may be more successful." He opened the door and ushered in alady and gentleman. "Lord St. Simon," said he "allow me tointroduce you to Mr. and Mrs. Francis Hay Moulton. The lady, Ithink, you have already met."
At the sight of these newcomers our client had sprung from hisseat and stood very erect, with his eyes cast down and his handthrust into the breast of his frock-coat, a picture of offendeddignity. The lady had taken a quick step forward and had held outher hand to him, but he still refused to raise his eyes. It was aswell for his resolution, perhaps, for her pleading face was onewhich it was hard to resist.
"You're angry, Robert," said she. "Well, I guess you have everycause to be."
"Pray make no apology to me," said Lord St. Simon bitterly.
"Oh, yes, I know that I have treated you real bad and that Ishould have spoken to you before I went; but I was kind of rattled,and from the time when I saw Frank here again I just didn't knowwhat I was doing or saying. I only wonder I didn't fall down and doa faint right there before the altar."
"Perhaps, Mrs. Moulton, you would like my friend and me to leavethe room while you explain this matter?"
"If I may give an opinion," remarked the strange gentleman,"we've had just a little too much secrecy over this businessalready. For my part, I should like all Europe and America to hearthe rights of it." He was a small, wiry, sunburnt man,clean-shaven, with a sharp face and alert manner.
"Then I'll tell our story right away," said the lady. "Frankhere and I met in '84, in McQuire's camp, near the Rockies, wherepa was working a claim. We were engaged to each other, Frank and I;but then one day father struck a rich pocket and made a pile, whilepoor Frank here had a claim that petered out and came to nothing.The richer pa grew the poorer was Frank; so at last pa wouldn'thear of our engagement lasting any longer, and he took me away to'Frisco. Frank wouldn't throw up his hand, though; so he followedme there, and he saw me without pa knowing anything about it. Itwould only have made him mad to know, so we just fixed it all upfor ourselves. Frank said that he would go and make his pile, too,and never come back to claim me until he had as much as pa. So thenI promised to wait for him to the end of time and pledged myselfnot to marry anyone else while he lived. 'Why shouldn't we bemarried right away, then,' said he, 'and then I will feel sure ofyou; and I won't claim to be your husband until I come back?' Well,we talked it over, and he had fixed it all up so nicely, with aclergyman all ready in waiting, that we just did it right there;and then Frank went off to seek his fortune, and I went back topa.
"The next I heard of Frank was that he was in Montana, and thenhe went prospecting in Arizona, and then I heard of him from NewMexico. After that came a long newspaper story about how a miners'camp had been attacked by Apache Indians, and there was my Frank'sname among the killed. I fainted dead away, and I was very sick formonths after. Pa thought I had a decline and took me to half thedoctors in 'Frisco. Not a word of news came for a year and more, sothat I never doubted that Frank was really dead. Then Lord St.Simon came to 'Frisco, and we came to London, and a marriage wasarranged, and pa was very pleased, but I felt all the time that noman on this earth would ever take the place in my heart that hadbeen given to my poor Frank.
"Still, if I had married Lord St. Simon, of course I'd have donemy duty by him. We can't command our love, but we can our actions.I went to the altar with him with the intention to make him just asgood a wife as it was in me to be. But you may imagine what I feltwhen, just as I came to the altar rails, I glanced back and sawFrank standing and looking at me out of the first pew. I thought itwas his ghost at first; but when I looked again there he was still,with a kind of question in his eyes, as if to ask me whether I wereglad or sorry to see him. I wonder I didn't drop. I know thateverything was turning round, and the words of the clergyman werejust like the buzz of a bee in my ear. I didn't know what to do.Should I stop the service and make a scene in the church? I glancedat him again, and he seemed to know what I was thinking, for heraised his finger to his lips to tell me to be still. Then I sawhim scribble on a piece of paper, and I knew that he was writing mea note. As I passed his pew on the way out I dropped my bouquetover to him, and he slipped the note into my hand when he returnedme the flowers. It was only a line asking me to join him when hemade 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 dojust whatever he might direct.
"When I got back I told my maid, who had known him inCalifornia, and had always been his friend. I ordered her to saynothing, but to get a few things packed and my ulster ready. I knowI ought to have spoken to Lord St. Simon, but it was dreadful hardbefore his mother and all those great people. I just made up mymind to run away and explain afterwards. I hadn't been at the tableten minutes before I saw Frank out of the window at the other sideof the road. He beckoned to me and then began walking into thePark. I slipped out, put on my things, and followed him. Some womancame talking something or other about Lord St. Simon to me--seemedto me from the little I heard as if he had a little secret of hisown before marriage also--but I managed to get away from her andsoon overtook Frank. We got into a cab together, and away we droveto some lodgings he had taken in Gordon Square, and that was mytrue wedding after all those years of waiting. Frank had been aprisoner among the Apaches, had escaped, came on to 'Frisco, foundthat I had given him up for dead and had gone to England, followedme there, and had come upon me at last on the very morning of mysecond wedding."
"I saw it in a paper," explained the American. "It gave the nameand the church but not where the lady lived."
"Then we had a talk as to what we should do, and Frank was allfor openness, but I was so ashamed of it all that I felt as if Ishould like to vanish away and never see any of them again--justsending a line to pa, perhaps, to show him that I was alive. It wasawful to me to think of all those lords and ladies sitting roundthat breakfast-table and waiting for me to come back. So Frank tookmy wedding-clothes and things and made a bundle of them, so that Ishould not be traced, and dropped them away somewhere where no onecould find them. It is likely that we should have gone on to Paristo-morrow, only that this good gentleman, Mr. Holmes, came round tous this evening, though how he found us is more than I can think,and he showed us very clearly and kindly that I was wrong and thatFrank was right, and that we should be putting ourselves in thewrong if we were so secret. Then he offered to give us a chance oftalking to Lord St. Simon alone, and so we came right away round tohis rooms at once. Now, Robert, you have heard it all, and I amvery sorry if I have given you pain, and I hope that you do notthink very meanly of me."
Lord St. Simon had by no means relaxed his rigid attitude, buthad listened with a frowning brow and a compressed lip to this longnarrative.
"Excuse me," he said, "but it is not my custom to discuss mymost intimate personal affairs in this public manner."
"Then you won't forgive me? You won't shake hands before Igo?"
"Oh, certainly, if it would give you any pleasure." He put outhis hand and coldly grasped that which she extended to him.
"I had hoped," suggested Holmes, "that you would have joined usin a friendly supper."
"I think that there you ask a little too much," responded hisLordship. "I may be forced to acquiesce in these recentdevelopments, but I can hardly be expected to make merry over them.I think that with your permission I will now wish you all a verygood-night." He included us all in a sweeping bow and stalked outof the room.
"Then I trust that you at least will honor me with yourcompany," said Sherlock Holmes. "It is always a joy to meet anAmerican, Mr. Moulton, for I am one of those who believe that thefolly of a monarch and the blundering of a minister in far-goneyears will not prevent our children from being some day citizens ofthe same world-wide country under a flag which shall be aquartering of the Union Jack with the Stars and Stripes."
"The case has been an interesting one," remarked Holmes when ourvisitors had left us, "because it serves to show very clearly howsimple the explanation may be of an affair which at first sightseems to be almost inexplicable. Nothing could be more natural thanthe sequence of events as narrated by this lady, and nothingstranger 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 thatthe lady had been quite willing to undergo the wedding ceremony,the other that she had repented of it within a few minutes ofreturning home. Obviously something had occurred during themorning, then, to cause her to change her mind. What could thatsomething be? She could not have spoken to anyone when she was out,for she had been in the company of the bridegroom. Had she seensomeone, then? If she had, it must be someone from America becauseshe had spent so short a time in this country that she could hardlyhave allowed anyone to acquire so deep an influence over her thatthe mere sight of him would induce her to change her plans socompletely. You see we have already arrived, by a process ofexclusion, at the idea that she might have seen an American. Thenwho could this American be, and why should he possess so muchinfluence over her? It might be a lover; it might be a husband. Heryoung womanhood had, I knew, been spent in rough scenes and understrange conditions. So far I had got before I ever heard Lord St.Simon's narrative. When he told us of a man in a pew, of the changein the bride's manner, of so transparent a device for obtaining anote as the dropping of a bouquet, of her resort to herconfidential maid, and of her very significant allusion toclaim-jumping--which in miners' parlance means taking possession ofthat which another person has a prior claim to--the whole situationbecame absolutely clear. She had gone off with a man, and the manwas either a lover or was a previous husband--the chances being infavor of the latter."
"And how in the world did you find them?"
"It might have been difficult, but friend Lestrade heldinformation in his hands the value of which he did not himselfknow. The initials were, of course, of the highest importance, butmore valuable still was it to know that within a week he hadsettled his bill at one of the most select London hotels."
"How did you deduce the select?"
"By the select prices. Eight shillings for a bed and eight-pencefor a glass of sherry pointed to one of the most expensive hotels.There are not many in London which charge at that rate. In thesecond one which I visited in Northumberland Avenue, I learned byan inspection of the book that Francis H. Moulton, an Americangentleman, had left only the day before, and on looking over theentries against him, I came upon the very items which I had seen inthe duplicate bill. His letters were to be forwarded to 226 GordonSquare; so thither I travelled, and being fortunate enough to findthe loving couple at home, I ventured to give them some paternaladvice and to point out to them that it would be better in everyway that they should make their position a little clearer both tothe general public and to Lord St. Simon in particular. I invitedthem to meet him here, and, as you see, I made him keep theappointment."
"But with no very good result," I remarked. "His conduct wascertainly not very gracious."
"Ah, Watson," said Holmes, smiling, "perhaps you would not bevery gracious either, if, after all the trouble of wooing andwedding, you found yourself deprived in an instant of wife and offortune. I think that we may judge Lord St. Simon very mercifullyand thank our stars that we are never likely to find ourselves inthe same position. Draw your chair up and hand me my violin, forthe only problem we have still to solve is how to while away thesebleak autumnal evenings."
ADVENTURE XI. THE ADVENTURE OF THE BERYLCORONET
"Holmes," said I as I stood one morning in our bow-windowlooking down the street, "here is a madman coming along. It seemsrather sad that his relatives should allow him to come outalone."
My friend rose lazily from his armchair and stood with his handsin the pockets of his dressing-gown, looking over my shoulder. Itwas a bright, crisp February morning, and the snow of the daybefore still lay deep upon the ground, shimmering brightly in thewintry sun. Down the centre of Baker Street it had been ploughedinto a brown crumbly band by the traffic, but at either side and onthe heaped-up edges of the foot-paths it still lay as white as whenit fell. The gray pavement had been cleaned and scraped, but wasstill dangerously slippery, so that there were fewer passengersthan usual. Indeed, from the direction of the Metropolitan Stationno one was coming save the single gentleman whose eccentric conducthad drawn my attention.
He was a man of about fifty, tall, portly, and imposing, with amassive, strongly marked face and a commanding figure. He wasdressed in a sombre yet rich style, in black frock-coat, shininghat, neat brown gaiters, and well-cut pearl-gray trousers. Yet hisactions were in absurd contrast to the dignity of his dress andfeatures, for he was running hard, with occasional little springs,such as a weary man gives who is little accustomed to set any taxupon his legs. As he ran he jerked his hands up and down, waggledhis head, and writhed his face into the most extraordinarycontortions.
"What on earth can be the matter with him?" I asked. "He islooking up at the numbers of the houses."
"I believe that he is coming here," said Holmes, rubbing hishands.
"Here?"
"Yes; I rather think he is coming to consult me professionally.I think that I recognize the symptoms. Ha! did I not tell you?" Ashe spoke, the man, puffing and blowing, rushed at our door andpulled at our bell until the whole house resounded with theclanging.
A few moments later he was in our room, still puffing, stillgesticulating, but with so fixed a look of grief and despair in hiseyes that our smiles were turned in an instant to horror and pity.For a while he could not get his words out, but swayed his body andplucked at his hair like one who has been driven to the extremelimits of his reason. Then, suddenly springing to his feet, he beathis head against the wall with such force that we both rushed uponhim and tore him away to the centre of the room. Sherlock Holmespushed him down into the easy-chair and, sitting beside him, pattedhis hand and chatted with him in the easy, soothing tones which heknew so well how to employ.
"You have come to me to tell your story, have you not?" said he."You are fatigued with your haste. Pray wait until you haverecovered yourself, and then I shall be most happy to look into anylittle problem which you may submit to me."
The man sat for a minute or more with a heaving chest, fightingagainst his emotion. Then he passed his handkerchief over his brow,set his lips tight, and turned his face towards us.
"No doubt you think me mad?" said he.
"I see that you have had some great trouble," respondedHolmes.
"God knows I have!--a trouble which is enough to unseat myreason, so sudden and so terrible is it. Public disgrace I mighthave faced, although I am a man whose character has never yet bornea stain. Private affliction also is the lot of every man; but thetwo coming together, and in so frightful a form, have been enoughto shake my very soul. Besides, it is not I alone. The very noblestin the land may suffer unless some way be found out of thishorrible affair."
"Pray compose yourself, sir," said Holmes, "and let me have aclear account of who you are and what it is that has befallenyou."
"My name," answered our visitor, "is probably familiar to yourears. I am Alexander Holder, of the banking firm of Holder &Stevenson, of Threadneedle Street."
The name was indeed well known to us as belonging to the seniorpartner in the second largest private banking concern in the Cityof London. What could have happened, then, to bring one of theforemost citizens of London to this most pitiable pass? We waited,all curiosity, until with another effort he braced himself to tellhis story.
"I feel that time is of value," said he; "that is why I hastenedhere when the police inspector suggested that I should secure yourcooperation. I came to Baker Street by the Underground and hurriedfrom there on foot, for the cabs go slowly through this snow. Thatis why I was so out of breath, for I am a man who takes very littleexercise. I feel better now, and I will put the facts before you asshortly and yet as clearly as I can.
"It is, of course, well known to you that in a successfulbanking business as much depends upon our being able to findremunerative investments for our funds as upon our increasing ourconnection and the number of our depositors. One of our mostlucrative means of laying out money is in the shape of loans, wherethe security is unimpeachable. We have done a good deal in thisdirection during the last few years, and there are many noblefamilies to whom we have advanced large sums upon the security oftheir pictures, libraries, or plate.
"Yesterday morning I was seated in my office at the bank when acard was brought in to me by one of the clerks. I started when Isaw the name, for it was that of none other than--well, perhapseven to you I had better say no more than that it was a name whichis a household word all over the earth--one of the highest,noblest, most exalted names in England. I was overwhelmed by thehonor and attempted, when he entered, to say so, but he plunged atonce into business with the air of a man who wishes to hurryquickly through a disagreeable task.
"'Mr. Holder,' said he, 'I have been informed that you are inthe habit of advancing money.'
"'The firm does so when the security is good.' I answered.
"'It is absolutely essential to me,' said he, 'that I shouldhave 50,000 pounds at once. I could, of course, borrow so triflinga sum ten times over from my friends, but I much prefer to make ita matter of business and to carry out that business myself. In myposition you can readily understand that it is unwise to placeone's self under obligations.'
"'For how long, may I ask, do you want this sum?' I asked.
"'Next Monday I have a large sum due to me, and I shall thenmost certainly repay what you advance, with whatever interest youthink it right to charge. But it is very essential to me that themoney should be paid at once.'
"'I should be happy to advance it without further parley from myown private purse,' said I, 'were it not that the strain would berather more than it could bear. If, on the other hand, I am to doit in the name of the firm, then in justice to my partner I mustinsist that, even in your case, every businesslike precautionshould be taken.'
"'I should much prefer to have it so,' said he, raising up asquare, black morocco case which he had laid beside his chair. 'Youhave doubtless heard of the Beryl Coronet?'
"'One of the most precious public possessions of the empire,'said I.
"'Precisely.' He opened the case, and there, imbedded in soft,flesh-colored velvet, lay the magnificent piece of jewellery whichhe had named. 'There are thirty-nine enormous beryls,' said he,'and the price of the gold chasing is incalculable. The lowestestimate would put the worth of the coronet at double the sum whichI have asked. I am prepared to leave it with you as mysecurity.'
"I took the precious case into my hands and looked in someperplexity from it to my illustrious client.
"'You doubt its value?' he asked.
"'Not at all. I only doubt --'
"'The propriety of my leaving it. You may set your mind at restabout that. I should not dream of doing so were it not absolutelycertain that I should be able in four days to reclaim it. It is apure matter of form. Is the security sufficient?'
"'Ample.'
"'You understand, Mr. Holder, that I am giving you a strongproof of the confidence which I have in you, founded upon all thatI have heard of you. I rely upon you not only to be discreet and torefrain from all gossip upon the matter but, above all, to preservethis coronet with every possible precaution because I need not saythat a great public scandal would be caused if any harm were tobefall it. Any injury to it would be almost as serious as itscomplete loss, for there are no beryls in the world to match these,and it would be impossible to replace them. I leave it with you,however, with every confidence, and I shall call for it in personon Monday morning.'
"Seeing that my client was anxious to leave, I said no more but,calling for my cashier, I ordered him to pay over fifty 1000 poundnotes. When I was alone once more, however, with the precious caselying upon the table in front of me, I could not but think withsome misgivings of the immense responsibility which it entailedupon me. There could be no doubt that, as it was a nationalpossession, a horrible scandal would ensue if any misfortune shouldoccur to it. I already regretted having ever consented to takecharge of it. However, it was too late to alter the matter now, soI locked it up in my private safe and turned once more to mywork.
"When evening came I felt that it would be an imprudence toleave so precious a thing in the office behind me. Bankers' safeshad been forced before now, and why should not mine be? If so, howterrible would be the position in which I should find myself! Idetermined, therefore, that for the next few days I would alwayscarry the case backward and forward with me, so that it might neverbe really out of my reach. With this intention, I called a cab anddrove out to my house at Streatham, carrying the jewel with me. Idid not breathe freely until I had taken it upstairs and locked itin the bureau of my dressing-room.
"And now a word as to my household, Mr. Holmes, for I wish youto thoroughly understand the situation. My groom and my page sleepout of the house, and may be set aside altogether. I have threemaid-servants who have been with me a number of years and whoseabsolute reliability is quite above suspicion. Another, Lucy Parr,the second waiting-maid, has only been in my service a few months.She came with an excellent character, however, and has always givenme satisfaction. She is a very pretty girl and has attractedadmirers who have occasionally hung about the place. That is theonly drawback which we have found to her, but we believe her to bea thoroughly good girl in every way.
"So much for the servants. My family itself is so small that itwill not take me long to describe it. I am a widower and have anonly son, Arthur. He has been a disappointment to me, Mr. Holmes--a grievous disappointment. I have no doubt that I am myself toblame. People tell me that I have spoiled him. Very likely I have.When my dear wife died I felt that he was all I had to love. Icould not bear to see the smile fade even for a moment from hisface. I have never denied him a wish. Perhaps it would have beenbetter for both of us had I been sterner, but I meant it for thebest.
"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 oflarge sums of money. When he was young he became a member of anaristocratic club, and there, having charming manners, he was soonthe intimate of a number of men with long purses and expensivehabits. He learned to play heavily at cards and to squander moneyon the turf, until he had again and again to come to me and imploreme to give him an advance upon his allowance, that he might settlehis debts of honor. He tried more than once to break away from thedangerous company which he was keeping, but each time the influenceof his friend, Sir George Burnwell, was enough to draw him backagain.
"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 couldhardly resist the fascination of his manner. He is older thanArthur, a man of the world to his finger-tips, one who had beeneverywhere, seen everything, a brilliant talker, and a man of greatpersonal beauty. Yet when I think of him in cold blood, far awayfrom the glamour of his presence, I am convinced from his cynicalspeech and the look which I have caught in his eyes that he is onewho should be deeply distrusted. So I think, and so, too, thinks mylittle Mary, who has a woman's quick insight into character.
"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 worldI adopted her, and have looked upon her ever since as my daughter.She is a sunbeam in my house--sweet, loving, beautiful, a wonderfulmanager and housekeeper, yet as tender and quiet and gentle as awoman could be. She is my right hand. I do not know what I could dowithout her. In only one matter has she ever gone against mywishes. Twice my boy has asked her to marry him, for he loves herdevotedly, but each time she has refused him. I think that ifanyone could have drawn him into the right path it would have beenshe, and that his marriage might have changed his whole life; butnow, alas! it is too late--forever too late!
"Now, Mr. Holmes, you know the people who live under my roof,and I shall continue with my miserable story.
"When we were taking coffee in the drawing-room that night afterdinner, I told Arthur and Mary my experience, and of the precioustreasure which we had under our roof, suppressing only the name ofmy client. Lucy Parr, who had brought in the coffee, had, I amsure, left the room; but I cannot swear that the door was closed.Mary and Arthur were much interested and wished to see the famouscoronet, but I thought it better not to disturb it.
"'Where have you put it?' asked Arthur.
"'In my own bureau.'
"'Well, I hope to goodness the house won't be burgled during thenight.' said he.
"'It is locked up,' I answered.
"'Oh, any old key will fit that bureau. When I was a youngster Ihave opened it myself with the key of the box-room cupboard.'
"He often had a wild way of talking, so that I thought little ofwhat he said. He followed me to my room, however, that night with avery grave face.
"'Look here, dad,' said he with his eyes cast down, 'can you letme have 200 pounds?'
"'No, I cannot!' I answered sharply. 'I have been far toogenerous with you in money matters.'
"'You have been very kind,' said he, 'but I must have thismoney, or else I can never show my face inside the club again.'
"'And a very good thing, too!' I cried.
"'Yes, but you would not have me leave it a dishonored man,'said he. 'I could not bear the disgrace. I must raise the money insome way, and if you will not let me have it, then I must try othermeans.'
"I was very angry, for this was the third demand during themonth. 'You shall not have a farthing from me,' I cried, on whichhe bowed and left the room without another word.
"When he was gone I unlocked my bureau, made sure that mytreasure was safe, and locked it again. Then I started to go roundthe house to see that all was secure--a duty which I usually leaveto Mary but which I thought it well to perform myself that night.As I came down the stairs I saw Mary herself at the side window ofthe hall, which she closed and fastened as I approached.
"'Tell me, dad,' said she, looking, I thought, a littledisturbed, 'did you give Lucy, the maid, leave to go outto-night?'
"'Certainly not.'
"'She came in just now by the back door. I have no doubt thatshe has only been to the side gate to see someone, but I think thatit is hardly safe and should be stopped.'
"'You must speak to her in the morning, or I will if you preferit. Are you sure that everything is fastened?'
"'Quite sure, dad.'
"'Then. good-night.' I kissed her and went up to my bedroomagain, where I was soon asleep.
"I am endeavoring to tell you everything, Mr. Holmes, which mayhave any bearing upon the case, but I beg that you will question meupon any point which I do not make clear."
"On the contrary, your statement is singularly lucid."
"I come to a part of my story now in which I should wish to beparticularly so. I am not a very heavy sleeper, and the anxiety inmy mind tended, no doubt, to make me even less so than usual. Abouttwo in the morning, then, I was awakened by some sound in thehouse. It had ceased ere I was wide awake, but it had left animpression behind it as though a window had gently closedsomewhere. I lay listening with all my ears. Suddenly, to myhorror, there was a distinct sound of footsteps moving softly inthe next room. I slipped out of bed, all palpitating with fear, andpeeped round the comer of my dressing-room door.
"'Arthur!' I screamed, 'you villain! you thief! How dare youtouch that coronet?'
"The gas was half up, as I had left it, and my unhappy boy,dressed only in his shirt and trousers, was standing beside thelight, holding the coronet in his hands. He appeared to bewrenching at it, or bending it with all his strength. At my cry hedropped it from his grasp and turned as pale as death. I snatchedit up and examined it. One of the gold corners, with three of theberyls in it, was missing.
"'You blackguard!' I shouted, beside myself with rage. 'You havedestroyed it! You have dishonored 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,' saidhe.
"'There are three missing. And you know where they are. Must Icall you a liar as well as a thief? Did I not see you trying totear off another piece?'
"'You have called me names enough,' said he, 'I will not standit any longer. I shall not say another word about this business,since you have chosen to insult me. I will leave your house in themorning and make my own way in the world.'
"'You shall leave it in the hands of the police!' I criedhalf-mad with grief and rage. 'I shall have this matter probed tothe bottom.'
"'You shall learn nothing from me,' said he with a passion suchas I should not have thought was in his nature. 'If you choose tocall the police, let the police find what they can.'
"By this time the whole house was astir, for I had raised myvoice in my anger. Mary was the first to rush into my room, and, atthe sight of the coronet and of Arthur's face, she read the wholestory and, with a scream, fell down senseless on the ground. I sentthe house-maid for the police and put the investigation into theirhands at once. When the inspector and a constable entered thehouse, Arthur, who had stood sullenly with his arms folded, askedme whether it was my intention to charge him with theft. I answeredthat it had ceased to be a private matter, but had become a publicone, since the ruined coronet was national property. I wasdetermined that the law should have its way in everything.
"'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 thehouse for five minutes.'
"'That you may get away, or perhaps that you may conceal whatyou have stolen,' said I. And then, realizing the dreadful positionin which I was placed, I implored him to remember that not only myhonor but that of one who was far greater than I was at stake; andthat he threatened to raise a scandal which would convulse thenation. He might avert it all if he would but tell me what he haddone with the three missing stones.
"'You may as well face the matter,' said I; 'you have beencaught in the act, and no confession could make your guilt moreheinous. If you but make such reparation as is in your power, bytelling us where the beryls are, all shall be forgiven andforgotten.'
"'Keep your forgiveness for those who ask for it,' he answered,turning away from me with a sneer. I saw that he was too hardenedfor any words of mine to influence him. There was but one way forit. I called in the inspector and gave him into custody. A searchwas made at once not only of his person but of his room and ofevery portion of the house where he could possibly have concealedthe gems; but no trace of them could be found, nor would thewretched boy open his mouth for all our persuasions and ourthreats. This morning he was removed to a cell, and I, after goingthrough all the police formalities, have hurried round to you toimplore you to use your skill in unravelling the matter. The policehave openly confessed that they can at present make nothing of it.You may go to any expense which you think necessary. I have alreadyoffered a reward of 1000 pounds. My God, what shall I do! I havelost my honor, my gems, and my son in one night. Oh, what shall Ido!"
He put a hand on either side of his head and rocked himself toand fro, droning to himself like a child whose grief has got beyondwords.
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 friendof Arthur's. Sir George Burnwell has been several times lately. Noone else, I think."
"Do you go out much in society?"
"Arthur does. Mary and I stay at home. We neither of us care forit."
"That is unusual in a young girl."
"She is of a quiet nature. Besides, she is not so very young.She is four-and-twenty."
"This matter, from what you say, seems to have been a shock toher also."
"Terrible! She is even more affected than I."
"You have neither of you any doubt as to your son's guilt?"
"How can we have when I saw him with my own eyes with thecoronet in his hands."
"I hardly consider that a conclusive proof. Was the remainder ofthe coronet at all injured?"
"Yes, it was twisted."
"Do you not think, then, that he might have been trying tostraighten it?"
"God bless you! You are doing what you can for him and for me.But it is too heavy a task. What was he doing there at all? If hispurpose were innocent, why did he not say so?"
"Precisely. And if it were guilty, why did he not invent a lie?His silence appears to me to cut both ways. There are severalsingular points about the case. What did the police think of thenoise which awoke you from your sleep?"
"They considered that it might be caused by Arthur's closing hisbedroom door."
"A likely story! As if a man bent on felony would slam his doorso as to wake a household. What did they say, then, of thedisappearance of these gems?"
"They are still sounding the planking and probing the furniturein the hope 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 nowthat this matter really strikes very much deeper than either you orthe police were at first inclined to think? It appeared to you tobe a simple case; to me it seems exceedingly complex. Consider whatis involved by your theory. You suppose that your son came downfrom his bed, went, at great risk, to your dressing-room, openedyour bureau, took out your coronet, broke off by main force a smallportion of it, went off to some other place, concealed three gemsout of the thirty-nine, with such skill that nobody can find them,and then returned with the other thirty-six into the room in whichhe exposed himself to the greatest danger of being discovered. Iask you now, is such a theory tenable?"
"But what other is there?" cried the banker with a gesture ofdespair. "If his motives were innocent, why does he not explainthem?"
"It is our task to find that out," replied Holmes; "so now, ifyou please, Mr. Holder, we will set off for Streatham together, anddevote an hour to glancing a little more closely into details."
My friend insisted upon my accompanying them in theirexpedition, which I was eager enough to do, for my curiosity andsympathy were deeply stirred by the story to which we had listened.I confess that the guilt of the banker's son appeared to me to beas obvious as it did to his unhappy father, but still I had suchfaith in Holmes's judgment that I felt that there must be somegrounds for hope as long as he was dissatisfied with the acceptedexplanation. He hardly spoke a word the whole way out to thesouthern suburb, but sat with his chin upon his breast and his hatdrawn over his eyes, sunk in the deepest thought. Our clientappeared to have taken fresh heart at the little glimpse of hopewhich had been presented to him, and he even broke into a desultorychat with me over his business affairs. A short railway journey anda shorter walk brought us to Fairbank, the modest residence of thegreat financier.
Fairbank was a good-sized square house of white stone, standingback a little from the road. A double carriage-sweep, with asnow-clad lawn, stretched down in front to two large iron gateswhich closed the entrance. On the right side was a small woodenthicket, which led into a narrow path between two neat hedgesstretching from the road to the kitchen door, and forming thetradesmen's entrance. On the left ran a lane which led to thestables, and was not itself within the grounds at all, being apublic, though little used, thoroughfare. Holmes left us standingat the door and walked slowly all round the house, across thefront, down the tradesmen's path, and so round by the garden behindinto the stable lane. So long was he that Mr. Holder and I wentinto the dining-room and waited by the fire until he should return.We were sitting there in silence when the door opened and a younglady came in. She was rather above the middle height, slim, withdark hair and eyes, which seemed the darker against the absolutepallor of her skin. I do not think that I have ever seen suchdeadly paleness in a woman's face. Her lips, too, were bloodless,but her eyes were flushed with crying. As she swept silently intothe room she impressed me with a greater sense of grief than thebanker had done in the morning, and it was the more striking in heras she was evidently a woman of strong character, with immensecapacity for self-restraint. Disregarding my presence, she wentstraight to her uncle and passed her hand over his head with asweet womanly caress.
"You have given orders that Arthur should be liberated, have younot, dad?" she asked.
"No, no, my girl, the matter must be probed to the bottom."
"But I am so sure that he is innocent. You know what woman'sinstincts are. I know that he has done no harm and that you will besorry for having acted so harshly."
"Why is he silent, then, if he is innocent?"
"Who knows? Perhaps because he was so angry that you shouldsuspect him."
"How could I help suspecting him, when I actually saw him withthe coronet in his hand?"
"Oh, but he had only picked it up to look at it. Oh, do, do takemy word for it that he is innocent. Let the matter drop and say nomore. It is so dreadful to think of our dear Arthur in prison!"
"I shall never let it drop until the gems are found--never,Mary! Your affection for Arthur blinds you as to the awfulconsequences to me. Far from hushing the thing up, I have brought agentleman down from London to inquire more deeply into it."
"This gentleman?" she asked, facing round to me.
"No, his friend. He wished us to leave him alone. He is round inthe stable lane now."
"The stable lane?" She raised her dark eyebrows. "What can hehope to find there? Ah! this, I suppose, is he. I trust, sir, thatyou will succeed in proving, what I feel sure is the truth, that mycousin Arthur is innocent of this crime."
"I fully share your opinion, and I trust, with you, that we mayprove it," returned Holmes, going back to the mat to knock the snowfrom his shoes. "I believe I have the honor of addressing Miss MaryHolder. Might I ask you a question or two?"
"Pray do, sir, if it may help to clear this horrible affairup."
"You heard nothing yourself last night?"
"Nothing, until my uncle here began to speak loudly. I heardthat, and I came down."
"You shut up the windows and doors the night before. Did youfasten all the windows?"
"Yes."
"Were they all fastened this morning?"
"Yes."
"You have a maid who has a sweetheart? I think that you remarkedto your uncle last night that she had been out to see him?"
"Yes, and she was the girl who waited in the drawing-room. andwho may have heard uncle's remarks about the coronet."
"I see. You infer that she may have gone out to tell hersweetheart, and that the two may have planned the robbery."
"But what is the good of all these vague theories," cried thebanker impatiently, "when I have told you that I saw Arthur withthe coronet in his hands?"
"Wait a little, Mr. Holder. We must come back to that. Aboutthis girl, Miss Holder. You saw her return by the kitchen door, Ipresume?"
"Yes; when I went to see if the door was fastened for the nightI met her slipping in. I saw the man, too, in the gloom."
"Do you know him?"
"Oh, yes! he is the green-grocer who brings our vegetablesround. His name is Francis Prosper."
"He stood," said Holmes, "to the left of the door--that is tosay, farther up the path than is necessary to reach the door?"
"Yes, he did."
"And he is a man with a wooden leg?"
Something like fear sprang up in the young lady's expressiveblack eyes. "Why, you are like a magician," said she. "How do youknow that?" She smiled, but there was no answering smile inHolmes's thin, eager face.
"I should be very glad now to go upstairs," said he. "I shallprobably wish to go over the outside of the house again. Perhaps Ihad better take a look at the lower windows before I go up."
He walked swiftly round from one to the other, pausing only atthe large one which looked from the hall onto the stable lane. Thishe opened and made a very careful examination of the sill with hispowerful magnifying lens. "Now we shall go upstairs," said he atlast.
The banker's dressing-room was a plainly furnished littlechamber, with a gray carpet, a large bureau, and a long mirror.Holmes went to the bureau first and looked hard at the lock.
"Which key was used to open it?" he asked.
"That which my son himself indicated--that of the cupboard ofthe lumber-room."
"Have you it here?"
"That is it on the dressing-table."
Sherlock Holmes took it up and opened the bureau.
"It is a noiseless lock," said he. "It is no wonder that it didnot wake you. This case, I presume, contains the coronet. We musthave a look at it." He opened the case, and taking out the diademhe laid it upon the table. It was a magnificent specimen of thejeweller's art, and the thirty-six stones were the finest that Ihave ever seen. At one side of the coronet was a cracked edge,where a corner holding three gems had been torn away.
"Now, Mr. Holder," said Holmes, "here is the corner whichcorresponds to that which has been so unfortunately lost. Might Ibeg that you will break it off."
The banker recoiled in horror. "I should not dream of trying,"said he.
"Then I will." Holmes suddenly bent his strength upon it, butwithout result. "I feel it give a little," said he; "but, though Iam exceptionally strong in the fingers, it would take me all mytime to break it. An ordinary man could not do it. Now, what do youthink would happen if I did break it, Mr. Holder? There would be anoise like a pistol shot. Do you tell me that all this happenedwithin a few yards of your bed and that you heard nothing ofit?"
"I do not know what to think. It is all dark to me."
"But perhaps it may grow lighter as we go. What do you think,Miss Holder?"
"I confess that I still share my uncle's perplexity."
"Your son had no shoes or slippers on when you saw him?"
"He had nothing on save only his trousers and shirt."
"Thank you. We have certainly been favored with extraordinaryluck during this inquiry, and it will be entirely our own fault ifwe do not succeed in clearing the matter up. With your pemmission,Mr. Holder, I shall 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 anhour or more he was at work, returning at last with his feet heavywith snow and his features as inscrutable as ever.
"I think that I have seen now all that there is to see, Mr.Holder," said he; "I can serve you best by returning to myrooms."
"But the gems, Mr. Holmes. Where are they?"
"I cannot tell."
The banker wrung his hands. "I shall never see them again!" hecried. "And my son? You give me hopes?"
"My opinion is in no way altered."
"Then, for God's sake, what was this dark business which wasacted in my house last night?"
"If you can call upon me at my Baker Street rooms to-morrowmorning between nine and ten I shall be happy to do what I can tomake it clearer. I understand that you give me carte blanche to actfor you, provided only that I get back the gems, and that you placeno limit on the sum I may draw."
"I would give my fortune to have them back."
"Very good. I shall look into the matter between this and then.Good-bye; it is just possible that I may have to come over hereagain before evening."
It was obvious to me that my companion's mind was now made upabout the case, although what his conclusions were was more than Icould even dimly imagine. Several times during our homeward journeyI endeavored to sound him upon the point, but he always glided awayto some other topic, until at last I gave it over in despair. Itwas not yet three when we found ourselves in our rooms once more.He hurried to his chamber and was down again in a few minutesdressed as a common loafer. With his collar turned up, his shiny,seedy coat, his red cravat, and his worn boots, he was a perfectsample of the class.
"I think that this should do," said he, glancing into the glassabove the fireplace. "I only wish that you could come with me,Watson, but I fear that it won't do. I may be on the trail in thismatter, or I may be following a will-o'-the-wisp, but I shall soonknow which it is. I hope that I may be back in a few hours." He cuta slice of beef from the joint upon the sideboard, sandwiched itbetween two rounds of bread, and thrusting this rude meal into hispocket he started off upon his expedition.
I had just finished my tea when he returned, evidently inexcellent spirits, swinging an old elastic-sided boot in his hand.He chucked it down into a corner and helped himself to a cup oftea.
"I only looked in as I passed," said he. "I am going righton."
"Where to?"
"Oh, to the other side of the West End. It may be some timebefore I get back. Don't wait up for me in case I should belate."
"How are you getting on?"
"Oh, so so. Nothing to complain of. I have been out to Streathamsince I saw you last, but I did not call at the house. It is a verysweet little problem, and I would not have missed it for a gooddeal. However, I must not sit gossiping here, but must get thesedisreputable clothes off and return to my highly respectableself."
I could see by his manner that he had stronger reasons forsatisfaction than his words alone would imply. His eyes twinkled,and there was even a touch of color upon his sallow cheeks. Hehastened upstairs, and a few minutes later I heard the slam of thehall door, which told me that he was off once more upon hiscongenial hunt.
I waited until midnight, but there was no sign of his return, soI retired to my room. It was no uncommon thing for him to be awayfor days and nights on end when he was hot upon a scent, so thathis lateness caused me no surprise. I do not know at what hour hecame in, but when I came down to breakfast in the morning there hewas with a cup of coffee in one hand and the paper in the other, asfresh and trim as possible.
"You will excuse my beginning without you, Watson," said he,"but you remember that our client has rather an early appointmentthis morning."
"Why, it is after nine now," I answered. "I should not besurprised if that were he. I thought I heard a ring."
It was, indeed, our friend the financier. I was shocked by thechange which had come over him, for his face which was naturally ofa broad and massive mould, was now pinched and fallen in, while hishair seemed to me at least a shade whiter. He entered with aweariness and lethargy which was even more painful than hisviolence of the morning before, and he dropped heavily into thearmchair which I pushed forward for him.
"I do not know what I have done to be so severely tried," saidhe. "Only two days ago I was a happy and prosperous man, without acare in the world. Now I am left to a lonely and dishonored age.One sorrow comes close upon the heels of another. My niece, Mary,has deserted me."
"Deserted you?"
"Yes. Her bed this morning had not been slept in, her room wasempty, and a note for me lay upon the hall table. I had said to herlast night, in sorrow and not in anger, that if she had married myboy all might have been well with him. Perhaps it was thoughtlessof me to say so. It is to that remark that she refers in thisnote:
"'MY DEAREST UNCLE:--I feel that I have brought trouble uponyou, and that if I had acted differently this terrible misfortunemight never have occurred. I cannot, with this thought in my mind,ever again be happy under your roof, and I feel that I must leaveyou forever. Do not worry about my future, for that is providedfor; and, above all, do not search for me, for it will be fruitlesslabour and an ill-service to me. In life or in death, I am everyour loving MARY.'
"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 possiblesolution. I trust, Mr. Holder, that you are nearing the end of yourtroubles."
"Ha! You say so! You have heard something, Mr. Holmes; you havelearned something! Where are the gems?"
"You would not think 1000 pounds apiece an excessive sum forthem?"
"I would pay ten."
"That would be unnecessary. Three thousand will cover thematter. And there is a little reward, I fancy. Have you yourcheck-book? Here is a pen. Better make it out for 4000 pounds."
With a dazed face the banker made out the required check. Holmeswalked over to his desk, took out a little triangular piece of goldwith three gems in it, and threw it down upon the table.
With a shriek of joy our client clutched it up.
"You have it!" he gasped. "I am saved! I am saved!"
The reaction of joy was as passionate as his grief had been, andhe hugged his recovered gems to his bosom.
"There is one other thing you owe, Mr. Holder," said SherlockHolmes rather sternly.
"Owe!" He caught up a pen. "Name the sum, and I will payit."
"No, the debt is not to me. You owe a very humble apology tothat noble lad, your son, who has carried himself in this matter asI should be proud to see my own son do, should I ever chance tohave one."
"Then it was not Arthur who took them?"
"I told you yesterday, and I repeat to-day, that it wasnot."
"You are sure of it! Then let us hurry to him at once to let himknow that the truth is known."
"He knows it already. When I had cleared it all up I had aninterview with him, and finding that he would not tell me thestory, I told it to him, on which he had to confess that I wasright and to add the very few details which were not yet quiteclear to me. Your news of this morning, however, may open hislips."
"For heaven's sake, tell me, then, what is this extraordinarymystery !"
"I will do so, and I will show you the steps by which I reachedit. And let me say to you, first, that which it is hardest for meto say and for you to hear: there has been an understanding betweenSir George Burnwell and your niece Mary. They have now fledtogether."
"My Mary? Impossible!"
"It is unfortunately more than possible; it is certain. Neitheryou nor your son knew the true character of this man when youadmitted him into your family circle. He is one of the mostdangerous men in England--a ruined gambler, an absolutely desperatevillain, a man without heart or conscience. Your niece knew nothingof such men. When he breathed his vows to her, as he had done to ahundred before her, she flattered herself that she alone hadtouched his heart. The devil knows best what he said, but at leastshe became his tool and was in the habit of seeing him nearly everyevening."
"I cannot, and I will not, believe it!" cried the banker with anashen face.
"I will tell you, then, what occurred in your house last night.Your niece, when you had, as she thought, gone to your room.slipped down and talked to her lover through the window which leadsinto the stable lane. His footmarks had pressed right through thesnow, so long had he stood there. She told him of the coronet. Hiswicked lust for gold kindled at the news, and he bent her to hiswill. I have no doubt that she loved you, but there are women inwhom the love of a lover extinguishes all other loves, and I thinkthat she must have been one. She had hardly listened to hisinstructions when she saw you coming downstairs, on which sheclosed the window rapidly and told you about one of the servants'escapade with her wooden-legged lover, which was all perfectlytrue.
"Your boy, Arthur, went to bed after his interview with you buthe slept badly on account of his uneasiness about his club debts.In the middle of the night he heard a soft tread pass his door, sohe rose and, looking out, was surprised to see his cousin walkingvery stealthily along the passage until she disappeared into yourdressing-room. Petrified with astonishment. the lad slipped on someclothes and waited there in the dark to see what would come of thisstrange affair. Presently she emerged from the room again, and inthe light of the passage-lamp your son saw that she carried theprecious coronet in her hands. She passed down the stairs, and he,thrilling with horror, ran along and slipped behind the curtainnear your door, whence he could see what passed in the hallbeneath. He saw her stealthily open the window, hand out thecoronet to someone in the gloom, and then closing it once morehurry back to her room, passing quite close to where he stood hidbehind the curtain.
"As long as she was on the scene he could not take any actionwithout a horrible exposure of the woman whom he loved. But theinstant that she was gone he realized how crushing a misfortunethis would be for you, and how all-important it was to set itright. He rushed down, just as he was, in his bare feet, opened thewindow, sprang out into the snow, and ran down the lane, where hecould see a dark figure in the moonlight. Sir George Burnwell triedto get away, but Arthur caught him, and there was a strugglebetween them, your lad tugging at one side of the coronet, and hisopponent at the other. In the scuffle, your son struck Sir Georgeand cut him over the eye. Then something suddenly snapped, and yourson, finding that he had the coronet in his hands, rushed back,closed the window, ascended to your room, and had just observedthat the coronet had been twisted in the struggle and wasendeavoring to straighten it when you appeared upon the scene."
"Is it possible?" gasped the banker.
"You then roused his anger by calling him names at a moment whenhe felt that he had deserved your warmest thanks. He could notexplain the true state of affairs without betraying one whocertainly deserved little enough consideration at his hands. Hetook the more chivalrous view, however, and preserved hersecret."
"And that was why she shrieked and fainted when she saw thecoronet," cried Mr. Holder. "Oh, my God! what a blind fool I havebeen! And his asking to be allowed to go out for five minutes! Thedear fellow wanted to see if the missing piece were at the scene ofthe struggle. How cruelly I have misjudged him!'
"When I arrived at the house," continued Holmes, "I at once wentvery carefully round it to observe if there were any traces in thesnow which might help me. I knew that none had fallen since theevening before, and also that there had been a strong frost topreserve impressions. I passed along the tradesmen's path, butfound it all trampled down and indistinguishable. Just beyond it,however, at the far side of the kitchen door, a woman had stood andtalked with a man, whose round impressions on one side showed thathe had a wooden leg. I could even tell that they had beendisturbed, for the woman had run back swiftly to the door, as wasshown by the deep toe and light heel marks, while Wooden-leg hadwaited a little, and then had gone away. I thought at the time thatthis might be the maid and her sweetheart, of whom you had alreadyspoken to me, and inquiry showed it was so. I passed round thegarden without seeing anything more than random tracks, which Itook to be the police; but when I got into the stable lane a verylong and complex story was written in the snow in front of me.
"There was a double line of tracks of a booted man, and a seconddouble line which I saw with delight belonged to a man with nakedfeet. I was at once convinced from what you had told me that thelatter was your son. The first had walked both ways, but the otherhad run swiftly, and as his tread was marked in places over thedepression of the boot, it was obvious that he had passed after theother. I followed them up and found they led to the hall window,where Boots had worn all the snow away while waiting. Then I walkedto the other end, which was a hundred yards or more down the lane.I saw where Boots had faced round, where the snow was cut up asthough there had been a struggle, and, finally, where a few dropsof blood had fallen, to show me that I was not mistaken. Boots hadthen run down the lane, and another little smudge of blood showedthat it was he who had been hurt. When he came to the highroad atthe other end, I found that the pavement had been cleared, so therewas an end to that clew.
"On entering the house, however, I examined, as you remember,the sill and framework of the hall window with my lens, and I couldat once see that someone had passed out. I could distinguish theoutline of an instep where the wet foot had been placed in comingin. I was then beginning to be able to form an opinion as to whathad occurred. A man had waited outside the window; someone hadbrought the gems; the deed had been overseen by your son; he hadpursued the thief; had struggled with him; they had each tugged atthe coronet, their united strength causing injuries which neitheralone could have effected. He had returned with the prize, but hadleft 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 himthe coronet?
"It is an old maxim of mine that when you have excluded theimpossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be thetruth. Now, I knew that it was not you who had brought it down, sothere only remained your niece and the maids. But if it were themaids, why should your son allow himself to be accused in theirplace? There could be no possible reason. As he loved his cousin,however, there was an excellent explanation why he should retainher secret--the more so as the secret was a disgraceful one. When Iremembered that you had seen her at that window, and how she hadfainted on seeing the coronet again, my conjecture became acertainty.
"And who could it be who was her confederate? A lover evidently,for who else could outweigh the love and gratitude which she mustfeel to you? I knew that you went out little, and that your circleof friends was a very limited one. But among them was Sir GeorgeBurnwell. I had heard of him before as being a man of evilreputation among women. It must have been he who wore those bootsand retained the missing gems. Even though he knew that Arthur haddiscovered him, he might still flatter himself that he was safe,for the lad could not say a word without compromising his ownfamily.
"Well, your own good sense will suggest what measures I tooknext. I went in the shape of a loafer to Sir George's house,managed to pick up an acquaintance with his valet, learned that hismaster had cut his head the night before, and, finally, at theexpense of six shillings, made all sure by buying a pair of hiscast-off shoes. With these I journeyed down to Streatham and sawthat 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 homeand changed my clothes. It was a delicate part which I had to playthen, for I saw that a prosecution must be avoided to avertscandal, and I knew that so astute a villain would see that ourhands were tied in the matter. I went and saw him. At first, ofcourse, he denied everything. But when I gave him every particularthat had occurred, he tried to bluster and took down alife-preserver from the wall. I knew my man, however, and I clappeda pistol to his head before he could strike. Then he became alittle more reasonable. I told him that we would give him a pricefor the stones he held 1000 pounds apiece. That brought out thefirst signs of grief that he had shown. 'Why, dash it all!' saidhe, 'I've let them go at six hundred for the three!' I soon managedto get the address of the receiver who had them, on promising himthat there would be no prosecution. Off I set to him, and aftermuch chaffering I got our stones at 1000 pounds apiece. Then Ilooked in upon your son, told him that all was right, andeventually got to my bed about two o'clock, after what I may call areally hard day's work."
"A day which has saved England from a great public scandal,"said the banker, rising. "Sir, I cannot find words to thank you,but you shall not find me ungrateful for what you have done. Yourskill has indeed exceeded all that I have heard of it. And now Imust fly to my dear boy to apologize to him for the wrong which Ihave done him. As to what you tell me of poor Mary, it goes to myvery heart. Not even your skill can inform me where she isnow."
"I think that we may safely say," returned Holmes, "that she iswherever Sir George Burnwell is. It is equally certain, too, thatwhatever her sins are, they will soon receive a more thansufficient punishment."
ADVENTURE XII. THE ADVENTURE OF THE COPPERBEECHES
"To the man who loves art for its own sake," remarked SherlockHolmes, tossing aside the advertisement sheet of the DailyTelegraph, "it is frequently in its least important and lowliestmanifestations that the keenest pleasure is to be derived. It ispleasant to me to observe, Watson, that you have so far graspedthis truth that in these little records of our cases which you havebeen good enough to draw up, and, I am bound to say, occasionallyto embellish, you have given prominence not so much to the manycauses celebres and sensational trials in which I have figured butrather to those incidents which may have been trivial inthemselves, but which have given room for those faculties ofdeduction and of logical synthesis which I have made my specialprovince."
"And yet," said I, smiling, "I cannot quite hold myself absolvedfrom the charge of sensationalism which has been urged against myrecords."
"You have erred, perhaps," he observed, taking up a glowingcinder with the tongs and lighting with it the long cherry-woodpipe which was wont to replace his clay when he was in adisputatious rather than a meditative mood--"you have erred perhapsin attempting to put color and life into each of your statementsinstead of confining yourself to the task of placing upon recordthat severe reasoning from cause to effect which is really the onlynotable feature about the thing."
"It seems to me that I have done you full justice in thematter," I remarked with some coldness, for I was repelled by theegotism which I had more than once observed to be a strong factorin my friend's singular character.
"No, it is not selfishness or conceit," said he, answering, aswas his wont, my thoughts rather than my words. "If I claim fulljustice for my art, it is because it is an impersonal thing--athing beyond myself. Crime is common. Logic is rare. Therefore itis upon the logic rather than upon the crime that you should dwell.You have degraded what should have been a course of lectures into aseries of tales."
It was a cold morning of the early spring, and we sat afterbreakfast on either side of a cheery fire in the old room at BakerStreet. A thick fog rolled down between the lines of dun-coloredhouses, and the opposing windows loomed like dark, shapeless blursthrough the heavy yellow wreaths. Our gas was lit and shone on thewhite cloth and glimmer of china and metal, for the table had notbeen cleared yet. Sherlock Holmes had been silent all the morning,dipping continuously into the advertisement columns of a successionof papers until at last, having apparently given up his search, hehad emerged in no very sweet temper to lecture me upon my literaryshortcomings.
"At the same time," he remarked after a pause, during which hehad sat puffing at his long pipe and gazing down into the fire,"you can hardly be open to a charge of sensationalism, for out ofthese cases which you have been so kind as to interest yourself in,a fair proportion do not treat of crime, in its legal sense, atall. The small matter in which I endeavored to help the King ofBohemia, the singular experience of Miss Mary Sutherland, theproblem connected with the man with the twisted lip, and theincident of the noble bachelor, were all matters which are outsidethe pale of the law. But in avoiding the sensational, I fear thatyou may have bordered on the trivial."
"The end may have been so," I answered, "but the methods I holdto have been novel and of interest."
"Pshaw, my dear fellow, what do the public, the greatunobservant public, who could hardly tell a weaver by his tooth ora compositor by his left thumb, care about the finer shades ofanalysis and deduction! But, indeed, if you are trivial. I cannotblame you, for the days of the great cases are past. Man, or atleast criminal man, has lost all enterprise and originality. As tomy own little practice, it seems to be degenerating into an agencyfor recovering lost lead pencils and giving advice to young ladiesfrom boarding-schools. I think that I have touched bottom at last,however. This note I had this morning marks my zero-point, I fancy.Read it!" He tossed a crumpled letter across to me.
It was dated from Montague Place upon the preceding evening, andran thus:
"DEAR MR. HOLMES:--I am very anxious to consult you as towhether I should or should not accept a situation which has beenoffered to me as governess. I shall call at half-past ten to-morrowif I do not inconvenience you.
Yours faithfully, VIOLET HUNTER."
"Do you know the young lady?" I asked.
"Not I."
"It is half-past ten now."
"Yes, and I have no doubt that is her ring."
"It may turn out to be of more interest than you think. Youremember that the affair of the blue carbuncle, which appeared tobe a mere whim at first, developed into a serious investigation. Itmay 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 inquestion."
As he spoke the door opened and a young lady entered the room.She was plainly but neatly dressed, with a bright, quick face,freckled like a plover's egg, and with the brisk manner of a womanwho has had her own way 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 strangeexperience, and as I have no parents or relations of any sort fromwhom I could ask advice, I thought that perhaps you would be kindenough to tell me what I should do."
"Pray take a seat, Miss Hunter. I shall be happy to do anythingthat I can to serve you."
I could see that Holmes was favorably impressed by the mannerand speech of his new client. He looked her over in his searchingfashion, and then composed himself, with his lids drooping and hisfinger-tips together, to listen to her story.
"I have been a governess for five years," said she, "in thefamily of Colonel Spence Munro, but two months ago the colonelreceived an appointment at Halifax, in Nova Scotia, and took hischildren over to America with him, so that I found myself without asituation. I advertised, and I answered advertisements, but withoutsuccess. At last the little money which I had saved began to runshort, and I was at my wit's end as to what I should do.
"There is a well-known agency for governesses in the West Endcalled Westaway's, and there I used to call about once a week inorder to see whether anything had turned up which might suit me.Westaway was the name of the founder of the business, but it isreally managed by Miss Stoper. She sits in her own little office,and the ladies who are seeking employment wait in an anteroom, andare then shown in one by one, when she consults her ledgers andsees whether she has anything which would suit them.
"Well, when I called last week I was shown into the littleoffice as usual, but I found that Miss Stoper was not alone. Aprodigiously stout man with a very smiling face and a great heavychin which rolled down in fold upon fold over his throat sat at herelbow with a pair of glasses on his nose, looking very earnestly atthe ladies who entered. As I came in he gave quite a jump in hischair and turned quickly to Miss Stoper.
"'That will do,' said he; 'I could not ask for anything better.Capital! capital!' He seemed quite enthusiastic and rubbed hishands together in the most genial fashion. He was such acomfortable-looking man that it was quite a pleasure to look athim.
"'You are looking for a situation, miss?' he asked.
"'Yes, sir.'
"'As governess?'
"'Yes, sir.'
"'And what salary do you ask?'
"'I had 4 pounds a month in my last place with Colonel SpenceMunro.'
"'Oh, tut, tut! sweating--rank sweating!' he cried, throwing hisfat hands out into the air like a man who is in a boiling passion.'How could anyone offer so pitiful a sum to a lady with suchattractions and accomplishments?'
"'My accomplishments, sir, may be less than you imagine,' saidI. 'A little French, a little German, music, and drawing --'
"'Tut, tut!' he cried. 'This is all quite beside the question.The point is, have you or have you not the bearing and deportmentof a lady? There it is in a nutshell. If you have not, you are notfined for the rearing of a child who may some day play aconsiderable part in the history of the country. But if you havewhy, then, how could any gentleman ask you to condescend to acceptanything under the three figures? Your salary with me, madam, wouldcommence at 100 pounds a year.'
"You may imagine, Mr. Holmes, that to me, destitute as I was,such an offer seemed almost too good to be true. The gentleman,however, seeing perhaps the look of incredulity upon my face,opened a pocket-book and took out a note.
"'It is also my custom,' said he, smiling in the most pleasantfashion until his eyes were just two little shining slits amid thewhite creases of his face, 'to advance to my young ladies halftheir salary beforehand, so that they may meet any little expensesof their journey and their wardrobe.'
"It seemed to me that I had never met so fascinating and sothoughtful a man. As I was already in debt to my tradesmen, theadvance was a great convenience, and yet there was somethingunnatural about the whole transaction which made me wish to know alittle more before I quite committed myself.
"'May I ask where you live, sir?' said I.
"'Hampshire. Charming rural place. The Copper Beeches, fivemiles on the far side of Winchester. It is the most lovely country,my dear young lady, and the dearest old country-house.'
"'And my duties, sir? I should be glad to know what they wouldbe.'
"'One child--one dear little romper just six years old. Oh, ifyou could see him killing cockroaches with a slipper! Smack! smack!smack! Three gone before you could wink!' He leaned back in hischair and laughed his eyes into his head again.
"I was a little startled at the nature of the child's amusement,but the father's laughter made me think that perhaps he wasjoking.
"'My sole duties, then,' I asked, 'are to take charge of asingle child?'
"'No, no, not the sole, not the sole, my dear young lady,' hecried. 'Your duty would be, as I am sure your good sense wouldsuggest, to obey any little commands my wife might give, providedalways that they were such commands as a lady might with proprietyobey. You see no difficulty, heh?'
"'I should be happy to make myself useful.'
"'Quite so. In dress now, for example. We are faddy people, youknow--faddy 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 toyou?'
"'Oh, no.'
"'Or to cut your hair quite short before you come to us?'
"I could hardly believe my ears. As you may observe, Mr. Holmes,my hair is somewhat luxuriant, and of a rather peculiar tint ofchestnut. It has been considered artistic. I could not dream ofsacrificing it in this offhand fashion.
"'I am afraid that that is quite impossible,' said I. He hadbeen watching me eagerly out of his small eyes, and I could see ashadow pass over his face as I spoke.
"'I am afraid that it is quite essential,' said he. 'It is alittle fancy of my wife's, and ladies' fancies, you know, madam,ladies' fancies must be consulted. And so you won't cut yourhair?'
"'No, sir, I really could not,' I answered firmly.
"'Ah, very well; then that quite settles the matter. It is apity, because in other respects you would really have done verynicely. In that case, Miss Stoper, I had best inspect a few more ofyour young ladies.'
"The manageress had sat all this while busy with her paperswithout a word to either of us, but she glanced at me now with somuch annoyance upon her face that I could not help suspecting thatshe had lost a handsome commission through my refusal.
"'Do you desire your name to be kept upon the books?' sheasked.
"'If you please, Miss Stoper.'
"'Well, really, it seems rather useless, since you refuse themost excellent offers in this fashion,' said she sharply. 'You canhardly expect us to exert ourselves to find another such openingfor you. Good-day to you, Miss Hunter.' She struck a gong upon thetable, and I was shown out by the page.
"Well, Mr. Holmes, when I got back to my lodgings and foundlittle enough in the cupboard, and two or three bills upon thetable. I began to ask myself whether I had not done a very foolishthing. After all, if these people had strange fads and expectedobedience on the most extraordinary matters, they were at leastready to pay for their eccentricity. Very few governesses inEngland are getting 100 pounds a year. Besides, what use was myhair to me? Many people are improved by wearing it short andperhaps I should be among the number. Next day I was inclined tothink that I had made a mistake, and by the day after I was sure ofit. I had almost overcome my pride so far as to go back to theagency and inquire whether the place was still open when I receivedthis letter from the gentleman himself. I have it here and I willread it to you:
"'The Copper Beeches, near Winchester. "'DEAR MISSHUNTER:--"Miss Stoper has very kindly given me your address, and Iwrite from here to ask you whether you have reconsidered yourdecision. My wife is very anxious that you should come, for she hasbeen much attracted by my description of you. We are willing togive 30 pounds a quarter, or 120 pounds a year, so as to recompenseyou for any little inconvenience which our fads may cause you. Theyare not very exacting, after all. My wife is fond of a particularshade of electric blue and would like you to wear such a dressindoors in the morning. You need not, however, go to the expense ofpurchasing one, as we have one belonging to my dear daughter Alice(now in Philadelphia), which would, I should think, fit you verywell. Then, as to sitting here or there,or amusing yourself in anymanner indicated, that need cause you no inconvenience. As regardsyour hair, it is no doubt a pity, especially as I could not helpremarking its beauty during our short interview, but I am afraidthat I must remain firm upon this point, and I only hope that theincreased salary may recompense you for the loss. Your duties, asfar 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, andmy mind is made up that I will accept it. I thought, however, thatbefore taking the final step I should like to submit the wholematter to your consideration."
"Well, Miss Hunter, if your mind is made up, that settles thequestion," said Holmes, smiling.
"But you would not advise me to refuse?"
"I confess that it is not the situation which I should like tosee a sister of mine apply for."
"What is the meaning of it all, Mr. Holmes?"
"Ah, I have no data. I cannot tell. Perhaps you have yourselfformed some opinion?"
"Well, there seems to me to be only one possible solution. Mr.Rucastle seemed to be a very kind, good-natured man. Is it notpossible that his wife is a lunatic, that he desires to keep thematter quiet for fear she should be taken to an asylum, and that hehumours her fancies in every way in order to prevent anoutbreak?"
"That is a possible solution--in fact, as matters stand, it isthe most probable one. But in any case it does not seem to be anice household for a young lady."
"But the money, Mr. Holmes the money!"
"Well, yes, of course the pay is good--too good. That is whatmakes me uneasy. Why should they give you 120 pounds a year, whenthey could have their pick for 40 pounds? There must be some strongreason behind."
"I thought that if I told you the circumstances you wouldunderstand afterwards if I wanted your help. I should feel so muchstronger if I felt that you were at the back of me."
"Oh, you may carry that feeling away with you. I assure you thatyour little problem promises to be the most interesting which hascome my way for some months. There is something distinctly novelabout some of the features. If you should find yourself in doubt orin danger--"
"Danger! What danger do you foresee?"
Holmes shook his head gravely. "It would cease to be a danger ifwe could define it," said he. "But at any time, day or night, atelegram would bring me down to your help."
"That is enough." She rose briskly from her chair with theanxiety all swept from her face. "I shall go down to Hampshirequite easy in my mind now. I shall write to Mr. Rucastle at once,sacrifice my poor hair to-night, and start for Winchesterto-morrow." With a few grateful words to Holmes she bade us bothgood-night and bustled off upon her way.
"At least," said I as we heard her quick, firm steps descendingthe stairs, "she seems to be a young lady who is very well able totake care of herself."
"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 friend's prediction wasfulfilled. A fortnight went by, during which I frequently found mythoughts turning in her direction and wondering what strangeside-alley of human experience this lonely woman had strayed into.The unusual salary, the curious conditions, the light duties, allpointed to something abnormal, though whether a fad or a plot, orwhether the man were a philanthropist or a villain, it was quitebeyond my powers to determine. As to Holmes, I observed that he satfrequently for half an hour on end, with knitted brows and anabstracted air, but he swept the matter away with a wave of hishand when I mentioned it. "Data! data! data!" he cried impatiently."I can't make bricks without clay." And yet he would always wind upby muttering that no sister of his should ever have accepted such asituation.
The telegram which we eventually received came late one nightjust as I was thinking of turning in and Holmes was settling downto one of those all-night chemical researches which he frequentlyindulged in, when I would leave him stooping over a retort and atest-tube at night and find him in the same position when I camedown to breakfast in the morning. He opened the yellow envelope,and then, glancing at the message, threw it across to me.
"Just look up the trains in Bradshaw," said he, and turned backto his chemical studies.
The summons was a brief and urgent one.
"Please be at the Black Swan Hotel at Winchester at middayto-morrow," it said. "Do come! I am at my wit's end. HUNTER."
"Will you come with me?" asked Holmes, glancing up.
"I should wish to."
"Just look it up, then."
"There is a train at half-past nine," said I, glancing over myBradshaw. "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 themorning."
By eleven o'clock the next day we were well upon our way to theold English capital. Holmes had been buried in the morning papersall the way down, but after we had passed the Hampshire border hethrew them down and began to admire the scenery. It was an idealspring day, a light blue sky, flecked with little fleecy whiteclouds drifting across from west to east. The sun was shining verybrightly, and yet there was an exhilarating nip in the air, whichset an edge to a man's energy. All over the countryside, away tothe rolling hills around Aldershot, the little red and gray roofsof the farm-steadings peeped out from amid the light green of thenew foliage.
"Are they not fresh and beautiful?" I cried with all theenthusiasm of a man fresh from the fogs of Baker Street.
But Holmes shook his head gravely.
"Do you know, Watson," said he, "that it is one of the curses ofa mind with a turn like mine that I must look at everything withreference to my own special subject. You look at these scatteredhouses, and you are impressed by their beauty. I look at them, andthe only thought which comes to me is a feeling of their isolationand of the impunity with which crime may be committed there."
"Good heavens!" I cried. "Who would associate crime with thesedear old homesteads?"
"They always fill me with a certain horror. It is my belief,Watson, founded upon my experience, that the lowest and vilestalleys in London do not present a more dreadful record of sin thandoes the smiling and beautiful countryside."
"You horrify me!"
"But the reason is very obvious. The pressure of public opinioncan do in the town what the law cannot accomplish. There is no laneso vile that the scream of a tortured child, or the thud of adrunkard's blow, does not beget sympathy and indignation among theneighbors, and then the whole machinery of justice is ever so closethat a word of complaint can set it going, and there is but a stepbetween the crime and the dock. But look at these lonely houses,each in its own fields, filled for the most part with poor ignorantfolk who know little of the law. Think of the deeds of hellishcruelty, the hidden wickedness which may go on, year in, year out,in such places, and none the wiser. Had this lady who appeals to usfor help gone to live in Winchester, I should never have had a fearfor her. It is the five miles of country which makes the danger.Still, it is clear that she is not personally threatened."
"No. If she can come to Winchester to meet us she can getaway."
"Quite so. She has her freedom."
"What CAN be the matter, then? Can you suggest noexplanation?"
"I have devised seven separate explanations, each of which wouldcover the facts as far as we know them. But which of these iscorrect can only be determined by the fresh information which weshall no doubt find waiting for us. Well, there is the tower of thecathedral, and we shall soon learn all that Miss Hunter has totell."
The Black Swan is an inn of repute in the High Street, at nodistance from the station, and there we found the young ladywaiting for us. She had engaged a sitting-room, and our lunchawaited us upon the table.
"I am so delighted that you have come," she said earnestly. "Itis so very kind of you both; but indeed I do not know what I shoulddo. Your advice will be altogether invaluable to me."
"Pray tell us what has happened to you."
"I will do so, and I must be quick, for I have promised Mr.Rucastle to be back before three. I got his leave to come into townthis morning, though he little knew for what purpose."
"Let us have everything in its due order." Holmes thrust hislong thin legs out towards the fire and composed himself tolisten.
"In the first place, I may say that I have met, on the whole,with no actual ill-treatment from Mr. and Mrs. Rucastle. It is onlyfair to them to say that. But I cannot understand them, and I amnot easy in my mind about them."
"What can you not understand?"
"Their reasons for their conduct. But you shall have it all justas it occurred. When I came down, Mr. Rucastle met me here anddrove me in his dog-cart to the Copper Beeches. It is, as he said,beautifully situated, but it is not beautiful in itself, for it isa large square block of a house, whitewashed, but all stained andstreaked with damp and bad weather. There are grounds round it,woods on three sides, and on the fourth a field which slopes downto the Southampton highroad, which curves past about a hundredyards from the front door. This ground in front belongs to thehouse, but the woods all round are part of Lord Southerton'spreserves. A clump of copper beeches immediately in front of thehall door has given its name to the place.
"I was driven over by my employer, who was as amiable as ever,and was introduced by him that evening to his wife and the child.There was no truth, Mr. Holmes, in the conjecture which seemed tous to be probable in your rooms at Baker Street. Mrs. Rucastle isnot mad. I found her to be a silent, pale-faced woman, much youngerthan her husband, not more than thirty, I should think, while hecan hardly be less than forty-five. From their conversation I havegathered that they have been married about seven years, that he wasa widower, and that his only child by the first wife was thedaughter who has gone to Philadelphia. Mr. Rucastle told me inprivate that the reason why she had left them was that she had anunreasoning aversion to her stepmother. As the daughter could nothave been less than twenty, I can quite imagine that her positionmust have been uncomfortable with her father's young wife.
"Mrs. Rucastle seemed to me to be colorless in mind as well asin feature. She impressed me neither favorably nor the reverse. Shewas a nonentity. It was easy to see that she was passionatelydevoted both to her husband and to her little son. Her light grayeyes wandered continually from one to the other, noting everylittle want and forestalling it if possible. He was kind to heralso in his bluff, boisterous fashion, and on the whole they seemedto be a happy couple. And yet she had some secret sorrow, thiswoman. She would often be lost in deep thought, with the saddestlook upon her face. More than once I have surprised her in tears. Ihave thought sometimes that it was the disposition of her childwhich weighed upon her mind, for I have never met so utterlyspoiled and so ill-natured a little creature. He is small for hisage, with a head which is quite disproportionately large. His wholelife appears to be spent in an alternation between savage fits ofpassion and gloomy intervals of sulking. Giving pain to anycreature weaker than himself seems to be his one idea of amusement,and he shows quite remarkable talent in planning the capture ofmice, little birds, and insects. But I would rather not talk aboutthe creature, Mr. Holmes, and, indeed, he has little to do with mystory."
"I am glad of all details," remarked my friend, "whether theyseem to you to be relevant or not."
"I shall try not to miss anything of importance. The oneunpleasant thing about the house, which struck me at once, was theappearance and conduct of the servants. There are only two, a manand his wife. Toller, for that is his name, is a rough, uncouthman, with grizzled hair and whiskers, and a perpetual smell ofdrink. Twice since I have been with them he has been quite drunk,and yet Mr. Rucastle seemed to take no notice of it. His wife is avery tall and strong woman with a sour face, as silent as Mrs.Rucastle and much less amiable. They are a most unpleasant couple,but fortunately I spend most of my time in the nursery and my ownroom, which are next to each other in one corner of thebuilding.
"For two days after my arrival at the Copper Beeches my life wasvery quiet; on the third, Mrs. Rucastle came down just afterbreakfast and whispered something to her husband.
"'Oh, yes,' said he, turning to me, 'we are very much obliged toyou, Miss Hunter, for falling in with our whims so far as to cutyour hair. I assure you that it has not detracted in the tiniestiota from your appearance. We shall now see how the electric-bluedress will become you. You will find it laid out upon the bed inyour room, and if you would be so good as to put it on we shouldboth be extremely obliged.'
"The dress which I found waiting for me was of a peculiar shadeof blue. It was of excellent material, a sort of beige, but it boreunmistakable signs of having been worn before. It could not havebeen a better fit if I had been measured for it. Both Mr. and Mrs.Rucastle expressed a delight at the look of it, which seemed quiteexaggerated in its vehemence. They were waiting for me in thedrawing-room, which is a very large room, stretching along theentire front of the house, with three long windows reaching down tothe floor. A chair had been placed close to the central window,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 theroom, began to tell me a series of the funniest stories that I haveever listened to. You cannot imagine how comical he was, and Ilaughed until I was quite weary. Mrs. Rucastle, however, who hasevidently no sense of humour, never so much as smiled, but sat withher hands in her lap, and a sad, anxious look upon her face. Afteran hour or so, Mr. Rucastle suddenly remarked that it was time tocommence the duties of the day, and that I might change my dressand go to little Edward in the nursery.
"Two days later this same performance was gone through underexactly similar circumstances. Again I changed my dress, again Isat in the window, and again I laughed very heartily at the funnystories of which my employer had an immense repertoire, and whichhe told inimitably. Then he handed me a yellow-backed novel, andmoving my chair a little sideways, that my own shadow might notfall upon the page, he begged me to read aloud to him. I read forabout ten minutes, beginning in the heart of a chapter, and thensuddenly, in the middle of a sentence, he ordered me to cease andto change my dress.
"You can easily imagine, Mr. Holmes, how curious I became as towhat the meaning of this extraordinary performance could possiblybe. They were always very careful, I observed, to turn my face awayfrom the window, so that I became consumed with the desire to seewhat was going on behind my back. At first it seemed to beimpossible, but I soon devised a means. My hand-mirror had beenbroken, so a happy thought seized me, and I concealed a piece ofthe glass in my handkerchief. On the next occasion, in the midst ofmy laughter, I put my handkerchief up to my eyes, and was able witha little management to see all that there was behind me. I confessthat I was disappointed. There was nothing. At least that was myfirst impression. At the second glance, however, I perceived thatthere was a man standing in the Southampton Road, a small beardedman in a gray suit, who seemed to be looking in my direction. Theroad is an important highway, and there are usually people there.This man, however, was leaning against the railings which borderedour field and was looking earnestly up. I lowered my handkerchiefand glanced at Mrs. Rucastle to find her eyes fixed upon me with amost searching gaze. She said nothing, but I am convinced that shehad divined that I had a mirror in my hand and had seen what wasbehind me. She rose at once.
"'Jephro,' said she, 'there is an impertinent fellow upon theroad there who stares up at Miss Hunter.'
"'No friend of yours, Miss Hunter?' he asked.
"'No, I know no one in these parts.'
"'Dear me! How very impertinent! Kindly turn round and motion tohim to go away.'
"'Surely it would be better to take no notice.'
"'No, no, we should have him loitering here always. Kindly turnround and wave him away like that.'
"I did as I was told, and at the same instant Mrs. Rucastle drewdown the blind. That was a week ago, and from that time I have notsat again in the window, nor have I worn the blue dress, nor seenthe man in the road."
"Pray continue," said Holmes. "Your narrative promises to be amost interesting one."
"You will find it rather disconnected, I fear, and there mayprove to be little relation between the different incidents ofwhich I speak. On the very first day that I was at the CopperBeeches, Mr. Rucastle took me to a small outhouse which stands nearthe kitchen door. As we approached it I heard the sharp rattling ofa chain, and the sound as of a large animal moving about.
"'Look in here!' said Mr. Rucastle, showing me a slit betweentwo planks. 'Is he not a beauty?'
"I looked through and was conscious of two glowing eyes, and ofa vague figure huddled up in the darkness.
"'Don't be frightened,' said my employer, laughing at the startwhich I had given. 'It's only Carlo, my mastiff. I call him mine,but really old Toller, my groom, is the only man who can doanything with him. We feed him once a day, and not too much then,so that he is always as keen as mustard. Toller lets him looseevery night, and God help the trespasser whom he lays his fangsupon. For goodness' sake don't you ever on any pretext set yourfoot over the threshold at night, for it's as much as your life isworth.'
"The warning was no idle one, for two nights later I happened tolook out of my bedroom window about two o'clock in the morning. Itwas a beautiful moonlight night, and the lawn in front of the housewas silvered over and almost as bright as day. I was standing, raptin the peaceful beauty of the scene, when I was aware thatsomething was moving under the shadow of the copper beeches. As itemerged into the moonshine I saw what it was. It was a giant dog,as large as a calf, tawny tinted, with hanging jowl, black muzzle,and huge projecting bones. It walked slowly across the lawn andvanished into the shadow upon the other side. That dreadfulsentinel 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, asyou know, cut off my hair in London, and I had placed it in a greatcoil at the bottom of my trunk. One evening, after the child was inbed, I began to amuse myself by examining the furniture of my roomand by rearranging my own little things. There was an old chest ofdrawers in the room, the two upper ones empty and open, the lowerone locked. I had filled the first two with my linen. and as I hadstill much to pack away I was naturally annoyed at not having theuse of the third drawer. It struck me that it might have beenfastened by a mere oversight, so I took out my bunch of keys andtried to open it. The very first key fitted to perfection, and Idrew the drawer open. There was only one thing in it, but I am surethat you would never guess what it was. It was my coil of hair.
"I took it up and examined it. It was of the same peculiar tint,and the same thickness. But then the impossibility of the thingobtruded itself upon me. How could my hair have been locked in thedrawer? With trembling hands I undid my trunk, turned out thecontents, and drew from the bonom my own hair. I laid the twotresses together, and I assure you that they were identical. Was itnot extraordinary? Puzzle as I would, I could make nothing at allof what it meant. I returned the strange hair to the drawer, and Isaid nothing of the matter to the Rucastles as I felt that I hadput myself in the wrong by opening a drawer which they hadlocked.
"I am naturally observant, as you may have remarked, Mr. Holmes,and I soon had a pretty good plan of the whole house in my head.There was one wing, however, which appeared not to be inhabited atall. A door which faced that which led into the quarters of theTollers opened into this suite, but it was invariably locked. Oneday, however, as I ascended the stair, I met Mr. Rucastle comingout through this door, his keys in his hand, and a look on his facewhich made him a very different person to the round, jovial man towhom I was accustomed. His cheeks were red, his brow was allcrinkled with anger, and the veins stood out at his temples withpassion. He locked the door and hurried past me without a word or alook.
"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 Icould see the windows of this part of the house. There were four ofthem in a row, three of which were simply dirty, while the fourthwas shuttered up. They were evidently all deserted. As I strolledup and down, glancing at them occasionally, Mr. Rucastle came outto me, looking as merry and jovial as ever.
"'Ah!' said he, 'you must not think me rude if I passed youwithout a word, my dear young lady. I was preoccupied with businessmatters.'
"I assured him that I was not offended. 'By the way,' said I,'you seem to have quite a suite of spare rooms up there, and one ofthem has the shutters up.'
"He looked surprised and, as it seemed to me, a little startledat my remark.
"'Photography is one of my hobbies,' said he. 'I have made mydark room up there. But, dear me! what an observant young lady wehave come upon. Who would have believed it? Who would have everbelieved it?' He spoke in a jesting tone, but there was no jest inhis eyes as he looked at me. I read suspicion there and annoyance,but no jest.
"Well, Mr. Holmes, from the moment that I understood that therewas something about that suite of rooms which I was not to know, Iwas all on fire to go over them. It was not mere curiosity, thoughI have my share of that. It was more a feeling of duty--a feelingthat some good might come from my penetrating to this place. Theytalk of woman's instinct; perhaps it was woman's instinct whichgave me that feeling. At any rate, it was there, and I was keenlyon the lookout for any chance to pass the forbidden door.
"It was only yesterday that the chance came. I may tell youthat, besides Mr. Rucastle, both Toller and his wife find somethingto do in these deserted rooms, and I once saw him carrying a largeblack linen bag with him through the door. Recently he has beendrinking hard, and yesterday evening he was very drunk; and when Icame upstairs there was the key in the door. I have no doubt at allthat he had left it there. Mr. and Mrs. Rucastle were bothdownstairs, and the child was with them, so that I had an admirableopportunity. I turned the key gently in the lock, opened the door,and slipped through.
"There was a little passage in front of me, unpapered anduncarpeted, which turned at a right angle at the farther end. Roundthis corner were three doors in a line, the first and third ofwhich were open. They each led into an empty room, dusty andcheerless, with two windows in the one and one in the other, sothick with dirt that the evening light glimmered dimly throughthem. The centre door was closed, and across the outside of it hadbeen 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 stoutcord. The door itself was locked as well, and the key was notthere. This barricaded door corresponded clearly with the shutteredwindow outside, and yet I could see by the glimmer from beneath itthat the room was not in darkness. Evidently there was a skylightwhich let in light from above. As I stood in the passage gazing atthe sinister door and wondering what secret it might veil, Isuddenly heard the sound of steps within the room and saw a shadowpass backward and forward against the little slit of dim lightwhich shone out from under the door. A mad, unreasoning terror roseup in me at the sight, Mr. Holmes. My overstrung nerves failed mesuddenly, and I turned and ran--ran as though some dreadful handwere behind me clutching at the skirt of my dress. I rushed downthe passage, through the door, and straight into the arms of Mr.Rucastle, who was waiting outside.
"'So,' said he, smiling, 'it was you, then. I thought that itmust be when I saw the door open.'
"'Oh, I am so frightened!' I panted.
"'My dear young lady! my dear young lady!'--you cannot think howcaressing and soothing his manner was--'and what has frightenedyou, my dear young lady?'
"But his voice was just a little too coaxing. He overdid it. Iwas keenly on my guard against him.
"'I was foolish enough to go into the empty wing,' I answered.'But it is so lonely and eerie in this dim light that I wasfrightened and ran out again. Oh, it is so dreadfully still inthere!'
"'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 yousee?' He was still smiling in the most amiable manner.
"'I am sure if I had known--'
"'Well, then, you know now. And if you ever put your foot overthat threshold again'--here in an instant the smile hardened into agrin of rage, and he glared down at me with the face of ademon--'I'll throw you to the mastiff.'
"I was so terrified that I do not know what I did. I supposethat I must have rushed past him into my room. I remember nothinguntil I found myself lying on my bed trembling all over. Then Ithought of you, Mr. Holmes. I could not live there longer withoutsome advice. I was frightened of the house, of the man of thewoman, of the servants, even of the child. They were all horribleto me. If I could only bring you down all would be well. Of courseI might have fled from the house, but my curiosity was almost asstrong as my fears. My mind was soon made up. I would send you awire. I put on my hat and cloak, went down to the office, which isabout half a mile from the house, and then returned, feeling verymuch easier. A horrible doubt came into my mind as I approached thedoor lest the dog might be loose, but I remembered that Toller haddrunk himself into a state of insensibility that evening, and Iknew that he was the only one in the household who had anyinfluence with the savage creature, or who would venture to set himfree. I slipped in in safety and lay awake half the night in my joyat the thought of seeing you. I had no difficulty in getting leaveto come into Winchester this morning, but I must be back beforethree o'clock, for Mr. and Mrs. Rucastle are going on a visit, andwill be away all the evening, so that I must look after the child.Now I have told you all my adventures, Mr. Holmes, and I should bevery 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 extraordinarystory. My friend rose now and paced up and down the room, his handsin his pockets, and an expression of the most profound gravity uponhis face.
"Is Toller still drunk?" he asked.
"Yes. I heard his wife tell Mrs. Rucastle that she could donothing with him."
"That is well. And the Rucastles go out to-night?"
"Yes."
"Is there a cellar with a good strong lock?"
"Yes, the wine-cellar."
"You seem to me to have acted all through this matter like avery brave and sensible girl, Miss Hunter. Do you think that youcould perform one more feat? I should not ask it of you if I didnot think you a quite exceptional woman."
"I will try. What is it?"
"We shall be at the Copper Beeches by seven o'clock, my friendand I. The Rucastles will be gone by that time, and Toller will, wehope, be incapable. There only remains Mrs. Toller, who might givethe alarm. If you could send her into the cellar on some errand,and then turn the key upon her, you would facilitate mattersimmensely."
"I will do it."
"Excellent! We shall then look thoroughly into the affair. Ofcourse there is only one feasible explanation. You have beenbrought there to personate someone, and the real person isimprisoned in this chamber. That is obvious. As to who thisprisoner is, I have no doubt that it is the daughter, Miss AliceRucastle, if I remember right, who was said to have gone toAmerica. You were chosen, doubtless, as resembling her in height,figure, and the color of your hair. Hers had been cut off, verypossibly in some illness through which she has passed, and so, ofcourse, yours had to be sacrificed also. By a curious chance youcame upon her tresses. The man in the road was undoubtedly somefriend of hers--possibly her fiance--and no doubt, as you wore thegirl's dress and were so like her, he was convinced from yourlaughter, whenever he saw you, and afterwards from your gesture,that Miss Rucastle was perfectly happy, and that she no longerdesired his attentions. The dog is let loose at night to preventhim from endeavoring to communicate with her. So much is fairlyclear. The most serious point in the case is the disposition of thechild."
"What on earth has that to do with it?" I ejaculated.
"My dear Watson, you as a medical man are continually gaininglight as to the tendencies of a child by the study of the parents.Don't you see that the converse is equally valid. I have frequentlygained my first real insight into the character of parents bystudying their children. This child's disposition is abnormallycruel, merely for cruelty's sake, and whether he derives this fromhis smiling father, as I should suspect, or from his mother, itbodes 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 thispoor creature."
"We must be circumspect, for we are dealing with a very cunningman. We can do nothing until seven o'clock. At that hour we shallbe with you, and it will not be long before we solve themystery."
We were as good as our word, for it was just seven when wereached the Copper Beeches, having put up our trap at a waysidepublic-house. The group of trees, with their dark leaves shininglike burnished metal in the light of the setting sun, weresufficient to mark the house even had Miss Hunter not been standingsmiling on the door-step.
"Have you managed it?" asked Holmes.
A loud thudding noise came from somewhere downstairs. "That isMrs. Toller in the cellar," said she. "Her husband lies snoring onthe kitchen rug. Here are his keys, which are the duplicates of Mr.Rucastle's."
"You have done well indeed!" cried Holmes with enthusiasm. "Nowlead the way, and we shall soon see the end of this blackbusiness."
We passed up the stair, unlocked the door, followed on down apassage, and found ourselves in front of the barricade which MissHunter had described. Holmes cut the cord and removed thetransverse bar. Then he tried the various keys in the lock, butwithout success. No sound came from within, and at the silenceHolmes's face clouded over.
"I trust that we are not too late," said he. "I think, MissHunter, that we had better go in without you. Now, Watson, put yourshoulder to it, and we shall see whether we cannot make our wayin."
It was an old rickety door and gave at once before our unitedstrength. Together we rushed into the room. It was empty. There wasno furniture save a little pallet bed, a small table, and abasketful of linen. The skylight above was open, and the prisonergone.
"There has been some villainy here," said Holmes; "this beautyhas guessed Miss Hunter's intentions and has carried his victimoff."
"But how?"
"Through the skylight. We shall soon see how he managed it." Heswung himself up onto the roof. "Ah, yes," he cried, "here's theend of a long light ladder against the eaves. That is how he didit."
"But it is impossible," said Miss Hunter; "the ladder was notthere when the Rucastles went away."
"He has come back and done it. I tell you that he is a cleverand dangerous man. I should not be very much surprised if this werehe whose step I hear now upon the stair. I think, Watson, that itwould be as well for you to have your pistol ready."
The words were hardly out of his mouth before a man appeared atthe door of the room, a very fat and burly man, with a heavy stickin his hand. Miss Hunter screamed and shrunk against the wall atthe sight of him, but Sherlock Holmes sprang forward and confrontedhim.
"You villain!" said he, "where's your daughter?"
The fat man cast his eyes round, and then up at the openskylight.
"It is for me to ask you that," he shrieked, "you thieves! Spiesand thieves! I have caught you, have I? You are in my power. I'llserve you!" He turned and clattered down the stairs as hard as hecould go.
"He's gone for the dog!" cried Miss Hunter.
"I have my revolver," said I.
"Better close the front door," cried Holmes, and we all rusheddown the stairs together. We had hardly reached the hall when weheard the baying of a hound, and then a scream of agony, with ahorrible worrying sound which it was dreadful to listen to. Anelderly man with a red face and shaking limbs came staggering outat a side door.
"My God!" he cried. "Someone has loosed the dog. It's not beenfed for two days. Quick, quick, or it'll be too late!"
Holmes and I rushed out and round the angle of the house, withToller hurrying behind us. There was the huge famished brute, itsblack muzzle buried in Rucastle's throat, while he writhed andscreamed upon the ground. Running up, I blew its brains out, and itfell over with its keen white teeth still meeting in the greatcreases of his neck. With much labour we separated them and carriedhim, living but horribly mangled, into the house. We laid him uponthe drawing-room sofa, and having dispatched the sobered Toller tobear the news to his wife, I did what I could to relieve his pain.We were all assembled round him when the door opened, and a tall,gaunt woman entered the room.
"Mrs. Toller!" cried Miss Hunter.
"Yes, miss. Mr. Rucastle let me out when he came back before hewent up to you. Ah, miss, it is a pity you didn't let me know whatyou were planning, for I would have told you that your pains werewasted."
"Ha!" said Holmes, looking keenly at her. "It is clear that Mrs.Toller knows more about this matter than anyone else."
"Yes, sir, I do, and I am ready enough to tell what I know."
"Then, pray, sit down, and let us hear it for there are severalpoints on which I must confess that I am still in the dark."
"I will soon make it clear to you," said she; "and I'd have doneso before now if I could ha' got out from the cellar. If there'spolice-court business over this, you'll remember that I was the onethat stood your friend, and that I was Miss Alice's friend too.
"She was never happy at home, Miss Alice wasn't, from the timethat her father married again. She was slighted like and had no sayin anything, but it never really became bad for her until after shemet Mr. Fowler at a friend's house. As well as I could learn, MissAlice had rights of her own by will, but she was so quiet andpatient, she was, that she never said a word about them but justleft everything in Mr. Rucastle's hands. He knew he was safe withher; but when there was a chance of a husband coming forward, whowould ask for all that the law would give him, then her fatherthought it time to put a stop on it. He wanted her to sign a paper,so that whether she married or not, he could use her money. Whenshe wouldn't do it, he kept on worrying her until she gotbrain-fever, and for six weeks was at death's door. Then she gotbetter at last, all worn to a shadow, and with her beautiful haircut off; but that didn't make no change in her young man, and hestuck to her as true as man could be."
"Ah," said Holmes, "I think that what you have been good enoughto tell us makes the matter fairly clear, and that I can deduce allthat remains. Mr. Rucastle then, I presume, took to this system ofimprisonment?"
"Yes, sir."
"And brought Miss Hunter down from London in order to get rid ofthe disagreeable persistence of Mr. Fowler."
"That was it, sir."
"But Mr. Fowler being a persevering man, as a good seaman shouldbe, blockaded the house, and having met you succeeded by certainarguments, metallic or otherwise, in convincing you that yourinterests were 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 nowant of drink, and that a ladder should be ready at the moment whenyour master had gone out."
"You have it, sir, just as it happened."
"I am sure we owe you an apology, Mrs. Toller," said Holmes,"for you have certainly cleared up everything which puzzled us. Andhere comes the country surgeon and Mrs. Rucastle, so I think.Watson, that we had best escort Miss Hunter back to Winchester, asit seems to me that our locus standi now is rather a questionableone."
And thus was solved the mystery of the sinister house with thecopper beeches in front of the door. Mr. Rucastle survived, but wasalways a broken man, kept alive solely through the care of hisdevoted wife. They still live with their old servants, who probablyknow so much of Rucastle's past life that he finds it difficult topart from them. Mr. Fowler and Miss Rucastle were married, byspecial license, in Southampton the day after their flight, and heis now the holder of a government appointment in the island ofMauritius. As to Miss Violet Hunter, my friend Holmes, rather to mydisappointment, manifested no further interest in her when once shehad ceased to be the centre of one of his problems, and she is nowthe head of a private school at Walsall, where I believe that shehas met with considerable success.
THE MEMOIRS OF SHERLOCK HOLMES
ADVENTURE I. SILVER BLAZE
"I am afraid, Watson, that I shall have to go," said Holmes, aswe sat down together to our breakfast one morning.
"Go! Where to?"
"To Dartmoor; to King's Pyland."
I was not surprised. Indeed, my only wonder was that he had notalready been mixed upon this extraordinary case, which was the onetopic of conversation through the length and breadth of England.For a whole day my companion had rambled about the room with hischin upon his chest and his brows knitted, charging and recharginghis pipe with the strongest black tobacco, and absolutely deaf toany of my questions or remarks. Fresh editions of every paper hadbeen sent up by our news agent, only to be glanced over and tosseddown into a corner. Yet, silent as he was, I knew perfectly wellwhat it was over which he was brooding. There was but one problembefore the public which could challenge his powers of analysis, andthat was the singular disappearance of the favorite for the WessexCup, and the tragic murder of its trainer. When, therefore, hesuddenly announced his intention of setting out for the scene ofthe 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 bein the way," said I.
"My dear Watson, you would confer a great favor upon me bycoming. And I think that your time will not be misspent, for thereare points about the case which promise to make it an absolutelyunique one. We have, I think, just time to catch our train atPaddington, and I will go further into the matter upon our journey.You would oblige me by bringing with you your very excellentfield-glass."
And so it happened that an hour or so later I found myself inthe corner of a first-class carriage flying along en route forExeter, while Sherlock Holmes, with his sharp, eager face framed inhis ear-flapped travelling-cap, dipped rapidly into the bundle offresh papers which he had procured at Paddington. We had leftReading far behind us before he thrust the last one of them underthe seat, and offered me his cigar-case.
"We are going well," said he, looking out the window andglancing at his watch. "Our rate at present is fifty-three and ahalf miles an hour."
"I have not observed the quarter-mile posts," said I.
"Nor have I. But the telegraph posts upon this line are sixtyyards apart, and the calculation is a simple one. I presume thatyou have looked into this matter of the murder of John Straker andthe disappearance of Silver Blaze?"
"I have seen what the Telegraph and the Chronicle have tosay."
"It is one of those cases where the art of the reasoner shouldbe used rather for the sifting of details than for the acquiring offresh evidence. The tragedy has been so uncommon, so complete andof such personal importance to so many people, that we aresuffering from a plethora of surmise, conjecture, and hypothesis.The difficulty is to detach the framework of fact--of absoluteundeniable fact--from the embellishments of theorists andreporters. Then, having established ourselves upon this soundbasis, it is our duty to see what inferences may be drawn and whatare the special points upon which the whole mystery turns. OnTuesday evening I received telegrams from both Colonel Ross, theowner of the horse, and from Inspector Gregory, who is lookingafter the case, inviting my cooperation.
"Tuesday evening!" I exclaimed. "And this is Thursday morning.Why didn't you go down yesterday?"
"Because I made a blunder, my dear Watson--which is, I amafraid, a more common occurrence than any one would think who onlyknew me through your memoirs. The fact is that I could not believeis possible that the most remarkable horse in England could longremain concealed, especially in so sparsely inhabited a place asthe north of Dartmoor. From hour to hour yesterday I expected tohear that he had been found, and that his abductor was the murdererof John Straker. When, however, another morning had come, and Ifound that beyond the arrest of young Fitzroy Simpson nothing hadbeen done, I felt that it was time for me to take action. Yet insome ways I feel that yesterday has not been wasted."
"You have formed a theory, then?"
"At least I have got a grip of the essential facts of the case.I shall enumerate them to you, for nothing clears up a case so muchas stating it to another person, and I can hardly expect yourco-operation if I do not show you the position from which westart."
I lay back against the cushions, puffing at my cigar, whileHolmes, leaning forward, with his long, thin forefinger checkingoff the points upon the palm of his left hand, gave me a sketch ofthe events which had led 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 fifthyear, and has brought in turn each of the prizes of the turf toColonel Ross, his fortunate owner. Up to the time of thecatastrophe he was the first favorite for the Wessex Cup, thebetting being three to one on him. He has always, however, been aprime favorite with the racing public, and has never yetdisappointed them, so that even at those odds enormous sums ofmoney have been laid upon him. It is obvious, therefore, that therewere many people who had the strongest interest in preventingSilver Blaze from being there at the fall of the flag nextTuesday.
"The fact was, of course, appreciated at King's Pyland, wherethe Colonel's training-stable is situated. Every precaution wastaken to guard the favorite. The trainer, John Straker, is aretired jockey who rode in Colonel Ross's colors before he becametoo heavy for the weighing-chair. He has served the Colonel forfive years as jockey and for seven as trainer, and has always shownhimself to be a zealous and honest servant. Under him were threelads; for the establishment was a small one, containing only fourhorses in all. One of these lads sat up each night in the stable,while the others slept in the loft. All three bore excellentcharacters. John Straker, who is a married man, lived in a smallvilla about two hundred yards from the stables. He has no children,keeps one maid-servant, and is comfortably off. The country roundis very lonely, but about half a mile to the north there is a smallcluster of villas which have been built by a Tavistock contractorfor the use of invalids and others who may wish to enjoy the pureDartmoor air. Tavistock itself lies two miles to the west, whileacross the moor, also about two miles distant, is the largertraining establishment of Mapleton, which belongs to LordBackwater, and is managed by Silas Brown. In every other directionthe moor is a complete wilderness, inhabited only be a few roaminggypsies. Such was the general situation last Monday night when thecatastrophe occurred.
"On that evening the horses had been exercised and watered asusual, and the stables were locked up at nine o'clock. Two of thelads walked up to the trainer's house, where they had supper in thekitchen, while the third, Ned Hunter, remained on guard. At a fewminutes after nine the maid, Edith Baxter, carried down to thestables his supper, which consisted of a dish of curried mutton.She took no liquid, as there was a water-tap in the stables, and itwas the rule that the lad on duty should drink nothing else. Themaid carried a lantern with her, as it was very dark and the pathran 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 hestepped into the circle of yellow light thrown by the lantern shesaw that he was a person of gentlemanly bearing, dressed in a graysuit of tweeds, with a cloth cap. He wore gaiters, and carried aheavy stick with a knob to it. She was most impressed, however, bythe extreme pallor of his face and by the nervousness of hismanner. His age, she thought, would be rather over thirty thanunder it.
"'Can you tell me where I am?' he asked. 'I had almost made upmy mind to sleep on the moor, when I saw the light of yourlantern.'
"'You are close to the King's Pyland training-stables,' saidshe.
"'Oh, indeed! What a stroke of luck!' he cried. 'I understandthat a stable-boy sleeps there alone every night. Perhaps that ishis supper which you are carrying to him. Now I am sure that youwould not be too proud to earn the price of a new dress, wouldyou?' He took a piece of white paper folded up out of his waistcoatpocket. 'See that the boy has this to-night, and you shall have theprettiest frock that money can buy.'
"She was frightened by the earnestness of his manner, and ranpast him to the window through which she was accustomed to hand themeals. It was already opened, and Hunter was seated at the smalltable inside. She had begun to tell him of what had happened, whenthe stranger came up again.
"'Good-evening,' said he, looking through the window. 'I wantedto have a word with you.' The girl has sworn that as he spoke shenoticed the corner of the little paper packet protruding from hisclosed hand.
"'What business have you here?' asked the lad.
"'It's business that may put something into your pocket,' saidthe other. 'You've two horses in for the Wessex Cup--Silver Blazeand Bayard. Let me have the straight tip and you won't be a loser.Is it a fact that at the weights Bayard could give the other ahundred yards in five furlongs, and that the stable have put theirmoney on him?'
"'So, you're one of those damned touts!' cried the lad. 'I'llshow you how we serve them in King's Pyland.' He sprang up andrushed across the stable to unloose the dog. The girl fled away tothe house, but as she ran she looked back and saw that the strangerwas leaning through the window. A minute later, however, whenHunter rushed out with the hound he was gone, and though he ran allround the buildings he failed to find any trace of him."
"One moment," I asked. "Did the stable-boy, when he ran out withthe dog, leave the door unlocked behind him?"
"Excellent, Watson, excellent!" murmured my companion. "Theimportance of the point struck me so forcibly that I sent a specialwire to Dartmoor yesterday to clear the matter up. The boy lockedthe door before he left it. The window, I may add, was not largeenough for a man to get through.
"Hunter waited until his fellow-grooms had returned, when hesent a message to the trainer and told him what had occurred.Straker was excited at hearing the account, although he does notseem to have quite realized its true significance. It left him,however, vaguely uneasy, and Mrs. Straker, waking at one in themorning, found that he was dressing. In reply to her inquiries, hesaid that he could not sleep on account of his anxiety about thehorses, and that he intended to walk down to the stables to seethat all was well. She begged him to remain at home, as she couldhear the rain pattering against the window, but in spite of herentreaties he pulled on his large mackintosh and left thehouse.
"Mrs. Straker awoke at seven in the morning, to find that herhusband had not yet returned. She dressed herself hastily, calledthe maid, and set off for the stables. The door was open; inside,huddled together upon a chair, Hunter was sunk in a state ofabsolute stupor, the favorite's stall was empty, and there were nosigns of his trainer.
"The two lads who slept in the chaff-cutting loft above theharness-room were quickly aroused. They had heard nothing duringthe night, for they are both sound sleepers. Hunter was obviouslyunder the influence of some powerful drug, and as no sense could begot out of him, he was left to sleep it off while the two lads andthe two women ran out in search of the absentees. They still hadhopes that the trainer had for some reason taken out the horse forearly exercise, but on ascending the knoll near the house, fromwhich all the neighboring moors were visible, they not only couldsee no signs of the missing favorite, 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 Straker'sovercoat was flapping from a furze-bush. Immediately beyond therewas a bowl-shaped depression in the moor, and at the bottom of thiswas found the dead body of the unfortunate trainer. His head hadbeen shattered by a savage blow from some heavy weapon, and he waswounded on the thigh, where there was a long, clean cut, inflictedevidently by some very sharp instrument. It was clear, however,that Straker had defended himself vigorously against hisassailants, for in his right hand he held a small knife, which wasclotted with blood up to the handle, while in his left he clasped ared and black silk cravat, which was recognized by the maid ashaving been worn on the preceding evening by the stranger who hadvisited the stables. Hunter, on recovering from his stupor, wasalso quite positive as to the ownership of the cravat. He wasequally certain that the same stranger had, while standing at thewindow, drugged his curried mutton, and so deprived the stables oftheir watchman. As to the missing horse, there were abundant proofsin the mud which lay at the bottom of the fatal hollow that he hadbeen there at the time of the struggle. But from that morning hehas disappeared, and although a large reward has been offered, andall the gypsies of Dartmoor are on the alert, no news has come ofhim. Finally, an analysis has shown that the remains of his supperleft by the stable-lad contain an appreciable quantity of powderedopium, while the people at the house partook of the same dish onthe same night without any ill effect.
"Those are the main facts of the case, stripped of all surmise,and stated as baldly as possible. I shall now recapitulate what thepolice have done in the matter.
"Inspector Gregory, to whom the case has been committed, is anextremely competent officer. Were he but gifted with imagination hemight rise to great heights in his profession. On his arrival hepromptly found and arrested the man upon whom suspicion naturallyrested. There was little difficulty in finding him, for heinhabited one of those villas which I have mentioned. His name, itappears, was Fitzroy Simpson. He was a man of excellent birth andeducation, who had squandered a fortune upon the turf, and wholived now by doing a little quiet and genteel book-making in thesporting clubs of London. An examination of his betting-book showsthat bets to the amount of five thousand pounds had been registeredby him against the favorite. On being arrested he volunteered thatstatement that he had come down to Dartmoor in the hope of gettingsome information about the King's Pyland horses, and also aboutDesborough, the second favorite, which was in charge of Silas Brownat the Mapleton stables. He did not attempt to deny that he hadacted as described upon the evening before, but declared that hehad no sinister designs, and had simply wished to obtain first-handinformation. When confronted with his cravat, he turned very pale,and was utterly unable to account for its presence in the hand ofthe murdered man. His wet clothing showed that he had been out inthe storm of the night before, and his stick, which was aPenang-lawyer weighted with lead, was just such a weapon as might,by repeated blows, have inflicted the terrible injuries to whichthe trainer had succumbed. On the other hand, there was no woundupon his person, while the state of Straker's knife would show thatone at least of his assailants must bear his mark upon him. Thereyou have it all in a nutshell, Watson, and if you can give me anylight I shall be infinitely obliged to you."
I had listened with the greatest interest to the statement whichHolmes, with characteristic clearness, had laid before me. Thoughmost of the facts were familiar to me, I had not sufficientlyappreciated their relative importance, nor their connection to eachother.
"Is in not possible," I suggested, "that the incised would uponStraker may have been caused by his own knife in the convulsivestruggles which follow any brain injury?"
"It is more than possible; it is probable," said Holmes. "Inthat case one of the main points in favor of the accuseddisappears."
"And yet," said I, "even now I fail to understand what thetheory of the police can be."
"I am afraid that whatever theory we state has very graveobjections to it," returned my companion. "The police imagine, Itake it, that this Fitzroy Simpson, having drugged the lad, andhaving in some way obtained a duplicate key, opened the stable doorand took out the horse, with the intention, apparently, ofkidnapping him altogether. His bridle is missing, so that Simpsonmust have put this on. Then, having left the door open behind him,he was leading the horse away over the moor, when he was either metor overtaken by the trainer. A row naturally ensued. Simpson beatout the trainer's brains with his heavy stick without receiving anyinjury from the small knife which Straker used in self-defence, andthen the thief either led the horse on to some secret hiding-place,or else it may have bolted during the struggle, and be nowwandering out on the moors. That is the case as it appears to thepolice, and improbable as it is, all other explanations are moreimprobable still. However, I shall very quickly test the matterwhen I am once upon the spot, and until then I cannot really seehow we can get much further than our present position."
It was evening before we reached the little town of Tavistock,which lies, like the boss of a shield, in the middle of the hugecircle of Dartmoor. Two gentlemen were awaiting us in thestation--the one a tall, fair man with lion-like hair and beard andcuriously penetrating light blue eyes; the other a small, alertperson, very neat and dapper, in a frock-coat and gaiters, withtrim little side-whiskers and an eye-glass. The latter was ColonelRoss, the well-known sportsman; the other, Inspector Gregory, a manwho was rapidly making his name in the English detectiveservice.
"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 toavenge poor Straker and in recovering my horse."
"Have there been any fresh developments?" asked Holmes.
"I am sorry to say that we have made very little progress," saidthe Inspector. "We have an open carriage outside, and as you wouldno doubt like to see the place before the light fails, we mighttalk it over as we drive."
A minute later we were all seated in a comfortable landau, andwere rattling through the quaint old Devonshire city. InspectorGregory was full of his case, and poured out a stream of remarks,while Holmes threw in an occasional question or interjection.Colonel Ross leaned back with his arms folded and his hat tiltedover his eyes, while I listened with interest to the dialogue ofthe two detectives. Gregory was formulating his theory, which wasalmost exactly what Holmes had foretold in the train.
"The net is drawn pretty close round Fitzroy Simpson," heremarked, "and I believe myself that he is our man. At the sametime I recognize that the evidence is purely circumstantial, andthat some new development may upset it."
"How about Straker's knife?"
"We have quite come to the conclusion that he wounded himself inhis fall."
"My friend Dr. Watson made that suggestion to me as we camedown. If so, it would tell against this man Simpson."
"Undoubtedly. He has neither a knife nor any sign of a wound.The evidence against him is certainly very strong. He had a greatinterest in the disappearance of the favorite. He lies undersuspicion of having poisoned the stable-boy, he was undoubtedly outin the storm, he was armed with a heavy stick, and his cravat wasfound in the dead man's hand. I really think we have enough to gobefore a jury."
Holmes shook his head. "A clever counsel would tear it all torags," said he. "Why should he take the horse out of the stable? Ifhe wished to injure it why could he not do it there? Has aduplicate key been found in his possession? What chemist sold himthe powdered opium? Above all, where could he, a stranger to thedistrict, hide a horse, and such a horse as this? What is his ownexplanation as to the paper which he wished the maid to give to thestable-boy?"
"He says that it was a ten-pound note. One was found in hispurse. But your other difficulties are not so formidable as theyseem. He is not a stranger to the district. He has twice lodged atTavistock in the summer. The opium was probably brought fromLondon. The key, having served its purpose, would be hurled away.The horse may be at the bottom of one of the pits or old mines uponthe moor."
"What does he say about the cravat?"
"He acknowledges that it is his, and declares that he had lostit. But a new element has been introduced into the case which mayaccount for his leading the horse from the stable."
Holmes pricked up his ears.
"We have found traces which show that a party of gypsiesencamped on Monday night within a mile of the spot where the murdertook place. On Tuesday they were gone. Now, presuming that therewas some understanding between Simpson and these gypsies, might henot have been leading the horse to them when he was overtaken, andmay they not have him now?"
"It is certainly possible."
"The moor is being scoured for these gypsies. I have alsoexamined every stable and out-house in Tavistock, and for a radiusof ten miles."
"There is another training-stable quite close, Iunderstand?"
"Yes, and that is a factor which we must certainly not neglect.As Desborough, their horse, was second in the betting, they had aninterest in the disappearance of the favorite. Silas Brown, thetrainer, is known to have had large bets upon the event, and he wasno friend to poor Straker. We have, however, examined the stables,and there is nothing to connect him with the affair."
"And nothing to connect this man Simpson with the interests ofthe Mapleton stables?"
"Nothing at all."
Holmes leaned back in the carriage, and the conversation ceased.A few minutes later our driver pulled up at a neat little red-brickvilla with overhanging eaves which stood by the road. Some distanceoff, across a paddock, lay a long gray-tiled out-building. In everyother direction the low curves of the moor, bronze-colored from thefading ferns, stretched away to the sky-line, broken only by thesteeples of Tavistock, and by a cluster of houses away to thewestward which marked the Mapleton stables. We all sprang out withthe exception of Holmes, who continued to lean back with his eyesfixed upon the sky in front of him, entirely absorbed in his ownthoughts. It was only when I touched his arm that he roused himselfwith a violent start and stepped out of the carriage.
"Excuse me," said he, turning to Colonel Ross, who had looked athim in some surprise. "I was day-dreaming." There was a gleam inhis eyes and a suppressed excitement in his manner which convincedme, used as I was to his ways, that his hand was upon a clue,though I could not imagine where he had found it.
"Perhaps you would prefer at once to go on to the scene of thecrime, Mr. Holmes?" said Gregory.
"I think that I should prefer to stay here a little and go intoone or two questions of detail. Straker was brought back here, Ipresume?"
"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 thispockets at the time of his death, Inspector?"
"I have the things themselves in the sitting-room, if you wouldcare to see them."
"I should be very glad." We all filed into the front room andsat round the central table while the Inspector unlocked a squaretin box and laid a small heap of things before us. There was a boxof vestas, two inches of tallow candle, an A D P brier-root pipe, apouch of seal-skin with half an ounce of long-cut Cavendish, asilver watch with a gold chain, five sovereigns in gold, analuminum pencil-case, a few papers, and an ivory-handled knife witha very delicate, inflexible bade marked Weiss & Co.,London.
"This is a very singular knife," said Holmes, lifting it up andexamining it minutely. "I presume, as I see blood-stains upon it,that it is the one which was found in the dead man's grasp. Watson,this knife is surely in your line?"
"It is what we call a cataract knife," said I.
"I thought so. A very delicate blade devised for very delicatework. A strange thing for a man to carry with him upon a roughexpedition, especially as it would not shut in his pocket."
"The tip was guarded by a disk of cork which we found beside hisbody," said the Inspector. "His wife tells us that the knife hadlain upon the dressing-table, and that he had picked it up as heleft the room. It was a poor weapon, but perhaps the best that hecould lay his hands on at the moment."
"Very possible. How about these papers?"
"Three of them are receipted hay-dealers' accounts. One of themis a letter of instructions from Colonel Ross. This other is amilliner's account for thirty-seven pounds fifteen made out byMadame Lesurier, of Bond Street, to William Derbyshire. Mrs.Straker tells us that Derbyshire was a friend of her husband's andthat occasionally his letters were addressed here."
"Madam Derbyshire had somewhat expensive tastes," remarkedHolmes, glancing down the account. "Twenty-two guineas is ratherheavy for a single costume. However there appears to be nothingmore to learn, and we may now go down to the scene of thecrime."
As we emerged from the sitting-room a woman, who had beenwaiting in the passage, took a step forward and laid her hand uponthe Inspector's sleeve. Her face was haggard and thin and eager,stamped with the print of a recent horror.
"Have you got them? Have you found them?" she panted.
"No, Mrs. Straker. But Mr. Holmes here has come from London tohelp us, and we shall do all that is possible."
"Surely I met you in Plymouth at a garden-party some little timeago, Mrs. Straker?" said Holmes.
"No, sir; you are mistaken."
"Dear me! Why, I could have sworn to it. You wore a costume ofdove-colored silk with ostrich-feather trimming."
"I never had such a dress, sir," answered the lady.
"Ah, that quite settles it," said Holmes. And with an apology hefollowed the Inspector outside. A short walk across the moor tookus to the hollow in which the body had been found. At the brink ofit was the furze-bush upon which the coat had been hung.
"There was no wind that night, I understand," said Holmes.
"None; but very heavy rain."
"In that case the overcoat was not blown against the furze-bush,but placed there."
"Yes, it was laid across the bush."
"You fill me with interest, I perceive that the ground has beentrampled up a good deal. No doubt many feet have been here sinceMonday night."
"A piece of matting has been laid here at the side, and we haveall stood upon that."
"Excellent."
"In this bag I have one of the boots which Straker wore, one ofFitzroy Simpson's shoes, and a cast horseshoe of Silver Blaze."
"My dear Inspector, you surpass yourself!" Homes took the bag,and, descending into the hollow, he pushed the matting into a morecentral position. Then stretching himself upon his face and leaninghis chin upon his hands, he made a careful study of the trampledmud in front of him. "Hullo!" said he, suddenly. "What's this?" Itwas a wax vesta half burned, which was so coated with mud that itlooked at first like a little chip of wood.
"I cannot think how I came to overlook it," said the Inspector,with an expression of annoyance.
"It was invisible, buried in the mud. I only saw it because Iwas looking for it."
"What! You expected to find it?"
"I thought it not unlikely."
He took the boots from the bag, and compared the impressions ofeach of them with marks upon the ground. Then he clambered up tothe rim of the hollow, and crawled about among the ferns andbushes.
"I am afraid that there are no more tracks," said the Inspector."I have examined the ground very carefully for a hundred yards ineach direction."
"Indeed!" said Holmes, rising. "I should not have theimpertinence to do it again after what you say. But I should liketo take a little walk over the moor before it grows dark, that Imay know my ground to-morrow, and I think that I shall put thishorseshoe into my pocket for luck."
Colonel Ross, who had shown some signs of impatience at mycompanion's quiet and systematic method of work, glanced at hiswatch. "I wish you would come back with me, Inspector," said he."There are several points on which I should like your advice, andespecially as to whether we do not owe it to the public to removeour horse's name from the entries for the Cup."
"Certainly not," cried Holmes, with decision. "I should let thename stand."
The Colonel bowed. "I am very glad to have had your opinion,sir," said he. "You will find us at poor Straker's house when youhave finished your walk, and we can drive together intoTavistock."
He turned back with the Inspector, while Holmes and I walkedslowly across the moor. The sun was beginning to sink behind thestables of Mapleton, and the long, sloping plain in front of us wastinged with gold, deepening into rich, ruddy browns where the fadedferns and brambles caught the evening light. But the glories of thelandscape were all wasted upon my companion, who was sunk in thedeepest thought.
"It's this way, Watson," said he at last. "We may leave thequestion of who killed John Straker for the instant, and confineourselves to finding out what has become of the horse. Now,supposing that he broke away during or after the tragedy, wherecould he have gone to? The horse is a very gregarious creature. Ifleft to himself his instincts would have been either to return toKing's Pyland or go over to Mapleton. Why should he run wild uponthe moor? He would surely have been seen by now. And why shouldgypsies kidnap him? These people always clear out when they hear oftrouble, for they do not wish to be pestered by the police. Theycould not hope to sell such a horse. They would run a great riskand gain nothing by taking him. Surely that is clear."
"Where is he, then?"
"I have already said that he must have gone to King's Pyland orto Mapleton. He is not at King's Pyland. Therefore he is atMapleton. Let us take that as a working hypothesis and see what itleads us to. This part of the moor, as the Inspector remarked, isvery hard and dry. But if falls away towards Mapleton, and you cansee from here that there is a long hollow over yonder, which musthave been very wet on Monday night. If our supposition is correct,then the horse must have crossed that, and there is the point wherewe should look for his tracks."
We had been walking briskly during this conversation, and a fewmore minutes brought us to the hollow in question. At Holmes'request I walked down the bank to the right, and he to the left,but I had not taken fifty paces before I heard him give a shout,and saw him waving his hand to me. The track of a horse was plainlyoutlined in the soft earth in front of him, and the shoe which hetook from his pocket exactly fitted the impression.
"See the value of imagination," said Holmes. "It is the onequality which Gregory lacks. We imagined what might have happened,acted upon the supposition, and find ourselves justified. Let usproceed."
We crossed the marshy bottom and passed over a quarter of a mileof dry, hard turf. Again the ground sloped, and again we came onthe tracks. Then we lost them for half a mile, but only to pickthem up once more quite close to Mapleton. It was Holmes who sawthem first, and he stood pointing with a look of triumph upon hisface. A man's track was visible beside the horse's.
"The horse was alone before," I cried.
"Quite so. It was alone before. Hullo, what is this?"
The double track turned sharp off and took the direction ofKing's Pyland. Homes whistled, and we both followed along after it.His eyes were on the trail, but I happened to look a little to oneside, and saw to my surprise the same tracks coming back again inthe opposite direction.
"One for you, Watson," said Holmes, when I pointed it out. "Youhave saved us a long walk, which would have brought us back on ourown traces. Let us follow the return track."
We had not to go far. It ended at the paving of asphalt whichled up to the gates of the Mapleton stables. As we approached, agroom ran out from them.
"We don't want any loiterers about here," said he.
"I only wished to ask a question," said Holmes, with his fingerand thumb in his waistcoat pocket. "Should I be too early to seeyour master, Mr. Silas Brown, if I were to call at five o'clockto-morrow morning?"
"Bless you, sir, if any one is about he will be, for he isalways the first stirring. But here he is, sir, to answer yourquestions for himself. No, sir, no; it is as much as my place isworth to let him see me touch your money. Afterwards, if youlike."
As Sherlock Holmes replaced the half-crown which he had drawnfrom his pocket, a fierce-looking elderly man strode out from thegate with a hunting-crop swinging in his hand.
"What's 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 thesweetest of voices.
"I've no time to talk to every gadabout. We want no strangerhere. Be off, or you may find a dog at your heels."
Holmes leaned forward and whispered something in the trainer'sear. He started violently and flushed to the temples.
"It's a lie!" he shouted, "an infernal lie!"
"Very good. Shall we argue about it here in public or talk itover in your parlor?"
"Oh, come in if you wish to."
Holmes smiled. "I shall not keep you more than a few minutes,Watson," said he. "Now, Mr. Brown, I am quite at yourdisposal."
It was twenty minutes, and the reds had all faded into graysbefore Holmes and the trainer reappeared. Never have I seen such achange as had been brought about in Silas Brown in that short time.His face was ashy pale, beads of perspiration shone upon his brow,and his hands shook until the hunting-crop wagged like a branch inthe wind. His bullying, overbearing manner was all gone too, and hecringed along at my companion's side like a dog with itsmaster.
"You instructions will be done. It shall all be done," saidhe.
"There must be no mistake," said Holmes, looking round at him.The other winced as he read the menace in his eyes.
"Oh no, there shall be no mistake. It shall be there. Should Ichange it first or not?"
Holmes thought a little and then burst out laughing. "No,don't," said he; "I shall write to you about it. No tricks, now,or--"
"Oh, you can trust me, you can trust me!"
"Yes, I think I can. Well, you shall hear from me to-morrow." Heturned upon his heel, disregarding the trembling hand which theother held out to him, and we set off for King's Pyland.
"A more perfect compound of the bully, coward, and sneak thanMaster Silas Brown I have seldom met with," remarked Holmes as wetrudged along together.
"He has the horse, then?"
"He tried to bluster out of it, but I described to him soexactly what his actions had been upon that morning that he isconvinced that I was watching him. Of course you observed thepeculiarly square toes in the impressions, and that his own bootsexactly corresponded to them. Again, of course no subordinate wouldhave dared to do such a thing. I described to him how, whenaccording to his custom he was the first down, he perceived astrange horse wandering over the moor. How he went out to it, andhis astonishment at recognizing, from the white forehead which hasgiven the favorite its name, that chance had put in his power theonly horse which could beat the one upon which he had put hismoney. Then I described how his first impulse had been to lead himback to King's Pyland, and how the devil had shown him how he couldhide the horse until the race was over, and how he had led it backand concealed it at Mapleton. When I told him every detail he gaveit up and thought only of saving his own skin."
"But his stables had been searched?"
"Oh, and old horse-fakir like him has many a dodge."
"But are you not afraid to leave the horse in his power now,since he has every interest in injuring it?"
"My dear fellow, he will guard it as the apple of his eye. Heknows that his 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 ownmethods, and tell as much or as little as I choose. That is theadvantage of being unofficial. I don't know whether you observedit, Watson, but the Colonel's manner has been just a triflecavalier to me. I am inclined now to have a little amusement at hisexpense. Say nothing to him about the horse."
"Certainly not without your permission."
"And of course this is all quite a minor point compared to thequestion of who killed John Straker."
"And you will devote yourself to that?"
"On the contrary, we both go back to London by the nighttrain."
I was thunderstruck by my friend's words. We had only been a fewhours in Devonshire, and that he should give up an investigationwhich he had begun so brilliantly was quite incomprehensible to me.Not a word more could I draw from him until we were back at thetrainer's house. The Colonel and the Inspector were awaiting us inthe parlor.
"My friend and I return to town by the night-express," saidHolmes. "We have had a charming little breath of your beautifulDartmoor air."
The Inspector opened his eyes, and the Colonel's lip curled in asneer.
"So you despair of arresting the murderer of poor Straker," saidhe.
Holmes shrugged his shoulders. "There are certainly gravedifficulties in the way," said he. "I have every hope, however,that your horse will start upon Tuesday, and I beg that you willhave your jockey in readiness. Might I ask for a photograph of Mr.John Straker?"
The Inspector took one from an envelope and handed it tohim.
"My dear Gregory, you anticipate all my wants. If I might askyou to wait here for an instant, I have a question which I shouldlike to put to the maid."
"I must say that I am rather disappointed in our Londonconsultant," said Colonel Ross, bluntly, as my friend left theroom. "I do not see that we are any further than when he came."
"At least you have his assurance that your horse will run," saidI.
"Yes, I have his assurance," said the Colonel, with a shrug ofhis shoulders. "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 thedoor open for us. A sudden idea seemed to occur to Holmes, for heleaned forward 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 gonelame, sir."
I could see that Holmes was extremely pleased, for he chuckledand rubbed his hands together.
"A long shot, Watson; a very long shot," said he, pinching myarm. "Gregory, let me recommend to your attention this singularepidemic among the sheep. Drive on, coachman!"
Colonel Ross still wore an expression which showed the pooropinion which he had formed of my companion's ability, but I saw bythe Inspector's face that his attention had been keenlyaroused.
"You consider that to be important?" he asked.
"Exceedingly so."
"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 usby appointment outside the station, and we drove in his drag to thecourse beyond the town. His face was grave, and his manner was coldin the extreme.
"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 twentyyears, and never was asked such a question as that before," saidhe. "A child would know Silver Blaze, with his white forehead andhis mottled off-foreleg."
"How is the betting?"
"Well, that is the curious part of it. You could have gotfifteen to one yesterday, but the price has become shorter andshorter, until you can hardly get three to one now."
"Hum!" said Holmes. "Somebody knows something, that isclear."
As the drag drew up in the enclosure near the grand stand Iglanced at the card to see the entries.
Wessex Plate [it ran] 50 sovs each h ft with 1000 sovs added forfour and five year olds. Second, L300. Third, L200. New course (onemile and five furlongs).
"We scratched our other one, and put all hopes on your word,"said the Colonel. "Why, what is that? Silver Blaze favorite?"
"Five to four against Silver Blaze!" roared the ring. "Five tofour against Silver Blaze! Five to fifteen against Desborough! Fiveto four on the field!"
"There are the numbers up," I cried. "They are all sixthere."
"All six there? Then my horse is running," cried the Colonel ingreat agitation. "But I don't see him. My colors have notpassed."
"Only five have passed. This must be he."
As I spoke a powerful bay horse swept out from the weightingenclosure and cantered past us, bearing on it back the well-knownblack and red of the Colonel.
"That's not my horse," cried the owner. "That beast has not awhite hair upon its body. What is this that you have done, Mr.Holmes?"
"Well, well, let us see how he gets on," said my friend,imperturbably. For a few minutes he gazed through my field-glass."Capital! An excellent start!" he cried suddenly. "There they are,coming round the curve!"
From our drag we had a superb view as they came up the straight.The six horses were so close together that a carpet could havecovered them, but half way up the yellow of the Mapleton stableshowed to the front. Before they reached us, however, Desborough'sbolt was shot, and the Colonel's horse, coming away with a rush,passed the post a good six lengths before its rival, the Duke ofBalmoral's Iris making a bad third.
"It's my race, anyhow," gasped the Colonel, passing his handover his eyes. "I confess that I can make neither head nor tail ofit. Don't you think that you have kept up your mystery long enough,Mr. Holmes?"
"Certainly, Colonel, you shall know everything. Let us all goround and have a look at the horse together. Here he is," hecontinued, as we made our way into the weighing enclosure, whereonly owners and their friends find admittance. "You have only towash his face and his leg in spirits of wine, and you will findthat he is the same old Silver Blaze as ever."
"You take my breath away!"
"I found him in the hands of a fakir, and took the liberty ofrunning him just as he was sent over."
"My dear sir, you have done wonders. The horse looks very fitand well. It never went better in its life. I owe you a thousandapologies for having doubted your ability. You have done me a greatservice by recovering my horse. You would do me a greater still ifyou could lay your hands on the murderer of John Straker."
"I have done so," said Holmes quietly.
The Colonel and I stared at him in amazement. "You have got him!Where is he, then?"
"He is here."
"Here! Where?"
"In my company at the present moment."
The Colonel flushed angrily. "I quite recognize that I am underobligations to you, Mr. Holmes," said he, "but I must regard whatyou have just said as either a very bad joke or an insult."
Sherlock Holmes laughed. "I assure you that I have notassociated you with the crime, Colonel," said he. "The realmurderer is standing immediately behind you." He stepped past andlaid his hand upon the glossy neck of the thoroughbred.
"The horse!" cried both the Colonel and myself.
"Yes, the horse. And it may lessen his guilt if I say that itwas done in self-defence, and that John Straker was a man who wasentirely unworthy of your confidence. But there goes the bell, andas I stand to win a little on this next race, I shall defer alengthy explanation until a more fitting time."
We had the corner of a Pullman car to ourselves that evening aswe whirled back to London, and I fancy that the journey was a shortone to Colonel Ross as well as to myself, as we listened to ourcompanion's narrative of the events which had occurred at theDartmoor training-stables upon the Monday night, and the means bywhich he had unravelled them.
"I confess," said he, "that any theories which I had formed fromthe newspaper reports were entirely erroneous. And yet there wereindications there, had they not been overlaid by other detailswhich concealed their true import. I went to Devonshire with theconviction that Fitzroy Simpson was the true culprit, although, ofcourse, I saw that the evidence against him was by no meanscomplete. It was while I was in the carriage, just as we reachedthe trainer's house, that the immense significance of the curriedmutton occurred to me. You may remember that I was distrait, andremained sitting after you had all alighted. I was marvelling in myown mind how I could possibly have overlooked so obvious aclue."
"I confess," said the Colonel, "that even now I cannot see howit helps us."
"It was the first link in my chain of reasoning. Powdered opiumis by no means tasteless. The flavor is not disagreeable, but it isperceptible. Were it mixed with any ordinary dish the eater wouldundoubtedly detect it, and would probably eat no more. A curry wasexactly the medium which would disguise this taste. By no possiblesupposition could this stranger, Fitzroy Simpson, have caused curryto be served in the trainer's family that night, and it is surelytoo monstrous a coincidence to suppose that he happened to comealong with powdered opium upon the very night when a dish happenedto be served which would disguise the flavor. That is unthinkable.Therefore Simpson becomes eliminated from the case, and ourattention centers upon Straker and his wife, the only two peoplewho could have chosen curried mutton for supper that night. Theopium was added after the dish was set aside for the stable-boy,for the others had the same for supper with no ill effects. Whichof them, then, had access to that dish without the maid seeingthem?
"Before deciding that question I had grasped the significance ofthe silence of the dog, for one true inference invariably suggestsothers. The Simpson incident had shown me that a dog was kept inthe stables, and yet, though some one had been in and had fetchedout a horse, he had not barked enough to arouse the two lads in theloft. Obviously the midnight visitor was some one whom the dog knewwell.
"I was already convinced, or almost convinced, that John Strakerwent down to the stables in the dead of the night and took outSilver Blaze. For what purpose? For a dishonest one, obviously, orwhy should he drug his own stable-boy? And yet I was at a loss toknow why. There have been cases before now where trainers have madesure of great sums of money by laying against their own horses,through agents, and then preventing them from winning by fraud.Sometimes it is a pulling jockey. Sometimes it is some surer andsubtler means. What was it here? I hoped that the contents of hispockets might help me to form a conclusion.
"And they did so. You cannot have forgotten the singular knifewhich was found in the dead man's hand, a knife which certainly nosane man would choose for a weapon. It was, as Dr. Watson told us,a form of knife which is used for the most delicate operationsknown in surgery. And it was to be used for a delicate operationthat night. You must know, with your wide experience of turfmatters, Colonel Ross, that it is possible to make a slight nickupon the tendons of a horse's ham, and to do it subcutaneously, soas to leave absolutely no trace. A horse so treated would develop aslight lameness, which would be put down to a strain in exercise ora touch of rheumatism, but never to foul play."
"Villain! Scoundrel!" cried the Colonel.
"We have here the explanation of why John Straker wished to takethe horse out on to the moor. So spirited a creature would havecertainly roused the soundest of sleepers when it felt the prick ofthe knife. It was absolutely necessary to do it in the openair."
"I have been blind!" cried the Colonel. "Of course that was whyhe needed the candle, and struck the match."
"Undoubtedly. But in examining his belongings I was fortunateenough to discover not only the method of the crime, but even itsmotives. As a man of the world, Colonel, you know that men do notcarry other people's bills about in their pockets. We have most ofus quite enough to do to settle our own. I at once concluded thatStraker was leading a double life, and keeping a secondestablishment. The nature of the bill showed that there was a ladyin the case, and one who had expensive tastes. Liberal as you arewith your servants, one can hardly expect that they can buytwenty-guinea walking dresses for their ladies. I questioned Mrs.Straker as to the dress without her knowing it, and havingsatisfied myself that it had never reached her, I made a note ofthe milliner's address, and felt that by calling there withStraker's photograph I could easily dispose of the mythicalDerbyshire.
"From that time on all was plain. Straker had led out the horseto a hollow where his light would be invisible. Simpson in hisflight had dropped his cravat, and Straker had picked it up--withsome idea, perhaps, that he might use it in securing the horse'sleg. Once in the hollow, he had got behind the horse and had strucka light; but the creature frightened at the sudden glare, and withthe strange instinct of animals feeling that some mischief wasintended, had lashed out, and the steel shoe had struck Strakerfull on the forehead. He had already, in spite of the rain, takenoff his overcoat in order to do his delicate task, and so, as hefell, his knife gashed 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 thatso astute a man as Straker would not undertake this delicatetendon-nicking without a little practice. What could he practiceon? My eyes fell upon the sheep, and I asked a question which,rather to my surprise, showed that my surmise was correct.
"When I returned to London I called upon the milliner, who hadrecognized Straker as an excellent customer of the name ofDerbyshire, who had a very dashing wife, with a strong partialityfor expensive dresses. I have no doubt that this woman had plungedhim over head and ears in debt, and so led him into this miserableplot."
"You have explained all but one thing," cried the Colonel."Where was the horse?"
"Ah, it bolted, and was cared for by one of your neighbors. Wemust have an amnesty in that direction, I think. This is ClaphamJunction, if I am not mistaken, and we shall be in Victoria in lessthan ten minutes. If you care to smoke a cigar in our rooms,Colonel, I shall be happy to give you any other details which mightinterest you."
ADVENTURE II. THE YELLOW FACE
[In publishing these short sketches based upon the numerouscases in which my companion's singular gifts have made us thelisteners to, and eventually the actors in, some strange drama, itis only natural that I should dwell rather upon his successes thanupon his failures. And this not so much for the sake of hisreputations--for, indeed, it was when he was at his wits' end thathis energy and his versatility were most admirable--but becausewhere 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 kindthe Adventure of the Musgrave Ritual and that which I am about torecount are the two which present the strongest features ofinterest.]
Sherlock Holmes was a man who seldom took exercise forexercise's sake. Few men were capable of greater muscular effort,and he was undoubtedly one of the finest boxers of his weight thatI have ever seen; but he looked upon aimless bodily exertion as awaste of energy, and he seldom bestirred himself save when therewas some professional object to be served. Then he was absolutelyuntiring and indefatigable. That he should have kept himself intraining under such circumstances is remarkable, but his diet wasusually of the sparest, and his habits were simple to the verge ofausterity. Save for the occasional use of cocaine, he had no vices,and he only turned to the drug as a protest against the monotony ofexistence when cases were scanty and the papers uninteresting.
One day in early spring he had so fare relaxed as to go for awalk with me in the Park, where the first faint shoots of greenwere breaking out upon the elms, and the sticky spear-heads of thechestnuts were just beginning to burst into their five-fold leaves.For two hours we rambled about together, in silence for the mostpart, as befits two men who know each other intimately. It wasnearly five before we were back in Baker Street once more.
"Beg pardon, sir," said our page-boy, as he opened the door."There's been a gentleman here asking for you, sir."
Holmes glanced reproachfully at me. "So much for afternoonwalks!" said he. "Has this gentleman gone, then?"
"Yes, sir."
"Didn't you ask him in?"
"Yes, sir; he came in."
"How long did he wait?"
"Half an hour, sir. He was a very restless gentleman, sir,a-walkin' and a-stampin' all the time he was here. I was waitin'outside the door, sir, and I could hear him. At last he out intothe passage, and he cries, 'Is that man never goin' to come?' Thosewere his very words, sir. 'You'll only need to wait a littlelonger,' says I. 'Then I'll wait in the open air, for I feel halfchoked,' says he. 'I'll be back before long.' And with that he upsand he outs, and all I could say wouldn't hold him back."
"Well, well, you did you best," said Holmes, as we walked intoour room. "It's very annoying, though, Watson. I was badly in needof a case, and this looks, from the man's impatience, as if it wereof importance. Hullo! That's not your pipe on the table. He musthave left his behind him. A nice old brier with a good long stem ofwhat the tobacconists call amber. I wonder how many real ambermouthpieces there are in London? Some people think that a fly in itis a sign. Well, he must have been disturbed in his mind to leave apipe behind him which he evidently values highly."
"How do you know that he values it highly?" I asked.
"Well, I should put the original cost of the pipe at seven andsixpence. Now it has, you see, been twice mended, once in thewooden stem and once in the amber. Each of these mends, done, asyou observe, with silver bands, must have cost more than the pipedid originally. The man must value the pipe highly when he prefersto patch it up rather than buy a new one with the same money."
"Anything else?" I asked, for Holmes was turning the pipe aboutin his hand, and staring at it in his peculiar pensive way.
He held it up and tapped on it with his long, thin fore-finger,as a professor might who was lecturing on a bone.
"Pipes are occasionally of extraordinary interest," said he."Nothing has more individuality, save perhaps watches andbootlaces. The indications here, however, are neither very markednor very important. The owner is obviously a muscular man,left-handed, with an excellent set of teeth, careless in hishabits, and with no need to practise economy."
My friend threw out the information in a very offhand way, but Isaw that he cocked his eye at me to see if I had followed hisreasoning.
"You think a man must be well-to-do if he smokes aseven-shilling pipe," said I.
"This is Grosvenor mixture at eightpence an ounce," Holmesanswered, knocking a little out on his palm. "As he might get anexcellent smoke for half the price, he has no need to practiseeconomy."
"And the other points?"
"He has been in the habit of lighting his pipe at lamps andgas-jets. You can see that it is quite charred all down one side.Of course a match could not have done that. Why should a man hold amatch to the side of his pipe? But you cannot light it at a lampwithout getting the bowl charred. And it is all on the right sideof the pipe. From that I gather that he is a left-handed man. Youhold your own pipe to the lamp, and see how naturally you, beingright-handed, hold the left side to the flame. You might do it oncethe other way, but not as a constancy. This has always been heldso. Then he has bitten through his amber. It takes a muscular,energetic fellow, and one with a good set of teeth, to do that. Butif I am not mistaken I hear him upon the stair, so we shall havesomething more interesting than his pipe to study."
An instant later our door opened, and a tall young man enteredthe room. He was well but quietly dressed in a dark-gray suit, andcarried a brown wide-awake in his hand. I should have put him atabout thirty, though he was really some years older.
"I beg your pardon," said he, with some embarrassment; "Isuppose I should have knocked. Yes, of course I should haveknocked. The fact is that I am a little upset, and you must put itall down to that." He passed his hand over his forehead like a manwho is half dazed, and then fell rather than sat down upon achair.
"I can see that you have not slept for a night or two," saidHolmes, in his easy, genial way. "That tries a man's nerves morethan work, and more even than pleasure. May I ask how I can helpyou?"
"I wanted your advice, sir. I don't know what to do and my wholelife seems to have gone to pieces."
"You wish to employ me as a consulting detective?"
"Not that only. I want your opinion as a judicious man--as a manof the world. I want to know what I ought to do next. I hope to Godyou'll be able to tell me."
He spoke in little, sharp, jerky outbursts, and it seemed to methat to speak at all was very painful to him, and that his will allthrough was overriding his inclinations.
"It's a very delicate thing," said he. "One does not like tospeak of one's domestic affairs to strangers. It seems dreadful todiscuss the conduct of one's wife with two men whom I have neverseen before. It's horrible to have to do it. But I've got to theend of my tether, and I must have advice."
"My dear Mr. Grant Munro--" began Holmes.
Our visitor sprang from his char. "What!" he cried, "you know mymane?"
"If you wish to preserve your incognito,' said Holmes, smiling,"I would suggest that you cease to write your name upon the liningof your hat, or else that you turn the crown towards the personwhom you are addressing. I was about to say that my friend and Ihave listened to a good many strange secrets in this room, and thatwe have had the good fortune to bring peace to many troubled souls.I trust that we may do as much for you. Might I beg you, as timemay prove to be of importance, to furnish me with the facts of yourcase without further delay?"
Our visitor again passed his hand over his forehead, as if hefound it bitterly hard. From every gesture and expression I couldsee that he was a reserved, self-contained man, with a dash ofpride in his nature, more likely to hide his wounds than to exposethem. Then suddenly, with a fierce gesture of his closed hand, likeone who throws reserve to the winds, he began.
"The facts are these, Mr. Holmes," said he. "I am a married man,and have been so for three years. During that time my wife and Ihave loved each other as fondly and lived as happily as any twothat ever were joined. We have not had a difference, not one, inthought or word or deed. And now, since last Monday, there hassuddenly sprung up a barrier between us, and I find that there issomething in her life and in her thought of which I know as littleas if she were the woman who brushes by me in the street. We areestranged, and I want to know why.
"Now there is one thing that I want to impress upon you before Igo any further, Mr. Holmes. Effie loves me. Don't let there be anymistake about that. She loves me with her whole heart and soul, andnever more than now. I know it. I feel it. I don't want to argueabout that. A man can tell easily enough when a woman loves him.But there's this secret between us, and we can never be the sameuntil it is cleared."
"Kindly let me have the facts, Mr. Munro," said Holmes, withsome impatience.
"I'll tell you what I know about Effie's history. She was awidow when I met her first, though quite young--only twenty-five.Her name then was Mrs. Hebron. She went out to America when she wasyoung, and lived in the town of Atlanta, where she married thisHebron, who was a lawyer with a good practice. They had one child,but the yellow fever broke out badly in the place, and both husbandand child died of it. I have seen his death certificate. Thissickened her of America, and she came back to live with a maidenaunt at Pinner, in Middlesex. I may mention that her husband hadleft her comfortably off, and that she had a capital of about fourthousand five hundred pounds, which had been so well invested byhim that it returned an average of seven per cent. She had onlybeen six months at Pinner when I met her; we fell in love with eachother, and we married a few weeks afterwards.
"I am a hop merchant myself, and as I have an income of seven oreight hundred, we found ourselves comfortably off, and took a niceeighty-pound-a-year villa at Norbury. Our little place was verycountrified, considering that it is so close to town. We had an innand two houses a little above us, and a single cottage at the otherside of the field which faces us, and except those there were nohouses until you got half way to the station. My business took meinto town at certain seasons, but in summer I had less to do, andthen in our country home my wife and I were just as happy as couldbe wished. I tell you that there never was a shadow between usuntil this accursed affair began.
"There's one thing I ought to tell you before I go further. Whenwe married, my wife made over all her property to me--ratheragainst my will, for I saw how awkward it would be if my businessaffairs went wrong. However, she would have it so, and it was done.Well, about six weeks ago she came to me.
"'Jack,' said she, 'when you took my money you said that if everI wanted any I was to ask you for it.'
"'Certainly,' said I. 'It's all your own.'
"'Well,' said she, 'I want a hundred pounds.'
"I was a bit staggered at this, for I had imagined it was simplya new dress or something of the kind that she was after.
"'What on earth for?' I asked.
"'Oh,' said she, in her playful way, 'you said that you wereonly my banker, and bankers never ask questions, you know.'
"'If you really mean it, of course you shall have the money,'said I.
"'Oh, yes, I really mean it.'
"'And you won't tell me what you want it for?'
"'Some day, perhaps, but not just at present, Jack.'
"So I had to be content with that, thought it was the first timethat there had ever been any secret between us. I gave her a check,and I never thought any more of the matter. It may have nothing todo with what came afterwards, but I thought it only right tomention it.
"Well, I told you just now that there is a cottage not far fromour house. There is just a field between us, but to reach it youhave to go along the road and then turn down a lane. Just beyond itis a nice little grove of Scotch firs, and I used to be very fondof strolling down there, for trees are always a neighborly kind ofthings. The cottage had been standing empty this eight months, andit was a pity, for it was a pretty two storied place, with anold-fashioned porch and honeysuckle about it. I have stood many atime and thought what a neat little homestead it would make.
"Well, last Monday evening I was taking a stroll down that way,when I met an empty van coming up the lane, and saw a pile ofcarpets and things lying about on the grass-plot beside the porch.It was clear that the cottage had at last been let. I walked pastit, and wondered what sort of folk they were who had come to liveso near us. And as I looked I suddenly became aware that a face waswatching me out of one of the upper windows.
"I don't know what there was about that face, Mr. Holmes, but itseemed to send a chill right down my back. I was some little wayoff, so that I could not make out the features, but there wassomething unnatural and inhuman about the face. That was theimpression that I had, and I moved quickly forwards to get a nearerview of the person who was watching me. But as I did so the facesuddenly disappeared, so suddenly that it seemed to have beenplucked away into the darkness of the room. I stood for fiveminutes thinking the business over, and trying to analyze myimpressions. I could not tell if the face were that of a man or awoman. It had been too far from me for that. But its color was whathad impressed me most. It was of a livid chalky white, and withsomething set and rigid about it which was shockingly unnatural. Sodisturbed was I that I determined to see a little more of the newinmates of the cottage. I approached and knocked at the door, whichwas instantly opened by a tall, gaunt woman with a harsh,forbidding face.
"'What may you be wantin'?' she asked, in a Northern accent.
"'I am your neighbor over yonder,' said I, nodding towards myhouse. 'I see that you have only just moved in, so I thought thatif I could be of any help to you in any--'
"'Ay, we'll just ask ye when we want ye,' said she, and shut thedoor in my face. Annoyed at the churlish rebuff, I turned my backand walked home. All evening, though I tried to think of otherthings, my mind would still turn to the apparition at the windowand the rudeness of the woman. I determined to say nothing aboutthe former to my wife, for she is a nervous, highly strung woman,and I had no wish that she would share the unpleasant impressionwhich had been produced upon myself. I remarked to her, however,before I fell asleep, that the cottage was now occupied, to whichshe returned no reply.
"I am usually an extremely sound sleeper. It has been a standingjest in the family that nothing could ever wake me during thenight. And yet somehow on that particular night, whether it mayhave been the slight excitement produced by my little adventure ornot I know not, but I slept much more lightly than usual. Half inmy dreams I was dimly conscious that something was going on in theroom, and gradually became aware that my wife had dressed herselfand was slipping on her mantle and her bonnet. My lips were partedto murmur out some sleepy words of surprise or remonstrance at thisuntimely preparation, when suddenly my half-opened eyes fell uponher face, illuminated by the candle-light, and astonishment held medumb. She wore an expression such as I had never seen before--suchas I should have thought her incapable of assuming. She was deadlypale and breathing fast, glancing furtively towards the bed as shefastened her mantle, to see if she had disturbed me. Then, thinkingthat I was still asleep, she slipped noiselessly from the room, andan instant later I heard a sharp creaking which could only comefrom the hinges of the front door. I sat up in bed and rapped myknuckles against the rail to make certain that I was truly awake.Then I took my watch from under the pillow. It was three in themorning. What on this earth could my wife be doing out on thecountry road at three in the morning?
"I had sat for about twenty minutes turning the thing over in mymind and trying to find some possible explanation. The more Ithought, the ore extraordinary and inexplicable did it appear. Iwas still puzzling over it when I heard the door gently closeagain, and her footsteps coming up the stairs.
"'Where in the world have you been, Effie?' I asked as sheentered.
"She gave a violent start and a kind of gasping cry when Ispoke, and that cry and start troubled me more than all the rest,for there was something indescribably guilty about them. My wifehad always been a woman of a frank, open nature, and it gave me achill to see her slinking into her own room, and crying out andwincing when her own husband spoke to her.
"'You awake, Jack!' she cried, with a nervous laugh. 'Why, Ithought that nothing could awake you.'
"'Where have you been?' I asked, more sternly.
"'I don't wonder that you are surprised,' said she, and I couldsee that her fingers were trembling as she undid the fastenings ofher mantle. 'Why, I never remember having done such a thing in mylife before. The fact is that I felt as though I were choking, andhad a perfect longing for a breath of fresh air. I really thinkthat I should have fainted if I had not gone out. I stood at thedoor for a few minutes, and now I am quite myself again.'
"All the time that she was telling me this story she never oncelooked in my direction, and her voice was quite unlike her usualtones. It was evident to me that she was saying what was false. Isaid nothing in reply, but turned my face to the wall, sick atheart, with my mind filled with a thousand venomous doubts andsuspicions. What was it that my wife was concealing from me? Wherehad she been during that strange expedition? I felt that I shouldhave no peace until I knew, and yet I shrank from asking her againafter once she had told me what was false. All the rest of thenight 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 toodisturbed in my mind to be able to pay attention to businessmatters. My wife seemed to be as upset as myself, and I could seefrom the little questioning glances which she kept shooting at methat she understood that I disbelieved her statement, and that shewas at her wits' end what to do. We hardly exchanged a word duringbreakfast, and immediately afterwards I went out for a walk, that Imight think the matter out in the fresh morning air.
"I went as far as the Crystal Palace, spent an hour in thegrounds, and was back in Norbury by one o'clock. It happened thatmy way took me past the cottage, and I stopped for an instant tolook at the windows, and to see if I could catch a glimpse of thestrange face which had looked out at me on the day before. As Istood there, imagine my surprise, Mr. Holmes, when the doorsuddenly 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 herface when our eyes met. She seemed for an instant to wish to shrinkback inside the house again; and then, seeing how useless allconcealment must be, she came forward, with a very white face andfrightened eyes which belied the smile upon her lips.
"'Ah, Jack,' she said, 'I have just been in to see if I can beof any assistance to our new neighbors. Why do you look at me likethat, 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 youshould visit them at such an hour?'
"'I have not been here before.'
"'How can you tell me what you know is false?' I cried. 'Yourvery voice changes as you speak. When have I ever had a secret fromyou? I shall enter that cottage, and I shall probe the matter tothe bottom.'
"'No, no, Jack, for God's sake!' she gasped, in uncontrollableemotion. Then, as I approached the door, she seized my sleeve andpulled me back with convulsive strength.
"'I implore you not to do this, Jack,' she cried. 'I swear thatI will tell you everything some day, but nothing but misery cancome of it if you enter that cottage.' Then, as I tried to shakeher off, she clung to me in a frenzy of entreaty.
"'Trust me, Jack!' she cried. 'Trust me only this once. You willnever have cause to regret it. You know that I would not have asecret from you if it were not for your own sake. Our whole livesare at stake in this. If you come home with me, all will be well.If you force your way into that cottage, all is over betweenus.'
"There was such earnestness, such despair, in her manner thather words arrested me, and I stood irresolute before the door.
"'I will trust you on one condition, and on one condition only,'said I at last. 'It is that this mystery comes to an end from now.You are at liberty to preserve your secret, but you must promise methat there shall be no more nightly visits, no more doings whichare kept from my knowledge. I am willing to forget those which arepassed if you will promise that there shall be no more in thefuture.'
"'I was sure that you would trust me,' she cried, with a greatsigh of relief. 'It shall be just as you wish. Come away--oh, comeaway up to the house.'
"Still pulling at my sleeve, she led me away from the cottage.As we went I glanced back, and there was that yellow livid facewatching us out of the upper window. What link could there bebetween that creature and my wife? Or how could the coarse, roughwoman whom I had seen the day before be connected with her? It wasa strange puzzle, and yet I knew that my mind could never know easeagain until I had solved it.
"For two days after this I stayed at home, and my wife appearedto abide loyally by our engagement, for, as far as I know, shenever stirred out of the house. On the third day, however, I hadample evidence that her solemn promise was not enough to hold herback from this secret influence which drew her away from herhusband and her duty.
"I had gone into town on that day, but I returned by the 2.40instead of the 3.36, which is my usual train. As I entered thehouse the maid ran into the hall with a startled face.
"'Where is your mistress?' I asked.
"'I think that she has gone out for a walk,' she answered.
"My mind was instantly filled with suspicion. I rushed upstairsto make sure that she was not in the house. As I did so I happenedto glance out of one of the upper windows, and saw the maid withwhom I had just been speaking running across the field in thedirection of the cottage. Then of course I saw exactly what it allmeant. My wife had gone over there, and had asked the servant tocall her if I should return. Tingling with anger, I rushed down andhurried across, determined to end the matter once and forever. Isaw my wife and the maid hurrying back along the lane, but I didnot stop to speak with them. In the cottage lay the secret whichwas casting a shadow over my life. I vowed that, come what might,it should be a secret no longer. I did not even knock when Ireached it, but turned the handle and rushed into the passage.
"It was all still and quiet upon the ground floor. In thekitchen a kettle was singing on the fire, and a large black cat laycoiled up in the basket; but there was no sign of the woman whom Ihad seen before. I ran into the other room, but it was equallydeserted. Then I rushed up the stairs, only to find two other roomsempty and deserted at the top. There was no one at all in the wholehouse. The furniture and pictures were of the most common andvulgar description, save in the one chamber at the window of whichI had seen the strange face. That was comfortable and elegant, andall my suspicions rose into a fierce bitter flame when I saw thaton the mantelpiece stood a copy of a fell-length photograph of mywife, which had been taken at my request only three months ago.
"I stayed long enough to make certain that the house wasabsolutely empty. Then I left it, feeling a weight at my heart suchas I had never had before. My wife came out into the hall as Ientered my house; but I was too hurt and angry to speak with her,and pushing past her, I made my way into my study. She followed me,however, before I could close the door.
"'I am sorry that I broke my promise, Jack,' said she; 'but ifyou knew all the circumstances I am sure that you would forgiveme.'
"'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 thatcottage, and who it is to whom you have given that photograph,there can never be any confidence between us,' said I, and breakingaway from her, I left the house. That was yesterday, Mr. Holmes,and I have not seen her since, nor do I know anything more aboutthis strange business. It is the first shadow that has come betweenus, and it has so shaken me that I do not know what I should do forthe best. Suddenly this morning it occurred to me that you were theman to advise me, so I have hurried to you now, and I place myselfunreservedly in your hands. If there is any point which I have notmade clear, pray question me about it. But, above all, tell mequickly what I am to do, for this misery is more than I canbear."
Holmes and I had listened with the utmost interest to thisextraordinary statement, which had been delivered in the jerky,broken fashion of a man who is under the influence of extremeemotions. My companion sat silent for some time, with his chin uponhis hand, lost in thought.
"Tell me," said he at last, "could you swear that this was aman's face which you saw at the window?"
"Each time that I saw it I was some distance away from it, sothat it is impossible for me to say."
"You appear, however, to have been disagreeably impressed byit."
"It seemed to be of an unnatural color, and to have a strangerigidity about the features. When I approached, it vanished with ajerk."
"How long is it since your wife asked you for a hundredpounds?"
"Nearly two months."
"Have you ever seen a photograph of her first husband?"
"No; there was a great fire at Atlanta very shortly after hisdeath, and all her papers were destroyed."
"And yet she had a certificate of death. You say that you sawit."
"Yes; she got a duplicate after the fire."
"Did you ever meet any one who knew her in America?"
"No."
"Did she ever talk of revisiting the place?"
"No."
"Or get letters from it?"
"No."
"Thank you. I should like to think over the matter a little now.If the cottage is now permanently deserted we may have somedifficulty. If, on the other hand, as I fancy is more likely, theinmates were warned of you coming, and left before you enteredyesterday, then they may be back now, and we should clear it all upeasily. Let me advise you, then, to return to Norbury, and toexamine the windows of the cottage again. If you have reason tobelieve that is inhabited, do not force your way in, but send awire to my friend and me. We shall be with you within an hour ofreceiving 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 withyou. Good-by; and, above all, do not fret until you know that youreally have a cause for it."
"I am afraid that this is a bad business, Watson," said mycompanion, as he returned after accompanying Mr. Grant Munro to thedoor. "What do you make of it?"
"It had an ugly sound," I answered.
"Yes. There's blackmail in it, or I am much mistaken."
"And who is the blackmailer?"
"Well, it must be the creature who lives in the only comfortableroom in the place, and has her photograph above his fireplace. Uponmy word, Watson, there is something very attractive about thatlivid face at the window, and I would not have missed the case forworlds."
"You have a theory?"
"Yes, a provisional one. But I shall be surprised if it does notturn out to be correct. This woman's first husband is in thatcottage."
"Why do you think so?"
"How else can we explain her frenzied anxiety that her secondone should not enter it? The facts, as I read them, are somethinglike this: This woman was married in America. Her husband developedsome hateful qualities; or shall we say that he contracted someloathsome disease, and became a leper or an imbecile? She fliesfrom him at last, returns to England, changes her name, and startsher life, as she thinks, afresh. She has been married three years,and believes that her position is quite secure, having shown herhusband the death certificate of some man whose name she hasassumed, when suddenly her whereabouts is discovered by her firsthusband; or, we may suppose, by some unscrupulous woman who hasattached herself to the invalid. They write to the wife, andthreaten to come and expose her. She asks for a hundred pounds, andendeavors to buy them off. They come in spite of it, and when thehusband mentions casually to the wife that there a new-comers inthe cottage, she knows in some way that they are her pursuers. Shewaits until her husband is asleep, and then she rushes down toendeavor to persuade them to leave her in peace. Having no success,she goes again next morning, and her husband meets her, as he hastold us, as she comes out. She promises him then not to go thereagain, but two days afterwards the hope of getting rid of thosedreadful neighbors was too strong for her, and she made anotherattempt, taking down with her the photograph which had probablybeen demanded from her. In the midst of this interview the maidrushed in to say that the master had come home, on which the wife,knowing that he would come straight down to the cottage, hurriedthe inmates out at the back door, into the grove of fir-trees,probably, which was mentioned as standing near. In this way hefound the place deserted. I shall be very much surprised, however,if it still so when he reconnoitres it this evening. What do youthink of my theory?"
"It is all surmise."
"But at least it covers all the facts. When new facts come toour knowledge which cannot be covered by it, it will be time enoughto reconsider it. We can do nothing more until we have a messagefrom our friend at Norbury."
But we had not a very long time to wait for that. It came justas we had finished our tea. "The cottage is still tenanted," itsaid. "Have seen the face again at the window. Will meet the seveno'clock train, and will take no steps until you arrive."
He was waiting on the platform when we stepped out, and we couldsee in the light of the station lamps that he was very pale, andquivering with agitation.
"They are still there, Mr. Holmes," said he, laying his handhard upon my friend's sleeve. "I saw lights in the cottage as Icame down. We shall settle it now once and for all."
"What is your plan, then?" asked Holmes, as he walked down thedark tree-lined road.
"I am going to force my way in and see for myself who is in thehouse. I wish you both to be there as witnesses."
"You are quite determined to do this, in spite of your wife'swarning that it is better that you should not solve themystery?"
"Yes, I am determined."
"Well, I think that you are in the right. Any truth is betterthan indefinite doubt. We had better go up at once. Of course,legally, we are putting ourselves hopelessly in the wrong; but Ithink that it is worth it."
It was a very dark night, and a thin rain began to fall as weturned from the high road into a narrow lane, deeply rutted, withhedges on either side. Mr. Grant Munro pushed impatiently forward,however, and we stumbled after him as best we could.
"There are the lights of my house," he murmured, pointing to aglimmer among the trees. "And here is the cottage which I am goingto enter."
We turned a corner in the lane as he spoke, and there was thebuilding close beside us. A yellow bar falling across the blackforeground showed that the door was not quite closed, and onewindow in the upper story was brightly illuminated. As we looked,we saw a dark blur moving across the blind.
"There is that creature!" cried Grant Munro. "You can see foryourselves that some one 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 lamp-light. I could notsee her face in the he darkness, but her arms were thrown out in anattitude of entreaty.
"For God's sake, don't Jack!" she cried. "I had a presentimentthat you would come this evening. Think better of it, dear! Trustme again, and you will never have cause to regret it."
"I have trusted you tool long, Effie," he cried, sternly. "Leavego of me! I must pass you. My friends and I are going to settlethis matter once and forever!" He pushed her to one side, and wefollowed closely after him. As he threw the door open an old womanran out in front of him and tried to bar his passage, but he thrusther back, and an instant afterwards we were all upon the stairs.Grant Munro rushed into the lighted room at the top, and we enteredat his heels.
It was a cosey, well-furnished apartment, with two candlesburning upon the table and two upon the mantelpiece. In the corner,stooping over a desk, there sat what appeared to be a little girl.Her face was turned away as we entered, but we could see that shewas dressed in a red frock, and that she had long white gloves on.As she whisked round to us, I gave a cry of surprise and horror.The face which she turned towards us was of the strangest lividtint, and the features were absolutely devoid of any expression. Aninstant later the mystery was explained. Holmes, with a laugh,passed his hand behind the child's ear, a mask peeled off from hercountenance, an there was a little coal black negress, with all herwhite teeth flashing in amusement at our amazed faces. I burst outlaughing, out of sympathy with her merriment; but Grant Munro stoodstaring, with his hand clutching his throat.
"My God!" he cried. "What can be the meaning of this?"
"I will tell you the meaning of it," cried the lady, sweepinginto the room with a proud, set face. "You have forced me, againstmy own judgment, to tell you, and now we must both make the best ofit. My husband died at Atlanta. My child survived."
"Your child?"
She drew a large silver locket from her bosom. "You have neverseen this open."
"I understood that it did not open."
She touched a spring, and the front hinged back. There was aportrait within of a man strikingly handsome andintelligent-looking, but bearing unmistakable signs upon hisfeatures of his African descent.
"That is John Hebron, of Atlanta," said the lady, "and a noblerman never walked the earth. I cut myself off from my race in orderto wed him, but never once while he lived did I for an instantregret it. It was our misfortune that our only child took after hispeople rather than mine. It is often so in such matches, and littleLucy is darker far than ever her father was. But dark or fair, sheis my own dear little girlie, and her mother's pet." The littlecreature ran across at the words and nestled up against the lady'sdress. "When I left her in America," she continued, "it was onlybecause her health was weak, and the change might have done herharm. She was given to the care of a faithful Scotch woman who hadonce been our servant. Never for an instant did I dream ofdisowning her as my child. But when chance threw you in my way,Jack, and I learned to love you, I feared to tell you about mychild. God forgive me, I feared that I should lose you, and I hadnot the courage to tell you. I had to choose between you, and in myweakness I turned away from my own little girl. For three years Ihave kept her existence a secret from you, but I heard from thenurse, and I knew that all was well with her. At last, however,there came an overwhelming desire to see the child once more. Istruggled against it, but in vain. Though I knew the danger, Idetermined to have the child over, if it were but for a few weeks.I sent a hundred pounds to the nurse, and I gave her instructionsabout this cottage, so that she might come as a neighbor, withoutmy appearing to be in any way connected with her. I pushed myprecautions so far as to order her to keep the child in the houseduring the daytime, and to cover up her little face and hands sothat even those who might see her at the window should not gossipabout there being a black child in the neighborhood. If I had beenless cautious I might have been more wise, but I was half crazywith fear that you should learn the truth.
"It was you who told me first that the cottage was occupied. Ishould have waited for the morning, but I could not sleep forexcitement, and so at last I slipped out, knowing how difficult itis to awake you. But you saw me go, and that was the beginning ofmy troubles. Next day you had my secret at your mercy, but younobly refrained from pursuing your advantage. Three days later,however, the nurse and child only just escaped from the back dooras you rushed in at the front one. And now to-night you at lastknow all, and I ask you what is to become of us, my child and me?"She clasped her hands and waited for an answer.
It was a long ten minutes before Grant Munro broke the silence,and when his answer came it was one of which I love to think. Helifted the little child, kissed her, and then, still carrying her,he held his other hand out to his wife and turned towards thedoor.
"We can talk it over more comfortably at home," said he. "I amnot a very good man, Effie, but I think that I am a better one thanyou have given me credit for being."
Holmes and I followed them down the lane, and my friend pluckedat my sleeve as we came out.
"I think," said he, "that we shall be of more use in London thanin Norbury."
Not another word did he say of the case until late that night,when he was turning away, with his lighted candle, for hisbedroom.
"Watson," said he, "if it should ever strike you that I amgetting a little over-confident in my powers, or giving less painsto a case than it deserves, kindly whisper 'Norbury' in my ear, andI shall be infinitely obliged to you."
ADVENTURE III. THE STOCK-BROKER'S CLERK
Shortly after my marriage I had bought a connection in thePaddington district. Old Mr. Farquhar, from whom I purchased it,had at one time an excellent general practice; but his age, and anaffliction of the nature of St. Vitus's dance from which hesuffered, had very much thinned it. The public not unnaturally goeson the principle that he who would heal others must himself bewhole, and looks askance at the curative powers of the man whoseown case is beyond the reach of his drugs. Thus as my predecessorweakened his practice declined, until when I purchased it from himit had sunk from twelve hundred to little more than three hundred ayear. I had confidence, however, in my own youth and energy, andwas 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 veryclosely at work, and saw little of my friend Sherlock Holmes, for Iwas too busy to visit Baker Street, and he seldom went anywherehimself save upon professional business. I was surprised,therefore, when, one morning in June, as I sat reading the BritishMedical Journal after breakfast, I heard a ring at the bell,followed by the high, somewhat strident tones of my old companion'svoice.
"Ah, my dear Watson," said he, striding into the room, "I amvery delighted to see you! I trust that Mrs. Watson has entirelyrecovered from all the little excitements connected with ouradventure of the Sign of Four."
"Thank you, we are both very well," said I, shaking him warmlyby the hand.
"And I hope, also," he continued, sitting down in therocking-chair, "that the cares of medical practice have notentirely obliterated the interest which you used to take in ourlittle deductive problems."
"On the contrary," I answered, "it was only last night that Iwas looking over my old notes, and classifying some of our pastresults."
"I trust that you don't consider your collection closed."
"Not at all. I should wish nothing better than to have some moreof such experiences."
"To-day, for example?"
"Yes, to-day, if you like."
"And as far off as Birmingham?"
"Certainly, if you wish it."
"And the practice?"
"I do my neighbor's when he goes. He is always ready to work offthe debt."
"Ha! Nothing could be better," said Holmes, leaning back in hischair and looking keenly at me from under his half closed lids. "Iperceive that you have been unwell lately. Summer colds are alwaysa little trying."
"I was confined to the house by a sever chill for three dayslast week. I thought, however, that I had cast off every trace ofit."
"So you have. You look remarkably robust."
"How, then, did you know of it?"
"My dear fellow, you know my methods."
"You deduced it, then?"
"Certainly."
"And from what?"
"From your slippers."
I glanced down at the new patent leathers which I was wearing."How on earth--" I began, but Holmes answered my question before itwas asked.
"Your slippers are new," he said. "You could not have had themmore than a few weeks. The soles which you are at this momentpresenting to me are slightly scorched. For a moment I thought theymight have got wet and been burned in the drying. But near theinstep there is a small circular wafer of paper with the shopman'shieroglyphics upon it. Damp would of course have removed this. Youhad, then, been sitting with our feet outstretched to the fire,which a man would hardly do even in so wet a June as this if hewere in his full health."
Like all Holmes's reasoning the thing seemed simplicity itselfwhen it was once explained. He read the thought upon my features,and his smile had a tinge of bitterness.
"I am afraid that I rather give myself away when I explain,"said he. "Results without causes are much more impressive. You areready to come to Birmingham, then?"
"Certainly. What is the case?"
"You shall hear it all in the train. My client is outside in afour-wheeler. Can you come at once?"
"In an instant." I scribbled a note to my neighbor, rushedupstairs to explain the matter to my wife, and joined Holmes uponthe door-step.
"Your neighbor is a doctor," said he, nodding at the brassplate.
"Yes; he bought a practice as I did."
"An old-established one?"
"Just the same as mine. Both have been ever since the houseswere built."
"Ah! Then you got hold of the best of the two."
"I think I did. But how do you know?"
"By the steps, my boy. Yours are worn three inches deeper thanhis. But this gentleman in the cab is my client, Mr. Hall Pycroft.Allow me to introduce you to him. Whip your horse up, cabby, for wehave only just time to catch our train."
The man whom I found myself facing was a well built, fresh-complexioned young fellow, with a frank, honest face and a slight,crisp, yellow mustache. He wore a very shiny top hat and a neatsuit of sober black, which made him look what he was--a smart youngCity man, of the class who have been labeled cockneys, but who giveus our crack volunteer regiments, and who turn out more fineathletes and sportsmen than any body of men in these islands. Hisround, ruddy face was naturally full of cheeriness, but the cornersof his mouth seemed to me to be pulled down in a half-comicaldistress. It was not, however, until we were all in a first-classcarriage and well started upon our journey to Birmingham that I wasable to learn what the trouble was which had driven him to SherlockHolmes.
"We have a clear run here of seventy minutes," Holmes remarked."I want you, Mr. Hall Pycroft, to tell my friend your veryinteresting experience exactly as you have told it to me, or withmore detail if possible. It will be of use to me to hear thesuccession of events again. It is a case, Watson, which may proveto have something in it, or may prove to have nothing, but which,at least, presents those unusual and outré features whichare as dear to you as they are to me. Now, Mr. Pycroft, I shall notinterrupt 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 assuch a confounded fool. Of course it may work out all right, and Idon't see that I could have done otherwise; but if I have lost mycrib and get nothing in exchange I shall feel what a soft Johnnie Ihave been. I'm not very good at telling a story, Dr. Watson, but itis like this with me"
I used to have a billet at Coxon & Woodhouse's, of Draper'sGardens, but they were let in early in the spring through theVenezuelan loan, as no doubt you remember, and came a nastycropper. I had been with them five years, and old Coxon gave me aripping good testimonial when the smash came, but of course weclerks were all turned adrift, the twenty-seven of us. I tried hereand tried there, but there were lots of other chaps on the same layas myself, and it was a perfect frost for a long time. I had beentaking three pounds a week at Coxon's, and I had saved aboutseventy of them, but I soon worked my way through that and out atthe other end. I was fairly at the end of my tether at last, andcould hardly find the stamps to answer the advertisements or theenvelopes to stick them to. I had worn out my boots paddling upoffice stairs, and I seemed just as far from getting a billet asever.
At last I saw a vacancy at Mawson & Williams's, the greatstock-broking firm in Lombard Street. I dare say E. C. Is not muchin your line, but I can tell you that this is about the richesthouse in London. The advertisement was to be answered by letteronly. I sent in my testimonial and application, but without theleast hope of getting it. Back came an answer by return, sayingthat if I would appear next Monday I might take over my new dutiesat once, provided that my appearance was satisfactory. No one knowshow these things are worked. Some people say that the manager justplunges his hand into the heap and takes the first that comes.Anyhow it was my innings that time, and I don't ever wish to feelbetter pleased. The screw was a pound a week rise, and the dutiesjust about the same as at Coxon's.
And now I come to the queer part of the business. I was indiggings out Hampstead way, 17 Potter's Terrace. Well, I wassitting doing a smoke that very evening after I had been promisedthe appointment, when up came my landlady with a card which had"Arthur Pinner, Financial Agent," printed upon it. I had neverheard the name before and could not imagine what he wanted with me;but, of course, I asked her to show him up. In he walked, amiddle-sized, dark- haired, dark-eyed, black-bearded man, with atouch of the Sheeny about his nose. He had a brisk kind of way withhim and spoke sharply, like a man who knew the value of time.
"Mr. Hall Pycroft, I believe?" said he.
"Yes, sir," I answered, pushing a chair towards him.
"Lately engaged at Coxon & Woodhouse's?"
"Yes, sir."
"And now on the staff of Mawson's."
"Quite so."
"Well," said he, "the fact is that I have heard some reallyextraordinary stories about your financial ability. You rememberParker, who used to be Coxon's manager? He can never say enoughabout it."
Of course I was pleased to hear this. I had always been prettysharp in the office, but I had never dreamed that I was talkedabout in the City in this fashion.
"You have a good memory?" said he.
"Pretty fair," I answered, modestly.
"Have you kept in touch with the market while you have been outof work?" he asked.
"Yes. I read the stock exchange list every morning."
"Now that shows real application!" he cried. "That is the way toprosper! You won't mind my testing you, will you? Let me see. Howare Ayrshires?"
"A hundred and six and a quarter to a hundred and five andseven-eighths."
"And New Zealand consolidated?"
"A hundred and four."
"And British Broken Hills?"
"Seven to seven-and-six."
"Wonderful!" he cried, with his hands up. "This quite fits inwith all that I had heard. My boy, my boy, you are very much toogood to be a clerk at Mawson's!"
This outburst rather astonished me, as you can think. "Well,"said I, "other people don't think quite so much of me as you seemto do, Mr. Pinner. I had a hard enough fight to get this berth, andI am very glad to have it."
"Pooh, man; you should soar above it. You are not in your truesphere. Now, I'll tell you how it stands with me. What I have tooffer is little enough when measured by your ability, but whencompared with Mawson's, it's light to dark. Let me see. When do yougo to Mawson's?"
"On Monday."
"Ha, ha! I think I would risk a little sporting flutter that youdon't go there at all."
"Not go to Mawson's?"
"No, sir. By that day you will be the business manager of theFranco-Midland Hardware Company, Limited, with a hundred andthirty-four branches in the towns and villages of France, notcounting one in Brussels and one in San Remo."
This took my breath away. "I never heard of it," said I.
"Very likely not. It has been kept very quiet, for the capitalwas all privately subscribed, and it's too good a thing to let thepublic into. My brother, Harry Pinner, is promoter, and joins theboard after allotment as managing director. He knew I was in theswim down here, and asked me to pick up a good man cheap. A young,pushing man with plenty of snap about him. Parker spoke of you, andthat brought me here tonight. We can only offer you a beggarly fivehundred to start with."
"Five hundred a year!" I shouted.
"Only that at the beginning; but you are to have an overridingcommission of one per cent on all business done by your agents, andyou may take my word for it that this will come to more than yoursalary."
"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. Butsuddenly a 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 aboutyour company that--"
"Ah, smart, smart!" he cried, in a kind of ecstasy of delight."You are the very man for us. You are not to be talked over, andquite right, too. Now, here's a note for a hundred pounds, and ifyou think that we can do business you may just slip it into yourpocket as an advance upon your salary."
"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 inmy pocket here which you will take to my brother. You will find himat 126b Corporation Street, where the temporary offices of thecompany are situated. Of course he must confirm your engagement,but between ourselves it will be all right."
"Really, I hardly know how to express my gratitude, Mr. Pinner,"said I.
"Not at all, my boy. You have only got your desserts. There areone or two small things--mere formalities--which I must arrangewith you. You have a bit of paper beside you there. Kindly writeupon it 'I am perfectly willing to act as business manager to theFranco-Midland Hardware Company, Limited, at a minimum salary ofL500."
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 doabout Mawson's?"
I had forgotten all about Mawson's in my joy. "I'll write andresign," said I.
"Precisely what I don't want you to do. I had a row over youwith Mawson's manager. I had gone up to ask him about you, and hewas very offensive; accused me of coaxing you away from the serviceof the firm, and that sort of thing. At last I fairly lost mytemper. 'If you want good men you should pay them a good price,'said I.
"'He would rather have our small price than your big one,' saidhe.
"'I'll lay you a fiver,' said I, 'that when he has my offeryou'll never so much as hear from him again.'
"'Done!' said he. 'We picked him out of the gutter, and he won'tleave us so easily.' Those were his very words."
"The impudent scoundrel!" I cried. "I've never so much as seenhim in my life. Why should I consider him in any way? I shallcertainly not write if you would rather I didn't."
"Good! That's a promise," said he, rising from his chair. "Well,I'm delighted to have got so good a man for my brother. Here's youradvance of a hundred pounds, and here is the letter. Make a not ofthe address, 126b Corporation Street, and remember that one o'clockto-morrow is your appointment. Good-night; and may you have all thefortune that you deserve!"
That's 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 huggingmyself over it, and next day I was off to Birmingham in a trainthat would take me in plenty time for my appointment. I took mythings to a hotel in New Street, and then I made my way to theaddress which had been given me.
It was a quarter of an hour before my time, but I thought thatwould make no difference. 126b was a passage between two largeshops, which led to a winding stone stair, from which there weremany flats, let as offices to companies or professional men. Thenames of the occupants were painted at the bottom on the wall, butthere was no such name as the Franco-Midland Hardware Company,Limited. I stood for a few minutes with my heart in my boots,wondering whether the whole thing was an elaborate hoax or not,when up came a man and addressed me. He was very like the chap Ihad seen the night before, the same figure and voice, but he wasclean shaven and his hair was lighter.
"Are you Mr. Hall Pycroft?" he asked.
"Yes," said I.
"Oh! I was expecting you, but you are a trifle before your time.I had a note from my brother this morning in which he sang yourpraises very loudly."
"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 under the slates, were a couple of empty, dusty little rooms,uncarpeted and uncurtained, into which he led me. I had thought ofa great office with shining tables and rows of clerks, such as Iwas used to, and I dare say I stared rather straight at the twodeal chairs and one little table, which, with a ledger and a wastepaper basket, made up the whole furniture.
"Don't be disheartened, Mr. Pycroft," said my new acquaintance,seeing the length of my face. "Rome was not built in a day, and wehave lots of money at our backs, though we don't cut much dash yetin offices. Pray sit down, and let me have your letter."
I gave it to him, and her read it over very carefully.
"You seem to have made a vast impression upon my brotherArthur," said he; "and I know that he is a pretty shrewd judge. Hewswears by London, you know; and I by Birmingham; but this time Ishall follow his advice. Pray consider yourself definitelyengaged."
"What are my duties?" I asked.
"You will eventually manage the great depot in Paris, which willpour a flood of English crockery into the shops of a hundred andthirty-four agents in France. The purchase will be completed in aweek, and meanwhile you will remain in Birmingham and make yourselfuseful."
"How?"
For answer, he took a big red book out of a drawer.
"This is a directory of Paris," said he, "with the trades afterthe names of the people. I want you to take it home with you, andto mark off al the hardware sellers, with their addresses. It wouldbe of the greatest use to me to have them."
"Surely there are classified lists?" I suggested.
"Not reliable ones. Their system is different from ours. Stickat it, and let me have the lists by Monday, at twelve. Good-day,Mr. Pycroft. If you continue to show zeal and intelligence you willfind the company a good master."
I went back to the hotel with the big book under my arm, andwith very conflicting feelings in my breast. On the one hand, I wasdefinitely engaged and had a hundred pounds in my pocket; on theother, the look of the offices, the absence of name on the wall,and other of the points which would strike a business man had lefta bad impression as to the position of my employers. However, comewhat might, I had my money, so I settled down to my task. AllSunday I was kept hard at work, and yet by Monday I had only got asfar as H. I went round to my employer, found him in the samedismantled kind of room, and was told to keep at it untilWednesday, and then come again. On Wednesday it was stillunfinished, so I hammered away until Friday--that is, yesterday.Then I brought it round to Mr. Harry Pinner.
"Thank you very much," said he; "I fear that I underrated thedifficulty of the task. This list will be of very materialassistance to me."
"It took some time," said I.
"And now," said he, "I want you to make a list of the furnitureshops, for they all sell crockery."
"Very good."
"And you can come up to-morrow evening, at seven, and let meknow how you are getting on. Don't overwork yourself. A couple ofhours at Day's Music Hall in the evening would do you no harm afteryour labors." He laughed as he spoke, and I saw with a thrill thathis second tooth upon the left-hand side had been very badlystuffed 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 thetime that he laughed at my not going to Mawson's, I happened tonotice that his tooth was stuffed in this very identical fashion.The glint of the gold in each case caught my eye, you see. When Iput that with the voice and figure being the same, and only thosethings altered which might be changed by a razor or a wig, I couldnot doubt that it was the same man. Of course you expect twobrothers to be alike, but not that they should have the same toothstuffed in the same way. He bowed me out, and I found myself in thestreet, hardly knowing whether I was on my head or my heels. Back Iwent to my hotel, put my head in a basin of cold water, and triedto think it out. Why had he sent me from London to Birmingham? Whyhad he got there before me? And why had he written a letter fromhimself to himself? It was altogether too much for me, and I couldmake no sense of it. And then suddenly it struck me that what wasdark to me might be very light to Mr. Sherlock Holmes. I had justtime to get up to town by the night train to see him this morning,and to bring you both back with me to Birmingham."
There was a pause after the stock-broker's clerk had concludedhis surprising experience. Then Sherlock Holmes cocked his eye atme, leaning back on the cushions with a pleased and yet criticalface, like a connoisseur who has just taken his first sip of acomet vintage.
"Rather fine, Watson, is it not?" said he. "There are points init which please me. I think that you will agree with me that aninterview with Mr. Arthur Harry Pinner in the temporary offices ofthe Franco-Midland Hardware Company, Limited, would be a ratherinteresting experience for both of us."
"But how can we do it?" I asked.
"Oh, easily enough," said Hall Pycroft, cheerily. "You are twofriends of mine who are in want of a billet, and what could be morenatural than that I should bring you both round to the managingdirector?"
"Quite so, of course," said Holmes. "I should like to have alook at the gentleman, and see if I can make anything of his littlegame. What qualities have you, my friend, which would make yourservices so valuable? or is it possible that--" He began biting hisnails and staring blankly out of the window, and we hardly drewanother word from him until we were in New Street.
At seven o'clock that evening we were walking, the three of us,down Corporation Street to the company's offices.
"It is no use our being at all before our time," said ourclient. "He only comes there to see me, apparently, for the placeis deserted up to the very hour he names."
"That is suggestive," remarked Holmes.
"By Jove, I told you so!" cried the clerk. "That's he walkingahead of us there."
He pointed to a smallish, dark, well-dressed man who wasbustling along the other side of the road. As we watched him helooked across at a boy who was bawling out the latest edition ofthe evening paper, and running over among the cabs and busses, hebought one from him. Then, clutching it in his hand, he vanishedthrough a door-way.
"There he goes!" cried Hall Pycroft. "These are the company'soffices into which he has gone. Come with me, and I'll fix it up aseasily as possible."
Following his lead, we ascended five stories, until we foundourselves outside a half-opened door, at which our client tapped. Avoice within bade us enter, and we entered a bare, unfurnished roomsuch as Hall Pycroft had described. At the single table sat the manwhom we had seen in the street, with his evening paper spread outin front of him, and as he looked up at us it seemed to me that Ihad never looked upon a face which bore such marks of grief, and ofsomething beyond grief--of a horror such as comes to few men in alifetime. His brow glistened wit perspiration, his cheeks were ofthe dull, dead white of a fish's belly, and his eyes were wild andstaring. He looked at his clerk as though he failed to recognizehim, and I could see by the astonishment depicted upon ourconductor's face that this was by no means the usual appearance ofhis employer.
"You look ill, Mr. Pinner!" he exclaimed.
"Yes, I am not very well," answered the other, making obviousefforts to pull himself together, and licking his dry lips beforehe spoke. "Who are these gentlemen whom you have brought withyou?"
"One is Mr. Harris, of Bermondsey, and the other is Mr. Price,of this town," said our clerk, glibly. "They are friends of mineand gentlemen of experience, but they have been out of a place forsome little time, and they hoped that perhaps you might find anopening for them in the company's employment."
"Very possibly! Very possibly!" cried Mr. Pinner with a ghastlysmile. "Yes, I have no doubt that we shall be able to do somethingfor you. What is your particular line, Mr. Harris?"
"I am an accountant," said Holmes.
"Ah yes, we shall want something of the sort. And you, Mr.Price?"
"A clerk," said I.
"I have every hope that the company may accommodate you. I willlet you know about it as soon as we come to any conclusion. And nowI beg that you will go. For God's sake leave me to myself!"
These last words were shot out of him, as though the constraintwhich he was evidently setting upon himself had suddenly andutterly burst asunder. Holmes and I glanced at each other, and HallPycroft took a step towards the table.
"You forget, Mr. Pinner, that I am here by appointment toreceive some directions from you," said he.
"Certainly, Mr. Pycroft, certainly," the other resumed in acalmer tone. "You may wait here a moment; and there is no reasonwhy your friends should not wait with you. I will be entirely atyour service in three minutes, if I might trespass upon yourpatience so far." He rose with a very courteous air, and, bowing tous, he passed out through a door at the farther end of the room,which he closed behind him.
"What now?" whispered Holmes. "Is he giving us the slip?"
"Impossible," answered Pycroft.
"Why so?"
"That door leads into an inner room."
"There is no exit?"
"None."
"Is it furnished?"
"It was empty yesterday."
"Then what on earth can he be doing? There is something which Idon't understand in his manner. If ever a man was three parts madwith terror, that man's name is Pinner. What can have put theshivers on him?"
"He suspects that we are detectives," I suggested.
"That's it," cried Pycroft.
Holmes shook his head. "He did not turn pale. He was pale whenwe entered the room," said he. "It is just possible that--"
His words were interrupted by a sharp rat-tat from the directionof the inner door.
"What the deuce is he knocking at his own door for?" cried theclerk.
Again and much louder cam the rat-tat-tat. We all gazedexpectantly at the closed door. Glancing at Holmes, I saw his faceturn rigid, and he leaned forward in intense excitement. Thensuddenly came a low guggling, gargling sound, and a brisk drummingupon woodwork. Holmes sprang frantically across the room and pushedat the door. It was fastened on the inner side. Following hisexample, we threw ourselves upon it with all our weight. One hingesnapped, then the other, and down came the door with a crash.Rushing over it, we found ourselves in the inner room. It wasempty.
But it was only for a moment that we were at fault. At onecorner, the corner nearest the room which we had left, there was asecond door. Holmes sprang to it and pulled it open. A coat andwaistcoat were lying on the floor, and from a hook behind the door,with his own braces round his neck, was hanging the managingdirector of the Franco-Midland Hardware Company. His knees weredrawn up, his head hung at a dreadful angle to his body, and theclatter of his heels against the door made the noise which hadbroken in upon our conversation. In an instant I had caught himround the waist, and held him up while Holmes and Pycroft untiedthe elastic bands which had disappeared between the livid creasesof skin. Then we carried him into the other room, where he lay witha clay-colored face, puffing his purple lips in and out with everybreath--a dreadful wreck of all that he had been but five minutesbefore.
"What do you think of him, Watson?" asked Holmes.
I stooped over him and examined him. His pule was feeble andintermittent, but his breathing grew longer, and there was a littleshivering of his eyelids, which showed a thin white slit of ballbeneath.
"It has been touch and go with him," said I, "but he'll livenow. Just open that window, and hand me the water carafe." I undidhis collar, poured the cold water over his face, and raised andsank his arms until he drew a long, natural breath. "It's only aquestion of time now," said I, as I turned away from him.
Holmes stood by the table, with his hands deep in his trouser'spockets and his chin upon his breast.
"I suppose we ought to call the police in now," said he. "Andyet I confess that I'd like to give them a complete case when theycome."
"It's a blessed mystery to me," cried Pycroft, scratching hishead. "Whatever they wanted to bring me all the way up here for,and then--"
"Pooh! All that is clear enough," said Holmes impatiently. "Itis this last sudden move."
"You understand the rest, then?"
"I think that it is fairly obvious. What do you say,Watson?"
I shrugged my shoulders. "I must confess that I am out of mydepths," said I.
"Oh surely if you consider the events at first they can onlypoint to one conclusion."
"What do you make of them?"
"Well, the whole thing hinges upon two points. The first is themaking of Pycroft write a declaration by which he entered theservice of this preposterous company. Do you not see how verysuggestive that is?"
"I am afraid I miss the point."
"Well, why did they want him to do it? Not as a business matter,for these arrangements are usually verbal, and there was no earthlybusiness reason why this should be an exception. Don't you see, myyoung friend, that they were very anxious to obtain a specimen ofyour handwriting, and had 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 adequatereason. Some one wanted to learn to imitate your writing, and hadto procure a specimen of it first. And now if we pass on to thesecond point we find that each throws light upon the other. Thatpoint is the request made by Pinner that you should not resign yourplace, but should leave the manager of this important business inthe full expectation that a Mr. Hall Pycroft, whom he had neverseen, was about to enter the office upon the Monday morning."
"My God!" cried our client, "what a blind beetle I havebeen!"
"Now you see the point about the handwriting. Suppose that someone turned up in your place who wrote a completely different handfrom that in which you had applied for the vacancy, of course thegame would have been up. But in the interval the rogue had learnedto imitate you, and his position was therefore secure, as I presumethat nobody in the office had ever set eyes upon you."
"Not a soul," groaned Hall Pycroft.
"Very good. Of course it was of the utmost importance to preventyou from thinking better of it, and also to keep you from cominginto contact with any one who might tell you that your double wasat work in Mawson's office. Therefore they gave you a handsomeadvance on your salary, and ran you off to the Midlands, where theygave you enough work to do to prevent your going to London, whereyou might have burst their little game up. That is all plainenough."
"But why should this man pretend to be his won brother?"
"Well, that is pretty clear also. There are evidently only twoof them in it. The other is personating you at the office. This oneacted as your engager, and then found that he could not find you anemployer without admitting a third person into his plot. That hewas most unwilling to do. He changed his appearance as far as hecould, and trusted that the likeness, which you could not fail toobserve, would be put down to a family resemblance. But for thehappy chance of the gold stuffing, your suspicions would probablynever have been aroused."
Hall Pycroft shook his clinched hands in the air. "Good Lord!"he cried, "while I have been fooled in this way, what has thisother Hall Pycroft been doing at Mawson's? What should we do, Mr.Holmes? Tell me what to do."
"We must wire to Mawson's."
"They shut at twelve on Saturdays."
"Never mind. There may be some door-keeper or attendant--"
"Ah yes, they keep a permanent guard there on account of thevalue of the securities that they hold. I remember hearing ittalked of in the City."
"Very good; we shall wire to him, and see if all is well, and ifa clerk of your name is working there. That is clear enough; butwhat is not so clear is why at sight of us one of the rogues shouldinstantly walk out of the room and hang himself."
"The paper!" croaked a voice behind us. The man was sitting up,blanched and ghastly, with returning reason in his eyes, and handswhich rubbed nervously at the broad red band which still encircledhis throat.
"The paper! Of course!" yelled Holmes, in a paroxysm ofexcitement. "Idiot that I was! I thought so must of our visit thatthe paper never entered my head for an instant. To be sure, thesecret must be there." He flattened it out upon the table, and acry of triumph burst from his lips. "Look at this, Watson," hecried. "It is a London paper, an early edition of the EveningStandard. Here is what we want. Look at the headlines: 'Crime inthe City. Murder at Mawson & Williams's. 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 oneevent of importance in town, and the account of it ran in thisway:
"A desperate attempt at robbery, culminating in the death of oneman and the capture of the criminal, occurred this afternoon in theCity. For some time back Mawson & Williams, the famousfinancial house, have been the guardians of securities which amountin the aggregate to a sum of considerably over a million sterling.So conscious was the manager of the responsibility which devolvedupon him in consequence of the great interests at stake that safesof the very latest construction have been employed, and an armedwatchman has been left day and night in the building. It appearsthat last week a new clerk named Hall Pycroft was engaged by thefirm. This person appears to have been none other that Beddington,the famous forger and cracksman, who, with his brother, had onlyrecently emerged from a five years' spell of penal servitude. Bysome mean, which are not yet clear, he succeeded in wining, under afalse name, this official position in the office, which he utilizedin order to obtain moulding of various locks, and a thoroughknowledge of the position of the strong room and the safes.
"It is customary at Mawson's 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 come downthe steps at twenty minutes past one. His suspicions being aroused,the sergeant followed the man, and with the aid of ConstablePollack succeeded, after a most desperate resistance, in arrestinghim. It was at once clear that a daring and gigantic robbery hadbeen committed. Nearly a hundred thousand pounds' worth of Americanrailway bonds, with a large amount of scrip in mines and othercompanies, was discovered in the bag. On examining the premises thebody of the unfortunate watchman was found doubled up and thrustinto the largest of the safes, where it would not have beendiscovered until Monday morning had it not been for the promptaction of Sergeant Tuson. The man's skull had been shattered by ablow from a poker delivered from behind. There could be no doubtthat Beddington had obtained entrance by pretending that he hadleft something behind him, and having murdered the watchman,rapidly rifled the large safe, and then made off with his booty.His brother, who usually works with him, has not appeared in thisjob as far as can at present be ascertained, although the policeare making energetic inquiries as to his whereabouts."
"Well, we may save the police some little trouble in thatdirection," said Holmes, glancing at the haggard figure huddled upby the window. "Human nature is a strange mixture, Watson. You seethat even a villain and murderer can inspire such affection thathis brother turns to suicide when he learns that his neck isforfeited. However, we have no choice as to our action. The doctorand I will remain on guard, Mr. Pycroft, if you will have thekindness to step out for the police."
ADVENTURE IV. THE "GLORIA SCOTT"
I have some papers here," said my friend Sherlock Holmes, as wesat one winter's night on either side of the fire, "which I reallythink, Watson, that it would be worth your while to glance over.These are the documents in the extraordinary case of the GloriaScott, and this is the message which struck Justice of the PeaceTrevor dead with horror when he read it."
He had picked from a drawer a little tarnished cylinder, and,undoing the tape, he handed me a short note scrawled upon ahalf-sheet of slate gray-paper.
"The supply of game for London is going steadily up," it ran."Head-keeper Hudson, we believe, had been now told to receive allorders for fly-paper and for preservation of you hen-pheasant'slife."
As I glanced up from reading this enigmatical message, I sawHolmes chuckling at the expression upon my face.
"You look a little bewildered," said he.
"I cannot see how such a message as this could inspire horror.It seems to me to be rather grotesque than otherwise."
"Very likely. Yet the fact remains that the reader, who was afine, robust old man, was knocked clean down by it as if it hadbeen the butt end of a pistol."
"You arouse my curiosity," said I. "But why did you say just nowthat there were very particular reasons why I should study thiscase?"
"Because it was the first in which I was ever engaged."
I had often endeavored to elicit from my companion what hadfirst turned his mind in the direction of criminal research, buthad never caught him before in a communicative humor. Now he satforward in his arm chair and spread out the documents upon hisknees. Then he lit his pipe and sat for some time smoking andturning them over.
"You never heard me talk of Victor Trevor?" he asked. "He wasthe only friend I made during the two years I was at college. I wasnever a very sociable fellow, Watson, always rather fond of mopingin my rooms and working out my own little methods of thought, sothat I never mixed much with the men of my year. Bar fencing andboxing I had few athletic tastes, and then my line of study wasquite distinct from that of the other fellows, so that we had nopoints of contact at all. Trevor was the only man I knew, and thatonly through the accident of his bull terrier freezing on to myankle one morning as I went down to chapel.
"It was a prosaic way of forming a friendship, but it waseffective. I was laid by the heels for ten days, but Trevor used tocome in to inquire after me. At first it was only a minute's chat,but soon his visits lengthened, and before the end of the term wewere close friends. He was a hearty, full-blooded fellow, full ofspirits and energy, the very opposite to me in most respects, butwe had some subjects in common, and it was a bond of union when Ifound that he was as friendless as I. Finally, he invited me downto his father's place at Donnithorpe, in Norfolk, and I acceptedhis hospitality for a month of the long vacation.
"Old Trevor was evidently a man of some wealth andconsideration, a J.P., and a landed proprietor. Donnithorpe is alittle hamlet just to the north of Langmere, in the country of theBroads. The house was an old-fashioned, wide-spread, oak-beamedbrick building, with a fine lime-lined avenue leading up to it.There was excellent wild-duck shooting in the fens, remarkably goodfishing, a small but select library, taken over, as I understood,from a former occupant, and a tolerable cook, so that he would be afastidious 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 ofdiphtheria while on a visit to Birmingham. The father interested meextremely. He was a man of little culture, but with a considerableamount of rude strength, both physically and mentally. He knewhardly any books, but he had traveled far, had seen much of theworld. And had remembered all that he had learned. In person he wasa thick-set, burly man with a shock of grizzled hair, a brown,weather-beaten face, and blue eyes which were keen to the verge offierceness. Yet he had a reputation for kindness and charity on thecountry-side, and was noted for the leniency of his sentences fromthe bench.
"One evening, shortly after my arrival, we were sitting over aglass of port after dinner, when young Trevor began to talk aboutthose habits of observation and inference which I had alreadyformed into a system, although I had not yet appreciated the partwhich they were to play in my life. The old man evidently thoughtthat his son was exaggerating in his description of one or twotrivial feats which I had performed.
"'Come, now, Mr. Holmes,' said he, laughing good-humoredly. 'I'man excellent subject, if you can deduce anything from me.'
"'I fear there is not very much,' I answered; 'I might suggestthat you have gone about in fear of some personal attack with thelast twelvemonth.'
"The laugh faded from his lips, and he stared at me in greatsurprise.
"'Well, that's true enough,' said he. 'You know, Victor,'turning to his son, 'when we broke up that poaching gang they sworeto knife us, and Sir Edward Holly has actually been attacked. I'vealways been on my guard since then, though I have no idea how youknow it.'
"'You have a very handsome stick,' I answered. 'By theinscription I observed that you had not had it more than a year.But you have taken some pains to bore the head of it and pourmelted lead into the hole so as to make it a formidable weapon. Iargued that you would not take such precautions unless you had somedanger 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 littleout of the straight?'
"'No,' said I. 'It is your ears. They have the peculiarflattening and thickening which marks the boxing man.'
"'Anything else?'
"'You have done a good deal of digging by your callosities.'
"'Made all my money at the gold fields.'
"'You have been in New Zealand.'
"'Right again.'
"'You have visited Japan.'
"'Quite true.'
"'And you have been most intimately associated with some onewhose initials were J. A., and whom you afterwards were eager toentirely forget.'
"Mr. Trevor stood slowly up, fixed his large blue eyes upon mewith a strange wild stare, and then pitched forward, with his faceamong the nutshells which strewed the cloth, in a dead faint.
"You can imagine, Watson, how shocked both his son and I were.His attack did not last long, however, for when we undid hiscollar, and sprinkled the water from one of the finger-glasses overhis face, he gave a gasp or two and sat up.
"'Ah, boys,' said he, forcing a smile, 'I hope I haven'tfrightened you. Strong as I look, there is a weak place in myheart, and it does not take much to knock me over. I don't know howyou manage this, Mr. Holmes, but it seems to me that all thedetectives of fact and of fancy would be children in your hands.That's you line of life, sir, and you may take the word of a manwho has seen something of the world.'
"And that recommendation, with the exaggerated estimate of myability with which he prefaced it, was, if you will believe me,Watson, the very first thing which ever made me feel that aprofession might be made out of what had up to that time been themerest hobby. At the moment, however, I was too much concerned atthe sudden illness of my host to think of anything else.
"'I hope that I have said nothing to pain you?' said I.
"'Well, you certainly touched upon rather a tender point. MightI ask how you know, and how much you know?' He spoke now in ahalf-jesting fashion, but a look of terror still lurked at the backof his eyes.
"'It is simplicity itself,' said I. 'When you bared your arm todraw that fish into the boat I saw that J. A. Had been tattooed inthe bend of the elbow. The letters were still legible, but it wasperfectly clear from their blurred appearance, and from thestaining of the skin round them, that efforts had been made toobliterate them. It was obvious, then, that those initials had oncebeen very familiar to you, and that you had afterwards wished toforget them.'
"What an eye you have!" he cried, with a sigh of relief. 'It isjust as you say. But we won't talk of it. Of all ghosts the ghostsof our old lovers are the worst. Come into the billiard-room andhave a quiet cigar.'
"From that day, amid all his cordiality, there was always atouch of suspicion in Mr. Trevor's manner towards me. Even his sonremarked it. 'You've given the governor such a turn,' said he,'that he'll never be sure again of what you know and what you don'tknow.' He did not mean to show it, I am sure, but it was sostrongly in his mind that it peeped out at every action. At last Ibecame so convinced that I was causing him uneasiness that I drewmy visit to a close. On the very day, however, before I left, andincident occurred which proved in the sequel to be ofimportance.
"We were sitting out upon the lawn on garden chairs, the threeof us, basking in the sun and admiring the view across the Broads,when a maid came out to say that there was a man at the door whowanted to see Mr. Trevor.
"'What is his name?' asked my host.
"'He would not give any.'
"'What does he want, then?'
"'He says that you know him, and that he only wants a moment'sconversation.'
"'Show him round here.' An instant afterwards there appeared alittle wizened fellow with a cringing manner and a shambling styleof walking. He wore an open jacket, with a splotch of tar on thesleeve, a red-and-black check shirt, dungaree trousers, and heavyboots badly worn. His face was thin and brown and crafty, with aperpetual smile upon it, which showed an irregular line of yellowteeth, and his crinkled hands were half closed in a way that isdistinctive of sailors. As he came slouching across the lawn Iheard Mr. Trevor make a sort of hiccoughing noise in his throat,and jumping out of his chair, he ran into the house. He was back ina moment, and I smelt a strong reek of brandy as he passed me.
"'Well, my man,' said he. 'What can I do for you?'
"The sailor stood looking at him with puckered eyes, and withthe same loose-lipped smile upon his face.
"'You don't know me?' he asked.
"'Why, dear me, it is surely Hudson,' said Mr. Trevor in a toneof surprise.
"'Hudson it is, sir,' said the seaman. 'Why, it's thirty yearand more since I saw you last. Here you are in your house, and mestill picking my salt meat out of the harness cask.'
"'Tut, you will find that I have not forgotten old times,' criedMr. Trevor, and, walking towards the sailor, he said something in alow voice. 'Go into the kitchen,' he continued out loud, 'and youwill get food and drink. I have no doubt that I shall find you asituation.'
"'Thank you, sir,' said the seaman, touching his fore-lock. 'I'mjust off a two-yearer in an eight-knot tramp, short-handed at that,and I wants a rest. I thought I'd get it either with Mr. Beddoes orwith you.'
"'Ah!' cried Trevor. 'You know where Mr. Beddoes is?'
"'Bless you, sir, I know where all my old friends are,' said thefellow with a sinister smile, and he slouched off after the maid tothe kitchen. Mr. Trevor mumbled something to us about having beenshipmate with the man when he was going back to the diggings, andthen, leaving us on the lawn, he went indoors. An hour later, whenwe entered the house, we found him stretched dead drunk upon thedining-room sofa. The whole incident left a most ugly impressionupon my mind, and I was not sorry next day to leave Donnithorpebehind me, for I felt that my presence must be a source ofembarrassment to my friend.
"All this occurred during the first month of the long vacation.I went up to my London rooms, where I spent seven weeks working outa few experiments in organic chemistry. One day, however, when theautumn was far advanced and the vacation drawing to a close, Ireceived a telegram from my friend imploring me to return toDonnithorpe, and saying that he was in great need of my advice andassistance. Of course I dropped everything and set out for theNorth once more.
"He met me with the dog-cart at the station, and I saw at aglance that the last two months had been very trying ones for him.He had grown thin and careworn, and had lost the loud, cheerymanner for which he had been remarkable.
"'The governor is dying,' were the first words he said.
"'Impossible!' I cried. 'What is the matter?'
"'Apoplexy. Nervous shock, He's been on the verge all day. Idoubt if we shall find him alive.'
"I was, as you may think, Watson, horrified at this unexpectednews.
"'What has caused it?' I asked.
"'Ah, that is the point. Jump in and we can talk it over whilewe drive. You remember that fellow who came upon the evening beforeyou left us?'
"'Perfectly.'
"'Do you know who it was that we let into the house thatday?'
"'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 hoursince--not one. The governor has never held up his head from thatevening, and now the life 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 governor--how could he have fallen into theclutches of such a ruffian! But I am so glad that you have come,Holmes. I trust very much to your judgment and discretion, and Iknow that you will advise me for the best.'
"We were dashing along the smooth white country road, with thelong stretch of the Broads in front of us glimmering in the redlight of the setting sun. From a grove upon our left I couldalready see the high chimneys and the flag-staff which marked thesquire's dwelling.
"'My father made the fellow gardener,' said my companion, 'andthen, as that did not satisfy him, he was promoted to be butler.The house seemed to be at his mercy, and he wandered about and didwhat he chose in it. The maids complained of his drunken habits andhis vile language. The dad raised their wages all round torecompense them for the annoyance. The fellow would take the boatand my father's best gun and treat himself to little shootingtrips. And all this with such a sneering, leering, insolent facethat I would have knocked him down twenty times over if he had beena man of my own age. I tell you, Holmes, I have had to keep a tighthold upon myself all this time; and now I am asking myself whether,if I had let myself go a little more, I might not have been a wiserman.
"'Well, matters went from bad to worse with us, and this animalHudson became more and more intrusive, until at last, on makingsome insolent reply to my father in my presence one day, I took himby the shoulders and turned him out of the room. He slunk away witha livid face and two venomous eyes which uttered more threats thanhis tongue could do. I don't know what passed between the poor dadand him after that, but the dad came to me next day and asked mewhether I would mind apologizing to Hudson. I refused, as you canimagine, and asked my father how he could allow such a wretch totake such liberties with himself and his household.
"'"Ah, my boy," said he, "it is all very well to talk, but youdon't know how I am placed. But you shall know, Victor. I'll seethat you shall know, come what may. You wouldn't believe harm ofyour poor old father, would you, lad?" He was very much moved, andshut himself up in the study all day, where I could see through thewindow that he was writing busily.
"'That evening there came what seemed to me to be a grandrelease, for Hudson told us that he was going to leave us. Hewalked into the dining-room as we sat after dinner, and announcedhis intention in the thick voice of a half-drunken man.
"'"I've had enough of Norfolk," said he. "I'll run down to Mr.Beddoes in Hampshire. He'll be as glad to see me as you were, Idare say."
"'"You're not going away in any kind of spirit, Hudson, I hope,"said my father, with a tameness which made my blood boil.
"'"I've not had my 'pology," said he sulkily, glancing in mydirection.
"'"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 shownextraordinary patience towards him," I answered.
"'"Oh, you do, do you?" he snarls. "Very good, mate. We'll seeabout that!"
"'He slouched out of the room, and half an hour afterwards leftthe house, leaving my father in a state of pitiable nervousness.Night after night I heard him pacing his room, and it was just ashe was recovering his confidence that the blow did at lastfall.'
"'And how?' I asked eagerly.
"'In a most extraordinary fashion. A letter arrived for myfather yesterday evening, bearing the Fordingbridge post-mark. Myfather read it, clapped both his hands to his head, and beganrunning round the room in little circles like a man who has beendriven out of his senses. When I at last drew him down on to thesofa, his mouth and eyelids were all puckered on one side, and Isaw that he had a stroke. Dr. Fordham came over at once. We put himto bed; but the paralysis has spread, he has shown no sign ofreturning consciousness, and I think that we shall hardly find himalive.'
"'You horrify me, Trevor!' I cried. 'What then could have beenin this letter to cause so dreadful a result?'
"'Nothing. There lies the inexplicable part of it. The messagewas absurd and trivial. Ah, my God, it is as I feared!'
"As he spoke we came round the curve of the avenue, and saw inthe fading light that every blind in the house had been drawn down.As we dashed up to the door, my friend's face convulsed with grief,a gentleman in black emerged from it.
"'When did it happen, doctor?' asked Trevor.
"'Almost immediately after you left.'
"'Did he recover consciousness?'
"'For an instant before the end.'
"'Any message for me.'
"'Only that the papers were in the back drawer of the Japanesecabinet.'
"My friend ascended with the doctor to the chamber of death,while I remained in the study, turning the whole matter over andover in my head, and feeling as sombre as ever I had done in mylife. What was the past of this Trevor, pugilist, traveler, andgold-digger, and how had he placed himself in the power of thisacid-faced seaman? Why, too, should he faint at an allusion to thehalf-effaced initials upon his arm, and die of fright when he had aletter from Fordingham? Then I remembered that Fordingham was inHampshire, and that this Mr. Beddoes, whom the seaman had gone tovisit and presumably to blackmail, had also been mentioned asliving in Hampshire. The letter, then, might either come fromHudson, the seaman, saying that he had betrayed the guilty secretwhich appeared to exist, or it might come from Beddoes, warning anold confederate that such a betrayal was imminent. So far it seemedclear enough. But then how could this letter be trivial andgrotesque, as describe by the son? He must have misread it. If so,it must have been one of those ingenious secret codes which meanone thing while they seem to mean another. I must see this letter.If there were a hidden meaning in it, I was confident that I couldpluck it forth. For an hour I sat pondering over it in the gloom,until at last a weeping maid brought in a lamp, and close at herheels came my friend Trevor, pale but composed, with these verypapers which lie upon my knee held in his grasp. He sat downopposite 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 graypaper. "The supply of game for London is going steadily up,' itran. 'Head-keeper Hudson, we believe, has been now told to receiveall orders for fly-paper and for preservation of you hen-pheasant'slife.'
"I dare say my face looked as bewildered as yours did just nowwhen first I read this message. Then I reread it very carefully. Itwas evidently as I had thought, and some secret meaning must lieburied in this strange combination of words. Or could it be thatthere was a prearranged significance to such phrases as 'fly-paper'and hen-pheasant'? Such a meaning would be arbitrary and could notbe deduced in any way. And yet I was loath to believe that this wasthe case, and the presence of the word Hudson seemed to show thatthe subject of the message was as I had guessed, and that it wasfrom Beddoes rather than the sailor. I tried it backwards, but thecombination 'life pheasant's hen' was not encouraging. Then I triedalternate words, but neither 'the of for' nor 'supply game London'promised to throw any light upon it.
"And then in an instant the key of the riddle was in my hands,and I saw that every third word, beginning with the first, wouldgive a message which might well drive old Trevor to despair.
"It was short and terse, the warning, as I now read it to mycompanion:
"'The game is up. Hudson has told all. Fly for your life.'
"Victor Trevor sank his face into his shaking hands, 'It must bethat, I suppose,' said he. "This is worse than death, for it meansdisgrace 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 dealto us if we had no other means of discovering the sender. You seethat he has begun by writing "The...game...is," and so on.Afterwards he had, to fulfill the prearranged cipher, to fill inany two words in each space. He would naturally use the first wordswhich came to his mind, and if there were so many which referred tosport among them, you may be tolerably sure that he is either anardent shot or interested in breeding. Do you know anything of thisBeddoes?'
"'Why, now that you mention it,' said he, 'I remember that mypoor father used to have an invitation from him to shoot over hispreserves every autumn.'
"'Then it is undoubtedly from him that the note comes,' said I.'It only remains for us to find out what this secret was which thesailor Hudson seems to have held over the heads of these twowealthy and respected men.'
"'Alas, Holmes, I fear that it is one of sin and shame!' criedmy friend. 'But from you I shall have no secrets. Here is thestatement which was drawn up by my father when he knew that thedanger from Hudson had become imminent. I found it in the Japanesecabinet, as he told the doctor. Take it and read it to me, for Ihave neither the strength nor the courage to do it myself.'
"These are the very papers, Watson, which he handed to me, and Iwill read them to you, as I read them in the old study that nightto him. They are endorsed outside, as you see, 'Some particulars ofthe voyage of the bark Gloria Scott, from her leaving Falmouth onthe 8th October, 1855, to her destruction in N. Lat. 15 degrees20', W. Long. 25 degrees 14' on Nov. 6th.' It is in the form of aletter, and runs in this way:
"'My dear, dear son, now that approaching disgrace begins todarken the closing years of my life, I can write with all truth andhonesty that it is not the terror of the law, it is not the loss ofmy position in the county, nor is it my fall in the eyes of all whohave known me, which cuts me to the heart; but it is the thoughtthat you should come to blush for me--you who love me and who haveseldom, I hope, had reason to do other than respect me. But if theblow falls which is forever hanging over me, then I should wish youto read this, that you may know straight from me how far I havebeen to blame. On the other hand, if all should go well (which maykind God Almighty grant!), then if by any chance this paper shouldbe still undestroyed and should fall into your hands, I conjureyou, by all you hold sacred, by the memory of your dear mother, andby the love which had been between us, to hurl it into the fire andto never give one thought to it again.
"'If then your eye goes onto read this line, I know that I shallalready have been exposed and dragged from my home, or as is morelikely, for you know that my heart is weak, by lying with my tonguesealed forever in death. In either case the time for suppression ispast, and every word which I tell you is the naked truth, and thisI 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 tome a few weeks ago when your college friend addressed me in wordswhich seemed to imply that he had surprised my secret. As Armitageit was that I entered a London banking-house, and as Armitage I wasconvicted of breaking my country's laws, and was sentenced totransportation. Do not think very harshly of me, laddie. It was adebt of honor, so called, which I had to pay, and I used moneywhich was not my own to do it, in the certainty that I couldreplace it before there could be any possibility of its beingmissed. But the most dreadful ill-luck pursued me. The money whichI had reckoned upon never came to hand, and a premature examinationof accounts exposed my deficit. The case might have been dealtleniently 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 'tween-decksof the bark Gloria Scott, bound for Australia.
"'It was the year '55 when the Crimean war was at its height,and the old convict ships had been largely used as transports inthe Black Sea. The government was compelled, therefore, to usesmaller and less suitable vessels for sending out their prisoners.The Gloria Scott had been in the Chinese tea-trade, but she was anold-fashioned, heavy-bowed, broad-beamed craft, and the newclippers had cut her out. She was a five-hundred-ton boat; andbesides her thirty-eight jail-birds, she carried twenty-six of acrew, eighteen soldiers, a captain, three mates, a doctor, achaplain, and four warders. Nearly a hundred souls were in her, alltold, when we set sail from Falmouth.
"'The partitions between the cells of the convicts, instead ofbeing of thick oak, as is usual in convict-ships, were quite thinand frail. The man next to me, upon the aft side, was one whom Ihad particularly noticed when we were led down the quay. He was ayoung man with a clear, hairless face, a long, thin nose, andrather nut-cracker jaws. He carried his head very jauntily in theair, had a swaggering style of walking, and was, above all else,remarkable for his extraordinary height. I don't think any of ourheads would have come up to his shoulder, and I am sure that hecould not have measured less than six and a half feet. It wasstrange among so many sad and weary faces to see one which was fullof energy and resolution. The sight of it was to me like a fire ina snow-storm. I was glad, then, to find that he was my neighbor,and gladder still when, in the dead of the night, I heard a whisperclose to my ear, and found that he had managed to cut an opening inthe board which separated us.
"'"Hullo, chummy!" said he, "what's your name, and what are youhere for?"
"'I answered him, and asked in turn who I was talking with.
"'"I'm Jack Prendergast," said he, "and by God! You'll learn tobless my name before you've done with me."
"'I remembered hearing of his case, for it was one which hadmade an immense sensation throughout the country some time beforemy own arrest. He was a man of good family and of great ability,but on incurably vicious habits, who had be an ingenious system offraud obtained huge sums of money from the leading Londonmerchants.
"'"Ha, ha! You remember my case!" said he proudly.
"'"Very well, indeed."
"'"Then maybe you remember something queer about it?"
"'"What was that, then?"
"'"I'd had nearly a quarter of a million, hadn't I?"
"'"So it was said."
"'"But none was recovered, eh?"
"'"No."
"'"Well, where d'ye suppose the balance is?" he asked.
"'"I have no idea," said I.
"'"Right between my finger and thumb," he cried. "By God! I'vego more pounds to my name than you've hairs on your head. And ifyou've money, my son, and know how to handle it and spread it, youcan do anything. Now, you don't think it likely that a man whocould do anything is going to wear his breeches out sitting in thestinking hold of a rat-gutted, beetle-ridden, mouldy old coffin ofa Chin China coaster. No, sir, such a man will look after himselfand will look after his chums. You may lay to that! You hold on tohim, and you may kiss the book that he'll haul you through."
"'That was his style of talk, and at first I thought it meantnothing; but after a while, when he had tested me and sworn me inwith all possible solemnity, he let me understand that there reallywas a plot to gain command of the vessel. A dozen of the prisonershad hatched it before they came aboard, Prendergast was the leader,and his money was the motive power.
"'"I'd a partner," said he, "a rare good man, as true as a stockto a barrel. He's got the dibbs, he has, and where do you think heis at this moment? Why, he's the chaplain of this ship--thechaplain, no less! He came aboard with a black coat, and his papersright, and money enough in his box to buy the thing right up fromkeel to main-truck. The crew are his, body and soul. He could buy'em at so much a gross with a cash discount, and he did it beforeever they signed on. He's got two of the warders and Mereer, thesecond mate, and he'd get the captain himself, if he thought himworth it."
"'"What are we to do, then?" I asked.
"'"What do you think?" said he. "We'll 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. There's a brace of pistols forevery mother's son of us, and if we can't carry this ship, with thecrew at our back, it's time we were all sent to a young misses'boarding-school. You speak to your mate upon the left to-night, andsee if he is to be trusted."
"'I did so, and found my other neighbor to be a young fellow inmuch the same position as myself, whose crime had been forgery. Hisname was Evans, but he afterwards changed it, like myself, and hisis now a rich and prosperous man in the south of England. He wasready enough to join the conspiracy, as the only means of savingourselves, and before we had crossed the Bay there were only two ofthe prisoners who were not in the secret. One of these was of weakmind, and we did not dare to trust him, and the other was sufferingfrom jaundice, and could not be of any use to us.
"'From the beginning there was really nothing to prevent us fromtaking possession of the ship. The crew were a set of ruffians,specially picked for the job. The sham chaplain came into our cellsto exhort us, carrying a black bag, supposed to be full of tracts,and so often did he come that by the third day we had each stowedaway at the foot of our beds a file, a brace of pistols, a pound ofpowder, and twenty slugs. Two of the warders were agents ofPrendergast, and the second mate was his right-hand man. Thecaptain, the two mates, two warders Lieutenant Martin, his eighteensoldiers, and the doctor were all that we had against us. Yet, safeas it was, we determined to neglect no precaution, and to make ourattack suddenly by night. It came, however, more quickly than weexpected, and in this way.
"'One evening, about the third week after our start, the doctorhad come down to see one of the prisoners who was ill, and puttinghis hand down on the bottom of his bunk he felt the outline of thepistols. If he had been silent he might have blown the whole thing,but he was a nervous little chap, so he gave a cry of surprise andturned so pale that the man knew what was up in an instant andseized him. He was gagged before he could give the alarm, and tieddown upon the bed. He had unlocked the door that led to the deck,and we were through it in a rush. The two sentries were shot down,and so was a corporal who came running to see what was the matter.There were two more soldiers at the door of the state-room, andtheir muskets seemed not to be loaded, for they never fired uponus, and they were shot while trying to fix their bayonets. Then werushed on into the captain's cabin, but as we pushed open the doorthere was an explosion from within, and there he lay wit his brainssmeared over the chart of the Atlantic which was pinned upon thetable, while the chaplain stood with a smoking pistol in his handat his elbow. The two mates had both been seized by the crew, andthe whole business seemed to be settled.
"'The state-room was next the cabin, and we flocked in there andflopped down on the settees, all speaking together, for we werejust mad with the feeling that we were free once more. There werelockers all round, and Wilson, the sham chaplain, knocked one ofthem in, and pulled out a dozen of brown sherry. We cracked off thenecks of the bottles, poured the stuff out into tumblers, and werejust tossing them off, when in an instant without warning therecame the roar of muskets in our ears, and the saloon was so full ofsmoke that we could not see across the table. When it cleared againthe place was a shambles. Wilson and eight others were wriggling onthe top of each other on the floor, and the blood and the brownsherry on that table turn me sick now when I think of it. We wereso cowed by the sight that I think we should have given the job upif it had not been for Prendergast. He bellowed like a bull andrushed for the door with all that were left alive at his heels. Outwe ran, and there on the poop were the lieutenent and ten of hismen. The swing skylights above the saloon table had been a bitopen, and they had fired on us through the slit. We got on thembefore they could load, and they stood to it like men; but we hadthe upper hand of them, and in five minutes it was all over. MyGod! Was there ever a slaughter-house like that ship! Predergastwas like a raging devil, and he picked the soldiers up as if theyhad been children and threw them overboard alive or dead. There wasone sergeant that was horribly wounded and yet kept on swimming fora surprising time, until some one in mercy blew out his brains.When the fighting was over there was no one left of our enemiesexcept just the warders, the mates, and the doctor.
"'It was over them that the great quarrel arose. There were manyof us who were glad enough to win back our freedom, and yet who hadno wish to have murder on our souls. It was one thing to knock thesoldiers over with their muskets in their hands, and it was anotherto stand by while men were being killed in cold blood. Eight of us,five convicts and three sailors, said that we would not see itdone. But there was no moving Predergast and those who were withhim. Our only chance of safety lay in making a clean job of it,said he, and he would not leave a tongue with power to wag in awitness-box. It nearly came to our sharing the fate of theprisoners, but at last he said that if we wished we might take aboat and go. We jumped at the offer, for we were already sick ofthese blookthirsty doings, and we saw that there would be worsebefore it was done. We were given a suit of sailor togs each, abarrel of water, two casks, one of junk and one of biscuits, and acompass. Prendergast threw us over a chart, told us that we wereshipwrecked mariners whose ship had foundered in Lat. 15 degreesand Long 25 degrees west, and then cut the painter and let usgo.
"'And now I come to the most surprising part of my story, mydear son. The seamen had hauled the fore-yard aback during therising, but now as we left them they brought it square again, andas there was a light wind from the north and east the bark began todraw slowly away from us. Our boat lay, rising and falling, uponthe long, smooth rollers, and Evans and I, who were the mosteducated of the party, were sitting in the sheets working out ourposition and planning what coast we should make for. It was a nicequestion, for the Cape de Verds were about five hundred miles tothe 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 inthat direction, the bark being at that time nearly hull down on ourstarboard quarter. Suddenly as we looked at her we saw a denseblack cloud of smoke shoot up from her, which hung like a monstroustree upon the sky line. A few seconds later a roar like thunderburst upon our ears, and as the smoke thinned away there was nosign left of the Gloria Scott. In an instant we swept the boat'shead round again and pulled with all our strength for the placewhere the haze still trailing over the water marked the scene ofthis catastrophe.
"'It was a long hour before we reached it, and at first wefeared that we had come too late to save any one. A splintered boatand a number of crates and fragments of spars rising and falling onthe waves showed us where the vessel had foundered; but there wasno sign o life, and we had turned away in despair when we heard acry for help, and saw at some distance a piece of wreckage with aman lying stretched across it. When we pulled him aboard the boathe proved to be a young seaman of the name of Hudson, who was soburned and exhausted that he could give us no account of what hadhappened 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 twowarders had been shot and thrown overboard, and so also had thethird mate. Prendergast then descended into the 'tween-decks andwith his own hands cut the throat of the unfortunate surgeon. Thereonly remained the first mate, who was a bold and active man. Whenhe saw the convict approaching him with the bloody knife in hishand he kicked off his bonds, which he had somehow contrived toloosen, and rushing down the deck he plunged into the after-hold. Adozen convicts, who descended with their pistols in search of him,found him with a match-box in his hand seated beside an openpowder-barrel, which was one of a hundred carried on board, andswearing that he would blow all hands up if he were in any waymolested. An instant later the explosion occurred, though Hudsonthought it was caused by the misdirected bullet of one of theconvicts rather than the mate's match. Be the cause what it may, itwas the end of the Gloria Scott and of the rabble who held commandof her.
"'Such, in a few words, my dear boy, is the history of thisterrible business in which I was involved. Next day we were pickedup by the brig Hotspur, bound for Australia, whose captain found nodifficulty in believing that we were the survivors of a passengership which had foundered. The transport ship Gloria Scott was setdown by the Admiralty as being lost at sea, and no word has everleaked out as to her true fate. After an excellent voyage theHotspur landed us at Sydney, where Evans and I changed our namesand made our way to the diggings, where, among the crowds who weregathered from all nations, we had no difficulty in losing ourformer identities. The rest I need not relate. We prospered, wetraveled, we came back as rich colonials to England, and we boughtcountry estates. For more than twenty years we have led peacefuland 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. Hehad tracked us down somehow, and had set himself to live upon ourfears. You will understand now how it was that I strove to keep thepeace with him, and you will in some measure sympathize with me inthe fears which fill me, now that he has gone from me to his othervictim with threats upon his tongue.'
"Underneath is written in a hand so shaky as to be hardlylegible, 'Beddoes writes in cipher to say H. Has told all. SweetLord, have mercy on our souls!'
"That was the narrative which I read that night to young Trevor,and I think, Watson, that under the circumstances it was a dramaticone. The good fellow was heart-broken at it, and went out to theTerai tea planting, where I hear that he is doing well. As to thesailor and Beddoes, neither of them was ever heard of again afterthat day on which the letter of warning was written. They bothdisappeared utterly and completely. No complaint had been lodgedwith the police, so that Beddoes had mistaken a threat for a deed.Hudson had been seen lurking about, and it was believed by thepolice that he had done away with Beddoes and had fled. For myselfI believe that the truth was exactly the opposite. I think that itis most probable that Beddoes, pushed to desperation and believinghimself to have been already betrayed, had revenged himself uponHudson, and had fled from the country with as much money as hecould lay his hands on. Those are the facts of the case, Doctor,and if they are of any use to your collection, I am sure that theyare very heartily at your service."
ADVENTURE V. THE MUSGRAVE RITUAL
An anomaly which often struck me in the character of my friendSherlock Holmes was that, although in his methods of thought he wasthe neatest and most methodical of mankind, and although also heaffected a certain quiet primness of dress, he was none the less inhis personal habits one of the most untidy men that ever drove afellow-lodger to distraction. Not that I am in the leastconventional in that respect myself. The rough-and-tumble work inAfghanistan, coming on the top of a natural Bohemianism ofdisposition, has made me rather more lax than befits a medical manwho keeps his cigars in the coal-scuttle, his tobacco in the toeend of a Persian slipper, and his unanswered correspondencetransfixed by a jack-knife into the very centre of his woodenmantelpiece, then I begin to give myself virtuous airs. I havealways held, too, that pistol practice should be distinctly anopen-air pastime; and when Holmes, in one of his queer humors,would sit in an arm-chair with his hair-trigger and a hundred Boxercartridges, and proceed to adorn the opposite wall with a patrioticV. R. Done in bullet-pocks, I felt strongly that neither theatmosphere nor the appearance of our room was improved by it.
Our chambers were always full of chemicals and of criminalrelics which had a way of wandering into unlikely positions, and ofturning up in the butter-dish or in even less desirable places. Buthis papers were my great crux. He had a horror of destroyingdocuments, especially those which were connected with his pastcases, and yet it was only once in every year or two that he wouldmuster energy to docket and arrange them; for, as I have mentionedsomewhere in these incoherent memoirs, the outbursts of passionateenergy when he performed the remarkable feats with which his nameis associated were followed by reactions of lethargy during whichhe would lie about with his violin and his books, hardly movingsave fro the sofa to the table. Thus month after month his papersaccumulated, until every corner of the room was stacked withbundles of manuscript which were on no account to be burned, andwhich could not be put away save by their owner. One winter'snight, as we sat together by the fire, I ventured to suggest to himthat, as he had finished pasting extracts into his common-placebook, he might employ the next two hours in making our room alittle more habitable. He could not deny the justice of my request,so with a rather rueful face went off to his bedroom, from which hereturned presently pulling a large tin box behind him. This heplaced in the middle of the floor and, squatting down upon a stoolin front of it, he threw back the lid. I could see that it wasalready a third full of bundles of paper tied up with red tape intoseparate packages.
"There are cases enough here, Watson," said he, looking at mewith mischievous eyes. "I think that if you knew all that I had inthis box you would ask me to pull some out instead of puttingothers in."
"These are the records of your early work, then?" I asked. "Ihave often wished that I had notes of those cases."
"Yes, my boy, these were all done prematurely before mybiographer had come to glorify me." He lifted bundle after bundlein a tender, caressing sort of way. "They are not all successes,Watson," said he. "But there are some pretty little problems amongthem. Here's the record of the Tarleton murders, and the case ofVamberry, the wine merchant, and the adventure of the old Russianwoman, and the singular affair of the aluminium crutch, as well asa full account of Ricoletti of the club-foot, and his abominablewife. And here--ah, now, this really is something a littlerecherché."
He dived his arm down to the bottom of the chest, and brought upa small wooden box with a sliding lid, such as children's toys arekept in. From within he produced a crumpled piece of paper, andold-fashioned brass key, a peg of wood with a ball of stringattached to it, and three rusty old disks of metal.
"Well, my boy, what do you make of this lot?" he asked, smilingat my expression.
"It is a curious collection."
"Very curious, and the story that hangs round it will strike youas being more curious still."
"These relics have a history then?"
"So much so that they are history."
"What do you mean by that?"
Sherlock Holmes picked them up one by one, and laid them alongthe edge of the table. Then re reseated himself in his chair andlooked them over with a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes.
"These," said he, "are all that I have left to remind me of theadventure of the Musgrave Ritual."
I had heard him mention the case more than once, though I hadnever been able to gather the details. "I should be so glad," saidI, "if you would give me an account of it."
"And leave the litter as it is?" he cried, mischievously. "Yourtidiness won't bear much strain after all, Watson. But I should beglad that you should add this case to your annals, for there arepoints in it which make it quite unique in the criminal records ofthis or, I believe, of any other country. A collection of mytrifling achievements would certainly be incomplete which containedno 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, firstturned my attention in the direction of the profession which hasbecome my life's work. You see me now when my name has become knownfar and wide, and when I am generally recognized both by the publicand by the official force as being a final court of appeal indoubtful cases. Even when you knew me first, at the time of theaffair which you have commemorated in 'A Study in Scarlet,' I hadalready established a considerable, though not a very lucrative,connection. You can hardly realize, then, how difficult I found itat first, and how long I had to wait before I succeeded in makingany headway.
"When I first came up to London I had rooms in Montague Street,just round the corner from the British Museum, and there I waited,filling in my too abundant leisure time by studying all thosebranches of science which might make me more efficient. Now andagain cases came in my way, principally through the introduction ofold fellow-students, for during my last years at the Universitythere was a good deal of talk there about myself and my methods.The third of these cases was that of the Musgrave Ritual, and it isto the interest which was aroused by that singular chain of events,and the large issues which proved to be at stake, that I trace myfirst stride towards to position which I now hold.
"Reginald Musgrave had been in the same college as myself, and Ihad some slight acquaintance with him. He was not generally popularamong the undergraduates, though it always seemed to me that whatwas set down as pride was really an attempt to cover extremenatural diffidence. In appearance he was a man of exceedinglyaristocratic type, thin, high-nosed, and large-eyed, with languidand yet courtly manners. He was indeed a scion of one of the veryoldest families in the kingdom, though his branch was a cadet onewhich had separated from the northern Musgraves some time in thesixteenth century, and had established itself in western Sussex,where the Manor House of Hurlstone is perhaps the oldest inhabitedbuilding in the county. Something of his birth place seemed tocling to the man, and I never looked at his pale, keen face or thepoise 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 morethan once he expressed a keen interest in my methods of observationand inference.
"For four years I had seen nothing of him until one morning hewalked into my room in Montague Street. He had changed little, wasdressed like a young man of fashion--he was always a bit of adandy--and preserved the same quiet, suave manner which hadformerly distinguished him.
"'How has all gone wit you Musgrave?" I asked, after we hadcordially shaken hands.
"'You probably heard of my poor father's death,' said he; 'hewas carried off about two years ago. Since then I have of coursehad the Hurlstone estates to manage, and as I am member for mydistrict as well, my life has been a busy one. But I understand,Holmes, that you are turning to practical ends those powers withwhich 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 inexplicablebusiness.'
"You can imagine with what eagerness I listened to him, Watson,for the very chance for which I had been panting during all thosemonths of inaction seemed to have come within my reach. In myinmost heart I believed that I could succeed where others failed,and now I had the opportunity to test myself.
"'Pray, let me have the details,' I cried.
"Reginald Musgrave sat down opposite to me, and lit thecigarette which I had pushed towards him.
"'You must know,' said he, 'that though I am a bachelor, I haveto keep up a considerable staff of servants at Hurlstone, for it isa rambling old place, and takes a good deal of looking after. Ipreserve, too, and in the pheasant months I usually have ahouse-party, so that it would not do to be short-handed. Altogetherthere are eight maids, the cook, the butler, two footmen, and aboy. The garden and the stables of course have a separatestaff.
"'Of these servants the one who had been longest in our servicewas Brunton the butler. He was a young school-master out of placewhen he was first taken up by my father, but he was a man of greatenergy and character, and he soon became quite invaluable in thehousehold. He was a well-grown, handsome man, with a splendidforehead, and though he has been with us for twenty years he cannotbe more than forty now. With his personal advantages and hisextraordinary gifts--for he can speak several languages and playnearly every musical instrument--it is wonderful that he shouldhave been satisfied so long in such a position, but I suppose thathe was comfortable, and lacked energy to make any change. Thebutler of Hurlstone is always a thing that is remembered by all whovisit us.
"'But this paragon has one fault. He is a bit of a Don Juan, andyou can imagine that for a man like him it is not a very difficultpart to play in a quiet country district. When he was married itwas all right, but since he has been a widower we have had no endof trouble with him. A few months ago we were in hopes that he wasabout to settle down again for he became engaged to Rachel Howells,our second house-maid; but he has thrown her over since then andtaken up with Janet Tregellis, the daughter of the headgame-keeper. Rachel--who is a very good girl, but of an excitableWelsh temperament--had a sharp touch of brain-fever, and goes aboutthe house now--or did until yesterday--like a black-eyed shadow ofher former self. That was our first drama at Hurlstone; but asecond one came to drive it from our minds, and it was prefaced bythe disgrace and dismissal of butler Brunton.
"'This was how it came about. I have said that the man wasintelligent, and this very intelligence has caused his ruin, for itseems to have led to an insatiable curiosity about things which didnot in the least concern him. I had no idea of the lengths to whichthis would carry him, until the merest accident opened my eyes toit.
"'I have said that the house is a rambling one. One day lastweek--on Thursday night, to be more exact--I found that I could notsleep, having foolishly taken a cup of strong café noirafter my dinner. After struggling against it until two in themorning, I felt that it was quite hopeless, so I rose and lit thecandle with the intention of continuing a novel which I wasreading. The book, however, had been left in the billiard-room, soI pulled on my dressing-gown and started off to get it.
"'In order to reach the billiard-room I had to descend a flightof stairs and then to cross the head of a passage which led to thelibrary and the gun-room. You can imagine my surprise when, as Ilooked down this corridor, I saw a glimmer of light coming from theopen door of the library. I had myself extinguished the lamp andclosed the door before coming to bed. Naturally my first thoughtwas of burglars. The corridors at Hurlstone have their wallslargely decorated with trophies of old weapons. From one of these Ipicked a battle-axe, and then, leaving my candle behind me, I crepton tiptoe down the passage and peeped in at the open door.
"'Brunton, the butler, was in the library. He was sitting, fullydressed, in an easy-chair, with a slip of paper which looked lake amap upon his knee, and his forehead sunk forward upon his hand indeep thought. I stood dumb with astonishment, watching him from thedarkness. A small taper on the edge of the table shed a feeblelight which sufficed to show me that he was fully dressed.Suddenly, as I looked, he rose from his chair, and walking over toa bureau at the side, he unlocked it and drew out one of thedrawers. From this he took a paper, and returning to his seat heflattened it out beside the taper on the edge of the table, andbegan to study it with minute attention. My indignation at thiscalm examination of our family documents overcame me so far that Itook a step forward, and Brunton, looking up, saw me standing inthe doorway. He sprang to his feet, his face turned livid withfear, and he thrust into his breast the chart-like paper which hehad 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, andslunk past me without a word. The taper was still on the table, andby its light I glanced to see what the paper was which Brunton hadtaken from the bureau. To my surprise it was nothing of anyimportance at all, but simply a copy of the questions and answersin the singular old observance called the Musgrave Ritual. It is asort of ceremony peculiar to our family, which each Musgrave forcenturies past has gone through on his coming of age--a thing ofprivate interest, and perhaps of some little importance to thearchaeologist, like our own blazonings and charges, but of nopractical use whatever.'
"'We had better come back to the paper afterwards,' said I.
"'If you think it really necessary,' he answered, with somehesitation. 'To continue my statement, however: I relocked thebureau, using the key which Brunton had left, and I had turned togo when I was surprised to find that the butler had returned, andwas standing before me.
"'"Mr. Musgrave, sir," he cried, in a voice which was hoarsewith emotion, "I can't bear disgrace, sir. I've always been proudabove my station in life, and disgrace would kill me. My blood willbe on your head, sir--it will, indeed--if you drive me to despair.If you cannot keep me after what has passed, then for God's sakelet me give you notice and leave in a month, as if of my own freewill. I could stand that, Mr. Musgrave, but not to be cast outbefore all the folk that I know so well."
"'"You don't deserve much consideration, Brunton," I answered."Your conduct has been most infamous. However, as you have been along time in the family, I have no wish to bring public disgraceupon you. A month, however is too long. Take yourself away in aweek, and give what reason you like for going."
"'"Only a week, sir?" he cried, in a despairing voice. "Afortnight--say at least a fortnight!"
"'"A week," I repeated, "and you may consider yourself to havebeen very leniently dealt with."
"'He crept away, his face sunk upon his breast, like a brokenman, while I put out the light and returned to my room.
""For two days after this Brunton was most assiduous in hisattention to his duties. I made no allusion to what had passed, andwaited with some curiosity to see how he would cover his disgrace.On the third morning, however he did not appear, as was his custom,after breakfast to receive my instructions for the day. As I leftthe dining-room I happened to meet Rachel Howells, the maid. I havetold you that she had only recently recovered from an illness, andwas looking so wretchedly pale and wan that I remonstrated with herfor being at work.
"'"You should be in bed," I said. "Come back to your duties whenyou are stronger."
"'She looked at me with so strange an expression that I began tosuspect that her brain was affected.
"'"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, he is gone, he is gone!" She fell back against the wall withshriek after shriek of laughter, while I, horrified at this suddenhysterical attack, rushed to the bell to summon help. The girl wastaken to her room, still screaming and sobbing, while I madeinquiries about Brunton. There was no doubt about it that he haddisappeared. His bed had not been slept in, he had been seen by noone since he had retired to his room the night before, and yet itwas difficult to see how he could have left the house, as bothwindows and doors were found to be fastened in the morning. Hisclothes, his watch, and even his money were in his room, but theblack suit which he usually wore was missing. His slippers, too,were gone, but his boots were left behind. Where then could butlerBrunton have gone in the night, and what could have become of himnow?
"'Of course we searched the house from cellar to garret, butthere was no trace of him. It is, as I have said, a labyrinth of anold house, especially the original wing, which is now practicallyuninhabited; but we ransacked every room and cellar withoutdiscovering the least sign of the missing man. It was incredible tome that he could have gone away leaving all his property behindhim, and yet where could he be? I called in the local police, butwithout success. Rain had fallen on the night before and weexamined the lawn and the paths all round the house, but in vain.Matters were in this state, when a new development quite drew ourattention away from the original mystery.
"'For two days Rachel Howells had been so ill, sometimesdelirious, sometimes hysterical, that a nurse had been employed tosit up with her at night. On the third night after Brunton'sdisappearance, the nurse, finding her patient sleeping nicely, haddropped into a nap in the arm-chair, when shoe woke in the earlymorning to find the bed empty, the window open, and no signs of theinvalid. I was instantly aroused, and, with the two footmen,started off at once in search of the missing girl. It was notdifficult to tell the direction which she had taken, for, startingfrom under her window, we could follow her footmarks easily acrossthe lawn to the edge of the mere, where they vanished close to thegravel path which leads out of the grounds. The lake there is eightfeet deep, and you can imagine our feelings when we saw that thetrail of the poor demented girl came to an end at the edge ofit.
"'Of course, we had the drags at once, and set to work torecover the remains, but no trace of the body could we find. On theother hand, we brought to the surface an object of a mostunexpected kind. It was a linen bag which contained within it amass of old rusted and discolored metal and several dull-coloredpieces of pebble or glass. This strange find was all that we couldget from the mere, and, although we made every possible search andinquiry yesterday, we know nothing of the fate either of RachelHowells or of Richard Brunton. The county police are at their wits'end, and I have come up to you as a last resource.'
"You can imagine, Watson, with what eagerness I listened to thisextraordinary sequence of events, and endeavored to piece themtogether, and to devise some common thread upon which they mightall hang. The butler was gone. The maid was gone. The maid hadloved the butler, but had afterwards had cause to hate him. She wasof Welsh blood, fiery and passionate. She had been terribly excitedimmediately after his disappearance. She had flung into the lake abag containing some curious contents. These were all factors whichhad to be taken into consideration, and yet none of them got quiteto the heart of the matter. What was the starting-point of thischain of events? There lay the end of this tangled line.
"'I must see that paper, Musgrave,' said I, 'which this butlerof your thought it worth his while to consult, even at the risk ofthe loss of his place.'
"'It is rather an absurd business, this ritual of ours,' heanswered. 'But it has at least the saving grace of antiquity toexcuse it. I have a copy of the questions and answers here if youcare to run your eye over them.'
"He handed me the very paper which I have here, Watson, and thisis the strange catechism to which each Musgrave had to submit whenhe came to man's estate. I will read you the questions and answersas they stand.
"'Whose was it?'
"'His who is gone.'
"'Who shall have it?'
"'He who will come.'
"'Where was the sun?'
"'Over the oak.'
"'Where was the shadow?'
"'Under the elm.'
"How was it stepped?'
"'North by ten and by ten, east by five and by five, south bytwo and by two, west by one and by one, and so under.'
"'What shall we give for it?'
"'All that is ours.'
"'Why should we give it?'
"'For the sake of the trust.'
"'The original has no date, but is in the spelling of the middleof the seventeenth century,' remarked Musgrave. 'I am afraid,however, that it can be of little help to you in solving thismystery.'
"'At least,' said I, 'it gives us another mystery, and one whichis even more interesting than the first. It may be that thesolution of the one may prove to be the solution of the other. Youwill excuse me, Musgrave, if I say that your butler appears to meto have been a very clever man, and to have had a clearer insightthat ten generations of his masters.'
"'I hardly follow you,' said Musgrave. 'The paper seems to me tobe of no practical importance.'
"'But to me it seems immensely practical, and I fancy thatBrunton took the same view. He had probably seen it before thatnight on which you caught him.'
"'It is very possible. We took no pains to hide it.'
"'He simply wished, I should imagine, to refresh his memory uponthat last occasion. He had, as I understand, some sort of map orchart which he was comparing with the manuscript, and which hethrust into his pocket when you appeared.'
"'That is true. But what could he have to do with this oldfamily custom of ours, and what does this rigmarole mean?'
"'I don't think that we should have much difficulty indetermining that,' said I; 'with your permission we will take thefirst train down to Sussex, and go a little more deeply into thematter upon the spot.'
"The same afternoon saw us both at Hurlstone. Possibly you haveseen pictures and read descriptions of the famous old building, soI will confine my account of it to saying that it is built in theshape of an L, the long arm being the more modern portion, and theshorter the ancient nucleus, from which the other had developed.Over the low, heavily-lintelled door, in the centre of this oldpart, is chiseled the date, 1607, but experts are agreed that thebeams and stone-work are really much older than this. Theenormously thick walls and tiny windows of this part had in thelast century driven the family into building the new wing, and theold one was used now as a store-house and a cellar, when it wasused at all. A splendid park with fine old timber surrounds thehouse, and the lake, to which my client had referred, lay close tothe avenue, about tow hundred yards from the building.
"I was already firmly convinced, Watson, that there were notthree separate mysteries here, but one only, and that if I couldread the Musgrave Ritual aright I should hold in my hand the cluewhich would lead me to the truth concerning both the butler Bruntonand the maid Howells. To that then I turned all my energies. Whyshould this servant be so anxious to master this old formula?Evidently because he saw something in it which had escaped allthose generations of country squires, and from which he expectedsome personal advantage. What was it then, and how had it affectedhis fate?
"It was perfectly obvious to me, on reading the ritual, that themeasurements must refer to some spot to which the rest of thedocument alluded, and that if we could find that spot, we should bein a fair way towards finding what the secret was which the oldMusgraves had thought it necessary to embalm in so curious afashion. There were two guides given us to start with, an oak andan elm. As to the oak there could be no question at all. Right infront of the house, upon the left-hand side of the drive, therestood a patriarch among oaks, one of the most magnificent treesthat I have ever seen.
"'That was there when you ritual was drawn up,' said I, as wedrove past it.
"'It was there at the Norman Conquest in all probability,' heanswered. 'It has a girth of twenty-three feet.'
"'Have you any old elms?' I asked.
"'There used to be a very old one over yonder but it was struckby lightning ten years ago, and we cut down the stump,'
"'You can see where it used to be?'
"'Oh, yes.'
"'There are no other elms?'
"'No old ones, but plenty of beeches.'
"'I should like to see where it grew.'
"We had driven up in a dogcart, and my client led me away atonce, without our entering the house, to the scar on the lawn wherethe elm had stood. It was nearly midway between the oak and thehouse. My investigation seemed to be progressing.
"'I suppose it is impossible to find out how high the elm was?'I asked.
"'I can give you it at once. It was sixty-four feet.'
"'How do you come to know it?' I asked, in surprise.
"'When my old tutor used to give me an exercise in trigonometry,it always took the shape of measuring heights. When I was a lad Iworked out 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 aquestion?'
"Reginald Musgrave looked at me in astonishment. 'Now that youcall it to my mind,' he answered, 'Brunton did ask me about theheight of the tree some months ago, in connection with some littleargument with the groom,'
"This was excellent news, Watson, for it showed me that I was onthe right road. I looked up at the sun. It was low in the heavens,and I calculated that in less than an hour it would lie just abovethe topmost branches of the old oak. One condition mentioned in theRitual would then be fulfilled. And the shadow of the elm must meanthe farther end of the shadow, otherwise the trunk would have beenchosen as the guide. I had, then, to find where the far end of theshadow would fall when the sun was just clear of the oak."
"That must have been difficult, Holmes, when the elm was nolonger there."
"Well, at least I knew that if Brunton could do it, I couldalso. Besides, there was no real difficulty. I went with Musgraveto his study and whittled myself this peg, to which I tied thislong string with a knot at each yard. Then I took two lengths of afishing-rod, which came to just six feet, and I went back with myclient to where the elm had been. The sun was just grazing the topof the oak. I fastened the rod on end, marked out the direction ofthe shadow, and measured it. It was nine feet in length.
"Of course the calculation now was a simple one. If a rod of sixfeet threw a shadow of nine, a tree of sixty-four feet would throwone of ninety-six, and the line of the one would of course the lineof the other. I measured out the distance, which brought me almostto the wall of the house, and I thrust a peg into the spot. You canimagine my exultation, Watson, when within two inches of my peg Isaw a conical depression in the ground. I knew that it was the markmade by Brunton in his measurements, and that I was still upon histrail.
"From this starting-point I proceeded to step, having firsttaken the cardinal points by my pocket-compass. Ten steps with eachfoot took me along parallel with the wall of the house, and again Imarked my spot with a peg. Then I carefully paced off five to theeast and two to the south. It brought me to the very threshold ofthe old door. Two steps to the west meant now that I was to go twopaces down the stone-flagged passage, and this was the placeindicated by the Ritual.
"Never have I felt such a cold chill of disappointment, Watson.For a moment is seemed to me that there must be some radicalmistake in my calculations. The setting sun shone full upon thepassage floor, and I could see that the old, foot-worn gray stoneswith which it was paved were firmly cemented together, and hadcertainly not been moved for many a long year. Brunton had not beenat work here. I tapped upon the floor, but it sounded the same allover, and there was no sign of any crack or crevice. But,Fortunately, Musgrave, who had begun to appreciate the meaning ofmy proceedings, and who was now as excited as myself, took out hismanuscript to check my calculation.
"'And under,' he cried. 'You have omitted the "and under."'
"I had thought that it meant that we were to dig, but now, ofcourse, I saw at once that I was wrong. 'There is a cellar underthis then?' I cried.
"'Yes, and as old as the house. Down here, through thisdoor.'
"We went down a winding stone stair, and my companion, strikinga match, lit a large lantern which stood on a barrel in the corner.In an instant it was obvious that we had at last come upon the trueplace, and that we had not been the only people to visit the spotrecently.
"It had been used for the storage of wood, but the billets,which had evidently been littered over the floor, were now piled atthe sides, so as to leave a clear space in the middle. In thisspace lay a large and heavy flagstone with a rusted iron ring inthe centre to which a thick shepherd's-check muffler wasattached.
"'By Jove!' cried my client. 'That's Brunton's muffler. I haveseen it on him, and could swear to it. What has the villain beendoing here?'
"At my suggestion a couple of the county police were summoned tobe present, and I then endeavored to raise the stone by pulling onthe cravat. I could only move it slightly, and it was with the aidof one of the constables that I succeeded at last in carrying it toone side. A black hole yawned beneath into which we all peered,while Musgrave, kneeling at the side, pushed down the lantern.
"A small chamber about seven feet deep and four feet square layopen to us. At one side of this was a squat, brass-bound woodenbox, the lid of which was hinged upwards, with this curiousold-fashioned key projecting from the lock. It was furred outsideby a thick layer of dust, and damp and worms had eaten through thewood, so that a crop of livid fungi was growing on the inside ofit. Several discs of metal, old coins apparently, such as I holdhere, were scattered over the bottom of the box, but it containednothing else.
"At the moment, however, we had no thought for the old chest,for our eyes were riveted upon that which crouched beside it. Itwas the figure of a man, clad in a suit of black, who squatted downupon him hams with his forehead sunk upon the edge of the box andhis two arms thrown out on each side of it. The attitude had drawnall the stagnant blood to the face, and no man could haverecognized that distorted liver-colored countenance; but hisheight, his dress, and his hair were all sufficient to show myclient, when we had drawn the body up, that it was indeed hismissing butler. He had been dead some days, but there was no woundor bruise upon his person to show how he had met his dreadful end.When his body had been carried from the cellar we found ourselvesstill confronted with a problem which was almost as formidable asthat with which we had started.
"I confess that so far, Watson, I had been disappointed in myinvestigation. I had reckoned upon solving the matter when once Ihad found the place referred to in the Ritual; but now I was there,and was apparently as far as ever from knowing what it was whichthe family had concealed with such elaborate precautions. It istrue that I had thrown a light upon the fate of Brunton, but now Ihad to ascertain how that fate had come upon him, and what part hadbeen played in the matter by the woman who had disappeared. I satdown upon a keg in the corner and thought the whole mattercarefully over.
"You know my methods in such cases, Watson. I put myself in theman's place and, having first gauged his intelligence, I try toimagine how I should myself have proceeded under the samecircumstances. In this case the matter was simplified by Brunton'sintelligence being quite first-rate, so that it was unnecessary tomake any allowance for the personal equation, as the astronomershave dubbed it. He know that something valuable was concealed. Hehad spotted the place. He found that the stone which covered it wasjust too heavy for a man to move unaided. What would he do next? Hecould not get help from outside, even if he had some one whom hecould trust, without the unbarring of doors and considerable riskof detection. It was better, if he could, to have his helpmateinside the house. But whom could he ask? This girl had been devotedto him. A man always finds it hard to realize that he may havefinally lost a woman's love, however badly he may have treated her.He would try by a few attentions to make his peace with the girlHowells, and then would engage her as his accomplice. Together theywould come at night to the cellar, and their united force wouldsuffice to raise the stone. So far I could follow their actions asif I had actually seen them.
"But for two of them, and one a woman, it must have been heavywork the raising of that stone. A burly Sussex policeman and I hadfound it no light job. What would they do to assist them? Probablywhat I should have done myself. I rose and examined carefully thedifferent billets of wood which were scattered round the floor.Almost at once I came upon what I expected. One piece, about threefeet in length, had a very marked indentation at one end, whileseveral were flattened at the sides as if they had been compressedby some considerable weight. Evidently, as they had dragged thestone up they had thrust the chunks of wood into the chink, untilat last, when the opening was large enough to crawl through, theywould hold it open by a billet placed lengthwise, which might verywell become indented at the lower end, since the whole weight ofthe stone would press it down on to the edge of this other slab. Sofar I was still on safe ground.
"And now how was I to proceed to reconstruct this midnightdrama? Clearly, only one could fit into the hole, and that one wasBrunton. The girl must have waited above. Brunton then unlocked thebox, handed up the contents presumably--since they were not to befound--and then--and then what happened?
"What smouldering fire of vengeance had suddenly sprung intoflame in this passionate Celtic woman's soul when she saw the manwho had wronged her--wronged her, perhaps, far more than wesuspected--in her power? Was it a chance that the wood had slipped,and that the stone had shut Brunton into what had become hissepulchre? Had she only been guilty of silence as to his fate? Orhad some sudden blow from her hand dashed the support away and sentthe slab crashing down into its place? Be that as it might, Iseemed to see that woman's figure still clutching at her treasuretrove and flying wildly up the winding stair, with her ears ringingperhaps with the muffled screams from behind her and with thedrumming of frenzied hands against the slab of stone which waschoking her faithless lover's life out.
"Here was the secret of her blanched face, her shaken nerves,her peals of hysterical laughter on the next morning. But what hadbeen in the box? What had she done with that? Of course, it musthave been the old metal and pebbles which my client had draggedfrom the mere. She had thrown them in there at the firstopportunity to remove the last trace of her crime.
"For twenty minutes I had sat motionless, thinking the matterout. Musgrave still stood with a very pale face, swinging hislantern and peering down into the hole.
"'These are coins of Charles the First,' said he, holding outthe few which had been in the box; 'you see we were right in fixingour date for the Ritual.'
"'We may find something else of Charles the First,' I cried, asthe probable meaning of the first two question of the Ritual brokesuddenly upon me. 'Let me see the contents of the bag which youfished from the mere.'
"We ascended to his study, and he laid the debris before me. Icould understand his regarding it as of small importance when Ilooked at it, for the metal was almost black and the stoneslustreless and dull. I rubbed one of them on my sleeve, however,and it glowed afterwards like a spark in the dark hollow of myhand. The metal work was in the form of a double ring, but it hadbeen bent and twisted out of its original shape.
"'You must bear in mind,' said I, 'that the royal party madehead in England even after the death of the king, and that whenthey at last fled they probably left many of their most preciouspossession buried behind them, with the intention of returning forthem in more peaceful times.'
"'My ancestor, Sir Ralph Musgrave, as a prominent Cavalier andthe right-hand man of Charles the Second in his wanderings,' saidmy friend.
"'Ah, indeed!' I answered. 'Well now, I think that really shouldgive us the last link that we wanted. I must congratulate you oncoming into the possession, though in rather a tragic manner of arelic which is of great intrinsic value, but of even greaterimportance as an historical curiosity.'
"'What is it, then?' he gasped in astonishment.
"'It is nothing less than the ancient crown of the kings ofEngland.'
"'The crown!'
"'Precisely. Consider what the Ritual says: How does it run?"Whose was it?" "His who is gone." That was after the execution ofCharles. Then, "Who shall have it?" "He who will come." That wasCharles the Second, whose advent was already foreseen. There can, Ithink, be no doubt that this battered and shapeless diadem onceencircled the brows of the royal Stuarts.'
"'And how came it in the pond?'
"'Ah, that is a question that will take some time to answer.'And with that I sketched out to him the whole long chain of surmiseand of proof which I had constructed. The twilight had closed inand the moon was shining brightly in the sky before my narrativewas finished.
"'And how was it then that Charles did not get his crown when hereturned?' asked Musgrave, pushing back the relic into its linenbag.
"'Ah, there you lay your finger upon the one point which weshall probably never be able to clear up. It is likely that theMusgrave who held the secret died in the interval, and by someoversight left this guide to his descendant without explaining themeaning of it. From that day to this it has been handed down fromfather to son, until at last it came within reach of a man who toreits secret out of it and lost his life in the venture.'
"And that's the story of the Musgrave Ritual, Watson. They havethe crown down at Hurlstone--though they had some legal bother anda considerable sum to pay before they were allowed to retain it. Iam sure that if you mentioned my name they would be happy to showit to you. Of the woman nothing was ever heard, and the probabilityis that she got away out of England and carried herself and thememory of her crime to some land beyond the seas."
ADVENTURE VI. THE REIGATE PUZZLE
It was some time before the health of my friend Mr. SherlockHolmes recovered from the strain caused by his immense exertions inthe spring of '87. The whole question of the Netherland-SumatraCompany and of the colossal schemes of Baron Maupertuis are toorecent in the minds of the public, and are too intimately concernedwith politics and finance to be fitting subjects for this series ofsketches. They led, however, in an indirect fashion to a singularand complex problem which gave my friend an opportunity ofdemonstrating the value of a fresh weapon among the many with whichhe waged his life-long battle against crime.
On referring to my notes I see that it was upon the 14th ofApril that I received a telegram from Lyons which informed me thatHolmes was lying ill in the Hotel Dulong. Within twenty-four hoursI was in his sick-room, and was relieved to find that there wasnothing formidable in his symptoms. Even his iron constitution,however, had broken down under the strain of an investigation whichhad extended over two months, during which period he had neverworked less than fifteen hours a day, and had more than once, as heassured me, kept to his task for five days at a stretch. Even thetriumphant issue of his labors could not save him from reactionafter so terrible an exertion, and at a time when Europe wasringing with his name and when his room was literally ankle-deepwith congratulatory telegrams I found him a prey to the blackestdepression. Even the knowledge that he had succeeded where thepolice of three countries had failed, and that he had outmanoeuvredat every point the most accomplished swindler in Europe, wasinsufficient to rouse him from his nervous prostration.
Three days later we were back in Baker Street together; but itwas evident that my friend would be much the better for a change,and the thought of a week of spring time in the country was full ofattractions to me also. My old friend, Colonel Hayter, who had comeunder my professional care in Afghanistan, had now taken a housenear Reigate in Surrey, and had frequently asked me to come down tohim upon a visit. On the last occasion he had remarked that if myfriend would only come with me he would be glad to extend hishospitality to him also. A little diplomacy was needed, but whenHolmes understood that the establishment was a bachelor one, andthat he would be allowed the fullest freedom, he fell in with myplans and a week after our return from Lyons we were under theColonel's roof. Hayter was a fine old soldier who had seen much ofthe world, and he soon found, as I had expected, that Holmes and hehad much in common.
On the evening of our arrival we were sitting in the Colonel'sgun-room after dinner, Holmes stretched upon the sofa, while Hayterand I looked over his little armory of Eastern weapons.
"By the way," said he suddenly, "I think I'll take one of thesepistols upstairs with me in case we have an alarm."
"An alarm!" said I.
"Yes, we've had a scare in this part lately. Old Acton, who isone of our county magnates, had his house broken into last Monday.No great damage done, but the fellows are still at large."
"No clue?" asked Holmes, cocking his eye at the Colonel.
"None as yet. But the affair is a pretty one, one of our littlecountry crimes, which must seem too small for your attention, Mr.Holmes, after this great international affair."
Holmes waved away the compliment, though his smile showed thatit had pleased him.
"Was there any feature of interest?"
"I fancy not. The thieves ransacked the library and got verylittle for their pains. The whole place was turned upside down,drawers burst open, and presses ransacked, with the result that anodd volume of Pope's 'Homer,' two plated candlesticks, an ivoryletter-weight, a small oak barometer, and a ball of twine are allthat have vanished."
"What an extraordinary assortment!" I exclaimed.
"Oh, the fellows evidently grabbed hold of everything they couldget."
Holmes grunted from the sofa.
"The county police ought to make something of that," said he;"why, it is surely obvious that--"
But I held up a warning finger.
"You are here for a rest, my dear fellow. For Heaven's sakedon't get started on a new problem when your nerves are all inshreds."
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 cautionshould be wasted, for next morning the problem obtruded itself uponus in such a way that it was impossible to ignore it, and ourcountry visit took a turn which neither of us could haveanticipated. We were at breakfast when the Colonel's butler rushedin with all his propriety shaken out of him.
"Have you heard the news, sir?" he gasped. "At the Cunningham'ssir!"
"Burglary!" cried the Colonel, with his coffee-cup inmid-air.
"Murder!"
The Colonel whistled. "By Jove!" said he. "Who's killed, then?The J.P. or his son?"
"Neither, sir. It was William the coachman. Shot through theheart, sir, and never spoke again."
"Who shot him, then?"
"The burglar, sir. He was off like a shot and got clean away.He'd just broke in at the pantry window when William came on himand met his end in saving his master's property."
"What time?"
"It was last night, sir, somewhere about twelve."
"Ah, then, we'll step over afterwards," said the Colonel, coollysettling down to his breakfast again. "It's a baddish business," headded when the butler had gone; "he's our leading man about here,is old Cunningham, and a very decent fellow too. He'll be cut upover this, for the man has been in his service for years and was agood servant. It's evidently the same villains who broke intoActon's."
"And stole that very singular collection," said Holmes,thoughtfully.
"Precisely."
"Hum! It may prove the simplest matter in the world, but all thesame at first glance this is just a little curious, is it not? Agang of burglars acting in the country might be expected to varythe scene of their operations, and not to crack two cribs in thesame district within a few days. When you spoke last night oftaking precautions I remember that it passed through my mind thatthis was probably the last parish in England to which the thief orthieves would be likely to turn their attention--which shows that Ihave still much to learn."
"I fancy it's some local practitioner," said the Colonel. "Inthat case, of course, Acton's and Cunningham's are just the placeshe would go for, since they are far the largest about here."
"And richest?"
"Well, they ought to be, but they've had a lawsuit for someyears which has sucked the blood out of both of them, I fancy. OldActon has some claim on half Cunningham's estate, and the lawyershave been at it with both hands."
"If it's a local villain there should not be much difficulty inrunning him down," said Holmes with a yawn. "All right, Watson, Idon't intend to meddle."
"Inspector Forrester, sir," said the butler, throwing open thedoor.
The official, a smart, keen-faced young fellow, stepped into theroom. "Good-morning, Colonel," said he; "I hope I don't intrude,but we hear that Mr. Holmes of Baker Street is here."
The Colonel waved his hand towards my friend, and the 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 youcan let us have a few details." As he leaned back in his chair inthe familiar attitude I knew that the case was hopeless.
"We had no clue in the Acton affair. But here we have plenty togo on, and there's no doubt it is the same party in each case. Theman was seen."
"Ah!"
"Yes, sir. But he was off like a deer after the shot that killedpoor William Kirwan was fired. Mr. Cunningham saw him from thebedroom window, and Mr. Alec Cunningham saw him from the backpassage. It was quarter to twelve when the alarm broke out. Mr.Cunningham had just got into bed, and Mr. Alec was smoking a pipein his dressing-gown. They both heard William the coachman callingfor help, and Mr. Alec ran down to see what was the matter. Theback door was open, and as he came to the foot of the stairs he sawtwo men wrestling together outside. One of them fired a shot, theother dropped, and the murderer rushed across the garden and overthe hedge. Mr. Cunningham, looking out of his bedroom, saw thefellow as he gained the road, but lost sight of him at once. Mr.Alec stopped to see if he could help the dying man, and so thevillain got clean away. Beyond the fact that he was a middle-sizedman and dressed in some dark stuff, we have no personal clue; butwe are making energetic inquiries, and if he is a stranger we shallsoon find him out."
"What was this William doing there? Did he say anything beforehe died?"
"Not a word. He lives at the lodge with his mother, and as hewas a very faithful fellow we imagine that he walked up to thehouse with the intention of seeing that all was right there. Ofcourse this Acton business has put every one on their guard. Therobber must have just burst open the door--the lock has beenforced--when William came upon him."
"Did William say anything to his mother before going out?"
"She is very old and deaf, and we can get no information fromher. The shock has made her half-witted, but I understand that shewas never very bright. There is one very important circumstance,however. Look at this!"
He took a small piece of torn paper from a note-book and spreadit out upon 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 observethat the hour mentioned upon it is the very time at which the poorfellow met his fate. You see that his murderer might have torn therest of the sheet from him or he might have taken this fragmentfrom the murderer. It reads almost as though it were anappointment."
Holmes took up the scrap of paper, a fac-simile of which is herereproduced.
d at quarter to twelve
learn what
maybe
"Presuming that it is an appointment," continued the Inspector,"it is of course a conceivable theory that this WilliamKirwan--though he had the reputation of being an honest man, mayhave been in league with the thief. He may have met him there, mayeven have helped him to break in the door, and then they may havefallen out between themselves."
"This writing is of extraordinary interest," said Holmes, whohad been examining it with intense concentration. "These are muchdeeper waters than I had though." He sank his head upon his hands,while the Inspector smiled at the effect which his case had hadupon the famous London specialist.
"Your last remark," said Holmes, presently, "as to thepossibility of there being an understanding between the burglar andthe servant, and this being a note of appointment from one to theother, is an ingenious and not entirely impossible supposition. Butthis writing opens up--" He sank his head into his hands again andremained for some minutes in the deepest thought. When he raisedhis face again, I was surprised to see that his cheek was tingedwith color, and his eyes as bright as before his illness. He sprangto his feet with all his old energy.
"I'll tell you what," said he, "I should like to have a quietlittle glance into the details of this case. There is something init which fascinates me extremely. If you will permit me, Colonel, Iwill leave my friend Watson and you, and I will step round with theInspector to test the truth of one or two little fancies of mine. Iwill be with you again in half an hour."
An hour and half had elapsed before the Inspector returnedalone.
"Mr. Holmes is walking up and down in the field outside," saidhe. "He wants us all four to go up to the house together."
"To Mr. Cunningham's?"
"Yes, sir."
"What for?"
The Inspector shrugged his shoulders. "I don't quite know, sir.Between ourselves, I think Mr. Holmes had not quite got over hisillness yet. He's been behaving very queerly, and he is very muchexcited."
"I don't think you need alarm yourself," said I. "I have usuallyfound that there was method in his madness."
"Some folks might say there was madness in his method," mutteredthe Inspector. "But he's all on fire to start, Colonel, so we hadbest go out if you are ready."
We found Holmes pacing up and down in the field, his chin sunkupon his breast, and his hands thrust into his trouserspockets.
"The matter grows in interest," said he. "Watson, yourcountry-trip has been a distinct success. I have had a charmingmorning."
"You have been up to the scene of the crime, I understand," saidthe Colonel.
"Yes; the Inspector and I have made quite a littlereconnaissance together."
"Any success?"
"Well, we have seen some very interesting things. I'll tell youwhat we did as we walk. First of all, we saw the body of thisunfortunate man. He certainly died from a revolved wound asreported."
"Had you doubted it, then?"
"Oh, it is as well to test everything. Our inspection was notwasted. We then had an interview with Mr. Cunningham and his son,who were able to point out the exact spot where the murderer hadbroken through the garden-hedge in his flight. That was of greatinterest."
"Naturally."
"Then we had a look at this poor fellow's mother. We could getno information from her, however, as she is very old andfeeble."
"And what is the result of your investigations?"
"The conviction that the crime is a very peculiar one. Perhapsour visit now may do something to make it less obscure. I thinkthat we are both agreed, Inspector that the fragment of paper inthe dead man's hand, bearing, as it does, the very hour of hisdeath written upon it, is of extreme importance."
"It should give a clue, Mr. Holmes."
"It does give a clue. Whoever wrote that note was the man whobrought William Kirwan out of his bed at that hour. But where isthe rest of that sheet of paper?"
"I examined the ground carefully in the hope of finding it,"said the Inspector.
"It was torn out of the dead man's hand. Why was some one soanxious to get possession of it? Because it incriminated him. Andwhat would he do with it? Thrust it into his pocket, most likely,never noticing that a corner of it had been left in the grip of thecorpse. If we could get the rest of that sheet it is obvious thatwe should have gone a long way towards solving the mystery."
"Yes, but how can we get at the criminal's pocket before wecatch the criminal?"
"Well, well, it was worth thinking over. Then there is anotherobvious point. The note was sent to William. The man who wrote itcould not have taken it; otherwise, of course, he might havedelivered his own message by word of mouth. Who brought the note,then? Or did it come through the post?"
"I have made inquiries," said the Inspector. "William received aletter by the afternoon post yesterday. The envelope was destroyedby him."
"Excellent!" cried Holmes, clapping the Inspector on the back."You've seen the postman. It is a pleasure to work with you. Well,here is the lodge, and if you will come up, Colonel, I will showyou the scene of the crime."
We passed the pretty cottage where the murdered man had lived,and walked up an oak-lined avenue to the fine old Queen Anne house,which bears the date of Malplaquet upon the lintel of the door.Holmes and the Inspector led us round it until we came to the sidegate, which is separated by a stretch of garden from the hedgewhich lines the road. A constable was standing at the kitchendoor.
"Throw the door open, officer," said Holmes. "Now, it was onthose stairs that young Mr. Cunningham stood and saw the two menstruggling just where we are. Old Mr. Cunningham was at thatwindow--the second on the left--and he saw the fellow get away justto the left of that bush. Then Mr. Alec ran out and knelt besidethe wounded man. The ground is very hard, you see, and there are nomarks to guide us." As he spoke two men came down the garden path,from round the angle of the house. The one was an elderly man, witha strong, deep-lined, heavy-eyed face; the other a dashing youngfellow, whose bright, smiling expression and showy dress were instrange contract with the business which had brought us there.
"Still at it, then?" said he to Holmes. "I thought you Londonerswere never at fault. You don't seem to be so very quick, afterall."
"Ah, you must give us a little time," said Holmesgood-humoredly.
"You'll want it," said young Alec Cunningham. "Why, I don't seethat we have any clue at all."
"There's only one," answered the Inspector. "We thought that ifwe could only find--Good heavens, Mr. Holmes! What is thematter?"
My poor friend's face had suddenly assumed the most dreadfulexpression. His eyes rolled upwards, his features writhed in agony,and with a suppressed groan he dropped on his face upon the ground.Horrified at the suddenness and severity of the attack, we carriedhim into the kitchen, where he lay back in a large chair, andbreathed heavily for some minutes. Finally, with a shamefacedapology for his weakness, he rose once more.
"Watson would tell you that I have only just recovered from asevere illness," he explained. "I am liable to these sudden nervousattacks."
"Shall I send you home in my trap?" asked old Cunningham.
"Well, since I am here, there is one point on which I shouldlike to feel sure. We can very easily verify it."
"What was it?"
"Well, it seems to me that it is just possible that the arrivalof this poor fellow William was not before, but after, the entranceof the burglary into the house. You appear to take it for grantedthat, although the door was forced, the robber never got in."
"I fancy that is quite obvious," said Mr. Cunningham, gravely."Why, my son Alec had not yet gone to bed, and he would certainlyhave heard any one moving about."
"Where was he sitting?"
"I was smoking in my dressing-room."
"Which window is that?"
"The last on the left next my father's."
"Both of your lamps were lit, of course?"
"Undoubtedly."
"There are some very singular points here," said Holmes,smiling. "Is it not extraordinary that a burglary--and a burglarwho had had some previous experience--should deliberately breakinto a house at a time when he could see from the lights that twoof 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 nothave been driven to ask you for an explanation," said young Mr.Alec. "But as to your ideas that the man had robbed the housebefore William tackled him, I think it a most absurd notion.Wouldn't we have found the place disarranged, and missed the thingswhich 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, forexample, at the queer lot of things which he took fromActon's--what was it?--a ball of string, a letter-weight, and Idon't know what other odds and ends."
"Well, we are quite in your hands, Mr. Holmes," said oldCunningham. "Anything which you or the Inspector may suggest willmost certainly be done."
"In the first place," said Holmes, "I should like you to offer areward--coming from yourself, for the officials may take a littletime before they would agree upon the sum, and these things cannotbe done too promptly. I have jotted down the form here, if youwould not mind signing it. Fifty pound was quite enough, Ithought."
"I would willingly give five hundred," said the J.P., taking theslip of paper and the pencil which Holmes handed to him. "This isnot quite correct, however," he added, glancing over thedocument.
"I wrote it rather hurriedly."
"You see you begin, 'Whereas, at about a quarter to one onTuesday morning an attempt was made,' and so on. It was at aquarter to twelve, as a matter of fact."
I was pained at the mistake, for I knew how keenly Holmes wouldfeel any slip of the kind. It was his specialty to be accurate asto fact, but his recent illness had shaken him, and this one littleincident was enough to show me that he was still far from beinghimself. He was obviously embarrassed for an instant, while theInspector raised his eyebrows, and Alec Cunningham burst into alaugh. The old gentleman corrected the mistake, however, and handedthe paper back to Holmes.
"Get it printed as soon as possible," he said; "I think youridea is an excellent one."
Holmes put the slip of paper carefully away into hispocket-book.
"And now," said he, "it really would be a good thing that weshould all go over the house together and make certain that thisrather erratic burglar did not, after all, carry anything away withhim."
Before entering, Holmes made an examination of the door whichhad been forced. It was evident that a chisel or strong knife hadbeen thrust in, and the lock forced back with it. We could see themarks in the wood where it had been pushed in.
"You don't use bars, then?" he asked.
"We have never found it necessary."
"You don't 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 thathour."
"Yes."
"It is singular that on this particular night he should havebeen up. Now, I should be very glad if you would have the kindnessto show us over the house, Mr. Cunningham."
A stone-flagged passage, with the kitchens branching away fromit, led by a wooden staircase directly to the first floor of thehouse. It came out upon the landing opposite to a second moreornamental stair which came up from the front hall. Out of thislanding opened the drawing-room and several bedrooms, includingthose of Mr. Cunningham and his son. Holmes walked slowly, takingkeen note of the architecture of the house. I could tell from hisexpression that he was on a hot scent, and yet I could not in theleast imagine in what direction his inferences were leadinghim.
"My good sir," said Mr. Cunningham with some impatience, "thisis surely very unnecessary. That is my room at the end of thestairs, and my son's is the one beyond it. I leave it to yourjudgment whether it was possible for the thief to have come up herewithout disturbing us."
"You must try round and get on a fresh scent, I fancy," said theson with a rather malicious smile.
"Still, I must ask you to humor me a little further. I shouldlike, for example, to see how far the windows of the bedroomscommand the front. This, I understand is your son's room"--hepushed open the door--"and that, I presume, is the dressing-room inwhich he sat smoking when the alarm was given. Where does thewindow of that look out to?" He stepped across the bedroom, pushedopen the door, and glanced round the other 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 ownchamber, which was a plainly furnished and commonplace room. As wemoved across it in the direction of the window, Holmes fell backuntil he and I were the last of the group. Near the foot of the bedstood a dish of oranges and a carafe of water. As we passed itHolmes, to my unutterable astonishment, leaned over in front of meand deliberately knocked the whole thing over. The glass smashedinto a thousand pieces and the fruit rolled about into every cornerof the room.
"You've done it now, Watson," said he, coolly. "A pretty messyou've made 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 onits legs again.
"Hullo!" cried the Inspector, "where's he got to?"
Holmes had disappeared.
"Wait here an instant," said young Alec Cunningham. "The fellowis off his head, in my opinion. Come with me, father, and see wherehe has got to!"
They rushed out of the room, leaving the Inspector, the Colonel,and me staring at each other.
"'Pon my word, I am inclined to agree with Master Alec," saidthe official. "It may be the effect of this illness, but it seemsto me that--"
His words were cut short by a sudden scream of "Help! Help!Murder!" With a thrill I recognized the voice of that of my friend.I rushed madly from the room on to the landing. The cries, whichhad sunk down into a hoarse, inarticulate shouting, came from theroom which we had first visited. I dashed in, and on into thedressing-room beyond. The two Cunninghams were bending over theprostrate figure of Sherlock Holmes, the younger clutching histhroat with both hands, while the elder seemed to be twisting oneof his wrists. In an instant the three of us had torn them awayfrom 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, "I'm sure you don't really meanto--"
"Tut, man, look at their faces!" cried Holmes, curtly.
Never certainly have I seen a plainer confession of guilt uponhuman countenances. The older man seemed numbed and dazed with aheavy, sullen expression upon his strongly-marked face. The son, onthe other hand, had dropped all that jaunty, dashing style whichhad characterized him, and the ferocity of a dangerous wild beastgleamed in his dark eyes and distorted his handsome features. TheInspector said nothing, but, stepping to the door, he blew hiswhistle. Two of his constables came at the call.
"I have no alternative, Mr. Cunningham," said he. "I trust thatthis may all prove to be an absurd mistake, but you can seethat--Ah, would you? Drop it!" He struck out with his hand, and arevolver which the younger man was in the act of cocking clattereddown upon the floor.
"Keep that," said Holmes, quietly putting his foot upon it; "youwill find it useful at the trial. But this is what we reallywanted." He held up a little crumpled piece of paper.
"The remainder of the sheet!" cried the Inspector.
"Precisely."
"And where was it?"
"Where I was sure it must be. I'll make the whole matter clearto you presently. I think, Colonel, that you and Watson mightreturn now, and I will be with you again in an hour at thefurthest. The Inspector and I must have a word with the prisoners,but you will certainly see me back at luncheon time."
Sherlock Holmes was as good as his word, for about one o'clockhe rejoined us in the Colonel's smoking-room. He was accompanied bya little elderly gentleman, who was introduced to me as the Mr.Acton whose house had been the scene of the original burglary.
"I wished Mr. Acton to be present while I demonstrated thissmall matter to you," said Holmes, "for it is natural that heshould take a keen interest in the details. I am afraid, my dearColonel, that you must regret the hour that you took in such astormy petrel as I am."
"On the contrary," answered the Colonel, warmly, "I consider itthe greatest privilege to have been permitted to study your methodsof working. I confess that they quite surpass my expectations, andthat I am utterly unable to account for you result. I have not yetseen the vestige of a clue."
"I am afraid that my explanation may disillusion you but it hasalways been my habit to hide none of my methods, either from myfriend Watson or from any one who might take an intelligentinterest in them. But, first, as I am rather shaken by the knockingabout which I had in the dressing-room, I think that I shall helpmyself to a dash of your brandy, Colonel. My strength had beenrather tried of late."
"I trust that you had no more of those nervous attacks."
Sherlock Holmes laughed heartily. "We will come to that in itsturn," said he. "I will lay an account of the case before you inits due order, showing you the various points which guided me in mydecision. Pray interrupt me if there is any inference which is notperfectly clear to you.
"It is of the highest importance in the art of detection to beable to recognize, out of a number of facts, which are incidentaland which vital. Otherwise your energy and attention must bedissipated instead of being concentrated. Now, in this case therewas not the slightest doubt in my mind from the first that the keyof the whole matter must be looked for in the scrap of paper in thedead man's hand.
"Before going into this, I would draw your attention to the factthat, if Alec Cunningham's narrative was correct, and if theassailant, after shooting William Kirwan, had instantly fled, thenit obviously could not be he who tore the paper from the dead man'shand. But if it was not he, it must have been Alec Cunninghamhimself, for by the time that the old man had descended severalservants were upon the scene. The point is a simple one, but theInspector had overlooked it because he had started with thesupposition that these county magnates had had nothing to do withthe matter. Now, I make a pint of never having any prejudices, andof following docilely wherever fact may lead me, and so, in thevery first stage of the investigation, I found myself looking alittle askance at the part which had been played by Mr. AlecCunningham.
"And now I made a very careful examination of the corner ofpaper which the Inspector had submitted to us. It was at once clearto me that it formed part of a very remarkable document. Here itis. Do you not now observed something very suggestive aboutit?"
"It has a very irregular look," said the Colonel.
"My dear sir," cried Holmes, "there cannot be the least doubt inthe world that it has been written by two persons doing alternatewords. When I draw your attention to the strong t's of 'at' and'to', and ask you to compare them with the weak ones of 'quarter'and 'twelve,' you will instantly recognize the fact. A very briefanalysis of these four words would enable you to say with theutmost confidence that the 'learn' and the 'maybe' are written inthe stronger hand, and the 'what' in the weaker."
"By Jove, it's as clear as day!" cried the Colonel. "Why onearth should two 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, eachshould have an equal hand in it. Now, of the two men, it is clearthat the one who wrote 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 thatfor supposing it. If you examine this scrap with attention you willcome to the conclusion that the man with the stronger hand wroteall his words first, leaving blanks for the other to fill up. Theseblanks were not always sufficient, and you can see that the secondman had a squeeze to fit his 'quarter' in between the 'at' and the'to,' showing that the latter were already written. The man whowrote all his words first in undoubtedly the man who planned theaffair."
"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 thededuction of a man's age from his writing is one which has broughtto considerable accuracy by experts. In normal cases one can placea man in his true decade with tolerable confidence. I say normalcases, because ill-health and physical weakness reproduce the signsof old age, even when the invalid is a youth. In this case, lookingat the bold, strong hand of the one, and the rather broken-backedappearance of the other, which still retains its legibilityalthough the t's have begun to lose their crossing, we can say thatthe one was a young man and the other was advanced in years withoutbeing positively decrepit."
"Excellent!" cried Mr. Acton again.
"There is a further point, however, which is subtler and ofgreater interest. There is something in common between these hands.They belong to men who are blood-relatives. It may be most obviousto you in the Greek e's, but to me there are many small pointswhich indicate the same thing. I have no doubt at all that a familymannerism can be traced in these two specimens of writing. I amonly, of course, giving you the leading results now of myexamination of the paper. There were twenty-three other deductionswhich would be of more interest to experts than to you. They alltend to deepen the impression upon my mind that the Cunninghams,father and son, had written this letter.
"Having got so far, my next step was, of course, to examine intothe details of the crime, and to see how far they would help us. Iwent up to the house with the Inspector, and saw all that was to beseen. The wound upon the dead man was, as I was able to determinewith absolute confidence, fired from a revolver at the distance ofsomething over four yards. There was no powder-blackening on theclothes. Evidently, therefore, Alec Cunningham had lied when hesaid that the two men were struggling when the shot was fired.Again, both father and son agreed as to the place where the manescaped into the road. At that point, however, as it happens, thereis a broadish ditch, moist at the bottom. As there were noindications of bootmarks about this ditch, I was absolutely surenot only that the Cunninghams had again lied, but that there hadnever been any unknown man upon the scene at all.
"And now I have to consider the motive of this singular crime.To get at this, I endeavored first of all to solve the reason ofthe original burglary at Mr. Acton's. I understood, from somethingwhich the Colonel told us, that a lawsuit had been going on betweenyou, Mr. Acton, and the Cunninghams. Of course, it instantlyoccurred to me that they had broken into your library with theintention of getting at some document which might be of importancein the case."
"Precisely so," said Mr. Acton. "There can be no possible doubtas to their intentions. I have the clearest claim upon half oftheir present estate, and if they could have found a singlepaper--which, fortunately, was in the strong-box of mysolicitors--they would undoubtedly have crippled our case."
"There you are," said Holmes, smiling. "It was a dangerous,reckless attempt, in which I seem to trace the influence of youngAlec. Having found nothing they tried to divert suspicion by makingit appear to be an ordinary burglary, to which end they carried offwhatever they could lay their hands upon. That is all clear enough,but there was much that was still obscure. What I wanted above allwas to get the missing part of that note. I was certain that Alechad torn it out of the dead man's hand, and almost certain that hemust have thrust it into the pocket of his dressing-gown. Whereelse could he have put it? The only question was whether it wasstill 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, outsidethe kitchen door. It was, of course, of the very first importancethat they should not be reminded of the existence of this paper,otherwise they would naturally destroy it without delay. TheInspector was about to tell them the importance which we attachedto it when, by the luckiest chance in the world, I tumbled down ina sort of fit and so changed the conversation.
"Good heavens!" cried the Colonel, laughing, "do you mean to sayall our sympathy was wasted and your fit an imposture?"
"Speaking professionally, it was admirably done," cried I,looking in amazement at this man who was forever confounding mewith some new phase of his astuteness.
"It is an art which is often useful," said he. "When I recoveredI managed, by a device which had perhaps some little merit ofingenuity, to get old Cunningham to write the word 'twelve,' sothat I might compare it with 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,"said Holmes, laughing. "I was sorry to cause you the sympatheticpain which I know that you felt. We then went upstairs together,and having entered the room and seen the dressing-gown hanging upbehind the door, I contrived, by upsetting a table, to engage theirattention for the moment, and slipped back to examine the pockets.I had hardly got the paper, however--which was, as I had expected,in one of them--when the two Cunninghams were on me, and would, Iverily believe, have murdered me then and there but for your promptand friendly aid. As it is, I feel that young man's grip on mythroat now, and the father has twisted my wrist round in the effortto get the paper out of my hand. They saw that I must know allabout it, you see, and the sudden change from absolute security tocomplete despair made them perfectly desperate.
"I had a little talk with old Cunningham afterwards as to themotive of the crime. He was tractable enough, though his son was aperfect demon, ready to blow out his own or anybody else's brainsif he could have got to his revolver. When Cunningham saw that thecase against him was so strong he lost all heart and made a cleanbreast of everything. It seems that William had secretly followedhis two masters on the night when they made their raid upon Mr.Acton's, and having thus got them into his power, proceeded, underthreats of exposure, to levy black-mail upon them. Mr. Alec,however, was a dangerous man to play games of that sort with. Itwas a stroke of positive genius on his part to see in the burglaryscare which was convulsing the country side an opportunity ofplausibly getting rid of the man whom he feared. William wasdecoyed up and shot, and had they only got the whole of the noteand paid a little more attention to detail in the accessories, itis very possible that suspicion might never have been aroused."
"And the note?" I asked.
Sherlock Holmes placed the subjoined paper before us.
If you will only come around
to the east gate you will
will very much surprise you and
be of the greatest service to you and also
to Annie Morrison. But say nothing to
anyone upon the matter
"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 beenbetween Alec Cunningham, William Kirwan, and Annie Morrison. Theresults shows that the trap was skillfully baited. I am sure thatyou cannot fail to be delighted with the traces of heredity shownin the p's and in the tails of the g's. The absence of the i-dotsin the old man's writing is also most characteristic. Watson, Ithink our quiet rest in the country has been a distinct success,and I shall certainly return much invigorated to Baker Streetto-morrow."
ADVENTURE VII. THE CROOKED MAN
One summer night, a few months after my marriage, I was seatedby my own hearth smoking a last pipe and nodding over a novel, formy day's work had been an exhausting one. My wife had already goneupstairs, and the sound of the locking of the hall door some timebefore told me that the servants had also retired. I had risen frommy seat and was knocking out the ashes of my pipe when I suddenlyheard the clang of the bell.
I looked at the clock. It was a quarter to twelve. This couldnot be a visitor at so late an hour. A patient, evidently, andpossibly an all-night sitting. With a wry face I went out into thehall and opened the door. To my astonishment it was Sherlock Holmeswho stood upon my step.
"Ah, Watson," said he, "I hoped that I might not be too late tocatch you."
"My dear fellow, pray come in."
"You look surprised, and no wonder! Relieved, too, I fancy! Hum!You still smoke the Arcadia mixture of your bachelor days then!There's no mistaking that fluffy ash upon your coat. It's easy totell that you have been accustomed to wear a uniform, Watson.You'll never pass as a pure-bred civilian as long as you keep thathabit of carrying your handkerchief in your sleeve. Could you putme up tonight?"
"With pleasure."
"You told me that you had bachelor quarters for one, and I seethat you have no gentleman visitor at present. Your hat-standproclaims as much."
"I shall be delighted if you will stay."
"Thank you. I'll fill the vacant peg then. Sorry to see thatyou've had the British workman in the house. He's a token of evil.Not the drains, I hope?"
"No, the gas."
"Ah! He has left two nail-marks from his boot upon your linoleumjust where the light strikes it. No, thank you, I had some supperat Waterloo, but I'll 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 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," saidhe, glancing very keenly across at me.
"Yes, I've had a busy day," I answered. "It may seem veryfoolish in your eyes," I added, "but really I don't know how youdeduced it."
Holmes chuckled to himself.
"I have the advantage of knowing your habits, my dear Watson,"said he. "When your round is a short one you walk, and when it is along one you use a hansom. As I perceive that your boots, althoughused, are by no means dirty, I cannot doubt that you are at presentbusy enough to justify the hansom."
"Excellent!" I cried.
"Elementary," said he. "It is one of those instances where thereasoner can produce an effect which seems remarkable to hisneighbor, because the latter has missed the one little point whichis the basis of the deduction. The same may be said, my dearfellow, for the effect of some of these little sketches of your,which is entirely meretricious, depending as it does upon yourretaining in your own hands some factors in the problem which arenever imparted to the reader. Now, at present I am in the positionof these same readers, for I hold in this hand several threads ofone of the strangest cases which ever perplexed a man's brain, andyet I lack the one or two which are needful to complete my theory.But I'll have them, Watson, I'll have them!" His eyes kindled and aslight flush sprang into his thin cheeks. For an instant only. WhenI glanced again his face had resumed that red-Indian composurewhich had made so many regard him as a machine rather than aman.
"The problem presents features of interest," said he. "I mayeven say exceptional features of interest. I have already lookedinto the matter, and have come, as I think, within sight of mysolution. If you could accompany me in that last step you might beof considerable service to me."
"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 ofwhat has happened, 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 withoutomitting anything vital to the case. It is conceivable that you mayeven have read some account of the matter. It is the supposedmurder 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. Thefacts are only two days old. Briefly they are these:
"The Royal Munsters is, as you know, one of the most famousIrish regiments in the British army. It did wonders both in theCrimea and the Mutiny, and has since that time distinguished itselfupon every possible occasion. It was commanded up to Monday nightby James Barclay, a gallant veteran, who started as a full private,was raised to commissioned rank for his bravery at the time of theMutiny, and so lived to command the regiment in which he had oncecarried a musket.
"Colonel Barclay had married at the time when he was a sergeant,and his wife, whose maiden name was Miss Nancy Devoy, was thedaughter of a former color-sergeant in the same corps. There was,therefore, as can be imagined, some little social friction when theyoung couple (for they were still young) found themselves in theirnew surroundings. They appear, however, to have quickly adaptedthemselves, and Mrs. Barclay has always, I understand, been aspopular with the ladies of the regiment as her husband was with hisbrother officers. I may add that she was a woman of great beauty,and that even now, when she has been married for upwards of thirtyyears, she is still of a striking and queenly appearance.
"Colonel Barclay's family life appears to have been a uniformlyhappy one. Major Murphy, to whom I owe most of my facts, assures methat he has never heard of any misunderstanding between the pair.On the whole, he thinks that Barclay's devotion to his wife wasgreater than his wife's to Barclay. He was acutely uneasy if hewere absent from her for a day. She, on the other hand, thoughdevoted and faithful, was less obtrusively affectionate. But theywere regarded in the regiment as the very model of a middle-agedcouple. There was absolutely nothing in their mutual relations toprepare people for the tragedy which was to follow.
"Colonel Barclay himself seems to have had some singular traitsin his character. He was a dashing, jovial old solder in his usualmood, but there were occasions on which he seemed to show himselfcapable of considerable violence and vindictiveness. This side ofhis nature, however, appears never to have been turned towards hiswife. Another fact, which had struck Major Murphy and three out offive of the other officers with whom I conversed, was the singularsort of depression which came upon him at times. As the majorexpressed it, the smile had often been struck from his mouth, as ifby some invisible hand, when he has been joining the gayeties andchaff of the mess-table. For days on end, when the mood was on him,he has been sunk in the deepest gloom. This and a certain tinge ofsuperstition were the only unusual traits in his character whichhis brother officers had observed. The latter peculiarity took theform 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 old117th) has been stationed at Aldershot for some years. The marriedofficers live out of barracks, and the Colonel has during all thistime occupied a villa called Lachine, about half a mile from thenorth camp. The house stands in its own grounds, but the west sideof it is not more than thirty yards from the high-road. A coachmanand two maids form the staff of servants. These with their masterand mistress were the sole occupants of Lachine, for the Barclayshad no children, nor was it usual for them to have residentvisitors.
"Now for the events at Lachine between nine and ten on theevening of last Monday."
"Mrs. Barclay was, it appears, a member of the Roman CatholicChurch, and had interested herself very much in the establishmentof the Guild of St. George, which was formed in connection with theWatt Street Chapel for the purpose of supplying the poor withcast-off clothing. A meeting of the Guild had been held thatevening at eight, and Mrs. Barclay had hurried over her dinner inorder to be present at it. When leaving the house she was heard bythe coachman to make some commonplace remark to her husband, and toassure him that she would be back before very long. She then calledfor Miss Morrison, a young lady who lives in the next villa, andthe two went off together to their meeting. It lasted fortyminutes, and at a quarter-past nine Mrs. Barclay returned home,having left Miss Morrison at her door as she passed.
"There is a room which is used as a morning-room at Lachine.This faces the road and opens by a large glass folding-door on tothe lawn. The lawn is thirty yards across, and is only divided fromthe highway by a low wall with an iron rail above it. It was intothis room that Mrs. Barclay went upon her return. The blinds werenot down, for the room was seldom used in the evening, but Mrs.Barclay herself lit the lamp and then rang the bell, asking JaneStewart, the house-maid, to bring her a cup of tea, which was quitecontrary to her usual habits. The Colonel had been sitting in thedining-room, but hearing that his wife had returned he joined herin the morning-room. The coachman saw him cross the hall and enterit. 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 tohear the voices of her master and mistress in furious altercation.She knocked without receiving any answer, and even turned thehandle, but only to find that the door was locked upon the inside.Naturally enough she ran down to tell the cook, and the two womenwith the coachman came up into the hall and listened to the disputewhich was still raging. They all agreed that only two voices wereto be heard, those of Barclay and of his wife. Barclay's remarkswere subdued and abrupt, so that none of them were audible to thelisteners. The lady's, on the other hand, were most bitter, andwhen she raised her voice could be plainly heard. 'You coward!' sherepeated over and over again. 'What can be done now? What can bedone now? Give me back my life. I will never so much as breathe thesame air with you again! You coward! You Coward!' Those were scrapsof her conversation, ending in a sudden dreadful cry in the man'svoice, with a crash, and a piercing scream from the woman.Convinced that some tragedy had occurred, the coachman rushed tothe door and strove to force it, while scream after scream issuedfrom within. He was unable, however, to make his way in, and themaids were too distracted with fear to be of any assistance to him.A sudden thought struck him, however, and he ran through the halldoor and round to the lawn upon which the long French windows open.One side of the window was open, which I understand was quite usualin the summer-time, and he passed without difficulty into the room.His mistress had ceased to scream and was stretched insensible upona couch, while with his feet tilted over the side of an arm-chair,and his head upon the ground near the corner of the fender, waslying the unfortunate soldier stone dead in a pool of his ownblood.
"Naturally, the coachman's first thought, on finding that hecould do nothing for his master, was to open the door. But here anunexpected and singular difficulty presented itself. The key wasnot in the inner side of the door, nor could he find it anywhere inthe room. He went out again, therefore, through the window, andhaving obtained the help of a policeman and of a medical man, hereturned. The lady, against whom naturally the strongest suspicionrested, was removed to her room, still in a state of insensibility.The Colonel's body was then placed upon the sofa, and a carefulexamination made of the scene of the tragedy.
"The injury from which the unfortunate veteran was suffering wasfound to be a jagged cut some two inches long at the back part ofhis head, which had evidently been caused by a violent blow from ablunt weapon. Nor was it difficult to guess what that weapon mayhave been. Upon the floor, close to the body, was lying a singularclub of hard carved wood with a bone handle. The Colonel possesseda varied collection of weapons brought from the different countriesin which he had fought, and it is conjectured by the police thathis club was among his trophies. The servants deny having seen itbefore, but among the numerous curiosities in the house it ispossible that it may have been overlooked. Nothing else ofimportance was discovered in the room by the police, save theinexplicable fact that neither upon Mrs. Barclay's person nor uponthat of the victim nor in any part of the room was the missing keyto be found. The door had eventually to be opened by a locksmithfrom Aldershot.
"That was the state of things, Watson, when upon the Tuesdaymorning I, at the request of Major Murphy, went down to Aldershotto supplement the efforts of the police. I think that you willacknowledge that the problem was already one of interest, but myobservations soon made me realize that it was in truth much moreextraordinary than would at first sight appear.
"Before examining the room I cross-questioned the servants, butonly succeeded in eliciting the facts which I have already stated.One other detail of interest was remembered by Jane Stewart, thehousemaid. You will remember that on hearing the sound of thequarrel she descended and returned with the other servants. On thatfirst occasion, when she was alone, she says that the voices of hermaster and mistress were sunk so low that she could hear hardlyanything, and judged by their tones rather tan their words thatthey had fallen out. On my pressing her, however, she rememberedthat she heard the word David uttered twice by the lady. The pointis of the utmost importance as guiding us towards the reason of thesudden quarrel. The Colonel's 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 thecontortion of the Colonel's face. It had set, according to theiraccount, into the most dreadful expression of fear and horror whicha human countenance is capable of assuming. More than one personfainted at the mere sight of him, so terrible was the effect. Itwas quite certain that he had foreseen his fate, and that it hadcaused him the utmost horror. This, of course, fitted in wellenough with the police theory, if the Colonel could have seen hiswife making a murderous attack upon him. Nor was the fact of thewound being on the back of his head a fatal objection to this, ashe might have turned to avoid the blow. No information could be gotfrom the lady herself, who was temporarily insane from an acuteattack of brain-fever.
"From the police I learned that Miss Morrison, who you rememberwent out that evening with Mrs. Barclay, denied having anyknowledge of what it was which had caused the ill-humor in whichher companion had returned.
"Having gathered these facts, Watson, I smoke several pipes overthem, trying to separate those which were crucial from others whichwere merely incidental. There could be no question that the mostdistinctive and suggestive point in the case was the singulardisappearance of the door-key. A most careful search had failed todiscover it in the room. Therefore it must have been taken from it.But neither the Colonel nor the Colonel's wife could have taken it.That was perfectly clear. Therefore a third person must haveentered the room. And that third person could only have come inthrough the window. It seemed to me that a careful examination ofthe room and the lawn might possibly reveal some traces of thismysterious individual. You know my methods, Watson. There was notone of them which I did not apply to the inquiry. And ones fromthose which I had expected. There had been a man in the room, andhe had crossed the lawn coming from the road. I was able to obtainfive very clear impressions of his foot-marks: one in the roadwayitself, at the point where he had climbed the low wall, two on thelawn, and two very faint ones upon the stained boards near thewindow where he had entered. He had apparently rushed across thelawn, for his toe-marks were much deeper than his heels. But it wasnot the man who surprised me. It was his companion."
"His companion!"
Holmes pulled a large sheet of tissue-paper out of his pocketand carefully unfolded it upon his knee.
"What do you make of that?" he asked.
The paper was covered with he tracings of the foot-marks of somesmall animal. It had five well-marked foot-pads, an indication oflong nails, and the whole print might be nearly as large as adessert-spoon.
"It's a dog," said I.
"Did you ever hear of a dog running up a curtain? I founddistinct traces 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 arefamiliar with. I have tried to reconstruct it from themeasurements. Here are four prints where the beast has beenstanding motionless. You see that it is no less than fifteen inchesfrom fore-foot to hind. Add to that the length of neck and head,and you get a creature not much less than two feet long--probablymore if there is any tail. But now observe this other measurement.The animal has been moving, and we have the length of its stride.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 hasnot been considerate enough to leave any of its hair behind it. Butits general shape must be what I have indicated, and it can run upa curtain, and it is carnivorous."
"How do you deduce that?"
"Because it ran up the curtain. A canary's cage was hanging inthe window, 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 towardssolving the case. On the whole, it was probably some creature ofthe weasel and stoat tribe--and yet it is larger than any of thesethat I have seen."
"But what had it to do with the crime?"
"That, also, is still obscure. But we have learned a good deal,you perceive. We know that a man stood in the road looking at thequarrel between the Barclays--the blinds were up and the roomlighted. We know, also, that he ran across the lawn, entered theroom, accompanied by a strange animal, and that he either struckthe Colonel or, as is equally possible, that the Colonel fell downfrom sheer fright at the sight of him, and cut his head on thecorner of the fender. Finally, we have the curious fact that theintruder carried away the key with him when he left."
"You discoveries seem to have left the business more obscurethat it was before," said I.
"Quite so. They undoubtedly showed that the affair was muchdeeper than was at first conjectured. I thought the matter over,and I came to the conclusion that I must approach the case fromanother aspect. But really, Watson, I am keeping you up, and Imight just as well tell you all this on our way to Aldershotto-morrow."
"Thank you, you have gone rather too far to stop."
"It is quite certain that when Mrs. Barclay left the house athalf-past seven she was on good terms with her husband. She wasnever, as I think I have said, ostentatiously affectionate, but shewas heard by the coachman chatting with the Colonel in a friendlyfashion. Now, it was equally certain that, immediately on herreturn, she had gone to the room in which she was least likely tosee her husband, had flown to tea as an agitated woman will, andfinally, on his coming in to her, had broken into violentrecriminations. Therefore something had occurred betweenseven-thirty and nine o'clock which had completely altered herfeelings towards him. But Miss Morrison had been with her duringthe whole of that hour and a half. It was absolutely certain,therefore, in spite of her denial, that she must know something ofthe matter.
"My first conjecture was, that possibly there had been somepassages between this young lady and the old soldier, which theformer had now confessed to the wife. That would account for theangry return, and also for the girl's denial that anything hadoccurred. Nor would it be entirely incompatible with most of thewords overhead. But there was the reference to David, and there wasthe known affection of the Colonel for his wife, to weigh againstit, to say nothing of the tragic intrusion of this other man, whichmight, of course, be entirely disconnected with what had gonebefore. It was not easy to pick one's steps, but, on the whole, Iwas inclined to dismiss the idea that there had been anythingbetween the Colonel and Miss Morrison, but more than ever convincedthat the young lady held the clue as to what it was which hadturned Mrs. Barclay to hatred of her husband. I took the obviouscourse, therefore, of calling upon Miss M., of explaining to herthat I was perfectly certain that she held the facts in herpossession, 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 timideyes and blond hair, but I found her by no means wanting inshrewdness and common-sense. She sat thinking for some time after Ihad spoken, and then, turning to me with a brisk air of resolution,she broke into a remarkable statement which I will condense foryour benefit.
"'I promised my friend that I would say nothing of the matter,and a promise is a promise,; said she; 'but if I can really helpher when so serious a charge is laid against her, and when her ownmouth, poor darling, is closed by illness, then I think I amabsolved from my promise. I will tell you exactly what happenedupon Monday evening.
"'We were returning from the Watt Street Mission about a quarterto nine o'clock. On our way we had to pass through Hudson Street,which is a very quiet thoroughfare. There is only one lamp in it,upon the left-hand side, and as we approached this lamp I saw a mancoming towards us with is back very bent, and something like a boxslung over one of his shoulders. He appeared to be deformed, for hecarried his head low and walked with his knees bent. We werepassing him when he raised his face to look at us in the circle oflight thrown by the lamp, and as he did so he stopped and screamedout in a dreadful voice, "My God, it's Nancy!" Mrs. Barclay turnedas white as death, and would have fallen down had thedreadful-looking creature not caught hold of her. I was going tocall for the police, but she, to my surprise, spoke quite civillyto the fellow.
"'"I thought you had been dead this thirty years, Henry," saidshe, in a shaking voice.
"'"So I have," said he, and it was awful to hear the tones thathe said it in. He had a very dark, fearsome face, and a gleam inhis eyes that comes back to me in my dreams. His hair and whiskerswere shot with gray, and his face was all crinkled and puckeredlike a withered apple.
"'"Just walk on a little way, dear," said Mrs. Barclay; "I wantto have a word with this man. There is nothing to be afraid of."She tried to speak boldly, but she was still deadly pale and couldhardly get her words out for the trembling of her lips.
"'I did as she asked me, and they talked together for a fewminutes. Then she came down the street with her eyes blazing, and Isaw the crippled wretch standing by the lamp-post and shaking hisclenched fists in the air as if he were made with rage. She neversaid a word until we were at the door here, when she took me by thehand and begged me to tell no one what had happened.
"'"It's an old acquaintance of mine who has come down in theworld," said she. When I promised her I would say nothing shekissed me, and I have never seen her since. I have told you now thewhole truth, and if I withheld it from the police it is because Idid not realize then the danger in which my dear friend stood. Iknow that it can only be to her advantage that everything should beknown.'
"There was her statement, Watson, and to me, as you can imagine,it was like a light on a dark night. Everything which had beendisconnected before began at once to assume its true place, and Ihad a shadowy presentiment of the whole sequence of events. My nextstep obviously was to find the man who had produced such aremarkable impression upon Mrs. Barclay. If he were still inAldershot it should not be a very difficult matter. There are notsuch a very great number of civilians, and a deformed man was sureto have attracted attention. I spent a day in the search, and byevening--this very evening, Watson--I had run him down. The man'sname is Henry Wood, and he lives in lodgings in this same street inwhich the ladies met him. He has only been five days in the place.In the character of a registration-agent I had a most interestinggossip with his landlady. The man is by trade a conjurer andperformer, going round the canteens after nightfall, and giving alittle entertainment at each. He carries some creature about withhim in that box; about which the landlady seemed to be inconsiderable trepidation, for she had never seen an animal like it.He uses it in some of his tricks according to her account. So muchthe woman was able to tell me, and also that it was a wonder theman lived, seeing how twisted he was, and that he spoke in astrange tongue sometimes, and that for the last two nights she hadheard him groaning and weeping in his bedroom. He was all right, asfar as money went, but in his deposit he had given her what lookedlike a bad florin. She showed it to me, Watson, and it was anIndian rupee.
"So now, my dear fellow, you see exactly how we stand and why itis I want you. It is perfectly plain that after the ladies partedfrom this man he followed them at a distance, that he saw thequarrel between husband and wife through the window, that he rushedin, and that the creature which he carried in his box got loose.That is all very certain. But he is the only person in this worldwho can tell us exactly what happened in that room."
"And you intend to ask him?"
"Most certainly--but 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 andgood. If he refuses, we have no alternative but to apply for awarrant."
"But how do you know he'll be there when we return?"
"You may be sure that I took some precautions. I have one of myBaker Street boys mounting guard over him who would stick to himlike a burr, go where he might. We shall find him in Hudson Streetto-morrow, Watson, and meanwhile I should be the criminal myself ifI kept you out of bed any longer."
It was midday when we found ourselves at the scene of thetragedy, and, under my companion's guidance, we made our way atonce to Hudson Street. In spite of his capacity for concealing hisemotions, I could easily see that Holmes was in a state ofsuppressed excitement, while I was myself tingling with thathalf-sporting, half-intellectual pleasure which I invariablyexperienced when I associated myself with him in hisinvestigations.
"This is the street," said he, as we turned into a shortthoroughfare lined with plain tow-storied brick houses. "Ah, hereis Simpson to report."
"He's in all right, Mr. Holmes," cried a small street Arab,running up to us.
"Good, Simpson!" said Holmes, patting him on the head. "Comealong, Watson. This is the house." He sent in his card with amessage that he had come on important business, and a moment laterwe were face to face with the man whom we had come to see. In spiteof the warm weather he was crouching over a fire, and the littleroom was like an oven. The man sat all twisted and huddled in hischair in a way which gave an indescribably impression of deformity;but the face which he turned towards us, though worn and swarthy,must at some time have been remarkable for its beauty. He lookedsuspiciously at us now out of yellow-shot, bilious eyes, and,without speaking or rising, he waved towards two chairs.
"Mr. Henry Wood, late of India, I believe," said Holmes,affably. "I've come over this little matter of Colonel Barclay'sdeath."
"What should I know about that?"
"That's what I want to ascertain. You know, I suppose, thatunless the matter is cleared up, Mrs. Barclay, who is an old friendof yours, will in all probability be tried for murder."
The man gave a violent start.
"I don't know who you are," he cried, "nor how you come to knowwhat you do know, but will you swear that this is true that youtell me?"
"Why, they are only waiting for her to come to her senses toarrest her."
"My God! Are you in the police yourself?"
"No."
"What business is it of yours, then?"
"It's every man's business to see justice done."
"You can take my word that she is innocent."
"Then you are guilty."
"No, I am not."
"Who killed Colonel James Barclay, then?"
"It was a just providence that killed him. But, mind you this,that if I had knocked his brains out, as it was in my heart to do,he would have had no more than his due from my hands. If his ownguilty conscience had not struck him down it is likely enough thatI might have had his blood upon my soul. You want me to tell thestory. Well, I don't know why I shouldn't, for there's no cause forme to be ashamed of it.
"It was in this way, sir. You see me now with my back like acamel and by ribs all awry, but there was a time when CorporalHenry Wood was the smartest man in the 117th foot. We were in Indiathen, in cantonments, at a place we'll call Bhurtee. Barclay, whodied the other day, was sergeant in the same company as myself, andthe belle of the regiment, ay, and the finest girl that ever hadthe breath of life between her lips, was Nancy Devoy, the daughterof the color-sergeant. There were two men that loved her, and onethat she loved, and you'll smile when you look at this poor thinghuddled before the fire, and hear me say that it was for my goodlooks that she loved me.
"Well, though I had her heart, her father was set upon hermarrying Barclay. I was a harum-scarum, reckless lad, and he hadhad an education, and was already marked for the sword-belt. Butthe girl held true to me, and it seemed that I would have had herwhen the Mutiny broke out, and all hell was loose in thecountry.
"We were shut up in Bhurtee, the regiment of us with half abattery of artillery, a company of Sikhs, and a lot of civiliansand women-folk. There were ten thousand rebels round us, and theywere as keen as a set of terriers round a rat-cage. About thesecond week of it our water gave out, and it was a question whetherwe could communicate with General Neill's column, which was movingup country. It was our only chance, for we could not hope to fightour way out with all the women and children, so I volunteered to goout and to warn General Neill of our danger. My offer was accepted,and I talked it over with Sergeant Barclay, who was supposed toknow the ground better than any other man, and who drew up a routeby which I might get through the rebel lines. At ten o'clock thesame night I started off upon my journey. There were a thousandlives to save, but it was of only one that I was thinking when Idropped over the wall that night.
"My way ran down a dried-up watercourse, which we hoped wouldscreen me from the enemy's sentries; but as I crept round thecorner of it I walked right into six of them, who were crouchingdown in the dark waiting for me. In an instant I was stunned with ablow and bound hand and foot. But the real blow was to my heart andnot to my head, for as I came to and listened to as much as I couldunderstand of their talk, I heard enough to tell me that mycomrade, the very man who had arranged the way that I was to take,had betrayed me by means of a native servant into the hands of theenemy.
"Well, there's no need for me to dwell on that part of it. Youknow now what James Barclay was capable of. Bhurtee was relieved byNeill next day, but the rebels took me away with them in theirretreat, and it was many a long year before ever I saw a white faceagain. I was tortured and tried to get away, and was captured andtortured again. You can see for yourselves the state in which I wasleft. Some of them that fled into Nepaul took me with them, andthen afterwards I was up past Darjeeling. The hill-folk up theremurdered the rebels who had me, and I became their slave for a timeuntil I escaped; but instead of going south I had to go north,until I found myself among the Afghans. There I wandered about formany ayear, and at last came back to the Punjaub, where I livedmostly among the natives and picked up a living by the conjuringtricks that I had learned. What use was it for me, a wretchedcripple, to go back to England or to make myself known to my oldcomrades? Even my wish for revenge would not make me do that. I hadrather that Nancy and my old pals should think of Harry Wood ashaving died with a straight back, than see him living and crawlingwith a stick like a chimpanzee. They never doubted that I was dead,and I meant that they never should. I heard that Barclay hadmarried Nancy, and that he was rising rapidly in the regiment, buteven that did not make me speak.
"But when one gets old one has a longing for home. For yearsI've been dreaming of the bright green fields and the hedges ofEngland. At last I determined to see them before I died. I savedenough to bring me across, and then I came here where the soldiersare, for I know their ways and how to amuse them and so earn enoughto keep me."
"Your narrative is most interesting," said Sherlock Holmes. "Ihave already heard of your meeting with Mrs. Barclay, and yourmutual recognition. You then, as I understand, followed her homeand saw through the window an altercation between her husband andher, in which she doubtless cast his conduct to you in his teeth.Your own feelings overcame you, and you ran across the lawn andbroke in upon them."
"I did, sir, and at the sight of me he looked as I have neverseen a man look before, and over he went with his head on thefender. But he was dead before he fell. I read death on his face asplain as I can read that text over the fire. The bare sight of mewas like a bullet through his guilty heart."
"And then?"
"Then Nancy fainted, and I caught up the key of the door fromher hand, intending to unlock it and get help. But as I was doingit it seemed to me better to leave it alone and get away, for thething might look black against me, and any way my secret would beout if I were taken. In my haste I thrust the key into my pocket,and dropped my stick while I was chasing Teddy, who had run up thecurtain. When I got him into his box, from which he had slipped, Iwas off as fast as I could run."
"Who's Teddy?" asked Holmes.
The man leaned over and pulled up the front of a kind of hutchin the corner. In an instant out there slipped a beautifulreddish-brown creature, thin and lithe, with the legs of a stoat, along, thin nose, and a pair of the finest red eyes that ever I sawin an animal's head.
"It's a mongoose," I cried.
"Well, some call them that, and some call them ichneumon," saidthe man. "Snake-catcher is what I call them, and Teddy is amazingquick on cobras. I have one here without the fangs, and Teddycatches it every night to please the folk in the canteen.
"Any other point, sir?"
"Well, we may have to apply to you again if Mrs. Barclay shouldprove to be in serious trouble."
"In that case, of course, I'd come forward."
"But if not, there is no object in raking up this scandalagainst a dead man, foully as he has acted. You have at least thesatisfaction of knowing that for thirty years of his life hisconscience bitterly reproached him for this wicked deed. Ah, theregoes Major Murphy on the other side of the street. Good-by, Wood. Iwant to learn if anything has happened since yesterday."
We were in time to overtake the major before he reached thecorner.
"Ah, Holmes," he said: "I suppose you have heard that all thisfuss has come to nothing?"
"What then?"
"The inquest is just over. The medical evidence showedconclusively that death was due to apoplexy. You see it was quite asimple case after all."
"Oh, remarkably superficial," said Holmes, smiling. "Come,Watson, I don't think we shall be wanted in Aldershot anymore."
"There's one thing," said I, as we walked down to the station."If the husband's name was James, and the other was Henry, what wasthis talk about David?"
"That one word, my dear Watson, should have told me the wholestory had I been the ideal reasoner which you are so fond ofdepicting. It was evidently 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. Youremember the small affair of Uriah and Bathsheba? My biblicalknowledge is a trifle rusty, I fear, but you will find the story inthe first or second of Samuel."
ADVENTURE VIII. THE RESIDENT PATIENT
Glancing over the somewhat incoherent series of Memoirs withwhich I have endeavored to illustrate a few of the mentalpeculiarities of my friend Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I have been struckby the difficulty which I have experienced in picking out exampleswhich shall in every way answer my purpose. For in those cases inwhich Holmes has performed some tour de force of analyticalreasoning, and has demonstrated the value of his peculiar methodsof investigation, the facts themselves have often been so slight orso commonplace that I could not feel justified in laying thembefore the public. On the other hand, it has frequently happenedthat he has been concerned in some research where the facts havebeen of the most remarkable and dramatic character, but where theshare which he has himself taken in determining their causes hasbeen less pronounced than I, as his biographer, could wish. Thesmall matter which I have chronicled under the heading of "A Studyin Scarlet," and that other later one connected with the loss ofthe Gloria Scott, may serve as examples of this Scylla andCharybdis which are forever threatening the historian. It may bethat in the business of which I am now about to write the partwhich my friend played is not sufficiently accentuated; and yet thewhole train of circumstances is so remarkable that I cannot bringmyself to omit it entirely from this series.
It had been a close, rainy day in October. Our blinds werehalf-drawn, and Holmes lay curled upon the sofa, reading andre-reading a letter which he had received by the morning post. Formyself, my tern of service in India had trained me to stand heatbetter than cold, and a thermometer of 90 was no hardship. But thepaper was uninteresting. Parliament had risen. Everybody was out oftown, and I yearned for the glades of the New Forest or the shingleof Southsea. A depleted bank account had caused me to postpone myholiday, and as to my companion, neither the country nor the seapresented the slightest attraction to him. He loved to lie in thevery centre of five millions of people, with his filamentsstretching out and running through them, responsive to every littlerumor or suspicion of unsolved crime. Appreciation of Nature foundno place among his many gifts, and his only change was when heturned his mind from the evil-doer of the town to track down hisbrother of the country.
Finding that Holmes was too absorbed for conversation, I hadtossed aside the barren paper, and leaning back in my chair, I fellinto a brown study. Suddenly my companion's voice broke in upon mythoughts.
"You are right, Watson," said he. "It does seem a verypreposterous way of settling a dispute."
"Most preposterous!" I exclaimed, and then, suddenly realizinghow he had echoed the inmost thought of my soul, I sat up in mychair and stared at him in blank amazement.
"What is this, Holmes?" I cried. "This is beyond anything whichI could have imagined."
He laughed heartily at my perplexity.
"You remember," said he, "that some little time ago, when I readyou the passage in one of Poe's sketches, in which a close reasonerfollows the unspoken thought of his companion, you were inclined totreat the matter as a mere tour de force of the author. On myremarking that I was constantly in the habit of doing the samething you expressed incredulity."
"Oh, no!"
"Perhaps not with your tongue, my dear Watson, but certainlywith your eyebrows. So when I saw you throw down your paper andenter upon a train of thought, I was very happy to have theopportunity of reading it off, and eventually of breaking into it,as a proof that I had been in rapport with you."
But I was still far from satisfied. "In the example which youread to me," said I, "the reasoner drew his conclusions from theactions of the man whom he observed. If I remember right, hestumbled over a heap of stones, looked up at the stars, and so on.But I have been seated quietly in my chair, and what clews can Ihave given you?"
"You do yourself an injustice. The features are given to man asthe means by which he shall express his emotions, and yours arefaithful servants."
"Do you mean to say that you read my train of thoughts from myfeatures?"
"Your features, and especially your eyes. Perhaps you cannotyourself recall how your reverie commenced?"
"No, I cannot."
"Then I will tell you. After throwing down your paper, which wasthe action which drew my attention to you, you sat for half aminute with a vacant expression. Then your eyes fixed themselvesupon your newly-framed picture of General Gordon, and I saw by thealteration in your face that a train of thought had been started.But it did not lead very far. Your eyes turned across to theunframed portrait of Henry Ward Beecher which stands upon the topof your books. You then glanced up at the wall, and of course yourmeaning was obvious. You were thinking that if the portrait wereframed it would just cover that bare space and correspond withGordon's picture over there."
"You have followed me wonderfully!" I exclaimed.
"So far I could hardly have gone astray. But now your thoughtswent back to Beecher, and you looked hard across as if you werestudying the character in his features. Then your eyes ceased topucker, but you continued to look across, and your face wasthoughtful. You were recalling the incidents of Beecher's career. Iwas well aware that you could not do this without thinking of themission which he undertook on behalf of the North at the time ofthe Civil War, for I remember you expressing your passionateindignation at the way in which he was received by the moreturbulent of our people. You felt so strongly about it that I knewyou could not think of Beecher without thinking of that also. Whena moment later I saw your eyes wander away from the picture, Isuspected that your mind had now turned to the Civil War, and whenI observed that your lips set, your eyes sparkled, and your handsclinched, I was positive that you were indeed thinking of thegallantry which was shown by both sides in that desperate struggle.But then, again, your face grew sadder; you shook your head. Youwere dwelling upon the sadness and horror and useless waste oflife. Your hand stole towards your own old wound, and a smilequivered on your lips, which showed me that the ridiculous side ofthis method of settling international questions had forced itselfupon 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, Iconfess that I am as amazed as before."
"It was very superficial, my dear Watson, I assure you. I shouldnot have intruded it upon your attention had you not shown someincredulity the other day. But the evening has brought a breezewith it. What do you say to a ramble through London?"
I was weary of our little sitting-room and gladly acquiesced.For three hours we strolled about together, watching theever-changing kaleidoscope of life as it ebbs and flows throughFleet Street and the Strand. His characteristic talk, with its keenobservance of detail and subtle power of inference, held me amusedand enthralled. It was ten o'clock before we reached Baker Streetagain. A brougham was waiting at our door.
"Hum! A doctor's--general practitioner, I perceive," saidHolmes. "Not been long in practice, but has had a good deal to do.Come to consult us, I fancy! Lucky we came back!"
I was sufficiently conversant with Holmes's methods to be ableto follow his reasoning, and to see that the nature and state ofthe various medical instruments in the wicker basket which hung inthe lamplight inside the brougham had given him the data for hisswift deduction. The light in our window above showed that thislate visit was indeed intended for us. With some curiosity as towhat could have sent a brother medico to us at such an hour, Ifollowed Holmes into our sanctum.
A pale, taper-faced man with sandy whiskers rose up from a chairby the fire as we entered. His age may not have been more thanthree or four and thirty, but his haggard expression and unhealthyhue told of a life which has sapped his strength and robbed him ofhis youth. His manner was nervous and shy, like that of a sensitivegentleman, and the thin white hand which he laid on the mantelpieceas he rose was that of an artist rather than of a surgeon. Hisdress was quiet and sombre--a black frock-coat, dark trousers, anda touch of color about his necktie.
"Good-evening, doctor," said Holmes, cheerily. "I am glad to seethat you 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. Prayresume your seat and let me know how I can serve you."
"My name is Doctor Percy Trevelyan," said our visitor, "and Ilive at 403 Brook Street."
"Are you not the author of a monograph upon obscure nervouslesions?" I asked.
His pale cheeks flushed with pleasure at hearing that his workwas known 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 itssale. You are yourself, 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 whathe can get 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 very singular train of events has occurredrecently at my house in Brook Street, and to-night they came tosuch a head that I felt it was quite impossible for me to waitanother hour before asking for your advice and assistance."
Sherlock Holmes sat down and lit his pipe. "You are very welcometo both," 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, "thatreally I am almost ashamed to mention them. But the matter is soinexplicable, and the recent turn which it has taken is soelaborate, that I shall lay it all before you, and you shall judgewhat is essential and what is not.
"I am compelled, to begin with, to say something of my owncollege career. I am a London University man, you know, and I amsure that you will not think that I am unduly singing my ownpraises if I say that my student career was considered by myprofessors to be a very promising one. After I had graduated Icontinued to devote myself to research, occupying a minor positionin King's College Hospital, and I was fortunate enough to exciteconsiderable interest by my research into the pathology ofcatalepsy, and finally to win the Bruce Pinkerton prize and medalby 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 ageneral impression at that time that a distinguished career laybefore me.
"But the one great stumbling-block lay in my want of capital. Asyou will readily understand, a specialist who aims high iscompelled to start in one of a dozen streets in the CavendishSquare quarter, all of which entail enormous rents and furnishingexpenses. Besides this preliminary outlay, he must be prepared tokeep himself for some years, and to hire a presentable carriage andhorse. To do this was quite beyond my power, and I could only hopethat by economy I might in ten years' time save enough to enable meto put up my plate. Suddenly, however, an unexpected incidentopened up quite a new prospect to me.
"This was a visit from a gentleman of the name of Blessington,who was a complete stranger to me. He came up to my room onemorning, and plunged into business in an instant.
"'You are the same Percy Trevelyan who has had so distinguisheda career and won a great prize lately?' said he.
"I bowed.
"'Answer me frankly,' he continued, 'for you will find it toyour interest to do so. You have all the cleverness which makes asuccessful man. 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! That's all right! But I was bound to ask. Withall these qualities, why are you not in practice?'
"I shrugged my shoulders.
"'Come, come!' said he, in his bustling way. 'It's the oldstory. More in your brains than in your pocket, eh? What would yousay if I were to start you in Brook Street?'
"I stared at him in astonishment.
"'Oh, it's for my sake, not for yours,' he cried. 'I'll beperfectly frank with you, and if it suits you it will suit me verywell. I have a few thousands to invest, d'ye see, and I think I'llsink them in you.'
"'But why?' I gasped.
"'Well, it's just like any other speculation, and safer thanmost.'
"'What am I to do, then?'
"'I'll tell you. I'll take the house, furnish it, pay the maids,and run the whole place. All you have to do is just to wear outyour chair in the consulting-room. I'll let you have pocket-moneyand everything. Then you hand over to me three quarters of what youearn, and you keep the other quarter for yourself.'
"This was the strange proposal, Mr. Holmes, with which the manBlessington approached me. I won't weary you with the account ofhow we bargained and negotiated. It ended in my moving into thehouse next Lady-day, and starting in practice on very much the sameconditions as he had suggested. He came himself to live with me inthe character of a resident patient. His heart was weak, itappears, and he needed constant medical supervision. He turned thetwo best rooms of the first floor into a sitting-room and bedroomfor himself. He was a man of singular habits, shunning company andvery seldom going out. His life was irregular, but in one respecthe was regularity itself. Every evening, at the same hour, hewalked into the consulting-room, examined the books, put down fiveand three-pence for every guinea that I had earned, and carried therest off to the strong-box in his own room.
"I may say with confidence that he never had occasion to regrethis speculation. From the first it was a success. A few good casesand the reputation which I had won in the hospital brought merapidly to the front, and during the last few years I have made hima rich man.
"So much, Mr. Holmes, for my past history and my relations withMr. Blessington. It only remains for me now to tell you what hasoccurred to bring me here to-night.
"Some weeks ago Mr. Blessington came down to me in, as it seemedto me, a state of considerable agitation. He spoke of some burglarywhich, he said, had been committed in the West End, and heappeared, I remember, to be quite unnecessarily excited about it,declaring that a day should not pass before we should add strongerbolts to our windows and doors. For a week he continued to be in apeculiar state of restlessness, peering continually out of thewindows, and ceasing to take the short walk which had usually beenthe prelude to his dinner. From his manner it struck me that he wasin mortal dread of something or somebody, but when I questioned himupon the point he became so offensive that I was compelled to dropthe subject. Gradually, as time passed, his fears appeared to dieaway, and he had renewed his former habits, when a fresh eventreduced him to the pitiable state of prostration in which he nowlies.
"What happened was this. Two days ago I received the letterwhich I now read to you. Neither address nor date is attached toit.
"'A Russian nobleman who is now resident in England,' it runs,'would be glad to avail himself of the professional assistance ofDr. Percy Trevelyan. He has been for some years a victim tocataleptic attacks, on which, as is well known, Dr. Trevelyan is anauthority. He proposes to call at about quarter past six to-morrowevening, if Dr. Trevelyan will make it convenient to be athome.'
"This letter interested me deeply, because the chief difficultyin the study of catalepsy is the rareness of the disease. You maybelieve, than, that I was in my consulting-room when, at theappointed hour, the page showed in the patient.
He was an elderly man, thin, demure, and common-place--by nomeans the conception one forms of a Russian nobleman. I was muchmore struck by the appearance of his companion. This was a tallyoung man, surprisingly handsome, with a dark, fierce face, and thelimbs and chest of a Hercules. He had his hand under the other'sarm as they entered, and helped him to a chair with a tendernesswhich one would hardly have expected 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 amatter of the most overwhelming importance to me.'
"I was touched by this filial anxiety. 'You would, perhaps, careto remain during the consultation?' said I.
"'Not for the world,' he cried with a gesture of horror. 'It ismore painful to me than I can express. If I were to see my fatherin one of these dreadful seizures I am convinced that I shouldnever survive it. My own nervous system is an exceptionallysensitive one. With your permission, I will remain in thewaiting-room while you go into my father's case.'
"To this, of course, I assented, and the young man withdrew. Thepatient and I then plunged into a discussion of his case, of whichI took exhaustive notes. He was not remarkable for intelligence,and his answers were frequently obscure, which I attributed to hislimited acquaintance with our language. Suddenly, however, as I satwriting, he ceased to give any answer at all to my inquiries, andon my turning towards him I was shocked to see that he was sittingbolt upright in his chair, staring at me with a perfectly blank andrigid face. He was again in the grip of his mysterious malady.
"My first feeling, as I have just said, was one of pity andhorror. My second, I fear, was rather one of professionalsatisfaction. I made notes of my patient's pulse and temperature,tested the rigidity of his muscles, and examined his reflexes.There was nothing markedly abnormal in any of these conditions,which harmonized with my former experiences. I had obtained goodresults in such cases by the inhalation of nitrite of amyl, and thepresent seemed an admirable opportunity of testing its virtues. Thebottle was downstairs in my laboratory, so leaving my patientseated in his chair, I ran down to get it. There was some littledelay in finding it--five minutes, let us say--and then I returned.Imagine my amazement to find the room empty and the patientgone.
"Of course, my first act was to run into the waiting-room. Theson had gone also. The hall door had been closed, but not shut. Mypage who admits patients is a new boy and by no means quick. Hewaits downstairs, and runs up to show patients out when I ring theconsulting-room bell. He had heard nothing, and the affair remaineda complete mystery. Mr. Blessington came in from his walk shortlyafterwards, but I did not say anything to him upon the subject,for, to tell the truth, I have got in the way of late of holding aslittle communication with him as possible.
"Well, I never thought that I should see anything more of theRussian and his son, so you can imagine my amazement when, at thevery same hour this evening, they both came marching into myconsulting-room, just as they had done before.
"'I feel that I owe you a great many apologies for my abruptdeparture yesterday, 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 fromthese attacks my mind is always very clouded as to all that hasgone before. I woke up in a strange room, as it seemed to me, andmade my way out into the street in a sort of dazed way when youwere absent.'
"'And I,' said the son, 'seeing my father pass the door of thewaiting-room, naturally thought that the consultation had come toan end. It was not until we had reached home that I began torealize the true state of affairs.'
"'Well,' said I, laughing, 'there is no harm done except thatyou puzzled me terribly; so if you, sir, would kindly step into thewaiting-room I shall be happy to continue our consultation whichwas brought to so abrupt an ending.'
"For half an hour or so I discussed that old gentleman'ssymptoms with him, and then, having prescribed for him, I saw himgo off upon the arm of his son.
"I have told you that Mr. Blessington generally chose this hourof the day for his exercise. He came in shortly afterwards andpassed upstairs. An instant later I heard him running down, and heburst into my consulting-room like a man who is mad with panic.
"'Who has been in my room?' he cried.
"'No one,' said I.
"'It's a lie!' he yelled. 'Come up and look!'
"I passed over the grossness of his language, as he seemed halfout of his mind with fear. When I went upstairs with him he pointedto several footprints upon the light carpet.
"'D'you mean to say those are mine?' he cried.
"They were certainly very much larger than any which he couldhave made, and were evidently quite fresh. It rained hard thisafternoon, as you know, and my patients were the only people whocalled. It must have been the case, then, that the man in thewaiting-room had, for some unknown reason, while I was busy withthe other, ascended to the room of my resident patient. Nothing hasbeen touched or taken, but there were the footprints to prove thatthe intrusion was an undoubted fact.
"Mr. Blessington seemed more excited over the matter than Ishould have thought possible, though of course it was enough todisturb anybody's peace of mind. He actually sat crying in anarm-chair, and I could hardly get him to speak coherently. It washis suggestion that I should come round to you, and of course I atonce saw the propriety of it, for certainly the incident is a verysingular one, though he appears to completely overtake itsimportance. If you would only come back with me in my brougham, youwould at least be able to soothe him, though I can hardly hope thatyou will be able to explain this remarkable occurrence."
Sherlock Holmes had listened to this long narrative with anintentness which showed me that his interest was keenly aroused.His face was as impassive as ever, but his lids had drooped moreheavily over his eyes, and his smoke had curled up more thicklyfrom his pipe to emphasize each curious episode in the doctor'stale. As our visitor concluded, Holmes sprang up without a word,handed me my hat, picked his own from the table, and followed Dr.Trevelyan to the door. Within a quarter of an hour we had beendropped at the door of the physician's residence in Brook Street,one of those sombre, flat-faced houses which one associates with aWest-End practice. A small page admitted us, and we began at onceto ascend the broad, well-carpeted stair.
But a singular interruption brought us to a standstill. Thelight at the top was suddenly whisked out, and from the darknesscame a reedy, quivering voice.
"I have a pistol," it cried. "I give you my word that I'll fireif you come any nearer."
"This really grows outrageous, Mr. Blessington," cried Dr.Trevelyan.
"Oh, then it is you, doctor," said the voice, with a great heaveof relief. "But those other gentlemen, are they what they pretendto be?"
We were conscious of a long scrutiny out of the darkness.
"Yes, yes, it's all right," said the voice at last. "You cancome up, and I am sorry if my precautions have annoyed you."
He relit the stair gas as he spoke, and we saw before us asingular-looking man, whose appearance, as well as his voice,testified to his jangled nerves. He was very fat, but hadapparently at some time been much fatter, so that the skin hungabout his face in loose pouches, like the cheeks of a blood-hound.He was of a sickly color, and his thin, sandy hair seemed tobristle up with the intensity of his emotion. In his hand he held apistol, 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 advicemore than I do. I suppose that Dr. Trevelyan has told you of thismost unwarrantable 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 it is hard to say that. You can hardly expect me toanswer that, Mr. Holmes."
"Do you mean that you don't know?"
"Come in here, if you please. Just have the kindness to step inhere."
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 endof his bed. "I have never been a very rich man, Mr. Holmes--nevermade but one investment in my life, as Dr. Trevelyan would tellyou. But I don't believe in bankers. I would never trust a banker,Mr. Holmes. Between ourselves, what little I have is in that box,so you can understand what it means to me when unknown people forcethemselves into my rooms."
Holmes looked at Blessington in his questioning way and shookhis head.
"I cannot possibly advise you if you try to deceive me," saidhe.
"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 breakingvoice.
"My advice to you, sir, is to speak the truth."
A minute later we were in the street and walking for home. Wehad crossed Oxford Street and were half way down Harley Streetbefore I could get a word from my companion.
"Sorry to bring you out on such a fool's errand, Watson," hesaid at last. "It is an interesting case, too, at the bottom ofit."
"I can make little of it," I confessed.
"Well, it is quite evident that there are two men--more,perhaps, but at least two--who are determined for some reason toget at this fellow Blessington. I have no doubt in my mind thatboth on the first and on the second occasion that young manpenetrated to Blessington's room, while his confederate, by aningenious device, kept the doctor from interfering."
"And the catalepsy?"
"A fraudulent imitation, Watson, though I should hardly dare tohint as much to our specialist. It is a very easy complaint toimitate. I have done it myself."
"And then?"
"By the purest chance Blessington was out on each occasion.Their reason for choosing so unusual an hour for a consultation wasobviously to insure that there should be no other patient in thewaiting-room. It just happened, however, that this hour coincidedwith Blessington's constitutional, which seems to show that theywere not very well acquainted with his daily routine. Of course, ifthey had been merely after plunder they would at least have madesome attempt to search for it. Besides, I can read in a man's eyewhen it is his own skin that he is frightened for. It isinconceivable that this fellow could have made two such vindictiveenemies as these appear to be without knowing of it. I hold 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 possiblethat to-morrow may find him in a more communicative mood."
"Is there not one alternative," I suggested, "grotesquelyimprobable, no doubt, but still just conceivable? Might the wholestory of the cataleptic Russian and his son be a concoction of Dr.Trevelyan's, who has, for his own purposes, been in Blessington'srooms?"
I saw in the gaslight that Holmes wore an amused smile at thisbrilliant departure of mine.
"My dear fellow," said he, "it was one of the first solutionswhich occurred to me, but I was soon able to corroborate thedoctor's tale. This young man has left prints upon the stair-carpetwhich made it quite superfluous for me to ask to see those which hehad made in the room. When I tell you that his shoes weresquare-toed instead of being pointed like Blessington's, and werequite an inch and a third longer than the doctor's, you willacknowledge that there can be no doubt as to his individuality. Butwe may sleep on it now, for I shall be surprised if we do not hearsomething further from Brook Street in the morning."
Sherlock Holmes's prophecy was soon fulfilled, and in a dramaticfashion. At half-past seven next morning, in the first glimmer ofdaylight, I found him standing by my bedside in hisdressing-gown.
"There's a brougham waiting for us, Watson," said he.
"What's the matter, then?"
"The Brook Street business."
"Any fresh news?"
"Tragic, but ambiguous," said he, pulling up the blind. "Look atthis--a sheet from a note-book, with 'For God's sake come atonce--P. T.,' scrawled upon it in pencil. Our friend, the doctor,was hard put to it when he wrote this. Come along, my dear fellow,for it's an urgent call."
In a quarter of an hour or so we were back at the physician'shouse. He came running out to meet us with a face of horror.
"Oh, such a business!" he cried, with his hands to histemples.
"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 policeare already 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. Whenthe maid entered, about seven, there the unfortunate fellow was,hanging in the middle of the room. He had tied his cord to the hookon which the heavy lamp used to hang, and he had jumped off fromthe top of the very box that he showed us yesterday."
Holmes stood for a moment in deep thought.
"With your permission," said he at last, "I should like to goupstairs and look into the matter."
We both ascended, followed by the doctor.
It was a dreadful sight which met us as we entered the bedroomdoor. I have spoken of the impression of flabbiness which this manBlessington conveyed. As he dangled from the hook it wasexaggerated and intensified until he was scarce human in hisappearance. The neck was drawn out like a plucked chicken's, makingthe rest of him seem the more obese and unnatural by the contrast.He was clad only in his long night-dress, and his swollen anklesand ungainly feet protruded starkly from beneath it. Beside himstood a smart-looking police-inspector, who was taking notes in apocket-book.
"Ah, Mr. Holmes," said he, heartily, as my friend entered. "I amdelighted to see you."
"Good-morning, Lanner," answered Holmes; "you won't think me anintruder, I am sure. Have you heard of the events which led up tothis affair?"
"Yes, I heard something of them."
"Have you formed any opinion?"
"As far as I can see, the man has been driven out of his sensesby fright. The bed has been well slept in, you see. There's hisimpression deep enough. It's about five in the morning, you know,that suicides are most common. That would be about his time forhanging himself. It seems to have been a very deliberateaffair."
"I should say that he has been dead about three hours, judgingby the rigidity 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.Seems to have smoked heavily during the night, too. Here are fourcigar-ends that 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 itcontained.
"Oh, this is a Havana, and these others are cigars of thepeculiar sort which are imported by the Dutch from their EastIndian colonies. They are usually wrapped in straw, you know, andare thinner for their length than any other brand." He picked upthe four ends and examined them with his pocket-lens.
"Two of these have been smoked from a holder and two without,"said he. "Two have been cut by a not very sharp knife, and two havehad the ends bitten off by a set of excellent teeth. This is nosuicide, Mr. Lanner. It is a very deeply planned and cold-bloodedmurder."
"Impossible!" cried the inspector.
"And why?"
"Why should any one 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 togive you some further information about it."
He went over to the door, and turning the lock he examined it inhis methodical way. Then he took out the key, which was on theinside, and inspected that also. The bed, the carpet, the chairs,the mantelpiece, the dead body, and the rope were each in turnexamined, until at last he professed himself satisfied, and with myaid and that of the inspector cut down the wretched object and laidit reverently under a sheet.
"How about this rope?" he asked.
"It is cut off this," said Dr. Trevelyan, drawing a large coilfrom under the bed. "He was morbidly nervous of fire, and alwayskept this beside him, so that he might escape by the window in casethe stairs were burning."
"That must have saved them trouble," said Holmes, thoughtfully."Yes, the actual facts are very plain, and I shall be surprised ifby the afternoon I cannot give you the reasons for them as well. Iwill take this photograph of Blessington, which I see upon themantelpiece, as it may help 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," saidHolmes. "There were three of them in it: the young man, the oldman, and a third, to whose identity I have no clue. The first two,I need hardly remark, are the same who masqueraded as the Russiancount and his son, so we can give a very full description of them.They were admitted by a confederate inside the house. If I mightoffer you a word of advice, Inspector, it would be to arrest thepage, who, as I understand, has only recently come into yourservice, Doctor."
"The young imp cannot be found," said Dr. Trevelyan; "the maidand the cook have just been searching for him."
Holmes shrugged his shoulders.
"He has played a not unimportant part in this drama," said he."The three men having ascended the stairs, which they did ontiptoe, the elder man first, the younger man second, and theunknown man in the rear--"
"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 lastnight. They ascended, then, to Mr. Blessington's room, the door ofwhich they found to be locked. With the help of a wire, however,they forced round the key. Even without the lens you will perceive,by the scratches on this ward, where the pressure was applied.
"On entering the room their first proceeding must have been togag Mr. Blessington. He may have been asleep, or he may have beenso paralyzed with terror as to have been unable to cry out. Thesewalls are thick, and it is conceivable that his shriek, if he hadtime to utter one, was unheard.
"Having secured him, it is evident to me that a consultation ofsome sort was held. Probably it was something in the nature of ajudicial proceeding. It must have lasted for some time, for it wasthen that these cigars were smoked. The older man sat in thatwicker chair; it was he who used the cigar-holder. The younger mansat over yonder; he knocked his ash off against the chest ofdrawers. The third fellow paced up and down. Blessington, I think,sat upright in the bed, but of that I cannot be absolutelycertain.
"Well, it ended by their taking Blessington and hanging him. Thematter was so prearranged that it is my belief that they broughtwith them some sort of block or pulley which might serve as agallows. That screw-driver and those screws were, as I conceive,for fixing it up. Seeing the hook, however, they naturally savedthemselves the trouble. Having finished their work they made off,and the door was barred behind them by their confederate."
We had all listened with the deepest interest to this sketch ofthe night's doings, which Holmes had deduced from signs so subtleand minute that, even when he had pointed them out to us, we couldscarcely follow him in his reasoning. The inspector hurried away onthe instant to make inquiries about the page, while Holmes and Ireturned to Baker Street for breakfast.
"I'll be back by three," said he, when we had finished our meal."Both the inspector and the doctor will meet me here at that hour,and I hope by that time to have cleared up any little obscuritywhich the case may still present."
Our visitors arrived at the appointed time, but it was a quarterto four before my friend put in an appearance. From his expressionas he entered, however, I could see that all had gone well withhim.
"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-calledBlessington is, as I expected, well known at headquarters, and soare his assailants. Their names are Biddle, Hayward, andMoffat."
"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 theinspector.
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 it--these four and a fifth calledCartwright. Tobin, the care-taker, was murdered, and the thievesgot away with seven thousand pounds. This was in 1875. They wereall five arrested, but the evidence against them was by no meansconclusive. This Blessington or Sutton, who was the worst of thegang, turned informer. On his evidence Cartwright was hanged andthe other three got fifteen years apiece. When they got out theother day, which was some years before their full term, they setthemselves, as you perceive, to hunt down the traitor and to avengethe death of their comrade upon him. Twice they tried to get at himand failed; a third time, you see, it came off. Is there anythingfurther which I can explain, Dr. Trevelyan?"
"I think you have made it all remarkably clear," said thedoctor. "No doubt the day on which he was perturbed was the daywhen he had seen 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 everybodyas long as he could. His secret was a shameful one, and he couldnot bring himself to divulge it. However, wretch as he was, he wasstill living under the shield of British law, and I have no doubt,Inspector, that you will see that, though that shield may fail toguard, the sword of justice is still there to avenge."
Such were the singular circumstances in connection with theResident Patient and the Brook Street Doctor. From that nightnothing has been seen of the three murderers by the police, and itis surmised at Scotland Yard that they were among the passengers ofthe ill-fated steamer Norah Creina, which was lost some years agowith all hands upon the Portuguese coast, some leagues to the northof Oporto. The proceedings against the page broke down for want ofevidence, and the Brook Street Mystery, as it was called, has neveruntil now been fully dealt with in any public print.
ADVENTURE IX. THE GREEK INTERPRETER
During my long and intimate acquaintance with Mr. SherlockHolmes I had never heard him refer to his relations, and hardlyever to his own early life. This reticence upon his part hadincreased the somewhat inhuman effect which he produced upon me,until sometimes I found myself regarding him as an isolatedphenomenon, a brain without a heart, as deficient in human sympathyas he was pre-eminent in intelligence. His aversion to women andhis disinclination to form new friendships were both typical of hisunemotional character, but not more so than his completesuppression of every reference to his own people. I had come tobelieve that he was an orphan with no relatives living, but oneday, to my very great surprise, he began to talk to me about hisbrother.
It was after tea on a summer evening, and the conversation,which had roamed in a desultory, spasmodic fashion from golf clubsto the causes of the change in the obliquity of the ecliptic, cameround at last to the question of atavism and hereditary aptitudes.The point under discussion was, how far any singular gift in anindividual was due to his ancestry and how far to his own earlytraining.
"In your own case," said I, "from all that you have told me, itseems obvious that your faculty of observation and your peculiarfacility for deduction are due to your own systematictraining."
"To some extent," he answered, thoughtfully. "My ancestors werecountry squires, who appear to have led much the same life as isnatural to their class. But, none the less, my turn that way is inmy veins, and may have come with my grandmother, who was the sisterof Vernet, the French artist. Art in the blood is liable to takethe strangest forms."
"But how do you know that it is hereditary?"
"Because my brother Mycroft possesses it in a larger degree thanI do."
This was news to me indeed. If there were another man with suchsingular powers in England, how was it that neither police norpublic had heard of him? I put the question, with a hint that itwas my companion's modesty which made him acknowledge his brotheras 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 beseen exactly as they are, and to underestimate one's self is asmuch a departure from truth as to exaggerate one's own powers. WhenI say, therefore, that Mycroft has better powers of observationthan I, you may take it that I am speaking the exact and literaltruth."
"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 haveproclaimed as much, for Sherlock Holmes pulled out his watch.
"The Diogenes Club is the queerest club in London, and Mycroftone of the queerest men. He's always there from quarter to five totwenty to eight. It's six now, so if you care for a stroll thisbeautiful evening I shall be very happy to introduce you to twocuriosities."
"Five minutes later we were in the street, walking towardsRegent's Circus.
"You wonder," said my companion, "why it is that Mycroft doesnot use his powers for detective work. He is incapable of it."
"But I thought you said--"
"I said that he was my superior in observation and deduction. Ifthe art of the detective began and ended in reasoning from anarm-chair, my brother would be the greatest criminal agent thatever lived. But he has no ambition and no energy. He will not evengo out of his way to verify his own solution, and would rather beconsidered wrong than take the trouble to prove himself right.Again and again I have taken a problem to him, and have received anexplanation which has afterwards proved to be the correct one. Andyet he was absolutely incapable of working out the practical pointswhich must be gone into before a case could be laid before a judgeor jury."
"It is not his profession, then?"
"By no means. What is to me a means of livelihood is to him themerest hobby of a dilettante. He has an extraordinary faculty forfigures, and audits the books in some of the governmentdepartments. Mycroft lodges in Pall Mall, and he walks round thecorner into Whitehall every morning and back every evening. Fromyear's end to year's end he takes no other exercise, and is seennowhere else, except only in the Diogenes Club, which is justopposite 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 comfortablechairs and the latest periodicals. It is for the convenience ofthese that the Diogenes Club was started, and it now contains themost unsociable and unclubable men in town. No member is permittedto take the least notice of any other one. Save in the Stranger'sRoom, no talking is, under any circumstances, allowed, and threeoffences, if brought to the notice of the committee, render thetalker liable to expulsion. My brother was one of the founders, andI have myself found it a very soothing atmosphere."
We had reached Pall Mall as we talked, and were walking down itfrom the St. James's end. Sherlock Holmes stopped at a door somelittle distance from the Carlton, and, cautioning me not to speak,he led the way into the hall. Through the glass paneling I caught aglimpse of a large and luxurious room, in which a considerablenumber of men were sitting about and reading papers, each in hisown little nook. Holmes showed me into a small chamber which lookedout into Pall Mall, and then, leaving me for a minute, he came backwith a companion whom I knew could only be his brother.
Mycroft Holmes was a much larger and stouter man than Sherlock.His body was absolutely corpulent, but is face, though massive, hadpreserved something of the sharpness of expression which was soremarkable in that of his brother. His eyes, which were of apeculiarly light, watery gray, seemed to always retain thatfar-away, introspective look which I had only observed inSherlock's when he was exerting his full powers.
"I am glad to meet you, sir," said he, putting out a broad, fathand like the flipper of a seal. "I hear of Sherlock everywheresince you became his chronicler. By the way, Sherlock, I expectedto see you round last week, to consult me over that Manor Housecase. I thought you might be 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 inthe bow-window of the club. "To any one who wishes to study mankindthis is the spot," said Mycroft. "Look at the magnificent types!Look at these two men 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 Icould see in one of them. The other was a very small, dark fellow,with his hat pushed 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 manwith that bearing, expression of authority, and sunbaked skin, is asoldier, is more than a private, and is not long from India."
"That he has not left the service long is shown by his stillwearing is ammunition boots, as they are called," observedMycroft.
"He had not the cavalry stride, yet he wore his hat on one side,as is shown by the lighter skin of that side of his brow. Hisweight is against his being a sapper. He is in the artillery."
"Then, of course, his complete mourning shows that he has lostsome one very dear. The fact that he is doing his own shoppinglooks as though it were his wife. He has been buying things forchildren, you perceive. There is a rattle, which shows that one ofthem is very young. The wife probably died in childbed. The factthat he has a picture-book under his arm shows that there isanother child to be thought of."
I began to understand what my friend meant when he said that hisbrother possessed even keener faculties that he did himself. Heglanced across at me and smiled. Mycroft took snuff from atortoise-shell box, and brushed away the wandering grains from hiscoat front with a large, red silk handkerchief.
"By the way, Sherlock," said he, "I have had something quiteafter your own heart--a most singular problem--submitted to myjudgment. I really had not the energy to follow it up save in avery incomplete fashion, but it gave me a basis for some pleasingspeculation. If you would care to hear the facts--"
"My dear Mycroft, I should be delighted."
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 onthe floor above me, and I have some slight acquaintance with him,which led him to come to me in his perplexity. Mr. Melas is a Greekby extraction, as I understand, and he is a remarkable linguist. Heearns his living partly as interpreter in the law courts and partlyby acting as guide to any wealthy Orientals who may visit theNorthumberland Avenue hotels. I think I will leave him to tell hisvery remarkable experience in his own fashion."
A few minutes later we were joined by a short, stout man whoseolive face and coal-black hair proclaimed his Southern origin,though his speech was that of an educated Englishman. He shookhands eagerly with Sherlock Holmes, and his dark eyes sparkled withpleasure when he understood that the specialist was anxious to hearhis story.
"I do not believe that the police credit me--on my word, I donot," said he in a wailing voice. "Just because they have neverheard of it before, they think that such a thing cannot be. But Iknow that I shall never be easy in my mind until I know what hasbecome of my poor man with the sticking-plaster upon his face."
"I am all attention," said Sherlock Holmes.
"This is Wednesday evening," said Mr. Melas. "Well then, it wasMonday night--only two days ago, you understand--that all thishappened. I am an interpreter, as perhaps my neighbor there hastold you. I interpret all languages--or nearly all--but as I am aGreek by birth and with a Grecian name, it is with that particulartongue that I am principally associated. For many years I have beenthe chief Greek interpreter in London, and my name is very wellknown in the hotels.
It happens not unfrequently that I am sent for at strange hoursby foreigners who get into difficulties, or by traveler who arrivelate and wish my services. I was not surprised, therefore, onMonday night when a Mr. Latimer, a very fashionably dressed youngman, came up to my rooms and asked me to accompany him in a cabwhich was waiting at the door. A Greek friend had come to see himupon business, he said, and as he could speak nothing but his owntongue, the services of an interpreter were indispensable. He gaveme to understand that his house was some little distance off, inKensington, and he seemed to be in a great hurry, bustling merapidly into the cab when we had descended to the street.
"I say into the cab, but I soon became doubtful as to whether itwas not a carriage in which I found myself. It was certainly moreroomy than the ordinary four-wheeled disgrace to London, and thefittings, though frayed, were of rich quality. Mr. Latimer seatedhimself opposite to me and we started off through Charing Cross andup the Shaftesbury Avenue. We had come out upon Oxford Street and Ihad ventured some remark as to this being a roundabout way toKensington, when my words were arrested by the extraordinaryconduct of my companion.
"He began by drawing a most formidable-looking bludgeon loadedwith lead from his pocket, and switching it backward and forwardseveral times, as if to test its weight and strength. Then heplaced it without a word upon the seat beside him. Having donethis, he drew up the windows on each side, and I found to myastonishment that they were covered with paper so as to prevent myseeing through them.
"'I am sorry to cut off your view, Mr. Melas,' said he. 'Thefact is that I have no intention that you should see what the placeis to which we are driving. It might possibly be inconvenient to meif you could find your way there again.'
"As you can imagine, I was utterly taken aback by such anaddress. My companion was a powerful, broad-shouldered youngfellow, and, apart from the weapon, I should not have had theslightest chance in a struggle with him.
"'This is very extraordinary conduct, Mr. Latimer,' I stammered.'You must be aware that what you are doing is quite illegal.'
"'It is somewhat of a liberty, no doubt,' said he, 'but we'llmake it up to you. I must warn you, however, Mr. Melas, that if atany time to-night you attempt to raise an alarm or do anythingwhich is against my interests, you will find it a very seriousthing. I beg you to remember that no one knows where you are, andthat, whether you are in this carriage or in my house, you areequally in my power.'
"His words were quiet, but he had a rasping way of saying themwhich was very menacing. I sat in silence wondering what on earthcould be his reason for kidnapping me in this extraordinaryfashion. Whatever it might be, it was perfectly clear that therewas no possible use in my resisting, and that I could only wait tosee what might befall.
"For nearly two hours we drove without my having the least clueas to where we were going. Sometimes the rattle of the stones toldof a paved causeway, and at others our smooth, silent coursesuggested asphalt; but, save by this variation in sound, there wasnothing at all which could in the remotest way help me to form aguess as to where we were. The paper over each window wasimpenetrable to light, and a blue curtain was drawn across theglass work in front. It was a quarter-past seven when we left PallMall, and my watch showed me that it was ten minutes to nine whenwe 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 Ifound myself inside the house, with a vague impression of a lawnand trees on each side of me as I entered. Whether these wereprivate grounds ,however, or bona-fide country was more than Icould possibly venture to say.
"There was a colored gas-lamp inside which was turned so lowthat I could see little save that the hall was of some size andhung with pictures. In the dim light I could make out that theperson who had opened the door was a small, mean-looking,middle-aged man with rounded shoulders. As he turned towards us theglint of the light showed me that he was wearing glasses.
"'Is this Mr. Melas, Harold?' said he.
"'Yes.'
"'Well done, well done! No ill-will, Mr. Melas, I hope, but wecould not get on without you. If you deal fair with us you'll notregret it, but if you try any tricks, God help you!' He spoke in anervous, jerky fashion, and with little giggling laughs in between,but somehow he impressed me with fear more than the other.
"'What do you want with me?' I asked.
"'Only to ask a few questions of a Greek gentleman who isvisiting us, and to let us have the answers. But say no more thanyou are told to say, or--' here came the nervous giggle again--'youhad better never have been born.'
"As he spoke he opened a door and showed the way into a roomwhich appeared to be very richly furnished, but again the onlylight was afforded by a single lamp half-turned down. The chamberwas certainly large, and the way in which my feet sank into thecarpet as I stepped across it told me of its richness. I caughtglimpses of velvet chairs, a high white marble mantel-piece, andwhat seemed to be a suit of Japanese armor at one side of it. Therewas a chair just under the lamp, and the elderly man motioned thatI should sit in it. The younger had left us, but he suddenlyreturned through another door, leading with him a gentleman clad insome sort of loose dressing-gown who moved slowly towards us. As hecame into the circle of dim light which enables me to see him moreclearly I was thrilled with horror at his appearance. He was deadlypale and terribly emaciated, with the protruding, brilliant eyes ofa man whose spirit was greater than his strength. But what shockedme more than any signs of physical weakness was that his face wasgrotesquely criss-crossed with sticking-plaster, and that one largepad of it was fastened over his mouth.
"'Have you the slate, Harold?' cried the older man, as thisstrange being fell rather than sat down into a chair. 'Are hishands loose? Now, then, give him the pencil. You are to ask thequestions, Mr. Melas, and he will write the answers. Ask him firstof all whether he is prepared to sign the papers?'
"The man's eyes flashed fire.
"'Never!' he wrote in Greek upon the slate.
"'On no condition?' I asked, at the bidding of our tyrant.
"'Only if I see her married in my presence by a Greek priestwhom I know.'
"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 upour strange half-spoken, half-written conversation. Again and againI had to ask him whether he would give in and sign the documents.Again and again I had the same indignant reply. But soon a happythought came to me. I took to adding on little sentences of my ownto each question, innocent ones at first, to test whether either ofour companions knew anything of the matter, and then, as I foundthat they showed no signs I played a more dangerous game. Ourconversation 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 upon your own head. How long have you beenhere?'
"'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 outthe whole story under their very noses. My very next question mighthave cleared the matter up, but at that instant the door opened anda woman stepped into the room. I could not see her clearly enoughto know more than that she was tall and graceful, with black hair,and clad in some sort of loose white gown.
"'Harold,' said she, speaking English with a broken accent. 'Icould not stay away longer. It is so lonely up there with only--Oh,my God, it is Paul!'
"These last words were in Greek, and at the same instant the manwith a convulsive effort tore the plaster from his lips, andscreaming out 'Sophy! Sophy!' rushed into the woman's arms. Theirembrace was but for an instant, however, for the younger man seizedthe woman and pushed her out of the room, while the elder easilyoverpowered his emaciated victim, and dragged him away through theother door. For a moment I was left alone in the room, and I sprangto my feet with some vague idea that I might in some way get a clueto what this house was in which I found myself. Fortunately,however, I took no steps, for looking up I saw that the older manwas standing in the door-way with his eyes fixed upon me.
"'That will do, Mr. Melas,' said he. 'You perceive that we havetaken you into our confidence over some very private business. Weshould not have troubled you, only that our friend who speaks Greekand who began these negotiations has been forced to return to theEast. It was quite necessary for us to find some one to take hisplace, and we were fortunate in hearing of your powers.'
"I bowed.
"'There are five sovereigns here,' said he, walking up to me,'which will, I hope, be a sufficient fee. But remember,' he added,tapping me lightly on the chest and giggling, 'if you speak to ahuman soul about this--one human soul, mind--well, may God havemercy upon your soul!"
"I cannot tell you the loathing and horror with which thisinsignificant-looking man inspired me. I could see him better nowas the lamp-light shone upon him. His features were peaky andsallow, and his little pointed beard was thready and ill-nourished.He pushed his face forward as he spoke and his lips and eyelidswere continually twitching like a man with St. Vitus's dance. Icould not help thinking that his strange, catchy little laugh wasalso a symptom of some nervous malady. The terror of his face layin 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, andmy friend will see you on your way.'
"I was hurried through the hall and into the vehicle, againobtaining that momentary glimpse of trees and a garden. Mr. Latimerfollowed closely at my heels, and took his place opposite to mewithout a word. In silence we again drove for an interminabledistance with the windows raised, until at last, just aftermidnight, the carriage pulled up.
"'You will get down here, Mr. Melas,' said my companion. 'I amsorry to leave you so far from your house, but there is noalternative. Any attempt upon your part to follow the carriage canonly end in injury to yourself.'
"He opened the door as he spoke, and I had hardly time to springout when the coachman lashed the horse and the carriage rattledaway. I looked around me in astonishment. I was on some sort of aheathy common mottled over with dark clumps of furze-bushes. Faraway stretched a line of houses, with a light here and there in theupper windows. On the other side I saw the red signal-lamps of arailway.
"The carriage which had brought me was already out of sight. Istood gazing round and wondering where on earth I might be, when Isaw some one coming towards me in the darkness. As he came up to meI made 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,'you'll just 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 havetold you. But I know that there is foul play going on, and I wantto help that unhappy man if I can. I told the whole story to Mr.Mycroft Holmes next morning, and subsequently to the police."
We all sat in silence for some little time after listening tothis extraordinary narrative. Then Sherlock looked across at hisbrother.
"Any steps?" he asked.
Mycroft picked up the Daily News, which was lying on theside-table.
"'Anybody supplying any information to the whereabouts of aGreek gentleman named Paul Kratides, from Athens, who is unable tospeak English, will be rewarded. A similar reward paid to any onegiving information about a Greek lady whose first name is Sophy. X2473.' 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 to me. "Well, you take the case up by all means, and let meknow if you do any good."
"Certainly," answered my friend, rising from his chair. "I'lllet you know, and Mr. Melas also. In the meantime, Mr. Melas, Ishould certainly be on my guard, if I were you, for of course theymust know through these advertisements that you have betrayedthem."
As we walked home together, Holmes stopped at a telegraph officeand sent off several wires.
"You see, Watson," he remarked, "our evening has been by nomeans wasted. Some of my most interesting cases have come to me inthis way through Mycroft. The problem which we have just listenedto, although it can admit of but one explanation, has still somedistinguishing features."
"You have hopes of solving it?"
"Well, knowing as much as we do, it will be singular indeed ifwe fail to discover the rest. You must yourself have formed sometheory which will 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 beencarried off by 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 Greek. The lady could talk English fairly well.Inference--that she had been in England some little time, but hehad not been in Greece."
"Well, then, we will presume that she had come on a visit toEngland, and that this Harold had persuaded her to fly withhim."
"That is more probable."
"Then the brother--for that, I fancy, must be therelationship--comes over from Greece to interfere. He imprudentlyputs himself into the power of the young man and his olderassociate. They seize him and use violence towards him in order tomake him sign some papers to make over the girl's fortune--of whichhe may be trustee--to them. This he refuses to do. In order tonegotiate with him they have to get an interpreter , and they pitchupon this Mr. Melas, having used some other one before. The girl isnot told of the arrival of her brother, and finds it out by themerest accident."
"Excellent, Watson!" cried Holmes. "I really fancy that you arenot far from the truth. You see that we hold all the cards, and wehave only to fear some sudden act of violence on their part. Ifthey give us time we must have them."
"But how can we find where this house lies?"
"Well, if our conjecture is correct and the girl's name is orwas Sophy Kratides, we should have no difficulty in tracing her.That must be our main hope, for the brother is, of course, acomplete stranger. It is clear that some time has elapsed sincethis Harold established these relations with the girl--some weeks,at any rate--since the brother in Greece has had time to hear of itand come across. If they have been living in the same place duringthis time, it is probable that we shall have some answer toMycroft's advertisement."
We had reached our house in Baker Street while we had beentalking. Holmes ascended the stair first, and as he opened the doorof our room he gave a start of surprise. Looking over his shoulder,I was equally astonished. His brother Mycroft was sitting smokingin the arm-chair.
"Come in, Sherlock! Come in, sir," said he blandly, smiling atour surprised faces. "You don't 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 creampaper by a middle-aged man with a weak constitution. 'Sir,' hesays, 'in answer to your advertisement of to-day's date, I beg toinform you that know the young lady in question very well. If youshould care to call upon me I could give you some particulars as toher painful history. She is living at present at The Myrtles,Beckenham. Yours faithfully, J. Davenport.'
"He writes from Lower Brixton," said Mycroft Holmes. "Do you notthink that we might drive to him now, Sherlock, and learn theseparticulars?"
"My dear Mycroft, the brother's life is more valuable than thesister's story. I think we should call at Scotland Yard forInspector Gregson, and go straight out to Beckenham. We know that aman is being done to death, and every hour may be vital."
"Better pick up Mr. Melas on our way," I suggested. "We may needan interpreter."
"Excellent," said Sherlock Holmes. "Send the boy for afour-wheeler, and we shall be off at once." He opened thetable-drawer as he spoke, and I noticed that he slipped hisrevolver into his pocket. "Yes," said he, in answer to my glance;"I should say from what we have heard, that we are dealing with aparticularly dangerous gang."
It was almost dark before we found ourselves in Pall Mall, atthe rooms of Mr. Melas. A gentleman had just called for him, and hewas gone.
"Can you tell me where?" asked Mycroft Holmes.
"I don't know, sir," answered the woman who had opened the door;"I only know that he drove away with the gentleman in acarriage."
"Did the gentleman give a name?"
"No, sir."
"He wasn't a tall, handsome, dark young man?"
"Oh, nor, sir. He was a little gentleman, with glasses, thin inthe face, but very pleasant in his ways, for he was laughing al thetime that he was talking."
"Come along!" cried Sherlock Holmes, abruptly. "This growsserious," he observed, as we drove to Scotland Yard. "These menhave got hold of Melas again. He is a man of no physical courage,as they are well aware from their experience the other night. Thisvillain was able to terrorize him the instant that he got into hispresence. No doubt they want his professional services, but, havingused him, they may be inclined to punish him for what they willregard as his treachery."
Our hope was that, by taking train, we might get to Beckenham assoon or sooner than the carriage. On reaching Scotland Yard,however, it was more than an hour before we could get InspectorGregson and comply with the legal formalities which would enable usto enter the house. It was a quarter to ten before we reachedLondon Bridge, and half past before the four of us alighted on theBeckenham platform. A drive of half a mile brought us to TheMyrtles--a large, dark house standing back from the road in its owngrounds. Here we dismissed our cab, and made our way up the drivetogether.
"The windows are all dark," remarked the inspector. "The houseseems deserted."
"Our birds are flown and the nest empty," said Holmes.
"Why do you say so?"
"A carriage heavily loaded with luggage has passed out duringthe last hour."
The inspector laughed. "I saw the wheel-tracks in the light ofthe gate-lamp, but where does the luggage come in?"
"You may have observed the same wheel-tracks going the otherway. But the outward-bound ones were very much deeper--so much sothat we can say for a certainty that there was a very considerableweight on the carriage."
"You get a trifle beyond me there," said the inspector,shrugging his shoulder. "It will not be an easy door to force, butwe will try if we cannot make some one hear us."
He hammered loudly at the knocker and pulled at the bell, butwithout any success. Holmes had slipped away, but he came back in afew minutes.
"I have a window open," said he.
"It is a mercy that you are on the side of the force, and notagainst it, Mr. Holmes," remarked the inspector, as he noted theclever way in which my friend had forced back the catch. "Well, Ithink that under the circumstances we may enter without aninvitation."
One after the other we made our way into a large apartment,which was evidently that in which Mr. Melas had found himself. Theinspector had lit his lantern, and by its light we could see thetwo doors, the curtain, the lamp, and the suit of Japanese mail ashe had described them. On the table lay two glasses, and emptybrandy-bottle, and the remains of a meal.
"What is that?" asked Holmes, suddenly.
We all stood still and listened. A low moaning sound was comingfrom somewhere over our heads. Holmes rushed to the door and outinto the hall. The dismal noise came from upstairs. He dashed up,the inspector and I at his heels, while his brother Mycroftfollowed as quickly as his great bulk would permit.
Three doors faced up upon the second floor, and it was from thecentral of these that the sinister sounds were issuing, sinkingsometimes into a dull mumble and rising again into a shrill whine.It was locked, but the key had been left on the outside. Holmesflung open the door and rushed in, but he was out again in aninstant, with his hand to his throat."
"It's charcoal," he cried. "Give it time. It will clear."
Peering in, we could see that the only light in the room camefrom a dull blue flame which flickered from a small brass tripod inthe centre. It threw a livid, unnatural circle upon the floor,while in the shadows beyond we saw the vague loom of two figureswhich crouched against the wall. From the open door there reeked ahorrible poisonous exhalation which set us gasping and coughing.Holmes rushed to the top of the stairs to draw in the fresh air,and then, dashing into the room, he threw up the window and hurledthe brazen tripod out into the garden.
"We can enter in a minute," he gasped, darting out again. "Whereis a candle? I doubt if we could strike a match in that atmosphere.Hold the light at the door and we shall get them out, Mycroft,now!"
With a rush we got to the poisoned men and dragged them out intothe well-lit hall. Both of them were blue-lipped and insensible,with swollen, congested faces and protruding eyes. Indeed, sodistorted were their features that, save for his black beard andstout figure, we might have failed to recognize in one of them theGreek interpreter who had parted from us only a few hours before atthe Diogenes Club. His hands and feet were securely strappedtogether, and he bore over one eye the marks of a violent blow. Theother, who was secured in a similar fashion, was a tall man in thelast stage of emaciation, with several strips of sticking-plasterarranged in a grotesque pattern over his face. He had ceased tomoan as we laid him down, and a glance showed me that for him atleast our aid had come too late. Mr. Melas, however, still lived,and in less than an hour, with the aid of ammonia and brandy I hadthe satisfaction of seeing him open his eyes, and of knowing thatmy hand had drawn him back from that dark valley in which all pathsmeet.
It was a simple story which he had to tell, and one which didbut confirm our own deductions. His visitor, on entering his rooms,had drawn a life-preserver from his sleeve, and had so impressedhim with the fear of instant and inevitable death that he hadkidnapped him for the second time. Indeed, it was almost mesmeric,the effect which this giggling ruffian had produced upon theunfortunate linguist, for he could not speak of him save withtrembling hands and a blanched cheek. He had been taken swiftly toBeckenham, and had acted as interpreter in a second interview, evenmore dramatic than the first, in which the two Englishmen hadmenaced their prisoner with instant death if he did not comply withtheir demands. Finally, finding him proof against every threat,they had hurled him back into his prison, and after reproachingMelas with his treachery, which appeared from the newspaperadvertisement, they had stunned him with a blow from a stick, andhe remembered nothing more until 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 wereable to find out, by communicating with the gentleman who hadanswered the advertisement, that the unfortunate young lady came ofa wealthy Grecian family, and that she had been on a visit to somefriends in England. While there she had met a young man namedHarold Latimer, who had acquired an ascendancy over he and hadeventually persuaded her to fly with him. Her friends, shocked atthe event, had contented themselves with informing her brother atAthens, and had then washed their hands of the matter. The brother,on his arrival in England, had imprudently placed himself in thepower of Latimer and of his associate, whose name was WilsonKemp--that through his ignorance of the language he was helpless intheir hands, had kept him a prisoner, and had endeavored by crueltyand starvation to make him sign away his own and his sister'sproperty. They had kept him in the house without the girl'sknowledge, and the plaster over the face had been for the purposeof making recognition difficult in case she should ever catch aglimpse of him. Her feminine perception, however, had instantlyseen through the disguise when, on the occasion of theinterpreter's visit, she had seen him for the first time. The poorgirl, however, was herself a prisoner, for there was no one aboutthe house except the man who acted as coachman, and his wife, bothof whom were tools of the conspirators. Finding that their secretwas out, and that their prisoner was not to be coerced, the twovillains with the girl had fled away at a few hours' notice fromthe furnished house which they had hired, having first, as theythought, taken vengeance both upon the man who had defied and theone who had betrayed them.
Months afterwards a curious newspaper cutting reached us fromBuda-Pesth. It told how two Englishmen who had been traveling witha woman had met with a tragic end. They had each been stabbed, itseems, and the Hungarian police were of opinion that they hadquarreled and had inflicted mortal injuries upon each other.Holmes, however, is, I fancy, of a different way of thinking, andholds to this day that, if one could find the Grecian girl, onemight learn how the wrongs of herself and her brother came to beavenged.
ADVENTURE X. THE NAVAL TREATY
The July which immediately succeeded my marriage was madememorable by three cases of interest, in which I had the privilegeof being associated with Sherlock Holmes and of studying hismethods. I find them recorded in my notes under the headings of"The Adventure of the Second Stain," "The Adventure of the NavalTreaty," and "The Adventure of the Tired Captain." The first ofthese, however, deals with interest of such importance andimplicates so many of the first families in the kingdom that formany years it will be impossible to make it public. No case,however, in which Holmes was engaged has ever illustrated the valueof his analytical methods so clearly or has impressed those whowere associated with him so deeply. I still retain an almostverbatim report of the interview in which he demonstrated the truefacts of the case to Monsieur Dubugue of the Paris police, andFritz von Waldbaum, the well-known specialist of Dantzig, both ofwhom had wasted their energies upon what proved to be side-issues.The new century will have come, however, before the story can besafely told. Meanwhile I pass on to the second on my list, whichpromised also at one time to be of national importance, and wasmarked by several incidents which give it a quite uniquecharacter.
During my school-days I had been intimately associated with alad named Percy Phelps, who was of much the same age as myself,though he was two classes ahead of me. He was a very brilliant boy,and carried away every prize which the school had to offer,finished his exploits by winning a scholarship which sent him on tocontinue his triumphant career at Cambridge. He was, I remember,extremely well connected, and even when we were all little boystogether we knew that his mother's brother was Lord Holdhurst, thegreat conservative politician. This gaudy relationship did himlittle good at school. On the contrary, it seemed rather a piquantthing to us to chevy him about the playground and hit him over theshins with a wicket. But it was another thing when he came out intothe world. I heard vaguely that his abilities and the influenceswhich he commanded had won him a good position at the ForeignOffice, and then he passed completely out of my mind until thefollowing letter recalled his existence:
Briarbrae, Woking.
My dear Watson,--I have no doubt that you can remember "Tadpole"Phelps, who was in the fifth form when you were in the third. It ispossible even that you may have heard that through my uncle'sinfluence I obtained a good appointment at the Foreign Office, andthat I was in a situation of trust and honor until a horriblemisfortune came suddenly to blast my career.
There is no use writing of the details of that dreadful event.In the event of your acceding to my request it is probably that Ishall have to narrate them to you. I have only just recovered fromnine weeks of brain-fever, and am still exceedingly weak. Do youthink that you could bring your friend Mr. Holmes down to see me? Ishould like to have his opinion of the case, though the authoritiesassure me that nothing more can be done. Do try to bring him down,and as soon as possible. Every minute seems an hour while I live inthis state of horrible suspense. Assure him that if I have notasked his advice sooner it was not because I did not appreciate histalents, but because I have been off my head ever since the blowfell. Now I am clear again, though I dare not think of it too muchfor fear of a relapse. I am still so weak that I have to write, asyou 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,something pitiable in the reiterated appeals to bring Holmes. Somoved was I that even had it been a difficult matter I should havetried it, but of course I knew well that Holmes loved his art, sothat he was ever as ready to bring his aid as his client could beto receive it. My wife agreed with me that not a moment should belost in laying the matter before him, and so within an hour ofbreakfast-time I found myself back once more in the old rooms inBaker Street.
Holmes was seated at his side-table clad in his dressing-gown,and working hard over a chemical investigation. A large curvedretort was boiling furiously in the bluish flame of a Bunsenburner, and the distilled drops were condensing into a two-litremeasure. My friend hardly glanced up as I entered, and I, seeingthat his investigation must be of importance, seated myself in anarm-chair and waited. He dipped into this bottle or that, drawingout a few drops of each with his glass pipette, and finally broughta 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 remainsblue, all is well. If it turns red, it means a man's life." Hedipped it into the test-tube and it flushed at once into a dull,dirty crimson. "Hum! I thought as much!" he cried. "I will be atyour service in an instant, Watson. You will find tobacco in thePersian slipper." He turned to his desk and scribbled off severaltelegrams, which were handed over to the page-boy. Then he threwhimself 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. "You've gotsomething better, I fancy. You are the stormy petrel of crime,Watson. What is it?"
I handed him the letter, which he read with the mostconcentrated attention.
"It does not tell us very much, does it?" he remarked, as hehanded it back to me.
"Hardly anything."
"And yet the writing is of interest."
"But the writing is not his own."
"Precisely. It is a woman's."
"A man's surely," I cried.
"No, a woman's, 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 some one who, for good or evil, hasan exceptional nature. My interest is already awakened in the case.If you are ready we will start at once for Woking, and see thisdiplomatist who is in such evil case, and the lady to whom hedictates his letters."
We were fortunate enough to catch an early train at Waterloo,and in a little under an hour we found ourselves among thefir-woods and the heather of Woking. Briarbrae proved to be a largedetached house standing in extensive grounds within a few minutes'walk of the station. On sending in our cards we were shown into anelegantly appointed drawing-room, where we were joined in a fewminutes by a rather stout man who received us with muchhospitality. His age may have been nearer forty than thirty, buthis cheeks were so ruddy and his eyes so merry that he stillconveyed the impression of a plump and mischievous boy.
"I am so glad that you have come," said he, shaking our handswith effusion. "Percy has been inquiring for you all morning. Ah,poor old chap, he clings to any straw! His father and his motherasked me to see you, for the mere mention of the subject is verypainful to them."
"We have had no details yet," observed Holmes. "I perceive thatyou are not yourself a member of the family."
Our acquaintance looked surprised, and then, glancing down, hebegan to laugh.
"Of course you saw the J H monogram on my locket," said he. "Fora moment I thought you had done something clever. Joseph Harrisonis my name, and as Percy is to marry my sister Annie I shall atleast be a relation by marriage. You will find my sister in hisroom, for she has nursed him hand-and-foot this two months back.Perhaps we'd better go in at once, for I know how impatient heis."
The chamber in 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 thebalmy summer air. A woman was sitting beside him, who rose as weentered.
"Shall I leave, Percy?" she asked.
He clutched her hand to detain her. "How are you, Watson?" saidhe, cordially. "I should never have known you under that moustache,and I dare say you would not be prepared to swear to me. This Ipresume is your celebrated 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 handin that of the invalid. She was a striking-looking woman, a littleshort and thick for symmetry, but with a beautiful olivecomplexion, large, dark, Italian eyes, and a wealth of deep blackhair. Her rich tints made the white face of her companion the moreworn and haggard by the contrast.
"I won't waste your time," said he, raising himself upon thesofa. "I'll plunge into the matter without further preamble. I wasa happy and successful man, Mr. Holmes, and on the eve of beingmarried, when a sudden and dreadful misfortune wrecked all myprospects in life.
"I was, as Watson may have told you, in the Foreign Office, andthrough the influences of my uncle, Lord Holdhurst, I rose rapidlyto a responsible position. When my uncle became foreign minister inthis administration he gave me several missions of trust, and as Ialways brought them to a successful conclusion, he came at last tohave the utmost confidence in my ability and tact.
"Nearly ten weeks ago--to be more accurate, on the 23d ofMay--he called me into his private room, and, after complimentingme on the good work which I had done, he informed me that he had anew commission of trust for me to execute.
"'This,' said he, taking a gray roll of paper from his bureau,'is the original of that secret treaty between England and Italy ofwhich, I regret to say, some rumors have already got into thepublic press. It is of enormous importance that nothing furthershould leak out. The French or the Russian embassy would pay animmense sum to learn the contents of these papers. They should notleave my bureau were it not that it is absolutely necessary to havethem copied. You have a desk in your office?"
"'Yes, sir.'
"'Then take the treaty and lock it up there. I shall givedirections that you may remain behind when the others go, so thatyou may copy it at your leisure without fear of being overlooked.When you have finished, relock both the original and the draft inthe desk, and hand them over to me personally to-morrowmorning.'
"I took the papers and--"
"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 uncle's voice is always remarkably low. I hardly spoke atall."
"Thank you," said Holmes, shutting his eyes; "pray go on."
"I did exactly what he indicated, and waited until the otherclerks had departed. One of them in my room, Charles Gorot, hadsome arrears of work to make up, so I left him there and went outto dine. When I returned he was gone. I was anxious to hurry mywork, for I knew that Joseph--the Mr. Harrison whom you saw justnow--was in town, and that he would travel down to Woking by theeleven-o'clock train, and I wanted if possible to catch it.
"When I came to examine the treaty I saw at once that it was ofsuch importance that my uncle had been guilty of no exaggeration inwhat he had said. Without going into details, I may say that itdefined the position of Great Britain towards the Triple Alliance,and fore-shadowed the policy which this country would pursue in theevent of the French fleet gaining a complete ascendancy over thatof Italy in the Mediterranean. The questions treated in it werepurely naval. At the end were the signatures of the highdignitaries 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 Icould, but at nine o'clock I had only done nine articles, and itseemed hopeless for me to attempt to catch my train. I was feelingdrowsy and stupid, partly from my dinner and also from the effectsof a long day's work. A cup of coffee would clear my brain. Acommissionnaire remains all night in a little lodge at the foot ofthe stairs, and is in the habit of making coffee at his spirit-lampfor any of the officials who may be working over time. I rang thebell, therefore, to summon him.
"To my surprise, it was a woman who answered the summons, alarge, coarse-faced, elderly woman, in an apron. She explained thatshe was the commissionnaire's wife, who did the charing, and I gaveher the order for the coffee.
"I wrote two more articles and then, feeling more drowsy thanever, I rose and walked up and down the room to stretch my legs. Mycoffee had not yet come, and I wondered what was the cause of thedelay could be. Opening the door, I started down the corridor tofind out. There was a straight passage, dimly lighted, which ledfrom the room in which I had been working, and was the only exitfrom it. It ended in a curving staircase, with thecommissionnaire's lodge in the passage at the bottom. Half way downthis staircase is a small landing, with another passage runninginto it at right angles. This second one leads by means of a secondsmall stair to a side door, used by servants, and also as a shortcut by clerks when coming from Charles Street. Here is a roughchart of the place."
"Thank you. I think that I quite follow you," said SherlockHolmes.
"It is of the utmost importance that you should notice thispoint. I went down the stairs and into the hall, where I found thecommissionnaire fast asleep in his box, with the kettle boilingfuriously upon the spirit-lamp. I took off the kettle and blew outthe lamp, for the water was spurting over the floor. Then I put outmy hand and was about to shake the man, who was still sleepingsoundly, when a bell over his head rang loudly, and he woke with astart.
"'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 lookedat me and then up at the still quivering bell with an ever-growingastonishment upon his face.
"'If you was here, sir, then who rang the bell?' he asked.
"'The bell!' I cried. 'What bell is it?'
"'It's the bell of the room you were working in.'
"A cold hand seemed to close round my heart. Some one, then, wasin that room where my precious treaty lay upon the table. I ranfrantically up the stair and along the passage. There was no one inthe corridors, Mr. Holmes. There was no one in the room. All wasexactly as I left it, save only that the papers which had beencommitted to my care had been taken from the desk on which theylay. The copy was there, and the original was gone."
Holmes sat up in his chair and rubbed his hands. I could seethat the problem was entirely to his heart. "Pray, what did you dothen?" he murmured.
"I recognized in an instant that the thief must have come up thestairs from the side door. Of course I must have met him if he hadcome the other way."
"You were satisfied that he could not have been concealed in theroom all the time, or in the corridor which you have just describedas dimly lighted?"
"It is absolutely impossible. A rat could not conceal himselfeither in the room or the corridor. There is no cover at all."
"Thank you. Pray proceed."
"The commissionnaire, seeing by my pale face that something wasto be feared, had followed me upstairs. Now we both rushed alongthe corridor and down the steep steps which led to Charles Street.The door at the bottom was closed, but unlocked. We flung it openand rushed out. I can distinctly remember that as we did so therecame three chines from a neighboring clock. It was quarter toten."
"That is of enormous importance," said Holmes, making a noteupon his shirt-cuff.
"The night was very dark, and a thin, warm rain was falling.There was no one in Charles Street, but a great traffic was goingon, as usual, in Whitehall, at the extremity. We rushed along thepavement, bare-headed as we were, and at the far corner we found apoliceman standing.
"'A robbery has been committed,' I gasped. 'A document ofimmense value has been stolen from the Foreign Office. Has any onepassed this way?'
"'I have been standing here for a quarter of an hour, sir,' saidhe; 'only one person has passed during that time--a woman, tall andelderly, with a Paisley shawl.'
"'Ah, that is only my wife,' cried the commissionnaire; 'has noone else passed?'
"'No one.'
"'Then it must be the other way that the thief took,' cried thefellow, tugging at my sleeve.
"'But I was not satisfied, and the attempts which he made todraw me away increased my suspicions.
"'Which way did the woman go?' I cried.
"'I don't know, sir. I noticed her pass, but I had no specialreason for watching her. She seemed to be in a hurry.'
"'How long ago was it?'
"'Oh, not very many minutes.'
"'Within the last vie?'
"'Well, it could not be more than five.'
"'You're only wasting your time, sir, and every minute now is ofimportance,' cried the commissionnaire; 'take my word for it thatmy old woman has nothing to do with it, and come down to the otherend of the street. Well, if you won't, I will.' And with that herushed off in the other direction.
"But I was after him in an instant and caught him by thesleeve.
"'Where do you live?' said I.
"'16 Ivy Lane, Brixton,' he answered. 'But don't let yourself bedrawn away upon a false scent, Mr. Phelps. Come to the other end ofthe street and let us see if we can hear of anything.'
"Nothing was to be lost by following his advice. With thepoliceman we both hurried down, but only to find the street full oftraffic, many people coming and going, but all only too eager toget to a place of safety upon so wet a night. There was no loungerwho could tell us who had passed.
"Then we returned to the office, and searched the stairs and thepassage without result. The corridor which led to the room was laiddown with a kind of creamy linoleum which shows an impression veryeasily. We examined it very carefully, but found no outline of anyfootmark."
"Had it been raining all evening?"
"Since about seven."
"How is it, then, that the woman who came into the room aboutnine left no traces with her muddy boots?"
"I am glad you raised the point. It occurred to me at the time.The charwomen are in the habit of taking off their boots at thecommissionnaire's office, and putting on list slippers."
"That is very clear. There were no marks, then, though the nightwas a wet one? The chain of events is certainly one ofextraordinary interest. What did you do next?
"We examined the room also. There is no possibility of a secretdoor, and the windows are quite thirty feet from the ground. Bothof them were fastened on the inside. The carpet prevents anypossibility of a trap-door, and the ceiling is of the ordinarywhitewashed kind. I will pledge my life that whoever stole mypapers could only have come through the door."
"How about the fireplace?"
"They use none. There is a stove. The bell-rope hangs from thewire just to the right of my desk. Whoever rang it must have comeright up to the desk to do it. But why should any criminal wish toring the bell? It is a most insoluble mystery."
""Certainly the incident was unusual. What were your next steps?You examined the room, I presume, to see if the intruder had leftany traces--any cigar-end or dropped glove or hairpin or othertrifle?"
"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 usin such an investigation."
"I never smoke myself, so I think I should have observed it ifthere had been any smell of tobacco. There was absolutely no clueof any kind. The only tangible fact was that the commissionnaire'swife-Mrs. Tangey was the name--had hurried our of the place. Hecould give no explanation save that it was about the time when thewoman always went home. The policeman and I agreed that our bestplan would be to seize the woman before she could get rid of thepapers, 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 witha great deal of energy. We hire a hansom, and in half an hour wewere at the address which had been given to us. A young womanopened the door, who proved to be Mrs. Tangey's eldest daughter.Her mother had not come back yet, and we were shown into the frontroom to wait.
"About ten minutes later a knock came at the door, and here wemade the one serious mistake for which I blame myself. Instead ofopening the door ourselves, we allowed the girl to do so. We heardher say, 'Mother, there are two men in the house waiting to seeyou,' and an instant afterwards we heard the patter of feet rushingdown the passage. Forbes flung open the door, and we both ran intothe back room or kitchen, but the woman had got there before us.She stared at us with defiant eyes, and then, suddenly recognizingme, an expression of absolute astonishment came over her face.
"'Why, if it isn't 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 sometrouble with a tradesman.'
"'That's not quite good enough,' answered Forbes. 'We havereason to believe that you have taken a paper of importance fro theForeign Office, and that you ran in here to dispose of it. You mustcome back with us to Scotland Yard to be searched.'
"It was in vain that she protested and resisted. A four-wheelerwas brought, and we all three drove back in it. We had first madean examination of the kitchen, and especially of the kitchen fire,to see whether she might have made away with the papers during theinstant that she was alone. There were no signs, however, of anyashes or scraps. When we reached Scotland Yard she was handed overat once to the female searcher. I waited in an agony of suspenseuntil she came back with her report. There were no signs of thepapers.
"Then for the first time the horror of my situation came in itsfull force. Hitherto I had been acting, and action had numbedthought. I had been so confident of regaining the treaty at oncethat I had not dared to think of what would be the consequence if Ifailed to do so. But now there was nothing more to be done, and Ihad leisure to realize my position. It was horrible. Watson therewould tell you that I was a nervous, sensitive boy at school. It ismy nature. I thought of my uncle and of his colleagues in theCabinet, of the shame which I had brought upon him, upon myself,upon every one connected with me. What though I was the victim ofan extraordinary accident? No allowance is made for accidents wherediplomatic interests are at stake. I was ruined, shamefully,hopelessly ruined. I don't know what I did. I fancy I must havemade a scene. I have a dim recollection of a group of officials whocrowded round me, endeavoring to soothe me. One of them drove downwith me to Waterloo, and saw me into the Woking train. I believethat he would have come all the way had it not been that Dr.Ferrier, who lives near me, was going down by that very train. Thedoctor most kindly took charge of me, and it was well he did so,for I had a fit in the station, and before we reached home I waspractically a raving maniac.
"You can imagine the state of things here when they were rousedfrom their beds by the doctor's ringing and found me in thiscondition. Poor Annie here and my mother were broken-hearted. Dr.Ferrier had just heard enough from the detective at the station tobe able to give an idea of what had happened, and his story did notmend matters. It was evident to all that I was in for a longillness, so Joseph was bundled out of this cheery bedroom, and itwas turned into a sick-room for me. Here I have lain, Mr. Holmes,for over nine weeks, unconscious, and raving with brain-fever. Ifit had not been for Miss Harrison here and for the doctor's care Ishould not be speaking to you now. She has nursed me by day and ahired nurse has looked after me by night, for in my mad fits I wascapable of anything. Slowly my reason has cleared, but it is onlyduring the last three days that my memory has quite returned.Sometimes I wish that it never had. The first thing that I did wasto wire to Mr. Forbes, who had the case in hand. He came out, andassures me that, though everything has been done, no trace of aclue has been discovered. The commissionnaire and his wife havebeen examined in every way without any light being thrown upon thematter. The suspicions of the police then rested upon young Gorot,who, as you may remember, stayed over time in the office thatnight. His remaining behind and is French name were really the onlytwo points which could suggest suspicion; but, as a matter of fact,I did not begin work until he had gone, and his people are ofHuguenot extraction, but as English in sympathy and tradition asyou and I are. Nothing was found to implicate him in any way, andthere the matter dropped. I turn to you, Mr. Holmes, as absolutelymy last hope. If you fail me, then my honor as well as my positionare forever forfeited."
The invalid sank back upon his cushions, tired out by this longrecital, while his nurse poured him out a glass of some stimulatingmedicine. Holmes sat silently, with his head thrown back and hiseyes closed, in an attitude which might seem listless to astranger, but which I knew betokened the most intenseself-absorption.
"You statement has been so explicit," said he at last, "that youhave really left me very few questions to ask. There is one of thevery utmost importance, however. Did you tell any one that you hadthis special task to perform?"
"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 any one about thetreaty these inquiries are irrelevant."
"I said nothing."
"Do you know anything of the commissionnaire?"
"Nothing except that he is an old soldier."
"What regiment?"
"Oh, I have heard--Coldstream Guards."
"Thank you. I have no doubt I can get details from Forbes. Theauthorities are excellent at amassing facts, though they do notalways use them to advantage. What a lovely thing a rose is!"
He walked past the couch to the open window, and held up thedrooping stalk of a moss-rose, looking down at the dainty blend ofcrimson and green. It was a new phase of his character to me, for Ihad never before seen him show any keen interest in naturalobjects.
"There is nothing in which deduction is so necessary as inreligion," said he, leaning with his back against the shutters. "Itcan be built up as an exact science by the reasoner. Our highestassurance of the goodness of Providence seems to me to rest in theflowers. All other things, our powers our desires, our food, areall really necessary for our existence in the first instance. Butthis rose is an extra. Its smell and its color are an embellishmentof life, not a condition of it. It is only goodness which givesextras, and so I say again that we have much to hope from theflowers.
Percy Phelps and his nurse looked at Holmes during thisdemonstration with surprise and a good deal of disappointmentwritten upon their faces. He had fallen into a reverie, with themoss-rose between his fingers. It had lasted some minutes beforethe young lady broke in upon it.
"Do you see any prospect of solving this mystery, Mr. Holmes?"she asked, 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 caseis a very abstruse and complicated one, but I can promise you thatI will look into the matter and let you know any points which maystrike me."
"Do you see any clue?"
"You have furnished me with seven, but, of course, I must testthem before I can pronounce upon their value."
"You suspect some one?"
"I suspect myself."
"What!"
"Of coming to conclusions to rapidly."
"Then go to London and test your conclusions."
"Your advice is very excellent, Miss Harrison," said Holmes,rising. "I think, Watson, we cannot do better. Do not allowyourself to indulge in false hopes, Mr. Phelps. The affair is avery tangled one."
"I shall be in a fever until I see you again," cried thediplomatist.
"Well, I'll come out be the same train to-morrow, though it'smore than likely that my report will be a negative one."
"God bless you for promising to come," cried our client. "Itgives me fresh life to know that something is being done. By theway, I have had a letter from Lord Holdhurst."
"Ha! What did he say?"
"He was cold, but not harsh. I dare say my severe illnessprevented him from being that. He repeated that the matter was ofthe utmost importance, and added that no steps would be taken aboutmy future--by which he means, of course, my dismissal--until myhealth was restored and I had an opportunity of repairing mymisfortune."
"Well, that was reasonable and considerate," said Holmes. "Come,Watson, for we have a goody day's work before us in town."
Mr. Joseph Harrison drove us down to the station, and we weresoon whirling up in a Portsmouth train. Holmes was sunk in profoundthought, and hardly opened his mouth until we had passed ClaphamJunction.
"It's a very cheery thing to come into London by any of theselines which run high, and allow you to look down upon the houseslike this."
I thought he was joking, for the view was sordid enough, but hesoon explained himself.
"Look at those big, isolated clumps of building rising up abovethe slates, like brick islands in a lead-colored sea."
"The board-schools."
"Light-houses, my boy! Beacons of the future! Capsules withhundreds of bright little seeds in each, out of which will springthe wise, better England of the future. I suppose that man Phelpsdoes not drink?"
"I should not think so."
"Nor should I, but we are bound to take every possibility intoaccount. The poor devil has certainly got himself into very deepwater, and it's a question whether we shall ever be able to get himashore. What did you think of Miss Harrison?"
"A girl of strong character."
"Yes, but she is a good sort, or I am mistaken. She and herbrother are the only children of an iron-master somewhere upNorthumberland way. He got engaged to her when traveling lastwinter, and she came down to be introduced to his people, with herbrother as escort. Then came the smash, and she stayed on to nurseher lover, while brother Joseph, finding himself pretty snug,stayed on too. I've been making a few independent inquiries, yousee. But to-day must be a day of inquiries."
"My practice--" I began.
"Oh, if you find your own cases more interesting than mine--"said Holmes, with some asperity.
"I was going to say that my practice could get along very wellfor a day or two, since it is the slackest time in the year."
"Excellent," said he, recovering his good-humor. "Then we'lllook into this matter together. I think that we should begin beseeing Forbes. He can probably tell us all the details we wantuntil we know from what side the case is to be approached.
"You said you had a clue?"
"Well, we have several, but we can only test their value byfurther inquiry. The most difficult crime to track is the one whichis purposeless. Now this is not purposeless. Who is it who profitsby it? There is the French ambassador, there is the Russian, thereis who-ever might sell it to either of these, and there is LordHoldhurst."
"Lord Holdhurst!"
"Well, it is just conceivable that a statesman might findhimself in a position where he was not sorry to have such adocument accidentally destroyed."
"Not a statesman wit the honorable record of LordHoldhurst?"
"It is a possibility and we cannot afford to disregard it. Weshall see the noble lord to-day and find out if he can tell usanything. Meanwhile I have 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 note-book. On it wasscribbled in pencil: "L10 reward. The number of the cab whichdropped a fare at or about the door of the Foreign Office inCharles Street at quarter to ten in the evening of May 23d. Apply221 B, 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 instating that there is no hiding-place either in the room or thecorridors, then the person must have come from outside. If he camefrom outside on so wet a night, and yet left no trace of damp uponthe linoleum, which was examined within a few minutes of hispassing, then it is exceeding probably that he came in a cab. Yes,I think that we may safely deduce a cab."
"It sounds plausible."
"That is one of the clues of which I spoke. It may lead us tosomething. And then, of course, there is the bell--which is themost distinctive feature of the case. Why should the bell ring? Wasit the thief who did it out of bravado? Or was it some one who waswith the thief who did it in order to prevent the crime? Or was itan accident? Or was it--?" He sank back into the state of intenseand silent thought from which he had emerged; but it seemed to me,accustomed as I was to his every mood, that some new possibilityhad dawned suddenly upon him.
It was twenty past three when we reached our terminus, and aftera hasty luncheon at the buffet we pushed on at once to ScotlandYard. Holmes had already wired to Forbes, and we found him waitingto receive us--a small, foxy man with a sharp but by no meansamiable expression. He was decidedly frigid in his manner to us,especially when he heard the errand upon which we had come.
"I've heard of your methods before now, Mr. Holmes," said he,tartly. "You are ready enough to use all the information that thepolice can lay at your disposal, and then you try to finish thecase yourself and bring discredit on them."
"On the contrary," said Holmes, "out of my last fifty-threecases my name has only appeared in four, and the police have hadall the credit in forty-nine. I don't blame you for not knowingthis, for you are young and inexperienced, but if you wish to geton in your new duties you will work with me and not againstme."
"I'd be very glad of a hint or two," said the detective,changing his manner. "I've certainly had no credit from the case sofar."
"What steps have you taken?"
"Tangey, the commissionnaire, has been shadowed. He left theGuards with a good character and we can find nothing against him.His wife is a bad lot, though. I fancy she knows more about thisthan appears."
"Have you shadowed her?"
"We have set one of our women on to her. Mrs. Tangey drinks, andour woman has been with her twice when she was well on, but shecould get nothing 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 shownany sign of being in funds."
"What explanation did she give of having answered the bell whenMr. Phelps rang for the coffee?"
"She said that he husband was very tired and she wished torelieve him."
"Well, certainly that would agree with his being found a littlelater asleep in his chair. There is nothing against them then butthe woman's character. Did you ask her why she hurried away thatnight? Her haste attracted the attention of the policeconstable."
"She was later than usual and wanted to get home."
"Did you point out to her that you and Mr. Phelps, who startedat least twenty minutes after he, got home before her?"
"She explains that by the difference between a 'bus and ahansom."
"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 thebrokers."
"She has at least an answer for everything. Did you ask herwhether in leaving she met any one or saw any one loitering aboutCharles Street?"
"She saw no one but the constable."
"Well, you seem to have cross-examined her pretty thoroughly.What else have you done?"
"The clerk Gorot has been shadowed all these nine weeks, butwithout result. We can show nothing against him."
"Anything else?"
"Well, we have nothing else to go upon--no evidence of anykind."
"Have you formed a theory about how that bell rang?"
"Well, I must confess that it beats me. It was a cool hand,whoever it was, to go and give the alarm like that."
"Yes, it was queer thing to do. Many thanks to you for what youhave told me. If I can put the man into your hands you shall hearfrom 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 cabinetminister and future premier of England."
We were fortunate in finding that Lord Holdhurst was still inhis chambers in Downing Street, and on Holmes sending in his cardwe were instantly shown up. The statesman received us with thatold-fashioned courtesy for which he is remarkable, and seated us onthe two luxuriant lounges on either side of the fireplace. Standingon the run between us, with his slight, tall figure, his sharpfeatures, thoughtful face, and curling hair prematurely tinged withgray, he seemed to represent that not to common type, a noblemanwho is in truth noble.
"You name is very familiar to me, Mr. Holmes," said he, smiling."And, of course, I cannot pretend to be ignorant of the object ofyour visit. There has only been once occurrence in these officeswhich could call for your attention. In whose interest are youacting, 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. Ifear that the incident must have a very prejudicial effect upon hiscareer."
"But if the document if 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 thecopying of the document?"
"It was."
"Then you could hardly have been overheard?"
"It is out of the question."
"Did you ever mention to any one that it was your intention togive any one the treaty to be copied?"
"Never."
"You are certain of that?"
"Absolutely."
"Well, since you never said so, and Mr. Phelps never said so,and nobody else knew anything of the matter, then the thief'spresence in the room was purely accidental. He saw his chance andhe 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 detailsof this treaty becoming known."
A shadow passed over the expressive face of the statesman. "Verygrave results indeed."
"Any have they occurred?"
"Not yet."
"If the treaty had reached, let us say, the French or RussianForeign Office, 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 treatyhas not reached them."
Lord Holdhurst shrugged his shoulders.
"We can hardly suppose, Mr. Holmes, that the thief took thetreaty in order 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. Thetreaty will cease to be secret in a few months."
"That is most important," said Holmes. "Of course, it is apossible supposition that the thief has had a sudden illness--"
"An attack of brain-fever, for example?" asked the statesman,flashing a 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,and we shall wish you good-day."
"Every success to your investigation, be the criminal who itmay," answered the nobleman, as he bowed us out the door.
"He's a fine fellow," said Holmes, as we came out intoWhitehall. "But he has a struggle to keep up his position. He isfar from rich and has many calls. You noticed, of course, that hisboots had been resoled. Now, Watson, I won't detain you from yourlegitimate work any longer. I shall do nothing more to-day, unlessI have an answer to my cab advertisement. But I should be extremelyobliged to you if you would come down with me to Woking to-morrow,by the same train which we took yesterday."
I met him accordingly next morning and we traveled down toWoking together. He had had no answer to his advertisement, hesaid, and no fresh light had been thrown upon the case. He had,when he so willed it, the utter immobility of countenance of a redIndian, and I could not gather from his appearance whether he wassatisfied or not with the position of the case. His conversation, Iremember, was about the Bertillon system of measurements, and heexpressed his enthusiastic admiration of the French savant.
We found our client still under the charge of his devoted nurse,but looking considerably better than before. He rose from the sofaand greeted us without difficulty when we entered.
"Any news?" he asked, eagerly.
"My report, as I expected, is a negative one," said Holmes. "Ihave seen Forbes, and I have seen your uncle, and I have set one ortwo trains of inquiry 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 wekeep our courage and our patience the truth must come out."
"We have more to tell you than you have for us," said Phelps,reseating himself upon the couch.
"I hoped you might have something."
"Yes, we have had an adventure during the night, and one whichmight have proved to be a serious one." His expression grew verygrave as he spoke, and a look of something akin to fear sprang upin his eyes. "Do you know," said he, "that I begin to believe thatI am the unconscious centre of some monstrous conspiracy, and thatmy life is aimed at as well as my honor?"
"Ah!" cried Holmes.
"It sounds incredible, for I have not, as far as I know, anenemy in the world. Yet from last night's experience I can come tono other conclusion."
"Pray let me hear it."
"You must know that last night was the very first night that Ihave ever slept without a nurse in the room. I was so much betterthat I thought I could dispense with one. I had a night-lightburning, however. Well, about two in the morning I had sunk into alight sleep when I was suddenly aroused by a slight noise. It waslike the sound which a mouse makes when it is gnawing a plank, andI lay listening to it for some time under the impression that itmust come from that cause. Then it grew louder, and suddenly therecame from the window a sharp metallic snick. I sat up in amazement.There could be no doubt what the sounds were now. The first oneshad been caused by some one forcing an instrument through the slitbetween the sashes, and the second by the catch being pressedback.
"There was a pause then for about ten minutes, as if the personwere waiting to see whether the noise had awakened me. Then I hearda gentle creaking as the window was very slowly opened. I couldstand it no longer, for my nerves are not what they used to be. Isprang out of bed and flung open the shutters. A man was crouchingat the window. I could see little of him, for he was gone like aflash. He was wrapped in some sort of cloak which came across thelower part of his face. One thing only I am sure of, and that isthat he had some weapon in his hand. It looked to me like a longknife. I distinctly saw the gleam of it as he turned to run."
"This is most interesting," said Holmes. "Pray what did you dothen?"
"I should have followed him through the open window if I hadbeen stronger. As it was, I rang the bell and roused the house. Ittook me some little time, for the bell rings in the kitchen and theservants all sleep upstairs. I shouted, however, and that broughtJoseph down, and he roused the others. Joseph and the groom foundmarks on the bed outside the window, but the weather has been sodry lately that they found it hopeless to follow the trail acrossthe grass. There's a place, however, on the wooden fence whichskirts the road which shows signs, they tell me, as if some one hadgot over, and had snapped the top of the rail in doing so. I havesaid nothing to the local police yet, for I thought I had best haveyour opinion first."
This tale of our client's appeared to have an extraordinaryeffect upon Sherlock Holmes. He rose from his chair and paced aboutthe room in uncontrollable excitement.
"Misfortunes never come single," said Phelps, smiling, though itwas evident that his adventure had somewhat shaken him.
"You have certainly had your share," said Holmes. "Do you thinkyou could 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 Imust ask you 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.We passed round the lawn to the outside of the young diplomatist'swindow. There were, as he had said, marks upon the bed, but theywere hopelessly blurred and vague. Holmes stopped over them for aninstant, and then rose shrugging his shoulders.
"I don't think any one could make much of this," said he. "Letus go round the house and see why this particular room was chose bythe burglar. I should have thought those larger windows of thedrawing-room and dining-room would have had more attractions forhim."
"They are more visible from the road," suggested Mr. JosephHarrison.
"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 islocked 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 attractburglars?"
"Nothing of value."
Holmes strolled round the house with his hands in his pocketsand a negligent air which was unusual with him.
"By the way," said he to Joseph Harrison, "you found some place,I understand, where the fellow scaled the fence. Let us have a lookat 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 any one jumping down upon the other side.No, I fancy we shall get no help here. Let us go back to thebedroom and talk the matter over."
Percy Phelps was walking very slowly, leaning upon the arm ofhis future brother-in-law. Holmes walked swiftly across the lawn,and we were at the open window of the bedroom long before theothers came up.
"Miss Harrison," said Holmes, speaking with the utmost intensityof manner, "you must stay where you are all day. Let nothingprevent you from staying where you are all day. It is of the utmostimportance."
"Certainly, if you wish it, Mr. Holmes," said the girl inastonishment.
"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 cameup.
"Why do you sit moping there, Annie?" cried her brother. "Comeout into the sunshine!"
"No, thank you, Joseph. I have a slight headache and this roomis deliciously cool and soothing."
"What do you propose now, Mr. Holmes?" asked our client.
"Well, in investigating this minor affair we must not lose sightof our main inquiry. It would be a very great help to me if youwould come up to London 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 anyhelp."
"The greatest possible."
"Perhaps you would like me the stay there to-night?"
"I was just going to propose it."
"Then, if my friend of the night comes to revisit me, he willfind the bird flown. We are all in your hands, Mr. Holmes, and youmust tell us exactly what you would like done. Perhaps you wouldprefer that Joseph came wit us so as to look after me?"
"Oh, no; my friend Watson is a medical man, you know, and he'lllook after you. We'll have our lunch here, if you will permit us,and then we shall al three set off for town together."
It was arranged as he suggested, though Miss Harrison excusedherself from leaving the bedroom, in accordance with Holmes'ssuggestion. What the object of my friend's manoeuvres was I couldnot conceive, unless it were to keep the lady away from Phelps,who, rejoiced by his returning health and by the prospect ofaction, lunched with us in the dining-room. Holmes had still morestartling surprise for us, however, for, after accompanying us downto the station and seeing us into our carriage, he calmly announcedthat he had no intention of leaving Woking.
"There are one or two small points which I should desire toclear up before I go," said he. "Your absence, Mr. Phelps, will insome ways rather assist me. Watson, when you reach London you wouldoblige me by driving at once to Baker Street with our friend here,and remaining with him until I see you again. It is fortunate thatyou are old school-fellows, as you must have much to talk over. Mr.Phelps can have the spare bedroom to-night, and I will be with youin time for breakfast, for there is a train which will take me intoWaterloo 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 beof more immediate use here."
"You might tell them at Briarbrae that I hope to be backto-morrow night," cried Phelps, as we began to move from theplatform.
"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 uscould devise a satisfactory reason for this new development.
"I suppose he wants to find out some clue as to the burglarylast night, if a burglar it was. For myself, I don't believe it wasan ordinary thief."
"What is your own idea, then?"
"Upon my word, you may put it down to my weak nerves or not, butI believe there is some deep political intrigue going on around me,and that for some reason that passes my understanding my life isaimed at by the conspirators. It sounds high-flown and absurd, butconsider the fats! Why should a thief try to break in at a bedroomwindow, where there could be no hope of any plunder, and why shouldhe come with a long knife in his hand?"
"You are sure it was not a house-breaker's jimmy?"
"Oh, no, it was a knife. I saw the flash of the blade quitedistinctly."
"But why on earth should you be pursued with suchanimosity?"
"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 hecan lay his hands upon the man who threatened you last night hewill have gone a long way towards finding who took the navaltreaty. It is absurd to suppose that you have two enemies, one ofwhom robs you, while the other 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 himdo anything yet without a very good reason," and with that ourconversation drifted off on to other topics.
But it was a weary day for me. Phelps was still weak after hislong illness, and his misfortune made him querulous and nervous. Invain I endeavored to interest him in Afghanistan, in India, insocial questions, in anything which might take his mind out of thegroove. He would always come back to his lost treaty, wondering,guessing, speculating, as to what Holmes was doing, what steps LordHoldhurst was taking, what news we should have in the morning. Asthe evening wore on his excitement 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 asthis?"
"Oh, yes; I have known him solve questions which presented fewerclues than yours."
"But not where such large interests are at stake?"
"I don't know that. To my certain knowledge he has acted onbehalf of three of the reigning houses of Europe in very vitalmatters."
"But you know him well, Watson. He is such an inscrutable fellowthat I never quite know what to make of him. Do you think he ishopeful? Do you 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 trailhe generally says so. It is when he is on a scent and is not quiteabsolutely sure yet that it is the right one that he is mosttaciturn. Now, my dear fellow, we can't help matter by makingourselves nervous about them, so let me implore you to go to bedand so be fresh for whatever may await us to-morrow."
I was able at last to persuade my companion to take my advice,though I knew from his excited manner that there was not much hopeof sleep for him. Indeed, his mood was infectious, for I laytossing half the night myself, brooding over this strange problem,and inventing a hundred theories, each of which was more impossiblethan the last. Why had Holmes remained at Woking? Why had he askedMiss Harrison to remain in the sick-room all day? Why had he beenso careful not to inform the people at Briarbrae that he intendedto remain near them? I cudgelled my brains until I fell asleep inthe endeavor to find some explanation which would cover all thesefacts.
It was seven o'clock when I awoke, and I set off at once forPhelps's room, to find him haggard and spent after a sleeplessnight. His first question was whether Holmes had arrived yet.
"He'll be here when he promised," said I, "and not an instantsooner or later."
And my words were true, for shortly after eight a hansom dashedup to the door and our friend got out of it. Standing in the windowwe saw that his left hand was swathed in a bandage and that hisface was very grim and pale. He entered the house, but it was somelittle time before he came upstairs.
"He looks like a beaten man," cried Phelps.
I was forced to confess that he was right. "After all," said I,"the clue of the matter lies probably here in town."
Phelps gave a groan.
"I don't know how it is," said he, "but I had hoped for so muchfrom his return. But surely his hand was not tied up like thatyesterday. What can 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," heanswered, nodding his good-mornings to us. "This case of yours, Mr.Phelps, is certainly one of the darkest which I have everinvestigated."
"I feared that you would find it beyond you."
"It has been a most remarkable experience."
"That bandage tells of adventures," said I. "Won't you tell uswhat has happened?"
"After breakfast, my dear Watson. Remember that I have breathedthirty mile of Surrey air this morning. I suppose that there hasbeen no answer from my cabman advertisement? Well, well, we cannotexpect to score every time."
The table was all laid, and just as I was about to ring Mrs.Hudson entered wit the tea and coffee. A few minutes later shebrought in three covers, and we all drew up to the table, Holmesravenous, I curious, and Phelps in the gloomiest state ofdepression.
"Mrs. Hudson has risen to the occasion," said Holmes, uncoveringa dish of curried chicken. "Her cuisine is a little limited, butshe has as good an idea of breakfast as a Scotch-woman. What haveyou here, Watson?"
"Ham and eggs," I answered.
"Good! What are you going to take, Mr. Phelps--curried fowl oreggs, 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."
"Well, then," said Holmes, with a mischievous twinkle, "Isuppose that you have no objection to helping me?"
Phelps raised the cover, and as hi did so he uttered a scream,and sat there staring with a face as white as the plate upon whichhe looked. Across the centre of it was lying a little cylinder ofblue-gray paper. He caught it up, devoured it with his eyes, andthen danced madly about the room, passing it to his bosom andshrieking out in his delight. Then he fell back into an arm-chairso limp and exhausted with his own emotions that we had to pourbrandy down his throat to keep him from fainting.
"There! there!" said Holmes, soothing, patting him upon theshoulder. "It was too bad to spring it on you like this, but Watsonhere will tell you that I never can resist a touch of thedramatic."
Phelps seized his hand and kissed it. "God bless you!" he cried."You have saved my honor."
"Well, my own was at stake, you know," said Holmes. "I assureyou it is just as hateful to me to fail in a case as it can be toyou to blunder over a commission."
Phelps thrust away the precious document into the innermostpocket of his coat.
"I have not the heart to interrupt your breakfast any further,and yet I am dying to know how you got it and where it was."
Sherlock Holmes swallowed a cup of coffee, and turned hisattention to the ham and eggs. Then he rose, lit his pipe, andsettled himself down into his chair.
"I'll tell you what I did first, and how I came to do itafterwards," said he. "After leaving you at the station I went fora charming walk through some admirable Surrey scenery to a prettylittle village called Ripley, where I had my tea at an inn, andtook the precaution of filling my flask and of putting a paper ofsandwiches in my pocket. There I remained until evening, when I setoff for Woking again, and found myself in the high-road outsideBriarbrae just after sunset.
"Well, I waited until the road was clear--it is never a veryfrequented one at any time, I fancy--and then I clambered over thefence into the grounds."
"Surely the gate was open!" ejaculated Phelps.
"Yes, but I have a peculiar taste in these matters. I chose theplace where the three fir-trees stand, and behind their screen Igot over without the least chance of any one in the house beingable to see me. I crouched down among the bushes on the other side,and crawled from one to the other--witness the disreputable stateof my trouser knees--until I had reached the clump of rhododendronsjust opposite to your bedroom window. There I squatted down andawaited developments.
"The blind was not down in your room, and I could see MissHarrison sitting there reading by the table. It was quarter-pastten when she closed her book, fastened the shutters, andretired.
"I heard her shut the door, and felt quite sure that she hadturned the key in the lock."
"The key!" ejaculated Phelps.
"Yes; I had given Miss Harrison instructions to lock the door onthe outside and take the key with her when she went to bed. Shecarried out every one of my injunctions to the letter, andcertainly without her cooperation you would not have that paper inyou coat-pocket. She departed then and the lights went out, and Iwas left squatting in the rhododendron-bush.
"The night was fine, but still it was a very weary vigil. Ofcourse it has the sort of excitement about it that the sportsmanfeels when he lies beside the water-course and waits for the biggame. It was very long, though--almost as long, Watson, as when youand I waited in that deadly room when we looked into the littleproblem of the Speckled Band. There was a church-clock down atWoking which struck the quarters, and I thought more than once thatit had stopped. At last however about two in the morning, Isuddenly heard the gentle sound of a bolt being pushed back and thecreaking of a key. A moment later the servant's door was opened,and Mr. Joseph Harrison stepped out into the moonlight."
"Joseph!" ejaculated Phelps.
"He was bare-headed, but he had a black coat thrown over hisshoulder so that he could conceal his face in an instant if therewere any alarm. He walked on tiptoe under the shadow of the wall,and when he reached the window he worked a long-bladed knifethrough the sash and pushed back the catch. Then he flung open thewindow, and putting his knife through the crack in the shutters, hethrust the bar up and swung them open.
"From where I lay I had a perfect view of the inside of the roomand of every one of his movements. He lit the two candles whichstood upon the mantelpiece, and then he proceeded to turn back thecorner of the carpet in the neighborhood of the door. Presently hestopped and picked out a square piece of board, such as is usuallyleft to enable plumbers to get at the joints of the gas-pipes. Thisone covered, as a matter of fact, the T joint which gives off thepipe which supplies the kitchen underneath. Out of thishiding-place he drew that little cylinder of paper, pushed down theboard, rearranged the carpet, blew out the candles, and walkedstraight into my arms as I stood waiting for him outside thewindow.
"Well, he has rather more viciousness than I gave him creditfor, has Master Joseph. He flew at me with his knife, and I had tograss him twice, and got a cut over the knuckles, before I had theupper hand of him. He looked murder out of the only eye he couldsee with when we had finished, but he listened to reason and gaveup the papers. Having got them I let my man go, but I wired fullparticulars to Forbes this morning. If he is quick enough to catchis bird, well and good. But if, as I shrewdly suspect, he finds thenest empty before he gets there, why, all the better for thegovernment. I fancy that Lord Holdhurst for one, and Mr. PercyPhelps for another, would very much rather that the affair nevergot as far as a police-court.
"My God!" gasped our client. "Do you tell me that during theselong ten weeks of agony the stolen papers were within the very roomwith me all the time?"
"So it was."
"And Joseph! Joseph a villain and a thief!"
"Hum! I am afraid Joseph's 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 heavilyin dabbling with stocks, and that he is ready to do anything onearth to better his fortunes. Being an absolutely selfish man, whena chance presented itself he did not allow either his sister'shappiness or your reputation to hold his hand."
Percy Phelps sank back in his chair. "My head whirls," said he."Your words have dazed me."
"The principal difficulty in your case," remarked Holmes, in hisdidactic fashion, "lay in the fact of there being too muchevidence. What was vital was overlaid and hidden by what wasirrelevant. Of all the facts which were presented to us we had topick just those which we deemed to be essential, and then piecethem together in their order, so as to reconstruct this veryremarkable chain of events. I had already begun to suspect Joseph,from the fact that you had intended to travel home with him thatnight, 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 some one had been so anxious to get into thebedroom, in which no one but Joseph could have concealedanything--you told us in your narrative how you had turned Josephout when you arrived with the doctor--my suspicions all changed tocertainties, especially as the attempt was made on the first nightupon which the nurse was absent, showing that the intruder was wellacquainted with the ways of the house."
"How blind I have been!"
"The facts of the case, as far as I have worked them out, arethese: this Joseph Harrison entered the office through the CharlesStreet door, and knowing his way he walked straight into your roomthe instant after you left it. Finding no one there he promptlyrang the bell, and at the instant that he did so his eyes caughtthe paper upon the table. A glance showed him that chance had putin his way a State document of immense value, and in an instant hehad thrust it into his pocket and was gone. A few minutes elapsed,as you remember, before the sleepy commissionnaire drew yourattention to the bell, and those were just enough to give the thieftime to make his escape.
"He made his way to Woking by the first train, and havingexamined his booty and assured himself that it really was ofimmense value, he had concealed it in what he thought was a verysafe place, with the intention of taking it out again in a day ortwo, and carrying it to the French embassy, or wherever he thoughtthat a long price was to be had. Then came your sudden return. He,without a moment's warning, was bundled out of his room, and fromthat time onward there were always at least two of you there toprevent him from regaining his treasure. The situation to him musthave been a maddening one. But at last he thought he saw hischance. He tried to steal in, but was baffled by your wakefulness.You remember that you did not take your usual draught thatnight."
"I remember."
"I fancy that he had taken steps to make that draughtefficacious, and that he quite relied upon your being unconscious.Of course, I understood that he would repeat the attempt wheneverit could be done with safety. Your leaving the room gave him thechance he wanted. I kept Miss Harrison in it all day so that hemight not anticipate us. Then, having given him the idea that thecoast was clear, I kept guard as I have described. I already knewthat the papers were probably in the room, but I had no desire torip up all the planking and skirting in search of them. I let himtake them, therefore, from the hiding-place, and so saved myself aninfinity of trouble. Is there any other point which I can makeclear?"
"Why did he try the window on the first occasion," I asked,"when he might have entered by the door?"
"In reaching the door he would have to pass seven bedrooms. Onthe other hand, he could get out on to the lawn with ease. Anythingelse?"
"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 canonly say for certain that Mr. Joseph Harrison is a gentleman towhose mercy I should be extremely unwilling to trust."
ADVENTURE XI. THE FINAL PROBLEM
It is with a heavy heart that I take up my pen to write thesethe last words in which I shall ever record the singular gifts bywhich my friend Mr. Sherlock Holmes was distinguished. In anincoherent and, as I deeply feel, an entirely inadequate fashion, Ihave endeavored to give some account of my strange experiences inhis company from the chance which first brought us together at theperiod of the "Study in Scarlet," up to the time of hisinterference in the matter of the "Naval Treaty"--and interferencewhich had the unquestionable effect of preventing a seriousinternational complication. It was my intention to have stoppedthere, and to have said nothing of that event which has created avoid in my life which the lapse of two years has done little tofill. My hand has been forced, however, by the recent letters inwhich Colonel James Moriarty defends the memory of his brother, andI have no choice but to lay the facts before the public exactly asthey occurred. I alone know the absolute truth of the matter, and Iam satisfied that the time has come when on good purpose is to beserved by its suppression. As far as I know, there have been onlythree accounts in the public press: that in the Journal de Geneveon May 6th, 1891, the Reuter's despatch in the English papers onMay 7th, and finally the recent letter to which I have alluded. Ofthese the first and second were extremely condensed, while the lastis, as I shall now sow, an absolute perversion of the facts. Itlies with me to tell for the first time what really took placebetween Professor Moriarty and Mr. Sherlock Holmes.
It may be remembered that after my marriage, and my subsequentstart in private practice, the very intimate relations which hadexisted between Holmes and myself became to some extent modified.He still came to me from time to time when he desired a companionin his investigation, but these occasions grew more and moreseldom, until I find that in the year 1890 there were only threecases of which I retain any record. During the winter of that yearand the early spring of 1891, I saw in the papers that he had beenengaged by the French government upon a matter of supremeimportance, and I received two notes from Holmes, dated fromNarbonne and from Nimes, from which I gathered that his stay inFrance was likely to be a long one. It was with some surprise,therefore, that I saw him walk into my consulting-room upon theevening of April 24th. It struck me that he was looking even palerand thinner than usual.
"Yes, I have been using myself up rather too freely," heremarked, in answer to my look rather than to my words; "I havebeen a little pressed of late. Have you any objection to my closingyour shutters?"
The only light in the room came from the lamp upon the table atwhich I had been reading. Holmes edged his way round the wall andflinging the shutters together, he bolted them securely.
"You are afraid of something?" I asked.
"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 understandthat I am by no means a nervous man. At the same time, it isstupidity rather than courage to refuse to recognize danger when itis close upon you. Might I trouble you for a match?" He drew in thesmoke of his cigarette as if the soothing influence was grateful tohim.
"I must apologize for calling so late," said he, "and I mustfurther beg you to be so unconventional as to allow me to leaveyour house presently by 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 thattwo of his knuckles were burst and bleeding.
"It is not an airy nothing, you see," said he, smiling. "On thecontrary, it is solid enough for a man to break his hand over. IsMrs. 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 shouldcome away with me for a week to the Continent."
"Where?"
"Oh, anywhere. It's all the same to me."
There was something very strange in all this. It was notHolmes's nature to take an aimless holiday, and something about hispale, worn face told me that his nerves were at their highesttension. He saw the question in my eyes, and, putting hisfinger-tips together and his elbows upon his knees, he explainedthe situation.
"You have probably never heard of Professor Moriarty?" saidhe.
"Never."
"Aye, there's the genius and the wonder of the thing!" he cried."The man pervades London, and no one has heard of him. That's whatputs him on a pinnacle in the records of crime. I tell you, Watson,in all seriousness, that if I could beat that man, if I could freesociety of him, I should feel that my own career had reached itssummit, and I should be prepared to turn to some more placid linein life. Between ourselves, the recent cases in which I have beenof assistance to the royal family of Scandinavia, and to the Frenchrepublic, have left me in such a position that I could continue tolive in the quiet fashion which is most congenial to me, and toconcentrate my attention upon my chemical researches. But I couldnot rest, Watson, I could not sit quiet in my chair, if I thoughtthat such a man as Professor Moriarty were walking the streets ofLondon unchallenged."
"What has he done, then?"
"His career has been an extraordinary one. He is a man of goodbirth and excellent education, endowed by nature with a phenomenalmathematical faculty. At the age of twenty-one he wrote a treatiseupon the Binomial Theorem, which has had a European vogue. On thestrength of it he won the Mathematical Chair at one of our smalleruniversities, and had, to all appearance, a most brilliant careerbefore him. But the man had hereditary tendencies of the mostdiabolical kind. A criminal strain ran in his blood, which, insteadof being modified, was increased and rendered infinitely moredangerous by his extraordinary mental powers. Dark rumors gatheredround him in the university town, and eventually he was compelledto resign his chair and to come down to London, where he set up asan army coach. So much is known to the world, but what I am tellingyou 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,some deep organizing power which forever stands in the way of thelaw, and throws it shield over the wrong-doer. Again and again incases of the most varying sorts--forgery cases, robberies,murders--I have felt the presence of this force, and I have deducedits action in many of those undiscovered crimes in which I have notbeen personally consulted. For years I have endeavored to breakthrough the veil which shrouded it, and at last the time came whenI seized my thread and followed it, until it led me, after athousand cunning windings, to ex-Professor Moriarty of mathematicalcelebrity.
He is the Napoleon of crime, Watson. He is the organizer of halfthat is evil and of nearly all that is undetected in this greatcity. He is a genius, a philosopher, an abstract thinker. He has abrain of the first order. He sits motionless, like a spider in thecenter of its web, but that web has a thousand radiations, and heknows well every quiver of each of them. He does little himself. Heonly plans. But his agents are numerous and splendidly 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 removed--the word is passed tothe Professor, the matter is organized and carried out. The agentmay be caught. In that case money is found for his bail or hisdefence. But the central power which uses the agent is nevercaught--never so much as suspected. This was the organization whichI deduced, Watson, and which I devoted my whole energy to exposingand breaking up.
"But the Professor was fenced round with safeguards so cunninglydevised that, do what I would, it seemed impossible to get evidencewhich would convict in a court of law. You know my powers, my dearWatson, and yet at the end of three months I was forced to confessthat I had at last met an antagonist who was my intellectual equal.My horror at his crimes was lost in my admiration at his skill. Butat last he made a trip--only a little, little trip--but it was morethan he could afford when I was so close upon him. I had my chance,and, starting from that point, I have woven my net round him untilnow it is all ready to close. In three days--that is to say, onMonday next--matters will be ripe, and the Professor, with all theprincipal members of his gang, will be in the hands of the police.Then will come the greatest criminal trial of the century, theclearing up of over forty mysteries, and the rope for all of them;but if we move at all prematurely, you understand, they may slipout of our hands even at the last moment.
"Now, if I could have done this without the knowledge ofProfessor Moriarty, all would have been well. But he was too wilyfor that. He saw every step which I took to draw my toils roundhim. Again and again he strove to break away, but I as often headedhim off. I tell you, my friend, that if a detailed account of thatsilent contest could be written, it would take its place as themost brilliant bit of thrust-and-parry work in the history ofdetection. Never have I risen to such a height, and never have Ibeen so hard pressed by an opponent. He cut deep, and yet I justundercut him. This morning the last steps were taken, and threedays only were wanted to complete the business. I was sitting in myroom thinking the matter over, when the door opened and ProfessorMoriarty stood before me.
"My nerves are fairly proof, Watson, but I must confess to astart when I saw the very man who had been so much in my thoughtsstanding there on my thresh-hold. His appearance was quite familiarto me. He is extremely tall and thin, his forehead domes out in awhite curve, and his two eyes are deeply sunken in this head. He isclean-shaven, pale, and ascetic-looking, retaining something of theprofessor in his features. His shoulders are rounded from muchstudy, and his face protrudes forward, and is forever slowlyoscillating from side to side in a curiously reptilian fashion. Hepeered at me with great curiosity in his puckered eyes.
"'You have less frontal development that I should haveexpected,' said he, at last. 'It is a dangerous habit to fingerloaded firearms in the pocket of one's dressing-gown.'
"The fact is that upon his entrance I had instantly recognizedthe extreme personal danger in which I lay. The only conceivableescape for him lay in silencing my tongue. In an instant I hadslipped the revolved from the drawer into my pocket, and wascovering him through the cloth. At his remark I drew the weapon outand laid it cocked upon the table. He still smiled and blinked, butthere was something about his eyes which made me feel very gladthat I had it there.
"'You evidently don't now me,' said he.
"'On the contrary,' I answered, 'I think it is fairly evidentthat I do. Pray take a chair. I can spare you five minutes if youhave anything to say.'
"'All that I have to say has already crossed your mind,' saidhe.
"'Then possibly my answer has crossed yours,' I replied.
"'You stand fast?'
"'Absolutely.'
"He clapped his hand into his pocket, and I raised the pistolfrom the table. But he merely drew out a memorandum-book in whichhe had scribbled some dates.
"'You crossed my patch on the 4th of January,' said he. 'On the23d you incommoded me; by the middle of February I was seriouslyinconvenienced 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 Iam in positive danger of losing my liberty. The situation isbecoming an impossible one.'
"'Have you any suggestion to make?' I asked.
"'You must drop it, Mr. Holmes,' said he, swaying his faceabout. 'You really must, you know.'
"'After Monday,' said I.
"'Tut, tut,' said he. 'I am quite sure that a man of yourintelligence will see that there can be but one outcome to thisaffair. It is necessary that you should withdraw. You have workedthings in such a fashion that we have only one resource. It hasbeen an intellectual treat to me to see the way in which you havegrappled with this affair, and I say, unaffectedly, that it wouldbe a grief to me to be forced to take any extreme measure. Yousmile, sir, abut I assure you that it really would.'
"'Danger is part of my trade,' I remarked.
"'That is not danger,' said he. 'It is inevitable destruction.You stand in the way not merely of an individual, but of a mightorganization, the full extent of which you, with all yourcleverness, have been unable to realize. You must stand clear, Mr.Holmes, or be trodden under foot.'
"'I am afraid,' said I, rising, 'that in the pleasure of thisconversation I am neglecting business of importance which awaits meelsewhere.'
"He rose also and looked at me in silence, shaking his headsadly.
"'Well, well,' said he, at last. 'It seems a pity, but I havedone what I could. I know every move of your game. You can donothing before Monday. It has been a duel between you and me, Mr.Holmes. You hope to place me in the dock. I tell you that I willnever stand in the dock. You hope to beat me. I tell you that youwill never beat me. If you are clever enough to bring destructionupon me, rest assured that I shall do as much to you.'
"'You have paid me several compliments, Mr. Moriarty,' said I.'Let me pay you one in return when I say that if I were assured ofthe former eventuality I would, in the interests of the public,cheerfully accept the latter.'
"'I can promise you the one, but not the other,' he snarled, andso turned his rounded back upon me, and went peering and blinkingout of the room.
"That was my singular interview with Professor Moriarty. Iconfess that it left an unpleasant effect upon my mind. His soft,precise fashion of speech leaves a conviction of sincerity which amere bully could not produce. Of course, you will say: 'Why nottake police precautions against him?' the reason is that I am wellconvinced that it is from his agents the blow will fall. I have thebest proofs that it would be so."
"You have already been assaulted?"
"My dear Watson, Professor Moriarty is not a man who lets thegrass grow under his feet. I went out about mid-day to transactsome business in Oxford Street. As I passed the corner which leadsfrom Bentinck Street on to the Welbeck Street crossing a two-horsevan furiously driven whizzed round and was on me like a flash. Isprang for the foot-path and saved myself by the fraction of asecond. The van dashed round by Marylebone Lane and was gone in aninstant. I kept to the pavement after that, Watson, but as I walkeddown Vere Street a brick came down from the roof of one of thehouses, and was shattered to fragments at my feet. I called thepolice and had the place examined. There were slates and brickspiled up on the roof preparatory to some repairs, and they wouldhave me believe that the wind had toppled over one of these. Ofcourse I knew better, but I could prove nothing. I took a cab afterthat and reached my brother's rooms in Pall Mall, where I spent theday. Now I have come round to you, and on my way I was attacked bya rough with a bludgeon. I knocked him down, and the police havehim in custody; but I can tell you with the most absoluteconfidence that no possible connection will ever be traced betweenthe gentleman upon whose front teeth I have barked my knuckles andthe retiring mathematical coach, who is, I dare say, working outproblems upon a black-board ten miles away. You will not wonder,Watson, that my first act on entering your rooms was to close yourshutters, and that I have been compelled to ask your permission toleave the house by some less conspicuous exit than the frontdoor."
I had often admired my friend's courage, but never more thannow, as he sat quietly checking off a series of incidents whichmust have combined 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 myplans laid, and all will be well. Matters have gone so far now thatthey can move without my help as far as the arrest goes, though mypresence is necessary for a conviction. It is obvious, therefore,that I cannot do better than get away for the few days which remainbefore the police are at liberty to act. It would be a greatpleasure to me, therefore, if you could come on to the Continentwith me."
"The practice is quiet," said I, "and I have an accommodatingneighbor. 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 I beg, my dear Watson, that you will obey them to the letter,for you are now playing a double-handed game with me against thecleverest rogue and the most powerful syndicate of criminals inEurope. Now listen! You will despatch whatever luggage you intendto take by a trusty messenger unaddressed to Victoria to-night. Inthe morning you will send for a hansom, desiring your man to takeneither the first nor the second which may present itself. Intothis hansom you will jump, and you will drive to the Strand end ofthe Lowther Arcade, handling the address to the cabman upon a slipof paper, with a request that he will not throw it away. Have yourfare ready, and the instant that your cab stops, dash through theArcade, timing yourself to reach the other side at a quarter-pastnine. You will find a small brougham waiting close to the curb,driven by a fellow with a heavy black cloak tipped at the collarwith red. Into this you will step, and you will reach Victoria intime for the Continental express."
"Where shall I meet you?"
"At the station. The second first-class carriage from the frontwill be reserved for us."
"The carriage is our rendezvous, then?"
"Yes."
It was in vain that I asked Holmes to remain for the evening. Itwas evident to me that he though he might bring trouble to the roofhe was under, and that that was the motive which impelled him togo. With a few hurried words as to our plans for the morrow he roseand came out with me into the garden, clambering over the wallwhich leads into Mortimer Street, and immediately whistling for ahansom, in which I heard him drive away.
In the morning I obeyed Holmes's injunctions to the letter. Ahansom was procured with such precaution as would prevent its beingone which was placed ready for us, and I drove immediately afterbreakfast to the Lowther Arcade, through which I hurried at the topof my speed. A brougham was waiting with a very massive driverwrapped in a dark cloak, who, the instant that I had stepped in,whipped up the horse and rattled off to Victoria Station. On myalighting there he turned the carriage, and dashed away againwithout so much as a look in my direction.
So far all had gone admirably. My luggage was waiting for me,and I had no difficulty in finding the carriage which Holmes hadindicated, the less so as it was the only one in the train whichwas marked "Engaged." My only source of anxiety now was thenon-appearance of Holmes. The station clock marked only sevenminutes from the time when we were due to start. In vain I searchedamong the groups of travellers and leave-takers for the littlefigure of my friend. There was no sign of him. I spent a fewminutes in assisting a venerable Italian priest, who wasendeavoring to make a porter understand, in his broken English,that his luggage was to be booked through to Paris. Then, havingtaken another look round, I returned to my carriage, where I foundthat the porter, in spite of the ticket, had given me my decrepitItalian friend as a traveling companion. It was useless for me toexplain to him that his presence was an intrusion, for my Italianwas even more limited than his English, so I shrugged my shouldersresignedly, and continued to look out anxiously for my friend. Achill of fear had come over me, as I thought that his absence mightmean that some blow had fallen during the night. Already the doorshad all been shut and the whistle blown, when--
"My dear Watson," said a voice, "you have not even condescendedto say good-morning."
I turned in uncontrollable astonishment. The aged ecclesiastichad turned his face towards me. For an instant the wrinkles weresmoothed away, the nose drew away from the chin, the lower lipceased to protrude and the mouth to mumble, the dull eyes regainedtheir fire, the drooping figure expanded. The next the whole framecollapsed again, and Holmes had gone as quickly as he had come.
"Good heavens!" I cried; "how you startled me!"
"Every precaution is still necessary," he whispered. "I havereason to think that they are hot upon our trail. Ah, there isMoriarty himself."
The train had already begun to move as Holmes spoke. Glancingback, I saw a tall man pushing his way furiously through the crowd,and waving his hand as if he desired to have the train stopped. Itwas too late, however, for we were rapidly gathering momentum, andan instant later had shot clear of the station.
"With all our precautions, you see that we have cut it ratherfine," said Holmes, laughing. He rose, and throwing off the blackcassock and hat which had formed his disguise, he packed them awayin a hand-bag.
"Have you seen the morning paper, Watson?"
"No."
"You haven't' seen about Baker Street, then?"
"Baker Street?"
"They set fire to our rooms last night. No great harm wasdone."
"Good heavens, Holmes! this is intolerable."
"They must have lost my track completely after theirbludgeon-man was arrested. Otherwise they could not have imaginedthat I had returned to my rooms. They have evidently taken theprecaution of watching you, however, and that is what has broughtMoriarty to Victoria. You could not have made any slip incoming?"
"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 insuch a case without taking a mercenary into your confidence. But wemust plant what we are to do about Moriarty now."
"As this is an express, and as the boat runs in connection withit, I should 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 sameintellectual plane as myself. You do not imagine that if I were thepursuer I should allow myself to be baffled by so slight anobstacle. 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 isalways at least a quarter of an hour's delay at the boat. He willcatch us there."
"One would think that we were the criminals. Let us have himarrested on his arrival."
"It would be to ruin the work of three months. We should get thebig fish, but the smaller would dart right and left out of the net.On Monday we should have them all. No, an arrest isinadmissible."
"What then?"
"We shall get out at Canterbury."
"And then?"
"Well, then we must make a cross-country journey to Newhaven,and so over to Dieppe. Moriarty will again do what I should do. Hewill get on to Paris, mark down our luggage, and wait for two daysat the depot. In the meantime we shall treat ourselves to a coupleof carpet-bags, encourage the manufactures of the countries throughwhich we travel, and make our way at our leisure into Switzerland,via Luxembourg and Basle."
At Canterbury, therefore, we alighted, only to find that weshould have to wait an hour before we could get a train toNewhaven.
I was still looking rather ruefully after the rapidlydisappearing luggage-van which contained my wardrobe, when Holmespulled my sleeve and pointed up the line.
"Already, you see," said he.
Far away, from among the Kentish woods there rose a thin sprayof smoke. A minute later a carriage and engine could be seen flyingalong the open curve which leads to the station. We had hardly timeto take our place behind a pile of luggage when it passed with arattle and a roar, beating a blast of hot air into our faces.
"There he goes," said Holmes, as we watched the carriage swingand rock over the point. "There are limits, you see, to ourfriend's intelligence. It would have been a coup-de-maîtrehad he deduced what I would 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 amurderous attack upon me. It is, however, a game at which two mayplay. The question, now is whether we should take a premature lunchhere, or run our chance of starving before we reach the buffet atNewhaven."
We made our way to Brussels that night and spent two days there,moving on upon the third day as far as Strasburg. On the Mondaymorning Holmes had telegraphed to the London police, and in theevening we found a reply waiting for us at our hotel. Holmes toreit 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. Hehas given them the slip. Of course, when I had left the countrythere was no one to cope with him. But I did think that I had putthe game in their hands. I think that you had better return toEngland, Watson."
"Why?"
"Because you will find me a dangerous companion now. This man'soccupation is gone. He is lost if he returns to London. If I readhis character right he will devote his whole energies to revenginghimself upon me. He said as much in our short interview, and Ifancy that he meant it. I should certainly recommend you to returnto 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 Strasburgsalle-à-manger arguing the question for half an hour, butthe same night we had resumed our journey and were well on our wayto 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,still deep in snow, and so, by way of Interlaken, to Meiringen. Itwas a lovely trip, the dainty green of the spring below, the virginwhite of the winter above; but it was clear to me that never forone instant did Holmes forget the shadow which lay across him. Inthe homely Alpine villages or in the lonely mountain passes, Icould tell by his quick glancing eyes and his sharp scrutiny ofevery face that passed us, that he was well convinced that, walkwhere we would, we could not walk ourselves clear of the dangerwhich was dogging our footsteps.
Once, I remember, as we passed over the Gemmi, and walked alongthe border of the melancholy Daubensee, a large rock which had beendislodged from the ridge upon our right clattered down and roaredinto the lake behind us. In an instant Holmes had raced up on tothe ridge, and, standing upon a lofty pinnacle, craned his neck inevery direction. It was in vain that our guide assured him that afall of stones was a common chance in the spring-time at that spot.He said nothing, but he smiled at me with the air of a man who seesthe fulfillment of that which he had expected.
And yet for all his watchfulness he was never depressed. On thecontrary, I can never recollect having seen him in such exuberantspirits. Again and again he recurred to the fact that if he couldbe assured that society was freed from Professor Moriarty he wouldcheerfully bring his own career to a conclusion.
"I think that I may go so far as to say, Watson, that I have notlived wholly in vain," he remarked. "If my record were closedto-night I could still survey it with equanimity. The air of Londonis the sweeter for my presence. In over a thousand cases I am notaware that I have ever used my powers upon the wrong side. Of lateI have been tempted to look into the problems furnished by naturerather than those more superficial ones for which our artificialstate of society is responsible. Your memoirs will draw to an end,Watson, upon the day that I crown my career by the capture orextinction of the most dangerous and capable criminal inEurope."
I shall be brief, and yet exact, in the little which remains forme to tell. It is not a subject on which I would willingly dwell,and yet I am conscious that a duty devolves upon me to omit nodetail.
It was on the 3d of May that we reached the little village ofMeiringen, where we put up at the Englischer Hof, then kept byPeter Steiler the elder. Our landlord was an intelligent man, andspoke excellent English, having served for three years as waiter atthe Grosvenor Hotel in London. At his advice, on the afternoon ofthe 4th we set off together, with the intention of crossing thehills and spending the night at the hamlet of Rosenlaui. We hadstrict injunctions, however, on no account to pass the falls ofReichenbach, which are about half-way up the hill, without making asmall detour to see them.
It is indeed, a fearful place. The torrent, swollen by themelting snow, plunges into a tremendous abyss, from which the sprayrolls up like the smoke from a burning house. The shaft into whichthe river hurls itself is a immense chasm, lined by glisteningcoal-black rock, and narrowing into a creaming, boiling pit ofincalculable depth, which brims over and shoots the stream onwardover its jagged lip. The long sweep of green water roaring foreverdown, and the thick flickering curtain of spray hissing foreverupward, turn a man giddy with their constant whirl and clamor. Westood near the edge peering down at the gleam of the breaking waterfar below us against the black rocks, and listening to thehalf-human shout which cam booming up with the spray out of theabyss.
The path has been cut half-way round the fall to afford acomplete view, but it ends abruptly, and the traveler has to returnas he came. We had turned to do so, when we saw a Swiss lad comerunning along it with a letter in his hand. It bore the mark of thehotel which we had just left, and was addressed to me by thelandlord. It appeared that within a very few minutes of ourleaving, and English lady had arrived who was in the last stage ofconsumption. She had wintered at Davos Platz, and was journeyingnow to join her friends at Lucerne, when a sudden hemorrhage hadovertaken her. It was thought that she could hardly live a fewhours, but it would be a great consolation to her to see an Englishdoctor, and, if I would only return, etc. The good Steiler assuredme in a postscript that he would himself look upon my compliance asa very great favor, since the lady absolutely refused to see aSwiss physician, and he could not but feel that he was incurring agreat responsibility.
The appeal was one which could not be ignored. It was impossibleto refuse the request of a fellow-countrywoman dying in a strangeland. Yet I had my scruples about leaving Holmes. It was finallyagreed, however, that he should retain the young Swiss messengerwith him as guide and companion while I returned to Meiringen. Myfriend would stay some little time at the fall, he said, and wouldthen walk slowly over the hill to Rosenlaui, where I was to rejoinhim in the evening. As I turned away I saw Holmes, with his backagainst a rock and his arms folded, gazing down at the rush of thewaters. It was the last that I was ever destined to see of him inthis 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 seethe curving path which winds over the shoulder of the hill andleads to it. Along this a man was, I remember, walking veryrapidly.
I could see his black figure clearly outlined against the greenbehind him. I noted him, and the energy wit which he walked but hepassed from my mind again as I hurried on upon my errand.
It may have been a little over an hour before I reachedMeiringen. Old Steiler was standing at the porch of his hotel.
"Well," said I, as I came hurrying up, "I trust that she is noworse?"
a look of surprise passed over his face, and at the first quiverof his eyebrows my heart turned to lead in my breast.
"You did not write this?" I said, pulling the letter from mypocket. "There is no sick Englishwoman in the hotel?"
"Certainly not!" he cried. "But it has the hotel mark upon it!Ha, it must have been written by that tall Englishman who came inafter you had gone. He said--"
but I waited for none of the landlord's explanations. In atingle of fear I was already running down the village street, andmaking for the path which I had so lately descended. It had takenme an hour to come down. For all my efforts two more had passedbefore I found myself at the fall of Reichenbach once more. Therewas Holmes's Alpine-stock still leaning against the rock by which Ihad left him. But there was no sign of him, and it was in vain thatI shouted. My only answer was my own voice reverberating in arolling echo from the cliffs around me.
It was the sight of that Alpine-stock which turned me cold andsick. He had not gone to Rosenlaui, then. He had remained on thatthree-foot path, with sheer wall on one side and sheer drop on theother, until his enemy had overtaken him. The young Swiss had gonetoo. He had probably been in the pay of Moriarty, and had left thetwo men together. And then what had happened? Who was to tell uswhat had happened then?
I stood for a minute or two to collect myself, for I was dazedwith the horror of the thing. Then I began to think of Holmes's ownmethods and to try to practise them in reading this tragedy. Itwas, alas, only too easy to do. During our conversation we had notgone to the end of the path, and the Alpine-stock marked the placewhere we had stood. The blackish soil is kept forever soft by theincessant drift of spray, and a bird would leave its tread upon it.Two lines of footmarks were clearly marked along the farther end ofthe path, both leading away from me. There were none returning. Afew yards from the end the soil was all ploughed up into a patch ofmud, and the branches and ferns which fringed the chasm were tornand bedraggled. I lay upon my face and peered over with the sprayspouting up all around me. It had darkened since I left, and now Icould only see here and there the glistening of moisture upon theblack walls, and far away down at the end of the shaft the gleam ofthe broken water. I shouted; but only the same half-human cry ofthe fall was borne back to my ears.
But it was destined that I should after all have a last word ofgreeting from my friend and comrade. I have said that hisAlpine-stock had been left leaning against a rock which jutted onto the path. From the top of this bowlder the gleam of somethingbright caught my eye, and, raising my hand, I found that it camefrom the silver cigarette-case which he used to carry. As I took itup a small square of paper upon which it had lain fluttered down onto the ground. Unfolding it, I found that it consisted of threepages torn from his note-book and addressed to me. It wascharacteristic of the man that the direction was a precise, and thewriting as firm and clear, as though it had been written in hisstudy.
My dear Watson [it said], I write these few lines through thecourtesy of Mr. Moriarty, who awaits my convenience for the finaldiscussion of those questions which lie between us. He has beengiving me a sketch of the methods by which he avoided the Englishpolice and kept himself informed of our movements. They certainlyconfirm the very high opinion which I had formed of his abilities.I am pleased to think that I shall be able to free society from anyfurther effects of his presence, though I fear that it is at a costwhich will give pain to my friends, and especially, my dear Watson,to you. I have already explained to you, however, that my careerhad in any case reached its crisis, and that no possible conclusionto it could be more congenial to me than this. Indeed, if I maymake a full confession to you, I was quite convinced that theletter from Meiringen was a hoax, and I allowed you to depart onthat errand under the persuasion that some development of this sortwould follow. Tell Inspector Patterson that the papers which heneeds to convict the gang are in pigeonhole M., done up in a blueenvelope and inscribed "Moriarty." I made every disposition of myproperty before leaving England, and handed it to my brotherMycroft. Pray give my greetings to Mrs. Watson, and believe me tobe, my dear fellow,
Very sincerely yours,
Sherlock Holmes
A few words may suffice to tell the little that remains. Anexamination by experts leaves little doubt that a personal contestbetween the two men ended, as it could hardly fail to end in such asituation, in their reeling over, locked in each other's arms. Anyattempt at recovering the bodies was absolutely hopeless, andthere, deep down in that dreadful caldron of swirling water andseething foam, will lie for all time the most dangerous criminaland the foremost champion of the law of their generation. The Swissyouth was never found again, and there can be no doubt that he wasone of the numerous agents whom Moriarty kept in this employ. As tothe gang, it will be within the memory of the public how completelythe evidence which Holmes had accumulated exposed theirorganization, and how heavily the hand of the dead man weightedupon them. Of their terrible chief few details came out during theproceedings, and if I have now been compelled to make a clearstatement of his career it is due to those injudicious championswho have endeavored to clear his memory by attacks upon him whom Ishall ever regard as the best and the wisest man whom I have everknown.
THE HOUND OF THE BASKERVILLES
CHAPTER I. MR. SHERLOCK HOLMES
Mr. Sherlock Holmes, who was usually very late in the mornings,save upon those not infrequent occasions when he was up all night,was seated at the breakfast table. I stood upon the hearth-rug andpicked up the stick which our visitor had left behind him the nightbefore. It was a fine, thick piece of wood, bulbous-headed, of thesort which is known as a "Penang lawyer." Just under the head was abroad silver band nearly an inch 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 stick as the old-fashionedfamily practitioner used to carry--dignified, solid, andreassuring.
"Well, Watson, what do you make of it?"
Holmes was sitting with his back to me, and I had given him nosign of my occupation.
"How did you know what I was doing? I believe you have eyes inthe back of your head."
"I have, at least, a well-polished, silver-plated coffee-pot infront of me," said he. "But, tell me, Watson, what do you make ofour visitor's stick? Since we have been so unfortunate as to misshim and have no notion of his errand, this accidental souvenirbecomes of importance. Let me hear you reconstruct the man by anexamination 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,well-esteemed 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 acountry practitioner who does a great deal of his visiting onfoot."
"Why so?"
"Because this stick, though originally a very handsome one hasbeen so knocked about that I can hardly imagine a town practitionercarrying it. The thick-iron ferrule is worn down, so it is evidentthat he has done a great amount of walking with it."
"Perfectly sound!" said Holmes.
"And then again, there is the 'friends of the C.C.H.' I shouldguess that to be the Something Hunt, the local hunt to whosemembers he has possibly given some surgical assistance, and whichhas made him a small presentation in return."
"Really, Watson, you excel yourself," said Holmes, pushing backhis chair and lighting a cigarette. "I am bound to say that in allthe accounts which you have been so good as to give of my own smallachievements you have habitually underrated your own abilities. Itmay be that you are not yourself luminous, but you are a conductorof light. Some people without possessing genius have a remarkablepower of stimulating it. I confess, my dear fellow, that I am verymuch in your debt."
He had never said as much before, and I must admit that hiswords gave me keen pleasure, for I had often been piqued by hisindifference to my admiration and to the attempts which I had madeto give publicity to his methods. I was proud, too, to think that Ihad so far mastered his system as to apply it in a way which earnedhis approval. He now took the stick from my hands and examined itfor a few minutes with his naked eyes. Then with an expression ofinterest he laid down his cigarette, and carrying the cane to thewindow, he looked over it again with a convex lens.
"Interesting, though elementary," said he as he returned to hisfavourite corner of the settee. "There are certainly one or twoindications upon the stick. It gives us the basis for severaldeductions."
"Has anything escaped me?" I asked with some self-importance. "Itrust that there is nothing of consequence which I haveoverlooked?"
"I am afraid, my dear Watson, that most of your conclusions wereerroneous. When I said that you stimulated me I meant, to be frank,that in noting your fallacies I was occasionally guided towards thetruth. Not that you are entirely wrong in this instance. The man iscertainly a country practitioner. And he walks a good deal."
"Then I was right."
"To that extent."
"But that was all."
"No, no, my dear Watson, not all--by no means all. I wouldsuggest, for example, that a presentation to a doctor is morelikely to come from a hospital than from a hunt, and that when theinitials 'C.C.' are placed before that hospital the words' CharingCross' very naturally suggest themselves."
"You may be right."
"The probability lies in that direction. And if we take this asa working hypothesis we have a fresh basis from which to start ourconstruction of this unknown visitor."
"Well, then, supposing that 'C.C.H.' does stand for 'CharingCross Hospital,' what further inferences may we draw?"
"Do none suggest themselves? You know my methods. Applythem!"
"I can only think of the obvious conclusion that the man haspractised in town before going to the country."
"I think that we might venture a little farther than this. Lookat it in this light. On what occasion would it be most probablethat such a presentation would be made? When would his friendsunite to give him a pledge of their good will? Obviously at themoment when Dr. Mortimer withdrew from the service of the hospitalin order to start in practice for himself. We know there has been apresentation. We believe there has been a change from a townhospital to a country practice. Is it, then, stretching ourinference too far to say that the presentation was on the occasionof the change?"
"It certainly seems probable."
"Now, you will observe that he could not have been on the staffof the hospital, since only a man well-established in a Londonpractice could hold such a position, and such a one would not driftinto the country. What was he, then? If he was in the hospital andyet not on the staff he could only have been a house-surgeon or ahouse-physician--little more than a senior student. And he leftfive years ago--the date is on the stick. So your grave,middle-aged family practitioner vanishes into thin air, my dearWatson, and there emerges a young fellow under thirty, amiable,unambitious, absent-minded, and the possessor of a favourite dog,which I should describe roughly as being larger than a terrier andsmaller than a mastiff."
I laughed incredulously as Sherlock Holmes leaned back in hissettee and blew little wavering rings of smoke up to theceiling.
"As to the latter part, I have no means of checking you," saidI, "but at least it is not difficult to find out a few particularsabout the man's age and professional career." From my small medicalshelf I took down the Medical Directory and turned up the name.There were several Mortimers, but only one who could be ourvisitor. 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. Winnerof the Jackson prize for Comparative Pathology, with essay entitled'Is Disease a Reversion?' Corresponding member of the SwedishPathological Society. Author of 'Some Freaks of Atavism' (Lancet1882). 'Do We Progress?' (Journal of Psychology, March, 1883).Medical Officer for the parishes of Grimpen, Thorsley, and HighBarrow."
"No mention of that local hunt, Watson," said Holmes with amischievous smile, "but a country doctor, as you very astutelyobserved. I think that I am fairly justified in my inferences. Asto the adjectives, I said, if I remember right, amiable,unambitious, and absent-minded. It is my experience that it is onlyan amiable man in this world who receives testimonials, only anunambitious one who abandons a London career for the country, andonly an absent-minded one who leaves his stick and not hisvisiting-card after waiting an hour in your room."
"And the dog?"
"Has been in the habit of carrying this stick behind his master.Being a heavy stick the dog has held it tightly by the middle, andthe marks of his teeth are very plainly visible. The dog's jaw, asshown in the space between these marks, is too broad in my opinionfor a terrier and not broad enough for a mastiff. It may havebeen--yes, by Jove, it is a curly-haired spaniel."
He had risen and paced the room as he spoke. Now he halted inthe recess of the window. There was such a ring of conviction inhis voice that 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 ourvery door-step, and there is the ring of its owner. Don't move, Ibeg you, Watson. He is a professional brother of yours, and yourpresence may be of assistance to me. Now is the dramatic moment offate, Watson, when you hear a step upon the stair which is walkinginto your life, and you know not whether for good or ill. What doesDr. James Mortimer, the man of science, ask of Sherlock Holmes, thespecialist 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, thinman, with a long nose like a beak, which jutted out between twokeen, gray eyes, set closely together and sparkling brightly frombehind a pair of gold-rimmed glasses. He was clad in a professionalbut rather slovenly fashion, for his frock-coat was dingy and histrousers frayed. Though young, his long back was already bowed, andhe walked with a forward thrust of his head and a general air ofpeering benevolence. As he entered his eyes fell upon the stick inHolmes's hand, and he ran towards it with an exclamation of joy. "Iam so very glad," said he. "I was not sure whether I had left ithere or in the Shipping Office. I would not lose that stick for theworld."
"A presentation, I see," said Holmes.
"Yes, sir."
"From Charing Cross Hospital?"
"From one or two friends there on the occasion of mymarriage."
"Dear, dear, that's bad!" said Holmes, shaking his head.
Dr. Mortimer blinked through his glasses in mildastonishment.
"Why was it bad?"
"Only that you have disarranged our little deductions. Yourmarriage, you say?"
"Yes, sir. I married, and so left the hospital, and with it allhopes of a consulting practice. It was necessary to make a home ofmy own."
"Come, come, we are not so far wrong, after all," said Holmes."And now, Dr. James Mortimer ------"
"Mister, sir, Mister--a humble M.R.C.S."
"And a man of precise mind, evidently."
"A dabbler in science, Mr. Holmes, a picker up of shells on theshores of the great unknown ocean. I presume that it is Mr.Sherlock Holmes whom I am addressing and not ------"
"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 suchwell-marked supra-orbital development. Would you have any objectionto my running my finger along your parietal fissure? A cast of yourskull, sir, until the original is available, would be an ornamentto any anthropological museum. It is not my intention to befulsome, but I confess that I covet your skull."
Sherlock Holmes waved our strange visitor into a chair. "You arean enthusiast in your line of thought, I perceive, sir, as I am inmine," said he. "I observe from your forefinger that you make yourown 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 asagile and restless as the antennae of an insect.
Holmes was silent, but his little darting glances showed me theinterest which he took in our curious companion.
"I presume, sir," said he at last, "that it was not merely forthe purpose of examining my skull that you have done me the honourto call here last night and again to-day?"
"No, sir, no; though I am happy to have had the opportunity ofdoing that as well. I came to you, Mr. Holmes, because I recognizedthat I am myself an unpractical man and because I am suddenlyconfronted with a most serious and extraordinary problem.Recognizing, as I do, that you are the second highest expert inEurope ------"
"Indeed, sir! May I inquire who has the honour to be the first?"asked Holmes with some asperity.
"To the man of precisely scientific mind the work of MonsieurBertillon must always appeal strongly."
"Then had you not better consult him?"
"I said, sir, to the precisely scientific mind. But as apractical man of affairs it is acknowledged that you stand alone. Itrust, sir, that I have not inadvertently ------"
"Just a little," said Holmes. "I think, Dr. Mortimer, you woulddo wisely if without more ado you would kindly tell me plainly whatthe exact nature of the problem is in which you demand myassistance."
CHAPTER II. THE CURSE OF THE BASKERVILLES
"I 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 allthe time that you have been talking. It would be a poor expert whocould not give the date of a document within a decade or so. Youmay possibly have read my little monograph upon the subject. I putthat at 1730."
"The exact date is 1742." Dr. Mortimer drew it from hisbreast-pocket. "This family paper was committed to my care by SirCharles Baskerville, whose sudden and tragic death some threemonths ago created so much excitement in Devonshire. I may say thatI was his personal friend as well as his medical attendant. He wasa strong-minded man, sir, shrewd, practical, and as unimaginativeas I am myself. Yet he took this document very seriously, and hismind was prepared for just such an end as did eventually overtakehim."
Holmes stretched out his hand for the manuscript and flattenedit upon his knee.
"You will observe, Watson, the alternative use of the long s andthe short. It is one of several indications which enabled me to fixthe date."
I looked over his shoulder at the yellow paper and the fadedscript. At the head was written: "Baskerville Hall," and below inlarge, scrawling figures: "1742."
"It appears to be a statement of some sort."
"Yes, it is a statement of a certain legend which runs in theBaskerville family."
"But I understand that it is something more modern and practicalupon which you wish to consult me?"
"Most modern. A most practical, pressing matter, which must bedecided within twenty-four hours. But the manuscript is short andis intimately connected with the affair. With your permission Iwill read it to you."
Holmes leaned back in his chair, placed his finger-tipstogether, and closed his eyes, with an air of resignation. Dr.Mortimer turned the manuscript to the light and read in a high,cracking voice the following curious, 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 evenas is here set forth. And I would have 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 thefuture, 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 commend toyour attention) this Manor of Baskerville was held by Hugo of thatname, nor can it be gainsaid that he was a most wild, profane, andgodless man. This, in truth, his neighbours might have pardoned,seeing that saints have never flourished in those parts, but therewas in him a certain wanton and cruel humour which made his name abyword through the West. It chanced that this Hugo came to love(if, indeed, so dark a passion may be known under so bright a name)the daughter of a yeoman who held lands near the Baskervilleestate. But the young maiden, being discreet and of good repute,would ever avoid him, for she feared his evil name. So it came topass that one Michaelmas this Hugo, with five or six of his idleand wicked companions, stole down upon the farm and carried off themaiden, her father and brothers being from home, as he well knew.When they had brought her to the Hall the maiden was placed in anupper chamber, while Hugo and his friends sat down to a longcarouse, as was their nightly custom. Now, the poor lass upstairswas like to have her wits turned at the singing and shouting andterrible oaths which came up to her from below, for they say thatthe words used by Hugo Baskerville, when he was in wine, were suchas might blast the man who said them. At last in the stress of herfear she did that which might have daunted the bravest or mostactive man, for by the aid of the growth of ivy which covered (andstill covers) the south wall she came down from under the eaves,and so homeward across the moor, there being three leagues betwixtthe Hall and her father's farm.
"It chanced that some little time later Hugo left his guests tocarry food and drink--with other worse things, perchance--to hiscaptive, and so found the cage empty and the bird escaped. Then, asit would seem, he became as one that hath a devil, for, rushingdown the stairs into the dining-hall, he sprang upon the greattable, flagons and trenchers flying before him, and he cried aloudbefore all the company that he would that very night render hisbody and soul to the Powers of Evil if he might but overtake thewench. And while the revellers stood aghast at the fury of the man,one more wicked or, it may be, more drunken than the rest, criedout that they should put the hounds upon her. Whereat Hugo ran fromthe house, crying to his grooms that they should saddle his mareand unkennel the pack, and giving the hounds a kerchief of themaid's, he swung them to the line, and so off full cry in themoonlight over the 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 in number, took horseand started in pursuit. The moon shone clear above them, and theyrode swiftly abreast, taking that course which the maid must needshave 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 hehad indeed 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 him such ahound of hell as God forbid should ever be at my heels.' So thedrunken squires cursed the shepherd and rode onward. But soon theirskins turned cold, for there came a galloping across the moor, andthe black mare, dabbled with white froth, went past with trailingbridle and empty saddle. Then the revellers rode close together,for a great fear was on them, but they still followed over themoor, though each, had he been alone, would have been right glad tohave turned his horse's head. Riding slowly in this fashion theycame at last upon the hounds. These, though known for their valourand their breed, were whimpering in a cluster at the head of a deepdip or goyal, as we call it, upon the moor, some slinking away andsome, with starting hackles and staring eyes, gazing down thenarrow 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 no meansadvance, but three of them, the boldest, or it may be the mostdrunken, rode forward down the goyal. Now, it opened into a broadspace in which stood two of those great stones, still to be seenthere, which were set by certain forgotten peoples in the days ofold. The moon was shining bright upon the clearing, and there inthe centre lay the unhappy maid where she had fallen, dead of fearand of fatigue. But it was not the sight of her body, nor yet wasit that of the body of Hugo Baskerville lying near her, whichraised the hair upon the heads of these three daredevil roysterers,but it was that, standing over Hugo, and plucking at his throat,there stood a foul thing, a great, black beast, shaped like ahound, yet larger than any hound that ever mortal eye has restedupon. 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 dearlife, still screaming, across the moor. One, it is said, died thatvery night 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 setit down it is because that which is clearly known hath less terrorthan that which is but hinted at and guessed. Nor can it be deniedthat many of the family have been unhappy in their deaths, whichhave been 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 to forbearfrom crossing the moor in those dark hours when the powers of evilare exalted.
"[This from Hugo Baskerville to his sons Rodger and John, withinstructions that they say nothing thereof to their sisterElizabeth.]"
When Dr. Mortimer had finished reading this singular narrativehe pushed his spectacles up on his forehead and stared across atMr. Sherlock Holmes. The latter yawned and tossed the end of hiscigarette into 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 morerecent. This is the Devon County Chronicle of May 14th of thisyear. It is a short account of the facts elicited at the death ofSir Charles Baskerville which occurred a few days before thatdate."
My friend leaned a little forward and his expression becameintent. Our visitor readjusted his glasses and began:--
"The recent sudden death of Sir Charles Baskerville, whose namehas been mentioned as the probable Liberal candidate for Mid-Devonat the next election, has cast a gloom over the county. Though SirCharles had resided at Baskerville Hall for a comparatively shortperiod his amiability of character and extreme generosity had wonthe affection and respect of all who had been brought into contactwith him. In these days of nouveaux riches it is refreshing to finda case where the scion of an old county family which has fallenupon evil days is able to make his own fortune and to bring it backwith him to restore the fallen grandeur of his line. Sir Charles,as is well known, made large sums of money in South Africanspeculation. More wise than those who go on until the wheel turnsagainst them, he realized his gains and returned to England withthem. It is only two years since he took up his residence atBaskerville Hall, and it is common talk how large were thoseschemes of reconstruction and improvement which have beeninterrupted by his death. Being himself childless, it was hisopenly expressed desire that the whole countryside should, withinhis own lifetime, profit by his good fortune, and many will havepersonal reasons for bewailing his untimely end. His generousdonations to local and county charities have been frequentlychronicled 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 to whichlocal superstition has given rise. There is no reason whatever tosuspect foul play, or to imagine that death could be from any butnatural causes. Sir Charles was a widower, and a man who may besaid to have been in some ways of an eccentric habit of mind. Inspite of his considerable wealth he was simple in his personaltastes, and his indoor servants at Baskerville Hall consisted of amarried couple named Barrymore, the husband acting as butler andthe wife as housekeeper. Their evidence, corroborated by that ofseveral friends, tends to show that Sir Charles's health has forsome time been impaired, and points especially to some affection ofthe heart, manifesting itself in changes of colour, breathlessness,and acute attacks of nervous depression. Dr. James Mortimer, thefriend and medical attendant of the deceased, has given evidence tothe same effect.
"The facts of the case are simple. Sir Charles Baskerville wasin the 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 4th of MaySir 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. Attwelve o'clock Barrymore, finding the hall door still open, becamealarmed, and, lighting a lantern, went in search of his master. Theday had been wet, and Sir Charles's footmarks were easily traceddown the Alley. Half-way down this walk there is a gate which leadsout on to the moor. There were indications that Sir Charles hadstood for some little time here. He then proceeded down the Alley,and it was at the far end of it that his body was discovered. Onefact which has not been explained is the statement of Barrymorethat his master's footprints altered their character from the timethat he passed the moor-gate, and that he appeared from thenceonward to have been walking upon his toes. One Murphy, a gipsyhorse-dealer, was on the moor at no great distance at the time, buthe appears by his own confession to have been the worse for drink.He declares that he heard cries, but is unable to state from whatdirectionthey came. No signs of violence were to be discovered uponSir Charles's person, and though the doctor's evidence pointed toan almost incredible facial distortion--so great that Dr. Mortimerrefused at first to believe that it was indeed his friend andpatient who lay before him--it was explained that that is a symptomwhich is not unusual in cases of dyspnoea and death from cardiacexhaustion. This explanation was borne out by the post-mortemexamination, which showed long-standing organic disease, and thecoroner's jury returned a verdict in accordance with the medicalevidence. It is well that this is so, for it is obviously of theutmost importance that Sir Charles's heir should settle at the Halland continue the good work which has been so sadly interrupted. Hadthe prosaic finding of the coroner not finally put an end to theromantic stories which have been whispered in connection with theaffair, it might have been difficult to find a tenant forBaskerville Hall. It is understood that the next of kin is Mr.Henry Baskerville, if he be still alive, the son of Sir CharlesBaskerville's younger brother. The young man when last heard of wasin America, and inquiries are being instituted with a view toinforming him of his good fortune."
Dr. Mortimer refolded his paper and replaced it in hispocket.
"Those are the public facts, Mr. Holmes, in connection with thedeath of Sir Charles Baskerville."
"I must thank you," said Sherlock Holmes, "for calling myattention to a case which certainly presents some features ofinterest. I had observed some newspaper comment at the time, but Iwas exceedingly preoccupied by that little affair of the Vaticancameos, and in my anxiety to oblige the Pope I lost touch withseveral interesting English cases. This article, you say, containsall the public facts?"
"It does."
"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 confidedto anyone. My motive for withholding it from the coroner's inquiryis that a man of science shrinks from placing himself in the publicposition of seeming to indorse a popular superstition. I had thefurther motive that Baskerville Hall, as the paper says, wouldcertainly remain untenanted if anything were done to increase itsalready rather grim reputation. For both these reasons I thoughtthat I was justified in telling rather less than I knew, since nopractical good could result from it, but with you there is noreason why I should not be perfectly frank.
"The moor is very sparsely inhabited, and those who live neareach other are thrown very much together. For this reason I saw agood deal of Sir Charles Baskerville. With the exception of Mr.Frankland, of Lafter Hall, and Mr. Stapleton, the naturalist, thereare no other men of education within many miles. Sir Charles was aretiring man, but the chance of his illness brought us together,and a community of interests in science kept us so. He had broughtback much scientific information from South Africa, and many acharming evening we have spent together discussing the comparativeanatomy of the Bushman and the Hottentot.
"Within the last few months it became increasingly plain to methat Sir Charles's nervous system was strained to the breakingpoint. He had taken this legend which I have read you exceedinglyto heart--so much so that, although he would walk in his owngrounds, nothing would induce him to go out upon the moor at night.Incredible as it may appear to you, Mr. Holmes, he was honestlyconvinced that a dreadful fate over hung his family, and certainlythe records which he was able to give of his ancestors were notencouraging. The idea of some ghastly presence constantly hauntedhim, and on more than one occasion he has asked me whether I had onmy medical journeys at night ever seen any strange creature orheard the baying of a hound. The latter question he put to meseveral times, and always with a voice which vibrated withexcitement.
"I can well remember driving up to his house in the evening somethree weeks before the fatal event. He chanced to be at his halldoor. I had descended from my gig and was standing in front of him,when I saw his eyes fix themselves over my shoulder, and stare pastme with an expression of the most dreadful horror. I whisked roundand had just time to catch a glimpse of something which I took tobe a large black calf passing at the head of the drive. So excitedand alarmed was he that I was compelled to go down to the spotwhere the animal had been and look around for it. It was gone,however, and the incident appeared to make the worst impressionupon his mind. I stayed with him all the evening, and it was onthat occasion, to explain the emotion which he had shown, that heconfided to my keeping that narrative which I read to you whenfirst I came. I mention this small episode because it assumes someimportance in view of the tragedy which followed, but I wasconvinced at the time that the matter was entirely trivial and thathis excitement had no justification.
"It was at my advice that Sir Charles was about to go to London.His heart was, I knew, affected, and the constant anxiety in whichhe lived, however chimerical the cause of it might be, wasevidently having a serious effect upon his health. I thought that afew months among the distractions of town would send him back a newman. Mr. Stapleton, a mutual friend who was much concerned at hisstate of health, was of the same opinion. At the last instant camethis terrible catastrophe.
"On the night of Sir Charles's death Barrymore the butler, whomade the discovery, sent Perkins the groom on horseback to me, andas I was sitting up late I was able to reach Baskerville Hallwithin an hour of the event. I checked and corroborated all thefacts which were mentioned at the inquest. I followed the footstepsdown the Yew Alley, I saw the spot at the moor-gate where he seemedto have waited, I remarked the change in the shape of the printsafter that point, I noted that there were no other footsteps savethose of Barrymore on the soft gravel, and finally I carefullyexamined the body, which had not been touched until my arrival. SirCharles lay on his face, his arms out, his fingers dug into theground, and his features convulsed with some strong emotion to suchan extent that I could hardly have sworn to his identity. There wascertainly no physical injury of any kind. But one false statementwas made by Barrymore at the inquest. He said that there were notraces upon the ground round the body. He did not observe any. ButI did--some little distance off, but fresh and clear."
"Footprints?"
"Footprints."
"A man's or a woman's?"
Dr. Mortimer looked strangely at us for an instant, and hisvoice sank almost to a whisper as he answered:--
"Mr. Holmes, they were the footprints of a gigantic hound!"
CHAPTER III. THE PROBLEM
I confess at these words a shudder passed through me. There wasa thrill in the doctor's voice which showed that he was himselfdeeply moved by that which he told us. Holmes leaned forward in hisexcitement and his eyes had the hard, dry glitter which shot fromthem when he was keenly 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 don't suppose I should have done so had I notknown this 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?"
"There are two lines of old yew hedge, twelve feet high andimpenetrable. The walk in the centre is about eight feetacross."
"Is there anything between the hedges and the walk?"
"Yes, there is a strip of grass about six feet broad on eitherside."
"I understand that the yew hedge is penetrated at one point by agate?"
"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 itfrom the house 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. Mortimer--and this is important--the
marks which you 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 themoor-gate."
"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 therefor five or 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 the marks?"
"He had left his own marks all over that small patch of gravel.I could discern no others."
Sherlock Holmes struck his hand against his knee with animpatient gesture.
"If I had only been there!" he cried. "It is evidently a case ofextraordinary interest, and one which presented immenseopportunities to the scientific expert. That gravel page upon whichI might have read so much has been long ere this smudged by therain and defaced by the clogs of curious peasants. Oh, Dr.Mortimer, Dr. Mortimer, to think that you should not have called mein! You have indeed much to answer for."
"I could not call you in, Mr. Holmes, without disclosing thesefacts to the world, and I have already given my reasons for notwishing to do so. Besides, besides --"
"Why do you hesitate?"
"There is a realm in which the most acute and most experiencedof detectives is helpless."
"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 earsseveral incidents which are hard to reconcile with the settledorder of Nature."
"For example?"
"I find that before the terrible event occurred several peoplehad seen a creature upon the moor which corresponds with thisBaskerville demon, and which could not possibly be any animal knownto science. They all agreed that it was a huge creature, luminous,ghastly, and spectral. I have cross-examined these men, one of thema hard-headed countryman, one a farrier, and one a moorland farmer,who all tell the same story of this dreadful apparition, exactlycorresponding to the hell-hound of the legend. I assure you thatthere is a reign of terror in the district, and that it is a hardyman who will cross the moor at night."
"And you, a trained man of science, believe it to besupernatural?"
"I do not know what to believe."
Holmes shrugged his shoulders.
"I have hitherto confined my investigations to this world," saidhe. "In a modest way I have combated evil, but to take on theFather of Evil himself would, perhaps, be too ambitious a task. Yetyou must admit that the footmark is material."
"The original hound was material enough to tug a man's throatout, and yet 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, whyhave you come to consult me at all? You tell me in the same breaththat it is useless to investigate Sir Charles's death, and that youdesire 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 HenryBaskerville, who arrives at Waterloo Station"--Dr. Mortimer lookedat his watch--"in exactly one hour and a quarter."
"He being the heir?"
"Yes. On the death of Sir Charles we inquired for this younggentleman and found that he had been farming in Canada. From theaccounts which have reached us he is an excellent fellow in everyway. I speak not as a medical man but as a trustee and executor ofSir Charles's will."
"There is no other claimant, I presume?"
"None. The only other kinsman whom we have been able to tracewas Rodger Baskerville, the youngest of three brothers of whom poorSir Charles was the elder. The second brother, who died young, isthe father of this lad Henry. The third, Rodger, was the blacksheep of the family. He came of the old masterful Baskervillestrain, and was the very image, they tell me, of the family pictureof old Hugo. He made England too hot to hold him, fled to CentralAmerica, and died there in 1876 of yellow fever. Henry is the lastof the Baskervilles. In one hour and five minutes I meet him atWaterloo Station. I have had a wire that he arrived at Southamptonthis morning. Now, Mr. Holmes, what would you advise me to do withhim?"
"Why should he not go to the home of his fathers?"
"It seems natural, does it not? And yet, consider that everyBaskerville who goes there meets with an evil fate. I feel surethat if Sir Charles could have spoken with me before his death hewould have warned me against bringing this the last of the oldrace, and the heir to great wealth, to that deadly place. And yetit cannot be denied that the prosperity of the whole poor, bleakcountry-side depends upon his presence. All the good work which hasbeen done by Sir Charles will crash to the ground if there is notenant 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 thecase before you and ask for your advice."
Holmes considered for a little time.
"Put into plain words, the matter is this," said he. "In youropinion there is a diabolical agency which makes Dartmoor an unsafeabode for a Baskerville--that is your opinion?"
"At least I might go the length of saying that there is someevidence that this may be so."
"Exactly. But surely, if your supernatural theory be correct, itcould work the young man evil in London as easily as in Devonshire.A devil with merely local powers like a parish vestry would be tooinconceivable a thing."
"You put the matter more flippantly, Mr. Holmes, than you wouldprobably do if you were brought into personal contact with thesethings. Your advice, then, as I understand it, is that the youngman will be as safe in Devonshire as in London. He comes in fiftyminutes. What would you recommend?"
"I recommend, sir, that you take a cab, call off your spanielwho is scratching at my front door, and proceed to Waterloo to meetSir Henry Baskerville."
"And then?"
"And then you will say nothing to him at all until I have madeup my mind about the matter."
"How long will it take you to make up your mind?"
"Twenty-four hours. At ten o'clock to-morrow, Dr. Mortimer, Iwill be much obliged to you if you will call upon me here, and itwill be of help to me in my plans for the future if you will bringSir Henry Baskerville with you."
"I will do so, Mr. Holmes." He scribbled the appointment on hisshirtcuff and hurried off in his strange, peering, absent-mindedfashion. Holmes stopped him at the head of the stair.
"Only one more question, Dr. Mortimer. You say that before SirCharles Baskerville's death several people saw this apparition uponthe moor?"
"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 inwardsatisfaction which meant that he had a congenial task beforehim.
"Going out, Watson?"
"Unless I can help you."
"No, my dear fellow, it is at the hour of action that I turn toyou for aid. But this is splendid, really unique from some pointsof view. When you pass Bradley's would you ask him to send up apound of the strongest shag tobacco? Thank you. It would be as wellif you could make it convenient not to return before evening. ThenI should be very glad to compare impressions as to this mostinteresting problem which has been submitted to us thismorning."
I knew that seclusion and solitude were very necessary for myfriend in those hours of intense mental concentration during whichhe weighed every particle of evidence, constructed alternativetheories, balanced one against the other, and made up his mind asto which points were essential and which immaterial. I thereforespent the day at my club and did not return to Baker Street untilevening. It was nearly nine o'clock when I found myself in thesitting-room once more.
My first impression as I opened the door was that a fire hadbroken out, for the room was so filled with smoke that the light ofthe lamp upon the table was blurred by it. As I entered, however,my fears were set at rest, for it was the acrid fumes of strongcoarse tobacco which took me by the throat and set me coughing.Through the haze I had a vague vision of Holmes in hisdressing-gown coiled up in an armchair with his black clay pipebetween his lips. Several rolls of paper lay around him.
"Caught cold, Watson?" said he.
"No, it's 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 how?"
He laughed at my bewildered expression.
"There is a delightful freshness about you, Watson, which makesit a pleasure to exercise any small powers which I possess at yourexpense. A gentleman goes forth on a showery and miry day. Hereturns immaculate in the evening with the gloss still on his hatand his boots. He has been a fixture therefore all day. He is not aman with intimate friends. Where, then, could he have been? Is itnot obvious?"
"Well, it is rather obvious."
"The world is full of obvious things which nobody by any chanceever observes. 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 arm-chair and has, Iregret to observe, consumed in my absence two large pots of coffeeand an incredible amount of tobacco. After you left I sent down toStamford's for the Ordnance map of this portion of the moor, and myspirit has hovered over it all day. I flatter myself that I couldfind my way about."
"A large scale map, I presume?"
"Very large." He unrolled one section and held it over his knee."Here you have the particular district which concerns us. That isBaskerville Hall in the middle."
"With a wood round it?"
"Exactly. I fancy the Yew Alley, though not marked under thatname, must stretch along this line, with the moor, as you perceive,upon the right of it. This small clump of buildings here is thehamlet of Grimpen, where our friend Dr. Mortimer has hisheadquarters. Within a radius of five miles there are, as you see,only a very few scattered dwellings. Here is Lafter Hall, which wasmentioned in the narrative. There is a house indicated here whichmay be the residence of the naturalist--Stapleton, if I rememberright, was his name. Here are two moorland farm-houses, High Torand 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 whichtragedy has been played, and upon which we may help to play itagain."
"It must be a wild place."
"Yes, the setting is a worthy one. If the devil did desire tohave a hand in the affairs of men ----"
"Then you are yourself inclining to the supernaturalexplanation."
"The devil's agents may be of flesh and blood, may they not?There are two questions waiting for us at the outset. The one iswhether any crime has been committed at all; the second is, what isthe crime and how was it committed? Of course, if Dr. Mortimer'ssurmise should be correct, and we are dealing with forces outsidethe ordinary laws of Nature, there is an end of our investigation.But we are bound to exhaust all other hypotheses before fallingback upon this one. I think we'll shut that window again, if youdon't mind. It is a singular thing, but I find that a concentratedatmosphere helps a concentration of thought. I have not pushed itto the length of getting into a box to think, but that is thelogical outcome of my convictions. Have you turned the case over inyour mind?"
"Yes, I have thought a good deal of it in the course of theday."
"What do you make of it?"
"It is very bewildering."
"It has certainly a character of its own. There are points ofdistinction about it. That change in the footprints, for example.What do you make of that?"
"Mortimer said that the man had walked on tiptoe down thatportion of the alley."
"He only repeated what some fool had said at the inquest. Whyshould a man walk on tiptoe down the alley?"
"What then?"
"He was running, Watson--running desperately, running for hislife, running until he burst his heart and fell dead upon hisface."
"Running from what?"
"There lies our problem. There are indications that the man wascrazed with fear before ever he began to run."
"How can you say that?"
"I am presuming that the cause of his fears came to him acrossthe moor. If that were so, and it seems most probable, only a manwho had lost his wits would have run from the house instead oftowards it. If the gipsy's evidence may be taken as true, he ranwith cries for help in the direction where help was least likely tobe. Then, again, whom was he waiting for that night, and why was hewaiting for him in the Yew Alley rather 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. Isit natural that he should stand for five or ten minutes, as Dr.Mortimer, with more practical sense than I should have given himcredit for, deduced from the cigar ash?"
"But he went out every evening."
"I think it unlikely that he waited at the moor-gate everyevening. On the contrary, the evidence is that he avoided the moor.That night he waited there. It was the night before he made hisdeparture for London. The thing takes shape, Watson. It becomescoherent. Might I ask you to hand me my violin, and we willpostpone all further thought upon this business until we have hadthe advantage of meeting Dr. Mortimer and Sir Henry Baskerville inthe morning."
CHAPTER IV. SIR HENRY BASKERVILLE
Our breakfast-table was cleared early, and Holmes waited in hisdressing-gown for the promised interview. Our clients were punctualto their appointment, for the clock had just struck ten when Dr.Mortimer was shown up, followed by the young baronet. The latterwas a small, alert, dark-eyed man about thirty years of age, verysturdily built, with thick black eyebrows and a strong, pugnaciousface. He wore a ruddy-tinted tweed suit and had the weather-beatenappearance of one who has spent most of his time in the open air,and yet there was something in his steady eye and the quietassurance 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. SherlockHolmes, that if my friend here had not proposed coming round to youthis morning I should have come on my own account. I understandthat you think out little puzzles, and I've had one this morningwhich wants more thinking out than I am able to give it."
"Pray take a seat, Sir Henry. Do I understand you to say thatyou have yourself had some remarkable experience since you arrivedin London?"
"Nothing of much importance, Mr. Holmes. Only a joke, as like asnot. It was this letter, if you can call it a letter, which reachedme this morning."
He laid an envelope upon the table, and we all bent over it. Itwas of common quality, grayish in colour. The address, "Sir HenryBaskerville, Northumberland Hotel," was printed in roughcharacters; the postmark "Charing Cross," and the date of postingthe preceding evening.
"Who knew that you were going to the Northumberland Hotel?"asked Holmes, 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. "Therewas no possible indication that we intended to go to thishotel."
"Hum! Someone seems to be very deeply interested in yourmovements." Out of the envelope he took a half-sheet of foolscappaper folded into four. This he opened and spread flat upon thetable. Across the middle of it a single sentence had been formed bythe expedient of pasting printed words upon it. It ran: "As youvalue 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 isthat takes so much interest in my affairs?"
"What do you make of it, Dr. Mortimer? You must allow that thereis 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 thatall you gentlemen know a great deal more than I do about my ownaffairs."
"You shall share our knowledge before you leave this room, SirHenry. I promise you that," said Sherlock Holmes. "We will confineourselves for the present with your permission to this veryinteresting document, which must have been put together and postedyesterday evening. Have you yesterday's Times, Watson?"
"It is here in the corner."
"Might I trouble you for it--the inside page, please, with theleading articles?" He glanced swiftly over it, running his eyes upand down the columns. "Capital article this on free trade. Permitme to give you an extract from it. 'You may be cajoled intoimagining that your own special trade or your own industry will beencouraged by a protective tariff, but it stands to reason thatsuch legislation must in the long run keep away wealth from thecountry, diminish the value of our imports, and lower the generalconditions of life in this island.' What do you think of that,Watson?" cried Holmes in high glee, rubbing his hands together withsatisfaction. "Don't you think that is an admirable sentiment?"
Dr. Mortimer looked at Holmes with an air of professionalinterest, and Sir Henry Baskerville turned a pair of puzzled darkeyes upon me.
"I don't know much about the tariff and things of that kind,"said he; "but it seems to me we've got a bit off the trail so faras that note is concerned."
"On the contrary, I think we are particularly hot upon thetrail, Sir Henry. Watson here knows more about my methods than youdo, but I fear that even he has not quite grasped the significanceof this sentence."
"No, I confess that I see no connection."
"And yet, my dear Watson, there is so very close a connectionthat the one is extracted out of the other. 'You,' 'your,' 'your,''life,' 'reason,' 'value,' 'keep away,' 'from the.' Don't you seenow whence these words have been taken?"
"By thunder, you're right! Well, if that isn't smart!" cried SirHenry.
"If any possible doubt remained it is settled by the fact that'keep away' and 'from the' are cut out in one piece."
"Well, now--so 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 anewspaper; but that you should name which, and add that it camefrom the leading article, is really one of the most remarkablethings which I have ever known. How did you do it?"
"I presume, Doctor, that you could tell the skull of a negrofrom that of an Esquimau?"
"Most certainly."
"But how?"
"Because that is my special hobby. The differences are obvious.The supra-orbital crest, the facial angle, the maxillary curve, the--"
"But this is my special hobby, and the differences are equallyobvious. There is as much difference to my eyes between the leadedbourgeois type of a Times article and the slovenly print of anevening half-penny paper as there could be between your negro andyour Esquimau. The detection of types is one of the most elementarybranches of knowledge to the special expert in crime, though Iconfess that once when I was very young I confused the LeedsMercury with the Western Morning News. But a Times leader isentirely distinctive, and these words could have been taken fromnothing else. As it was done yesterday the strong probability wasthat we should find the words in yesterday's issue."
"So far as I can follow you, then, Mr. Holmes," said Sir HenryBaskerville, "someone cut out this message with a scissors--"
"Nail-scissors," said Holmes. "You can see that it was a veryshort-bladed scissors, since the cutter had to take two snips over'keep away.' "
"That is so. Someone, then, cut out the message with a pair ofshort-bladed scissors, pasted it with paste--"
"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 allsimple and might be found in any issue, but 'moor' would be lesscommon."
"Why, of course, that would explain it. Have you read anythingelse in this message, Mr. Holmes?"
"There are one or two indications, and yet the utmost pains havebeen taken to remove all clues. The address, you observe is printedin rough characters. But the Times is a paper which is seldom foundin any hands but those of the highly educated. We may take it,therefore, that the letter was composed by an educated man whowished to pose as an uneducated one, and his effort to conceal hisown writing suggests that that writing might be known, or come tobe known, by you. Again, you will observe that the words are notgummed on in an accurate line, but that some are much higher thanothers. 'Life,' for example is quite out of its proper place. Thatmay point to carelessness or it may point to agitation and hurryupon the part of the cutter. On the whole I incline to the latterview, since the matter was evidently important, and it is unlikelythat the composer of such a letter would be careless. If he were ina hurry it opens up the interesting question why he should be in ahurry, since any letter posted up to early morning would reach SirHenry before he would leave his hotel. Did the composer fear aninterruption--and from whom?"
"We are coming now rather into the region of guesswork,"said Dr.Mortimer.
"Say, rather, into the region where we balance probabilities andchoose the most likely. It is the scientific use of theimagination, but we have always some material basis on which tostart our speculation. Now, you would call it a guess, no doubt,but I am almost certain that this address has been written in ahotel."
"How in the world can you say that?"
"If you examine it carefully you will see that both the pen andthe ink have given the writer trouble. The pen has spluttered twicein a single word, and has run dry three times in a short address,showing that there was very little ink in the bottle. Now, aprivate pen or ink-bottle is seldom allowed to be in such a state,and the combination of the two must be quite rare. But you know thehotel ink and the hotel pen, where it is rare to get anything else.Yes, I have very little hesitation in saying that could we examinethe waste-paper baskets of the hotels around Charing Cross until wefound the remains of the mutilated Times leader we could lay ourhands straight upon the person who sent this singular message.Halloa! Halloa! What's this?"
He was carefully examining the foolscap, upon which the wordswere pasted, holding it only an inch or two from his eyes.
"Well?"
"Nothing," said he, throwing it down. "It is a blank half-sheetof paper, without even a water-mark upon it. I think we have drawnas much as we can from this curious letter; and now, Sir Henry, hasanything else of interest happened to you since you have been inLondon?"
"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 our visitor. "Why in thunder should anyone follow or watchme?"
"We are coming to that. You have nothing else to report to usbefore we 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 don't know much of British life yet, for I have spent nearlyall my time in the States and in Canada. But I hope that to loseone of your boots is not part of the ordinary routine of life overhere."
"You have lost one of your boots?"
"My dear sir," cried Dr. Mortimer, "it is only mislaid. You willfind it when you return to the hotel. What is the use of troublingMr. Holmes with trifles of this kind?"
"Well, he asked me for anything outside the ordinaryroutine."
"Exactly," said Holmes, "however foolish the incident may seem.You have lost one of your boots, you say?"
"Well, mislaid it, anyhow. I put them both outside my door lastnight, and there was only one in the morning. I could get no senseout of the chap who cleans them. The worst of it is that I onlybought the pair last night in the Strand, and I have never had themon."
"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 whyI put them out."
"Then I understand that on your arrival in London yesterday youwent out at once and bought a pair of boots?"
"I did a good deal of shopping. Dr. Mortimer here went roundwith me. You see, if I am to be squire down there I must dress thepart, and it may be that I have got a little careless in my waysout West. Among other things I bought these brown boots--gave sixdollars for them--and had one stolen before ever I had them on myfeet."
"It seems a singularly useless thing to steal," said SherlockHolmes. "I confess that I share Dr. Mortimer's belief that it willnot be long before the missing boot is found."
"And, now, gentlemen," said the baronet with decision, "it seemsto me that I have spoken quite enough about the little that I know.It is time that you kept your promise and gave me a full account ofwhat we are all driving at."
"Your request is a very reasonable one," Holmes answered. "Dr.Mortimer, I think you could not do better than to tell your storyas you told it to us."
Thus encouraged, our scientific friend drew his papers from hispocket, and presented the whole case as he had done upon themorning before. Sir Henry Baskerville listened with the deepestattention, and with an occasional exclamation of surprise.
"Well, I seem to have come into an inheritance with avengeance," said he when the long narrative was finished. "Ofcourse, I've heard of the hound ever since I was in the nursery.It's the pet story of the family, though I never thought of takingit seriously before. But as to my uncle's death--well, it all seemsboiling up in my head, and I can't get it clear yet. You don't seemquite to have made up your mind whether it's a case for a policemanor a clergyman."
"Precisely."
"And now there's this affair of the letter to me at the hotel. Isuppose that 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-disposedtowards you, since they warn you of danger."
"Or it may be that they wish, for their own purposes, to scareme away."
"Well, of course, that is possible also. I am very much indebtedto you, Dr. Mortimer, for introducing me to a problem whichpresents several interesting alternatives. But the practical pointwhich we now have to decide, Sir Henry, is whether it is or is notadvisable for you to go to Baskerville 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 fromgoing to the home of my own people, and you may take that to be myfinal answer." His dark brows knitted and his face flushed to adusky red as he spoke. It was evident that the fiery temper of theBaskervilles was not extinct in this their last representative."Meanwhile," said he, "I have hardly had time to think over allthat you have told me. It's a big thing for a man to have tounderstand and to decide at one sitting. I should like to have aquiet hour by myself to make up my mind. Now, look here, Mr.Holmes, it's half-past eleven now and I am going back right away tomy hotel. Suppose you and your friend, Dr. Watson, come round andlunch with us at two. I'll be able to tell you more clearly thenhow this thing strikes me."
"Is that convenient to you, Watson?"
"Perfectly."
"Then you may expect us. Shall I have a cab called?"
"I'd prefer to walk, for this affair has flurried merather."
"I'll join you in a walk, with pleasure," said hiscompanion.
"Then we meet again at two o'clock. Au revoir, andgood-morning!"
We heard the steps of our visitors descend the stair and thebang of the front door. In an instant Holmes had changed from thelanguid dreamer to the man of action.
"Your hat and boots, Watson, quick! Not a moment to lose!" Herushed into his room in his dressing-gown and was back again in afew seconds in a frock-coat. We hurried together down the stairsand into the street. Dr. Mortimer and Baskerville were stillvisible about two hundred yards ahead of us in the direction ofOxford Street.
"Shall I run on and stop them?"
"Not for the world, my dear Watson. I am perfectly satisfiedwith your company if you will tolerate mine. Our friends are wise,for it is certainly a 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 yardsbehind, we followed into Oxford Street and so down Regent Street.Once our friends stopped and stared into a shop window, upon whichHolmes did the same. An instant afterwards he gave a little cry ofsatisfaction, and, following the direction of his eager eyes, I sawthat a hansom cab with a man inside which had halted on the otherside of the street was now proceeding slowly onward again.
"There's our man, Watson! Come along! We'll 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 ofpiercing eyes turned upon us through the side window of the cab.Instantly the trapdoor at the top flew up, something was screamedto the driver, and the cab flew madly off down Regent Street.Holmes looked eagerly round for another, but no empty one was insight. Then he dashed in wild pursuit amid the stream of thetraffic, but the start was too great, and already the cab was outof sight.
"There now!" said Holmes bitterly as he emerged panting andwhite with vexation from the tide of vehicles. "Was ever such badluck and such bad management, too? Watson, Watson, if you are anhonest man you will record this also and set it against mysuccesses!"
"Who was the man?"
"I have not an idea."
"A spy?"
"Well, it was evident from what we have heard that Baskervillehas been very closely shadowed by someone since he has been intown. How else could it be known so quickly that it was theNorthumberland Hotel which he had chosen? If they had followed himthe first day I argued that they would follow him also the second.You may have observed that I twice strolled over to the windowwhile Dr. Mortimer was reading his legend."
"Yes, I remember."
"I was looking out for loiterers in the street, but I saw none.We are dealing with a clever man, Watson. This matter cuts verydeep, and though I have not finally made up my mind whether it is abenevolent or a malevolent agency which is in touch with us, I amconscious always of power and design. When our friends left I atonce followed them in the hopes of marking down their invisibleattendant. So wily was he that he had not trusted himself uponfoot, but he had availed himself of a cab so that he could loiterbehind or dash past them and so escape their notice. His method hadthe additional advantage that if they were to take a cab he was allready to follow them. It has, however, one obviousdisadvantage."
"It puts him in the power of the cabman."
"Exactly."
"What a pity we did not get the number!"
"My dear Watson, clumsy as I have been, you surely do notseriously imagine that I neglected to get the number? No. 2704 isour man. But that is 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 walkedin the other direction. I should then at my leisure have hired asecond cab and followed the first at a respectful distance, or,better still, have driven to the Northumberland Hotel and waitedthere. When our unknown had followed Baskerville home we shouldhave had the opportunity of playing his own game upon himself andseeing where he made for. As it is, by an indiscreet eagerness,which was taken advantage of with extraordinary quickness andenergy by our opponent, we have betrayed ourselves and lost ourman."
We had been sauntering slowly down Regent Street during thisconversation, and Dr. Mortimer, with his companion, had longvanished in front of us.
"There is no object in our following them," said Holmes. "Theshadow has departed and will not return. We must see what furthercards we have in our hands and play them with decision. Could youswear to that man's face within the cab?"
"I could swear only to the beard."
"And so could I--from which I gather that in all probability itwas a false one. A clever man upon so delicate an errand has no usefor a beard save to conceal his features. Come in here,Watson!"
He turned into one of the district messenger offices, where hewas warmly greeted by the manager.
"Ah, Wilson, I see you have not forgotten the little case inwhich I had the good fortune to help you?"
"No, sir, indeed I have not. You saved my good name, and perhapsmy life."
"My dear fellow, you exaggerate. I have some recollection,Wilson, that you had among your boys a lad named Cartwright, whoshowed some ability during the investigation."
"Yes, sir, he is still with us."
"Could you ring him up?--thank you! And I should be glad to havechange of this five-pound note."
A lad of fourteen, with a bright, keen face, had obeyed thesummons of the manager. He stood now gazing with great reverence atthe famous detective.
"Let me have the Hotel Directory," said Holmes. "Thank you! Now,Cartwright, there are the names of twenty-three hotels here, all inthe immediate 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 oneshilling. Here are twenty-three shillings."
"Yes, sir."
"You will tell him that you want to see the waste-paper ofyesterday. You will say that an important telegram has miscarriedand that you are looking for it. You understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"But what you are really looking for is the centre page of theTimes with some holes cut in it with scissors. Here is a copy ofthe Times. It is this page. You could easily recognize it, couldyou not?"
"Yes, sir."
"In each case the outside porter will send for the hall porter,to whom also you will give a shilling. Here are twenty-threeshillings. You will then learn in possibly twenty cases out of thetwenty-three that the waste of the day before has been burned orremoved. In the three other cases you will be shown a heap of paperand you will look for this page of the Times among it. The odds areenormously against your finding it. There are ten shillings over incase of emergencies. Let me have a report by wire at Baker Streetbefore evening. And now, Watson, it only remains for us to find outby wire the identity of the cabman, No. 2704, and then we will dropinto one of the Bond Street picture galleries and fill in the timeuntil we are due at the hotel."
CHAPTER V. THREE BROKEN THREADS
Sherlock Holmes had, in a very remarkable degree, the power ofdetaching his mind at will. For two hours the strange business inwhich we had been involved appeared to be forgotten, and he wasentirely absorbed in the pictures of the modern Belgian masters. Hewould talk of nothing but art, of which he had the crudest ideas,from our leaving the gallery until we found ourselves at theNorthumberland Hotel.
"Sir Henry Baskerville is upstairs expecting you," said theclerk. "He asked me to show you up at once when you came."
"Have you any objection to my looking at your register?" saidHolmes.
"Not in the least."
The book showed that two names had been added after that ofBaskerville. One was Theophilus Johnson and family, of Newcastle;the other 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 walkswith a limp?"
"No, sir; this is Mr. Johnson, the coal-owner, a very activegentleman, not older than yourself."
"Surely you are mistaken about his trade?"
"No, sir! he has used this hotel for many years, and he is verywell known to us."
"Ah, that settles it. Mrs. Oldmore, too; I seem to remember thename. Excuse my curiosity, but often in calling upon one friend onefinds another."
"She is an invalid lady, sir. Her husband was once mayor ofGloucester. 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 notsettled down in his own hotel. That means that while they are, aswe have seen, very anxious to watch him, they are equally anxiousthat he should not see them. Now, this is a most suggestivefact."
"What does it suggest?"
"It suggests--halloa, my dear fellow, what on earth is thematter?"
As we came round the top of the stairs we had run up against SirHenry Baskerville himself. His face was flushed with anger, and heheld an old and dusty boot in one of his hands. So furious was hethat he was hardly articulate, and when he did speak it was in amuch broader and more Western dialect than any which we had heardfrom him in the morning.
"Seems to me they are playing me for a sucker in this hotel," hecried. "They'll find they've started in to monkey with the wrongman unless they are careful. By thunder, if that chap can't find mymissing boot there will be trouble. I can take a joke with thebest, Mr. Holmes, but they've got a bit over the mark thistime."
"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 it's an old black one."
"What! you don't mean to say----?"
"That's just what I do mean to say. I only had three pairs inthe world--the new brown, the old black, and the patent leathers,which I am wearing. Last night they took one of my brown ones, andtoday they have sneaked one of the black. Well, have you got it?Speak out, man, and don't stand staring!"
An agitated German waiter had appeared upon the scene.
"No, sir; I have made inquiry all over the hotel, but I can hearno word of it."
"Well, either that boot comes back before sundown or I'll seethe manager and tell him that I go right straight out of thishotel."
"It shall be found, sir--I promise you that if you will have alittle patience it will be found."
"Mind it is, for it's the last thing of mine that I'll lose inthis den of thieves. Well, well, Mr. Holmes, you'll excuse mytroubling you about such a trifle----"
"I think it's well worth troubling about."
"Why, you look very serious over it."
"How do you explain it?"
"I just don't attempt to explain it. It seems the very maddest,queerest thing that ever happened to me."
"The queerest perhaps----" said Holmes, thoughtfully.
"What do you make of it yourself?"
"Well, I don't profess to understand it yet. This case of yoursis very complex, Sir Henry. When taken in conjunction with youruncle's death I am not sure that of all the five hundred cases ofcapital importance which I have handled there is one which cuts sodeep. But we hold several threads in our hands, and the odds arethat one or other of them guides us to the truth. We may waste timein following the wrong one, but sooner or later we must come uponthe right."
We had a pleasant luncheon in which little was said of thebusiness which had brought us together. It was in the privatesitting-room to which we afterwards repaired that Holmes askedBaskerville what were his intentions.
"To go to Baskerville Hall."
"And when?"
"At the end of the week."
"On the whole," said Holmes, "I think that your decision is awise one. I have ample evidence that you are being dogged inLondon, and amid the millions of this great city it is difficult todiscover who these people are or what their object can be. If theirintentions are evil they might do you a mischief, and we should bepowerless to prevent it. You did not know, Dr.Mortimer, that youwere followed this morning from my house?"
Dr. Mortimer started violently.
"Followed! By whom?"
"That, unfortunately, is what I cannot tell you. Have you amongyour neighbours or acquaintances on Daftmoor any man with a black,full beard?"
"No--or, let me see--why, yes. Barrymore, Sir Charles's butler,is a man with 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 anypossibility he might be in London."
"How can you do that?"
"Give me a telegraph form. 'Is all ready for Sir Henry?' Thatwill do. Address to Mr. Barrymore, Baskerville Hall. What is thenearest telegraph-office? Grimpen. Very good, we will send a secondwire to the postmaster, Grimpen: 'Telegram to Mr. Barrymore to bedelivered into his own hand. If absent, please return wire to SirHenry Baskerville, Northumberland Hotel. 'That should let us knowbefore evening whether Barrymore is at his post in Devonshire ornot."
"That's so," said Baskerville. "By the way, Dr. Mortimer, who isthis Barrymore, anyhow?"
"He is the son of the old caretaker, who is dead. They havelooked after the Hall for four generations now. So far as I know,he and his wife are as respectable a couple as any in thecounty."
"At the same time," said Baskerville, "it's clear enough that solong as there are none of the family at the Hall these people havea mighty fine home and nothing to do."
"That is true."
"Did Barrymore profit at all by Sir Charles's will?" askedHolmes.
"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 provisionsof his will."
"That is very interesting."
"I hope," said Dr. Mortimer, "that you do not look withsuspicious eyes upon everyone who received a legacy from SirCharles, for I also had a thousand 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 sogigantic a sum was involved," said he.
"Sir Charles had the reputation of being rich, but we did notknow how very rich he was until we came to examine his securities.The total value of the estate was close on to a million."
"Dear me! It is a stake for which a man might well play adesperate game. And one more question, Dr. Mortimer. Supposing thatanything happened to our young friend here--you will forgive theunpleasant hypothesis!--who would inherit the estate?"
"Since Rodger Baskerville, Sir Charles's younger brother diedunmarried, the estate would descend to the Desmonds, who aredistant cousins. James Desmond is an elderly clergyman inWestmoreland."
"Thank you. These details are all of great interest. Have youmet Mr. James Desmond?"
"Yes; he once came down to visit Sir Charles. He is a man ofvenerable appearance and of saintly life. I remember that herefused to accept any settlement from Sir Charles, though hepressed it upon him."
"And this man of simple tastes would be the heir to SirCharles's thousands."
"He would be the heir to the estate because that is entailed. Hewould also be the heir to the money unless it were willed otherwiseby the present owner, who can, of course, do what he likes withit."
"And have you made your will, Sir Henry?"
"No, Mr. Holmes, I have not. I've had no time, for it was onlyyesterday that I learned how matters stood. But in any case I feelthat the money should go with the title and estate. That was mypoor uncle's idea. How is the owner going to restore the glories ofthe Baskervilles if he has not money enough to keep up theproperty? House, land, and dollars must go together."
"Quite so. Well, Sir Henry, I am of one mind with you as to theadvisability of your going down to Devonshire without delay. Thereis only one provision which I must make. You certainly must not goalone."
"Dr. Mortimer returns with me."
"But Dr. Mortimer has his practice to attend to, and his houseis miles away from yours. With all the good will in the world hemay be unable to help you. No, Sir Henry, you must take with yousomeone, a trusty man, who will be always by your side."
"It is possible that you could come yourself, Mr. Holmes?"
"If matters came to a crisis I should endeavour to be present inperson; but you can understand that, with my extensive consultingpractice and with the constant appeals which reach me from manyquarters, it is impossible for me to be absent from London for anindefinite time. At the present instant one of the most reverednames in England is being besmirched by a blackmailer, and only Ican stop a disastrous scandal. You will see how impossible it isfor 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 betterworth having at your side when you are in a tight place. No one cansay so more confidently than I."
The proposition took me completely by surprise, but before I hadtime to answer, Baskerville seized me by the hand and wrung itheartily.
"Well, now, that is real kind of you, Dr. Watson," said he. "Yousee how it is with me, and you know just as much about the matteras I do. If you will come down to Baskerville Hall and see methrough I'll never forget it."
The promise of adventure had always a fascination for me, and Iwas complimented by the words of Holmes and by the eagerness withwhich the baronet hailed me as a companion.
"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. Isuppose that by Saturday all might be ready?"
"Would that suit Dr. Watson?"
"Perfectly."
"Then on Saturday, unless you hear to the contrary, we shallmeet at the 10:30 train from Paddington."
We had risen to depart when Baskerville gave a cry, of triumphand diving into one of the corners of the room he drew a brown bootfrom under a cabinet.
"My missing boot!" he cried.
"May all our difficulties vanish as easily!" said SherlockHolmes.
"But it is a very singular thing," Dr. Mortimer remarked. "Isearched this 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 thematter, nor could any inquiry clear it up. Another item had beenadded to that constant and apparently purposeless series of smallmysteries which had succeeded each other so rapidly. Setting asidethe whole grim story of Sir Charles's death, we had a line ofinexplicable incidents all within the limits of two days, whichincluded the receipt of the printed letter, the black-bearded spyin the hansom, the loss of the new brown boot, the loss of the oldblack boot, and now the return of the new brown boot. Holmes sat insilence 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, wasbusy in endeavouring to frame some scheme into which all thesestrange and apparently disconnected episodes could be fitted. Allafternoon and late into the evening he sat lost in tobacco andthought.
Just before dinner two telegrams were handed in. The firstran:--
"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 mustcast round for another scent."
"We have still the cabman who drove the spy."
"Exactly. I have wired to get his name and address from theOfficial Registry. I should not be surprised if this were an answerto my question."
The ring at the bell proved to be something even moresatisfactory than an answer, however, for the door opened and arough-looking fellow entered who was evidently the man himself.
"I got a message from the head office that a gent at thisaddress had been inquiring for 2,704," said he. "I've driven my cabthis seven years and never a word of complaint. I came herestraight from the Yard to ask you to your face what you had againstme."
"I have nothing in the world against you, my good man," saidHolmes. "On the contrary, I have half a sovereign for you if youwill give me a clear answer to my questions."
"Well, I've had a good day and no mistake," said the cabman,with a grin. "What was it you wanted to ask, sir?"
"First of all your name and address, in case I want youagain."
"John Clayton, 3, Turpey Street, the Borough. My cab is out ofShipley's Yard, near Waterloo Station."
Sherlock Holmes made a note of it.
"Now, Clayton, tell me all about the fare who came and watchedthis house at ten o'clock this morning and afterwards followed thetwo gentlemen down Regent Street."
The man looked surprised and a little embarrassed. "Why, there'sno good 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 hewas a detective and that I was to say nothing about him toanyone."
"My good fellow, this is a very serious business, and you mayfind yourself in a pretty bad position if you try to hide anythingfrom me. You say that your fare told you that he was adetective?"
"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 mentionedhis name, 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 bythe cabman's reply. For an instant he sat in silent amazement. Thenhe burst into a hearty laugh.
"A touch, Watson--an undeniable touch!" said he. "I feel a foilas quick and supple as my own. He got home upon me very prettilythat time. So his name was Sherlock Holmes, was it?"
"Yes, sir, that was the gentleman's name."
"Excellent! Tell me where you picked him up and all thatoccurred."
"He hailed me at half-past nine in Trafalgar Square. He saidthat he was a detective, and he offered me two guineas if I woulddo exactly what he wanted all day and ask no questions. I was gladenough to agree. First we drove down to the Northumberland Hoteland waited there until two gentlemen came out and took a cab fromthe rank. We followed their cab until it pulled up somewhere nearhere."
"This very door," said Holmes.
"Well, I couldn't be sure of that, but I dare say my fare knewall about it. We pulled up half-way down the street and waited anhour and a half. Then the two gentlemen passed us, walking, and wefollowed down Baker Street and along ----"
"I know," said Holmes.
"Until we got three-quarters down Regent Street. Then mygentleman threw up the trap, and he cried that I should drive rightaway to Waterloo Station as hard as I could go. I whipped up themare and we were there under the ten minutes. Then he paid up histwo guineas, like a good one, and away he went into the station.Only just as he was leaving he turned round and he said: 'It mightinterest you to know that you have been driving Mr. SherlockHolmes.' That's how I come to know the name."
"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 wasn't altogether suchan easy gentleman to describe. I'd put him at forty years of age,and he was of a middle height, two or three inches shorter thanyou, sir. He was dressed like a toff, and he had a black beard, cutsquare at the end, and a pale face. I don't know as I could saymore than that."
"Colour of his eyes?"
"No, I can't say that."
"Nothing more that you can remember?"
"No, sir; nothing."
"Well, then, here is your half-sovereign. There's another onewaiting for you if you can bring any more information. Goodnight!"
"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," saidhe. "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 myhands on the driver, and so sent back this audacious message. Itell you, Watson, this time we have got a foeman who is worthy ofour steel. I've been checkmated in London. I can only wish youbetter luck in Devonshire. But I'm not easy in my mind aboutit."
"About what?"
"About sending you. It's an ugly business, Watson, an uglydangerous business, 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 Ishall be very glad to have you back safe and sound in Baker Streetonce more."
CHAPTER VI. BASKERVILLE HALL
Sir Henry Baskerville and Dr. Mortimer were ready upon theappointed day, and we started as arranged for Devonshire. Mr.Sherlock Holmes drove with me to the station and gave me his lastparting injunctions 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 thetheorizing."
"What sort of facts?" I asked.
"Anything which may seem to have a bearing however indirect uponthe case, and especially the relations between young Baskervilleand his neighbours or any fresh particulars concerning the death ofSir Charles. I have made some inquiries myself in the last fewdays, but the results have, I fear, been negative. One thing onlyappears to be certain, and that is that Mr. James Desmond, who isthe next heir, is an elderly gentleman of a very amiabledisposition, so that this persecution does not arise from him. Ireally think that we may eliminate him entirely from ourcalculations. There remain the people who will actually surroundSir Henry Baskerville upon the moor."
"Would it not be well in the first place to get rid of thisBarrymore couple?"
"By no means. You could not make a greater mistake. If they areinnocent it would be a cruel injustice, and if they are guilty weshould be giving up all chance of bringing it home to them. No, no,we will preserve them upon our list of suspects. Then there is agroom at the Hall, if I remember right. There are two moorlandfarmers. There is our friend Dr. Mortimer, whom I believe to beentirely honest, and there is his wife, of whom we know nothing.There is this naturalist, Stapleton, and there is his sister, whois said to be a young lady of attractions. There is Mr. Frankland,of Lafter Hall, who is also an unknown factor, and there are one ortwo 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, andnever relax your precautions."
Our friends had already secured a first-class carriage and werewaiting for us upon the platform.
"No, we have no news of any kind," said Dr. Mortimer in answerto my friend's questions. "I can swear to one thing, and that isthat we have not been shadowed during the last two days. We havenever gone out without keeping a sharp watch, and no one could haveescaped 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 we had no trouble of any kind."
"It was imprudent, all the same," said Holmes, shaking his headand looking very grave. "I beg, Sir Henry, that you will not goabout alone. Some great misfortune will befall you if you do. Didyou get your other boot?"
"No, sir, it is gone forever."
"Indeed. That is very interesting. Well, good-bye," he added asthe train began to glide down the platform. "Bear in mind, SirHenry, one of the phrases in that queer old legend which Dr.Mortimer has read to us, and avoid the moor in those hours ofdarkness when the powers of evil are exalted."
I looked back at the platform when we had left it far behind,and saw the tall, austere figure of Holmes standing motionless andgazing after us.
The journey was a swift and pleasant one, and I spent it inmaking the more intimate acquaintance of my two companions and inplaying with Dr. Mortimer's spaniel. In a very few hours the brownearth had become ruddy, the brick had changed to granite, and redcows grazed in well-hedged fields where the lush grasses and moreluxuriant vegetation spoke of a richer, if a damper, climate. YoungBaskerville stared eagerly out of the window, and cried aloud withdelight as he recognized the familiar features of the Devonscenery.
"I've 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 withit."
"I never saw a Devonshire man who did not swear by his county,"I remarked.
"It depends upon the breed of men quite as much as on thecounty," said Dr. Mortimer. "A glance at our friend here revealsthe rounded head of the Celt, which carries inside it the Celticenthusiasm and power of attachment. Poor Sir Charles's head was ofa very rare type, half Gaelic, half Ivernian in itscharacteristics. But you were very young when you last sawBaskerville Hall, were you not?"
"I was a boy in my 'teens at the time of my father's death, andhad never seen the Hall, for he lived in a little cottage on theSouth Coast. Thence I went straight to a friend in America. I tellyou it is all as new to me as it is to Dr. Watson, and I'm as keenas possible to see the moor."
"Are you? Then your wish is easily granted, for there is yourfirst sight of the moor," said Dr. Mortimer, pointing out of thecarriage window.
Over the green squares of the fields and the low curve of a woodthere rose in the distance a grey, melancholy hill, with a strangejagged summit, dim and vague in the distance, like some fantasticlandscape in a dream. Baskerville sat for a long time, his eyesfixed upon it, and I read upon his eager face how much it meant tohim, this first sight of that strange spot where the men of hisblood had held sway so long and left their mark so deep. There hesat, with his tweed suit and his American accent, in the corner ofa prosaic railway-carriage, and yet as I looked at his dark andexpressive face I felt more than ever how true a descendant he wasof that long line of high-blooded, fiery, and masterful men. Therewere pride, valour, and strength in his thick brows, his sensitivenostrils, and his large hazel eyes. If on that forbidding moor adifficult and dangerous quest should lie before us, this was atleast a comrade for whom one might venture to take a risk with thecertainty that he would bravely share it.
The train pulled up at a small wayside station and we alldescended. Outside, beyond the low, white fence, a wagonette with apair of cobs was waiting. Our coming was evidently a great event,for station-master and porters clustered round us to carry out ourluggage. It was a sweet, simple country spot, but I was surprisedto observe that by the gate there stood two soldierly men in darkuniforms, who leaned upon their short rifles and glanced keenly atus as we passed. The coachman, a hard-faced, gnarled little fellow,saluted Sir Henry Baskerville, and in a few minutes we were flyingswiftly down the broad, white road. Rolling pasture lands curvedupward on either side of us, and old gabled houses peeped out fromamid the thick green foliage, but behind the peaceful and sunlitcountry-side there rose ever, dark against the evening sky, thelong, gloomy curve of the moor, broken by the jagged and sinisterhills.
The wagonette swung round into a side road, and we curved upwardthrough deep lanes worn by centuries of wheels, high banks oneither side, heavy with dripping moss and fleshy hart's-tongueferns. Bronzing bracken and mottled bramble gleamed in the light ofthe sinking sun. Still steadily rising, we passed over a narrowgranite bridge, and skirted a noisy stream which gushed swiftlydown, foaming and roaring amid the gray boulders. Both road andstream wound up through a valley dense with scrub oak and fir. Atevery turn Baskerville gave an exclamation of delight, lookingeagerly about him and asking countless questions. To his eyes allseemed beautiful, but to me a tinge of melancholy lay upon thecountry-side, which bore so clearly the mark of the waning year.Yellow leaves carpeted the lanes and fluttered down upon us as wepassed. The rattle of our wheels died away as we drove throughdrifts of rotting vegetation--sad gifts, as it seemed to me, forNature to throw before the carriage of the returning heir of theBaskervilles.
"Halloa!" cried Dr. Mortimer, "what is this?"
A steep curve of heath-clad land, an outlying spur of the moor,lay in front of us. On the summit, hard and clear like anequestrian statue upon its pedestal, was a mounted soldier, darkand stern, his rifle poised ready over his forearm. He was watchingthe road along which we travelled.
"What is this, Perkins?" asked Dr. Mortimer.
Our driver half turned in his seat.
"There's a convict escaped from Princetown, sir. He's been outthree days now, and the warders watch every road and every station,but they've had no sight of him yet. The farmers about here don'tlike it, sir, and that's 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 thingcompared to the chance of having your throat cut. You see, it isn'tlike any ordinary convict. This is a man that would stick atnothing."
"Who is he, then?"
"It is Selden, the Notting Hill murderer."
I remembered the case well, for it was one in which Holmes hadtaken an interest on account of the peculiar ferocity of the crimeand the wanton brutality which had marked all the actions of theassassin. The commutation of his death sentence had been due tosome doubts as to his complete sanity, so atrocious was hisconduct. Our wagonette had topped a rise and in front of us rosethe huge expanse of the moor, mottled with gnarled and craggycairns and tors. A cold wind swept down from it and set usshivering. Somewhere there, on that desolate plain, was lurkingthis fiendish man, hiding in a burrow like a wild beast, his heartfull of malignancy against the whole race which had cast him out.It needed but this to complete the grim suggestiveness of thebarren waste, the chilling wind, and the darkling sky. EvenBaskerville fell silent and pulled his overcoat more closely aroundhim.
We had left the fertile country behind and beneath us. We lookedback on it now, the slanting rays of a low sun turning the streamsto threads of gold and glowing on the red earth new turned by theplough and the broad tangle of the woodlands. The road in front ofus grew bleaker and wilder over huge russet and olive slopes,sprinkled with giant boulders. Now and then we passed a moorlandcottage, walled and roofed with stone, with no creeper to break itsharsh outline. Suddenly we looked down into a cup-like depression,patched with stunted oaks and firs which had been twisted and bentby the fury of years of storm. Two high, narrow towers rose overthe trees. The driver pointed with his whip.
"Baskerville Hall," said he.
Its master had risen and was staring with flushed cheeks andshining eyes. A few minutes later we had reached the lodge-gates, amaze of fantastic tracery in wrought iron, with weather-bittenpillars on either side, blotched with lichens, and surmounted bythe boars' heads of the Baskervilles. The lodge was a ruin of blackgranite and bared ribs of rafters, but facing it was a newbuilding, half constructed, the first fruit of Sir Charles's SouthAfrican gold.
Through the gateway we passed into the avenue, where the wheelswere again hushed amid the leaves, and the old trees shot theirbranches in a sombre tunnel over our heads. Baskerville shudderedas he looked up the long, dark drive to where the house glimmeredlike a ghost at 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.
"It's no wonder my uncle felt as if trouble were coming on himin such a place as this," said he. "It's enough to scare any man.I'll have a row of electric lamps up here inside of six months, andyou won't know it again, with a thousand candle-power Swan andEdison right here in front of the hall door."
The avenue opened into a broad expanse of turf, and the houselay before us. In the fading light I could see that the centre wasa heavy block of building from which a porch projected. The wholefront was draped in ivy, with a patch clipped bare here and therewhere a window or a coat-of-arms broke through the dark veil.>From this central block rose the twin towers, ancient,crenelated, and pierced with many loopholes. To right and left ofthe turrets were more modern wings of black granite. A dull lightshone through heavy mullioned windows, and from the high chimneyswhich rose from the steep, high-angled roof there sprang a singleblack column of smoke.
"Welcome, Sir Henry! Welcome to Baskerville Hall!"
A tall man had stepped from the shadow of the porch to open thedoor of the wagonette. The figure of a woman was silhouettedagainst the yellow light of the hall. She came out and helped theman to hand down our bags.
"You don't 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. Iwould stay to show you over the house, but Barrymore will be abetter guide than I. Good-bye, and never hesitate night or day tosend for me if I can be of service."
The wheels died away down the drive while Sir Henry and I turnedinto the hall, and the door clanged heavily behind us. It was afine apartment in which we found ourselves, large, lofty, andheavily raftered with huge balks of age-blackened oak. In the greatold-fashioned fireplace behind the high iron dogs a log-firecrackled and snapped. Sir Henry and I held out our hands to it, forwe were numb from our long drive. Then we gazed round us at thehigh, thin window of old stained glass, the oak panelling, thestags' heads, the coats-of-arms upon the walls, all dim and sombrein the subdued light of the central lamp.
"It's just as I imagined it," said Sir Henry. "Is it not thevery picture of an old family home? To think that this should bethe same hall in which for five hundred years my people have lived.It strikes me solemn to think of it."
I saw his dark face lit up with a boyish enthusiasm as he gazedabout him. The light beat upon him where he stood, but long shadowstrailed down the walls and hung like a black canopy above him.Barrymore had returned from taking our luggage to our rooms. Hestood in front of us now with the subdued manner of a well-trainedservant. He was a remarkable-looking man, tall, handsome, with asquare black beard and pale, 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 yourrooms. My wife and I will be happy, Sir Henry, to stay with youuntil you have made your fresh arrangements, but you willunderstand that under the new conditions this house will require aconsiderable staff."
"What new conditions?"
"I only meant, sir, that Sir Charles led a very retired life,and we were able to look after his wants. You would, naturally,wish to have more company, and so you will need changes in yourhousehold."
"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, havethey not? I should be sorry to begin my life here by breaking anold family connection."
I seemed to discern some signs of emotion upon the butler'swhite face.
"I feel that also, sir, and so does my wife. But to tell thetruth, sir, we were both very much attached to Sir Charles, and hisdeath gave us a shock and made these surroundings very painful tous. I fear that we shall never again be easy in our minds atBaskerville Hall."
"But what do you intend to do?"
"I have no doubt, sir, that we shall succeed in establishingourselves in some business. Sir Charles's generosity has given usthe means to do so. And now, sir, perhaps I had best show you toyour rooms."
A square balustraded gallery ran round the top of the old hall,approached by a double stair. From this central point two longcorridors extended the whole length of the building, from which allthe bedrooms opened. My own was in the same wing as Baskerville'sand almost next door to it. These rooms appeared to be much moremodern than the central part of the house, and the bright paper andnumerous candles did something to remove the sombre impressionwhich our arrival had left upon 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 thedais where the family sat from the lower portion reserved for theirdependents. At one end a minstrel's gallery overlooked it. Blackbeams shot across above our heads, with a smoke-darkened ceilingbeyond them. With rows of flaring torches to light it up, and thecolour and rude hilarity of an old-time banquet, it might havesoftened; but now, when two black-clothed gentlemen sat in thelittle circle of light thrown by a shaded lamp, one's voice becamehushed and one's spirit subdued. A dim line of ancestors, in everyvariety of dress, from the Elizabethan knight to the buck of theRegency, stared down upon us and daunted us by their silentcompany. We talked little, and I for one was glad when the meal wasover and we were able to retire into the modern billiard-room andsmoke a cigarette.
"My word, it isn't a very cheerful place," said Sir Henry. "Isuppose one can tone down to it, but I feel a bit out of thepicture at present. I don't wonder that my uncle got a little jumpyif he lived all alone in such a house as this. However, if it suitsyou, we will retire early to-night, and perhaps things may seemmore cheerful in the morning."
I drew aside my curtains before I went to bed and looked outfrom my window. It opened upon the grassy space which lay in frontof the hall door. Beyond, two copses of trees moaned and swung in arising wind. A half moon broke through the rifts of racing clouds.In its cold light I saw beyond the trees a broken fringe of rocks,and the long, low curve of the melancholy moor. I closed thecurtain, feeling that my last impression was in keeping with therest.
And yet it was not quite the last. I found myself weary and yetwakeful, tossing restlessly from side to side, seeking for thesleep which would not come. Far away a chiming clock struck out thequarters of the hours, but otherwise a deathly silence lay upon theold house. And then suddenly, in the very dead of the night, therecame a sound to my ears, clear, resonant, and unmistakable. It wasthe sob of a woman, the muffled, strangling gasp of one who is tornby an uncontrollable sorrow. I sat up in bed and listened intently.The noise could not have been far away and was certainly in thehouse. For half an hour I waited with every nerve on the alert, butthere came no other sound save the chiming clock and the rustle ofthe ivy on the wall.
CHAPTER VII. THE STAPLETONS OF MERRIPIT HOUSE
The fresh beauty of the following morning did something toefface from our minds the grim and gray impression which had beenleft upon both of us by our first experience of Baskerville Hall.As Sir Henry and I sat at breakfast the sunlight flooded in throughthe high mullioned windows, throwing watery patches of colour fromthe coats of arms which covered them. The dark panelling glowedlike bronze in the golden rays, and it was hard to realize thatthis was indeed the chamber which had struck such a gloom into oursouls upon the evening before.
"I guess it is ourselves and not the house that we have toblame!" said the baronet. "We were tired with our journey andchilled by our drive, so we took a gray view of the place. Now weare fresh and well, so it is all cheerful once more."
"And yet it was not entirely a question of imagination," Ianswered. "Did you, for example, happen to hear someone, a woman Ithink, sobbing in the night?"
"That is curious, for I did when I was half asleep fancy that Iheard something of the sort. I waited quite a time, but there wasno 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 sobof a woman."
"We must ask about this right away." He rang the bell and askedBarrymore whether he could account for our experience. It seemed tome that the pallid features of the butler turned a shade palerstill as he listened to his master's 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 otheris my wife, and I can answer for it that the sound could not havecome from her."
And yet he lied as he said it, for it chanced that afterbreakfast I met Mrs. Barrymore in the long corridor with the sunfull upon her face. She was a large, impassive, heavy-featuredwoman with a stern set expression of mouth. But her tell-tale eyeswere red and glanced at me from between swollen lids. It was she,then, who wept in the night, and if she did so her husband mustknow 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-bearded man there was gathering an atmosphere of mystery andof gloom. It was he who had been the first to discover the body ofSir Charles, and we had only his word for all the circumstanceswhich led up to the old man's death. Was it possible that it wasBarrymore after all whom we had seen in the cab in Regent Street?The beard might well have been the same. The cabman had described asomewhat shorter man, but such an impression might easily have beenerroneous. How could I settle the point forever? Obviously thefirst thing to do was to see the Grimpen postmaster, and findwhether the test telegram had really been placed in Barrymore's ownhands. Be the answer what it might, I should at least havesomething to report to Sherlock Holmes.
Sir Henry had numerous papers to examine after breakfast, sothat the time was propitious for my excursion. It was a pleasantwalk of four miles along the edge of the moor, leading me at lastto a small gray hamlet, in which two larger buildings, which provedto be the inn and the house of Dr. Mortimer, stood high above therest. The postmaster, who was also the village grocer, had a clearrecollection 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.Barrymoreat the 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 notput it into his own hands, but I gave it into Mrs. Barrymore'shands, and she promised to deliver it at once."
"Did you see Mr. Barrymore?"
"No, sir; I tell you he was in the loft."
"If you didn't 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. "Didn't he get the telegram? If there is anymistake it is for Mr. Barrymore himself to complain."
It seemed hopeless to pursue the inquiry any farther, but it wasclear that in spite of Holmes's ruse we had no proof that Barrymorehad not been in London all the time. Suppose that it wereso--suppose that the same man had been the last who had seen SirCharles alive, and the first to dog the new heir when he returnedto England. What then? Was he the agent of others or had he somesinister design of his own? What interest could he have inpersecuting the Baskerville family? I thought of the strangewarning 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 thatwhich had been suggested by Sir Henry, that if the family could bescared away a comfortable and permanent home would be secured forthe Barrymores. But surely such an explanation as that would bequite inadequate to account for the deep and subtle scheming whichseemed to be weaving an invisible net round the young baronet.Holmes himself had said that no more complex case had come to himin all the long series of his sensational investigations. I prayed,as I walked back along the gray, lonely road, that my friend mightsoon be freed from his preoccupations and able to come down to takethis heavy burden of responsibility from my shoulders.
Suddenly my thoughts were interrupted by the sound of runningfeet behind me and by a voice which called me by name. I turned,expecting to see Dr. Mortimer, but to my surprise it was a strangerwho was pursuing me. He was a small, slim, clean-shaven, prim-facedman, flaxen-haired and lean-jawed, between thirty and forty yearsof age, dressed in a gray suit and wearing a straw hat. A tin boxfor botanical specimens hung over his shoulder and he carried agreen butterfly-net in one of his hands.
"You will, I am sure, excuse my presumption, Dr. Watson, "saidhe, as he came panting up to where I stood. "Here on the moor weare homely folk and do not wait for formal introductions. You maypossibly have heard my name from our mutual friend, Mortimer. I amStapleton, of Merripit House."
"Your net and box would have told me as much," said I, "for Iknew that Mr. Stapleton was a naturalist. But how did you knowme?"
"I have been calling on Mortimer, and he pointed you out to mefrom the window of his surgery as you passed. As our road lay thesame way I thought that I would overtake you and introduce myself.I trust that Sir Henry is none the worse for his journey?"
"He is very well, thank you."
"We were all rather afraid that after the sad death of SirCharles the new baronet might refuse to live here. It is askingmuch of a wealthy man to come down and bury himself in a place ofthis kind, but I need not tell you that it means a very great dealto the country-side. Sir Henry has, I suppose, no superstitiousfears 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!Any number of them are ready to swear that they have seen such acreature upon the moor." He spoke with a smile, but I seemed toread in his eyes that he took the matter more seriously. "The storytook a great hold upon the imagination of Sir Charles, and I haveno doubt that it led to his tragic end."
"But how?"
"His nerves were so worked up that the appearance of any dogmight have had a fatal effect upon his diseased heart. I fancy thathe really did see something of the kind upon that last night in theYew Alley. I feared that some disaster might occur, for I was veryfond of the old man, and I knew 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 hedied of 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 atthe placid face and steadfast eyes of my companion showed that nosurprise was 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 ushere, and you could not celebrate him without being known yourself.When Mortimer told me your name he could not deny your identity. Ifyou are here, then it follows that Mr. Sherlock Holmes isinteresting himself in the matter, and I am naturally curious toknow what view he may take."
"I am afraid that I cannot answer that question."
"May I ask if he is going to honour us with a visithimself?"
"He cannot leave town at present. He has other cases whichengage his attention."
"What a pity! He might throw some light on that which is so darkto us. But as to your own researches, if there is any possible wayin which I can be of service to you I trust that you will commandme. If I had any indication of the nature of your suspicions or howyou propose to investigate the case, I might perhaps even now giveyou some aid or advice."
"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 waryand discreet. I am justly reproved for what I feel was anunjustifiable intrusion, and I promise you that I will not mentionthe matter again."
We had come to a point where a narrow grassy path struck offfrom the road and wound away across the moor. A steep,boulder-sprinkled hill lay upon the right which had in bygone daysbeen cut into a granite quarry. The face which was turned towardsus formed a dark cliff, with ferns and brambles growing in itsniches. From over a distant rise there floated a gray plume ofsmoke.
"A moderate walk along this moor-path brings us to MerripitHouse," said he. "Perhaps you will spare an hour that I may havethe pleasure of introducing you to my sister."
My first thought was that I should be by Sir Henry's side. Butthen I remembered the pile of papers and bills with which his studytable was littered. It was certain that I could not help withthose. And Holmes had expressly said that I should study theneighbours upon the moor. I accepted Stapleton's invitation, and weturned together down the path.
"It is a wonderful place, the moor," said he, looking round overthe undulating downs, long green rollers, with crests of jaggedgranite foaming up into fantastic surges. "You never tire of themoor. You cannot think the wonderful secrets which it contains. Itis 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 anew comer. We came shortly after Sir Charles settled. But my tastesled me to explore every part of the country round, and I shouldthink that there 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 northhere with the queer hills breaking out of it. Do you observeanything remarkable about that?"
"It would be a rare place for a gallop."
"You would naturally think so and the thought has cost severaltheir lives before now. You notice those bright green spotsscattered thickly over it?"
"Yes, they seem more fertile than the rest."
Stapleton laughed.
"That is the great Grimpen Mire," said he. "A false step yondermeans death to man or beast. Only yesterday I saw one of the moorponies wander into it. He never came out. I saw his head for quitea long time craning out of the bog-hole, but it sucked him down atlast. Even in dry seasons it is a danger to cross it, but afterthese autumn rains it is an awful place. And yet I can find my wayto the very heart of it and return alive. By George, there isanother of those miserable ponies!"
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 mycompanion's nerves seemed to be stronger than mine.
"It's gone!" said he. "The mire has him. Two in two days, andmany more, perhaps, for they get in the way of going there in thedry weather, and never know the difference until the mire has themin its clutches. It's a 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 cantake. I have 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 offon all sides by the impassable mire, which has crawled round themin the course of years. That is where the rare plants and thebutterflies are, if you have the wit to reach them."
"I shall try my luck some day."
He looked at me with a surprised face.
"For God's sake put such an idea out of your mind," said he.
"Your blood would be upon my head. I assure you that there wouldnot be the least chance of your coming back alive. It is only byremembering certain complex landmarks that I am able to do it."
"Halloa!" I cried. "What is that?"
A long, low moan, indescribably sad, swept over the moor. Itfilled the whole air, and yet it was impossible to say whence itcame. From a dull murmur it swelled into a deep roar, and then sankback into a melancholy, throbbing murmur once again. Stapletonlooked at me with a curious expression in his face.
"Queer place, the moor!" said he.
"But what is it?"
"The peasants say it is the Hound of the Baskervilles callingfor its prey. I've heard it once or twice before, but never quiteso loud."
I looked round, with a chill of fear in my heart, at the hugeswelling plain, mottled with the green patches of rushes. Nothingstirred over the vast expanse save a pair of ravens, which croakedloudly from a tor behind us.
"You are an educated man. You don't believe such nonsense asthat?" said I. "What do you think is the cause of so strange asound?"
"Bogs make queer noises sometimes. It's the mud settling, or thewater rising, or something."
"No, no, that was a living voice."
"Well, perhaps it was. Did you ever hear a bittern booming?"
"No, I never did."
"It's a very rare bird--practically extinct--in England now, butall things are possible upon the moor. Yes, I should not besurprised to learn that what we have heard is the cry of the lastof the bitterns."
"It's the weirdest, strangest thing that ever I heard in mylife."
"Yes, it's rather an uncanny place altogether. Look at thehillside yonder. What do you make of those?"
The whole steep slope was covered with gray circular rings ofstone, a score of them at least.
"What are they? Sheep-pens?"
"No, they are the homes of our worthy ancestors. Prehistoric manlived thickly on the moor, and as no one in particular has livedthere since, we find all his little arrangements exactly as he leftthem. These are his wigwams with the roofs off. You can even seehis hearth and his couch if you have the curiosity to goinside.
"But it is quite a town. When was it inhabited?"
"Neolithic man--no date."
"What did he do?"
"He grazed his cattle on these slopes, and he learned to dig fortin when the bronze sword began to supersede the stone axe. Look atthe great trench in the opposite hill. That is his mark. Yes, youwill find some very singular points about the moor, Dr. Watson. Oh,excuse me an instant! It is surely Cyclopides."
A small fly or moth had fluttered across our path, and in aninstant Stapleton was rushing with extraordinary energy and speedin pursuit of it. To my dismay the creature flew straight for thegreat mire, and my acquaintance never paused for an instant,bounding from tuft to tuft behind it, his green net waving in theair. His gray clothes and jerky, zigzag, irregular progress madehim not unlike some huge moth himself. I was standing watching hispursuit with a mixture of admiration for his extraordinary activityand fear lest he should lose his footing in the treacherous mire,when I heard the sound of steps, and turning round found a womannear me upon the path. She had come from the direction in which theplume of smoke indicated the position of Merripit House, but thedip of the moor had hid her until she was quite close.
I could not doubt that this was the Miss Stapleton of whom I hadbeen told, since ladies of any sort must be few upon the moor, andI remembered that I had heard someone describe her as being abeauty. The woman who approached me was certainly that, and of amost uncommon type. There could not have been a greater contrastbetween brother and sister, for Stapleton was neutral tinted, withlight hair and gray eyes, while she was darker than any brunettewhom I have seen in England--slim, elegant, and tall. She had aproud, finely cut face, so regular that it might have seemedimpassive were it not for the sensitive mouth and the beautifuldark, eager eyes. With her perfect figure and elegant dress shewas, indeed, a strange apparition upon a lonely moorland path. Hereyes were on her brother as I turned, and then she quickened herpace towards me. I had raised my hat and was about to make someexplanatory remark, when her own words turned all my thoughts intoa new channel.
"Go back!" she said. "Go straight back to London,instantly."
I could only stare at her in stupid surprise. Her eyes blazed atme, and she 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 acurious lisp in her utterance. "But for God's sake do what I askyou. Go back and never set foot upon the moor again."
"But I have only just come."
"Man, man!" she cried. "Can you not tell when a warning is foryour own good? Go back to London! Start to-night! Get away fromthis place at all costs! Hush, my brother is coming! Not a word ofwhat I have said. Would you mind getting that orchid for me amongthe mares-tails yonder? We are very rich in orchids on the moor,though, of course, you are rather late to see the beauties of theplace."
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 ofhis greeting was not altogether a cordial one.
"Well, Jack, you are very hot."
"Yes, I was chasing a Cyclopides. He is very rare and seldomfound in the late autumn. What a pity that I should have missedhim!" He spoke unconcernedly, but his small light eyes glancedincessantly from the girl to me.
"You have introduced yourselves, I can see."
"Yes. I was telling Sir Henry that it was rather late for him tosee the true 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. Myname is Dr. Watson."
A flush of vexation passed over her expressive face. "We havebeen talking at cross purposes," said she.
"Why, you had not very much time for talk," her brother remarkedwith the same questioning eyes.
"I talked as if Dr. Watson were a resident instead of beingmerely a visitor," said she. "It cannot much matter to him whetherit is early or late for the orchids. But you will come on, will younot, and see Merripit House?"
A short walk brought us to it, a bleak moorland house, once thefarm of some grazier in the old prosperous days, but now put intorepair and turned into a modern dwelling. An orchard surrounded it,but the trees, as is usual upon the moor, were stunted and nipped,and the effect of the whole place was mean and melancholy. We wereadmitted by a strange wizened, rusty-coated old man servant, whoseemed in keeping with the house. Inside, however, there were largerooms furnished with an elegance in which I seemed to recognise thetaste of the lady. As I looked from their windows at theinterminable granite-flecked moor rolling unbroken to the farthesthorizon I could not but marvel at what could have brought thishighly educated man and this beautiful woman to live in such aplace.
"Queer spot to choose, is it not?" said he as if in answer to mythought. "And yet we manage to make ourselves fairly happy, do wenot, Beryl?"
"Quite happy," said she, but there was no ring of conviction inher words.
"I had a school," said Stapleton. "It was in the north country.The work to a man of my temperament was mechanical anduninteresting, but the privilege of living with youth, of helpingto mould those young minds and of impressing them with one's owncharacter and ideals, was very dear to me. However, the fates wereagainst us. A serious epidemic broke out in the school and three ofthe boys died. It never recovered from the blow, and much of mycapital was irretrievably swallowed up. And yet, if it were not forthe loss of the charming companionship of the boys, I could rejoiceover my own misfortune, for, with my strong tastes for botany andzoology, I find an unlimited field of work here, and my sister isas devoted to Nature as I am. All this, Dr. Watson, has beenbrought upon your head by your expression as you surveyed the moorout of our window."
"It certainly did cross my mind that it might be a littledull--less for you, perhaps, than for your sister."
"No, no, I am never dull," said she, quickly.
"We have books, we have our studies, and we have interestingneighbours. Dr. Mortimer is a most learned man in his own line.Poor Sir Charles was also an admirable companion. We knew him well,and miss him more than I can tell. Do you think that I shouldintrude if I were to call this afternoon and make the acquaintanceof Sir Henry?"
"I am sure that he would be delighted."
"Then perhaps you would mention that I propose to do so. We mayin our humble way do something to make things more easy for himuntil he becomes accustomed to his new surroundings. Will you comeupstairs, Dr. Watson, and inspect my collection of Lepidoptera? Ithink it is the most complete one in the south-west of England. Bythe time that you have looked through them lunch will be almostready."
But I was eager to get back to my charge. The melancholy of themoor, the death of the unfortunate pony, the weird sound which hadbeen associated with the grim legend of the Baskervilles, all thesethings tinged my thoughts with sadness. Then on the top of thesemore or less vague impressions there had come the definite anddistinct warning of Miss Stapleton, delivered with such intenseearnestness that I could not doubt that some grave and deep reasonlay behind it. I resisted all pressure to stay for lunch, and I setoff at once upon my return journey, taking the grass-grown path bywhich we had come.
It seems, however, that there must have been some short cut forthose who knew it, for before I had reached the road I wasastounded to see Miss Stapleton sitting upon a rock by the side ofthe track. Her face was beautifully flushed with her exertions, andshe held her hand to her side.
"I have run all the way in order to cut you off, Dr. Watson,"said she. "I had not even time to put on my hat. I must not stop,or my brother may miss me. I wanted to say to you how sorry I amabout the stupid mistake I made in thinking that you were SirHenry. Please forget the words I said, which have no applicationwhatever to you."
"But I can't forget them, Miss Stapleton," said I. "I am SirHenry's friend, and his welfare is a very close concern of mine.Tell me why it was that you were so eager that Sir Henry shouldreturn to London."
"A woman's whim, Dr. Watson. When you know me better you willunderstand that I cannot always give reasons for what I say ordo."
"No, no. I remember the thrill in your voice. I remember thelook in your eyes. Please, please, be frank with me, MissStapleton, for ever since I have been here I have been conscious ofshadows all round me. Life has become like that great Grimpen Mire,with little green patches everywhere into which one may sink andwith no guide to point the track. Tell me then what it was that youmeant, and I will promise to convey your warning to Sir Henry."
An expression of irresolution passed for an instant over herface, but her eyes had hardened again when she answered me.
"You make too much of it, Dr. Watson," said she. "My brother andI were very much shocked by the death of Sir Charles. We knew himvery intimately, for his favourite walk was over the moor to ourhouse. He was deeply impressed with the curse which hung over thefamily, and when this tragedy came I naturally felt that there mustbe some grounds for the fears which he had expressed. I wasdistressed therefore when another member of the family came down tolive here, and I felt that he should be warned of the danger whichhe will run. That was all which I intended 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 himaway from a place which has always been fatal to his family. Theworld is wide. Why should he wish to live at the place ofdanger?"
"Because it is the place of danger. That is Sir Henry's nature.I fear that unless you can give me some more definite informationthan this it would be impossible to get him to move."
"I cannot say anything definite, for I do not know anythingdefinite."
"I would ask you one more question, Miss Stapleton. If you meantno more than this when you first spoke to me, why should you notwish your brother to overhear what you said? There is nothing towhich he, or anyone else, could object."
"My brother is very anxious to have the Hall inhabited, for hethinks it is for the good of the poor folk upon the moor. He wouldbe very angry if he knew that I have said anything which mightinduce Sir Henry to go away. But I have done my duty now and I willsay no more. I must get back, or he will miss me and suspect that Ihave seen you. Good-bye!" She turned and had disappeared in a fewminutes among the scattered boulders, while I, with my soul full ofvague fears, pursued my way to Baskerville Hall.
CHAPTER VIII. FIRST REPORT OF DR. WATSON
From this point onward I will follow the course of events bytranscribing my own letters to Mr. Sherlock Holmes which lie beforeme on the table. One page is missing, but otherwise they areexactly as written and show my feelings and suspicions of themoment more accurately than my memory, clear as it is upon thesetragic events, can possibly do.
Baskerville Hall, October 13th.
MY DEAR HOLMES,--My previous letters and telegrams have kept youpretty well up to date as to all that has occurred in this mostGod-forsaken corner of the world. The longer one stays here themore does the spirit of the moor sink into one's soul, itsvastness, and also its grim charm. When you are once out upon itsbosom you have left all traces of modern England behind you but, onthe other hand you are conscious everywhere of the homes and thework of the prehistoric people. On all sides of you as you walk arethe houses of these forgotten folk, with their graves and the hugemonoliths which are supposed to have marked their temples. As youlook at their gray stone huts against the scarred hill-sides youleave your own age behind you, and if you were to see a skin-clad,hairy man crawl out from the low door fitting a flint-tipped arrowon to the string of his bow, you would feel that his presence therewas more natural than your own. The strange thing is that theyshould have lived so thickly on what must always have been mostunfruitful soil. I am no antiquarian, but I could imagine that theywere some unwarlike and harried race who were forced to accept thatwhich none other would occupy.
All this, however, is foreign to the mission on which you sentme and will probably be very uninteresting to your severelypractical mind. I can still remember your complete indifference asto whether the sun moved round the earth or the earth round thesun. Let me, therefore, return to the facts concerning Sir HenryBaskerville.
If you have not had any report within the last few days it isbecause up to to-day there was nothing of importance to relate.Then a very surprising circumstance occurred, which I shall tellyou in due course. But, first of all, I must keep you in touch withsome of the other factors in the situation.
One of these, concerning which I have said little, is theescaped convict upon the moor. There is strong reason now tobelieve that he has got right away, which is a considerable reliefto the lonely house holders of this district. A fortnight haspassed since his flight, during which he has not been seen andnothing has been heard of him. It is surely inconceivable that hecould have held out upon the moor during all that time. Of course,so far as his concealment goes there is no difficulty at all. Anyone of these stone huts would give him a hiding-place. But there isnothing to eat unless he were to catch and slaughter one of themoor sheep. We think, therefore, that he has gone, and the outlyingfarmers sleep the better in consequence.
We are four able-bodied men in this household, so that we couldtake good care of ourselves, but I confess that I have had uneasymoments when I have thought of the Stapletons. They live miles fromany help. There are one maid, an old manservant, the sister, andthe brother, the latter not a very strong man. They would behelpless in the hands of a desperate fellow like this Notting Hillcriminal, if he could once effect an entrance. Both Sir Henry and Iwere concerned at their situation, and it was suggested thatPerkins the groom should go over to sleep there, but Stapletonwould not hear of it.
The fact is that our friend, the baronet, begins to display aconsiderable interest in our fair neighbour. It is not to bewondered at, for time hangs heavily in this lonely spot to anactive man like him, and she is a very fascinating and beautifulwoman. There is something tropical and exotic about her which formsa singular contrast to her cool and unemotional brother. Yet healso gives the idea of hidden fires. He has certainly a very markedinfluence over her, for I have seen her continually glance at himas she talked as if seeking approbation for what she said. I trustthat he is kind to her. There is a dry glitter in his eyes, and afirm set of his thin lips, which goes with a positive and possiblya harsh nature. You would find him an interesting study.
He came over to call upon Baskerville on that first day, and thevery next morning he took us both to show us the spot where thelegend of the wicked Hugo is supposed to have had its origin. Itwas an excursion of some miles across the moor to a place which isso dismal that it might have suggested the story. We found a shortvalley between rugged tors which led to an open, grassy spaceflecked over with the white cotton grass. In the middle of it rosetwo great stones, worn and sharpened at the upper end, until theylooked like the huge corroding fangs of some monstrous beast. Inevery way it corresponded with the scene of the old tragedy. SirHenry was much interested and asked Stapleton more than oncewhether he did really believe in the possibility of theinterference of the supernatural in the affairs of men. He spokelightly, but it was evident that he was very much in earnest.Stapleton was guarded in his replies, but it was easy to see thathe said less than he might, and that he would not express his wholeopinion out of consideration for the feelings of the baronet. Hetold us of similar cases, where families had suffered from someevil influence, and he left us with the impression that he sharedthe popular view upon the matter.
On our way back we stayed for lunch at Merripit House, and itwas there that Sir Henry made the acquaintance of Miss Stapleton.From the first moment that he saw her he appeared to be stronglyattracted by her, and I am much mistaken if the feeling was notmutual. He referred to her again and again on our walk home, andsince then hardly a day has passed that we have not seen somethingof the brother and sister. They dine here to-night, and there issome talk of our going to them next week. One would imagine thatsuch a match would be very welcome to Stapleton, and yet I havemore than once caught a look of the strongest disapprobation in hisface when Sir Henry has been paying some attention to his sister.He is much attached to her, no doubt, and would lead a lonely lifewithout her, but it would seem the height of selfishness if he wereto 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 have several times observed that he has taken pains toprevent them from being tête-à-tête. By the way,your instructions to me never to allow Sir Henry to go out alonewill become very much more onerous if a love affair were to beadded to our other difficulties. My popularity would soon suffer ifI were to carry out your orders to the letter.
The other day--Thursday, to be more exact--Dr. Mortimer lunchedwith us. He has been excavating a barrow at Long Down, and has gota prehistoric skull which fills him with great joy. Never was theresuch a single-minded enthusiast as he! The Stapletons came inafterwards, and the good doctor took us all to the Yew Alley, atSir Henry's request, to show us exactly how everything occurredupon that fatal night. It is a long, dismal walk, the Yew Alley,between two high walls of clipped hedge, with a narrow band ofgrass upon either side. At the far end is an old tumble-downsummer-house. Half-way down is the moor-gate, where the oldgentleman left his cigar-ash. It is a white wooden gate with alatch. Beyond it lies the wide moor. I remembered your theory ofthe affair and tried to picture all that had occurred. As the oldman stood there he saw something coming across the moor, somethingwhich terrified him so that he lost his wits, and ran and ran untilhe died of sheer horror and exhaustion. There was the long, gloomytunnel down which he fled. And from what? A sheep-dog of the moor?Or a spectral hound, black, silent, and monstrous? Was there ahuman agency in the matter? Did the pale, watchful Barrymore knowmore than he cared to say? It was all dim and vague, but alwaysthere 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 southof us. He is an elderly man, red-faced, white-haired, and choleric.His passion is for the British law, and he has spent a largefortune in litigation. He fights for the mere pleasure of fightingand is equally ready to take up either side of a question, so thatit is no wonder that he has found it a costly amusement. Sometimeshe will shut up a right of way and defy the parish to make him openit. At others he will with his own hands tear down some other man'sgate and declare that a path has existed there from timeimmemorial, defying the owner to prosecute him for trespass. He islearned in 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 carriedin triumph down the village street or else burned in effigy,according to his latest exploit. He is said to have about sevenlawsuits upon his hands at present, which will probably swallow upthe remainder of his fortune and so draw his sting and leave himharmless for the future. Apart from the law he seems a kindly,good-natured person, and I only mention him because you wereparticular that I should send some description of the people whosurround us. He is curiously employed at present, for, being anamateur astronomer, he has an excellent telescope, with which helies upon the roof of his own house and sweeps the moor all day inthe hope of catching a glimpse of the escaped convict. If he wouldconfine his energies to this all would be well, but there arerumours that he intends to prosecute Dr. Mortimer for opening agrave without the consent of the next-of-kin, because he dug up theneolithic skull in the barrow on Long Down. He helps to keep ourlives from being monotonous and gives a little comic relief whereit is badly needed.
And now, having brought you up to date in the escaped convict,the Stapletons, Dr. Mortimer, and Frankland, of Lafter Hall, let meend on that which is most important and tell you more about theBarrymores, and especially about the surprising development of lastnight.
First of all about the test telegram, which you sent from Londonin order to make sure that Barrymore was really here. I havealready explained that the testimony of the postmaster shows thatthe test was worthless and that we have no proof one way or theother. I told Sir Henry how the matter stood, and he at once, inhis downright fashion, had Barrymore up and asked him whether hehad received the telegram himself. Barrymore said that he had.
"Did the boy deliver it into your own hands?" asked SirHenry.
Barrymore looked surprised, and considered for a littletime.
"No," said he, "I was in the box-room at the time, and my wifebrought it up to me."
"Did you answer it yourself?"
"No; I told my wife what to answer and she went down to writeit."
In the evening he recurred to the subject of his own accord.
"I could not quite understand the object of your questions thismorning, Sir Henry," said he. "I trust that they do not mean that Ihave done anything to forfeit your confidence?"
Sir Henry had to assure him that it was not so and pacify him bygiving him a considerable part of his old wardrobe, the Londonoutfit having now all arrived.
Mrs. Barrymore is of interest to me. She is a heavy, solidperson, very limited, intensely respectable, and inclined to bepuritanical. You could hardly conceive a less emotional subject.Yet I have told you how, on the first night here, I heard hersobbing bitterly, and since then I have more than once observedtraces of tears upon her face. Some deep sorrow gnaws ever at herheart. Sometimes I wonder if she has a guilty memory which hauntsher, and sometimes I suspect Barrymore of being a domestic tyrant.I have always felt that there was something singular andquestionable in this man's character, but the adventure of lastnight brings all my suspicions to a head.
And yet it may seem a small matter in itself. You are aware thatI am not a very sound sleeper, and since I have been on guard inthis house my slumbers have been lighter than ever. Last night,about two in the morning, I was aroused by a stealthy step passingmy room. I rose, opened my door, and peeped out. A long blackshadow was trailing down the corridor. It was thrown by a man whowalked softly down the passage with a candle held in his hand. Hewas in shirt and trousers, with no covering to his feet. I couldmerely see the outline, but his height told me that it wasBarrymore. He walked very slowly and circumspectly, and there wassomething indescribably guilty and furtive in his wholeappearance.
I have told you that the corridor is broken by the balcony whichruns round the hall, but that it is resumed upon the farther side.I waited until he had passed out of sight and then I followed him.When I came round the balcony he had reached the end of the farthercorridor, and I could see from the glimmer of light through an opendoor that he had entered one of the rooms. Now, all these rooms areunfurnished and unoccupied, so that his expedition became moremysterious than ever. The light shone steadily as if he werestanding motionless. I crept down the passage as noiselessly as Icould and peeped round the corner of the door.
Barrymore was crouching at the window with the candle heldagainst the glass. His profile was half turned towards me, and hisface seemed to be rigid with expectation as he stared out into theblackness of the moor. For some minutes he stood watching intently.Then he gave a deep groan and with an impatient gesture he put outthe light. Instantly I made my way back to my room, and veryshortly came the stealthy steps passing once more upon their returnjourney. Long afterwards when I had fallen into a light sleep Iheard a key turn somewhere in a lock, but I could not tell whencethe sound came. What it all means I cannot guess, but there is somesecret business going on in this house of gloom which sooner orlater we shall get to the bottom of. I do not trouble you with mytheories, for you asked me to furnish you only with facts. I havehad a long talk with Sir Henry this morning, and we have made aplan of campaign founded upon my observations of last night. I willnot speak about it just now, but it should make my next reportinteresting reading.
CHAPTER IX. (SECOND REPORT OF DR. WATSON)
THE LIGHT UPON THE MOOR
Baskerville Hall, Oct. 15th.
MY DEAR HOLMES,--If I was compelled to leave you without muchnews during the early days of my mission you must acknowledge thatI am making up for lost time, and that events are now crowdingthick and fast upon us. In my last report I ended upon my top notewith Barrymore at the window, and now I have quite a budget alreadywhich will, unless I am much mistaken, considerably surprise you.Things have taken a turn which I could not have anticipated. Insome ways they have within the last forty-eight hours become muchclearer and in some ways they have become more complicated. But Iwill tell you all and you shall judge for yourself.
Before breakfast on the morning following my adventure I wentdown the corridor and examined the room in which Barrymore had beenon the night before. The western window through which he had staredso intently has, I noticed, one peculiarity above all other windowsin the house--it commands the nearest outlook on the moor. There isan opening between two trees which enables one from this point ofview to look right down upon it, while from all the other windowsit is only a distant glimpse which can be obtained. It follows,therefore, that Barrymore, since only this window would serve thepurpose, must have been looking out for something or somebody uponthe moor. The night was very dark, so that I can hardly imagine howhe could have hoped to see anyone. It had struck me that it waspossible that some love intrigue was on foot. That would haveaccounted for his stealthy movements and also for the uneasiness ofhis wife. The man is a striking-looking fellow, very well equippedto steal the heart of a country girl, so that this theory seemed tohave something to support it. That opening of the door which I hadheard after I had returned to my room might mean that he had goneout to keep some clandestine appointment. So I reasoned with myselfin the morning, and I tell you the direction of my suspicions,however much the result may have shown that they wereunfounded.
But whatever the true explanation of Barrymore's movements mightbe, I felt that the responsibility of keeping them to myself untilI could explain them was more than I could bear. I had an interviewwith the baronet in his study after breakfast, and I told him allthat I had seen. He was less surprised than I had expected.
"I knew that Barrymore walked about nights, and I had a mind tospeak to him about it," said he. "Two or three times I have heardhis steps in the passage, coming and going, just about the hour youname."
"Perhaps then he pays a visit every night to that particularwindow," I suggested.
"Perhaps he does. If so, we should be able to shadow him, andsee what it is that he is after. I wonder what your friend Holmeswould do, if he were here."
"I believe that he would do exactly what you now suggest," saidI. "He would 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 chanceof that. We'll sit up in my room to-night and wait until hepasses." Sir Henry rubbed his hands with pleasure, and it wasevident that he hailed the adventure as a relief to his somewhatquiet life upon the moor.
The baronet has been in communication with the architect whoprepared the plans for Sir Charles, and with a contractor fromLondon, so that we may expect great changes to begin here soon.There have been decorators and furnishers up from Plymouth, and itis evident that our friend has large ideas, and means to spare nopains or expense to restore the grandeur of his family. When thehouse is renovated and refurnished, all that he will need will be awife to make it complete. Between ourselves there are pretty clearsigns that this will not be wanting if the lady is willing, for Ihave seldom seen a man more infatuated with a woman than he is withour beautiful neighbour, Miss Stapleton. And yet the course of truelove does not run quite as smoothly as one would under thecircumstances expect. To-day, for example, its surface was brokenby a very unexpected ripple, which has caused our friendconsiderable perplexity and annoyance.
After the conversation which I have quoted about Barrymore, SirHenry put on his hat and prepared to go out. As a matter of courseI did the same.
"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,but you heard how earnestly Holmes insisted that I should not leaveyou, and especially that you should not go alone upon themoor."
Sir Henry put his hand upon my shoulder with a pleasantsmile.
"My dear fellow," said he, "Holmes, with all his wisdom, did notforesee some things which have happened since I have been on themoor. You understand me? I am sure that you are the last man in theworld who would 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 tosay or what to do, and before I had made up my mind he picked uphis cane and was gone.
But when I came to think the matter over my consciencereproached me bitterly for having on any pretext allowed him to goout of my sight. I imagined what my feelings would be if I had toreturn to you and to confess that some misfortune had occurredthrough my disregard for your instructions. I assure you my cheeksflushed at the very thought. It might not even now be too late toovertake him, so I set off at once in the direction of MerripitHouse.
I hurried along the road at the top of my speed without seeinganything of Sir Henry, until I came to the point where the moorpath branches off. There, fearing that perhaps I had come in thewrong direction after all, I mounted a hill from which I couldcommand a view--the same hill which is cut into the dark quarry.Thence I saw him at once. He was on the moor path, about a quarterof a mile off, and a lady was by his side who could only be MissStapleton. It was clear that there was already an understandingbetween them and that they had met by appointment. They werewalking slowly along in deep conversation, and I saw her makingquick little movements of her hands as if she were very earnest inwhat she was saying, while he listened intently, and once or twiceshook his head in strong dissent. I stood among the rocks watchingthem, very much puzzled as to what I should do next. To follow themand break into their intimate conversation seemed to be an outrage,and yet my clear duty was never for an instant to let him out of mysight. To act the spy upon a friend was a hateful task. Still, Icould see no better course than to observe him from the hill, andto clear my conscience by confessing to him afterwards what I haddone. It is true that if any sudden danger had threatened him I wastoo far away to be of use, and yet I am sure that you will agreewith 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 andwere standing deeply absorbed in their conversation, when I wassuddenly aware that I was not the only witness of their interview.A wisp of green floating in the air caught my eye, and anotherglance showed me that it was carried on a stick by a man who wasmoving among the broken ground. It was Stapleton with hisbutterfly-net. He was very much closer to the pair than I was, andhe appeared to be moving in their direction. At this instant SirHenry suddenly drew Miss Stapleton to his side. His arm was roundher, but it seemed to me that she was straining away from him withher 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. Hewas running wildly towards them, his absurd net dangling behindhim. He gesticulated and almost danced with excitement in front ofthe lovers. What the scene meant I could not imagine, but it seemedto me that Stapleton was abusing Sir Henry, who offeredexplanations, which became more angry as the other refused toaccept them. The lady stood by in haughty silence. FinallyStapleton turned upon his heel and beckoned in a peremptory way tohis sister, who, after an irresolute glance at Sir Henry, walkedoff by the side of her brother. The naturalist's angry gesturesshowed that the lady was included in his displeasure. The baronetstood for a minute looking after them, and then he walked slowlyback the way that he had come, his head hanging, the very pictureof dejection.
What all this meant I could not imagine, but I was deeplyashamed to have witnessed so intimate a scene without my friend'sknowledge. I ran down the hill therefore and met the baronet at thebottom. His face was flushed with anger and his brows werewrinkled, like one who is at his wit's ends what to do.
"Halloa, Watson! Where have you dropped from?" said he."Youdon't mean to say that you came after me in spite of all?"
I explained everything to him: how I had found it impossible toremain behind, how I had followed him, and how I had witnessed allthat had occurred. For an instant his eyes blazed at me, but myfrankness disarmed his anger, and he broke at last into a ratherrueful laugh.
"You would have thought the middle of that prairie a fairly safeplace for a man to be private," said he, "but, by thunder, thewhole countryside seems to have been out to see me do mywooing--and a mighty poor wooing at that! Where had you engaged aseat?"
"I was on that hill."
"Quite in the back row, eh? But her brother was well up to thefront. Did you see him come out on us?"
"Yes, I did."
"Did he ever strike you as being crazy--this brother ofhers?"
"I can't say that he ever did."
"I dare say not. I always thought him sane enough until to-day,but you can take it from me that either he or I ought to be in astrait-jacket. What's the matter with me, anyhow? You've lived nearme for some weeks, Watson. Tell me straight, now! Is there anythingthat would prevent me from making a good husband to a woman that Iloved?"
"I should say not."
"He can't object to my worldly position, so it must be myselfthat he has this down on. What has he against me? I never hurt manor woman in my life that I know of. And yet he would not so much aslet me touch the tips of her fingers."
"Did he say so?"
"That, and a deal more. I tell you, Watson, I've only known herthese few weeks, but from the first I just felt that she was madefor me, and she, too--she was happy when she was with me, and thatI'll swear. There's a light in a woman's eyes that speaks louderthan words. But he has never let us get together, and it was onlyto-day for the first time that I saw a chance of having a few wordswith her alone. She was glad to meet me, but when she did it wasnot love that she would talk about, and she wouldn't have let metalk about it either if she could have stopped it. She kept comingback 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 hadseen her I was in no hurry to leave it, and that if she reallywanted me to go, the only way to work it was for her to arrange togo with me. With that I offered in as many words to marry her, butbefore she could answer down came this brother of hers, running atus with a face on him like a madman. He was just white with rage,and those light eyes of his were blazing with fury. What was Idoing with the lady? How dared I offer her attentions which weredistasteful to her? Did I think that because I was a baronet Icould do what I liked? If he had not been her brother I should haveknown better how to answer him. As it was I told him that myfeelings towards his sister were such as I was not ashamed of, andthat I hoped that she might honour me by becoming my wife. Thatseemed to make the matter no better, so then I lost my temper too,and I answered him rather more hotly than I should perhaps,considering that she was standing by. So it ended by his going offwith her, as you saw, and here am I as badly puzzled a man as anyin this county. Just tell me what it all means, Watson, and I'llowe you more than ever I can hope to pay."
I tried one or two explanations, but, indeed, I was completelypuzzled myself. Our friend's title, his fortune, his age, hischaracter, and his appearance are all in his favour, and I knownothing against him unless it be this dark fate which runs in hisfamily. That his advances should be rejected so brusquely withoutany reference to the lady's own wishes, and that the lady shouldaccept the situation without protest, is very amazing. However, ourconjectures were set at rest by a visit from Stapleton himself thatvery afternoon. He had come to offer apologies for his rudeness ofthe morning, and after a long private interview with Sir Henry inhis study, the upshot of their conversation was that the breach isquite healed, and that we are to dine at Merripit House next Fridayas a sign of it.
"l don't say now that he isn't a crazy man," said Sir Henry; "Ican't forget the look in his eyes when he ran at me this morning,but I must allow that no man could make a more handsome apologythan he has done."
"Did he give any explanation of his conduct?"
"His sister is everything in his life, he says. That is naturalenough, and I am glad that he should understand her value. Theyhave always been together, and according to his account he has beena very lonely man with only her as a companion, so that the thoughtof losing her was really terrible to him. He had not understood, hesaid, that I was becoming attached to her, but when he saw with hisown eyes that it was really so, and that she might be taken awayfrom him, it gave him such a shock that for a time he was notresponsible for what he said or did. He was very sorry for all thathad passed, and he recognized how foolish and how selfish it wasthat he should imagine that he could hold a beautiful woman likehis sister to himself for her whole life. If she had to leave himhe had rather it was to a neighbour like myself than to anyoneelse. But in any case it was a blow to him, and it would take himsome time before he could prepare himself to meet it. He wouldwithdraw all opposition upon his part if I would promise for threemonths to let the matter rest and to be content with cultivatingthe lady's friendship during that time without claiming her love.This I promised, and so the matter rests."
So there is one of our small mysteries cleared up. It issomething to have touched bottom anywhere in this bog in which weare floundering. We know now why Stapleton looked with disfavourupon his sister's suitor--even when that suitor was so eligible aone as Sir Henry. And now I pass on to another thread which I haveextricated out of the tangled skein, the mystery of the sobs in thenight, of the tear-stained face of Mrs. Barrymore, of the secretjourney of the butler to the western lattice window. Congratulateme, my dear Holmes, and tell me that I have not disappointed you asan agent--that you do not regret the confidence which you showed inme when you sent me down. All these things have by one night's workbeen thoroughly cleared.
I have said "by one night's work," but, in truth, it was by twonights' work, for on the first we drew entirely blank. I sat upwith Sir Henry in his rooms until nearly three o'clock in themorning, but no sound of any sort did we hear except the chimingclock upon the stairs. It was a most melancholy vigil, and ended byeach of us falling asleep in our chairs. Fortunately we were notdiscouraged, and we determined to try again. The next night welowered the lamp, and sat smoking cigarettes without making theleast sound. It was incredible how slowly the hours crawled by, andyet we were helped through it by the same sort of patient interestwhich the hunter must feel as he watches the trap into which hehopes the game may wander. One struck, and two, and we had almostfor the second time given it up in despair, when in an instant weboth sat bolt upright in our chairs, with all our weary senseskeenly on the alert once more. We had heard the creak of a step inthe passage.
Very stealthily we heard it pass along until it died away in thedistance. Then the baronet gently opened his door and we set out inpursuit. Already our man had gone round the gallery, and thecorridor was all in darkness. Softly we stole along until we hadcome into the other wing. We were just in time to catch a glimpseof the tall, black-bearded figure, his shoulders rounded, as hetip-toed down the passage. Then he passed through the same door asbefore, and the light of the candle framed it in the darkness andshot one single yellow beam across the gloom of the corridor. Weshuffled cautiously towards it, trying every plank before we daredto put our whole weight upon it. We had taken the precaution ofleaving our boots behind us, but, even so, the old boards snappedand creaked beneath our tread. Sometimes it seemed impossible thathe should fail to hear our approach. However, the man isfortunately rather deaf, and he was entirely preoccupied in thatwhich he was doing. When at last we reached the door and peepedthrough we found him crouching at the window, candle in hand, hiswhite, intent face pressed against the pane, exactly as I had seenhim 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 intothe room, and as he did so Barrymore sprang up from the window witha sharp hiss of his breath and stood, livid and trembling, beforeus. His dark eyes, glaring out of the white mask of his face, werefull of horror and astonishment as he gazed from Sir Henry tome.
"What are you doing here, Barrymore?"
"Nothing, sir." His agitation was so great that he could hardlyspeak, and the shadows sprang up and down from the shaking of hiscandle. "It was the window, sir. I go round at night to see thatthey are fastened."
"On the second floor?"
"Yes, sir, all the windows."
"Look here, Barrymore," said Sir Henry, sternly; "we have madeup our minds to have the truth out of you, so it will save youtrouble to tell it sooner rather than later. Come, now! No lies!What were you doing at that window?"
The fellow looked at us in a helpless way, and he wrung hishands together like one who is in the last extremity of doubt andmisery.
"I was doing no harm, sir. I was holding a candle to thewindow."
"And why were you holding a candle to the window?"
"Don't ask me, Sir Henry--don't ask me! I give you my word, sir,that it is not my secret, and that I cannot tell it. If itconcerned no one but myself I would not try to keep it fromyou."
A sudden idea occurred to me, and I took the candle from thetrembling hand of the butler.
"He must have been holding it as a signal," said I. "Let us seeif there is any answer." I held it as he had done, and stared outinto the darkness of the night. Vaguely I could discern the blackbank of the trees and the lighter expanse of the moor, for the moonwas behind the clouds. And then I gave a cry of exultation, for atiny pin-point of yellow light had suddenly transfixed the darkveil, and glowed steadily in the centre of the black square framedby the window.
"There it is!" I cried.
"No, no, sir, it is nothing--nothing at all!" the butler brokein; "I assure you, sir ----"
"Move your light across the window, Watson!" cried the baronet."See, the other moves also! Now, you rascal, do you deny that it isa signal? Come, speak up! Who is your confederate out yonder, andwhat is this conspiracy that is going on?"
The man's 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 yearsunder this roof, and here I find you deep in some dark plot againstme."
"No, no, sir; no, not against you!" It was a woman's voice, andMrs. Barrymore, paler and more horror-struck than her husband, wasstanding at the door. Her bulky figure in a shawl and skirt mighthave been comic were it not for the intensity of feeling upon herface.
"We have to go, Eliza. This is the end of it. You can pack ourthings," said the butler.
"Oh, John, John, have I brought you to this? It is my doing, SirHenry--all mine. He has done nothing except for my sake and becauseI asked him."
"Speak out, then! What does it mean?"
"My unhappy brother is starving on the moor. We cannot let himperish at our very gates. The light is a signal to him that food isready for him, and his light out yonder is to show the spot towhich to bring it."
"Then your brother is --"
"The escaped convict, sir--Selden, the criminal."
"That's the truth, sir," said Barrymore. "I said that it was notmy secret and that I could not tell it to you. But now you haveheard it, and you will see that if there was a plot it was notagainst you."
This, then, was the explanation of the stealthy expeditions atnight and the light at the window. Sir Henry and I both stared atthe woman in amazement. Was it possible that this stolidlyrespectable person was of the same blood as one of the mostnotorious 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 wayin everything until he came to think that the world was made forhis pleasure, and that he could do what he liked in it. Then as hegrew older he met wicked companions, and the devil entered into himuntil he broke my mother's heart and dragged our name in the dirt.From crime to crime he sank lower and lower, until it is only themercy of God which has snatched him from the scaffold; but to me,sir, he was always the little curly-headed boy that I had nursedand played with, as an elder sister would. That was why he brokeprison, sir. He knew that I was here and that we could not refuseto help him. When he dragged himself here one night, weary andstarving, with the warders hard at his heels, what could we do? Wetook him in and fed him and cared for him. Then you returned, sir,and my brother thought he would be safer on the moor than anywhereelse until the hue and cry was over, so he lay in hiding there. Butevery 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,but as long as he was there we could not desert him. That is thewhole truth, as I am an honest Christian woman, and you will seethat if there is blame in the matter it does not lie with myhusband, but with me, for whose sake he has done all that hehas."
The woman's 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. Forgetwhat I have said. Go to your room, you two, and we shall talkfurther about this matter 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.Far away in the black distance there still glowed that one tinypoint of yellow light.
"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 foodto it. And he is waiting, this villain, beside that candle. Bythunder, Watson, I am going 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 hadbeen forced from them. The man was a danger to the community, anunmitigated scoundrel for whom there was neither pity nor excuse.We were only doing our duty in taking this chance of putting himback where he could do no harm. With his brutal and violent nature,others would have to pay the price if we held our hands. Any night,for example, our neighbours the Stapletons might be attacked byhim, and it may have been the thought of this which made Sir Henryso keen upon the adventure.
"I will come," said I.
"Then get your revolver and put on your boots. The sooner westart the better, as the fellow may put out his light and beoff."
In five minutes we were outside the door, starting upon ourexpedition. We hurried through the dark shrubbery, amid the dullmoaning of the autumn wind and the rustle of the falling leaves.The night air was heavy with the smell of damp and decay. Now andagain the moon peeped out for an instant, but clouds were drivingover the face of the sky, and just as we came out on the moor athin rain began to fall. The light still burned steadily infront.
"Are you armed?" I asked.
"I have a hunting-crop."
"We must close in on him rapidly, for he is said to be adesperate fellow. We shall take him by surprise and have him at ourmercy before he can resist."
"I say, Watson," said the baronet, "what would Holmes say tothis? How about that hour of darkness in which the power of evil isexalted?"
As if in answer to his words there rose suddenly out of the vastgloom of the moor that strange cry which I had already heard uponthe borders of the great Grimpen Mire. It came with the windthrough the silence of the night, a long, deep mutter, then arising howl, and then the sad moan in which it died away. Again andagain it sounded, the whole air throbbing with it, strident, wild,and menacing. The baronet caught my sleeve and his face glimmeredwhite through the darkness.
"My God, what's that, Watson?"
"I don't know. It's a sound they have on the moor. I heard itonce before."
It died away, and an absolute silence closed in upon us. Westood straining 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 hisvoice which told of the sudden horror which had seized him.
"What do they call this sound?" he asked.
"Who?"
"The folk on the country-side."
"Oh, they are ignorant people. Why should you mind what theycall 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 frommiles away, over yonder, I think."
"It was hard to say whence it came."
"It rose and fell with the wind. Isn't that the direction of thegreat Grimpen Mire?"
"Yes, it is."
"Well, it was up there. Come now, Watson, didn't you thinkyourself that it was the cry of a hound? I am not a child. You neednot fear to speak the truth."
"Stapleton was with me when I heard it last. He said that itmight be the calling of a strange bird."
"No, no, it was a hound. My God, can there be some truth in allthese stories? Is it possible that I am really in danger from sodark a cause? You don't believe it, do you, Watson?"
"No, no."
"And yet it was one thing to laugh about it in London, and it isanother to stand out here in the darkness of the moor and to hearsuch a cry as that. And my uncle! There was the footprint of thehound beside him as he lay. It all fits together. I don't thinkthat I am a coward, Watson, but that sound seemed to freeze my veryblood. Feel my hand!"
It was as cold as a block of marble.
"You'll be all right to-morrow."
"I don't think I'll get that cry out of my head. What do youadvise that we do now?"
"Shall we turn back?"
"No, by thunder; we have come out to get our man, and we will doit. We after the convict, and a hell-hound, as likely as not, afterus. Come on! We'll see it through if all the fiends of the pit wereloose upon the moor."
We stumbled slowly along in the darkness, with the black loom ofthe craggy hills around us, and the yellow speck of light burningsteadily in front. There is nothing so deceptive as the distance ofa light upon a pitch-dark night, and sometimes the glimmer seemedto be far away upon the horizon and sometimes it might have beenwithin a few yards of us. But at last we could see whence it came,and then we knew that we were indeed very close. A guttering candlewas stuck in a crevice of the rocks which flanked it on each sideso as to keep the wind from it and also to prevent it from beingvisible, save in the direction of Baskerville Hall. A boulder ofgranite concealed our approach,and crouching behind it we gazedover it at the signal light. It was strange to see this singlecandle burning there in the middle of the moor, with no sign oflife near it--just the one straight yellow flame and the gleam ofthe 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 geta glimpse 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 wasthrust out an evil yellow face, a terrible animal face, all seamedand scored with vile passions. Foul with mire, with a bristlingbeard, and hung with matted hair, it might well have belonged toone of those old savages who dwelt in the burrows on the hillsides.The light beneath him was reflected in his small, cunning eyeswhich peered fiercely to right and left through the darkness, likea crafty and savage animal who has heard the steps of thehunters.
Something had evidently aroused his suspicions. It may have beenthat Barrymore had some private signal which we had neglected togive, or the fellow may have had some other reason for thinkingthat all was not well, but I could read his fears upon his wickedface. Any instant he might dash out the light and vanish in thedarkness. I sprang forward therefore, and Sir Henry did the same.At the same moment the convict screamed out a curse at us andhurled a rock which splintered up against the boulder which hadsheltered us. I caught one glimpse of his short, squat,stronglybuilt figure as he sprang to his feet and turned to run. Atthe same moment by a lucky chance the moon broke through theclouds. We rushed over the brow of the hill, and there was our manrunning with great speed down the other side, springing over thestones in his way with the activity of a mountain goat. A luckylong shot of my revolver might have crippled him, but I had broughtit only to defend myself if attacked, and not to shoot an unarmedman who was running away.
We were both swift runners and in fairly good training, but wesoon found that we had no chance of over taking him. We saw him fora long time in the moonlight until he was only a small speck movingswiftly among the boulders upon the side of a distant hill. We ranand ran until we were completely blown, but the space between usgrew ever wider. Finally we stopped and sat panting on two rocks,while we watched 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 togo home, having abandoned the hopeless chase. The moon was low uponthe right, and the jagged pinnacle of a granite tor stood upagainst the lower curve of its silver disc. There, outlined asblack as an ebony statue on that shining back-ground, I saw thefigure of a man upon the tor. Do not think that it was a delusion,Holmes. I assure you that I have never in my life seen anythingmore clearly. As far as I could judge, the figure was that of atall, thin man. He stood with his legs a little separated, his armsfolded, his head bowed, as if he were brooding over that enormouswilderness of peat and granite which lay before him. He might havebeen the very spirit of that terrible place. It was not theconvict. This man was far from the place where the latter haddisappeared. Besides, he was a much taller man. With a cry ofsurprise I pointed him out to the baronet, but in the instantduring which I had turned to grasp his arm the man was gone. Therewas the sharp pinnacle of granite still cutting the lower edge ofthe moon, but its peak bore no trace of that silent and motionlessfigure.
I wished to go in that direction and to search the tor, but itwas some distance away. The baronet's nerves were still quiveringfrom that cry, which recalled the dark story of his family, and hewas not in the mood for fresh adventures. He had not seen thislonely man upon the tor and could not feel the thrill which hisstrange presence and his commanding attitude had given to me. "Awarder, no doubt," said he. "The moor has been thick with themsince this fellow escaped." Well, perhaps his explanation may bethe right one, but I should like to have some further proof of it.To-day we mean to communicate to the Princetown people where theyshould 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 quiteirrelevant, but still I feel that it is best that I should let youhave all the facts and leave you to select for yourself those whichwill be of most service to you in helping you to your conclusions.We are certainly making some progress. So far as the Barrymores gowe have found the motive of their actions, and that has cleared upthe situation very much. But the moor with its mysteries and itsstrange inhabitants remains as inscrutable as ever. Perhaps in mynext I may be able to throw some light upon this also. Best of allwould 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.
CHAPTER X. EXTRACT FROM THE DIARY OF DR. WATSON
So far I have been able to quote from the reports which I haveforwarded during these early days to Sherlock Holmes. Now, however,I have arrived at a point in my narrative where I am compelled toabandon this method and to trust once more to my recollections,aided by the diary which I kept at the time. A few extracts fromthe latter will carry me on to those scenes which are indeliblyfixed in every detail upon my memory. I proceed, then, from themorning which followed our abortive chase of the convict and ourother strange experiences upon the moor.
OCTOBER 16TH.--A dull and foggy day with a drizzle of rain. Thehouse is banked in with rolling clouds, which rise now and then toshow the dreary curves of the moor, with thin, silver veins uponthe sides of the hills, and the distant boulders gleaming where thelight strikes upon their wet faces. It is melancholy outside andin. The baronet is in a black reaction after the excitements of thenight. I am conscious myself of a weight at my heart and a feelingof impending danger--ever present danger, which is the moreterrible because I am unable to define it.
And have I not cause for such a feeling? Consider the longsequence of incidents which have all pointed to some sinisterinfluence which is at work around us. There is the death of thelast occupant of the Hall, fulfilling so exactly the conditions ofthe family legend, and there are the repeated reports from peasantsof the appearance of a strange creature upon the moor. Twice I havewith my own ears heard the sound which resembled the distant bayingof a hound. It is incredible, impossible, that it should really beoutside the ordinary laws of nature. A spectral hound which leavesmaterial footmarks and fills the air with its howling is surely notto be thought of. Stapleton may fall in with such a superstition,and Mortimer also; but if I have one quality upon earth it iscommon-sense, and nothing will persuade me to believe in such athing. To do so would be to descend to the level of these poorpeasants, who are not content with a mere fiend dog but must needsdescribe him with hell-fire shooting from his mouth and eyes.Holmes would not listen to such fancies, and I am his agent. Butfacts are facts, and I have twice heard this crying upon the moor.Suppose that there were really some huge hound loose upon it; thatwould go far to explain everything. But where could such a houndlie concealed, where did it get its food, where did it come from,how was it that no one saw it by day? It must be confessed that thenatural explanation offers almost as many difficulties as theother. And always, apart from the hound, there is the fact of thehuman agency in London, the man in the cab, and the letter whichwarned Sir Henry against the moor. This at least was real, but itmight have been the work of a protecting friend as easily as of anenemy. Where is that friend or enemy now? Has he remained inLondon, or has he followed us down here? Could he--could he be thestranger whom I saw upon the tor?
It is true that I have had only the one glance at him, and yetthere are some things to which I am ready to swear. He is no onewhom I have seen down here, and I have now met all the neighbours.The figure was far taller than that of Stapleton, far thinner thanthat of Frankland. Barrymore it might possibly have been, but wehad left him behind us, and I am certain that he could not havefollowed us. A stranger then is still dogging us, just as astranger dogged us in London. We have never shaken him off. If Icould lay my hands upon that man, then at last we might findourselves at the end of all our difficulties. To this one purpose Imust now devote all my energies.
My first impulse was to tell Sir Henry all my plans. My secondand wisest one is to play my own game and speak as little aspossible to anyone. He is silent and distrait. His nerves have beenstrangely shaken by that sound upon the moor. I will say nothing toadd to his anxieties, but I will take my own steps to attain my ownend.
We had a small scene this morning after breakfast. Barrymoreasked leave to speak with Sir Henry, and they were closeted in hisstudy some little time. Sitting in the billiard-room I more thanonce heard the sound of voices raised, and I had a pretty good ideawhat the point was which was under discussion. After a time thebaronet opened his door and called for me.
"Barrymore considers that he has a grievance," he said. "Hethinks that it was unfair on our part to hunt his brother-in-lawdown when he, of his own free will, had told us the secret."
The butler was standing very pale but very collected beforeus.
"I may have spoken too warmly, sir," said he, "and if I have, Iam sure that I beg your pardon. At the same time, I was very muchsurprised when I heard you two gentlemen come back this morning andlearned that you had been chasing Selden. The poor fellow hasenough to fight against without my putting more upon histrack."
"If you had told us of your own free will it would have been adifferent thing," said the baronet, "you only told us, or ratheryour wife only told us, when it was forced from you and you couldnot help yourself."
"I didn't think you would have taken advantage of it, SirHenry--indeed I didn't."
"The man is a public danger. There are lonely houses scatteredover the moor, and he is a fellow who would stick at nothing. Youonly want to get a glimpse of his face to see that. Look at Mr.Stapleton's house, for example, with no one but himself to defendit. There's no safety for anyone until he is under lock andkey."
"He'll break into no house, sir. I give you my solemn word uponthat. But he will never trouble anyone in this country again. Iassure you, Sir Henry, that in a very few days the necessaryarrangements will have been made and he will be on his way to SouthAmerica. For God's sake, sir, I beg of you not to let the policeknow that he is still on the moor. They have given up the chasethere, and he can lie quiet until the ship is ready for him. Youcan't tell on him without getting my wife and me into trouble. Ibeg you, sir, to say nothing to the police."
"What do you say, Watson?"
I shrugged my shoulders. "If he were safely out of the countryit would relieve the tax-payer of a burden."
"But how about the chance of his holding someone up before hegoes?"
"He would not do anything so mad, sir. We have provided him withall that he can want. To commit a crime would be to show where hewas hiding."
"That is true," said Sir Henry. "Well, Barrymore --"
"God bless you, sir, and thank you from my heart! It would havekilled my poor wife had he been taken again."
"I guess we are aiding and abetting a felony, Watson? But, afterwhat we have heard I don't feel as if I could give the man up, sothere is an end of it. All right, Barrymore, you can go."
With a few broken words of gratitude the man turned, but hehesitated and then came back.
"You've been so kind to us, sir, that I should like to do thebest I can for you in return. I know something, Sir Henry, andperhaps I should have said it before, but it was long after theinquest that I found it out. I've never breathed a word about ityet to mortal man. It's about poor Sir Charles's death."
The baronet and I were both upon our feet. "Do you know how hedied?"
"No, sir, I don't know that."
"What then?"
"I know why he was at the gate at that hour. It was to meet awoman."
"To meet a woman! He?"
"Yes, sir."
"And the woman's name?"
"I can't give you the name, sir, but I can give you theinitials. Her initials were L. L."
"How do you know this, Barrymore?"
"Well, Sir Henry, your uncle had a letter that morning. He hadusually a great many letters, for he was a public man and wellknown for his kind heart, so that everyone who was in trouble wasglad to turn to him. But that morning, as it chanced, there wasonly this one letter, so I took the more notice of it. It was fromCoombe Tracey, and it was addressed in a woman's hand."
"Well?"
"Well, sir, I thought no more of the matter, and never wouldhave done had it not been for my wife. Only a few weeks ago she wascleaning out Sir Charles's study--it had never been touched sincehis death--and she found the ashes of a burned letter in the backof the grate. The greater part of it was charred to pieces, but onelittle slip, the end of a page, hung together, and the writingcould still be read, though it was gray on a black ground. Itseemed 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 the gate by ten o clock. Beneath it were signed theinitials 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 samewriting?"
"Well, sir, I took no particular notice of his letters. I shouldnot have noticed 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 layour hands upon that lady we should know more about Sir Charles'sdeath."
"I cannot understand, Barrymore, how you came to conceal thisimportant information."
"Well, sir, it was immediately after that our own trouble cameto us. And then again, sir, we were both of us very fond of SirCharles, as we well might be considering all that he has done forus. To rake this up couldn't help our poor master, and it's well togo carefully when there's a lady in the case. Even the best of us----"
"You thought it might injure his reputation?"
"Well, sir, I thought no good could come of it. But now you havebeen kind to us, and I feel as if it would be treating you unfairlynot to tell you all that I know about the matter."
"Very good, Barrymore; you can go." When the butler had left usSir Henry turned to me. "Well, Watson, what do you think of thisnew 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 upthe whole business. We have gained that much. We know that there issomeone who has the facts if we can only find her. What do youthink we should do?"
"Let Holmes know all about it at once. It will give him the cluefor which he has been seeking. I am much mistaken if it does notbring him down."
I went at once to my room and drew up my report of the morning'sconversation for Holmes. It was evident to me that he had been verybusy of late, for the notes which I had from Baker Street were fewand short, with no comments upon the information which I hadsupplied and hardly any reference to my mission. No doubt hisblackmailing case is absorbing all his faculties. And yet this newfactor must surely arrest his attention and renew his interest. Iwish that he were here.
OCTOBER 17th.--All day to-day the rain poured down, rustling onthe ivy and dripping from the eaves. I thought of the convict outupon the bleak, cold, shelterless moor. Poor devil! Whatever hiscrimes, he has suffered something to atone for them. And then Ithought of that other one--the face in the cab, the figure againstthe moon. Was he also out in that deluged--the unseen watcher, theman of darkness? In the evening I put on my waterproof and I walkedfar upon the sodden moor, full of dark imaginings, the rain beatingupon my face and the wind whistling about my ears. God help thosewho wander into the great mire now, for even the firm uplands arebecoming a morass. I found the black tor upon which I had seen thesolitary watcher, and from its craggy summit I looked out myselfacross 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 fantastichills. In the distant hollow on the left, half hidden by the mist,the two thin towers of Baskerville Hall rose above the trees. Theywere the only signs of human life which I could see, save onlythose prehistoric huts which lay thickly upon the slopes of thehills. Nowhere was there any trace of that lonely man whom I hadseen on the same spot two nights before.
As I walked back I was overtaken by Dr. Mortimer driving in hisdog-cart over a rough moorland track which led from the outlyingfarmhouse of Foulmire. He has been very attentive to us, and hardlya day has passed that he has not called at the Hall to see how wewere getting on. He insisted upon my climbing into his dog-cart,and he gave me a lift homeward. I found him much troubled over thedisappearance of his little spaniel. It had wandered on to the moorand had never come back. I gave him such consolation as I might,but I thought of the pony on the Grimpen Mire, and I do not fancythat he will see his little dog again.
"By the way, Mortimer," said I as we jolted along the roughroad, "I suppose there are few people living within drivingdistance of this whom you do not know?"
"Hardly any, I think."
"Can you, then, tell me the name of any woman whose initials areL. L.?"
He thought for a few minutes.
"No," said he. "There are a few gipsies and labouring folk forwhom I can't answer, but among the farmers or gentry there is noone whose initials are those. Wait a bit though," he added after apause. "There is Laura Lyons--her initials are L. L.--but she livesin Coombe Tracey."
"Who is she?" I asked.
"She is Frankland's daughter."
"What! Old Frankland the crank?"
"Exactly. She married an artist named Lyons, who came sketchingon the moor. He proved to be a blackguard and deserted her. Thefault from what I hear may not have been entirely on one side. Herfather refused to have anything to do with her because she hadmarried without his consent, and perhaps for one or two otherreasons as well. So, between the old sinner and the young one thegirl has had a pretty bad time."
"How does she live?"
"I fancy old Frankland allows her a pittance, but it cannot bemore, for his own affairs are considerably involved. Whatever shemay have deserved one could not allow her to go hopelessly to thebad. Her story got about, and several of the people here didsomething to enable her to earn an honest living. Stapleton did forone, and Sir Charles for another. I gave a trifle myself. It was toset her up in a typewriting business."
He wanted to know the object of my inquiries, but I managed tosatisfy his curiosity without telling him too much, for there is noreason why we should take anyone into our confidence. To-morrowmorning I shall find my way to Coombe Tracey, and if I can see thisMrs. Laura Lyons, of equivocal reputation, a long step will havebeen made towards clearing one incident in this chain of mysteries.I am certainly developing the wisdom of the serpent, for whenMortimer pressed his questions to an inconvenient extent I askedhim casually to what type Frankland's skull belonged, and so heardnothing but craniology for the rest of our drive. I have not livedfor years with Sherlock Holmes for nothing.
I have only one other incident to record upon this tempestuousand melancholy day. This was my conversation with Barrymore justnow, which gives me one more strong card which I can play in duetime.
Mortimer had stayed to dinner, and he and the baronet playedécarté afterwards. The butler brought me my coffeeinto the library, and I took the chance to ask him a fewquestions.
"Well," said I, "has this precious relation of yours departed,or is he still lurking out yonder?"
"I don't know, sir. I hope to heaven that he has gone, for hehas brought nothing but trouble here! I've not heard of him since Ileft out food 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 tookit."
I sat with my coffee-cup halfway to my lips and stared atBarrymore.
"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. He's in hiding,too, but he's not a convict as far as I can make out. I don't likeit, Dr. Watson--I tell you straight, sir, that I don't like it." Hespoke with a sudden passion of earnestness.
"Now, listen to me, Barrymore! I have no interest in this matterbut that of your master. I have come here with no object except tohelp him. Tell me, frankly, what it is that you don't like."
Barrymore hesitated for a moment, as if he regretted hisoutburst, or found it difficult to express his own feelings inwords.
"It's all these goings-on, sir," he cried at last, waving hishand towards the rain-lashed window which faced the moor."There'sfoul play somewhere, and there's black villainy brewing, to thatI'll swear! Very glad I should be, sir, to see Sir Henry on his wayback to London again!"
"But what is it that alarms you?"
"Look at Sir Charles's death! That was bad enough, for all thatthe coroner said. Look at the noises on the moor at night. There'snot a man would cross it after sundown if he was paid for it. Lookat this stranger hiding out yonder, and watching and waiting!What's he waiting for? What does it mean? It means no good toanyone of the name of Baskerville, and very glad I shall be to bequit of it all on the day that Sir Henry's new servants are readyto take over the Hall."
"But about this stranger," said I. "Can you tell me anythingabout him? What did Selden say? Did he find out where he hid, orwhat he was doing?"
"He saw him once or twice, but he is a deep one, and givesnothing away. At first he thought that he was the police, but soonhe found that he had some lay of his own. A kind of gentleman hewas, as far as he could see, but what he was doing he could notmake out."
"And where did he say that he lived?"
"Among the old houses on the hillside--the stone huts where theold folk used to live."
"But how about his food?"
"Selden found out that he has got a lad who works for him andbrings him all he needs. I daresay he goes to Coombe Tracey forwhat he wants."
"Very good, Barrymore. We may talk further of this some othertime." When the butler had gone I walked over to the black window,and I looked through a blurred pane at the driving clouds and atthe tossing outline of the wind-swept trees. It is a wild nightindoors, and what must it be in a stone hut upon the moor. Whatpassion of hatred can it be which leads a man to lurk in such aplace at such a time! And what deep and earnest purpose can he havewhich calls for such a trial! There, in that hut upon the moor,seems to lie the very centre of that problem which has vexed me sosorely. I swear that another day shall not have passed before Ihave done all that man can do to reach the heart of themystery.
CHAPTER XI. THE MAN ON THE TOR
The extract from my private diary which forms the last chapterhas brought my narrative up to the 18th of October, a time whenthese strange events began to move swiftly towards their terribleconclusion. The incidents of the next few days are indelibly gravenupon my recollection, and I can tell them without reference to thenotes made at the time. I start then from the day which succeededthat upon which I had established two facts of great importance,the one that Mrs. Laura Lyons of Coombe Tracey had written to SirCharles Baskerville and made an appointment with him at the veryplace and hour that he met his death, the other that the lurkingman upon the moor was to be found among the stone huts upon thehill-side. With these two facts in my possession I felt that eithermy intelligence or my courage must be deficient if I could notthrow some further light upon these dark places.
I had no opportunity to tell the baronet what I had learnedabout Mrs. Lyons upon the evening before, for Dr. Mortimer remainedwith him at cards until it was very late. At breakfast, however, Iinformed him about my discovery, and asked him whether he wouldcare to accompany me to Coombe Tracey. At first he was very eagerto come, but on second thoughts it seemed to both of us that if Iwent alone the results might be better. The more formal we made thevisit the less information we might obtain. I left Sir Henrybehind, therefore, not without some prickings of conscience, anddrove off upon my new quest.
When I reached Coombe Tracey I told Perkins to put up thehorses, and I made inquiries for the lady whom I had come tointerrogate. I had no difficulty in finding her rooms, which werecentral and well appointed. A maid showed me in without ceremony,and as I entered the sitting-room a lady, who was sitting before aRemington typewriter, sprang up with a pleasant smile of welcome.Her face fell, however, when she saw that I was a stranger, and shesat down again and asked me the object of my visit.
The first impression left by Mrs. Lyons was one of extremebeauty. Her eyes and hair were of the same rich hazel colour, andher cheeks, though considerably freckled, were flushed with theexquisite bloom of the brunette, the dainty pink which lurks at theheart of the sulphur rose. Admiration was, I repeat, the firstimpression. But the second was criticism. There was somethingsubtly wrong with the face, some coarseness of expression, somehardness, perhaps, of eye, some looseness of lip which marred itsperfect beauty. But these, of course, are after-thoughts. At themoment I was simply conscious that I was in the presence of a veryhandsome woman, and that she was asking me the reasons for myvisit. I had not quite understood until that instant how delicatemy mission was.
"I have the pleasure," said I, "of knowing your father." It wasa clumsy introduction, and the lady made me feel it.
"There is nothing in common between my father and me," she said."I owe him nothing, and his friends are not mine. If it were notfor the late Sir Charles Baskerville and some other kind hearts Imight have starved for all that my father cared."
"It was about the late Sir Charles Baskerville that I have comehere to see you."
The freckles started out on the lady's face.
"What can I tell you about him?" she asked, and her fingersplayed nervously 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. IfI am able to support myself it is largely due to the interest whichhe took in my unhappy situation."
"Did you correspond with him?"
The lady looked quickly up with an angry gleam in her hazeleyes.
"What is the object of these questions?" she asked sharply.
"The object is to avoid a public scandal. It is better that Ishould ask them here than that the matter should pass outside ourcontrol."
She was silent and her face was still very pale. At last shelooked up with something reckless and defiant in her manner.
"Well, I'll answer," she said. "What are your questions?"
"Did you correspond with Sir Charles?"
"I certainly wrote to him once or twice to acknowledge hisdelicacy and his 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 avery retiring man, and he preferred to do good by stealth."
"But if you saw him so seldom and wrote so seldom, how did heknow enough about your affairs to be able to help you, as you saythat he has done?"
She met my difficulty with the utmost readiness.
"There were several gentlemen who knew my sad history and unitedto help me. One was Mr. Stapleton, a neighbour and intimate friendof Sir Charles's. He was exceedingly kind, and it was through himthat Sir Charles learned about my affairs."
I knew already that Sir Charles Baskerville had made Stapletonhis almoner upon several occasions, so the lady's statement borethe impress of truth upon it.
"Did you ever write to Sir Charles asking him to meet you?" Icontinued.
Mrs. Lyons 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 Charles's death?"
The flush had faded in an instant, and a deathly face was beforeme. Her dry lips could not speak the "No" which I saw rather thanheard.
"Surely your memory deceives you," said I. "I could even quote apassage of your letter. It ran 'Please, please, as you are agentleman, burn this letter, and be at the gate by teno'clock.'"
I thought that she had fainted, but she recovered herself by asupreme effort.
"Is there no such thing as a gentleman?" she gasped.
"You do Sir Charles an injustice. He did burn the letter. Butsometimes a letter may be legible even when burned. You acknowledgenow that you wrote it?"
"Yes, I did write it," she cried, pouring out her soul in atorrent of words. "I did write it. Why should I deny it? I have noreason to be ashamed of it. I wished him to help me. I believedthat if I had an interview I could gain his help, so I asked him tomeet me."
"But why at such an hour?"
"Because I had only just learned that he was going to Londonnext day and might be away for months. There were reasons why Icould not get there earlier."
"But why a rendezvous in the garden instead of a visit to thehouse?"
"Do you think a woman could go alone at that hour to abachelor's house?"
"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.Something intervened 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 SirCharles at the very hour and place at which he met his death, butyou deny that you kept the appointment."
"That is the truth."
Again and again I cross-questioned her, but I could never getpast that point.
"Mrs. Lyons," said I, as I rose from this long and inconclusiveinterview, "you are taking a very great responsibility and puttingyourself in a very false position by not making an absolutely cleanbreast of all that you know. If I have to call in the aid of thepolice you will find how seriously you are compromised. If yourposition is innocent, why did you in the first instance deny havingwritten to Sir Charles upon that date?"
"Because I feared that some false conclusion might be drawn fromit and that I might find myself involved in a scandal."
"And why were you so pressing that Sir Charles should destroyyour letter?"
"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 burnedand it was not all legible. I ask you once again why it was thatyou were so pressing that Sir Charles should destroy this letterwhich he received on the day of his death."
"The matter is a very private one."
"The more reason why you should avoid a publicinvestigation."
"I will tell you, then. If you have heard anything of my unhappyhistory you will know that I made a rash marriage and had reason toregret it."
"I have heard so much."
"My life has been one incessant persecution from a husband whomI abhor. 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 thatI wrote this letter to Sir Charles I had learned that there was aprospect of my regaining my freedom if certain expenses could bemet. It meant everything to me--peace of mind, happiness,self-respect--everything. I knew Sir Charles's generosity, and Ithought that if he heard the story from my own lips he would helpme."
"Then how is it that you did not go?"
"Because I received help in the interval from anothersource."
"Why then, did you not write to Sir Charles and explainthis?"
"So I should have done had I not seen his death in the papernext morning."
The woman's story hung coherently together, and all my questionswere unable to shake it. I could only check it by finding if shehad, indeed, instituted divorce proceedings against her husband ator about the time of the tragedy.
It was unlikely that she would dare to say that she had not beento Baskerville Hall if she really had been, for a trap would benecessary to take her there, and could not have returned to CoombeTracey until the early hours of the morning. Such an excursioncould not be kept secret. The probability was, therefore, that shewas telling the truth, or, at least, a part of the truth. I cameaway baffled and disheartened. Once again I had reached that deadwall which seemed to be built across every path by which I tried toget at the object of my mission. And yet the more I thought of thelady's face and of her manner the more I felt that something wasbeing held back from me. Why should she turn so pale? Why shouldshe fight against every admission until it was forced from her? Whyshould she have been so reticent at the time of the tragedy? Surelythe explanation of all this could not be as innocent as she wouldhave me believe. For the moment I could proceed no farther in thatdirection, but must turn back to that other clue which was to besought for among the stone huts upon the moor.
And that was a most vague direction. I realized it as I droveback and noted how hill after hill showed traces of the ancientpeople. Barrymore's only indication had been that the strangerlived in one of these abandoned huts, and many hundreds of them arescattered throughout the length and breadth of the moor. But I hadmy own experience for a guide since it had shown me the man himselfstanding upon the summit of the Black Tor. That then should be thecentre of my search. From there I should explore every hut upon themoor until I lighted upon the right one. If this man were inside itI should find out from his own lips, at the point of my revolver ifnecessary, who he was and why he had dogged us so long. He mightslip 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 Ishould find the hut and its tenant should not be within it I mustremain there, however long the vigil, until he returned. Holmes hadmissed him in London. It would indeed be a triumph for me if Icould run him to earth, where my master had failed.
Luck had been against us again and again in this inquiry, butnow at last it came to my aid. And the messenger of good fortunewas none other than Mr. Frankland, who was standing, gray whiskeredand red-faced, outside the gate of his garden, which opened on tothe high road along which 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 ofwine and to congratulate me."
My feelings towards him were very far from being friendly afterwhat I had heard of his treatment of his daughter, but I wasanxious to send Perkins and the wagonette home, and the opportunitywas a good one. I alighted and sent a message to Sir Henry that Ishould walk over in time for dinner. Then I followed Frankland intohis dining-room.
"It is a great day for me, sir--one of the red-letter days of mylife," he cried with many chuckles. "I have brought off a doubleevent. I mean to teach them in these parts that law is law, andthat there is a man here who does not fear to invoke it. I haveestablished a right of way through the centre of old Middleton'spark, slap across it, sir, within a hundred yards of his own frontdoor. What do you think of that? We'll teach these magnates thatthey cannot ride rough shod over the rights of the commoners,confound them! And I've closed the wood where the Fernworthy folkused to picnic. These infernal people seem to think that there areno rights of property, and that they can swarm where they like withtheir papers and their bottles. Both cases decided, Dr. Watson, andboth in my favour. I haven't had such a day since I had Sir JohnMorland for 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 reading--Franklandv. Morland, Court of Queen's Bench. It cost me 200 pounds, but Igot my verdict."
"Did it do you any good?"
"None, sir, none. I am proud to say that I had no interest inthe matter. I act entirely from a sense of public duty. I have nodoubt, for example, that the Fernworthy people will burn me ineffigy to-night. I told the police last time they did it that theyshould stop these disgraceful exhibitions. The County Constabularyis in a scandalous state, sir, and it has not afforded me theprotection to which I am entitled. The case of Frankland v. Reginawill bring the matter before the attention of the public. I toldthem 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; butnothing would induce me to help the rascals in any way."
I had been casting round for some excuse by which I could getaway from his gossip, but now I began to wish to hear more of it. Ihad seen enough of the contrary nature of the old sinner tounderstand that any strong sign of interest would be the surest wayto stop his confidences.
"Some poaching case, no doubt?" said I, with an indifferentmanner.
"Ha, ha, my boy, a very much more important matter than that!What about the convict on the moor?"
I started. "You don't mean that you know where he is?" saidI.
"I may not know exactly where he is, but I am quite sure that Icould help the police to lay their hands on him. Has it neverstruck you that the way to catch that man was to find out where hegot his food, and so trace it to him?"
He certainly seemed to be getting uncomfortably near the truth."No doubt," said I; "but how do you know that he is anywhere uponthe moor?"
"I know it because I have seen with my own eyes the messengerwho takes him his food."
My heart sank for Barrymore. It was a serious thing to be in thepower of this spiteful old busybody. But his next remark took aweight from my mind.
"You'll be surprised to hear that his food is taken to him by achild. I see him every day through my telescope upon the roof. Hepasses along the same path at the same hour, and to whom should hebe going except to the convict?"
Here was luck indeed! And yet I suppressed all appearance ofinterest. A child! Barrymore had said that our unknown was suppliedby a boy. It was on his track, and not upon the convict's, thatFrankland had stumbled. If I could get his knowledge it might saveme a long and weary hunt. But incredulity and indifference wereevidently my strongest cards.
"I should say that it was much more likely that it was the sonof one of the moorland shepherds taking out his father'sdinner."
The least appearance of opposition struck fire out of the oldautocrat. His eyes looked malignantly at me, and his gray whiskersbristled like those of an angry cat.
"Indeed, sir!" said he, pointing out over the wide-stretchingmoor. "Do you see that Black Tor over yonder? Well, do you see thelow hill beyond with the thornbush upon it? It is the stoniest partof the whole moor. Is that a place where a shepherd would be likelyto take his station? Your suggestion, sir, is a most absurdone."
I meekly answered that I had spoken without knowing all thefacts. My submission pleased him and led him to furtherconfidences.
"You may be sure, sir, that I have very good grounds before Icome to an opinion. I have seen the boy again and again with hisbundle. Every day, and sometimes twice a day, I have been able--butwait a moment, Dr. Watson. Do my eyes deceive me, or is there atthe present moment something moving upon that hillside ?"
It was several miles off, but I could distinctly see a smalldark dot against the dull green and gray.
"Come, sir, come!" cried Frankland, rushing upstairs. "You willsee with your own eyes and judge for yourself."
The telescope, a formidable instrument mounted upon a tripod,stood upon the flat leads of the house. Frankland clapped his eyeto it and gave 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 bundleupon his shoulder, toiling slowly up the hill. When he reached thecrest I saw the ragged uncouth figure outlined for an instantagainst the cold blue sky. He looked round him with a furtive andstealthy air, as one who dreads pursuit. Then he vanished over thehill.
"Well! Am I right?"
"Certainly, there is a boy who seems to have some secreterrand."
"And what the errand is even a county constable could guess. Butnot one word shall they have from me, and I bind you to secrecyalso, Dr. Watson. Not a word! You understand!"
"Just as you wish."
"They have treated me shamefully--shamefully. When the factscome out in Frankland v. Regina I venture to think that a thrill ofindignation will run through the country. Nothing would induce meto help the police in any way. For all they cared it might havebeen me, instead of my effigy, which these rascals burned at thestake. Surely you are not going! You will help me to empty thedecanter in honour of this great occasion!"
But I resisted all his solicitations and succeeded in dissuadinghim from his announced intention of walking home with me. I keptthe road as long as his eye was on me, and then I struck off acrossthe moor and made for the stony hill over which the boy haddisappeared. Everything was working in my favour, and I swore thatit should not be through lack of energy or perseverance that Ishould miss the chance which fortune had thrown in my way.
The sun was already sinking when I reached the summit of thehill, and the long slopes beneath me were all golden-green on oneside and gray shadow on the other. A haze lay low upon the farthestsky-line, out of which jutted the fantastic shapes of Belliver andVixen Tor. Over the wide expanse there was no sound and nomovement. One great gray bird, a gull or curlew, soared aloft inthe blue Heaven. He and I seemed to be the only living thingsbetween the huge arch of the sky and the desert beneath it. Thebarren scene, the sense of loneliness, and the mystery and urgencyof my task all struck a chill into my heart. The boy was nowhere tobe seen. But down beneath me in a cleft of the hills there was acircle of the old stone huts, and in the middle of them there wasone which retained sufficient roof to act as a screen against theweather. My heart leaped within me as I saw it. This must be theburrow where the stranger lurked. At last my foot was on thethreshold of his hiding place--his secret was within my grasp.
As I approached the hut, walking as warily as Stapleton would dowhen with poised net he drew near the settled butterfly, Isatisfied myself that the place had indeed been used as ahabitation. A vague pathway among the boulders led to thedilapidated opening which served as a door. All was silent within.The unknown might be lurking there, or he might be prowling on themoor. My nerves tingled with the sense of adventure. Throwing asidemy cigarette, I closed my hand upon the butt of my revolver 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 falsescent. This was certainly where the man lived. Some blankets rolledin a waterproof lay upon that very stone slab upon which neolithicman had once slumbered. The ashes of a fire were heaped in a rudegrate. Beside it lay some cooking utensils and a bucket half-fullof water. A litter of empty tins showed that the place had beenoccupied for some time, and I saw, as my eyes became accustomed tothe checkered light, a pannikin and a half-full bottle of spiritsstanding in the corner. In the middle of the hut a flat stoneserved the purpose of a table, and upon this stood a small clothbundle--the same, no doubt, which I had seen through the telescopeupon the shoulder of the boy. It contained a loaf of bread, atinned tongue, and two tins of preserved peaches. As I set it downagain, after having examined it, my heart leaped to see thatbeneath it there lay a sheet of paper with writing upon it. Iraised it, and this was what I read, roughly scrawled inpencil:--
Dr. Watson has gone to Coombe Tracey.
For a minute I stood there with the paper in my hands thinkingout the meaning of this curt message. It was I, then, and not SirHenry, who was being dogged by this secret man. He had not followedme himself, but he had set an agent--the boy, perhaps--upon mytrack, and this was his report. Possibly I had taken no step sinceI had been upon the moor which had not been observed and repeated.Always there was this feeling of an unseen force, a fine net drawnround us with infinite skill and delicacy, holding us so lightlythat it was only at some supreme moment that one realized that onewas indeed entangled in its meshes.
If there was one report there might be others, so I looked roundthe hut in search of them. There was no trace, however, of anythingof the kind, nor could I discover any sign which might indicate thecharacter or intentions of the man who lived in this singularplace, save that he must be of Spartan habits and cared little forthe comforts of life. When I thought of the heavy rains and lookedat the gaping roof I understood how strong and immutable must bethe purpose which had kept him in that inhospitable abode. Was heour malignant enemy, or was he by chance our guardian angel? Iswore that I would not leave the hut until I knew.
Outside the sun was sinking low and the west was blazing withscarlet and gold. Its reflection was shot back in ruddy patches bythe distant pools which lay amid the great Grimpen Mire. There werethe two towers of Baskerville Hall, and there a distant blur ofsmoke which marked the village of Grimpen. Between the two, behindthe hill, was the house of the Stapletons. All was sweet and mellowand peaceful in the golden evening light, and yet as I looked atthem my soul shared none of the peace of nature but quivered at thevagueness and the terror of that interview which every instant wasbringing nearer. With tingling nerves, but a fixed purpose, I satin the dark recess of the hut and waited with sombre patience forthe coming of its tenant.
And then at last I heard him. Far away came the sharp clink of aboot striking upon a stone. Then another and yet another, comingnearer and nearer. I shrank back into the darkest corner, andcocked the pistol in my pocket, determined not to discover myselfuntil I had an opportunity of seeing something of the stranger.There was a long pause which showed that he had stopped. Then oncemore the footsteps approached and a shadow fell across the openingof the hut.
"It is a lovely evening, my dear Watson," said a well-knownvoice. "I really think that you will be more comfortable outsidethan in."
CHAPTER XII. DEATH ON THE MOOR
For a moment or two I sat breathless, hardly able to believe myears. Then my senses and my voice came back to me, while a crushingweight of responsibility seemed in an instant to be lifted from mysoul. That cold, incisive, ironical voice could belong to but oneman in all the world.
"Holmes!" I cried--"Holmes!"
"Come out," said he, "and please be careful with therevolver."
I stooped under the rude lintel, and there he sat upon a stoneoutside, his gray eyes dancing with amusement as they fell upon myastonished features. He was thin and worn, but clear and alert, hiskeen face bronzed by the sun and roughened by the wind. In histweed suit and cloth cap he looked like any other tourist upon themoor, and he had contrived, with that cat-like love of personalcleanliness which was one of his characteristics, that his chinshould be as smooth and his linen as perfect as if he were in BakerStreet.
"I never was more glad to see anyone in my life," said I, as Iwrung him by 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 noidea that you had found my occasional retreat, still less that youwere 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 seriouslydesire to deceive me you must change your tobacconist; for when Isee the stub of a cigarette marked Bradley, Oxford Street, I knowthat my friend Watson is in the neighbourhood. You will see itthere beside the path. You threw it down, no doubt, at that suprememoment when you charged into the empty hut."
"Exactly."
"I thought as much--and 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 Iwas the criminal?"
"I did not know who you were, but I was determined to findout."
"Excellent, Watson! And how did you localize me? You saw me,perhaps, on the night of the convict hunt, when I was so imprudentas to allow the moon to rise behind me?"
"Yes, I saw you then."
"And have no doubt searched all the huts until you came to thisone?"
"No, your boy had been observed, and that gave me a guide whereto look."
"The old gentleman with the telescope, no doubt. I could notmake it out when first I saw the light flashing upon the lens." Herose and peeped into the hut. "Ha, I see that Cartwright hasbrought up some supplies. What's this paper? So you have been toCoombe Tracey, have you?"
"Yes."
"To see Mrs. Laura Lyons?"
"Exactly."
"Well done! Our researches have evidently been running onparallel lines, and when we unite our results I expect we shallhave a fairly full knowledge 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 whathave you been doing? I thought that you were in Baker Streetworking out that case 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 inmany other cases, and I beg that you will forgive me if I haveseemed to play a trick upon you. In truth, it was partly for yourown sake that I did it, and it was my appreciation of the dangerwhich you ran which led me to come down and examine the matter formyself. Had I been with Sir Henry and you it is confident that mypoint of view would have been the same as yours, and my presencewould have warned our very formidable opponents to be on theirguard. As it is, I have been able to get about as I could notpossibly have done had I been living in the Hall, and I remain anunknown factor in the business, ready to throw in all my weight ata critical moment."
"But why keep me in the dark?"
"For you to know could not have helped us, and might possiblyhave led to my discovery. You would have wished to tell mesomething, or in your kindness you would have brought me out somecomfort or other, and so an unnecessary risk would be run. Ibrought Cartwright down with me--you remember the little chap atthe express office--and he has seen after my simple wants: a loafof bread and a clean collar. What does man want more? He has givenme an extra pair of eyes upon a very active pair of feet, and bothhave been invaluable."
"Then my reports have all been wasted!"--My voice trembled as Irecalled the pains and the pride with which I had composedthem.
Holmes took a bundle of papers from his pocket.
"Here are your reports, my dear fellow, and very well thumbed, Iassure you. I made excellent arrangements, and they are onlydelayed one day upon their way. I must compliment you exceedinglyupon the zeal and the intelligence which you have shown over anextraordinarily difficult case."
I was still rather raw over the deception which had beenpractised upon me, but the warmth of Holmes's praise drove my angerfrom my mind. I felt also in my heart that he was right in what hesaid and that it was really best for our purpose that I should nothave known that he was upon the moor.
"That's better," said he, seeing the shadow rise from my face."And now tell me the result of your visit to Mrs. Laura Lyons--itwas not difficult for me to guess that it was to see her that youhad gone, for I am already aware that she is the one person inCoombe Tracey who might be of service to us in the matter. In fact,if you had not gone to-day it is exceedingly probable that I shouldhave gone to-morrow."
The sun had set and dusk was settling over the moor. The air hadturned chill and we withdrew into the hut for warmth. There,sitting together in the twilight, I told Holmes of my conversationwith the lady. So interested was he that I had to repeat some of ittwice before he was satisfied.
"This is most important," said he when I had concluded. "Itfills up a gap which I had been unable to bridge, in this mostcomplex affair. You are aware, perhaps, that a close intimacyexists between this lady and the man Stapleton?"
"I did not know of a close intimacy."
"There can be no doubt about the matter. They meet, they write,there is a complete understanding between them. Now, this puts avery powerful weapon into our hands. If I could only use it todetach his wife----"
"His wife?"
"I am giving you some information now, in return for all thatyou have given me. The lady who has passed here as Miss Stapletonis in reality his wife."
"Good heavens, Holmes! Are you sure of what you say? How couldhe have permitted Sir Henry to fall in love with her?"
"Sir Henry's falling in love could do no harm to anyone exceptSir Henry. He took particular care that Sir Henry did not make loveto her, as you have yourself observed. I repeat that the lady ishis wife and not his sister."
"But why this elaborate deception?"
"Because he foresaw that she would be very much more useful tohim in the character of a free woman."
All my unspoken instincts, my vague suspicions, suddenly tookshape and centred upon the naturalist. In that impassive,colourless man, with his straw hat and his butterfly-net, I seemedto see something terrible--a creature of infinite patience andcraft, with a smiling face and a murderous heart.
"It is he, then, who is our enemy--it is he who dogged us inLondon?"
"So I read the riddle."
"And the warning--it must have come from her!"
"Exactly."
The shape of some monstrous villainy, half seen, half guessed,loomed through the darkness which had girt me so long.
"But are you sure of this, Holmes? How do you know that thewoman is 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 Idaresay he has many a time regretted it since. He was once aschoolmaster in the north of England. Now, there is no one moreeasy to trace than a schoolmaster. There are scholastic agencies bywhich one may identify any man who has been in the profession. Alittle investigation showed me that a school had come to griefunder atrocious circumstances, and that the man who had ownedit--the name was different--had disappeared with his wife. Thedescriptions agreed. When I learned that the missing man wasdevoted to entomology the identification was complete."
The darkness was rising, but much was still hidden by theshadows.
"If this woman is in truth his wife, where does Mrs. Laura Lyonscome in?" I asked.
"That is one of the points upon which your own researches haveshed a light. Your interview with the lady has cleared thesituation very much. I did not know about a projected divorcebetween herself and her husband. In that case, regarding Stapletonas an unmarried man, she counted no doubt upon becoming hiswife."
"And when she is undeceived?"
"Why, then we may find the lady of service. It must be our firstduty to see her--both of us--to-morrow. Don't you think, Watson,that you are away from your charge rather long? Your place shouldbe at Baskerville Hall."
The last red streaks had faded away in the west and night hadsettled upon the moor. A few faint stars were gleaming in a violetsky.
"One last question, Holmes," I said, as I rose. "Surely there isno need of secrecy between you and me. What is the meaning of itall? What is he after?"
Holmes's voice sank as he answered:----
"It is murder, Watson--refined, cold-blooded, deliberate murder.Do not ask me for particulars. My nets are closing upon him, evenas his are upon Sir Henry, and with your help he is already almostat my mercy. There is but one danger which can threaten us. It isthat he should strike before we are ready to do so. Anotherday--two at the most--and I have my case complete, but until thenguard your charge as closely as ever a fond mother watched herailing child. Your mission to-day has justified itself, and yet Icould almost wish that you had not left his side. Hark!"
A terrible scream--a prolonged yell of horror and anguish--burstout of the silence of the moor. That frightful cry turned the bloodto ice in my veins.
"Oh, my God!" I gasped. "What is it? What does it mean?"
Holmes had sprung to his feet, and I saw his dark, athleticoutline at the door of the hut, his shoulders stooping, his headthrust forward, his face peering into the darkness.
"Hush!" he whispered. "Hush!"
The cry had been loud on account of its vehemence, but it hadpealed out from somewhere far off on the shadowy plain. Now itburst upon our ears, nearer, louder, more urgent than before.
"Where is it?" Holmes whispered; and I knew from the thrill ofhis voice that he, the man of iron, was shaken to the soul." Whereis it, Watson?"
"There, I think." I pointed into the darkness.
"No, there!"
Again the agonized cry swept through the silent night, louderand much nearer than ever. And a new sound mingled with it, a deep,muttered rumble, musical and yet menacing, rising and falling likethe low, constant murmur of the sea.
"The hound!" cried Holmes. "Come, Watson, come! Great heavens,if we are too late!"
He had started running swiftly over the moor, and I had followedat his heels. But now from somewhere among the broken groundimmediately in front of us there came one last despairing yell, andthen a dull, heavy thud. We halted and listened. Not another soundbroke the heavy silence of the windless night.
I saw Holmes put his hand to his forehead like a man distracted.He stamped 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 whatcomes of abandoning your charge! But, by Heaven, if the worst hashappened, we'll avenge him!"
Blindly we ran through the gloom, blundering against boulders,forcing our way through gorse bushes, panting up hills and rushingdown slopes, heading always in the direction whence those dreadfulsounds had come. At every rise Holmes looked eagerly round him, butthe shadows were thick upon the moor, and nothing moved upon itsdreary face.
"Can you see anything?"
"Nothing."
"But, hark, what is that?"
A low moan had fallen upon our ears. There it was again upon ourleft! On that side a ridge of rocks ended in a sheer cliff whichoverlooked a stone-strewn slope. On its jagged face wasspread-eagled some dark, irregular object. As we ran towards it thevague outline hardened into a definite shape. It was a prostrateman face downward upon the ground, the head doubled under him at ahorrible angle, the shoulders rounded and the body hunched togetheras if in the act of throwing a somersault. So grotesque was theattitude that I could not for the instant realise that that moanhad been the passing of his soul. Not a whisper, not a rustle, rosenow from the dark figure over which we stooped. Holmes laid hishand upon him, and held it up again, with an exclamation of horror.The gleam of the match which he struck shone upon his clottedfingers and upon the ghastly pool which widened slowly from thecrushed skull of the victim. And it shone upon something else whichturned our hearts sick and faint within us--the body of Sir HenryBaskerville!
There was no chance of either of us forgetting that peculiarruddy tweed suit--the very one which he had worn on the firstmorning that we had seen him in Baker Street. We caught the oneclear glimpse of it, and then the match flickered and went out,even as the hope had gone out of our souls. Holmes groaned, and hisface glimmered white through the darkness.
"The brute! the brute!" I cried with clenched hands. "Oh Holmes,I shall never forgive myself for having left him to his fate."
"I am more to blame than you, Watson. In order to have my casewell rounded and complete, I have thrown away the life of myclient. It is the greatest blow which has befallen me in my career.But how could I know--how could l know--that he would risk his lifealone upon the moor in the face of all my warnings?"
"That we should have heard his screams--my God, thosescreams!--and yet have been unable to save him! Where is this bruteof a hound which drove him to his death? It may be lurking amongthese rocks at this instant. And Stapleton, where is he? He shallanswer for this deed."
"He shall. I will see to that. Uncle and nephew have beenmurdered--the one frightened to death by the very sight of a beastwhich he thought to be supernatural, the other driven to his end inhis wild flight to escape from it. But now we have to prove theconnection between the man and the beast. Save from what we heard,we cannot even swear to the existence of the latter, since SirHenry has evidently died from the fall. But, by heavens, cunning ashe is, the fellow shall be in my power before another day ispast!"
We stood with bitter hearts on either side of the mangled body,overwhelmed by this sudden and irrevocable disaster which hadbrought all our long and weary labours to so piteous an end. Then,as the moon rose we climbed to the top of the rocks over which ourpoor friend had fallen, and from the summit we gazed out over theshadowy moor, half silver and half gloom. Faraway, miles off, inthe direction of Grimpen, a single steady yellow light was shining.It could only come from the lonely abode of the Stapletons. With abitter 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 thelast degree. It is not what we know, but what we can prove. If wemake one false move the villain may escape us yet."
"What can we do?"
"There will be plenty for us to do to-morrow. To-night we canonly perform the last offices to our poor friend."
Together we made our way down the precipitous slope andapproached the body, black and clear against the silvered stones.The agony of those contorted limbs struck me with a spasm of painand blurred my eyes with tears.
"We must send for help, Holmes! We cannot carry him all the wayto the Hall. Good heavens, are you mad?"
He had uttered a cry and bent over the body. Now he was dancingand laughing and wringing my hand. Could this be my stern,self-contained friend? These were hidden fires, indeed!
"A beard! A beard! The man has a beard!"
"A beard?"
"It is not the baronet--it is--why, it is my neighbour, theconvict!"
With feverish haste we had turned the body over, and thatdripping beard was pointing up to the cold, clear moon. There couldbe no doubt about the beetling forehead, the sunken animal eyes. Itwas indeed the same face which had glared upon me in the light ofthe candle from over the rock--the face of Selden, thecriminal.
Then in an instant it was all clear to me. I remembered how thebaronet had told me that he had handed his old wardrobe toBarrymore. Barrymore had passed it on in order to help Selden inhis escape. Boots, shirt, cap--it was all Sir Henry's. The tragedywas still black enough, but this man had at least deserved death bythe laws of his country. I told Holmes how the matter stood, myheart bubbling over with thankfulness and joy.
"Then the clothes have been the poor devil's death," said he."It is clear enough that the hound has been laid on from somearticle of Sir Henry's--the boot which was abstracted in the hotel,in all probability--and so ran this man down. There is one verysingular thing, however: How came Selden, in the darkness, to knowthat the hound was on his trail?"
"He heard him."
"To hear a hound upon the moor would not work a hard man likethis convict into such a paroxysm of terror that he would riskrecapture by screaming wildly for help. By his cries he must haverun a long way after he knew the animal was on his track. How didhe know?"
"A greater mystery to me is why this hound, presuming that allour conjectures are correct --"
"I presume nothing."
"Well, then, why this hound should be loose to-night. I supposethat it does not always run loose upon the moor. Stapleton wouldnot let it go unless he had reason to think that Sir Henry would bethere."
"My difficulty is the more formidable of the two, for I thinkthat we shall very shortly get an explanation of yours, while minemay remain for ever a mystery. The question now is, what shall wedo with this poor wretch's body? We cannot leave it here to thefoxes and the ravens."
"I suggest that we put it in one of the huts until we cancommunicate with the police."
"Exactly. I have no doubt that you and I could carry it so far.Halloa, Watson, what's this? It's the man himself, by all that'swonderful and audacious! Not a word to show yow suspicions--not aword, or my plans crumble to the ground."
A figure was approaching us over the moor, and I saw the dullred glow of a cigar. The moon shone upon him, and I coulddistinguish the dapper shape and jaunty walk of the naturalist. Hestopped when he saw us, and then came on again.
"Why, Dr. Watson, that's not you, is it? You are the last manthat I should have expected to see out on the moor at this time ofnight. But, dear me, what's this? Somebody hurt? Not--don't tell methat it is our friend Sir Henry!" He hurried past me and stoopedover the dead man. I heard a sharp intake of his breath and thecigar fell from his fingers.
"Who--who's this?" he stammered.
"It is Selden, the man who escaped from Princetown."
Stapleton turned a ghastly face upon us, but by a supreme efforthe had overcome his amazement and his disappointment. He lookedsharply from Holmes 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.My friend and I were strolling on the moor when we heard acry."
"I heard a cry also. That was what brought me out. I was uneasyabout Sir Henry."
"Why about Sir Henry in particular?" I could not helpasking.
"Because I had suggested that he should come over. When he didnot come I was surprised, and I naturally became alarmed for hissafety when I heard cries upon the moor. By the way"--his eyesdarted again from my face to Holmes's--"did you hear anything elsebesides a cry?"
"No," said Holmes; "did you?"
"No."
"What do you mean, then?"
"Oh, you know the stories that the peasants tell about a phantomhound, and so on. It is said to be heard at night upon the moor. Iwas wondering if there were any evidence of such a soundto-night."
"We heard nothing of the kind," said I.
"And what is your theory of this poor fellow's death?"
"I have no doubt that anxiety and exposure have driven him offhis head. He has rushed about the moor in a crazy state andeventually fallen over here and broken his neck."
"That seems the most reasonable theory," said Stapleton, and hegave a sigh which I took to indicate his relief. "What do you thinkabout 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 friend's explanation willcover the facts. I will take an unpleasant remembrance back toLondon with me to-morrow."
"Oh, you return to-morrow?"
"That is my intention."
"I hope your visit has cast some light upon those occurrenceswhich have 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 notbeen a satisfactory case."
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 itwould give my sister such a fright that I do not feel justified indoing it. I think that if we put something over his face he will besafe until morning."
And so it was arranged. Resisting Stapleton's offer ofhospitality, Holmes and I set off to Baskerville Hall, leaving thenaturalist to return alone. Looking back we saw the figure movingslowly away over the broad moor, and behind him that one blacksmudge on the silvered slope which showed where the man was lyingwho had come so horribly to his end.
CHAPTER XIII. FIXING THE NETS
"We're at close grips at last," said Holmes as we walkedtogether across the moor. "What a nerve the fellow has! How hepulled himself together in the face of what must have been aparalyzing shock when he found that the wrong man had fallen avictim to his plot. I told you in London, Watson, and I tell younow again, that we have never had a foeman more worthy of oursteel."
"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 thathe knows you are here?"
"It may cause him to be more cautious, or it may drive him todesperate measures at once. Like most clever criminals, he may betoo confident in his own cleverness and imagine that he hascompletely deceived us."
"Why should we not arrest him at once?"
"My dear Watson, you were born to be a man of action. Yourinstinct is always to do something energetic. But supposing, forargument's sake, that we had him arrested to-night, what on earththe better off should we be for that? We could prove nothingagainst him. There's the devilish cunning of it! If he were actingthrough a human agent we could get some evidence, but if we were todrag this great dog to the light of day it would not help us inputting a rope round the neck of its master."
"Surely we have a case."
"Not a shadow of one--only surmise and conjecture. We should belaughed out of court if we came with such a story and suchevidence."
"There is Sir Charles's death."
"Found dead without a mark upon him. You and I know that he diedof sheer fright, and we know also what frightened him; but how arewe to get twelve stolid jurymen to know it? What signs are there ofa hound? Where are the marks of its fangs? Of course we know that ahound does not bite a dead body and that Sir Charles was deadbefore ever the brute overtook him. But we have to prove all this,and we are not in a position to do it."
"Well, then, to-night?"
"We are not much better off to-night. Again, there was no directconnection between the hound and the man's death. We never saw thehound. We heard it; but we could not prove that it was running uponthis man's trail. There is a complete absence of motive. No, mydear fellow; we must reconcile ourselves to the fact that we haveno case at present, and that it is worth our while to run any riskin order to establish one."
"And how do you propose to do so?"
"I have great hopes of what Mrs. Laura Lyons may do for us whenthe position of affairs is made clear to her. And I have my ownplan as well. Sufficient for to-morrow is the evil thereof; but Ihope before the day is past to have the upper hand at last."
I could draw nothing further from him, and he walked, lost inthought, as far as the Baskerville gates.
"Are you coming up?"
"Yes; I see no reason for further concealment. But one lastword, Watson. Say nothing of the hound to Sir Henry. Let him thinkthat Selden's death was as Stapleton would have us believe. He willhave a better nerve for the ordeal which he will have to undergoto-morrow, when he is engaged, if I remember your report aright, todine with these people."
"And so am I."
"Then you must excuse yourself and he must go alone. That willbe easily arranged. And now, if we are too late for dinner, I thinkthat we are both ready for our suppers."
Sir Henry was more pleased than surprised to see SherlockHolmes, for he had for some days been expecting that recent eventswould bring him down from London. He did raise his eyebrows,however, when he found that my friend had neither any luggage norany explanations for its absence. Between us we soon supplied hiswants, and then over a belated supper we explained to the baronetas much of our experience as it seemed desirable that he shouldknow. But first I had the unpleasant duty of breaking the news toBarrymore and his wife. To him it may have been an unmitigatedrelief, but she wept bitterly in her apron. To all the world he wasthe man of violence, half animal and half demon; but to her healways remained the little wilful boy of her own girlhood, thechild who had clung to her hand. Evil indeed is the man who has notone woman to mourn him.
"I've been moping in the house all day since Watson went off inthe morning," said the baronet. "I guess I should have some credit,for I have kept my promise. If I hadn't sworn not to go about aloneI might have had a more lively evening, for I had a message fromStapleton asking me over there."
"I have no doubt that you would have had a more lively evening,"said Holmes drily. "By the way, I don't suppose you appreciate thatwe have been 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 yourservant who gave them to him may get into trouble with thepolice."
"That is unlikely. There was no mark on any of them, as far as Iknow."
"That's lucky for him--in fact, it's lucky for all of you, sinceyou are all on the wrong side of the law in this matter. I am notsure that as a conscientious detective my first duty is not toarrest the whole household. Watson's reports are most incriminatingdocuments."
"But how about the case?" asked the baronet. "Have you madeanything out of the tangle? I don't know that Watson and I are muchthe wiser since we came down."
"I think that I shall be in a position to make the situationrather more clear to you before long. It has been an exceedinglydifficult and most complicated business. There are several pointsupon which we still want light--but it is coming all the same."
"We've had one experience, as Watson has no doubt told you. Weheard the hound on the moor, so I can swear that it is not allempty superstition. I had something to do with dogs when I was outWest, and I know one when I hear one. If you can muzzle that oneand put him on a chain I'll be ready to swear you are the greatestdetective of all time."
"I think I will muzzle him and chain him all right if you willgive me your help."
"Whatever you tell me to do I will do."
"Very good; and I will ask you also to do it blindly, withoutalways asking the reason."
"Just as you like."
"If you will do this I think the chances are that our littleproblem will soon be solved. I have no doubt----"
He stopped suddenly and stared fixedly up over my head into theair. The lamp beat upon his face, and so intent was it and so stillthat it might have been that of a clear-cut classical statue, apersonification of alertness and expectation.
"What is it?" we both cried.
I could see as he looked down that he was repressing someinternal emotion. His features were still composed, but his eyesshone with amused exultation.
"Excuse the admiration of a connoisseur," said he as he wavedhis hand towards the line of portraits which covered the oppositewall. "Watson won't allow that I know anything of art, but that ismere jealousy, because our views upon the subject differ. Now,these are a really very fine series of portraits."
"Well, I'm glad to hear you say so," said Sir Henry, glancingwith some surprise at my friend. "I don't pretend to know muchabout these things, and I'd be a better judge of a horse or a steerthan of a picture. I didn't know that you found time for suchthings. "
"I know what is good when I see it, and I see it now. That's aKneller, I'll swear, that lady in the blue silk over yonder, andthe stout gentleman with the wig ought to be a Reynolds. They areall family portraits, I presume?"
"Every one."
"Do you know the names?"
"Barrymore has been coaching me in them, and I think I can saymy lessons fairly well."
"Who is the gentleman with the telescope?"
"That is Rear-Admiral Baskerville, who served under Rodney inthe West Indies. The man with the blue coat and the roll of paperis Sir William Baskerville, who was Chairman of Committees of theHouse of Commons under Pitt."
"And this Cavalier opposite to me--the one with the black velvetand the lace?"
"Ah, you have a right to know about him. That is the cause ofall the mischief, the wicked Hugo, who started the Hound of theBaskervilles. We're 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 had pictured him as a more robust and ruffianly person."
"There's 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 roystererseemed to have a fascination for him, and his eyes were continuallyfixed upon it during supper. It was not until later, when Sir Henryhad gone to his room, that I was able to follow the trend of histhoughts. He led me back into the banqueting-hall, his bedroomcandle in his hand, and he held it up against the time-stainedportrait on the wall.
"Do you see anything there?"
I looked at the broad plumed hat, the curling love-locks, thewhite lace collar, and the straight, severe face which was framedbetween them. lt was not a brutal countenance, but it was prim,hard, and stern, with a firm-set, thin-lipped mouth, and a coldlyintolerant 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 upona chair, and, holding up the light in his left hand, he curved hisright arm over 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 facesand not their trimmings. It is the first quality of a criminalinvestigator that he should see through a disguise."
"But this is marvellous. It might be his portrait."
"Yes, it is an interesting instance of a throwback, whichappears to be both physical and spiritual. A study of familyportraits is enough to convert a man to the doctrine ofreincarnation. The fellow is a Baskerville--that is evident."
"With designs upon the succession."
"Exactly. This chance of the picture has supplied us with one ofour most obvious missing links. We have him, Watson, we have him,and I dare swear that before to-morrow night he will be flutteringin our net as helpless as one of his own butterflies. A pin, acork, and a card, and we add him to the Baker Street collection!"He burst into one of his rare fits of laughter as he turned awayfrom the picture. I have not heard him laugh often, and it hasalways boded ill to somebody.
I was up betimes in the morning, but Holmes was afoot earlierstill, for I saw him as I dressed, coming up the drive.
"Yes, we should have a full day to-day," he remarked, and herubbed his hands with the joy of action. "The nets are all inplace, and the drag is about to begin. We'll know before the day isout whether we have caught our big, lean-jawed pike, or whether hehas got through the meshes."
"Have you been on the moor already?"
"I have sent a report from Grimpen to Princetown as to the deathof Selden. I think I can promise that none of you will be troubledin the matter. And I have also communicated with my faithfulCartwright, who would certainly have pined away at the door of myhut, as a dog does at his master's grave, if I had not set his mindat rest about my safety."
"What is the next move?"
"To see Sir Henry. Ah, here he is!"
"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 ourfriends the Stapletons to-night."
"I hope that you will come also. They are very hospitablepeople, and I am 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 baronet's face perceptibly lengthened.
"I hoped that you were going to see me through this business.The Hall and the moor are not very pleasant places when one isalone."
"My dear fellow, you must trust me implicitly and do exactlywhat I tell you. You can tell your friends that we should have beenhappy to have come with you, but that urgent business required usto be in town. We hope very soon to return to Devonshire. Will youremember to give them that message?"
"If you insist upon it."
"There is no alternative, I assure you."
I saw by the baronet's clouded brow that he was deeply hurt bywhat he regarded as our desertion.
"When do you desire to go?" he asked coldly.
"Immediately after breakfast. We will drive in to Coombe Tracey,but Watson will leave his things as a pledge that he will come backto you. Watson, you will send a note to Stapleton to tell him thatyou regret that you cannot come."
"I have a good mind to go to London with you," said the baronet."Why should I stay here alone?"
"Because it is your post of duty. Because you gave me your wordthat you would do as you were told, and I tell you to stay."
"All right, then, I'll stay."
"One more direction! I wish you to drive to Merripit House. Sendback your trap, however, and let them know that you intend to walkhome."
"To walk across the moor?"
"Yes."
"But that is the very thing which you have so often cautioned menot to do."
"This time you may do it with safety. If I had not everyconfidence in your nerve and courage I would not suggest it, but itis essential that you should do it."
"Then I will do it."
"And as you value your life do not go across the moor in anydirection save along the straight path which leads from MerripitHouse to the Grimpen 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 breakfastas possible, 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 visitwould terminate next day. It had not crossed my mind, however, thathe would wish me to go with him, nor could I understand how wecould both be absent at a moment which he himself declared to becritical. There was nothing for it, however, but implicitobedience; so we bade good-bye to our rueful friend, and a coupleof hours afterwards we were at the station of Coombe Tracey and haddispatched the trap upon its return journey. A small boy waswaiting upon the platform.
"Any orders, sir?"
"You will take this train to town, Cartwright. The moment youarrive you will send a wire to Sir Henry Baskerville, in my name,to say that if he finds the pocket-book which I have dropped he isto send it by registered post to Baker Street."
"Yes, sir."
"And ask at the station office if there is a message forme."
The boy returned with a telegram, which Holmes handed to me. Itran: "Wire received. Coming down with unsigned warrant. Arrivefive-forty.--LESTRADE."
"That is in answer to mine of this morning. He is the best ofthe professionals, I think, and we may need his assistance. Now,Watson, I think that we cannot employ our time better than bycalling upon your acquaintance, Mrs. Laura Lyons."
His plan of campaign was beginning to be evident. He would usethe baronet in order to convince the Stapletons that we were reallygone, while we should actually return at the instant when we werelikely to be needed. That telegram from London, if mentioned by SirHenry to the Stapletons, must remove the last suspicions from theirminds. Already I seemed to see our nets drawing closer around thatlean-jawed pike.
Mrs. Laura Lyons was in her office, and Sherlock Holmes openedhis interview with a frankness and directness which considerablyamazed her.
"I am investigating the circumstances which attended the deathof the late Sir Charles Baskerville," said he. "My friend here, Dr.Watson, has informed me of what you have communicated, and also ofwhat you have withheld in connection with that matter."
"What have I withheld?" she asked defiantly.
"You have confessed that you asked Sir Charles to be at the gateat ten o'clock. We know that that was the place and hour of hisdeath. You have with held what the connection is between theseevents."
"There is no connection."
"In that case the coincidence must indeed be an extraordinaryone. But I think that we shall succeed in establishing a connectionafter all. I wish to be perfectly frank with you, Mrs. Lyons. Weregard this case as one of murder, and the evidence may implicatenot 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 forhis sister is really his wife."
Mrs. Lyons had resumed her seat. Her hands were grasping thearms of her chair, and I saw that the pink nails had turned whitewith the pressure of her grip.
"His wife!" she said again. "His wife! He is not a marriedman."
Sherlock Holmes shrugged his shoulders.
"Prove it to me! Prove it to me! And if you can do so --!" Thefierce flash of her eyes said more than any words.
"I have come prepared to do so," said Holmes, drawing severalpapers from his pocket. "Here is a photograph of the couple takenin York four years ago. It is indorsed 'Mr. and Mrs. Vandeleur,'but you will have no difficulty in recognizing him, and her also,if you know her by sight. Here are three written descriptions bytrustworthy witnesses of Mr. and Mrs. Vandeleur, who at that timekept St. Oliver's private school. Read them and see if you candoubt the identity of these people."
She glanced at them, and then looked up at us with the set,rigid face of a desperate woman.
"Mr. Holmes," she said, "this man had offered me marriage oncondition that I could get a divorce from my husband. He has liedto me, the villain, in every conceivable way. Not one word of truthhas he ever told me. And why--why? I imagined that all was for myown sake. But now I see that I was never anything but a tool in hishands. Why should I preserve faith with him who never kept any withme? Why should I try to shield him from the consequences of his ownwicked acts? Ask me what you like, and there is nothing which Ishall hold back. One thing I swear to you, and that is that when Iwrote the letter I never dreamed of any harm to the old gentleman,who had been my kindest friend."
"I entirely believe you, madam," said Sherlock Holmes. "Therecital of these events must be very painful to you, and perhaps itwill make it easier if I tell you what occurred, and you can checkme if I make any material mistake. The sending of this letter wassuggested to you by Stapleton?"
"He dictated it."
"I presume that the reason he gave was that you would receivehelp from Sir Charles for the legal expenses connected with yourdivorce?"
"Exactly."
"And then after you had sent the letter he dissuaded you fromkeeping the appointment?"
"He told me that it would hurt his self-respect that any otherman should find the money for such an object, and that though hewas a poor man himself he would devote his last penny to removingthe obstacles which divided us."
"He appears to be a very consistent character. And then youheard nothing until you read the reports of the death in thepaper?"
"No."
"And he made you swear to say nothing about your appointmentwith Sir Charles?"
"He did. He said that the death was a very mysterious one, andthat I should certainly be suspected if the facts came out. Hefrightened me into remaining 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 Ishould always have done so with him."
"I think that on the whole you have had a fortunate escape,"said Sherlock Holmes. "You have had him in your power and he knewit, and yet you are alive. You have been walking for some monthsvery near to the edge of a precipice. We must wish you good-morningnow, Mrs. Lyons, and it is probable that you will very shortly hearfrom us again."
"Our case becomes rounded off, and difficulty after difficultythins away in front of us," said Holmes as we stood waiting for thearrival of the express from town. "I shall soon be in the positionof being able to put into a single connected narrative one of themost singular and sensational crimes of modern times. Students ofcriminology will remember the analogous incidents in Godno, inLittle Russia, in the year '66, and of course there are theAnderson murders in North Carolina, but this case possesses somefeatures which are entirely its own. Even now we have no clear caseagainst this very wily man. But I shall be very much surprised ifit is not clear enough before we go to bed this night."
The London express came roaring into the station, and a small,wiry bulldog of a man had sprung from a first-class carriage. Weall three shook hands, and I saw at once from the reverential wayin which Lestrade gazed at my companion that he had learned a gooddeal since the days when they had first worked together. I couldwell remember the scorn which the theories of the reasoner usedthen to excite in the practical man.
"Anything good?" he asked.
"The biggest thing for years," said Holmes. "We have two hoursbefore we need think of starting. I think we might employ it ingetting some dinner and then, Lestrade, we will take the London fogout of your throat by giving you a breath of the pure night air ofDartmoor. Never been there? Ah, well, I don't suppose you willforget your first visit."
CHAPTER XIV. THE HOUND OF THE BASKERVILLES
One of Sherlock Holmes's defects--if, indeed, one may call it adefect--was that he was exceedingly loath to communicate his fullplans to any other person until the instant of their fulfilment.Partly it came no doubt from his own masterful nature, which lovedto dominate and surprise those who were around him. Partly alsofrom his professional caution, which urged him never to take anychances. The result, however, was very trying for those who wereacting as his agents and assistants. I had often suffered under it,but never more so than during that long drive in the darkness. Thegreat ordeal was in front of us; at last we were about to make ourfinal 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 thedark, void spaces on either side of the narrow road told me that wewere back upon the moor once again. Every stride of the horses andevery turn of the wheels was taking us nearer to our supremeadventure.
Our conversation was hampered by the presence of the driver ofthe hired wagonette, so that we were forced to talk of trivialmatters when our nerves were tense with emotion and anticipation.It was a relief to me, after that unnatural restraint, when we atlast passed Frankland's house and knew that we were drawing near tothe Hall and to the scene of action. We did not drive up to thedoor but got down near the gate of the avenue. The wagonette waspaid off and ordered to return to Coombe Tracey forthwith, while westarted 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 longas I have my hip-pocket I have something in it."
"Good! My friend and I are also ready for emergencies."
"You're mighty close about this affair, Mr. Holmes. What's thegame now?"
"A waiting game."
"My word, it does not seem a very cheerful place," said thedetective with a shiver, glancing round him at the gloomy slopes ofthe hill and at the huge lake of fog which lay over the GrimpenMire. "I see the lights of a house ahead of us."
"That is Merripit House and the end of our journey. I mustrequest you to 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 yardsfrom it.
"This will do," said he. "These rocks upon the right make anadmirable screen."
"We are to wait here?"
"Yes, we shall make our little ambush here. Get into thishollow, Lestrade. You have been inside the house, have you not,Watson? Can you tell the position of the rooms? What are thoselatticed windows at this end?"
"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. Creepforward quietly and see what they are doing--but for heaven's sakedon't let them know 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 apoint whence I could look straight through the uncurtainedwindow.
There were only two men in the room, Sir Henry and Stapleton.They sat with their profiles towards me on either side of the roundtable. Both of them were smoking cigars, and coffee and wine werein front of them. Stapleton was talking with animation, but thebaronet looked pale and distrait. Perhaps the thought of thatlonely walk across the ill-omened moor was weighing heavily uponhis mind.
As I watched them Stapleton rose and left the room, while SirHenry filled his glass again and leaned back in his chair, puffingat his cigar. I heard the creak of a door and the crisp sound ofboots upon gravel. The steps passed along the path on the otherside of the wall under which I crouched. Looking over, I saw thenaturalist pause at the door of an out-house in the corner of theorchard. A key turned in a lock, and as he passed in there was acurious scuffling noise from within. He was only a minute or soinside, and then I heard the key turn once more and he passed meand re-entered the house. I saw him rejoin his guest, and I creptquietly back to where my companions were waiting to tell them whatI had seen.
"You say, Watson, that the lady is not there?" Holmes asked,when I had finished my report.
"No."
"Where can she be, then, since there is no light in any otherroom except the kitchen?"
"I cannot think where she is."
I have said that over the great Grimpen Mire there hung a dense,white fog. It was drifting slowly in our direction, and bankeditself up like a wall on that side of us, low, but thick and welldefined. The moon shone on it, and it looked like a greatshimmering ice-field, with the heads of the distant tors as rocksborne upon its surface. Holmes's face was turned towards it, and hemuttered impatiently as he watched its sluggish drift.
"It's moving towards us, Watson."
"Is that serious?"
"Very serious, indeed--the one thing upon earth which could havedisarranged my plans. He can't be very long, now. It is already teno'clock. Our success and even his life may depend upon his comingout before the fog is over the path."
The night was clear and fine above us. The stars shone cold andbright, while a half-moon bathed the whole scene in a soft,uncertain light. Before us lay the dark bulk of the house, itsserrated roof and bristling chimneys hard outlined against thesilver-spangled sky. Broad bars of golden light from the lowerwindows stretched across the orchard and the moor. One of them wassuddenly shut off. The servants had left the kitchen. There onlyremained the lamp in the dining-room where the two men, themurderous host and the unconscious guest, still chatted over theircigars.
Every minute that white woolly plain which covered one half ofthe moor was drifting closer and closer to the house. Already thefirst thin wisps of it were curling across the golden square of thelighted window. The farther wall of the orchard was alreadyinvisible, and the trees were standing out of a swirl of whitevapour. As we watched it the fog-wreaths came crawling round bothcorners of the house and rolled slowly into one dense bank, onwhich the upper floor and the roof floated like a strange ship upona shadowy sea. Holmes struck his hand passionately upon the rock infront of us and stamped his feet in his impatience.
"If he isn't out in a quarter of an hour the path will becovered. In half an hour we won't be able to see our hands in frontof 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 wewere half a mile from the house, and still that dense white sea,with the moon silvering its upper edge, swept slowly and inexorablyon.
"We are going too far," said Holmes. "We dare not take thechance of his being overtaken before he can reach us. At all costswe must hold our ground where we are." He dropped on his knees andclapped his ear to the ground. "Thank God, I think that I hear himcoming."
A sound of quick steps broke the silence of the moor. Crouchingamong the stones we stared intently at the silver-tipped bank infront of us. The steps grew louder, and through the fog, as througha curtain, there stepped the man whom we were awaiting. He lookedround him in surprise as he emerged 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 glancedcontinually over either shoulder, like a man who is ill atease.
"Hist!" cried Holmes, and I heard the sharp click of a cockingpistol. "Look out! It's coming!"
There was a thin, crisp, continuous patter from somewhere in theheart of that crawling bank. The cloud was within fifty yards ofwhere we lay, and we glared at it, all three, uncertain what horrorwas about to break from the heart of it. I was at Holmes's elbow,and I glanced for an instant at his face. It was pale and exultant,his eyes shining brightly in the moonlight. But suddenly theystarted forward in a rigid, fixed stare, and his lips parted inamazement. At the same instant Lestrade gave a yell of terror andthrew himself face downward upon the ground. I sprang to my feet,my inert hand grasping my pistol, my mind paralyzed by the dreadfulshape which had sprung out upon us from the shadows of the fog. Ahound it was, an enormous coal-black hound, but not such a hound asmortal eyes have ever seen. Fire burst from its open mouth, itseyes glowed with a smouldering glare, its muzzle and hackles anddewlap were outlined in flickering flame. Never in the deliriousdream of a disordered brain could anything more savage, moreappalling, more hellish be conceived than that dark form and savageface which broke upon us out of the wall of fog.
With long bounds the huge black creature was leaping down thetrack, following hard upon the footsteps of our friend. Soparalyzed were we by the apparition that we allowed him to passbefore we had recovered our nerve. Then Holmes and I both firedtogether, and the creature gave a hideous howl, which showed thatone at least had hit him. He did not pause, however, but boundedonward. Far away on the path we saw Sir Henry looking back, hisface white in the moonlight, his hands raised in horror, glaringhelplessly at the frightful thing which was hunting him down.
But that cry of pain from the hound had blown all our fears tothe winds. If he was vulnerable he was mortal, and if we couldwound him we could kill him. Never have I seen a man run as Holmesran that night. I am reckoned fleet of foot, but he outpaced me asmuch as I outpaced the little professional. In front of us as weflew up the track we heard scream after scream from Sir Henry andthe deep roar of the hound. I was in time to see the beast springupon its victim, hurl him to the ground, and worry at his throat.But the next instant Holmes had emptied five barrels of hisrevolver into the creature's flank. With a last howl of agony and avicious snap in the air, it rolled upon its back, four feet pawingfuriously, and then fell limp upon its side. I stooped, panting,and pressed my pistol to the dreadful, shimmering head, but it wasuseless to press the trigger. The giant hound was dead.
Sir Henry lay insensible where he had fallen. We tore away hiscollar, and Holmes breathed a prayer of gratitude when we saw thatthere was no sign of a wound and that the rescue had been in time.Already our friend's eyelids shivered and he made a feeble effortto move. Lestrade thrust his brandy-flask between the baronet'steeth, and two frightened eyes were looking up at us.
"My God!" he whispered. "What was it? What, in heaven's name,was it?"
"It's dead, whatever it is," said Holmes. "We've laid the familyghost once and forever."
In mere size and strength it was a terrible creature which waslying stretched before us. It was not a pure bloodhound and it wasnot a pure mastiff; but it appeared to be a combination of thetwo--gaunt, savage, and as large as a small lioness. Even now, inthe stillness of death, the huge jaws seemed to be dripping with abluish flame and the small, deep-set, cruel eyes were ringed withfire. I placed my hand upon the glowing muzzle, and as I held themup my own fingers smouldered and gleamed in the darkness.
"Phosphorus," I said.
"A cunning preparation of it," said Holmes, sniffing at the deadanimal. "There is no smell which might have interfered with hispower of scent. We owe you a deep apology, Sir Henry, for havingexposed you to this fright. I was prepared for a hound, but not forsuch a creature as this. And the fog gave us little time to receivehim."
"You have saved my life."
"Having first endangered it. Are you strong enough tostand?"
"Give me another mouthful of that brandy and I shall be readyfor anything. So! Now, if you will help me up. What do you proposeto do?"
"To leave you here. You are not fit for further adventuresto-night. If you will wait, one or other of us will go back withyou to the Hall."
He tried to stagger to his feet; but he was still ghastly paleand trembling in every limb. We helped him to a rock, where he satshivering with his face buried in his hands.
"We must leave you now," said Holmes. "The rest of our work mustbe done, and every moment is of importance. We have our case, andnow we only want our man.
"It's a thousand to one against our finding him at the house,"he continued as we retraced our steps swiftly down the path. "Thoseshots must have told him that the game was up."
"We were some distance off, and this fog may have deadenedthem."
"He followed the hound to call him off--of that you may becertain. No, no, he's gone by this time! But we'll search the houseand make sure."
The front door was open, so we rushed in and hurried from roomto room to the amazement of a doddering old manservant, who met usin the passage. There was no light save in the dining-room, butHolmes caught up the lamp and left no corner of the houseunexplored. No sign could we see of the man whom we were chasing.On the upper floor, however, one of the bedroom doors waslocked.
"There's someone in here," cried Lestrade. "I can hear amovement. Open this door!"
A faint moaning and rustling came from within. Holmes struck thedoor just 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 defiantvillain whom we expected to see. Instead we were faced by an objectso strange and so unexpected that we stood for a moment staring atit in amazement.
The room had been fashioned into a small museum, and the wallswere lined by a number of glass-topped cases full of thatcollection of butterflies and moths the formation of which had beenthe relaxation of this complex and dangerous man. In the centre ofthis room there was an upright beam, which had been placed at someperiod as a support for the old worm-eaten baulk of timber whichspanned the roof. To this post a figure was tied, so swathed andmuffled in the sheets which had been used to secure it that onecould not for the moment tell whether it was that of a man or awoman. One towel passed round the throat and was secured at theback of the pillar. Another covered the lower part of the face, andover it two dark eyes--eyes full of grief and shame and a dreadfulquestioning--stared back at us. In a minute we had torn off thegag, unswathed the bonds, and Mrs. Stapleton sank upon the floor infront of us. As her beautiful head fell upon her chest I saw theclear red weal of a whiplash across her neck.
"The brute!" cried Holmes. "Here, Lestrade, your brandy-bottle!Put her in the chair! She has fainted from ill-usage andexhaustion."
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."
"And the hound?"
"It is dead."
She gave a long sigh of satisfaction.
"Thank God! Thank God! Oh, this villain! See how he has treatedme!" She shot her arms out from her sleeves, and we saw with horrorthat they were all mottled with bruises. "But this isnothing--nothing! It is my mind and soul that he has tortured anddefiled. I could endure it all, ill-usage, solitude, a life ofdeception, everything, as long as I could still cling to the hopethat I had his love, but now I know that in this also I have beenhis dupe and his tool." She broke into passionate sobbing as shespoke.
"You bear him no good will, madam," said Holmes. "Tell us thenwhere we shall find him. If you have ever aided him in evil, helpus now and so atone."
"There is but one place where he can have fled," she answered."There is an old tin mine on an island in the heart of the mire. Itwas there that he kept his hound and there also he had madepreparations so that he might have a refuge. That is where he wouldfly."
The fog-bank lay like white wool against the window. Holmes heldthe lamp towards it.
"See," said he. "No one could find his way into the Grimpen Mireto-night."
She laughed and clapped her hands. Her eyes and teeth gleamedwith fierce merriment
"He may find his way in, but never out," she cried. "How can hesee the guiding wands to-night? We planted them together, he and I,to mark the pathway through the mire. Oh, if I could only haveplucked them out to-day. Then indeed you would have had him at yourmercy!"
It was evident to us that all pursuit was in vain until the foghad lifted. Meanwhile we left Lestrade in possession of the housewhile Holmes and I went back with the baronet to Baskerville Hall.The story of the Stapletons could no longer be withheld from him,but he took the blow bravely when he learned the truth about thewoman whom he had loved. But the shock of the night's adventureshad shattered his nerves, and before morning he lay delirious in ahigh fever, under the care of Dr. Mortimer. The two of them weredestined to travel together round the world before Sir Henry hadbecome once more the hale, hearty man that he had been before hebecame master of that ill-omened estate.
And now I come rapidly to the conclusion of this singularnarrative, in which I have tried to make the reader share thosedark fears and vague surmises which clouded our lives so long andended in so tragic a manner. On the morning after the death of thehound the fog had lifted and we were guided by Mrs.Stapleton to thepoint where they had found a pathway through the bog. It helped usto realize the horror of this woman's life when we saw theeagerness and joy with which she laid us on her husband's track. Weleft her standing upon the thin peninsula of firm, peaty soil whichtapered out into the widespread bog. From the end of it a smallwand planted here and there showed where the path zigzagged fromtuft to tuft of rushes among those green-scummed pits and foulquagmires which barred the way to the stranger. Rank reeds andlush, slimy water-plants sent an odour of decay and a heavymiasmatic vapour onto our faces, while a false step plunged us morethan once thigh-deep into the dark, quivering mire, which shook foryards in soft undulations around our feet. Its tenacious gripplucked at our heels as we walked, and when we sank into it it wasas if some malignant hand was tugging us down into those obscenedepths, so grim and purposeful was the clutch in which it held us.Once only we saw a trace that someone had passed that perilous waybefore us. From amid a tuft of cotton grass which bore it up out ofthe slime some dark thing was projecting. Holmes sank to his waistas he stepped from the path to seize it, and had we not been thereto 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 Henry'smissing boot."
"Thrown there by Stapleton in his flight."
"Exactly. He retained it in his hand after using it to set thehound upon the track. He fled when he knew the game was up, stillclutching it. And he hurled it away at this point of his flight. Weknow at least that he came so far in safety."
But more than that we were never destined to know, though therewas much which we might surmise. There was no chance of findingfootsteps in the mire, for the rising mud oozed swiftly in uponthem, but as we at last reached firmer ground beyond the morass weall looked eagerly for them. But no slightest sign of them ever metour eyes. If the earth told a true story, then Stapleton neverreached that island of refuge towards which he struggled throughthe fog upon that last night. Somewhere in the heart of the greatGrimpen Mire, down in the foul slime of the huge morass which hadsucked him in, this cold and cruel-hearted man is foreverburied.
Many traces we found of him in the bog-girt island where he hadhid his savage ally. A huge driving-wheel and a shaft half-filledwith rubbish showed the position of an abandoned mine. Beside itwere the crumbling remains of the cottages of the miners, drivenaway no doubt by the foul reek of the surrounding swamp. In one ofthese a staple and chain with a quantity of gnawed bones showedwhere the animal had been confined. A skeleton with a tangle ofbrown hair adhering to it lay among the debris.
"A dog!" said Holmes. "By Jove, a curly-haired spaniel. PoorMortimer will never see his pet again. Well, I do not know thatthis place contains any secret which we have not already fathomed.He could hide his hound, but he could not hush its voice, and hencecame those cries which even in daylight were not pleasant to hear.On an emergency he could keep the hound in the out-house atMerripit, but it was always a risk, and it was only on the supremeday, which he regarded as the end of all his efforts, that he dareddo it. This paste in the tin is no doubt the luminous mixture withwhich the creature was daubed. It was suggested, of course, by thestory of the family hell-hound, and by the desire to frighten oldSir Charles to death. No wonder the poor devil of a convict ran andscreamed, even as our friend did, and as we ourselves might havedone, when he saw such a creature bounding through the darkness ofthe moor upon his track. It was a cunning device, for, apart fromthe chance of driving your victim to his death, what peasant wouldventure to inquire too closely into such a creature should he getsight of it, as many have done, upon the moor? I said it in London,Watson, and I say it again now, that never yet have we helped tohunt down a more dangerous man than he who is lying yonder"--heswept his long arm towards the huge mottled expanse ofgreen-splotched bog which stretched away until it merged into therusset slopes of the moor.
CHAPTER XV. A RETROSPECTION
It 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-roomin Baker Street. Since the tragic upshot of our visit to Devonshirehe had been engaged in two affairs of the utmost importance, in thefirst of which he had exposed the atrocious conduct of ColonelUpwood in connection with the famous card scandal of the NonpareilClub, while in the second he had defended the unfortunate Mme.Montpensier from the charge of murder which hung over her inconnection with the death of her step-daughter, Mlle. Carere, theyoung lady who, as it will be remembered, was found six monthslater alive and married in New York. My friend was in excellentspirits over the success which had attended a succession ofdifficult and important cases, so that I was able to induce him todiscuss the details of the Baskerville mystery. I had waitedpatiently for the opportunity, for I was aware that he would neverpermit cases to overlap, and that his clear and logical mind wouldnot be drawn from its present work to dwell upon memories of thepast. Sir Henry and Dr. Mortimer were, however, in London, on theirway to that long voyage which had been recommended for therestoration of his shattered nerves. They had called upon us thatvery afternoon, so that it was natural that the subject should comeup for discussion.
"The whole course of events," said Holmes, "from the point ofview of the man who called himself Stapleton was simple and direct,although to us, who had no means in the beginning of knowing themotives of his actions and could only learn part of the facts, itall appeared exceedingly complex. I have had the advantage of twoconversations with Mrs. Stapleton, and the case has now been soentirely cleared up that I am not aware that there is anythingwhich has remained a secret to us. You will find a few notes uponthe matter under the heading B in my indexed list of cases."
"Perhaps you would kindly give me a sketch of the course ofevents from memory."
"Certainly, though I cannot guarantee that I carry all the factsin my mind. Intense mental concentration has a curious way ofblotting out what has passed. The barrister who has his case at hisfingers' end, and is able to argue with an expert upon his ownsubject finds that a week or two of the courts will drive it allout of his head once more. So each of my cases displaces the last,and Mlle. Carere has blurred my recollection of Baskerville Hall.To-morrow some other little problem may be submitted to my noticewhich will in turn dispossess the fair French lady and the infamousUpwood. So far as the case of the Hound goes, however, I will giveyou 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 portraitdid not lie, and that this fellow was indeed a Baskerville. He wasa son of that Rodger Baskerville, the younger brother of SirCharles, who fled with a sinister reputation to South America,where he was said to have died unmarried. He did, as a matter offact, marry, and had one child, this fellow, whose real name is thesame as his father's. He married Beryl Garcia, one of the beautiesof Costa Rica, and, having purloined a considerable sum of publicmoney, he changed his name to Vandeleur and fled to England, wherehe established a school in the east of Yorkshire. His reason forattempting this special line of business was that he had struck upan acquaintance with a consumptive tutor upon the voyage home, andthat he had used this man's ability to make the undertaking asuccess. Fraser, the tutor, died however, and the school which hadbegun well sank from disrepute into infamy. The Vandeleurs found itconvenient to change their name to Stapleton, and he brought theremains of his fortune, his schemes for the future, and his tastefor entomology to the south of England. I learned at the BritishMuseum that he was a recognized authority upon the subject, andthat the name of Vandeleur has been permanently attached to acertain moth which he had, in his Yorkshire days, been the first todescribe.
"We now come to that portion of his life which has proved to beof such intense interest to us. The fellow had evidently madeinquiry and found that only two lives intervened between him and avaluable estate. When he went to Devonshire his plans were, Ibelieve, exceedingly hazy, but that he meant mischief from thefirst is evident from the way in which he took his wife with him inthe character of his sister. The idea of using her as a decoy wasclearly already in his mind, though he may not have been certainhow the details of his plot were to be arranged. He meant in theend to have the estate, and he was ready to use any tool or run anyrisk for that end. His first act was to establish himself as nearto his ancestral home as he could, and his second was to cultivatea friendship with Sir Charles Baskerville and with theneighbours.
"The baronet himself told him about the family hound, and soprepared the way for his own death. Stapleton, as I will continueto call him, knew that the old man's heart was weak and that ashock would kill him. So much he had learned from Dr. Mortimer. Hehad heard also that Sir Charles was superstitious and had takenthis grim legend very seriously. His ingenious mind instantlysuggested a way by which the baronet could be done to death, andyet it would be hardly possible to bring home the guilt to the realmurderer.
"Having conceived the idea he proceeded to carry it out withconsiderable finesse. An ordinary schemer would have been contentto work with a savage hound. The use of artificial means to makethe creature diabolical was a flash of genius upon his part. Thedog he bought in London from Ross and Mangles, the dealers inFulham Road. It was the strongest and most savage in theirpossession. He brought it down by the North Devon line and walked agreat distance over the moor so as to get it home without excitingany remarks. He had already on his insect hunts learned topenetrate the Grimpen Mire, and so had found a safe hiding-placefor 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 Stapletonlurked about with his hound, but without avail. It was during thesefruitless quests that he, or rather his ally, was seen by peasants,and that the legend of the demon dog received a new confirmation.He had hoped that his wife might lure Sir Charles to his ruin, buthere she proved unexpectedly independent. She would not endeavourto entangle the old gentleman in a sentimental attachment whichmight deliver him over to his enemy. Threats and even, I am sorryto say, blows refused to move her. She would have nothing to dowith it, and for a time Stapleton was at a deadlock.
"He found a way out of his difficulties through the chance thatSir Charles, who had conceived a friendship for him, made him theminister of his charity in the case of this unfortunate woman, Mrs.Laura Lyons. By representing himself as a single man he acquiredcomplete influence over her, and he gave her to understand that inthe event of her obtaining a divorce from her husband he wouldmarry her. His plans were suddenly brought to a head by hisknowledge that Sir Charles was about to leave the Hall on theadvice of Dr. Mortimer, with whose opinion he himself pretended tocoincide. He must act at once, or his victim might get beyond hispower. He therefore put pressure upon Mrs. Lyons to write thisletter, imploring the old man to give her an interview on theevening before his departure for London. He then, by a speciousargument, prevented her from going, and so had the chance for whichhe had waited.
"Driving back in the evening from Coombe Tracey he was in timeto get his hound, to treat it with his infernal paint, and to bringthe beast round to the gate at which he had reason to expect thathe would find the old gentleman waiting. The dog, incited by itsmaster, sprang over the wicket-gate and pursued the unfortunatebaronet, who fled screaming down the Yew Alley. In that gloomytunnel it must indeed have been a dreadful sight to see that hugeblack creature, with its flaming jaws and blazing eyes, boundingafter its victim. He fell dead at the end of the alley from heartdisease and terror. The hound had kept upon the grassy border whilethe baronet had run down the path, so that no track but the man'swas visible. On seeing him lying still the creature had probablyapproached to sniff at him, but finding him dead had turned awayagain. It was then that it left the print which was actuallyobserved by Dr. Mortimer. The hound was called off and hurried awayto its lair in the Grimpen Mire, and a mystery was left whichpuzzled the authorities, alarmed the country-side, and finallybrought the case within the scope of our observation.
"So much for the death of Sir Charles Baskerville. You perceivethe devilish cunning of it, for really it would be almostimpossible to make a case against the real murderer. His onlyaccomplice was one who could never give him away, and thegrotesque, inconceivable nature of the device only served to makeit more effective. Both of the women concerned in the case, Mrs.Stapleton and Mrs. Laura Lyons, were left with a strong suspicionagainst Stapleton. Mrs. Stapleton knew that he had designs upon theold man, and also of the existence of the hound. Mrs. Lyons knewneither of these things, but had been impressed by the deathoccurring at the time of an uncancelled appointment which was onlyknown 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 stillremained.
"It is possible that Stapleton did not know of the existence ofan heir in Canada. In any case he would very soon learn it from hisfriend Dr. Mortimer, and he was told by the latter all detailsabout the arrival of Henry Baskerville. Stapleton's first idea wasthat this young stranger from Canada might possibly be done todeath in London without coming down to Devonshire at all. Hedistrusted his wife ever since she had refused to help him inlaying a trap for the old man, and he dared not leave her long outof his sight for fear he should lose his influence over her. It wasfor this reason that he took her to London with him. They lodged, Ifind, at the Mexborough Private Hotel, in Craven Street, which wasactually one of those called upon by my agent in search ofevidence. Here he kept his wife imprisoned in her room while he,disguised in a beard, followed Dr. Mortimer to Baker Street andafterwards to the station and to the Northumberland Hotel. His wifehad some inkling of his plans; but she had such a fear of herhusband--a fear founded upon brutal ill-treatment--that she darenot write to warn the man whom she knew to be in danger. If theletter should fall into Stapleton's hands her own life would not besafe. Eventually, as we know, she adopted the expedient of cuttingout the words which would form the message, and addressing theletter in a disguised hand. It reached the baronet, and gave himthe first warning of his danger.
"It was very essential for Stapleton to get some article of SirHenry's attire so that, in case he was driven to use the dog, hemight always have the means of setting him upon his track. Withcharacteristic promptness and audacity he set about this at once,and we cannot doubt that the boots or chamber-maid of the hotel waswell bribed to help him in his design. By chance, however, thefirst boot which was procured for him was a new one and, therefore,useless for his purpose. He then had it returned and obtainedanother--a 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 andthis indifference to a new one. The more outre and grotesque anincident is the more carefully it deserves to be examined, and thevery point which appears to complicate a case is, when dulyconsidered and scientifically handled, the one which is most likelyto elucidate it.
"Then we had the visit from our friends next morning, shadowedalways by Stapleton in the cab. From his knowledge of our rooms andof my appearance, as well as from his general conduct, I aminclined to think that Stapleton's career of crime has been by nomeans limited to this single Baskerville affair. It is suggestivethat during the last three years there have been four considerableburglaries in the West Country, for none of which was any criminalever arrested. The last of these, at Folkestone Court, in May, wasremarkable for the cold-blooded pistoling of the page, whosurprised the masked and solitary burglar. I cannot doubt thatStapleton recruited his waning resources in this fashion, and thatfor years he has been a desperate and dangerous man.
"We had an example of his readiness of resource that morningwhen he got away from us so successfully, and also of his audacityin sending back my own name to me through the cabman. From thatmoment he understood that I had taken over the case in London, andthat therefore there was no chance for him there. He returned toDartmoor and awaited the arrival of the baronet."
"One moment!" said I. "You have, no doubt, described thesequence of events correctly, but there is one point which you haveleft unexplained. What became of the hound when its master was inLondon?"
"I have given some attention to this matter and it isundoubtedly of importance. There can be no question that Stapletonhad a confidant, though it is unlikely that he ever placed himselfin his power by sharing all his plans with him. There was an oldmanservant at Merripit House, whose name was Anthony. Hisconnection with the Stapletons can be traced for several years, asfar back as the schoolmastering days, so that he must have beenaware that his master and mistress were really husband and wife.This man has disappeared and has escaped from the country. It issuggestive that Anthony is not a common name in England, whileAntonio is so in all Spanish or Spanish-American countries. Theman, like Mrs. Stapleton herself, spoke good English, but with acurious lisping accent. I have myself seen this old man cross theGrimpen Mire by the path which Stapleton had marked out. It is veryprobable, therefore, that in the absence of his master it was hewho cared for the hound, though he may never have known the purposefor which the beast was used.
"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 whenI examined the paper upon which the printed words were fastened Imade a close inspection for the water-mark. In doing so I held itwithin a few inches of my eyes, and was conscious of a faint smellof the scent known as white jessamine. There are seventy-fiveperfumes, which it is very necessary that a criminal expert shouldbe able to distinguish from each other, and cases have more thanonce within my own experience depended upon their promptrecognition. The scent suggested the presence of a lady, andalready my thoughts began to turn towards the Stapletons. Thus Ihad made certain of the hound, and had guessed at the criminalbefore ever we went to the west country.
"It was my game to watch Stapleton. It was evident, however,that I could not do this if I were with you, since he would bekeenly on his guard. I deceived everybody, therefore, yourselfincluded, and I came down secretly when I was supposed to be inLondon. My hardships were not so great as you imagined, though suchtrifling details must never interfere with the investigation of acase. I stayed for the most part at Coombe Tracey, and only usedthe hut upon the moor when it was necessary to be near the scene ofaction. Cartwright had come down with me, and in his disguise as acountry boy he was of great assistance to me. I was dependent uponhim for food and clean linen. When I was watching Stapleton,Cartwright was frequently watching you, so that I was able to keepmy hand upon all the strings.
"I have already told you that your reports reached me rapidly,being forwarded instantly from Baker Street to Coombe Tracey. Theywere of great service to me, and especially that one incidentallytruthful piece of biography of Stapleton's. I was able to establishthe identity of the man and the woman and knew at last exactly howI stood. The case had been considerably complicated through theincident of the escaped convict and the relations between him andthe Barrymores. This also you cleared up in a very effective way,though I had already come to the same conclusions from my ownobservations.
"By the time that you discovered me upon the moor I had acomplete knowledge of the whole business, but I had not a casewhich could go to a jury. Even Stapleton's attempt upon Sir Henrythat night which ended in the death of the unfortunate convict didnot help us much in proving murder against our man. There seemed tobe no alternative but to catch him red-handed, and to do so we hadto use Sir Henry, alone and apparently unprotected, as a bait. Wedid so, and at the cost of a severe shock to our client wesucceeded in completing our case and driving Stapleton to hisdestruction. That Sir Henry should have been exposed to this is, Imust confess, a reproach to my management of the case, but we hadno means of foreseeing the terrible and paralyzing spectacle whichthe beast presented, nor could we predict the fog which enabled himto burst upon us at such short notice. We succeeded in our objectat a cost which both the specialist and Dr. Mortimer assure me willbe a temporary one. A long journey may enable our friend to recovernot only from his shattered nerves but also from his woundedfeelings. His love for the lady was deep and sincere, and to himthe saddest part of all this black business was that he should havebeen deceived by her.
"It only remains to indicate the part which she had playedthroughout. There can be no doubt that Stapleton exercised aninfluence over her which may have been love or may have been fear,or very possibly both, since they are by no means incompatibleemotions. It was, at least, absolutely effective. At his commandshe consented to pass as his sister, though he found the limits ofhis power over her when he endeavoured to make her the directaccessory to murder. She was ready to warn Sir Henry so far as shecould without implicating her husband, and again and again shetried to do so. Stapleton himself seems to have been capable ofjealousy, and when he saw the baronet paying court to the lady,even though it was part of his own plan, still he could not helpinterrupting with a passionate outburst which revealed the fierysoul which his self-contained manner so cleverly concealed. Byencouraging the intimacy he made it certain that Sir Henry wouldfrequently come to Merripit House and that he would sooner or laterget the opportunity which he desired. On the day of the crisis,however, his wife turned suddenly against him. She had learnedsomething of the death of the convict, and she knew that the houndwas being kept in the out-house on the evening that Sir Henry wascoming to dinner. She taxed her husband with his intended crime,and a furious scene followed, in which he showed her for the firsttime that she had a rival in his love. Her fidelity turned in aninstant to bitter hatred and he saw that she would betray him. Hetied her up, therefore, that she might have no chance of warningSir Henry, and he hoped, no doubt, that when the whole countrysideput down the baronet's death to the curse of his family, as theycertainly would do, he could win his wife back to accept anaccomplished fact and to keep silent upon what she knew. In this Ifancy that in any case he made a miscalculation, and that, if wehad not been there, his doom would none the less have been sealed.A woman of Spanish blood does not condone such an injury solightly. And now, my dear Watson, without referring to my notes, Icannot give you a more detailed account of this curious case. I donot know that anything essential has been left unexplained."
"He could not hope to frighten Sir Henry to death as he had donethe old uncle with his bogie hound."
"The beast was savage and half-starved. If its appearance didnot frighten its victim to death, at least it would paralyze theresistance which might be offered."
"No doubt. There only remains one difficulty. If Stapleton cameinto the succession, how could he explain the fact that he, theheir, had been living unannounced under another name so close tothe property? How could he claim it without causing suspicion andinquiry?"
"It is a formidable difficulty, and I fear that you ask too muchwhen you expect me to solve it. The past and the present are withinthe field of my inquiry, but what a man may do in the future is ahard question to answer. Mrs. Stapleton has heard her husbanddiscuss the problem on several occasions. There were three possiblecourses. He might claim the property from South America, establishhis identity before the British authorities there and so obtain thefortune without ever coming to England at all; or he might adopt anelaborate disguise during the short time that he need be in London;or, again, he might furnish an accomplice with the proofs andpapers, putting him in as heir, and retaining a claim upon someproportion of his income. We cannot doubt from what we know of himthat he would have found some way out of the difficulty. And now,my dear Watson, we have had some weeks of severe work, and for oneevening, 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, andwe can stop at Marcini's for a little dinner on the way?"
THE RETURN OF SHERLOCK HOLMES
ADVENTURE I. THE ADVENTURE OF THE EMPTY HOUSE
IT was in the spring of the year 1894 that all London wasinterested, and the fashionable world dismayed, by the murder ofthe Honourable Ronald Adair under most unusual and inexplicablecircumstances. The public has already learned those particulars ofthe crime which came out in the police investigation; but a gooddeal was suppressed upon that occasion, since the case for theprosecution was so overwhelmingly strong that it was not necessaryto bring forward all the facts. Only now, at the end of nearly tenyears, am I allowed to supply those missing links which make up thewhole of that remarkable chain. The crime was of interest initself, but that interest was as nothing to me compared to theinconceivable sequel, which afforded me the greatest shock andsurprise of any event in my adventurous life. Even now, after thislong interval, I find myself thrilling as I think of it, andfeeling once more that sudden flood of joy, amazement, andincredulity which utterly submerged my mind. Let me say to thatpublic which has shown some interest in those glimpses which I haveoccasionally given them of the thoughts and actions of a veryremarkable man that they are not to blame me if I have not sharedmy knowledge with them, for I should have considered it my firstduty to have done so had I not been barred by a positiveprohibition from his own lips, which was only withdrawn upon thethird of last month.
It can be imagined that my close intimacy with Sherlock Holmeshad interested me deeply in crime, and that after his disappearanceI never failed to read with care the various problems which camebefore the public, and I even attempted more than once for my ownprivate satisfaction to employ his methods in their solution,though with indifferent success. There was none, however, whichappealed to me like this tragedy of Ronald Adair. As I read theevidence at the inquest, which led up to a verdict of wilful murderagainst some person or persons unknown, I realized more clearlythan I had ever done the loss which the community had sustained bythe death of Sherlock Holmes. There were points about this strangebusiness which would, I was sure, have specially appealed to him,and the efforts of the police would have been supplemented, or moreprobably anticipated, by the trained observation and the alert mindof the first criminal agent in Europe. All day as I drove upon myround I turned over the case in my mind, and found no explanationwhich appeared to me to be adequate. At the risk of telling atwice-told tale I will recapitulate the facts as they were known tothe public 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.Adair's mother had returned from Australia to undergo the operationfor cataract, and she, her son Ronald, and her daughter Hilda wereliving together at 427, Park Lane. The youth moved in the bestsociety, had, so far as was known, no enemies, and no particularvices. He had been engaged to Miss Edith Woodley, of Carstairs, butthe engagement had been broken off by mutual consent some monthsbefore, and there was no sign that it had left any very profoundfeeling behind it. For the rest the man's life moved in a narrowand conventional circle, for his habits were quiet and his natureunemotional. Yet it was upon this easy-going young aristocrat thatdeath came in most strange and unexpected form between the hours often and eleven-twenty on the night of March 30, 1894.
Ronald Adair was fond of cards, playing continually, but neverfor such stakes as would hurt him. He was a member of the Baldwin,the Cavendish, and the Bagatelle card clubs. It was shown thatafter dinner on the day of his death he had played a rubber ofwhist at the latter club. He had also played there in theafternoon. The evidence of those who had played with him -- Mr.Murray, Sir John Hardy, and Colonel Moran -- showed that the gamewas whist, and that there was a fairly equal fall of the cards.Adair might have lost five pounds, but not more. His fortune was aconsiderable one, and such a loss could not in any way affect him.He had played nearly every day at one club or other, but he was acautious player, and usually rose a winner. It came out in evidencethat in partnership with Colonel Moran he had actually won as muchas four hundred and twenty pounds in a sitting some weeks beforefrom Godfrey Milner and Lord Balmoral. So much for his recenthistory, as it came out at the inquest.
On the evening of the crime he returned from the club exactly atten. His mother and sister were out spending the evening with arelation. The servant deposed that she heard him enter the frontroom on the second floor, generally used as his sitting-room. Shehad lit a fire there, and as it smoked she had opened the window.No sound was heard from the room until eleven-twenty, the hour ofthe return of Lady Maynooth and her daughter. Desiring to saygood-night, she had attempted to enter her son's room. The door waslocked on the inside, and no answer could be got to their cries andknocking. Help was obtained and the door forced. The unfortunateyoung man was found lying near the table. His head had beenhorribly mutilated by an expanding revolver bullet, but no weaponof any sort was to be found in the room. On the table lay twobank-notes for ten pounds each and seventeen pounds ten in silverand gold, the money arranged in little piles of varying amount.There were some figures also upon a sheet of paper with the namesof some club friends opposite to them, from which it wasconjectured that before his death he was endeavouring to make outhis losses or winnings at cards.
A minute examination of the circumstances served only to makethe case more complex. In the first place, no reason could be givenwhy the young man should have fastened the door upon the inside.There was the possibility that the murderer had done this and hadafterwards escaped by the window. The drop was at least twentyfeet, however, and a bed of crocuses in full bloom lay beneath.Neither the flowers nor the earth showed any sign of having beendisturbed, nor were there any marks upon the narrow strip of grasswhich separated the house from the road. Apparently, therefore, itwas the young man himself who had fastened the door. But how did hecome by his death? No one could have climbed up to the windowwithout leaving traces. Suppose a man had fired through the window,it would indeed be a remarkable shot who could with a revolverinflict so deadly a wound. Again, Park Lane is a frequentedthoroughfare, and there is a cab-stand within a hundred yards ofthe house. No one had heard a shot. And yet there was the dead man,and there the revolver bullet, which had mushroomed out, assoft-nosed bullets will, and so inflicted a wound which must havecaused instantaneous death. Such were the circumstances of the ParkLane Mystery, which were further complicated by entire absence ofmotive, since, as I have said, young Adair was not known to haveany enemy, and no attempt had been made to remove the money orvaluables in the room.
All day I turned these facts over in my mind, endeavouring tohit upon some theory which could reconcile them all, and to findthat line of least resistance which my poor friend had declared tobe the starting-point of every investigation. I confess that I madelittle progress. In the evening I strolled across the Park, andfound myself about six o'clock at the Oxford Street end of ParkLane. A group of loafers upon the pavements, all staring up at aparticular window, directed me to the house which I had come tosee. A tall, thin man with coloured glasses, whom I stronglysuspected of being a plain-clothes detective, was pointing out sometheory of his own, while the others crowded round to listen to whathe said. I got as near him as I could, but his observations seemedto me to be absurd, so I withdrew again in some disgust. As I didso I struck against an elderly deformed man, who had been behindme, and I knocked down several books which he was carrying. Iremember that as I picked them up I observed the title of one ofthem, "The Origin of Tree Worship," and it struck me that thefellow must be some poor bibliophile who, either as a trade or as ahobby, was a collector of obscure volumes. I endeavoured toapologize for the accident, but it was evident that these bookswhich I had so unfortunately maltreated were very precious objectsin the eyes of their owner. With a snarl of contempt he turned uponhis heel, and I saw his curved back and white side-whiskersdisappear among the throng.
My observations of No. 427, Park Lane did little to clear up theproblem in which I was interested. The house was separated from thestreet by a low wall and railing, the whole not more than five feethigh. It was perfectly easy, therefore, for anyone to get into thegarden, but the window was entirely inaccessible, since there wasno water-pipe or anything which could help the most active man toclimb it. More puzzled than ever I retraced my steps to Kensington.I had not been in my study five minutes when the maid entered tosay that a person desired to see me. To my astonishment it was noneother than my strange old book-collector, his sharp, wizened facepeering out from a frame of white hair, and his precious volumes, adozen of them at least, wedged under his right arm.
"You're surprised to see me, sir," said he, in a strange,croaking voice.
I acknowledged that I was.
"Well, I've a conscience, sir, and when I chanced to see you gointo this house, as I came hobbling after you, I thought to myself,I'll just step in and see that kind gentleman, and tell him that ifI was a bit gruff in my manner there was not any harm meant, andthat I am much obliged to him for picking up my books."
"You make too much of a trifle," said I. "May I ask how you knewwho I was?"
"Well, sir, if it isn't too great a liberty, I am a neighbour ofyours, for you'll find my little bookshop at the corner of ChurchStreet, and very happy to see you, I am sure. Maybe you collectyourself, sir; here's `British Birds,' and `Catullus,' and `TheHoly War' -- a bargain every one of them. With five volumes youcould 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 thefirst and the last time in my life. Certainly a grey mist swirledbefore my eyes, and when it cleared I found my collar-ends undoneand the tingling after-taste of brandy upon my lips. Holmes wasbending over my chair, his flask in his hand.
"My dear Watson," said the well-remembered voice, "I owe you athousand apologies. I had no idea that you would be soaffected."
I gripped him by the arm.
"Holmes!" I cried. "Is it really you? Can it indeed be that youare alive? Is it possible that you succeeded in climbing out ofthat awful abyss?"
"Wait a moment," said he. "Are you sure that you are really fitto discuss things? I have given you a serious shock by myunnecessarily dramatic reappearance."
"I am all right, but indeed, Holmes, I can hardly believe myeyes. Good heavens, to think that you -- you of all men -- shouldbe standing in my study!" Again I gripped him by the sleeve andfelt the thin, sinewy arm beneath it. "Well, you're not a spirit,anyhow," said I. "My dear chap, I am overjoyed to see you. Sit downand tell me how you came alive out of that dreadful chasm."
He sat opposite to me and lit a cigarette in his old nonchalantmanner. He was dressed in the seedy frock-coat of the bookmerchant, but the rest of that individual lay in a pile of whitehair and old books upon the table. Holmes looked even thinner andkeener than of old, but there was a dead-white tinge in hisaquiline face which told me that his life recently had not been ahealthy one.
"I am glad to stretch myself, Watson," said he. "It is no jokewhen a tall man has to take a foot off his stature for severalhours on end. Now, my dear fellow, in the matter of theseexplanations we have, if I may ask for your co-operation, a hardand dangerous night's work in front of us. Perhaps it would bebetter if I gave you an account of the whole situation when thatwork is finished."
"I am full of curiosity. I should much prefer to hear now."
"You'll come with me to-night?"
"When you like and where you like."
"This is indeed like the old days. We shall have time for amouthful of dinner before we need go. Well, then, about that chasm.I had no serious difficulty in getting out of it, for the verysimple reason that I never was in it."
"You never were in it?"
"No, Watson, I never was in it. My note to you was absolutelygenuine. I had little doubt that I had come to the end of my careerwhen I perceived the somewhat sinister figure of the late ProfessorMoriarty standing upon the narrow pathway which led to safety. Iread an inexorable purpose in his grey eyes. I exchanged someremarks with him, therefore, and obtained his courteous permissionto write the short note which you afterwards received. I left itwith my cigarette-box and my stick and I walked along the pathway,Moriarty still at my heels. When I reached the end I stood at bay.He drew no weapon, but he rushed at me and threw his long armsaround me. He knew that his own game was up, and was only anxiousto revenge himself upon me. We tottered together upon the brink ofthe fall. I have some knowledge, however, of baritsu, or theJapanese system of wrestling, which has more than once been veryuseful to me. I slipped through his grip, and he with a horriblescream kicked madly for a few seconds and clawed the air with bothhis hands. But for all his efforts he could not get his balance,and over he went. With my face over the brink I saw him fall for along way. Then he struck a rock, bounded off, and splashed into thewater."
I listened with amazement to this explanation, which Holmesdelivered between 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 chanceFate had placed in my way. I knew that Moriarty was not the onlyman who had sworn my death. There were at least three others whosedesire for vengeance upon me would only be increased by the deathof their leader. They were all most dangerous men. One or otherwould certainly get me. On the other hand, if all the world wasconvinced that I was dead they would take liberties, these men,they would lay themselves open, and sooner or later I could destroythem. Then it would be time for me to announce that I was still inthe land of the living. So rapidly does the brain act that Ibelieve I had thought this all out before Professor Moriarty hadreached 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 interestsome months later, you assert that the wall was sheer. This was notliterally true. A few small footholds presented themselves, andthere was some indication of a ledge. The cliff is so high that toclimb it all was an obvious impossibility, and it was equallyimpossible to make my way along the wet path without leaving sometracks. I might, it is true, have reversed my boots, as I have doneon similar occasions, but the sight of three sets of tracks in onedirection would certainly have suggested a deception. On the whole,then, it was best that I should risk the climb. It was not apleasant business, Watson. The fall roared beneath me. I am not afanciful person, but I give you my word that I seemed to hearMoriarty's voice screaming at me out of the abyss. A mistake wouldhave been fatal. More than once, as tufts of grass came out in myhand or my foot slipped in the wet notches of the rock, I thoughtthat I was gone. But I struggled upwards, and at last I reached aledge several feet deep and covered with soft green moss, where Icould lie unseen in the most perfect comfort. There I was stretchedwhen you, my dear Watson, and all your following were investigatingin the most sympathetic and inefficient manner the circumstances ofmy death.
"At last, when you had all formed your inevitable and totallyerroneous conclusions, you departed for the hotel and I was leftalone. I had imagined that I had reached the end of my adventures,but a very unexpected occurrence showed me that there weresurprises still in store for 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 an accident; but a momentlater, looking up, I saw a man's head against the darkening sky,and another stone struck the very ledge upon which I was stretched,within a foot of my head. Of course, the meaning of this wasobvious. Moriarty had not been alone. A confederate -- and eventhat one glance had told me how dangerous a man that confederatewas -- had kept guard while the Professor had attacked me. From adistance, unseen by me, he had been a witness of his friend's deathand of my escape. He had waited, and then, making his way round tothe top of the cliff, he had endeavoured to succeed where hiscomrade had failed.
"I did not take long to think about it, Watson. Again I saw thatgrim face look over the cliff, and I knew that it was the precursorof another stone. I scrambled down on to the path. I don't think Icould have done it in cold blood. It was a hundred times moredifficult than getting up. But I had no time to think of thedanger, for another stone sang past me as I hung by my hands fromthe edge of the ledge. Halfway down I slipped, but by the blessingof God I landed, torn and bleeding, upon the path. I took to myheels, did ten miles over the mountains in the darkness, and a weeklater I found myself in Florence with the certainty that no one inthe world knew what had become of me.
"I had only one confidant -- my brother Mycroft. I owe you manyapologies, my dear Watson, but it was all-important that it shouldbe thought I was dead, and it is quite certain that you would nothave written so convincing an account of my unhappy end had you notyourself thought that it was true. Several times during the lastthree years I have taken up my pen to write to you, but always Ifeared lest your affectionate regard for me should tempt you tosome indiscretion which would betray my secret. For that reason Iturned away from you this evening when you upset my books, for Iwas in danger at the time, and any show of surprise and emotionupon your part might have drawn attention to my identity and led tothe most deplorable and irreparable results. As to Mycroft, I hadto 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, forthe trial of the Moriarty gang left two of its most dangerousmembers, my own most vindictive enemies, at liberty. I travelledfor two years in Tibet, therefore, and amused myself by visitingLhassa and spending some days with the head Llama. You may haveread of the remarkable explorations of a Norwegian named Sigerson,but I am sure that it never occurred to you that you were receivingnews of your friend. I then passed through Persia, looked in atMecca, 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 intothe coal-tar derivatives, which I conducted in a laboratory atMontpelier, in the South of France. Having concluded this to mysatisfaction, and learning that only one of my enemies was now leftin London, I was about to return when my movements were hastened bythe news of this very remarkable Park Lane Mystery, which not onlyappealed to me by its own merits, but which seemed to offer somemost peculiar personal opportunities. I came over at once toLondon, called in my own person at Baker Street, threw Mrs. Hudsoninto violent hysterics, and found that Mycroft had preserved myrooms and my papers exactly as they had always been. So it was, mydear Watson, that at two o'clock to-day I found myself in my oldarm-chair in my own old room, and only wishing that I could haveseen my old friend Watson in the other chair which he has so oftenadorned."
Such was the remarkable narrative to which I listened on thatApril evening -- a narrative which would have been utterlyincredible to me had it not been confirmed by the actual sight ofthe tall, spare figure and the keen, eager face, which I had neverthought to see again. In some manner he had learned of my own sadbereavement, and his sympathy was shown in his manner rather thanin his words. "Work is the best antidote to sorrow, my dearWatson," said he, "and I have a piece of work for us both to-nightwhich, if we can bring it to a successful conclusion, will initself justify a man's life on this planet." In vain I begged himto tell me more. "You will hear and see enough before morning," heanswered. "We have three years of the past to discuss. Let thatsuffice until half-past nine, when we start upon the notableadventure of the empty house."
It was indeed like old times when, at that hour, I found myselfseated beside him in a hansom, my revolver in my pocket and thethrill of adventure in my heart. Holmes was cold and stern andsilent. As the gleam of the street-lamps flashed upon his austerefeatures I saw that his brows were drawn down in thought and histhin lips compressed. I knew not what wild beast we were about tohunt down in the dark jungle of criminal London, but I was wellassured from the bearing of this master huntsman that the adventurewas a most grave one, while the sardonic smile which occasionallybroke through his ascetic gloom boded little good for the object ofour quest.
I had imagined that we were bound for Baker Street, but Holmesstopped the cab at the corner of Cavendish Square. I observed thatas he stepped out he gave a most searching glance to right andleft, and at every subsequent street corner he took the utmostpains to assure that he was not followed. Our route was certainly asingular one. Holmes's knowledge of the byways of London wasextraordinary, and on this occasion he passed rapidly, and with anassured step, through a network of mews and stables the veryexistence of which I had never known. We emerged at last into asmall road, lined with old, gloomy houses, which led us intoManchester Street, and so to Blandford Street. Here he turnedswiftly down a narrow passage, passed through a wooden gate into adeserted yard, and then opened with a key the back door of a house.We entered together and he closed it behind us.
The place was pitch-dark, but it was evident to me that it wasan empty house. Our feet creaked and crackled over the bareplanking, and my outstretched hand touched a wall from which thepaper was hanging in ribbons. Holmes's cold, thin fingers closedround my wrist and led me forwards down a long hall, until I dimlysaw the murky fanlight over the door. Here Holmes turned suddenlyto the right, and we found ourselves in a large, square, emptyroom, heavily shadowed in the corners, but faintly lit in thecentre from the lights of the street beyond. There was no lamp nearand the window was thick with dust, so that we could only justdiscern each other's figures within. My companion put his hand uponmy shoulder and his lips close to my ear.
"Do you know where we are?" he whispered.
"Surely that is Baker Street," I answered, staring through thedim window.
"Exactly. We are in Camden House, which stands opposite to ourown old quarters."
"But why are we here?"
"Because it commands so excellent a view of that picturesquepile. Might I trouble you, my dear Watson, to draw a little nearerto the window, taking every precaution not to show yourself, andthen to look up at our old rooms -- the starting-point of so manyof our little adventures? We will see if my three years of absencehave entirely taken away my power to surprise you."
I crept forward and looked across at the familiar window. As myeyes fell upon it I gave a gasp and a cry of amazement. The blindwas down and a strong light was burning in the room. The shadow ofa man who was seated in a chair within was thrown in hard, blackoutline upon the luminous screen of the window. There was nomistaking the poise of the head, the squareness of the shoulders,the sharpness of the features. The face was turned half-round, andthe effect was that of one of those black silhouettes which ourgrandparents loved to frame. It was a perfect reproduction ofHolmes. So amazed was I that I threw out my hand to make sure thatthe man himself was standing beside me. He was quivering withsilent laughter.
"Well?" said he.
"Good heavens!" I cried. "It is marvellous."
"I trust that age doth not wither nor custom stale my infinitevariety,'" said he, and I recognised in his voice the joy and pridewhich the artist takes in his own creation. "It really is ratherlike 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,of Grenoble, who spent some days in doing the moulding. It is abust in wax. The rest I arranged myself during my visit to BakerStreet this afternoon."
"But why?"
"Because, my dear Watson, I had the strongest possible reasonfor wishing certain people to think that I was there when I wasreally elsewhere."
"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 theybelieved that I should come back to my rooms. They watched themcontinuously, and this morning they saw me arrive."
"How do you know?"
"Because I recognised their sentinel when I glanced out of mywindow. He is a harmless enough fellow, Parker by name, a garroterby trade, and a remarkable performer upon the Jew's harp. I carednothing for him. But I cared a great deal for the much moreformidable person who was behind him, the bosom friend of Moriarty,the man who dropped the rocks over the cliff, the most cunning anddangerous criminal in London. That is the man who is after meto-night, Watson, and that is the man who is quite unaware that weare after HIM."
My friend's 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 watchedthe hurrying figures who passed and repassed in front of us. Holmeswas silent and motionless; but I could tell that he was keenlyalert, and that his eyes were fixed intently upon the stream ofpassers-by. It was a bleak and boisterous night, and the windwhistled shrilly down the long street. Many people were moving toand fro, most of them muffled in their coats and cravats. Once ortwice it seemed to me that I had seen the same figure before, and Iespecially noticed two men who appeared to be sheltering themselvesfrom the wind in the doorway of a house some distance up thestreet. I tried to draw my companion's attention to them, but hegave a little ejaculation of impatience and continued to stare intothe street. More than once he fidgeted with his feet and tappedrapidly with his fingers upon the wall. It was evident to me thathe was becoming uneasy and that his plans were not working outaltogether as he had hoped. At last, as midnight approached and thestreet gradually cleared, he paced up and down the room inuncontrollable agitation. I was about to make some remark to himwhen I raised my eyes to the lighted window and again experiencedalmost as great a surprise as before. I clutched Holmes's arm andpointed upwards.
"The shadow has moved!" I cried.
It was, indeed, no longer the profile, but the back, which wasturned towards us.
Three years had certainly not smoothed the asperities of histemper or his impatience with a less active intelligence than hisown.
"Of course it has moved," said he. "Am I such a farcicalbungler, Watson, that I should erect an obvious dummy and expectthat some of the sharpest men in Europe would be deceived by it? Wehave been in this room two hours, and Mrs. Hudson has made somechange in that figure eight times, or once in every quarter of anhour. She works it from the front so that her shadow may never beseen. Ah!" He drew in his breath with a shrill, excited intake. Inthe dim light I saw his head thrown forward, his whole attituderigid with attention. Outside, the street was absolutely deserted.Those two men might still be crouching in the doorway, but I couldno longer see them. All was still and dark, save only thatbrilliant yellow screen in front of us with the black figureoutlined upon its centre. Again in the utter silence I heard thatthin, sibilant note which spoke of intense suppressed excitement.An instant later he pulled me back into the blackest corner of theroom, and I felt his warning hand upon my lips. The fingers whichclutched me were quivering. Never had I known my friend more moved,and yet the dark street still stretched lonely and motionlessbefore us.
But suddenly I was aware of that which his keener senses hadalready distinguished. A low, stealthy sound came to my ears, notfrom the direction of Baker Street, but from the back of the veryhouse in which we lay concealed. A door opened and shut. An instantlater steps crept down the passage -- steps which were meant to besilent, but which reverberated harshly through the empty house.Holmes crouched back against the wall and I did the same, my handclosing upon the handle of my revolver. Peering through the gloom,I saw the vague outline of a man, a shade blacker than theblackness of the open door. He stood for an instant, and then hecrept forward, crouching, menacing, into the room. He was withinthree yards of us, this sinister figure, and I had braced myself tomeet his spring, before I realized that he had no idea of ourpresence. He passed close beside us, stole over to the window, andvery softly and noiselessly raised it for half a foot. As he sankto the level of this opening the light of the street, no longerdimmed by the dusty glass, fell full upon his face. The man seemedto be beside himself with excitement. His two eyes shone like starsand his features were working convulsively. He was an elderly man,with a thin, projecting nose, a high, bald forehead, and a hugegrizzled 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, savagelines. In his hand he carried what appeared to be a stick, but ashe laid it down upon the floor it gave a metallic clang. Then fromthe pocket of his overcoat he drew a bulky object, and he busiedhimself in some task which ended with a loud, sharp click, as if aspring or bolt had fallen into its place. Still kneeling upon thefloor he bent forward and threw all his weight and strength uponsome lever, with the result that there came a long, whirling,grinding noise, ending once more in a powerful click. Hestraightened himself then, and I saw that what he held in his handwas a sort of gun, with a curiously misshapen butt. He opened it atthe breech, put something in, and snapped the breech-block. Then,crouching down, he rested the end of the barrel upon the ledge ofthe open window, and I saw his long moustache droop over the stockand his eye gleam as it peered along the sights. I heard a littlesigh of satisfaction as he cuddled the butt into his shoulder, andsaw that amazing target, the black man on the yellow ground,standing clear at the end of his fore sight. For an instant he wasrigid and motionless. Then his finger tightened on the trigger.There was a strange, loud whiz and a long, silvery tinkle of brokenglass. At that instant Holmes sprang like a tiger on to themarksman's back and hurled him flat upon his face. He was up againin a moment, and with convulsive strength he seized Holmes by thethroat; but I struck him on the head with the butt of my revolverand he dropped again upon the floor. I fell upon him, and as I heldhim my comrade blew a shrill call upon a whistle. There was theclatter of running feet upon the pavement, and two policemen inuniform, with one plain-clothes detective, rushed through the frontentrance and into the room.
"That you, Lestrade?" said Holmes.
"Yes, Mr. Holmes. I took the job myself. It's good to see youback in London, sir."
"I think you want a little unofficial help. Three undetectedmurders in one year won't do, Lestrade. But you handled the MoleseyMystery with less than your usual -- that's to say, you handled itfairly well."
We had all risen to our feet, our prisoner breathing hard, witha stalwart constable on each side of him. Already a few loiterershad begun to collect in the street. Holmes stepped up to thewindow, closed it, and dropped the blinds. Lestrade had producedtwo candles and the policemen had uncovered their lanterns. I wasable at last to have a good look at our prisoner.
It was a tremendously virile and yet sinister face which wasturned towards us. With the brow of a philosopher above and the jawof a sensualist below, the man must have started with greatcapacities for good or for evil. But one could not look upon hiscruel blue eyes, with their drooping, cynical lids, or upon thefierce, aggressive nose and the threatening, deep-lined brow,without reading Nature's plainest danger-signals. He took no heedof any of us, but his eyes were fixed upon Holmes's face with anexpression in which hatred and amazement were equally blended. "Youfiend!" he kept on muttering. "You clever, clever fiend!"
"Ah, Colonel!" said Holmes, arranging his rumpled collar;"`journeys end in lovers' meetings,' as the old play says. I don'tthink I have had the pleasure of seeing you since you favoured mewith those attentions as I lay on the ledge above the ReichenbachFall."
The Colonel still stared at my friend like a man in a trance."You cunning, cunning fiend!" was all that he could say.
"I have not introduced you yet," said Holmes. "This, gentlemen,is Colonel Sebastian Moran, once of Her Majesty's Indian Army, andthe best heavy game shot that our Eastern Empire has ever produced.I believe I am correct, Colonel, in saying that your bag of tigersstill remains unrivalled?"
The fierce old man said nothing, but still glared at mycompanion; with his savage eyes and bristling moustache he waswonderfully like a tiger himself.
"I wonder that my very simple stratagem could deceive so old ashikari," said Holmes. "It must be very familiar to you. Have younot tethered a young kid under a tree, lain above it with yourrifle, and waited for the bait to bring up your tiger? This emptyhouse is my tree and you are my tiger. You have possibly had otherguns in reserve in case there should be several tigers, or in theunlikely supposition of your own aim failing you. These," hepointed around, "are my other guns. The parallel is exact."
Colonel Moran sprang forward, with a snarl of rage, but theconstables dragged him back. The fury upon his face was terrible tolook at.
"I confess that you had one small surprise for me," said Holmes."I did not anticipate that you would yourself make use of thisempty house and this convenient front window. I had imagined you asoperating from the street, where my friend Lestrade and his merrymen were awaiting you. With that exception all has gone as Iexpected."
Colonel Moran turned to the official detective.
"You may or may not have just cause for arresting me," said he,"but at least there can be no reason why I should submit to thegibes of this person. If I am in the hands of the law let things bedone in a legal way."
"Well, that's reasonable enough," said Lestrade. "Nothingfurther you have to say, Mr. Holmes, before we go?"
Holmes had picked up the powerful air-gun from the floor and wasexamining 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. Foryears I have been aware of its existence, though I have neverbefore had the opportunity of handling it. I commend it veryspecially to your attention, Lestrade, and also the bullets whichfit it."
"You can trust us to look after that, Mr. Holmes," saidLestrade, as the whole party moved towards the door. "Anythingfurther 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 atall. To you, and to you only, belongs the credit of the remarkablearrest which you have effected. Yes, Lestrade, I congratulate you!With your usual happy mixture of cunning and audacity you have gothim."
"Got him! Got whom, Mr. Holmes?"
"The man that the whole force has been seeking in vain --Colonel Sebastian Moran, who shot the Honourable Ronald Adair withan expanding bullet from an air-gun through the open window of thesecond-floor front of No. 427, Park Lane, upon the 30th of lastmonth. That's the charge, Lestrade. And now, Watson, if you canendure the draught from a broken window, I think that half an hourin my study over a cigar may afford you some profitableamusement."
Our old chambers had been left unchanged through the supervisionof Mycroft Holmes and the immediate care of Mrs. Hudson. As Ientered I saw, it is true, an unwonted tidiness, but the oldlandmarks were all in their place. There were the chemical cornerand the acid-stained, deal-topped table. There upon a shelf was therow of formidable scrap-books and books of reference which many ofour fellow-citizens would have been so glad to burn. The diagrams,the violin-case, and the pipe-rack -- even the Persian slipperwhich contained the tobacco -- all met my eyes as I glanced roundme. There were two occupants of the room -- one Mrs. Hudson, whobeamed upon us both as we entered; the other the strange dummywhich had played so important a part in the evening's adventures.It was a wax-coloured model of my friend, so admirably done that itwas a perfect facsimile. It stood on a small pedestal table with anold dressing-gown of Holmes's so draped round it that the illusionfrom the street was absolutely perfect.
"I hope you preserved all precautions, Mrs. Hudson?" saidHolmes.
"I went to it on my knees, sir, just as you told me."
"Excellent. You carried the thing out very well. Did you observewhere the bullet went?"
"Yes, sir. I'm afraid it has spoilt your beautiful bust, for itpassed right through the head and flattened itself on the wall. Ipicked it up from the carpet. Here it is!"
Holmes held it out to me. "A soft revolver bullet, as youperceive, Watson. There's genius in that, for who would expect tofind such a thing fired from an air-gun. All right, Mrs. Hudson, Iam much obliged for your assistance. And now, Watson, let me seeyou in your old seat once more, for there are several points whichI should like to discuss with you."
He had thrown off the seedy frock-coat, and now he was theHolmes of old in the mouse-coloured dressing-gown which he tookfrom his effigy.
"The old shikari's nerves have not lost their steadiness nor hiseyes their keenness," said he, with a laugh, as he inspected theshattered forehead of his bust.
"Plumb in the middle of the back of the head and smack throughthe brain. He was the best shot in India, and I expect that thereare few better in London. Have you heard the name?"
"No, I have not."
"Well, well, such is fame! But, then, if I remember aright, youhad not heard the name of Professor James Moriarty, who had one ofthe great brains of the century. Just give me down my index ofbiographies from the shelf."
He turned over the pages lazily, leaning back in his chair andblowing great clouds from his cigar.
"My collection of M's is a fine one," said he. "Moriarty himselfis enough to make any letter illustrious, and here is Morgan thepoisoner, and Merridew of abominable memory, and Mathews, whoknocked out my left canine in the waiting-room at Charing Cross,and, finally, here is our friend of to-night."
He handed over the book, and I read:
"MORAN, SEBASTIAN, COLONEL. Unemployed. Formerly 1st BengalorePioneers. Born London, 1840. Son of Sir Augustus Moran, C.B., onceBritish Minister to Persia. Educated Eton and Oxford. Served inJowaki Campaign, Afghan Campaign, Charasiab (despatches), Sherpur,and Cabul. Author of `Heavy Game of the Western Himalayas,' 1881;`Three Months in the Jungle,' 1884. Address: Conduit Street. Clubs:The Anglo-Indian, the Tankerville, the Bagatelle Card Club."
On the margin was written, in Holmes's precise hand:
"The second most dangerous man in London."
"This is astonishing," said I, as I handed back the volume. "Theman's career is that of an honourable soldier."
"It is true," Holmes answered. "Up to a certain point he didwell. He was always a man of iron nerve, and the story is stilltold in India how he crawled down a drain after a woundedman-eating tiger. There are some trees, Watson, which grow to acertain height and then suddenly develop some unsightlyeccentricity. You will see it often in humans. I have a theory thatthe individual represents in his development the whole processionof his ancestors, and that such a sudden turn to good or evilstands for some strong influence which came into the line of hispedigree. The person becomes, as it were, the epitome of thehistory of his own family."
"It is surely rather fanciful."
"Well, I don't insist upon it. Whatever the cause, Colonel Moranbegan to go wrong. Without any open scandal he still made India toohot to hold him. He retired, came to London, and again acquired anevil name. It was at this time that he was sought out by ProfessorMoriarty, to whom for a time he was chief of the staff. Moriartysupplied him liberally with money and used him only in one or twovery high-class jobs which no ordinary criminal could haveundertaken. You may have some recollection of the death of Mrs.Stewart, of Lauder, in 1887. Not? Well, I am sure Moran was at thebottom of it; but nothing could be proved. So cleverly was theColonel concealed that even when the Moriarty gang was broken up wecould not incriminate him. You remember at that date, when I calledupon you in your rooms, how I put up the shutters for fear ofair-guns? No doubt you thought me fanciful. I knew exactly what Iwas doing, for I knew of the existence of this remarkable gun, andI knew also that one of the best shots in the world would be behindit. When we were in Switzerland he followed us with Moriarty, andit was undoubtedly he who gave me that evil five minutes on theReichenbach ledge.
"You may think that I read the papers with some attention duringmy sojourn in France, on the look-out for any chance of laying himby the heels. So long as he was free in London my life would reallynot have been worth living. Night and day the shadow would havebeen over me, and sooner or later his chance must have come. Whatcould I do? I could not shoot him at sight, or I should myself bein the dock. There was no use appealing to a magistrate. Theycannot interfere on the strength of what would appear to them to bea wild suspicion. So I could do nothing. But I watched the criminalnews, knowing that sooner or later I should get him. Then came thedeath of this Ronald Adair. My chance had come at last! Knowingwhat I did, was it not certain that Colonel Moran had done it? Hehad played cards with the lad; he had followed him home from theclub; he had shot him through the open window. There was not adoubt of it. The bullets alone are enough to put his head in anoose. I came over at once. I was seen by the sentinel, who would,I knew, direct the Colonel's attention to my presence. He could notfail to connect my sudden return with his crime and to be terriblyalarmed. I was sure that he would make an attempt to get me out ofthe way AT ONCE, and would bring round his murderous weapon forthat purpose. I left him an excellent mark in the window, and,having warned the police that they might be needed -- by the way,Watson, you spotted their presence in that doorway with unerringaccuracy -- I took up what seemed to me to be a judicious post forobservation, never dreaming that he would choose the same spot forhis attack. Now, my dear Watson, does anything remain for me toexplain?"
"Yes," said I. "You have not made it clear what was ColonelMoran's motive in murdering the Honourable Ronald Adair."
"Ah! my dear Watson, there we come into those realms ofconjecture where the most logical mind may be at fault. Each mayform his own hypothesis upon the present evidence, and yours is aslikely to be correct as mine."
"You have formed one, then?"
"I think that it is not difficult to explain the facts. It cameout in evidence that Colonel Moran and young Adair had between themwon a considerable amount of money. Now, Moran undoubtedly playedfoul -- of that I have long been aware. I believe that on the dayof the murder Adair had discovered that Moran was cheating. Verylikely he had spoken to him privately, and had threatened to exposehim unless he voluntarily resigned his membership of the club andpromised not to play cards again. It is unlikely that a youngsterlike Adair would at once make a hideous scandal by exposing awell-known man so much older than himself. Probably he acted as Isuggest. The exclusion from his clubs would mean ruin to Moran, wholived by his ill-gotten card gains. He therefore murdered Adair,who at the time was endeavouring to work out how much money heshould himself return, since he could not profit by his partner'sfoul play. He locked the door lest the ladies should surprise himand 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."
"It will be verified or disproved at the trial. Meanwhile, comewhat may, Colonel Moran will trouble us no more, the famous air-gunof Von Herder will embellish the Scotland Yard Museum, and onceagain Mr. Sherlock Holmes is free to devote his life to examiningthose interesting little problems which the complex life of Londonso plentifully presents."
ADVENTURE II. THE ADVENTURE OF THE NORWOODBUILDER
"FROM the point of view of the criminal expert," said Mr.Sherlock Holmes, "London has become a singularly uninteresting citysince the death of the late lamented Professor Moriarty."
"I can hardly think that you would find many decent citizens toagree with you," I answered.
"Well, well, I must not be selfish," said he, with a smile, ashe pushed back his chair from the breakfast-table. "The communityis certainly the gainer, and no one the loser, save the poorout-of-work specialist, whose occupation has gone. With that man inthe field one's morning paper presented infinite possibilities.Often it was only the smallest trace, Watson, the faintestindication, and yet it was enough to tell me that the greatmalignant brain was there, as the gentlest tremors of the edges ofthe web remind one of the foul spider which lurks in the centre.Petty thefts, wanton assaults, purposeless outrage -- to the manwho held the clue all could be worked into one connected whole. Tothe scientific student of the higher criminal world no capital inEurope offered the advantages which London then possessed. But now----" He shrugged his shoulders in humorous deprecation of thestate of things which he had himself done so much to produce.
At the time of which I speak Holmes had been back for somemonths, and I, at his request, had sold my practice and returned toshare the old quarters in Baker Street. A young doctor, namedVerner, had purchased my small Kensington practice, and given withastonishingly little demur the highest price that I ventured to ask-- an incident which only explained itself some years later when Ifound that Verner was a distant relation of Holmes's, and that itwas my friend who had really found the money.
Our months of partnership had not been so uneventful as he hadstated, for I find, on looking over my notes, that this periodincludes the case of the papers of Ex-President Murillo, and alsothe shocking affair of the Dutch steamship FRIESLAND, which sonearly cost us both our lives. His cold and proud nature was alwaysaverse, however, to anything in the shape of public applause, andhe bound me in the most stringent terms to say no further word ofhimself, his methods, or his successes -- a prohibition which, as Ihave explained, has only now been removed.
Mr. Sherlock Holmes was leaning back in his chair after hiswhimsical protest, and was unfolding his morning paper in aleisurely fashion, when our attention was arrested by a tremendousring at the bell, followed immediately by a hollow drumming sound,as if someone were beating on the outer door with his fist. As itopened there came a tumultuous rush into the hall, rapid feetclattered up the stair, and an instant later a wild-eyed andfrantic young man, pale, dishevelled, and palpitating, burst intothe room. He looked from one to the other of us, and under our gazeof inquiry he became conscious that some apology was needed forthis unceremonious entry.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Holmes," he cried. "You mustn't blame me. I amnearly mad. Mr. Holmes, I am the unhappy John HectorMcFarlane."
He made the announcement as if the name alone would explain bothhis visit and its manner; but I could see by my companion'sunresponsive face that it meant no more to him than to me.
"Have a cigarette, Mr. McFarlane," said he, pushing his caseacross. "I am sure that with your symptoms my friend Dr. Watsonhere would prescribe a sedative. The weather has been so very warmthese last few days. Now, if you feel a little more composed, Ishould be glad if you would sit down in that chair and tell us veryslowly and quietly who you are and what it is that you want. Youmentioned your name as if I should recognise it, but I assure youthat, beyond the obvious facts that you are a bachelor, asolicitor, a Freemason, and an asthmatic, I know nothing whateverabout you."
Familiar as I was with my friend's methods, it was not difficultfor me to follow his deductions, and to observe the untidiness ofattire, the sheaf of legal papers, the watch-charm, and thebreathing which had prompted them. Our client, however, stared inamazement.
"Yes, I am all that, Mr. Holmes, and in addition I am the mostunfortunate man at this moment in London. For Heaven's sake don'tabandon me, Mr. Holmes! If they come to arrest me before I havefinished my story, make them give me time so that I may tell youthe whole truth. I could go to gaol happy if I knew that you wereworking for me outside."
"Arrest you!" said Holmes. "This is really most grati -- mostinteresting. On what charge do you expect to be arrested?"
"Upon the charge of murdering Mr. Jonas Oldacre, of LowerNorwood."
My companion's expressive face showed a sympathy which was not,I am afraid, entirely unmixed with satisfaction.
"Dear me," said he; "it was only this moment at breakfast that Iwas saying to my friend, Dr. Watson, that sensational cases haddisappeared out of our papers."
Our visitor stretched forward a quivering hand and picked up theDAILY TELEGRAPH, which still lay upon Holmes's knee.
"If you had looked at it, sir, you would have seen at a glancewhat the errand is on which I have come to you this morning. I feelas if my name and my misfortune must be in every man's mouth." Heturned it over to expose the central page. "Here it is, and withyour permission I will read it to you. Listen to this, Mr. Holmes.The head-lines are: `Mysterious Affair at Lower Norwood.Disappearance of a Well-known Builder. Suspicion of Murder andArson. A Clue to the Criminal.' That is the clue which they arealready following, Mr. Holmes, and I know that it leads infalliblyto me. I have been followed from London Bridge Station, and I amsure that they are only waiting for the warrant to arrest me. Itwill break my mother's heart -- it will break her heart!" He wrunghis hands in an agony of apprehension, and swayed backwards andforwards in his chair.
I looked with interest upon this man, who was accused of beingthe perpetrator of a crime of violence. He was flaxen-haired andhandsome in a washed-out negative fashion, with frightened blueeyes and a clean-shaven face, with a weak, sensitive mouth. His agemay have been about twenty-seven; his dress and bearing that of agentleman. From the pocket of his light summer overcoat protrudedthe bundle of endorsed papers 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 me the paragraph inquestion?"
Underneath the vigorous head-lines which our client had quoted Iread the 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 he hascarried on his business as a builder for many years. Mr. Oldacre isa bachelor, fifty-two years of age, and lives in Deep Dene House,at the Sydenham end of the road of that name. He has had thereputation 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 amassed considerable wealth.A small timber-yard still exists, however, at the back of thehouse, and last night, about twelve o'clock, an alarm was giventhat one of the stacks was on fire. The engines were soon upon thespot, but the dry wood burned with great fury, and it wasimpossible to arrest the conflagration until the stack had beenentirely consumed. Up to this point the incident bore theappearance of an ordinary accident, but fresh indications seem topoint to serious crime. Surprise was expressed at the absence ofthe master of the establishment from the scene of the fire, and aninquiry followed, which showed that he had disappeared from thehouse. An examination of his room revealed that the bed had notbeen slept in, that a safe which stood in it was open, that anumber of important papers were scattered about the room, and,finally, that there were signs of a murderous struggle, slighttraces of blood being found within the room, and an oakenwalking-stick, which also showed stains of blood upon the handle.It is known that Mr. Jonas Oldacre had received a late visitor inhis bedroom upon that night, and the stick found has beenidentified as the property of this person, who is a young Londonsolicitor named John Hector McFarlane, junior partner of Graham andMcFarlane, of 426, Gresham Buildings, E.C. The police believe thatthey have evidence in their possession which supplies a veryconvincing motive for the crime, and altogether it cannot bedoubted that sensational developments will follow.
LATER. -- It is rumoured as we go to press that Mr. John HectorMcFarlane has actually been arrested on the charge of the murder ofMr. 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) were found tobe open, that there were marks as if some bulky object had beendragged across to the wood-pile, and, finally, it is asserted thatcharred remains have been found among the charcoal ashes of thefire. The police theory is that a most sensational crime has beencommitted, that the victim was clubbed to death in his own bedroom,his papers rifled, and his dead body dragged across to thewood-stack, which was then ignited so as to hide all traces of thecrime. The conduct of the criminal investigation has been left inthe experienced hands of Inspector Lestrade, of Scotland Yard, whois following up the clues with his accustomed energy andsagacity.
Sherlock Holmes listened with closed eyes and finger-tipstogether to this remarkable account.
"The case has certainly some points of interest," said he, inhis languid fashion. "May I ask, in the first place, Mr. McFarlane,how it is that you are still at liberty, since there appears to beenough evidence to justify your 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, I stayed at an hotel in Norwood, and came to mybusiness from there. I knew nothing of this affair until I was inthe train, when I read what you have just heard. I at once saw thehorrible danger of my position, and I hurried to put the case intoyour hands. I have no doubt that I should have been arrested eitherat my City office or at my home. A man followed me from LondonBridge Station, and I have no doubt --- Great Heaven, what isthat?"
It was a clang of the bell, followed instantly by heavy stepsupon the stair. A moment later our old friend Lestrade appeared inthe doorway. Over his shoulder I caught a glimpse of one or twouniformed policemen outside.
"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, ofLower Norwood."
McFarlane turned to us with a gesture of despair, and sank intohis chair once more like one who is crushed.
"One moment, Lestrade," said Holmes. "Half an hour more or lesscan make no difference to you, and the gentleman was about to giveus an account of this very interesting affair, which might aid usin clearing it up."
"I think there will be no difficulty in clearing it up," saidLestrade, grimly.
"None the less, with your permission, I should be muchinterested to hear his account."
"Well, Mr. Holmes, it is difficult for me to refuse youanything, for you have been of use to the force once or twice inthe past, and we owe you a good turn at Scotland Yard," saidLestrade. "At the same time I must remain with my prisoner, and Iam bound to warn him that anything he may say will appear inevidence against him."
"I wish nothing better," said our client. "All I ask is that youshould hear and recognise the absolute truth."
Lestrade looked at his watch. "I'll give you half an hour," saidhe.
"I must explain first," said McFarlane, "that I knew nothing ofMr. Jonas Oldacre. His name was familiar to me, for many years agomy parents were acquainted with him, but they drifted apart. I wasvery much surprised, therefore, when yesterday, about three o'clockin the afternoon, he walked into my office in the City. But I wasstill more astonished when he told me the object of his visit. Hehad in his hand several sheets of a note-book, covered withscribbled writing -- here they are -- and he laid them on mytable.
"`Here is my will,' said he. `I want you, Mr. McFarlane, to castit into proper legal shape. I will sit here while you do so.'
"I set myself to copy it, and you can imagine my astonishmentwhen I found that, with some reservations, he had left all hisproperty to me. He was a strange little, ferret-like man, withwhite eyelashes, and when I looked up at him I found his keen greyeyes fixed upon me with an amused expression. I could hardlybelieve my own senses as I read the terms of the will; but heexplained that he was a bachelor with hardly any living relation,that he had known my parents in his youth, and that he had alwaysheard of me as a very deserving young man, and was assured that hismoney would be in worthy hands. Of course, I could only stammer outmy thanks. The will was duly finished, signed, and witnessed by myclerk. This is it on the blue paper, and these slips, as I haveexplained, are the rough draft. Mr. Jonas Oldacre then informed methat there were a number of documents -- building leases,title-deeds, mortgages, scrip, and so forth -- which it wasnecessary that I should see and understand. He said that his mindwould not be easy until the whole thing was settled, and he beggedme to come out to his house at Norwood that night, bringing thewill with me, and to arrange matters. `Remember, my boy, not oneword to your parents about the affair until everything is settled.We will keep it as a little surprise for them.' He was veryinsistent upon this point, and made me promise it faithfully.
"You can imagine, Mr. Holmes, that I was not in a humour torefuse him anything that he might ask. He was my benefactor, andall my desire was to carry out his wishes in every particular. Isent a telegram home, therefore, to say that I had importantbusiness on hand, and that it was impossible for me to say how lateI might be. Mr. Oldacre had told me that he would like me to havesupper with him at nine, as he might not be home before that hour.I had some difficulty in finding his house, however, and it wasnearly half-past before I reached it. I found him ---"
"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 hisnarrative:--
"I was shown by this woman into a sitting-room, where a frugalsupper was laid out. Afterwards Mr. Jonas Oldacre led me into hisbedroom, in which there stood a heavy safe. This he opened and tookout a mass of documents, which we went over together. It wasbetween eleven and twelve when we finished. He remarked that wemust not disturb the housekeeper. He showed me out through his ownFrench window, which had 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, I remember how he pulled it up in order to swing open thewindow. I could not find my stick, and he said, `Never mind, myboy; I shall see a good deal of you now, I hope, and I will keepyour stick until you come back to claim it.' I left him there, thesafe open, and the papers made up in packets upon the table. It wasso late that I could not get back to Blackheath, so I spent thenight at the Anerley Arms, and I knew nothing more until I read ofthis 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,with his enigmatical smile. Lestrade had learned by moreexperiences than he would care to acknowledge that that razor-likebrain could cut through that which was impenetrable to him. I sawhim look curiously at my companion.
"I think I should like to have a word with you presently, Mr.Sherlock Holmes," said he. "Now, Mr. McFarlane, two of myconstables are at the door and there is a four-wheeler waiting."The wretched young man arose, and with a last beseeching glance atus walked from the room. The officers conducted him to the cab, butLestrade remained.
Holmes had picked up the pages which formed the rough draft ofthe will, and was looking at them with the keenest interest uponhis face.
"There are some points about that document, Lestrade, are therenot?" 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 thesecond page, and one or two at the end. Those are as clear asprint," said he; "but the writing in between is very bad, and thereare three places where I cannot 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 representsstations, the bad writing movement, and the very bad writingpassing over points. A scientific expert would pronounce at oncethat this was drawn up on a suburban line, since nowhere save inthe immediate vicinity of a great city could there be so quick asuccession of points. Granting that his whole journey was occupiedin drawing up the will, then the train was an express, onlystopping 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 man's story to the extent thatthe will was drawn up by Jonas Oldacre in his journey yesterday. Itis curious -- is it not? -- that a man should draw up so importanta document in so haphazard a fashion. It suggests that he did notthink it was going to be of much practical importance. If a mandrew up a will which he did not intend ever to be effective hemight do it so."
"Well, he drew up his own death-warrant at the same time," saidLestrade.
"Oh, you think so?"
"Don't you?"
"Well, it is quite possible; but the case is not clear to meyet."
"Not clear? Well, if that isn't clear, what COULD be clear? Hereis a young man who learns suddenly that if a certain older man dieshe will succeed to a fortune. What does he do? He says nothing toanyone, but he arranges that he shall go out on some pretext to seehis client that night; he waits until the only other person in thehouse is in bed, and then in the solitude of a man's room hemurders him, burns his body in the wood-pile, and departs to aneighbouring hotel. The blood-stains in the room and also on thestick are very slight. It is probable that he imagined his crime tobe a bloodless one, and hoped that if the body were consumed itwould hide all traces of the method of his death -- traces whichfor some reason must have pointed to him. Is all this notobvious?"
"It strikes me, my good Lestrade, as being just a trifle tooobvious," said Holmes. "You do not add imagination to your othergreat qualities; but if you could for one moment put yourself inthe place of this young man, would you choose the very night afterthe will had been made to commit your crime? Would it not seemdangerous to you to make so very close a relation between the twoincidents? Again, would you choose an occasion when you are knownto be in the house, when a servant has let you in? And, finally,would you take the great pains to conceal the body and yet leaveyour 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 acriminal is often flurried and does things which a cool man wouldavoid. He was very likely afraid to go back to the room. Give meanother theory that would fit the facts."
"I could very easily give you half-a-dozen," said Holmes. "Here,for example, is a very possible and even probable one. I make you afree present of it. The older man is showing documents which are ofevident value. A passing tramp sees them through the window, theblind of which is only half down. Exit the solicitor. Enter thetramp! He seizes a stick, which he observes there, kills Oldacre,and departs after burning the body."
"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 hadbeen committed."
"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 mannerwas less absolutely assured than before.
"Well, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, you may look for your tramp, andwhile you are finding him we will hold on to our man. The futurewill show which is right. Just notice this point, Mr. Holmes: thatso far as we know none of the papers were removed, and that theprisoner is the one man in the world who had no reason for removingthem, since he was heir-at-law and would come into them in anycase."
My friend seemed struck by this remark.
"I don't mean to deny that the evidence is in some ways verystrongly in favour of your theory," said he. "I only wish to pointout that there are other theories possible. As you say, the futurewill decide. Good morning! I dare say that in the course of the dayI shall drop in at Norwood and see how you are getting on."
When the detective departed my friend rose and made hispreparations for the day's work with the alert air of a man who hasa congenial task before him.
"My first movement, Watson," said he, as he bustled into hisfrock-coat, "must, as I said, be in the direction ofBlackheath."
"And why not Norwood?"
"Because we have in this case one singular incident coming closeto the heels of another singular incident. The police are makingthe mistake of concentrating their attention upon the second,because it happens to be the one which is actually criminal. But itis evident to me that the logical way to approach the case is tobegin by trying to throw some light upon the first incident -- thecurious will, so suddenly made, and to so unexpected an heir. Itmay do something to simplify what followed. No, my dear fellow, Idon't think you can help me. There is no prospect of danger, or Ishould not dream of stirring out without you. I trust that when Isee you in the evening I will be able to report that I have beenable to do something for this unfortunate youngster who has thrownhimself upon my protection."
It was late when my friend returned, and I could see by a glanceat his haggard and anxious face that the high hopes with which hehad started had not been fulfilled. For an hour he droned away uponhis violin, endeavouring to soothe his own ruffled spirits. At lasthe flung down the instrument and plunged into a detailed account ofhis misadventures.
"It's all going wrong, Watson -- all as wrong as it can go. Ikept a bold face before Lestrade, but, upon my soul, I believe thatfor once the fellow is on the right track and we are on the wrong.All my instincts are one way and all the facts are the other, and Imuch fear that British juries have not yet attained that pitch ofintelligence when they will give the preference to my theories overLestrade's facts."
"Did you go to Blackheath?"
"Yes, Watson, I went there, and I found very quickly that thelate lamented Oldacre was a pretty considerable black-guard. Thefather was away in search of his son. The mother was at home -- alittle, fluffy, blue-eyed person, in a tremor of fear andindignation. Of course, she would not admit even the possibility ofhis guilt. But she would not express either surprise or regret overthe fate of Oldacre. On the contrary, she spoke of him with suchbitterness that she was unconsciously considerably strengtheningthe case of the police, for, of course, if her son had heard herspeak of the man in this fashion it would predispose him towardshatred and violence. `He was more like a malignant and cunning apethan a human being,' said she, `and he always was, ever since hewas a young man.'
"`You knew him at that time?' said I.
"`Yes, I knew him well; in fact, he was an old suitor of mine.Thank Heaven that I had the sense to turn away from him and tomarry a better, if a poorer, man. I was engaged to him, Mr. Holmes,when I heard a shocking story of how he had turned a cat loose inan aviary, and I was so horrified at his brutal cruelty that Iwould have nothing more to do with him.' She rummaged in a bureau,and presently she produced a photograph of a woman, shamefullydefaced and mutilated with a knife. `That is my own photograph,'she said. `He sent it to me in that state, with his curse, upon mywedding morning.'
"`Well,' said I, `at least he has forgiven you now, since he hasleft all his 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 son's hands are guiltless of hisblood.'
"Well, I tried one or two leads, but could get at nothing whichwould help our hypothesis, and several points which would makeagainst it. I gave it up at last and off I went to Norwood.
"This place, Deep Dene House, is a big modern villa of staringbrick, standing back in its own grounds, with a laurel-clumped lawnin front of it. To the right and some distance back from the roadwas the timber-yard which had been the scene of the fire. Here's arough plan on a leaf of my note-book. This window on the left isthe one which opens into Oldacre's room. You can look into it fromthe road, you see. That is about the only bit of consolation I havehad to-day. Lestrade was not there, but his head constable did thehonours. They had just made a great treasure-trove. They had spentthe morning raking among the ashes of the burned wood-pile, andbesides the charred organic remains they had secured severaldiscoloured metal discs. I examined them with care, and there wasno doubt that they were trouser buttons. I even distinguished thatone of them was marked with the name of `Hyams,' who was Oldacre'stailor. I then worked the lawn very carefully for signs and traces,but this drought has made everything as hard as iron. Nothing wasto be seen save that some body or bundle had been dragged through alow privet hedge which is in a line with the wood-pile. All that,of course, fits in with the official theory. I crawled about thelawn with an August sun on my back, but I got up at the end of anhour no wiser than before.
"Well, after this fiasco I went into the bedroom and examinedthat also. The blood-stains were very slight, mere smears anddiscolorations, but undoubtedly fresh. The stick had been removed,but there also the marks were slight. There is no doubt about thestick belonging to our client. He admits it. Footmarks of both mencould be made out on the carpet, but none of any third person,which again is a trick for the other side. They were piling uptheir score all the time and we were at a standstill.
"Only one little gleam of hope did I get -- and yet it amountedto nothing. I examined the contents of the safe, most of which hadbeen taken out and left on the table. The papers had been made upinto sealed envelopes, one or two of which had been opened by thepolice. They were not, so far as I could judge, of any great value,nor did the bank-book show that Mr. Oldacre was in such veryaffluent circumstances. But it seemed to me that all the paperswere not there. There were allusions to some deeds -- possibly themore valuable -- which I could not find. This, of course, if wecould definitely prove it, would turn Lestrade's argument againsthimself, for who would steal a thing if he knew that he wouldshortly inherit it?
"Finally, having drawn every other cover and picked up no scent,I tried my luck with the housekeeper. Mrs. Lexington is her name, alittle, dark, silent person, with suspicious and sidelong eyes. Shecould tell us something if she would -- I am convinced of it. Butshe was as close as wax. Yes, she had let Mr. McFarlane in athalf-past nine. She wished her hand had withered before she haddone so. She had gone to bed at half-past ten. Her room was at theother end of the house, and she could hear nothing of what passed.Mr. McFarlane had left his hat, and to the best of her belief hisstick, in the hall. She had been awakened by the alarm of fire. Herpoor, dear master had certainly been murdered. Had he any enemies?Well, every man had enemies, but Mr. Oldacre kept himself very muchto himself, and only met people in the way of business. She hadseen the buttons, and was sure that they belonged to the clotheswhich he had worn last night. The wood-pile was very dry, for ithad not rained for a month. It burned like tinder, and by the timeshe reached the spot nothing could be seen but flames. She and allthe firemen smelled the burned flesh from inside it. She knewnothing of the papers, nor of Mr. Oldacre's private affairs.
"So, my dear Watson, there's my report of a failure. And yet --and yet ---" -- he clenched his thin hands in a paroxysm ofconviction -- "I KNOW it's all wrong. I feel it in my bones. Thereis something that has not come out, and that housekeeper knows it.There was a sort of sulky defiance in her eyes, which only goeswith guilty knowledge. However, there's no good talking any moreabout it, Watson; but unless some lucky chance comes our way I fearthat the Norwood Disappearance Case will not figure in thatchronicle of our successes which I foresee that a patient publicwill sooner or later have to endure."
"Surely," said I, "the man's appearance would go far with anyjury?"
"That is a dangerous argument, my dear Watson. You remember thatterrible murderer, Bert Stevens, who wanted us to get him off in'87? Was there ever a more mild-mannered, Sunday-school youngman?"
"It is true."
"Unless we succeed in establishing an alternative theory thisman is lost. You can hardly find a flaw in the case which can nowbe presented against him, and all further investigation has servedto strengthen it. By the way, there is one curious little pointabout those papers which may serve us as the starting-point for aninquiry. On looking over the bank-book I found that the low stateof the balance was principally due to large cheques which have beenmade out during the last year to Mr. Cornelius. I confess that Ishould be interested to know who this Mr. Cornelius may be withwhom a retired builder has such very large transactions. Is itpossible that he has had a hand in the affair? Cornelius might be abroker, but we have found no scrip to correspond with these largepayments. Failing any other indication my researches must now takethe direction of an inquiry at the bank for the gentleman who hascashed these cheques. But I fear, my dear fellow, that our casewill end ingloriously by Lestrade hanging our client, which willcertainly be a triumph for Scotland Yard."
I do not know how far Sherlock Holmes took any sleep that night,but when I came down to breakfast I found him pale and harassed,his bright eyes the brighter for the dark shadows round them. Thecarpet round his chair was littered with cigarette-ends and withthe early editions of the morning papers. An open telegram lay uponthe table.
"What do you think of this, Watson?" he asked, tossing itacross.
It was from Norwood, and ran as follows:--
"IMPORTANT FRESH EVIDENCE TO HAND. MCFARLANE'S GUILT DEFINITELYESTABLISHED. ADVISE YOU TO ABANDON CASE. -- LESTRADE."
"This sounds serious," said I.
"It is Lestrade's little cock-a-doodle of victory," Holmesanswered, with a bitter smile. "And yet it may be premature toabandon the case. After all, important fresh evidence is atwo-edged thing, and may possibly cut in a very different directionto that which Lestrade imagines. Take your breakfast, Watson, andwe will go out together and see what we can do. I feel as if Ishall need your company and your moral support to-day."
My friend had no breakfast himself, for it was one of hispeculiarities that in his more intense moments he would permithimself no food, and I have known him presume upon his ironstrength until he has fainted from pure inanition. "At present Icannot spare energy and nerve force for digestion," he would say inanswer to my medical remonstrances. I was not surprised, therefore,when this morning he left his untouched meal behind him and startedwith me for Norwood. A crowd of morbid sightseers were stillgathered round Deep Dene House, which was just such a suburbanvilla as I had pictured. Within the gates Lestrade met us, his faceflushed 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 companionanswered.
"But we formed ours yesterday, and now it proves to be correct;so you must acknowledge that we have been a little in front of youthis time, Mr. Holmes."
"You certainly have the air of something unusual havingoccurred," said Holmes.
Lestrade laughed loudly.
"You don't like being beaten any more than the rest of us do,"said he. "A man can't expect always to have it his own way, can he,Dr. Watson? Step this way, if you please, gentlemen, and I think Ican convince you once for all that it was John McFarlane who didthis crime."
He led us through the passage and out into a dark hallbeyond.
"This is where young McFarlane must have come out to get his hatafter the crime was done," said he. "Now, look at this." Withdramatic suddenness he struck a match and by its light exposed astain of blood upon the whitewashed wall. As he held the matchnearer I saw that it was more than a stain. It was the well-markedprint 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 McFarlane's right thumb, taken by my ordersthis morning?"
As he held the waxen print close to the blood-stain it did nottake a magnifying glass to see that the two were undoubtedly fromthe same thumb. It was evident to me that our unfortunate clientwas 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 athim. An extraordinary change had come over his face. It waswrithing with inward merriment. His two eyes were shining likestars. It seemed to me that he was making desperate efforts torestrain 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! Sucha nice young man to look at! It is a lesson to us not to trust ourown judgment, is it not, Lestrade?"
"Yes, some of us are a little too much inclined to be cocksure,Mr. Holmes," said Lestrade. The man's insolence was maddening, butwe could not resent it.
"What a providential thing that this young man should press hisright thumb against the wall in taking his hat from the peg! Such avery natural action, too, if you come to think of it." Holmes wasoutwardly calm, but his whole body gave a wriggle of suppressedexcitement as he spoke. "By the way, Lestrade, who made thisremarkable discovery?"
"It was the housekeeper, Mrs. Lexington, who drew the nightconstable's 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 didn't the police see this mark yesterday?"
"Well, we had no particular reason to make a careful examinationof the hall. Besides, it's not in a very prominent place, as yousee."
"No, no, of course not. I suppose there is no doubt that themark was there yesterday?"
Lestrade looked at Holmes as if he thought he was going out ofhis mind. I confess that I was myself surprised both at hishilarious manner and at his rather wild observation.
"I don't know whether you think that McFarlane came out of gaolin the dead of the night in order to strengthen the evidenceagainst himself," said Lestrade. "I leave it to any expert in theworld whether that is not the mark of his thumb."
"It is unquestionably the mark of his thumb."
"There, that's enough," said Lestrade. "I am a practical man,Mr. Holmes, and when I have got my evidence I come to myconclusions. If you have anything to say you will find me writingmy report in the sitting-room."
Holmes had recovered his equanimity, though I still seemed todetect gleams 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 outsome hopes for our client."
"I am delighted to hear it," said I, heartily. "I was afraid itwas all up with him."
"I would hardly go so far as to say that, my dear Watson. Thefact is that there is one really serious flaw in this evidence towhich our friend attaches so much importance."
"Indeed, Holmes! What is it?"
"Only this: that I KNOW that that mark was not there when Iexamined the hall yesterday. And now, Watson, let us have a littlestroll round in the sunshine."
With a confused brain, but with a heart into which some warmthof hope was returning, I accompanied my friend in a walk round thegarden. Holmes took each face of the house in turn and examined itwith great interest. He then led the way inside and went over thewhole building from basement to attics. Most of the rooms wereunfurnished, but none the less Holmes inspected them all minutely.Finally, on the top corridor, which ran outside three untenantedbedrooms, he again was seized with a spasm 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 friendLestrade into our confidence. He has had his little smile at ourexpense, and perhaps we may do as much by him if my reading of thisproblem proves to be correct. Yes, yes; I think I see how we shouldapproach it."
The Scotland Yard inspector was still writing in the parlourwhen Holmes interrupted him.
"I understood that you were writing a report of this case," saidhe.
"So I am."
"Don't you think it may be a little premature? I can't helpthinking that your evidence is not complete."
Lestrade knew my friend too well to disregard his words. He laiddown his pen and looked curiously at him.
"What do you mean, Mr. Holmes?"
"Only that there is an important witness whom you have notseen."
"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-bodied men with powerful voices?"
"I have no doubt they are, though I fail to see what theirvoices have to do with it."
"Perhaps I can help you to see that and one or two other thingsas well," said Holmes. "Kindly summon your men, and I willtry."
Five minutes later three policemen had assembled in thehall.
"In the outhouse you will find a considerable quantity ofstraw," said Holmes. "I will ask you to carry in two bundles of it.I think it will be of the greatest assistance in producing thewitness whom I require. Thank you very much. I believe you havesome matches in your pocket, Watson. Now, Mr. Lestrade, I will askyou all to accompany me to the top landing."
As I have said, there was a broad corridor there, which ranoutside three empty bedrooms. At one end of the corridor we wereall marshalled by Sherlock Holmes, the constables grinning andLestrade staring at my friend with amazement, expectation, andderision chasing each other across his features. Holmes stoodbefore us with the air of a conjurer who is 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 oneither side. Now I think that we are all ready."
Lestrade's face had begun to grow red and angry.
"I don't know whether you are playing a game with us, Mr.Sherlock Holmes," said he. "If you know anything, you can surelysay it without all this tomfoolery."
"I assure you, my good Lestrade, that I have an excellent reasonfor everything that I do. You may possibly remember that youchaffed me a little some hours ago, when the sun seemed on yourside of the hedge, so you must not grudge me a little pomp andceremony now. Might I ask you, Watson, to open that window, andthen to put a match to the edge of the straw?"
I did so, and, driven by the draught, a coil of grey smokeswirled down the corridor, while the dry straw crackled andflamed.
"Now we must see if we can find this witness for you, Lestrade.Might I ask you all to join in the cry of `Fire!'? Now, then; one,two, three ---"
"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 endof the corridor, and a little, wizened man darted out of it, like arabbit out of its burrow.
"Capital!" said Holmes, calmly. "Watson, a bucket of water overthe straw. That will do! Lestrade, allow me to present you withyour principal missing witness, Mr. Jonas Oldacre."
The detective stared at the new-comer with blank amazement. Thelatter was blinking in the bright light of the corridor, andpeering at us and at the smouldering fire. It was an odious face --crafty, vicious, malignant, with shifty, light-grey eyes and whiteeyelashes.
"What's this, then?" said Lestrade at last. "What have you beendoing all this time, eh?"
Oldacre gave an uneasy laugh, shrinking back from the furiousred face of the angry detective.
"I have done no harm."
"No harm? You have done your best to get an innocent man hanged.If it wasn't for this gentleman here, I am not sure that you wouldnot have succeeded."
The wretched creature began to whimper.
"I am sure, sir, it was only my practical joke."
"Oh! a joke, was it? You won't find the laugh on your side, Ipromise you. Take him down and keep him in the sitting-room until Icome. Mr. Holmes," he continued, when they had gone, "I could notspeak before the constables, but I don't mind saying, in thepresence of Dr. Watson, that this is the brightest thing that youhave done yet, though it is a mystery to me how you did it. Youhave saved an innocent man's life, and you have prevented a verygrave scandal, which would have ruined my reputation in theForce."
Holmes smiled and clapped Lestrade upon the shoulder.
"Instead of being ruined, my good sir, you will find that yourreputation has been enormously enhanced. Just make a fewalterations in that report which you were writing, and they willunderstand how hard it is to throw dust in the eyes of InspectorLestrade."
"And you don't want your name to appear?"
"Not at all. The work is its own reward. Perhaps I shall get thecredit also at some distant day when I permit my zealous historianto lay out his foolscap once more -- eh, Watson? Well, now, let ussee where this rat has been lurking."
A lath-and-plaster partition had been run across the passage sixfeet from the end, with a door cunningly concealed in it. It waslit within by slits under the eaves. A few articles of furnitureand a supply of food and water were within, together with a numberof books and papers.
"There's the advantage of being a builder," said Holmes, as wecame out. "He was able to fix up his own little hiding-placewithout any confederate -- save, of course, that precioushousekeeper of his, whom I should lose no time in adding to yourbag, Lestrade."
"I'll 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 I paced one corridor and found it six feet shorter than thecorresponding one below, it was pretty clear where he was. Ithought he had not the nerve to lie quiet before an alarm of fire.We could, of course, have gone in and taken him, but it amused meto make him reveal himself; besides, I owed you a littlemystification, Lestrade, for your chaff in the morning."
"Well, sir, you certainly got equal with me on that. But how inthe world 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 a very different sense. I knew it had not been there the daybefore. I pay a good deal of attention to matters of detail, as youmay have observed, and I had examined the hall and was sure thatthe wall was clear. Therefore, it had been put on during thenight."
"But how?"
"Very simply. When those packets were sealed up, Jonas Oldacregot McFarlane to secure one of the seals by putting his thumb uponthe soft wax. It would be done so quickly and so naturally that Idare say the young man himself has no recollection of it. Verylikely it just so happened, and Oldacre had himself no notion ofthe use he would put it to. Brooding over the case in that den ofhis, it suddenly struck him what absolutely damning evidence hecould make against McFarlane by using that thumb-mark. It was thesimplest thing in the world for him to take a wax impression fromthe seal, to moisten it in as much blood as he could get from apin-prick, and to put the mark upon the wall during the night,either with his own hand or with that of his housekeeper. If youexamine among those documents which he took with him into hisretreat I will lay you a wager that you find the seal with thethumb-mark upon it."
"Wonderful!" said Lestrade. "Wonderful! It's all as clear ascrystal, as you put it. But what is the object of this deepdeception, Mr. Holmes?"
It was amusing to me to see how the detective's overbearingmanner had changed suddenly to that of a child asking questions ofits teacher.
"Well, I don't think that is very hard to explain. A very deep,malicious, vindictive person is the gentleman who is now awaitingus downstairs. You know that he was once refused by McFarlane'smother? You don't! I told you that you should go to Blackheathfirst and Norwood afterwards. Well, this injury, as he wouldconsider it, has rankled in his wicked, scheming brain, and all hislife he has longed for vengeance, but never seen his chance. Duringthe last year or two things have gone against him -- secretspeculation, I think -- and he finds himself in a bad way. Hedetermines to swindle his creditors, and for this purpose he payslarge cheques to a certain Mr. Cornelius, who is, I imagine,himself under another name. I have not traced these cheques yet,but I have no doubt that they were banked under that name at someprovincial town where Oldacre from time to time led a doubleexistence. He intended to change his name altogether, draw thismoney, and vanish, starting life again elsewhere."
"Well, that's likely enough."
"It would strike him that in disappearing he might throw allpursuit off his track, and at the same time have an ample andcrushing revenge upon his old sweetheart, if he could give theimpression that he had been murdered by her only child. It was amasterpiece of villainy, and he carried it out like a master. Theidea of the will, which would give an obvious motive for the crime,the secret visit unknown to his own parents, the retention of thestick, the blood, and the animal remains and buttons in thewood-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 hadnot that supreme gift of the artist, the knowledge of when to stop.He wished to improve that which was already perfect -- to draw therope tighter yet round the neck of his unfortunate victim -- and sohe ruined all. Let us descend, Lestrade. There are just one or twoquestions that I would ask him."
The malignant creature was seated in his own parlour with apoliceman upon each side of him.
"It was a joke, my good sir, a practical joke, nothing more," hewhined incessantly. "I assure you, sir, that I simply concealedmyself in order to see the effect of my disappearance, and I amsure that you would not be so unjust as to imagine that I wouldhave allowed any harm to befall poor young Mr. McFarlane."
"That's for a jury to decide," said Lestrade. "Anyhow, we shallhave you on a charge of conspiracy, if not for attemptedmurder."
"And you'll probably find that your creditors will impound thebanking account of Mr. Cornelius," said Holmes.
The little man started and turned his malignant eyes upon myfriend.
"I have to thank you for a good deal," said he. "Perhaps I'llpay my debt some day."
Holmes smiled indulgently.
"I fancy that for some few years you will find your time veryfully occupied," said he. "By the way, what was it you put into thewood-pile besides your old trousers? A dead dog, or rabbits, orwhat? You won't tell? Dear me, how very unkind of you! Well, well,I dare say that a couple of rabbits would account both for theblood and for the charred ashes. If ever you write an account,Watson, you can make rabbits serve your turn."
ADVENTURE III. THE ADVENTURE OF THE DANCING MEN
HOLMES had been seated for some hours in silence with his long,thin back curved over a chemical vessel in which he was brewing aparticularly malodorous product. His head was sunk upon his breast,and he looked from my point of view like a strange, lank bird, withdull grey plumage and a black top-knot.
"So, Watson," said he, suddenly, "you do not propose to investin South African securities?"
I gave a start of astonishment. Accustomed as I was to Holmes'scurious faculties, this sudden intrusion into my most intimatethoughts was utterly inexplicable.
"How on earth do you know that?" I asked.
He wheeled round upon his stool, with a steaming test-tube inhis hand and a gleam of amusement in his deep-set eyes.
"Now, Watson, confess yourself utterly taken aback," saidhe.
"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 absurdlysimple."
"I am sure that I shall say nothing of the kind."
"You see, my dear Watson" -- he propped his test-tube in therack and began to lecture with the air of a professor addressinghis class -- "it is not really difficult to construct a series ofinferences, each dependent upon its predecessor and each simple initself. If, after doing so, one simply knocks out all the centralinferences and presents one's audience with the starting-point andthe conclusion, one may produce a startling, though possibly ameretricious, effect. Now, it was not really difficult, by aninspection of the groove between your left forefinger and thumb, tofeel sure that you did NOT propose to invest your small capital inthe goldfields."
"I see no connection."
"Very likely not; but I can quickly show you a close connection.Here are the missing links of the very simple chain: 1. You hadchalk between your left finger and thumb when you returned from theclub last night. 2. You put chalk there when you play billiards tosteady the cue. 3. You never play billiards except with Thurston.4. You told me four weeks ago that Thurston had an option on someSouth African property which would expire in a month, and which hedesired you to share with him. 5. Your cheque-book is locked in mydrawer, and you have not asked for the key. 6. You do not proposeto invest your money in this manner."
"How absurdly simple!" I cried.
"Quite so!" said he, a little nettled. "Every problem becomesvery childish when once it is explained to you. Here is anunexplained one. See what you can make of that, friend Watson." Hetossed a sheet of paper upon the table and turned once more to hischemical analysis.
I looked with amazement at the absurd hieroglyphics upon thepaper.
"Why, Holmes, it is a child's drawing," I cried.
"Oh, that's your idea!"
"What else should it be?"
"That is what Mr. Hilton Cubitt, of Riding Thorpe Manor,Norfolk, is very anxious to know. This little conundrum came by thefirst post, and he was to follow by the next train. There's a ringat the bell, Watson. I should not be very much surprised if thiswere he."
A heavy step was heard upon the stairs, and an instant laterthere entered a tall, ruddy, clean-shaven gentleman, whose cleareyes and florid cheeks told of a life led far from the fogs ofBaker Street. He seemed to bring a whiff of his strong, fresh,bracing, east-coast air with him as he entered. Having shaken handswith each of us, he was about to sit down when his eye rested uponthe paper with the curious markings, which I had just examined andleft upon the table.
"Well, Mr. Holmes, what do you make of these?" he cried. "Theytold me that you were fond of queer mysteries, and I don't thinkyou can find a queerer one than that. I sent the paper on ahead sothat you might have time to study it before I came."
"It is certainly rather a curious production," said Holmes. "Atfirst sight it would appear to be some childish prank. It consistsof a number of absurd little figures dancing across the paper uponwhich they are drawn. Why should you attribute any importance to sogrotesque an object?"
"I never should, Mr. Holmes. But my wife does. It is frighteningher to death. She says nothing, but I can see terror in her eyes.That's why I want to sift the matter to the bottom."
Holmes held up the paper so that the sunlight shone full uponit. It was a page torn from a note-book. The markings were done inpencil, and ran in this way:--
Holmes examined it for some time, and then, folding it carefullyup, he placed it in his pocket-book.
"This promises to be a most interesting and unusual case," saidhe. "You gave me a few particulars in your letter, Mr. HiltonCubitt, but I should be very much obliged if you would kindly goover it all again for the benefit of my friend, Dr. Watson."
"I'm not much of a story-teller," said our visitor, nervouslyclasping and unclasping his great, strong hands. "You'll just askme anything that I don't make clear. I'll begin at the time of mymarriage last year; but I want to say first of all that, though I'mnot a rich man, my people have been at Ridling Thorpe for a matterof five centuries, and there is no better known family in theCounty of Norfolk. Last year I came up to London for the Jubilee,and I stopped at a boarding-house in Russell Square, becauseParker, the vicar of our parish, was staying in it. There was anAmerican young lady there -- Patrick was the name -- Elsie Patrick.In some way we became friends, until before my month was up I wasas much in love as a man could be. We were quietly married at aregistry office, and we returned to Norfolk a wedded couple. You'llthink it very mad, Mr. Holmes, that a man of a good old familyshould marry a wife in this fashion, knowing nothing of her past orof her people; but if you saw her and knew her it would help you tounderstand.
"She was very straight about it, was Elsie. I can't say that shedid not give me every chance of getting out of it if I wished to doso. `I have had some very disagreeable associations in my life,'said she; `I wish to forget all about them. I would rather neverallude to the past, for it is very painful to me. If you take me,Hilton, you will take a woman who has nothing that she need bepersonally ashamed of; but you will have to be content with my wordfor it, and to allow me to be silent as to all that passed up tothe time when I became yours. If these conditions are too hard,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 saidthose very words to me. I told her that I was content to take heron her own terms, and I have been as good as my word.
"Well, we have been married now for a year, and very happy wehave been. But about a month ago, at the end of June, I saw for thefirst time signs of trouble. One day my wife received a letter fromAmerica. I saw the American stamp. She turned deadly white, readthe letter, and threw it into the fire. She made no allusion to itafterwards, and I made none, for a promise is a promise; but shehas never known an easy hour from that moment. There is always alook of fear upon her face -- a look as if she were waiting andexpecting. She would do better to trust me. She would find that Iwas her best friend. But until she speaks I can say nothing. Mindyou, 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 only a simple Norfolk squire, but there is not a man inEngland who ranks his family honour more highly than I do. Sheknows it well, and she knew it well before she married me. Shewould never bring any stain upon it -- of that I am sure.
"Well, now I come to the queer part of my story. About a weekago -- it was the Tuesday of last week -- I found on one of thewindow-sills a number of absurd little dancing figures, like theseupon the paper. They were scrawled with chalk. I thought that itwas the stable-boy who had drawn them, but the lad swore he knewnothing about it. Anyhow, they had come there during the night. Ihad them washed out, and I only mentioned the matter to my wifeafterwards. To my surprise she took it very seriously, and beggedme if any more came to let her see them. None did come for a week,and then yesterday morning I found this paper lying on the sun-dialin the garden. I showed it to Elsie, and down she dropped in a deadfaint. Since then she has looked like a woman in a dream, halfdazed, and with terror always lurking in her eyes. It was then thatI wrote and sent the paper to you, Mr. Holmes. It was not a thingthat I could take to the police, for they would have laughed at me,but you will tell me what to do. I am not a rich man; but if thereis any danger threatening my little woman I would spend my lastcopper to shield her."
He was a fine creature, this man of the old English soil,simple, straight, and gentle, with his great, earnest blue eyes andbroad, comely face. His love for his wife and his trust in hershone in his features. Holmes had listened to his story with theutmost attention, and now he sat for some time in silentthought.
"Don't you think, Mr. Cubitt," said he, at last, "that your bestplan would be to make a direct appeal to your wife, and to ask herto share her secret with you?"
Hilton Cubitt shook his massive head.
"A promise is a promise, Mr. Holmes. If Elsie wished to tell meshe would. If not, it is not for me to force her confidence. But Iam justified in taking my own line -- and I will."
"Then I will help you with all my heart. In the first place,have you heard of any strangers being seen in yourneighbourhood?"
"No."
"I presume that it is a very quiet place. Any fresh face wouldcause comment?"
"In the immediate neighbourhood, yes. But we have several smallwatering-places not very far away. And the farmers take inlodgers."
"These hieroglyphics have evidently a meaning. If it is a purelyarbitrary one it may be impossible for us to solve it. If, on theother hand, it is systematic, I have no doubt that we shall get tothe bottom of it. But this particular sample is so short that I cando nothing, and the facts which you have brought me are soindefinite that we have no basis for an investigation. I wouldsuggest that you return to Norfolk, that you keep a keen look-out,and that you take an exact copy of any fresh dancing men which mayappear. It is a thousand pities that we have not a reproduction ofthose which were done in chalk upon the window-sill. Make adiscreet inquiry also as to any strangers in the neighbourhood.When you have collected some fresh evidence come to me again. Thatis the best advice which I can give you, Mr. Hilton Cubitt. Ifthere are any pressing fresh developments I shall be always readyto run down and see you in your Norfolk home."
The interview left Sherlock Holmes very thoughtful, and severaltimes in the next few days I saw him take his slip of paper fromhis note-book and look long and earnestly at the curious figuresinscribed upon it. He made no allusion to the affair, however,until one afternoon a fortnight or so later. I was going out whenhe called me back.
"You had better stay here, Watson."
"Why?"
"Because I had a wire from Hilton Cubitt this morning -- youremember Hilton Cubitt, of the dancing men? He was to reachLiverpool Street at one-twenty. He may be here at any moment. Igather from his wire that there have been some new incidents ofimportance."
We had not long to wait, for our Norfolk squire came straightfrom the station as fast as a hansom could bring him. He waslooking worried and depressed, with tired eyes and a linedforehead.
"It's getting on my nerves, this business, Mr. Holmes," said he,as he sank, like a wearied man, into an arm-chair. "It's bad enoughto feel that you are surrounded by unseen, unknown folk, who havesome kind of design upon you; but when, in addition to that, youknow that it is just killing your wife by inches, then it becomesas much as flesh and blood can endure. She's wearing away under it-- just wearing away before my eyes."
"Has she said anything yet?"
"No, Mr. Holmes, she has not. And yet there have been times whenthe poor girl has wanted to speak, and yet could not quite bringherself to take the plunge. I have tried to help her; but I daresay I did it clumsily, and scared her off from it. She has spokenabout my old family, and our reputation in the county, and ourpride in our unsullied honour, and I always felt it was leading tothe point; but somehow it turned off before we got there."
"But you have found out something for yourself?"
"A good deal, Mr. Holmes. I have several fresh dancing menpictures for you to examine, and, what is more important, I haveseen the fellow."
"What, the man who draws them?"
"Yes, I saw him at his work. But I will tell you everything inorder. When I got back after my visit to you, the very first thingI saw next morning was a fresh crop of dancing men. They had beendrawn in chalk upon the black wooden door of the tool-house, whichstands beside the lawn in full view of the front windows. I took anexact copy, and here it is." He unfolded a paper and laid it uponthe table. Here is a copy of the hieroglyphics:--
"Excellent!" said Holmes. "Excellent! Pray continue."
"When I had taken the copy I rubbed out the marks; but twomornings later a fresh inscription had appeared. I have a copy ofit 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, andplaced under a pebble upon the sun-dial. Here it is. The charactersare, as you see, exactly the same as the last one. After that Idetermined to lie in wait; so I got out my revolver and I sat up inmy study, which overlooks the lawn and garden. About two in themorning I was seated by the window, all being dark save for themoonlight outside, when I heard steps behind me, and there was mywife in her dressing-gown. She implored me to come to bed. I toldher frankly that I wished to see who it was who played such absurdtricks 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, youand 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 themorning.'
"Suddenly, as she spoke, I saw her white face grow whiter yet inthe moonlight, and her hand tightened upon my shoulder. Somethingwas moving in the shadow of the tool-house. I saw a dark, creepingfigure which crawled round the corner and squatted in front of thedoor. Seizing my pistol I was rushing out, when my wife threw herarms round me and held me with convulsive strength. I tried tothrow her off, but she clung to me most desperately. At last I gotclear, but by the time I had opened the door and reached the housethe creature was gone. He had left a trace of his presence,however, for there on the door was the very same arrangement ofdancing men which had already twice appeared, and which I havecopied on that paper. There was no other sign of the fellowanywhere, though I ran all over the grounds. And yet the amazingthing is that he must have been there all the time, for when Iexamined the door again in the morning he had scrawled some more ofhis pictures under the 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 itis."
Again he produced a paper. The new dance was in this form:--
"Tell me," said Holmes -- and I could see by his eyes that hewas much excited -- "was this a mere addition to the first, or didit appear to be entirely separate?"
"It was on a different panel of the door."
"Excellent! This is far the most important of all for ourpurpose. It fills me with hopes. Now, Mr. Hilton Cubitt, pleasecontinue your most interesting statement."
"I have nothing more to say, Mr. Holmes, except that I was angrywith my wife that night for having held me back when I might havecaught the skulking rascal. She said that she feared that I mightcome to harm. For an instant it had crossed my mind that perhapswhat she really feared was that HE might come to harm, for I couldnot doubt that she knew who this man was and what he meant by thesestrange signals. But there is a tone in my wife's voice, Mr.Holmes, and a look in her eyes which forbid doubt, and I am surethat it was indeed my own safety that was in her mind. There's thewhole case, and now I want your advice as to what I ought to do. Myown inclination is to put half-a-dozen of my farm lads in theshrubbery, 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," saidHolmes. "How long can you stay in London?"
"I must go back to-day. I would not leave my wife alone allnight for anything. She is very nervous and begged me to comeback."
"I dare say you are right. But if you could have stopped I mightpossibly have been able to return with you in a day or two.Meanwhile you will leave me these papers, and I think that it isvery likely that I shall be able to pay you a visit shortly and tothrow 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 sowell, to see that he was profoundly excited. The moment that HiltonCubitt's broad back had disappeared through the door my comraderushed to the table, laid out all the slips of paper containingdancing men in front of him, and threw himself into an intricateand elaborate calculation. For two hours I watched him as hecovered sheet after sheet of paper with figures and letters, socompletely absorbed in his task that he had evidently forgotten mypresence. Sometimes he was making progress and whistled and sang athis work; sometimes he was puzzled, and would sit for long spellswith 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 acable form. "If my answer to this is as I hope, you will have avery pretty case to add to your collection, Watson," said he. "Iexpect that we shall be able to go down to Norfolk to-morrow, andto take our friend some very definite news as to the secret of hisannoyance."
I confess that I was filled with curiosity, but I was aware thatHolmes liked to make his disclosures at his own time and in his ownway; so I waited until it should suit him to take me into hisconfidence.
But there was a delay in that answering telegram, and two daysof impatience followed, during which Holmes pricked up his ears atevery ring of the bell. On the evening of the second there came aletter from Hilton Cubitt. All was quiet with him, save that a longinscription had appeared that morning upon the pedestal of thesun-dial. He inclosed a copy of it, which is here reproduced:--
Holmes bent over this grotesque frieze for some minutes, andthen suddenly sprang to his feet with an exclamation of surpriseand dismay. His face was haggard with anxiety.
"We have let this affair go far enough," said he. "Is there atrain to North 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 themorning," said Holmes. "Our presence is most urgently needed. Ah!here is our expected cablegram. One moment, Mrs. Hudson; there maybe an answer. No, that is quite as I expected. This message makesit even more essential that we should not lose an hour in lettingHilton Cubitt know how matters stand, for it is a singular and adangerous web in which our simple Norfolk squire is entangled."
So, indeed, it proved, and as I come to the dark conclusion of astory which had seemed to me to be only childish and bizarre Iexperience once again the dismay and horror with which I wasfilled. Would that I had some brighter ending to communicate to myreaders, but these are the chronicles of fact, and I must follow totheir dark crisis the strange chain of events which for some daysmade Ridling Thorpe Manor a household word through the length andbreadth of England.
We had hardly alighted at North Walsham, and mentioned the nameof our destination, when the station-master hurried towards us. "Isuppose that you are the detectives from London?" said he.
A look of annoyance passed over Holmes's face.
"What makes you think such a thing?"
"Because Inspector Martin from Norwich has just passed through.But maybe you are the surgeons. She's not dead -- or wasn't by lastaccounts. You may be in time to save her yet -- though it be forthe gallows."
Holmes's brow was dark with anxiety.
"We are going to Ridling Thorpe Manor," said he, "but we haveheard nothing of what has passed there."
"It's a terrible business," said the station-master. "They areshot, both Mr. Hilton Cubitt and his wife. She shot him and thenherself -- so the servants say. He's dead and her life is despairedof. Dear, dear, one of the oldest families in the County ofNorfolk, and one of the most honoured."
Without a word Holmes hurried to a carriage, and during the longseven miles' drive he never opened his mouth. Seldom have I seenhim so utterly despondent. He had been uneasy during all ourjourney from town, and I had observed that he had turned over themorning papers with anxious attention; but now this suddenrealization of his worst fears left him in a blank melancholy. Heleaned back in his seat, lost in gloomy speculation. Yet there wasmuch around to interest us, for we were passing through as singulara country-side as any in England, where a few scattered cottagesrepresented the population of to-day, while on every hand enormoussquare-towered churches bristled up from the flat, green landscapeand told of the glory and prosperity of old East Anglia. At lastthe violet rim of the German Ocean appeared over the green edge ofthe Norfolk coast, and the driver pointed with his whip to two oldbrick and timber gables which projected from a grove of trees."That's Ridling Thorpe Manor," said he.
As we drove up to the porticoed front door I observed in frontof it, beside the tennis lawn, the black tool-house and thepedestalled sun-dial with which we had such strange associations. Adapper little man, with a quick, alert manner and a waxedmoustache, had just descended from a high dog-cart. He introducedhimself as Inspector Martin, of the Norfolk Constabulary, and hewas considerably astonished when he heard the name of mycompanion.
"Why, Mr. Holmes, the crime was only committed at three thismorning. How could you hear of it in London and get to the spot assoon as I?"
"I anticipated it. I came in the hope of preventing it."
"Then you must have important evidence of which we are ignorant,for they were said to be a most united couple."
"I have only the evidence of the dancing men," said Holmes. "Iwill explain the matter to you later. Meanwhile, since it is toolate to prevent this tragedy, I am very anxious that I should usethe knowledge which I possess in order to ensure that justice bedone. Will you associate me in your investigation, or will youprefer 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 toexamine the premises without an instant of unnecessary delay."
Inspector Martin had the good sense to allow my friend to dothings in his own fashion, and contented himself with carefullynoting the results. The local surgeon, an old, white-haired man,had just come down from Mrs. Hilton Cubitt's room, and he reportedthat her injuries were serious, but not necessarily fatal. Thebullet had passed through the front of her brain, and it wouldprobably be some time before she could regain consciousness. On thequestion of whether she had been shot or had shot herself he wouldnot venture to express any decided opinion. Certainly the bullethad been discharged at very close quarters. There was only the onepistol found in the room, two barrels of which had been emptied.Mr. Hilton Cubitt had been shot through the heart. It was equallyconceivable that he had shot her and then himself, or that she hadbeen the criminal, for the revolver lay upon the floor midwaybetween them.
"Has he been moved?" asked Holmes.
"We have moved nothing except the lady. We could not leave herlying wounded upon the floor."
"How long have you been here, doctor?"
"Since four o'clock."
"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 turnedinto a court of investigation. Holmes sat in a great, old-fashionedchair, his inexorable eyes gleaming out of his haggard face. Icould read in them a set purpose to devote his life to this questuntil the client whom he had failed to save should at last beavenged. The trim Inspector Martin, the old, grey-headed countrydoctor, myself, and a stolid village policeman made up the rest ofthat strange company.
The two women told their story clearly enough. They had beenaroused from their sleep by the sound of an explosion, which hadbeen followed a minute later by a second one. They slept inadjoining rooms, and Mrs. King had rushed in to Saunders. Togetherthey had descended the stairs. The door of the study was open and acandle was burning upon the table. Their master lay upon his facein the centre of the room. He was quite dead. Near the window hiswife was crouching, her head leaning against the wall. She washorribly wounded, and the side of her face was red with blood. Shebreathed heavily, but was incapable of saying anything. Thepassage, as well as the room, was full of smoke and the smell ofpowder. The window was certainly shut and fastened upon the inside.Both women were positive upon the point. They had at once sent forthe doctor and for the constable. Then, with the aid of the groomand the stable-boy, they had conveyed their injured mistress to herroom. Both she and her husband had occupied the bed. She was cladin her dress -- he in his dressing-gown, over his night clothes.Nothing had been moved in the study. So far as they knew there hadnever been any quarrel between husband and wife. They had alwayslooked upon them as a very united couple.
These were the main points of the servants' evidence. In answerto Inspector Martin they were clear that every door was fastenedupon the inside, and that no one could have escaped from the house.In answer to Holmes they both remembered that they were consciousof the smell of powder from the moment that they ran out of theirrooms upon the top floor. "I commend that fact very carefully toyour attention," said Holmes to his professional colleague. "Andnow I think that we are in a position to undertake a thoroughexamination of the room."
The study proved to be a small chamber, lined on three sideswith books, and with a writing-table facing an ordinary window,which looked out upon the garden. Our first attention was given tothe body of the unfortunate squire, whose huge frame lay stretchedacross the room. His disordered dress showed that he had beenhastily aroused from sleep. The bullet had been fired at him fromthe front, and had remained in his body after penetrating theheart. His death had certainly been instantaneous and painless.There was no powder-marking either upon his dressing-gown or on hishands. 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 presencemay mean everything," said Holmes. "Unless the powder from abadly-fitting cartridge happens to spurt backwards, one may firemany shots without leaving a sign. I would suggest that Mr.Cubitt's body may now be removed. I suppose, doctor, you have notrecovered the bullet which wounded the lady?"
"A serious operation will be necessary before that can be done.But there are still four cartridges in the revolver. Two have beenfired and two wounds inflicted, so that each bullet can beaccounted for."
"So it would seem," said Holmes. "Perhaps you can account alsofor the bullet which has so obviously struck the edge of thewindow?"
He had turned suddenly, and his long, thin finger was pointingto a hole which had been drilled right through the lowerwindow-sash about an inch above the bottom.
"By George!" cried the inspector. "How ever did you seethat?"
"Because I looked for it."
"Wonderful!" said the country doctor. "You are certainly right,sir. Then a third shot has been fired, and therefore a third personmust have been present. But who could that have been and how couldhe have got away?"
"That is the problem which we are now about to solve," saidSherlock Holmes. "You remember, Inspector Martin, when the servantssaid that on leaving their room they were at once conscious of asmell of powder I remarked that the point was an extremelyimportant one?"
"Yes, sir; but I confess I did not quite follow you."
"It suggested that at the time of the firing the window as wellas the door of the room had been open. Otherwise the fumes ofpowder could not have been blown so rapidly through the house. Adraught in the room was necessary for that. Both door and windowwere only open for a very short time, however."
"How do you prove that?"
"Because the candle has not guttered."
"Capital!" cried the inspector. "Capital!"
"Feeling sure that the window had been open at the time of thetragedy I conceived that there might have been a third person inthe affair, who stood outside this opening and fired through it.Any shot directed at this person might hit the sash. I looked, andthere, sure enough, was the bullet mark!"
"But how came the window to be shut and fastened?"
"The woman's first instinct would be to shut and fasten thewindow. But, halloa! what is this?"
It was a lady's hand-bag which stood upon the study table -- atrim little hand-bag of crocodile-skin and silver. Holmes opened itand turned the contents out. There were twenty fifty-pound notes ofthe Bank of England, held together by an india-rubber band --nothing else.
"This must be preserved, for it will figure in the trial," saidHolmes, as he handed the bag with its contents to the inspector."It is now necessary that we should try to throw some light uponthis third bullet, which has clearly, from the splintering of thewood, been fired from inside the room. I should like to see Mrs.King, the cook, again. You said, Mrs. King, that you were awakenedby a LOUD explosion. When you said that, did you mean that itseemed to you to be louder than the second one?"
"Well, sir, it wakened me from my sleep, and so it is hard tojudge. But it did seem very loud."
"You don't think that it might have been two shots fired almostat the same instant?"
"I am sure I couldn't say, sir."
"I believe that it was undoubtedly so. I rather think, InspectorMartin, that we have now exhausted all that this room can teach us.If you will kindly step round with me, we shall see what freshevidence the garden has to offer."
A flower-bed extended up to the study window, and we all brokeinto an exclamation as we approached it. The flowers were trampleddown, and the soft soil was imprinted all over with footmarks.Large, masculine feet they were, with peculiarly long, sharp toes.Holmes hunted about among the grass and leaves like a retrieverafter a wounded bird. Then, with a cry of satisfaction, he bentforward and picked up a little brazen cylinder.
"I thought so," said he; "the revolver had an ejector, and hereis the third cartridge. I really think, Inspector Martin, that ourcase is almost complete."
The country inspector's face had shown his intense amazement atthe rapid and masterful progress of Holmes's investigation. Atfirst he had shown some disposition to assert his own position; butnow he was overcome with admiration and ready to follow withoutquestion wherever Holmes led.
"Whom do you suspect?" he asked.
"I'll go into that later. There are several points in thisproblem which I have not been able to explain to you yet. Now thatI have got so far I had best proceed on my own lines, and thenclear the whole matter up once and 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 themoment of action to enter into long and complex explanations. Ihave the threads of this affair all in my hand. Even if this ladyshould never recover consciousness we can still reconstruct theevents of last night and ensure that justice be done. First of allI wish to know whether there is any inn in this neighbourhood knownas `Elrige's'?"
The servants were cross-questioned, but none of them had heardof such 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 hereduring the night?"
"Maybe not, sir."
Holmes thought for a little and then a curious smile played overhis face.
"Saddle a horse, my lad," said he. "I shall wish you to take anote to Elrige's Farm."
He took from his pocket the various slips of the dancing men.With these in front of him he worked for some time at thestudy-table. Finally he handed a note to the boy, with directionsto put it into the hands of the person to whom it was addressed,and especially to answer no questions of any sort which might beput to him. I saw the outside of the note, addressed in straggling,irregular characters, very unlike Holmes's usual precise hand. Itwas consigned to Mr. Abe Slaney, Elrige's Farm, East Ruston,Norfolk.
"I think, inspector," Holmes remarked, "that you would do wellto telegraph for an escort, as, if my calculations prove to becorrect, you may have a particularly dangerous prisoner to conveyto the county gaol. The boy who takes this note could no doubtforward your telegram. If there is an afternoon train to town,Watson, I think we should do well to take it, as I have a chemicalanalysis of some interest to finish, and this investigation drawsrapidly to a close."
When the youth had been dispatched with the note, SherlockHolmes gave his instructions to the servants. If any visitor wereto call asking for Mrs. Hilton Cubitt no information should begiven as to her condition, but he was to be shown at once into thedrawing-room. He impressed these points upon them with the utmostearnestness. Finally he led the way into the drawing-room with theremark that the business was now out of our hands, and that we mustwhile away the time as best we might until we could see what was instore for us. The doctor had departed to his patients, and only theinspector and myself remained.
"I think that I can help you to pass an hour in an interestingand profitable manner," said Holmes, drawing his chair up to thetable and spreading out in front of him the various papers uponwhich were recorded the antics of the dancing men. "As to you,friend Watson, I owe you every atonement for having allowed yournatural curiosity to remain so long unsatisfied. To you, inspector,the whole incident may appeal as a remarkable professional study. Imust tell you first of all the interesting circumstances connectedwith the previous consultations which Mr. Hilton Cubitt has hadwith me in Baker Street." He then shortly recapitulated the factswhich have already been recorded. "I have here in front of me thesesingular productions, at which one might smile had they not provedthemselves to be the fore-runners of so terrible a tragedy. I amfairly familiar with all forms of secret writings, and am myselfthe author of a trifling monograph upon the subject, in which Ianalyze one hundred and sixty separate ciphers; but I confess thatthis is entirely new to me. The object of those who invented thesystem has apparently been to conceal that these characters conveya message, and to give the idea that they are the mere randomsketches of children.
"Having once recognised, however, that the symbols stood forletters, and having applied the rules which guide us in all formsof secret writings, the solution was easy enough. The first messagesubmitted to me was so short that it was impossible for me to domore than to say with some confidence that the symbol 
stood for E.As you are aware, E is the most common letter in the Englishalphabet, and it predominates to so marked an extent that even in ashort sentence one would expect to find it most often. Out offifteen symbols in the first message four were the same, so it wasreasonable to set this down as E. It is true that in some cases thefigure was bearing a flag and in some cases not, but it wasprobable from the way in which the flags were distributed that theywere used to break the sentence up into words. I accepted this as ahypothesis, and noted that E was represented by .
"But now came the real difficulty of the inquiry. The order ofthe English letters after E is by no means well marked, and anypreponderance which may be shown in an average of a printed sheetmay be 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 lettersoccur; but T, A, O, and I are very nearly abreast of each other,and it would be an endless task to try each combination until ameaning was arrived at. I, therefore, waited for fresh material. Inmy second interview with Mr. Hilton Cubitt he was able to give metwo other short sentences and one message, which appeared -- sincethere was no flag -- to be a single word. Here are thesymbols:--
"Now, in the single word I have already got the two E's comingsecond and fourth in a word of five letters. It might be `sever,'or `lever,' or `never.' There can be no question that the latter asa reply to an appeal is far the most probable, and thecircumstances pointed to its being a reply written by the lady.Accepting it as correct, we are now able to say that thesymbols 
stand respectively for N, V, and R.
"Even now I was in considerable difficulty, but a happy thoughtput me in possession of several other letters. It occurred to methat if these appeals came, as I expected, from someone who hadbeen intimate with the lady in her early life, a combination whichcontained two E's with three letters between might very well standfor the name `ELSIE.' On examination I found that such acombination formed the termination of the message which was threetimes repeated. It was certainly some appeal to `Elsie.' In thisway I had got my L, S, and I. But what appeal could it be? Therewere only four letters in the word which preceded `Elsie,' and itended in E. Surely the word must be `COME.' I tried all other fourletters ending in E, but could find none to fit the case. So now Iwas in possession of C, O, and M, and I was in a position to attackthe first message once more, dividing it into words and puttingdots for each symbol which was still unknown. So treated it workedout in this fashion:--
.M .ERE ..E SL.NE.
"Now the first letter CAN only be A, which is a most usefuldiscovery, since it occurs no fewer than three times in this shortsentence, and the H is also apparent in the second word. Now itbecomes:--
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 withconsiderable confidence to the second message, which worked out inthis fashion:--
A. ELRI.ES.
"Here I could only make sense by putting T and G for the missingletters, and supposing that the name was that of some house or innat which the writer was staying."
Inspector Martin and I had listened with the utmost interest tothe full and clear account of how my friend had produced resultswhich had led to so 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 anAmerican, since Abe is an American contraction, and since a letterfrom America had been the starting-point of all the trouble. I hadalso every cause to think that there was some criminal secret inthe matter. The lady's allusions to her past and her refusal totake her husband into her confidence both pointed in thatdirection. I therefore cabled to my friend, Wilson Hargreave, ofthe New York Police Bureau, who has more than once made use of myknowledge of London crime. I asked him whether the name of AbeSlaney was known to him. Here is his reply: `The most dangerouscrook in Chicago.' On the very evening upon which I had his answerHilton Cubitt sent me the last message from Slaney. Working withknown 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 methat the rascal was proceeding from persuasion to threats, and myknowledge of the crooks of Chicago prepared me to find that hemight very rapidly put his words into action. I at once came toNorfolk with my friend and colleague, Dr. Watson, but, unhappily,only in time to find that the worst had already occurred."
"It is a privilege to be associated with you in the handling ofa case," said the inspector, warmly. "You will excuse me, however,if I speak frankly to you. You are only answerable to yourself, butI have to answer to my superiors. If this Abe Slaney, living atElrige's, is indeed the murderer, and if he has made his escapewhile I am seated here, I should certainly get into serioustrouble."
"You need not be uneasy. He will not try to escape."
"How do you know?"
"To fly would be a confession of guilt."
"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 becauseyou have asked him? Would not such a request rather rouse hissuspicions and cause him to fly?"
"I think I have known how to frame the letter," said SherlockHolmes. "In fact, if I am not very much mistaken, here is thegentleman himself coming up the drive."
A man was striding up the path which led to the door. He was atall, handsome, swarthy fellow, clad in a suit of grey flannel,with a Panama hat, a bristling black beard, and a great, aggressivehooked nose, and flourishing a cane as he walked. He swaggered upthe path as if the place belonged to him, and we heard his loud,confident peal at the bell.
"I think, gentlemen," said Holmes, quietly, "that we had besttake up our position behind the door. Every precaution is necessarywhen dealing with such a fellow. You will need your handcuffs,inspector. You can leave the talking to me."
We waited in silence for a minute -- one of those minutes whichone can never forget. Then the door opened and the man stepped in.In an instant Holmes clapped a pistol to his head and Martinslipped the handcuffs over his wrists. It was all done so swiftlyand deftly that the fellow was helpless before he knew that he wasattacked. He glared from one to the other of us with a pair ofblazing black eyes. Then he burst into a bitter laugh.
"Well, gentlemen, you have the drop on me this time. I seem tohave knocked up against something hard. But I came here in answerto a letter from Mrs. Hilton Cubitt. Don't tell me that she is inthis? Don't tell me that she helped to set a trap for me?"
"Mrs. Hilton Cubitt was seriously injured and is at death'sdoor."
The man gave a hoarse cry of grief which rang through thehouse.
"You're crazy!" he cried, fiercely. "It was he that was hurt,not she. Who would have hurt little Elsie? I may have threatenedher, God forgive me, but I would not have touched a hair of herpretty head. Take it back -- you! Say that she is not hurt!"
"She was found badly wounded by the side of her deadhusband."
He sank with a deep groan on to the settee and buried his facein his manacled hands. For five minutes he was silent. Then heraised his face once more, and spoke with the cold composure ofdespair.
"I have nothing to hide from you, gentlemen," said he. "If Ishot the man he had his shot at me, and there's no murder in that.But if you think I could have hurt that woman, then you don't knoweither me or her. I tell you there was never a man in this worldloved a woman more than I loved her. I had a right to her. She waspledged to me years ago. Who was this Englishman that he shouldcome between us? I tell you that I had the first right to her, andthat I was only claiming my own."
"She broke away from your influence when she found the man thatyou are," said Holmes, sternly. "She fled from America to avoidyou, and she married an honourable gentleman in England. You doggedher and followed her and made her life a misery to her in order toinduce her to abandon the husband whom she loved and respected inorder to fly with you, whom she feared and hated. You have ended bybringing about the death of a noble man and driving his wife tosuicide. That is your record in this business, Mr. Abe Slaney, andyou will answer for it to the law."
"If Elsie dies I care nothing what becomes of me," said theAmerican. He opened one of his hands and looked at a note crumpledup in his palm. "See here, mister, he cried, with a gleam ofsuspicion in his eyes, "you're not trying to scare me over this,are you? If the lady is hurt as bad as you say, who was it thatwrote this note?" He tossed it forwards on to the table.
"I wrote it to bring you here."
"You wrote it? There was no one on earth outside the Joint whoknew the secret of the dancing men. How came you to write it?"
"What one man can invent another can discover," said Holmes.There is a cab coming to convey you to Norwich, Mr. Slaney. But,meanwhile, you have time to make some small reparation for theinjury you have wrought. Are you aware that Mrs. Hilton Cubitt hasherself lain under grave suspicion of the murder of her husband,and that it was only my presence here and the knowledge which Ihappened to possess which has saved her from the accusation? Theleast that you owe her is to make it clear to the whole world thatshe was in no way, directly or indirectly, responsible for histragic end."
"I ask nothing better," said the American. "I guess the verybest case I can make for myself is the absolute naked truth."
"It is my duty to warn you that it will be used against you,"cried the inspector, with the magnificent fair-play of the Britishcriminal law.
Slaney shrugged his shoulders.
"I'll chance that," said he. "First of all, I want you gentlemento understand that I have known this lady since she was a child.There were seven of us in a gang in Chicago, and Elsie's father wasthe boss of the Joint. He was a clever man, was old Patrick. It washe who invented that writing, which would pass as a child's scrawlunless you just happened to have the key to it. Well, Elsie learnedsome of our ways; but she couldn't stand the business, and she hada bit of honest money of her own, so she gave us all the slip andgot away to London. She had been engaged to me, and she would havemarried me, I believe, if I had taken over another profession; butshe would have nothing to do with anything on the cross. It wasonly 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 Icame over, and, as letters were no use, I put my messages where shecould read them.
"Well, I have been here a month now. I lived in that farm, whereI had a room down below, and could get in and out every night, andno one the wiser. I tried all I could to coax Elsie away. I knewthat she read the messages, for once she wrote an answer under oneof them. Then my temper got the better of me, and I began tothreaten her. She sent me a letter then, imploring me to go awayand saying that it would break her heart if any scandal should comeupon her husband. She said that she would come down when herhusband was asleep at three in the morning, and speak with methrough the end window, if I would go away afterwards and leave herin peace. She came down and brought money with her, trying to bribeme to go. This made me mad, and I caught her arm and tried to pullher through the window. At that moment in rushed the husband withhis revolver in his hand. Elsie had sunk down upon the floor, andwe were face to face. I was heeled also, and I held up my gun toscare him off and let me get away. He fired and missed me. I pulledoff almost at the same instant, and down he dropped. I made awayacross the garden, and as I went I heard the window shut behind me.That's God's truth, gentlemen, every word of it, and I heard nomore about it until that lad came riding up with a note which mademe 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 touchedhis prisoner 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 thatif ever again I have an important case I shall have the goodfortune to have you by my side."
We stood at the window and watched the cab drive away. As Iturned back my eye caught the pellet of paper which the prisonerhad tossed upon the table. It was the note with which Holmes haddecoyed 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, "youwill find that it simply means `Come here at once.' I was convincedthat it was an invitation which he would not refuse, since he couldnever imagine that it could come from anyone but the lady. And so,my dear Watson, we have ended by turning the dancing men to goodwhen they have so often been the agents of evil, and I think that Ihave fulfilled my promise of giving you something unusual for yournote-book. Three-forty is our train, and I fancy we should be backin Baker Street for dinner."
Only one word of epilogue. The American, Abe Slaney, wascondemned to death at the winter assizes at Norwich; but hispenalty was changed to penal servitude in consideration ofmitigating circumstances, and the certainty that Hilton Cubitt hadfired the first shot. Of Mrs. Hilton Cubitt I only know that I haveheard she recovered entirely, and that she still remains a widow,devoting her whole life to the care of the poor and to theadministration of her husband's estate.
ADVENTURE IV. THE ADVENTURE OF THE SOLITARYCYCLIST
FROM the years 1894 to 1901 inclusive Mr. Sherlock Holmes was avery busy man. It is safe to say that there was no public case ofany difficulty in which he was not consulted during those eightyears, and there were hundreds of private cases, some of them ofthe most intricate and extraordinary character, in which he playeda prominent part. Many startling successes and a few unavoidablefailures were the outcome of this long period of continuous work.As I have preserved very full notes of all these cases, and wasmyself personally engaged in many of them, it may be imagined thatit is no easy task to know which I should select to lay before thepublic. I shall, however, preserve my former rule, and give thepreference to those cases which derive their interest not so muchfrom the brutality of the crime as from the ingenuity and dramaticquality of the solution. For this reason I will now lay before thereader the facts connected with Miss Violet Smith, the solitarycyclist of Charlington, and the curious sequel of ourinvestigation, which culminated in unexpected tragedy. It is truethat the circumstances did not admit of any striking illustrationof those powers for which my friend was famous, but there were somepoints about the case which made it stand out in those long recordsof crime from which I gather the material for these littlenarratives.
On referring to my note-book for the year 1895 I find that itwas upon Saturday, the 23rd of April, that we first heard of MissViolet Smith. Her visit was, I remember, extremely unwelcome toHolmes, for he was immersed at the moment in a very abstruse andcomplicated problem concerning the peculiar persecution to whichJohn Vincent Harden, the well-known tobacco millionaire, had beensubjected. My friend, who loved above all things precision andconcentration of thought, resented anything which distracted hisattention from the matter in hand. And yet without a harshnesswhich was foreign to his nature it was impossible to refuse tolisten to the story of the young and beautiful woman, tall,graceful, and queenly, who presented herself at Baker Street latein the evening and implored his assistance and advice. It was vainto urge that his time was already fully occupied, for the younglady had come with the determination to tell her story, and it wasevident that nothing short of force could get her out of the roomuntil she had done so. With a resigned air and a somewhat wearysmile, Holmes begged the beautiful intruder to take a seat and toinform us what it was that was troubling her.
"At least it cannot be your health," said he, as his keen eyesdarted over her; "so ardent a bicyclist must be full ofenergy."
She glanced down in surprise at her own feet, and I observed theslight roughening of the side of the sole caused by the friction ofthe edge of the pedal.
"Yes, I bicycle a good deal, Mr. Holmes, and that has somethingto do with my visit to you to-day."
My friend took the lady's ungloved hand and examined it with asclose an attention and as little sentiment as a scientist wouldshow to a specimen.
"You will excuse me, I am sure. It is my business," said he, ashe dropped it. "I nearly fell into the error of supposing that youwere typewriting. Of course, it is obvious that it is music. Youobserve the spatulate finger-end, Watson, which is common to bothprofessions? There is a spirituality about the face, however" -- hegently turned it towards the light -- "which the typewriter doesnot generate. This lady is a musician."
"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 wetook Archie Stamford, the forger. Now, Miss Violet, what hashappened to you 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, whoconducted the orchestra at the old Imperial Theatre. My mother andI were left without a relation in the world except one uncle, RalphSmith, who went to Africa twenty-five years ago, and we have neverhad a word from him since. When father died we were left very poor,but one day we were told that there was an advertisement in theTIMES inquiring for our whereabouts. You can imagine how excited wewere, for we thought that someone had left us a fortune. We went atonce to the lawyer whose name was given in the paper. There we mettwo gentlemen, Mr. Carruthers and Mr. Woodley, who were home on avisit from South Africa. They said that my uncle was a friend oftheirs, that he died some months before in great poverty inJohannesburg, and that he had asked them with his last breath tohunt up his relations and see that they were in no want. It seemedstrange to us that Uncle Ralph, who took no notice of us when hewas alive, should be so careful to look after us when he was dead;but Mr. Carruthers explained that the reason was that my uncle hadjust heard of the death of his brother, and so felt responsible forour fate."
"Excuse me," said Holmes; "when was this interview?"
"Last December -- four months ago."
"Pray proceed."
"Mr. Woodley seemed to me to be a most odious person. He was forever making eyes at me -- a coarse, puffy-faced, red-moustachedyoung man, with his hair plastered down on each side of hisforehead. I thought that he was perfectly hateful -- and I was surethat Cyril would not wish me to 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 wehope to be married at the end of the summer. Dear me, how DID I gettalking about him? What I wished to say was that Mr. Woodley wasperfectly odious, but that Mr. Carruthers, who was a much olderman, was more agreeable. He was a dark, sallow, clean-shaven,silent person; but he had polite manners and a pleasant smile. Heinquired how we were left, and on finding that we were very poor hesuggested that I should come and teach music to his only daughter,aged ten. I said that I did not like to leave my mother, on whichhe suggested that I should go home to her every week-end, and heoffered me a hundred a year, which was certainly splendid pay. Soit ended by my accepting, and I went down to Chiltern Grange, aboutsix miles from Farnham. Mr. Carruthers was a widower, but he hadengaged a lady-housekeeper, a very respectable, elderly person,called Mrs. Dixon, to look after his establishment. The child was adear, and everything promised well. Mr. Carruthers was very kindand very musical, and we had most pleasant evenings together. Everyweek-end I went home to my mother in town.
"The first flaw in my happiness was the arrival of thered-moustached Mr. Woodley. He came for a visit of a week, and oh,it seemed three months to me! He was a dreadful person, a bully toeveryone else, but to me something infinitely worse. He made odiouslove to me, boasted of his wealth, said that if I married him Iwould have the finest diamonds in London, and finally, when I wouldhave nothing to do with him, he seized me in his arms one day afterdinner -- he was hideously strong -- and he swore that he would notlet me go until I had kissed him. Mr. Carruthers came in and torehim off from me, on which he turned upon his own host, knocking himdown and cutting his face open. That was the end of his visit, asyou can imagine. Mr. Carruthers apologized to me next day, andassured me that 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 whichhas caused me to ask your advice to-day. You must know that everySaturday forenoon I ride on my bicycle to Farnham Station in orderto get the 12.22 to town. The road from Chiltern Grange is a lonelyone, and at one spot it is particularly so, for it lies for over amile between Charlington Heath upon one side and the woods whichlie round Charlington Hall upon the other. You could not find amore lonely tract of road anywhere, and it is quite rare to meet somuch as a cart, or a peasant, until you reach the high road nearCrooksbury Hill. Two weeks ago I was passing this place when Ichanced to look back over my shoulder, and about two hundred yardsbehind me I saw a man, also on a bicycle. He seemed to be amiddle-aged man, with a short, dark beard. I looked back before Ireached Farnham, but the man was gone, so I thought no more aboutit. But you can imagine how surprised I was, Mr. Holmes, when on myreturn on the Monday I saw the same man on the same stretch ofroad. My astonishment was increased when the incident occurredagain, exactly as before, on the following Saturday and Monday. Healways kept his distance and did not molest me in any way, butstill it certainly was very odd. I mentioned it to Mr. Carruthers,who seemed interested in what I said, and told me that he hadordered a horse and trap, so that in future I should not pass overthese lonely roads without some companion.
"The horse and trap were to have come this week, but for somereason they were not delivered, and again I had to cycle to thestation. That was this morning. You can think that I looked outwhen I came to Charlington Heath, and there, sure enough, was theman, exactly as he had been the two weeks before. He always kept sofar from me that I could not clearly see his face, but it wascertainly someone whom I did not know. He was dressed in a darksuit with a cloth cap. The only thing about his face that I couldclearly 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 andwhat he wanted. I slowed down my machine, but he slowed down his.Then I stopped altogether, but he stopped also. Then I laid a trapfor him. There is a sharp turning of the road, and I pedalled veryquickly round this, and then I stopped and waited. I expected himto shoot round and pass me before he could stop. But he neverappeared. Then I went back and looked round the corner. I could seea mile of road, but he was not on it. To make it the moreextraordinary, there was no side road at this point down which hecould have gone."
Holmes chuckled and rubbed his hands. "This case certainlypresents some features of its own," said he. "How much time elapsedbetween your turning the corner and your discovery that the roadwas clear?"
"Two or three minutes."
"Then he could not have retreated down the road, and you saythat there are no side roads?"
"None."
"Then he certainly took a footpath on one side or theother."
"It could not have been on the side of the heath or I shouldhave seen him."
"So by the process of exclusion we arrive at the fact that hemade his way towards Charlington Hall, which, as I understand, issituated in its own grounds on one side of the road. Anythingelse?"
"Nothing, Mr. Holmes, save that I was so perplexed that I felt Ishould not 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, atlast.
"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."
"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 has seemed to mesometimes that my employer, Mr. Carruthers, takes a great deal ofinterest in me. We are thrown rather together. I play hisaccompaniments in the evening. He has never said anything. He is aperfect gentleman. But a girl always 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 theCity two or three times a week. He is deeply interested in SouthAfrican gold shares."
"You will let me know any fresh development, Miss Smith. I amvery busy just now, but I will find time to make some inquiriesinto your case. In the meantime take no step without letting meknow. Good-bye, and I trust that we shall have nothing but goodnews from you."
"It is part of the settled order of Nature that such a girlshould have followers," said Holmes, as he pulled at his meditativepipe, "but for choice not on bicycles in lonely country roads. Somesecretive lover, beyond all doubt. But there are curious andsuggestive details about the case, Watson."
"That he should appear only at that point?"
"Exactly. Our first effort must be to find who are the tenantsof Charlington Hall. Then, again, how about the connection betweenCarruthers and Woodley, since they appear to be men of such adifferent type? How came they BOTH to be so keen upon looking upRalph Smith's relations? One more point. What sort of a MENAGE isit which pays double the market price for a governess, but does notkeep a horse although six miles from the station? Odd, Watson --very 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 thesake of it. On Monday you will arrive early at Farnham; you willconceal yourself near Charlington Heath; you will observe thesefacts for yourself, and act as your own judgment advises. Then,having inquired as to the occupants of the Hall, you will come backto me and report. And now, Watson, not another word of the matteruntil we have a few solid stepping-stones on which we may hope toget across to our solution."
We had ascertained from the lady that she went down upon theMonday by the train which leaves Waterloo at 9.50, so I startedearly and caught the 9.13. At Farnham Station I had no difficultyin being directed to Charlington Heath. It was impossible tomistake the scene of the young lady's adventure, for the road runsbetween the open heath on one side and an old yew hedge upon theother, surrounding a park which is studded with magnificent trees.There was a main gateway of lichen-studded stone, each side pillarsurmounted by mouldering heraldic emblems; but besides this centralcarriage drive I observed several points where there were gaps inthe hedge and paths leading through them. The house was invisiblefrom the road, but the surroundings all spoke of gloom anddecay.
The heath was covered with golden patches of flowering gorse,gleaming magnificently in the light of the bright spring sunshine.Behind one of these clumps I took up my position, so as to commandboth the gateway of the Hall and a long stretch of the road uponeither side. It had been deserted when I left it, but now I saw acyclist riding down it from the opposite direction to that in whichI had come. He was clad in a dark suit, and I saw that he had ablack beard. On reaching the end of the Charlington grounds hesprang from his machine and led it through a gap in the hedge,disappearing from my view.
A quarter of an hour passed and then a second cyclist appeared.This time it was the young lady coming from the station. I saw herlook about her as she came to the Charlington hedge. An instantlater the man emerged from his hiding-place, sprang upon his cycle,and followed her. In all the broad landscape those were the onlymoving figures, the graceful girl sitting very straight upon hermachine, and the man behind her bending low over his handle-bar,with a curiously furtive suggestion in every movement. She lookedback at him and slowed her pace. He slowed also. She stopped. He atonce stopped too, keeping two hundred yards behind her. Her nextmovement was as unexpected as it was spirited. She suddenly whiskedher wheels round and dashed straight at him! He was as quick asshe, however, and darted off in desperate flight. Presently shecame back up the road again, her head haughtily in the air, notdeigning to take any further notice of her silent attendant. He hadturned also, and still kept his distance until the curve of theroad hid them from my sight.
I remained in my hiding-place, and it was well that I did so,for presently the man reappeared cycling slowly back. He turned inat the Hall gates and dismounted from his machine. For some fewminutes I could see him standing among the trees. His hands wereraised and he seemed to be settling his necktie. Then he mountedhis cycle and rode away from me down the drive towards the Hall. Iran across the heath and peered through the trees. Far away I couldcatch glimpses of the old grey building with its bristling Tudorchimneys, but the drive ran through a dense shrubbery, and I saw nomore of my man.
However, it seemed to me that I had done a fairly good morning'swork, and I walked back in high spirits to Farnham. The localhouse-agent could tell me nothing about Charlington Hall, andreferred me to a well-known firm in Pall Mall. There I halted on myway home, and met with courtesy from the representative. No, Icould not have Charlington Hall for the summer. I was just toolate. It had been let about a month ago. Mr. Williamson was thename of the tenant. He was a respectable elderly gentleman. Thepolite agent was afraid he could say no more, as the affairs of hisclients were not matters which he could discuss.
Mr. Sherlock Holmes listened with attention to the long reportwhich I was able to present to him that evening, but it did notelicit that word of curt praise which I had hoped for and shouldhave valued. On the contrary, his austere face was even more severethan usual as he commented upon the things that I had done and thethings that I had not.
"Your hiding-place, my dear Watson, was very faulty. You shouldhave been behind the hedge; then you would have had a close view ofthis interesting person. As it is you were some hundreds of yardsaway, and can tell me even less than Miss Smith. She thinks shedoes not know the man; I am convinced she does. Why, otherwise,should he be so desperately anxious that she should not get so nearhim as to see his features? You describe him as bending over thehandle-bar. Concealment again, you see. You really have doneremarkably badly. He returns to the house and you want to find outwho he is. You come to a London house-agent!"
"What should I have done?" I cried, with some heat.
"Gone to the nearest public-house. That is the centre of countrygossip. They would have told you every name, from the master to thescullery-maid. Williamson! It conveys nothing to my mind. If he isan elderly man he is not this active cyclist who sprints away fromthat athletic young lady's pursuit. What have we gained by yourexpedition? The knowledge that the girl's story is true. I neverdoubted it. That there is a connection between the cyclist and theHall. I never doubted that either. That the Hall is tenanted byWilliamson. Who's the better for that? Well, well, my dear sir,don't look so depressed. We can do little more until next Saturday,and in the meantime I may make one or two inquiries myself."
Next morning we had a note from Miss Smith, recounting shortlyand accurately the very incidents which I had seen, but the pith ofthe letter lay in the postscript:--
"I am sure that you will respect my confidence, Mr. Holmes, whenI tell you that my place here has become difficult owing to thefact that my employer has proposed marriage to me. I am convincedthat his feelings are most deep and most honourable. At the sametime my promise is, of course, given. He took my refusal veryseriously, but also very gently. You can understand, however, thatthe situation is a little strained."
"Our young friend seems to be getting into deep waters," saidHolmes, thoughtfully, as he finished the letter. "The casecertainly presents more features of interest and more possibilityof development than I had originally thought. I should be none theworse for a quiet, peaceful day in the country, and I am inclinedto run down this afternoon and test one or two theories which Ihave formed."
Holmes's quiet day in the country had a singular termination,for he arrived at Baker Street late in the evening with a cut lipand a discoloured lump upon his forehead, besides a general air ofdissipation which would have made his own person the fitting objectof a Scotland Yard investigation. He was immensely tickled by hisown adventures, and laughed heartily as he recounted them.
"I get so little active exercise that it is always a treat,"said he. "You are aware that I have some proficiency in the goodold British sport of boxing. Occasionally it is of service. To-day,for example, I should have come to very ignominious grief withoutit."
I begged him to tell me what had occurred.
"I found that country pub which I had already recommended toyour notice, and there I made my discreet inquiries. I was in thebar, and a garrulous landlord was giving me all that I wanted.Williamson is a white-bearded man, and he lives alone with a smallstaff of servants at the Hall. There is some rumour that he is orhas been a clergyman; but one or two incidents of his shortresidence at the Hall struck me as peculiarly unecclesiastical. Ihave already made some inquiries at a clerical agency, and theytell me that there WAS a man of that name in orders whose careerhas been a singularly dark one. The landlord further informed methat there are usually week-end visitors -- `a warm lot, sir' -- atthe Hall, and especially one gentleman with a red moustache, Mr.Woodley by name, who was always there. We had got as far as thiswhen who should walk in but the gentleman himself, who had beendrinking his beer in the tap-room and had heard the wholeconversation. Who was I? What did I want? What did I mean by askingquestions? He had a fine flow of language, and his adjectives werevery vigorous. He ended a string of abuse by a vicious back-handerwhich I failed to entirely avoid. The next few minutes weredelicious. It was a straight left against a slogging ruffian. Iemerged as you see me. Mr. Woodley went home in a cart. So ended mycountry trip, and it must be confessed that, however enjoyable, myday on the Surrey border has not been much more profitable thanyour own."
The Thursday brought us another letter from our client.
"You will not be surprised, Mr. Holmes," said she, "to hear thatI am leaving Mr. Carruthers's employment. Even the high pay cannotreconcile me to the discomforts of my situation. On Saturday I comeup to town and I do not intend to return. Mr. Carruthers has got atrap, and so the dangers of the lonely road, if there ever were anydangers, are now over.
"As to the special cause of my leaving, it is not merely thestrained situation with Mr. Carruthers, but it is the reappearanceof that 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. Woodley must bestaying in the neighbourhood, for he did not sleep here, and yet Icaught a glimpse of him again this morning slinking about in theshrubbery. I would sooner have a savage wild animal loose about theplace. I loathe and fear him more than I can say. How CAN Mr.Carruthers endure such a creature for a moment? However, all mytroubles will be over on Saturday."
"So I trust, Watson; so I trust," said Holmes, gravely. "Thereis some deep intrigue going on round that little woman, and it isour duty to see that no one molests her upon that last journey. Ithink, Watson, that we must spare time to run down together onSaturday morning, and make sure that this curious and inconclusiveinvestigation has no untoward ending."
I confess that I had not up to now taken a very serious view ofthe case, which had seemed to me rather grotesque and bizarre thandangerous. That a man should lie in wait for and follow a veryhandsome woman is no unheard-of thing, and if he had so littleaudacity that he not only dared not address her, but even fled fromher approach, he was not a very formidable assailant. The ruffianWoodley was a very different person, but, except on one occasion,he had not molested our client, and now he visited the house ofCarruthers without intruding upon her presence. The man on thebicycle was doubtless a member of those week-end parties at theHall of which the publican had spoken; but who he was or what hewanted was as obscure as ever. It was the severity of Holmes'smanner and the fact that he slipped a revolver into his pocketbefore leaving our rooms which impressed me with the feeling thattragedy might prove to lurk behind this curious train ofevents.
A rainy night had been followed by a glorious morning, and theheath-covered country-side with the glowing clumps of floweringgorse seemed all the more beautiful to eyes which were weary of theduns and drabs and slate-greys of London. Holmes and I walked alongthe broad, sandy road inhaling the fresh morning air, and rejoicingin the music of the birds and the fresh breath of the spring. Froma rise of the road on the shoulder of Crooksbury Hill we could seethe grim Hall bristling out from amidst the ancient oaks, which,old as they were, were still younger than the building which theysurrounded. Holmes pointed down the long tract of road which wound,a reddish yellow band, between the brown of the heath and thebudding green of the woods. Far away, a black dot, we could see avehicle moving in our direction. Holmes gave an exclamation ofimpatience.
"I had given a margin of half an hour," said he. "If that is hertrap she must be making for the earlier train. I fear, Watson, thatshe will be past Charlington before we can possibly meet her."
From the instant that we passed the rise we could no longer seethe vehicle, but we hastened onwards at such a pace that mysedentary life began to tell upon me, and I was compelled to fallbehind. Holmes, however, was always in training, for he hadinexhaustible stores of nervous energy upon which to draw. Hisspringy step never slowed until suddenly, when he was a hundredyards in front of me, he halted, and I saw him throw up his handwith a gesture of grief and despair. At the same instant an emptydog-cart, the horse cantering, the reins trailing, appeared roundthe curve of the road and rattled swiftly towards us.
"Too late, Watson; too late!" cried Holmes, as I ran panting tohis side. "Fool that I was not to allow for that earlier train!It's abduction, Watson -- abduction! Murder! Heaven knows what!Block the road! Stop the horse! That's right. Now, jump in, and letus see if I can repair the consequences of my own blunder."
We had sprung into the dog-cart, and Holmes, after turning thehorse, gave it a sharp cut with the whip, and we flew back alongthe road. As we turned the curve the whole stretch of road betweenthe Hall and the heath was opened up. I grasped Holmes's arm.
"That's the man!" I gasped.
A solitary cyclist was coming towards us. His head was down andhis shoulders rounded as he put every ounce of energy that hepossessed on to the pedals. He was flying like a racer. Suddenly heraised his bearded face, saw us close to him, and pulled up,springing from his machine. That coal-black beard was in singularcontrast to the pallor of his face, and his eyes were as bright asif he had a fever. He stared at us and at the dog-cart. Then a lookof amazement came over his face.
"Halloa! Stop there!" he shouted, holding his bicycle to blockour road. "Where did you get that dog-cart? Pull up, man!" heyelled, drawing a pistol from his side pocket. "Pull up, I say, or,by George, I'll put a bullet into your horse."
Holmes threw the reins into my lap and sprang down from thecart.
"You're the man we want to see. Where is Miss Violet Smith?" hesaid, in his quick, clear way.
"That's what I am asking you. You're in her dog-cart. You oughtto know where she is."
"We met the dog-cart on the road. There was no one in it. Wedrove back to help the young lady."
"Good Lord! Good Lord! what shall I do?" cried the stranger, inan ecstasy of despair. "They've got her, that hellhound Woodley andthe blackguard parson. Come, man, come, if you really are herfriend. Stand by me and we'll save her, if I have to leave mycarcass in Charlington Wood."
He ran distractedly, his pistol in his hand, towards a gap inthe hedge. Holmes followed him, and I, leaving the horse grazingbeside the road, followed Holmes.
"This is where they came through," said he, pointing to themarks of several feet upon the muddy path. "Halloa! Stop a minute!Who's this in the bush?"
It was a young fellow about seventeen, dressed like an ostler,with leather cords and gaiters. He lay upon his back, his kneesdrawn up, a terrible cut upon his head. He was insensible, butalive. A glance at his wound told me that it had not penetrated thebone.
"That's Peter, the groom," cried the stranger. "He drove her.The beasts have pulled him off and clubbed him. Let him lie; wecan't do him any good, but we may save her from the worst fate thatcan befall a woman."
We ran frantically down the path, which wound among the trees.We had reached the shrubbery which surrounded the house when Holmespulled up.
"They didn't go to the house. Here are their marks on the left-- here, beside the laurel bushes! Ah, I said so!"
As he spoke a woman's shrill scream -- a scream which vibratedwith a frenzy of horror -- burst from the thick green clump ofbushes in front of us. It ended suddenly on its highest note with achoke 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 greenswardsurrounded by ancient trees. On the farther side of it, under theshadow of a mighty oak, there stood a singular group of threepeople. One was a woman, our client, drooping and faint, ahandkerchief round her mouth. Opposite her stood a brutal,heavy-faced, red-moustached young man, his gaitered legs partedwide, one arm akimbo, the other waving a riding-crop, his wholeattitude suggestive of triumphant bravado. Between them an elderly,grey-bearded man, wearing a short surplice over a light tweed suit,had evidently just completed the wedding service, for he pocketedhis prayer-book as we appeared and slapped the sinister bridegroomupon the back in jovial congratulation.
"They're married!" I gasped.
"Come on!" cried our guide; "come on!" He rushed across theglade, Holmes and I at his heels. As we approached, the ladystaggered against the trunk of the tree for support. Williamson,the ex-clergyman, bowed to us with mock politeness, and the bullyWoodley advanced with a shout of 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 beable to introduce you to Mrs. Woodley."
Our guide's answer was a singular one. He snatched off the darkbeard which had disguised him and threw it on the ground,disclosing a long, sallow, clean-shaven face below it. Then heraised his revolver and covered the young ruffian, who wasadvancing upon him with his dangerous riding-crop swinging in hishand.
"Yes," said our ally, "I AM Bob Carruthers, and I'll see thiswoman righted if I have to swing for it. I told you what I'd do ifyou molested her, and, by the Lord, I'll be as good as myword!"
"You're too late. She's my wife!"
"No, she's your widow."
His revolver cracked, and I saw the blood spurt from the frontof Woodley's waistcoat. He spun round with a scream and fell uponhis back, his hideous red face turning suddenly to a dreadfulmottled pallor. The old man, still clad in his surplice, burst intosuch a string of foul oaths as I have never heard, and pulled out arevolver of his own, but before he could raise it he was lookingdown the barrel of Holmes's 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 that revolver. We'll have no more violence.Come, hand it over!"
"Who are you, then?"
"My name is Sherlock Holmes."
"Good Lord!"
"You have heard of me, I see. I will represent the officialpolice until their arrival. Here, you!" he shouted to a frightenedgroom who had appeared at the edge of the glade. "Come here. Takethis note as hard as you can ride to Farnham." He scribbled a fewwords upon a leaf from his note-book. "Give it to thesuperintendent at the police-station. Until he comes I must detainyou 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 manwas laid on his bed, and at Holmes's request I examined him. Icarried my report to where he sat in the old tapestry-hungdining-room with his two prisoners before him.
"He will live," said I.
"What!" cried Carruthers, springing out of his chair. "I'll goupstairs and finish him first. Do you tell me that that girl, thatangel, is to be tied to Roaring Jack Woodley for life?"
"You need not concern yourself about that," said Holmes. "Thereare two very good reasons why she should under no circumstances behis wife. In the first place, we are very safe in questioning Mr.Williamson's right 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 license?"
"We had a license for the marriage. I have it here in mypocket."
"Then you got it by a trick. But in any case a forced marriageis no marriage, but it is a very serious felony, as you willdiscover before you have finished. You'll have time to think thepoint out during the next ten years or so, unless I am mistaken. Asto you, Carruthers, you would have done better to keep your pistolin your pocket."
"I begin to think so, Mr. Holmes; but when I thought of all theprecaution I had taken to shield this girl -- for I loved her, Mr.Holmes, and it is the only time that ever I knew what love was --it fairly drove me mad to think that she was in the power of thegreatest brute and bully in South Africa, a man whose name is aholy terror from Kimberley to Johannesburg. Why, Mr. Holmes, you'llhardly believe it, but ever since that girl has been in myemployment I never once let her go past this house, where I knewthese rascals were lurking, without following her on my bicyclejust to see that she came to no harm. I kept my distance from her,and I wore a beard so that she should not recognise me, for she isa good and high-spirited girl, and she wouldn't have stayed in myemployment long if she had thought that I was following her aboutthe country roads."
"Why didn't you tell her of her danger?"
"Because then, again, she would have left me, and I couldn'tbear to face that. Even if she couldn't love me it was a great dealto me just to see her dainty form about the house, and to hear thesound of her voice."
"Well," said I, "you call that love, Mr. Carruthers, but Ishould call it selfishness."
"Maybe the two things go together. Anyhow, I couldn't let hergo. Besides, with this crowd about, it was well that she shouldhave someone near to look after her. Then when the cable came Iknew they were bound to make a move."
"What cable?"
Carruthers took a telegram from his pocket.
"That's 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 ahead. But while we wait you might tell me what you can."
The old reprobate with the surplice burst into a volley of badlanguage.
"By Heaven," said he, "if you squeal on us, Bob Carruthers, I'llserve you as you served Jack Woodley. You can bleat about the girlto your heart's content, for that's your own affair, but if youround on your pals to this plain-clothes copper it will be theworst day's work that ever you did."
"Your reverence need not be excited," said Holmes, lighting acigarette. "The case is clear enough against you, and all I ask isa few details for my private curiosity. However, if there's anydifficulty in your telling me I'll do the talking, and then youwill see how far you have a chance of holding back your secrets. Inthe first place, three of you came from South Africa on this game-- you Williamson, you Carruthers, and Woodley."
"Lie number one," said the old man; "I never saw either of themuntil two months ago, and I have never been in Africa in my life,so you can put that in your pipe and smoke it, Mr. BusybodyHolmes!"
"What he says is true," said Carruthers.
"Well, well, two of you came over. His reverence is our ownhome-made article. You had known Ralph Smith in South Africa. Youhad reason to believe he would not live long. You found out thathis niece would inherit his fortune. How's that -- eh?"
Carruthers nodded and Williamson swore.
"She was next-of-kin, no doubt, and you were aware that the oldfellow would make no will."
"Couldn't read or write," said Carruthers.
"So you came over, the two of you, and hunted up the girl. Theidea was that one of you was to marry her and the other have ashare of the plunder. For some reason Woodley was chosen as thehusband. Why was that?"
"We played cards for her on the voyage. He won."
"I see. You got the young lady into your service, and thereWoodley was to do the courting. She recognised the drunken brutethat he was, and would have nothing to do with him. Meanwhile, yourarrangement was rather upset by the fact that you had yourselffallen in love with the lady. You could no longer bear the idea ofthis ruffian owning her."
"No, by George, I couldn't!"
"There was a quarrel between you. He left you in a rage, andbegan to make his own plans independently of you."
"It strikes me, Williamson, there isn't very much that we cantell this gentleman," cried Carruthers, with a bitter laugh. "Yes,we quarreled, and he knocked me down. I am level with him on that,anyhow. Then I lost sight of him. That was when he picked up withthis cast padre here. I found that they had set up house-keepingtogether at this place on the line that she had to pass for thestation. I kept my eye on her after that, for I knew there was somedevilry in the wind. I saw them from time to time, for I wasanxious to know what they were after. Two days ago Woodley came upto my house with this cable, which showed that Ralph Smith wasdead. He asked me if I would stand by the bargain. I said I wouldnot. 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 haveme. He said, `Let us get her married first, and after a week or twoshe may see things a bit different.' I said I would have nothing todo with violence. So he went off cursing, like the foul-mouthedblackguard that he was, and swearing that he would have her yet.She was leaving me this week-end, and I had got a trap to take herto the station, but I was so uneasy in my mind that I followed heron my bicycle. She had got a start, however, and before I couldcatch her the mischief was done. The first thing I knew about itwas 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 have been very obtuse, Watson," said he. "When in your reportyou said that you had seen the cyclist as you thought arrange hisnecktie in the shrubbery, that alone should have told me all.However, we may congratulate ourselves upon a curious and in somerespects a unique case. I perceive three of the county constabularyin the drive, and I am glad to see that the little ostler is ableto keep pace with them; so it is likely that neither he nor theinteresting bridegroom will be permanently damaged by theirmorning's adventures. I think, Watson, that in your medicalcapacity you might wait upon Miss Smith and tell her that if she issufficiently recovered we shall be happy to escort her to hermother's home. If she is not quite convalescent you will find thata hint that we were about to telegraph to a young electrician inthe Midlands would probably complete the cure. As to you, Mr.Carruthers, I think that you have done what you could to makeamends for your share in an evil plot. There is my card, sir, andif my evidence can be of help to you in your trial it shall be atyour disposal."
In the whirl of our incessant activity it has often beendifficult for me, as the reader has probably observed, to round offmy narratives, and to give those final details which the curiousmight expect. Each case has been the prelude to another, and thecrisis once over the actors have passed for ever out of our busylives. I find, however, a short note at the end of my manuscriptsdealing with this case, in which I have put it upon record thatMiss Violet Smith did indeed inherit a large fortune, and that sheis now the wife of Cyril Morton, the senior partner of Morton &Kennedy, the famous Westminster electricians. Williamson andWoodley were both tried for abduction and assault, the formergetting seven years and the latter ten. Of the fate of Carruthers Ihave no record, but I am sure that his assault was not viewed verygravely by the Court, since Woodley had the reputation of being amost dangerous ruffian, and I think that a few months weresufficient to satisfy the demands of justice.
ADVENTURE V. THE ADVENTURE OF THE PRIORY SCHOOL
WE have had some dramatic entrances and exits upon our smallstage at Baker Street, but I cannot recollect anything more suddenand startling than the first appearance of Thorneycroft Huxtable,M.A., Ph.D., etc. His card, which seemed too small to carry theweight of his academic distinctions, preceded him by a few seconds,and then he entered himself -- so large, so pompous, and sodignified that he was the very embodiment of self-possession andsolidity. And yet his first action when the door had closed behindhim was to stagger against the table, whence he slipped down uponthe floor, and there was that majestic figure prostrate andinsensible upon our bearskin hearthrug.
We had sprung to our feet, and for a few moments we stared insilent amazement at this ponderous piece of wreckage, which told ofsome sudden and fatal storm far out on the ocean of life. ThenHolmes hurried with a cushion for his head and I with brandy forhis lips. The heavy white face was seamed with lines of trouble,the hanging pouches under the closed eyes were leaden in colour,the loose mouth drooped dolorously at the corners, the rollingchins were unshaven. Collar and shirt bore the grime of a longjourney, and the hair bristled unkempt from the well-shaped head.It was a sorely-stricken man who lay before us.
"What is it, Watson?" asked Holmes.
"Absolute exhaustion -- possibly mere hunger and fatigue," saidI, with my finger on the thready pulse, where the stream of lifetrickled thin and small.
"Return ticket from Mackleton, in the North of England," saidHolmes, drawing it from the watch-pocket. "It is not twelve o'clockyet. He has certainly been an early starter."
The puckered eyelids had begun to quiver, and now a pair ofvacant, grey eyes looked up at us. An instant later the man hadscrambled on to his feet, his face crimson with shame.
"Forgive this weakness, Mr. Holmes; I have been a littleoverwrought. Thank you, if I might have a glass of milk and abiscuit I have no doubt that I should be better. I came personally,Mr. Holmes, in order to ensure that you would return with me. Ifeared that no telegram would convince you of the absolute urgencyof the case."
"When you are quite restored ----"
"I am quite well again. I cannot imagine how I came to be soweak. I wish you, Mr. Holmes, to come to Mackleton with me by thenext train."
My friend shook his head.
"My colleague, Dr. Watson, could tell you that we are very busyat present. I am retained in this case of the Ferrers Documents,and the Abergavenny murder is coming up for trial. Only a veryimportant issue could call me from London at present."
"Important!" Our visitor threw up his hands. "Have you heardnothing of the abduction of the only son of the Duke ofHoldernesse?"
"What! the late Cabinet Minister?"
"Exactly. We had tried to keep it out of the papers, but therewas some rumour in the GLOBE last night. I thought it might havereached your ears."
Holmes shot out his long, thin arm and picked out Volume "H" inhis encyclopaedia of reference.
"`Holdernesse, 6th Duke, K.G., P.C.' -- half the alphabet!`Baron Beverley, Earl of Carston' -- dear me, what a list! `LordLieutenant of Hallamshire since 1900. Married Edith, daughter ofSir Charles Appledore, 1888. Heir and only child, Lord Saltire.Owns about two hundred and fifty thousand acres. Minerals inLancashire and Wales. Address: Carlton House Terrace; HoldernesseHall, Hallamshire; Carston Castle, Bangor, Wales. Lord of theAdmiralty, 1872; Chief Secretary of State for --' Well, well, thisman is certainly one of the greatest subjects of the Crown!"
"The greatest and perhaps the wealthiest. I am aware, Mr.Holmes, that you take a very high line in professional matters, andthat you are prepared to work for the work's sake. I may tell you,however, that his Grace has already intimated that a cheque forfive thousand pounds will be handed over to the person who can tellhim where his son is, and another thousand to him who can name theman, or men, who have taken him."
"It is a princely offer," said Holmes. "Watson, I think that weshall accompany Dr. Huxtable back to the North of England. And now,Dr. Huxtable, when you have consumed that milk you will kindly tellme what has happened, when it happened, how it happened, and,finally, what Dr. Thorneycroft Huxtable, of the Priory School, nearMackleton, has to do with the matter, and why he comes three daysafter an event -- the state of your chin gives the date -- to askfor my humble services."
Our visitor had consumed his milk and biscuits. The light hadcome back to his eyes and the colour to his cheeks as he sethimself with great vigour and lucidity to explain thesituation.
"I must inform you, gentlemen, that the Priory is a preparatoryschool, of which I am the founder and principal. `Huxtable'sSidelights on Horace' may possibly recall my name to your memories.The Priory is, without exception, the best and most selectpreparatory school in England. Lord Leverstoke, the Earl ofBlackwater, Sir Cathcart Soames -- they all have entrusted theirsons to me. But I felt that my school had reached its zenith when,three weeks ago, the Duke of Holdernesse sent Mr. James Wilder, hissecretary, with the intimation that young Lord Saltire, ten yearsold, his only son and heir, was about to be committed to my charge.Little did I think that this would be the prelude to the mostcrushing misfortune of my life.
"On May 1st the boy arrived, that being the beginning of thesummer term. He was a charming youth, and he soon fell into ourways. I may tell you -- I trust that I am not indiscreet, buthalf-confidences are absurd in such a case -- that he was notentirely happy at home. It is an open secret that the Duke'smarried life had not been a peaceful one, and the matter had endedin a separation by mutual consent, the Duchess taking up herresidence in the South of France. This had occurred very shortlybefore, and the boy's sympathies are known to have been stronglywith his mother. He moped after her departure from HoldernesseHall, and it was for this reason that the Duke desired to send himto my establishment. In a fortnight the boy was quite at home withus, and was apparently absolutely happy.
"He was last seen on the night of May 13th -- that is, the nightof last Monday. His room was on the second floor, and wasapproached through another larger room in which two boys weresleeping. These boys saw and heard nothing, so that it is certainthat young Saltire did not pass out that way. His window was open,and there is a stout ivy plant leading to the ground. We couldtrace no footmarks below, but it is sure that this is the onlypossible exit.
"His absence was discovered at seven o'clock on Tuesday morning.His bed had been slept in. He had dressed himself fully beforegoing off in his usual school suit of black Eton jacket and darkgrey trousers. There were no signs that anyone had entered theroom, and it is quite certain that anything in the nature of cries,or a struggle, would have been heard, since Caunter, the elder boyin the inner room, is a very light sleeper.
"When Lord Saltire's disappearance was discovered I at oncecalled a roll of the whole establishment, boys, masters, andservants. It was then that we ascertained that Lord Saltire had notbeen alone in his flight. Heidegger, the German master, wasmissing. His room was on the second floor, at the farther end ofthe building, facing the same way as Lord Saltire's. His bed hadalso been slept in; but he had apparently gone away partly dressed,since his shirt and socks were lying on the floor. He hadundoubtedly let himself down by the ivy, for we could see the marksof his feet where he had landed on the lawn. His bicycle was keptin a small shed beside this lawn, and it also was gone.
"He had been with me for two years, and came with the bestreferences; but he was a silent, morose man, not very populareither with masters or boys. No trace could be found of thefugitives, and now on Thursday morning we are as ignorant as wewere on Tuesday. Inquiry was, of course, made at once atHoldernesse Hall. It is only a few miles away, and we imagined thatin some sudden attack of home-sickness he had gone back to hisfather; but nothing had been heard of him. The Duke is greatlyagitated -- and as to me, you have seen yourselves the state ofnervous prostration to which the suspense and the responsibilityhave reduced me. Mr. Holmes, if ever you put forward your fullpowers, I implore you to do so now, for never in your life couldyou have a case which is more worthy of 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 loveof the complex and the unusual. He now drew out his note-book andjotted down one 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 serioushandicap. It is inconceivable, for example, that this ivy and thislawn would have yielded nothing to an expert observer."
"I am not to blame, Mr. Holmes. His Grace was extremely desirousto avoid all public scandal. He was afraid of his familyunhappiness being dragged before the world. He has a deep horror ofanything of the kind."
"But there has been some official investigation?"
"Yes, sir, and it has proved most disappointing. An apparentclue was at once obtained, since a boy and a young man werereported to have been seen leaving a neighbouring station by anearly train. Only last night we had news that the couple had beenhunted down in Liverpool, and they prove to have no connectionwhatever with the matter in hand. Then it was that in my despairand disappointment, after a sleepless night, I came straight to youby the early train."
"I suppose the local investigation was relaxed while this falseclue was being 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. Ishall be very happy to look into it. Have you been able to traceany connection between the missing boy and this German master?"
"None at all."
"Was he in the master's class?"
"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 thisGerman rode off upon a bicycle in the dead of the night bearing theboy in his arms?"
"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 there other bicycles in this shed?"
"Several."
"Would he not have hidden A COUPLE had he desired to give theidea that they had gone off upon them?"
"I suppose he would."
"Of course he would. The blind theory won't do. But the incidentis an admirable starting-point for an investigation. After all, abicycle is not an easy thing to conceal or to destroy. One otherquestion. Did anyone call to see the boy on the day before hedisappeared?"
"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 inthe Duke's peculiar stiff hand. Besides, the Duke remembers havingwritten."
"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 boywas carried off by force or he went of his own free will. In thelatter case you would expect that some prompting from outside wouldbe needed to make so young a lad do such a thing. If he has had novisitors, that prompting must have come in letters. Hence I try tofind out who were his correspondents."
"I fear I cannot help you much. His only correspondent, so faras I know, 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 toall ordinary emotions. But he was always kind to the boy in his ownway."
"But the sympathies of the latter were with the mother?"
"Yes."
"Did he say so?"
"No."
"The Duke, then?"
"Good heavens, no!"
"Then how could you know?"
"I have had some confidential talks with Mr. James Wilder, hisGrace's secretary. It was he who gave me the information about LordSaltire's feelings."
"I see. By the way, that last letter of the Duke's -- was itfound in the boy's room after he was gone?"
"No; he had taken it with him. I think, Mr. Holmes, it is timethat we were leaving for Euston."
"I will order a four-wheeler. In a quarter of an hour we shallbe at your service. If you are telegraphing home, Mr. Huxtable, itwould be well to allow the people in your neighbourhood to imaginethat the inquiry is still going on in Liverpool, or wherever elsethat red herring led your pack. In the meantime I will do a littlequiet work at your own doors, and perhaps the scent is not so coldbut that two old hounds like Watson and myself may get a sniff ofit."
That evening found us in the cold, bracing atmosphere of thePeak country, in which Dr. Huxtable's famous school is situated. Itwas already dark when we reached it. A card was lying on the halltable, and the butler whispered something to his master, who turnedto us with agitation in every 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 famousstatesman, but the man himself was very different from hisrepresentation. He was a tall and stately person, scrupulouslydressed, with a drawn, thin face, and a nose which was grotesquelycurved and long. His complexion was of a dead pallor, which wasmore startling by contrast with a long, dwindling beard of vividred, which flowed down over his white waistcoat, with hiswatch-chain gleaming through its fringe. Such was the statelypresence who looked stonily at us from the centre of Dr. Huxtable'shearthrug. Beside him stood a very young man, whom I understood tobe Wilder, the private secretary. He was small, nervous, alert,with intelligent, light-blue eyes and mobile features. It was hewho at once, in an incisive and positive tone, opened theconversation.
"I called this morning, Dr. Huxtable, too late to prevent youfrom starting for London. I learned that your object was to inviteMr. Sherlock Holmes to undertake the conduct of this case. HisGrace is surprised, Dr. Huxtable, that you should have taken such astep without consulting him."
"When I learned that the police had failed ----"
"His Grace is by no means convinced that the police havefailed."
"But surely, Mr. Wilder ----"
"You are well aware, Dr. Huxtable, that his Grace isparticularly anxious to avoid all public scandal. He prefers totake as few people as possible into his confidence."
"The matter can be easily remedied," said the brow-beatendoctor; "Mr. Sherlock Holmes can return to London by the morningtrain."
"Hardly that, Doctor, hardly that," said Holmes, in his blandestvoice. "This northern air is invigorating and pleasant, so Ipropose to spend a few days upon your moors, and to occupy my mindas best I may. Whether I have the shelter of your roof or of thevillage 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 voiceof the red-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 takeninto your confidence, it would indeed be absurd that we should notavail ourselves of his services. Far from going to the inn, Mr.Holmes, I should be pleased if you would come and stay with me atHoldernesse Hall."
"I thank your Grace. For the purposes of my investigation Ithink that it would be wiser for me to remain at the scene of themystery."
"Just as you like, Mr. Holmes. Any information which Mr. Wilderor I can give you is, of course, at your disposal."
"It will probably be necessary for me to see you at the Hall,"said Holmes. "I would only ask you now, sir, whether you haveformed any explanation in your own mind as to the mysteriousdisappearance of your son?"
"No, sir, I have not."
"Excuse me if I allude to that which is painful to you, but Ihave no alternative. Do you think that the Duchess had anything todo with the matter?"
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 toyour son 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 unbalancedhim or induced him to take such a step?"
"No, sir, certainly not."
"Did you post that letter yourself?"
The nobleman's reply was interrupted by his secretary, who brokein with some heat.
"His Grace is not in the habit of posting letters himself," saidhe. "This letter was laid with others upon the study table, and Imyself put them in the 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 surelythis is somewhat irrelevant?"
"Not entirely," said Holmes.
"For my own part," the Duke continued, "I have advised thepolice to turn their attention to the South of France. I havealready said that I do not believe that the Duchess would encourageso monstrous an action, but the lad had the most wrong-headedopinions, and it is possible that he may have fled to her, aidedand abetted by this German. I think, Dr. Huxtable, that we will nowreturn to the Hall."
I could see that there were other questions which Holmes wouldhave wished to put; but the nobleman's abrupt manner showed thatthe interview was at an end. It was evident that to his intenselyaristocratic nature this discussion of his intimate family affairswith a stranger was most abhorrent, and that he feared lest everyfresh question would throw a fiercer light into the discreetlyshadowed corners of his ducal history.
When the nobleman and his secretary had left, my friend flunghimself at once with characteristic eagerness into theinvestigation.
The boy's chamber was carefully examined, and yielded nothingsave the absolute conviction that it was only through the windowthat he could have escaped. The German master's room and effectsgave no further clue. In his case a trailer of ivy had given wayunder his weight, and we saw by the light of a lantern the mark onthe lawn where his heels had come down. That one dint in the shortgreen grass was the only material witness left of this inexplicablenocturnal flight.
Sherlock Holmes left the house alone, and only returned aftereleven. He had obtained a large ordnance map of the neighbourhood,and this he brought into my room, where he laid it out on the bed,and, having balanced the lamp in the middle of it, he began tosmoke over it, and occasionally to point out objects of interestwith the reeking amber of his pipe.
"This case grows upon me, Watson," said he. "There are decidedlysome points of interest in connection with it. In this early stageI want you to realize those geographical features which may have agood deal to do with our investigation.
"Look at this map. This dark square is the Priory School. I'llput a pin in it. Now, this line is the main road. You see that itruns east and west past the school, and you see also that there isno side road for a mile either way. If these two folk passed awayby road it was THIS road."
"Exactly."
"By a singular and happy chance we are able to some extent tocheck what passed along this road during the night in question. Atthis point, where my pipe is now resting, a country constable wason duty from twelve to six. It is, as you perceive, the first crossroad on the east side. This man declares that he was not absentfrom his post for an instant, and he is positive that neither boynor man could have gone that way unseen. I have spoken with thispoliceman to-night, and he appears to me to be a perfectly reliableperson. That blocks this end. We have now to deal with the other.There is an inn here, the Red Bull, the landlady of which was ill.She had sent to Mackleton for a doctor, but he did not arrive untilmorning, being absent at another case. The people at the inn werealert all night, awaiting his coming, and one or other of themseems to have continually had an eye upon the road. They declarethat no one passed. If their evidence is good, then we arefortunate enough to be able to block the west, and also to be ableto say that the fugitives did NOT use the road at all."
"But the bicycle?" I objected.
"Quite so. We will come to the bicycle presently. To continueour reasoning: if these people did not go by the road, they musthave traversed the country to the north of the house or to thesouth of the house. That is certain. Let us weigh the one againstthe other. On the south of the house is, as you perceive, a largedistrict of arable land, cut up into small fields, with stone wallsbetween them. There, I admit that a bicycle is impossible. We candismiss the idea. We turn to the country on the north. Here therelies a grove of trees, marked as the `Ragged Shaw,' and on thefarther side stretches a great rolling moor, Lower Gill Moor,extending for ten miles and sloping gradually upwards. Here, at oneside of this wilderness, is Holdernesse Hall, ten miles by road,but only six across the moor. It is a peculiarly desolate plain. Afew moor farmers have small holdings, where they rear sheep andcattle. Except these, the plover and the curlew are the onlyinhabitants until you come to the Chesterfield high road. There isa church there, you see, a few cottages, and an inn. Beyond thatthe hills become precipitous. Surely it is here to the north thatour quest must lie."
"But the bicycle?" I persisted.
"Well, well!" said Holmes, impatiently. "A good cyclist does notneed a high road. The moor is intersected with paths and the moonwas at the full. Halloa! what is this?"
There was an agitated knock at the door, and an instantafterwards Dr. Huxtable was in the room. In his hand he held a bluecricket-cap, with a white chevron on the peak.
"At last we have a clue!" he cried. "Thank Heaven! at last weare on the dear boy's 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 lied -- said that they found it on the mooron Tuesday morning. They know where he is, the rascals! Thankgoodness, they are all safe under lock and key. Either the fear ofthe law or the Duke's purse will certainly get out of them all thatthey know."
"So far, so good," said Holmes, when the doctor had at last leftthe room. "It at least bears out the theory that it is on the sideof the Lower Gill Moor that we must hope for results. The policehave really done nothing locally, save the arrest of these gipsies.Look here, Watson! There is a watercourse across the moor. You seeit marked here in the map. In some parts it widens into a morass.This is particularly so in the region between Holdernesse Hall andthe school. It is vain to look elsewhere for tracks in this dryweather; but at THAT point there is certainly a chance of somerecord being left. I will call you early to-morrow morning, and youand I will try if we can throw some little light upon themystery."
The day was just breaking when I woke to find the long, thinform of Holmes by my bedside. He was fully dressed, and hadapparently already been out.
"I have done the lawn and the bicycle shed," said he. "I havealso had a ramble through the Ragged Shaw. Now, Watson, there iscocoa ready in the next room. I must beg you to hurry, for we havea great day before us."
His eyes shone, and his cheek was flushed with the exhilarationof the master workman who sees his work lie ready before him. Avery different Holmes, this active, alert man, from theintrospective and pallid dreamer of Baker Street. I felt, as Ilooked upon that supple figure, alive with nervous energy, that itwas indeed a strenuous day that awaited us.
And yet it opened in the blackest disappointment. With highhopes we struck across the peaty, russet moor, intersected with athousand sheep paths, until we came to the broad, light-green beltwhich marked the morass between us and Holdernesse. Certainly, ifthe lad had gone homewards, he must have passed this, and he couldnot pass it without leaving his traces. But no sign of him or theGerman could be seen. With a darkening face my friend strode alongthe margin, eagerly observant of every muddy stain upon the mossysurface. Sheep-marks there were in profusion, and at one place,some miles down, cows had left their tracks. Nothing more.
"Check number one," said Holmes, looking gloomily over therolling expanse of the moor. "There is another morass down yonderand a narrow neck between. Halloa! halloa! halloa! what have wehere?"
We had come on a small black ribbon of pathway. In the middle ofit, clearly marked on the sodden soil, was the track of abicycle.
"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 amfamiliar with forty-two different impressions left by tyres. This,as you perceive, is a Dunlop, with a patch upon the outer cover.Heidegger's tyres were Palmer's, leaving longitudinal stripes.Aveling, the mathematical master, was sure upon the point.Therefore, it is not Heidegger's track."
"The boy's, then?"
"Possibly, if we could prove a bicycle to have been in hispossession. But this we have utterly failed to do. This track, asyou perceive, was made by a rider who was going from the directionof 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 perceiveseveral places where it has passed across and obliterated the moreshallow mark of the front one. It was undoubtedly heading away fromthe school. It may or may not be connected with our inquiry, but wewill follow it backwards before we go any farther."
We did so, and at the end of a few hundred yards lost the tracksas we emerged from the boggy portion of the moor. Following thepath backwards, we picked out another spot, where a spring trickledacross it. Here, once again, was the mark of the bicycle, thoughnearly obliterated by the hoofs of cows. After that there was nosign, but the path ran right on into Ragged Shaw, the wood whichbacked on to the school. From this wood the cycle must haveemerged. Holmes sat down on a boulder and rested his chin in hishands. I had smoked two cigarettes before he moved.
"Well, well," said he, at last. "It is, of course, possible thata cunning man might change the tyre of his bicycle in order toleave unfamiliar tracks. A criminal who was capable of such athought is a man whom I should be proud to do business with. Wewill leave this question undecided and hark back to our morassagain, for we have left a good deal unexplored."
We continued our systematic survey of the edge of the soddenportion of the moor, and soon our perseverance was gloriouslyrewarded. Right across the lower part of the bog lay a miry path.Holmes gave a cry of delight as he approached it. An impressionlike a fine bundle of telegraph wires ran down the centre of it. Itwas the Palmer tyre.
"Here is Herr Heidegger, sure enough!" cried Holmes, exultantly."My reasoning seems to have been pretty sound, Watson."
"I congratulate you."
"But we have a long way still to go. Kindly walk clear of thepath. Now let us follow the trail. I fear that it will not leadvery far."
We found, however, as we advanced that this portion of the mooris intersected with soft patches, and, though we frequently lostsight of the track, we always succeeded in picking it up oncemore.
"Do you observe," said Holmes, "that the rider is nowundoubtedly forcing the pace? There can be no doubt of it. Look atthis impression, where you get both tyres clear. The one is as deepas the other. That can only mean that the rider is throwing hisweight on to the handle-bar, as a man does when he is sprinting. ByJove! he has had a fall."
There was a broad, irregular smudge covering some yards of thetrack. Then there were a few footmarks, and the tyre reappearedonce more.
"A side-slip," I suggested.
Holmes held up a crumpled branch of flowering gorse. To myhorror I perceived that the yellow blossoms were all dabbled withcrimson. On the path, too, and among the heather were dark stainsof clotted blood.
"Bad!" said Holmes. "Bad! Stand clear, Watson! Not anunnecessary footstep! What do I read here? He fell wounded, hestood up, he remounted, he proceeded. But there is no other track.Cattle on this side path. He was surely not gored by a bull?Impossible! But I see no traces of anyone else. We must push on,Watson. Surely with stains as well as the track to guide us hecannot escape us now."
Our search was not a very long one. The tracks of the tyre beganto curve fantastically upon the wet and shining path. Suddenly, asI looked ahead, the gleam of metal caught my eye from amid thethick gorse bushes. Out of them we dragged a bicycle, Palmer-tyred,one pedal bent, and the whole front of it horribly smeared andslobbered with blood. On the other side of the bushes a shoe wasprojecting. We ran round, and there lay the unfortunate rider. Hewas a tall man, full bearded, with spectacles, one glass of whichhad been knocked out. The cause of his death was a frightful blowupon the head, which had crushed in part of his skull. That hecould have gone on after receiving such an injury said much for thevitality and courage of the man. He wore shoes, but no socks, andhis open coat disclosed a night-shirt beneath it. It wasundoubtedly the German master.
Holmes turned the body over reverently, and examined it withgreat attention. He then sat in deep thought for a time, and Icould see by his ruffled brow that this grim discovery had not, inhis opinion, advanced us much in our inquiry.
"It is a little difficult to know what to do, Watson," said he,at last. "My own inclinations are to push this inquiry on, for wehave already lost so much time that we cannot afford to wasteanother hour. On the other hand, we are bound to inform the policeof the discovery, and to see that this poor fellow's body is lookedafter."
"I could take a note back."
"But I need your company and assistance. Wait a bit! There is afellow cutting peat up yonder. Bring him over here, and he willguide the police."
I brought the peasant across, and Holmes dispatched thefrightened man with a note to Dr. Huxtable.
"Now, Watson," said he, "we have picked up two clues thismorning. One is the bicycle with the Palmer tyre, and we see whatthat has led to. The other is the bicycle with the patched Dunlop.Before we start to investigate that, let us try to realize what weDO know so as to make the most of it, and to separate the essentialfrom the accidental."
"First of all I wish to impress upon you that the boy certainlyleft of his own free will. He got down from his window and he wentoff, either alone or with someone. That is sure."
I assented.
"Well, now, let us turn to this unfortunate German master. Theboy was fully dressed when he fled. Therefore, he foresaw what hewould do. But the German went without his socks. He certainly actedon very short notice."
"Undoubtedly."
"Why did he go? Because, from his bedroom window, he saw theflight of the boy. Because he wished to overtake him and bring himback. He seized his bicycle, pursued the lad, and in pursuing himmet his death."
"So it would seem."
"Now I come to the critical part of my argument. The naturalaction of a man in pursuing a little boy would be to run after him.He would know that he could overtake him. But the German does notdo so. He turns to his bicycle. I am told that he was an excellentcyclist. He would not do this if he did not see that the boy hadsome swift means of escape."
"The other bicycle."
"Let us continue our reconstruction. He meets his death fivemiles from the school -- not by a bullet, mark you, which even alad might conceivably discharge, but by a savage blow dealt by avigorous arm. The lad, then, HAD a companion in his flight. And theflight was a swift one, since it took five miles before an expertcyclist could overtake them. Yet we survey the ground round thescene of the tragedy. What do we find? A few cattle tracks, nothingmore. I took a wide sweep round, and there is no path within fiftyyards. Another cyclist could have had nothing to do with the actualmurder. Nor were there any human footmarks."
"Holmes," I cried, "this is impossible."
"Admirable!" he said. "A most illuminating remark. It ISimpossible as I state it, and therefore I must in some respect havestated it wrong. Yet you saw for yourself. Can you suggest anyfallacy?"
"He could not have fractured his skull in a fall?"
"In a morass, Watson?"
"I am at my wit's 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 patchedcover has to offer us."
We picked up the track and followed it onwards for somedistance; but soon the moor rose into a long, heather-tufted curve,and we left the watercourse behind us. No further help from trackscould be hoped for. At the spot where we saw the last of the Dunloptyre it might equally have led to Holdernesse Hall, the statelytowers of which rose some miles to our left, or to a low, greyvillage which lay in front of us, and marked the position of theChesterfield high road.
As we approached the forbidding and squalid inn, with the signof a game-cock above the door, Holmes gave a sudden groan andclutched me by the shoulder to save himself from falling. He hadhad one of those violent strains of the ankle which leave a manhelpless. With difficulty he limped up to the door, where a squat,dark, elderly man was smoking a black 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, it's printed on the board above your head. It's easy tosee a man who is master of his own house. I suppose you haven'tsuch a thing as a carriage in your stables?"
"No; I have not."
"I can hardly put my foot to the ground."
"Don't put it to the ground."
"But I can't walk."
"Well, then, hop."
Mr. Reuben Hayes's manner was far from gracious, but Holmes tookit with admirable good-humour.
"Look here, my man," said he. "This is really rather an awkwardfix for me. I don't mind how I get on."
"Neither do I," said the morose landlord.
"The matter is very important. I would offer you a sovereign forthe use of 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 ourmud-stained garments with ironical eyes.
Holmes laughed good-naturedly.
"He'll be glad to see us, anyhow."
"Why?"
"Because we bring him news of his lost son."
The landlord gave a very visible start.
"What, you're on his track?"
"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.
"I've less reason to wish the Dook well than most men," said he,"for I was his head coachman once, and cruel bad he treated me. Itwas him that sacked me without a character on the word of a lyingcorn-chandler. But I'm glad to hear that the young lord was heardof in Liverpool, and I'll help you to take the news to theHall."
"Thank you," said Holmes. "We'll have some food first. Then youcan bring round the bicycle."
"I haven't got a bicycle."
Holmes held up a sovereign.
"I tell you, man, that I haven't got one. I'll let you have twohorses as far as the Hall."
"Well, well," said Holmes, "we'll talk about it when we've hadsomething to eat."
When we were left alone in the stone-flagged kitchen it wasastonishing how rapidly that sprained ankle recovered. It wasnearly nightfall, and we had eaten nothing since early morning, sothat we spent some time over our meal. Holmes was lost in thought,and once or twice he walked over to the window and stared earnestlyout. It opened on to a squalid courtyard. In the far corner was asmithy, where a grimy lad was at work. On the other side were thestables. Holmes had sat down again after one of these excursions,when he suddenly sprang out of his chair with a loudexclamation.
"By Heaven, Watson, I believe that I've got it!" he cried. "Yes,yes, it must be so. Watson, do you remember seeing any cow-tracksto-day?"
"Yes, several."
"Where?"
"Well, everywhere. They were at the morass, and again on thepath, and again near where poor Heidegger met his death."
"Exactly. Well, now, Watson, how many cows did you see on themoor?"
"I don't remember seeing any."
"Strange, Watson, that we should see tracks all along our line,but never 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,Watson" -- he arranged a number of bread-crumbs in this fashion --: : : : : -- "and sometimes like this" -- : . : . : . : . -- "andoccasionally like this" -- . ` . ` . ` . "Can you rememberthat?"
"No, I cannot."
"But I can. I could swear to it. However, we will go back at ourleisure and verify it. What a blind beetle I have been not to drawmy conclusion!"
"And what is your conclusion?"
"Only that it is a remarkable cow which walks, canters, andgallops. By George, Watson, it was no brain of a country publicanthat thought out such a blind as that! The coast seems to be clear,save for that lad in the smithy. Let us slip out and see what wecan see."
There were two rough-haired, unkempt horses in the tumble-downstable. Holmes raised the hind leg of one of them and laughedaloud.
"Old shoes, but newly shod -- old shoes, but new nails. Thiscase deserves to be a classic. Let us go across to the smithy."
The lad continued his work without regarding us. I saw Holmes'seye darting to right and left among the litter of iron and woodwhich was scattered about the floor. Suddenly, however, we heard astep behind us, and there was the landlord, his heavy eyebrowsdrawn over his savage eyes, his swarthy features convulsed withpassion. He held a short, metal-headed stick in his hand, and headvanced in so menacing a fashion that I was right glad to feel therevolver in my pocket.
"You infernal spies!" the man cried. "What are you doingthere?"
"Why, Mr. Reuben Hayes," said Holmes, coolly, "one might thinkthat you were afraid of our finding something out."
The man mastered himself with a violent effort, and his grimmouth loosened into a false laugh, which was more menacing than hisfrown.
"You're welcome to all you can find out in my smithy," said he."But look here, mister, I don't care for folk poking about my placewithout my leave, so the sooner you pay your score and get out ofthis the better I shall be pleased."
"All right, Mr. Hayes -- no harm meant," said Holmes. "We havebeen having a look at your horses, but I think I'll walk after all.It's not far, I believe."
"Not more than two miles to the Hall gates. That's the road tothe left." He watched us with sullen eyes until we had left hispremises.
We did not go very far along the road, for Holmes stopped theinstant that the curve hid us from the landlord's view.
"We were warm, as the children say, at that inn," said he. "Iseem to grow colder every step that I take away from it. No, no; Ican't possibly leave it."
"I am convinced," said I, "that this Reuben Hayes knows allabout it. A more self-evident villain I never saw."
"Oh! he impressed you in that way, did he? There are the horses,there is the smithy. Yes, it is an interesting place, this FightingCock. I think we shall have another look at it in an unobtrusiveway."
A long, sloping hillside, dotted with grey limestone boulders,stretched behind us. We had turned off the road, and were makingour way up the hill, when, looking in the direction of HoldernesseHall, I saw a cyclist coming 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 apale, agitated face -- a face with horror in every lineament, themouth open, the eyes staring wildly in front. It was like somestrange caricature of the dapper James Wilder whom we had seen thenight before.
"The Duke's secretary!" cried Holmes. "Come, Watson, let us seewhat he does."
We scrambled from rock to rock until in a few moments we hadmade our way to a point from which we could see the front door ofthe inn. Wilder's bicycle was leaning against the wall beside it.No one was moving about the house, nor could we catch a glimpse ofany faces at the windows. Slowly the twilight crept down as the sunsank behind the high towers of Holdernesse Hall. Then in the gloomwe saw the two side-lamps of a trap light up in the stable yard ofthe inn, and shortly afterwards heard the rattle of hoofs, as itwheeled out into the road and tore off at a furious pace in thedirection of Chesterfield.
"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, itcertainly was not Mr. James Wilder, for there he is at thedoor."
A red square of light had sprung out of the darkness. In themiddle of it was the black figure of the secretary, his headadvanced, peering out into the night. It was evident that he wasexpecting someone. Then at last there were steps in the road, asecond figure was visible for an instant against the light, thedoor shut, and all was black once more. Five minutes later a lampwas lit in a room upon the first floor.
"It seems to be a curious class of custom that is done by theFighting Cock," said Holmes.
"The bar is on the other side."
"Quite so. These are what one may call the private guests. Now,what in the world is Mr. James Wilder doing in that den at thishour of night, and who is the companion who comes to meet himthere? Come, Watson, we must really take a risk and try toinvestigate this a little more closely."
Together we stole down to the road and crept across to the doorof the inn. The bicycle still leaned against the wall. Holmesstruck a match and held it to the back wheel, and I heard himchuckle as the light fell upon a patched Dunlop tyre. Up above uswas the lighted window.
"I must have a peep through that, Watson. If you bend your backand support yourself upon the wall, I think that I can manage."
An instant later his feet were on my shoulders. But he washardly up before he was down again.
"Come, my friend," said he, "our day's work has been quite longenough. I think that we have gathered all that we can. It's a longwalk to the school, and the sooner we get started the better."
He hardly opened his lips during that weary trudge across themoor, nor would he enter the school when he reached it, but went onto Mackleton Station, whence he could send some telegrams. Late atnight I heard him consoling Dr. Huxtable, prostrated by the tragedyof his master's death, and later still he entered my room as alertand vigorous as he had been when he started in the morning. "Allgoes well, my friend," said he. "I promise that before to-morrowevening we shall have reached the solution of the mystery."
At eleven o'clock next morning my friend and I were walking upthe famous yew avenue of Holdernesse Hall. We were ushered throughthe magnificent Elizabethan doorway and into his Grace's study.There we found Mr. James Wilder, demure and courtly, but with sometrace of that wild terror of the night before still lurking in hisfurtive eyes and in his twitching features.
"You have come to see his Grace? I am sorry; but the fact isthat the Duke is far from well. He has been very much upset by thetragic news. We received a telegram from Dr. Huxtable yesterdayafternoon, which told 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."
Holmes's 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 half an hour's delay the great nobleman appeared. His facewas more cadaverous than ever, his shoulders had rounded, and heseemed to me to be an altogether older man than he had been themorning before. He greeted us with a stately courtesy and seatedhimself at his desk, his red beard streaming down on to thetable.
"Well, Mr. Holmes?" said he.
But my friend's eyes were fixed upon the secretary, who stood byhis master's chair.
"I think, your Grace, that I could speak more freely in Mr.Wilder's absence."
The man turned a shade paler and cast a malignant glance atHolmes.
"If your Grace wishes ----"
"Yes, yes; you had better go. Now, Mr. Holmes, what have you tosay?"
My friend waited until the door had closed behind the retreatingsecretary.
"The fact is, your Grace," said he, "that my colleague, Dr.Watson, and myself had an assurance from Dr. Huxtable that a rewardhad been offered in this case. I should like to have this confirmedfrom your own lips."
"Certainly, Mr. Holmes."
"It amounted, if I am correctly informed, to five thousandpounds to anyone who will tell you where your son is?"
"Exactly."
"And another thousand to the man who will name the person orpersons who keep him in custody?"
"Exactly."
"Under the latter heading is included, no doubt, not only thosewho may have taken him away, but also those who conspire to keephim in his present position?"
"Yes, yes," cried the Duke, impatiently. "If you do your workwell, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, you will have no reason to complain ofniggardly treatment."
My friend rubbed his thin hands together with an appearance ofavidity which was a surprise to me, who knew his frugal tastes.
"I fancy that I see your Grace's cheque-book upon the table,"said he. "I should be glad if you would make me out a cheque forsix thousand pounds. It would be as well, perhaps, for you to crossit. The Capital and Counties Bank, Oxford Street branch, are myagents."
His Grace sat very stern and upright in his chair, and lookedstonily at my friend.
"Is this a joke, Mr. Holmes? It is hardly a subject forpleasantry."
"Not at all, your Grace. I was never more earnest in mylife."
"What do you mean, then?"
"I mean that I have earned the reward. I know where your son is,and I know some, at least, of those who are holding him."
The Duke's beard had turned more aggressively red than everagainst his ghastly white face.
"Where is he?" he gasped.
"He is, or was last night, at the Fighting Cock Inn, about twomiles from your park gate."
The Duke fell back in his chair.
"And whom do you accuse?"
Sherlock Holmes's answer was an astounding one. He steppedswiftly forward and touched the Duke upon the shoulder.
"I accuse YOU," said he. "And now, your Grace, I'll trouble youfor that cheque."
Never shall I forget the Duke's appearance as he sprang up andclawed with his hands like one who is sinking into an abyss. Then,with an extraordinary effort of aristocratic self-command, he satdown and sank his face in his hands. It was some minutes before hespoke.
"How much do you know?" he asked at last, without raising hishead.
"I saw you together last night."
"Does anyone else besides your friend know?"
"I have spoken to no one."
The Duke took a pen in his quivering fingers and opened hischeque-book.
"I shall be as good as my word, Mr. Holmes. I am about to writeyour cheque, however unwelcome the information which you havegained may be to me. When the offer was first made I little thoughtthe turn which events might take. But you and your friend are menof 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 thinktwelve thousand 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 soeasily. There is the death of this schoolmaster to be accountedfor."
"But James knew nothing of that. You cannot hold him responsiblefor that. It was the work of this brutal ruffian whom he had themisfortune to employ."
"I must take the view, your Grace, that when a man embarks upona crime he is morally guilty of any other crime which may springfrom it."
"Morally, Mr. Holmes. No doubt you are right. But surely not inthe eyes of the law. A man cannot be condemned for a murder atwhich he was not present, and which he loathes and abhors as muchas you do. The instant that he heard of it he made a completeconfession to me, so filled was he with horror and remorse. He lostnot an hour in breaking entirely with the murderer. Oh, Mr. Holmes,you must save him -- you must save him! I tell you that you mustsave him!" The Duke had dropped the last attempt at self-command,and was pacing the room with a convulsed face and with his clenchedhands raving in the air. At last he mastered himself and sat downonce more at his desk. "I appreciate your conduct in coming herebefore 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 onlybe done by absolute and complete frankness between us. I amdisposed to help your Grace to the best of my ability; but in orderto do so I must understand to the last detail how the matterstands. I realize that your words applied to Mr. James Wilder, andthat he is not the murderer."
"No; the murderer has escaped."
Sherlock Holmes smiled demurely.
"Your Grace can hardly have heard of any small reputation whichI possess, or you would not imagine that it is so easy to escapeme. Mr. Reuben Hayes was arrested at Chesterfield on my informationat eleven o'clock last night. I had a telegram from the head of thelocal police before I left the school this morning."
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 notreact upon the fate of James."
"Your secretary?"
"No, sir; my son."
It was Holmes's turn to look astonished.
"I confess that this is entirely new to me, your Grace. I mustbeg you to be 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 inthis desperate situation to which James's folly and jealousy havereduced us. When I was a very young man, Mr. Holmes, I loved withsuch a love as comes only once in a lifetime. I offered the ladymarriage, but she refused it on the grounds that such a match mightmar my career. Had she lived I would certainly never have marriedanyone else. She died, and left this one child, whom for her sake Ihave cherished and cared for. I could not acknowledge the paternityto the world; but I gave him the best of educations, and since hecame to manhood I have kept him near my person. He surprised mysecret, and has presumed ever since upon the claim which he hasupon me and upon his power of provoking a scandal, which would beabhorrent to me. His presence had something to do with the unhappyissue of my marriage. Above all, he hated my young legitimate heirfrom the first with a persistent hatred. You may well ask me why,under these circumstances, I still kept James under my roof. Ianswer that it was because I could see his mother's face in his,and that for her dear sake there was no end to my long-suffering.All her pretty ways, too -- there was not one of them which hecould not suggest and bring back to my memory. I COULD not send himaway. But I feared so much lest he should do Arthur -- that is,Lord Saltire -- a mischief that I dispatched him for safety to Dr.Huxtable's school.
"James came into contact with this fellow Hayes because the manwas a tenant of mine, and James acted as agent. The fellow was arascal from the beginning; but in some extraordinary way Jamesbecame intimate with him. He had always a taste for low company.When James determined to kidnap Lord Saltire it was of this man'sservice that he availed himself. You remember that I wrote toArthur upon that last day. Well, James opened the letter andinserted a note asking Arthur to meet him in a little wood calledthe Ragged Shaw, which is near to the school. He used the Duchess'sname, and in that way got the boy to come. That evening Jamesbicycled over -- I am telling you what he has himself confessed tome -- and he told Arthur, whom he met in the wood, that his motherlonged to see him, that she was awaiting him on the moor, and thatif he would come back into the wood at midnight he would find a manwith a horse, who would take him to her. Poor Arthur fell into thetrap. He came to the appointment and found this fellow Hayes with aled pony. Arthur mounted, and they set off together. It appears --though this James only heard yesterday -- that they were pursued,that Hayes struck the pursuer with his stick, and that the man diedof his injuries. Hayes brought Arthur to his public-house, theFighting Cock, where he was confined in an upper room, under thecare of Mrs. Hayes, who is a kindly woman, but entirely under thecontrol of her brutal husband.
"Well, Mr. Holmes, that was the state of affairs when I firstsaw you two days ago. I had no more idea of the truth than you. Youwill ask me what was James's motive in doing such a deed. I answerthat there was a great deal which was unreasoning and fanatical inthe hatred which he bore my heir. In his view he should himselfhave been heir of all my estates, and he deeply resented thosesocial laws which made it impossible. At the same time he had adefinite motive also. He was eager that I should break the entail,and he was of opinion that it lay in my power to do so. He intendedto make a bargain with me -- to restore Arthur if I would break theentail, and so make it possible for the estate to be left to him bywill. He knew well that I should never willingly invoke the aid ofthe police against him. I say that he would have proposed such abargain to me, but he did not actually do so, for events moved tooquickly for him, and he had not time to put his plans intopractice.
"What brought all his wicked scheme to wreck was your discoveryof this man Heidegger's dead body. James was seized with horror atthe news. It came to us yesterday as we sat together in this study.Dr. Huxtable had sent a telegram. James was so overwhelmed withgrief and agitation that my suspicions, which had never beenentirely absent, rose instantly to a certainty, and I taxed himwith the deed. He made a complete voluntary confession. Then heimplored me to keep his secret for three days longer, so as to givehis wretched accomplice a chance of saving his guilty life. Iyielded -- as I have always yielded -- to his prayers, andinstantly James hurried off to the Fighting Cock to warn Hayes andgive him the means of flight. I could not go there by daylightwithout provoking comment, but as soon as night fell I hurried offto see my dear Arthur. I found him safe and well, but horrifiedbeyond expression by the dreadful deed he had witnessed. Indeference to my promise, and much against my will, I consented toleave him there for three days under the charge of Mrs. Hayes,since it was evident that it was impossible to inform the policewhere he was without telling them also who was the murderer, and Icould not see how that murderer could be punished without ruin tomy unfortunate James. You asked for frankness, Mr. Holmes, and Ihave taken you at your word, for I have now told you everythingwithout an attempt at circumlocution or concealment. Do you in turnbe as frank with me."
"I will," said Holmes. "In the first place, your Grace, I ambound to tell you that you have placed yourself in a most seriousposition in the eyes of the law. You have condoned a felony and youhave aided the escape of a murderer; for I cannot doubt that anymoney which was taken by James Wilder to aid his accomplice in hisflight came from your Grace's 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 promises ----"
"What are promises to such people as these? You have noguarantee that he will not be spirited away again. To humour yourguilty elder son you have exposed your innocent younger son toimminent and unnecessary danger. It was a most unjustifiableaction."
The proud lord of Holdernesse was not accustomed to be so ratedin his own ducal hall. The blood flushed into his high forehead,but his conscience held him dumb.
"I will help you, but on one condition only. It is that you ringfor the footman and let me give such orders as I like."
Without a word the Duke pressed the electric bell. A servantentered.
"You will be glad to hear," said Holmes, "that your young masteris found. It is the Duke's desire that the carriage shall go atonce to the Fighting 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 withthe past. I am not in an official position, and there is no reason,so long as the ends of justice are served, why I should discloseall that I know. As to Hayes I say nothing. The gallows awaits him,and I would do nothing to save him from it. What he will divulge Icannot tell, but I have no doubt that your Grace could make himunderstand that it is to his interest to be silent. From the policepoint of view he will have kidnapped the boy for the purpose ofransom. If they do not themselves find it out I see no reason why Ishould prompt them to take a broader point of view. I would warnyour Grace, however, that the continued presence of Mr. JamesWilder in your household can only lead to misfortune."
"I understand that, Mr. Holmes, and it is already settled thathe shall leave me for ever and go to seek his fortune inAustralia."
"In that case, your Grace, since you have yourself stated thatany unhappiness in your married life was caused by his presence, Iwould suggest that you make such amends as you can to the Duchess,and that you try to resume those relations which have been sounhappily interrupted."
"That also I have arranged, Mr. Holmes. I wrote to the Duchessthis morning."
"In that case," said Holmes, rising, "I think that my friend andI can congratulate ourselves upon several most happy results fromour little visit to the North. There is one other small point uponwhich I desire some light. This fellow Hayes had shod his horseswith shoes which counterfeited the tracks of cows. Was it from Mr.Wilder that he learned so 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 alarge room furnished as a museum. He led the way to a glass case ina corner, and pointed to the inscription.
"These shoes," it ran, "were dug up in the moat of HoldernesseHall. They are for the use of horses; but they are shaped belowwith a cloven foot of iron, so as to throw pursuers off the track.They are supposed to have belonged to some of the marauding Baronsof Holdernesse in the Middle Ages."
Holmes opened the case, and moistening his finger he passed italong the shoe. A thin film of recent mud was left upon hisskin.
"Thank you," said he, as he replaced the glass. "It is thesecond most interesting object that I have seen in the North."
"And the first?"
Holmes folded up his cheque and placed it carefully in hisnote-book. "I am a poor man," said he, as he patted itaffectionately and thrust it into the depths of his innerpocket.
ADVENTURE VI. THE ADVENTURE OF BLACK PETER
I HAVE never known my friend to be in better form, both mentaland physical, than in the year '95. His increasing fame had broughtwith it an immense practice, and I should be guilty of anindiscretion if I were even to hint at the identity of some of theillustrious clients who crossed our humble threshold in BakerStreet. Holmes, however, like all great artists, lived for hisart's sake, and, save in the case of the Duke of Holdernesse, Ihave seldom known him claim any large reward for his inestimableservices. So unworldly was he -- or so capricious -- that hefrequently refused his help to the powerful and wealthy where theproblem made no appeal to his sympathies, while he would devoteweeks of most intense application to the affairs of some humbleclient whose case presented those strange and dramatic qualitieswhich appealed to his imagination and challenged his ingenuity.
In this memorable year '95 a curious and incongruous successionof cases had engaged his attention, ranging from his famousinvestigation of the sudden death of Cardinal Tosca -- an inquirywhich was carried out by him at the express desire of His Holinessthe Pope -- down to his arrest of Wilson, the notoriouscanary-trainer, which removed a plague-spot from the East-End ofLondon. Close on the heels of these two famous cases came thetragedy of Woodman's Lee, and the very obscure circumstances whichsurrounded the death of Captain Peter Carey. No record of thedoings of Mr. Sherlock Holmes would be complete which did notinclude some account of this very unusual affair.
During the first week of July my friend had been absent so oftenand so long from our lodgings that I knew he had something on hand.The fact that several rough-looking men called during that time andinquired for Captain Basil made me understand that Holmes wasworking somewhere under one of the numerous disguises and nameswith which he concealed his own formidable identity. He had atleast five small refuges in different parts of London in which hewas able to change his personality. He said nothing of his businessto me, and it was not my habit to force a confidence. The firstpositive sign which he gave me of the direction which hisinvestigation was taking was an extraordinary one. He had gone outbefore breakfast, and I had sat down to mine, when he strode intothe room, his hat upon his head and a huge barbed-headed speartucked like an umbrella under his arm.
"Good gracious, Holmes!" I cried. "You don't mean to say thatyou have been walking about London with that thing?"
"I drove to the butcher's and back."
"The butcher's?"
"And I return with an excellent appetite. There can be noquestion, my dear Watson, of the value of exercise beforebreakfast. But I am prepared to bet that you will not guess theform that my exercise has taken."
"I will not attempt it."
He chuckled as he poured out the coffee.
"If you could have looked into Allardyce's back shop you wouldhave seen a dead pig swung from a hook in the ceiling, and agentleman in his shirt-sleeves furiously stabbing at it with thisweapon. I was that energetic person, and I have satisfied myselfthat by no exertion of my strength can I transfix the pig with asingle 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 themystery of Woodman's Lee. Ah, Hopkins, I got your wire last night,and I have been expecting you. Come and join us."
Our visitor was an exceedingly alert man, thirty years of age,dressed in a quiet tweed suit, but retaining the erect bearing ofone who was accustomed to official uniform. I recognised him atonce as Stanley Hopkins, a young police inspector for whose futureHolmes had high hopes, while he in turn professed the admirationand respect of a pupil for the scientific methods of the famousamateur. Hopkins's brow was clouded, and he sat down with an air ofdeep dejection.
"No, thank you, sir. I breakfasted before I came round. I spentthe night in 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. It's my first bigchance, and I am at my wit's end. For goodness' sake come down andlend me a hand."
"Well, well, it just happens that I have already read all theavailable evidence, including the report of the inquest, with somecare. By the way, what do you make of that tobacco-pouch found onthe scene of the crime? Is there no clue there?"
Hopkins looked surprised.
"It was the man's own pouch, sir. His initials were inside it.And it was of seal-skin -- and he an old sealer."
"But he had no pipe."
"No, sir, we could find no pipe; indeed, he smoked very little.And yet he might have kept some tobacco for his friends."
"No doubt. I only mention it because if I had been handling thecase I should have been inclined to make that the starting-point ofmy investigation. However, my friend Dr. Watson knows nothing ofthis matter, and I should be none the worse for hearing thesequence of events once more. Just give us some short sketch of theessentials."
Stanley Hopkins drew a slip of paper from his pocket.
"I have a few dates here which will give you the career of thedead man, Captain Peter Carey. He was born in '45 -- fifty years ofage. He was a most daring and successful seal and whale fisher. In1883 he commanded the steam sealer SEA UNICORN, of Dundee. He hadthen had several successful voyages in succession, and in thefollowing year, 1884, he retired. After that he travelled for someyears, and finally he bought a small place called Woodman's Lee,near Forest Row, in Sussex. There he has lived for six years, andthere he died just a week ago to-day.
"There were some most singular points about the man. In ordinarylife he was a strict Puritan -- a silent, gloomy fellow. Hishousehold consisted of his wife, his daughter, aged twenty, and twofemale servants. These last were continually changing, for it wasnever a very cheery situation, and sometimes it became past allbearing. The man was an intermittent drunkard, and when he had thefit on him he was a perfect fiend. He has been known to drive hiswife and his daughter out of doors in the middle of the night, andflog them through the park until the whole village outside thegates was aroused by their screams.
"He was summoned once for a savage assault upon the old vicar,who had called upon him to remonstrate with him upon his conduct.In short, Mr. Holmes, you would go far before you found a moredangerous man than Peter Carey, and I have heard that he bore thesame character when he commanded his ship. He was known in thetrade as Black Peter, and the name was given him, not only onaccount of his swarthy features and the colour of his huge beard,but for the humours which were the terror of all around him. I neednot say that he was loathed and avoided by every one of hisneighbours, and that I have not heard one single word of sorrowabout his terrible end.
"You must have read in the account of the inquest about theman's cabin, Mr. Holmes; but perhaps your friend here has not heardof it. He had built himself a wooden outhouse -- he always calledit `the cabin' -- a few hundred yards from his house, and it washere that he slept every night. It was a little, single-roomed hut,sixteen feet by ten. He kept the key in his pocket, made his ownbed, cleaned it himself, and allowed no other foot to cross thethreshold. There are small windows on each side, which were coveredby curtains and never opened. One of these windows was turnedtowards the high road, and when the light burned in it at night thefolk used to point it out to each other and wonder what Black Peterwas doing in there. That's the window, Mr. Holmes, which gave usone of the few bits of positive evidence that came out at theinquest.
"You remember that a stonemason, named Slater, walking fromForest Row about one o'clock in the morning -- two days before themurder -- stopped as he passed the grounds and looked at the squareof light still shining among the trees. He swears that the shadowof a man's head turned sideways was clearly visible on the blind,and that this shadow was certainly not that of Peter Carey, whom heknew well. It was that of a bearded man, but the beard was shortand bristled forwards in a way very different from that of thecaptain. So he says, but he had been two hours in the public-house,and it is some distance from the road to the window. Besides, thisrefers to the Monday, and the crime was done upon theWednesday.
"On the Tuesday Peter Carey was in one of his blackest moods,flushed with drink and as savage as a dangerous wild beast. Heroamed about the house, and the women ran for it when they heardhim coming. Late in the evening he went down to his own hut. Abouttwo o'clock the following morning his daughter, who slept with herwindow open, heard a most fearful yell from that direction, but itwas no unusual thing for him to bawl and shout when he was indrink, so no notice was taken. On rising at seven one of the maidsnoticed that the door of the hut was open, but so great was theterror which the man caused that it was midday before anyone wouldventure down to see what had become of him. Peeping into the opendoor they saw a sight which sent them flying with white faces intothe village. Within an hour I was on the spot and had taken overthe case.
"Well, I have fairly steady nerves, as you know, Mr. Holmes, butI give you my word that I got a shake when I put my head into thatlittle house. It was droning like a harmonium with the flies andbluebottles, and the floor and walls were like a slaughter-house.He had called it a cabin, and a cabin it was sure enough, for youwould have thought that you were in a ship. There was a bunk at oneend, a sea-chest, maps and charts, a picture of the SEA UNICORN, aline of log-books on a shelf, all exactly as one would expect tofind it in a captain's room. And there in the middle of it was theman himself, his face twisted like a lost soul in torment, and hisgreat brindled beard stuck upwards in his agony. Right through hisbroad breast a steel harpoon had been driven, and it had sunk deepinto the wood of the wall behind him. He was pinned like a beetleon a card. Of course, he was quite dead, and had been so from theinstant that he had uttered that last yell of agony.
"I know your methods, sir, and I applied them. Before Ipermitted anything to be moved I examined most carefully the groundoutside, and also the floor of the room. There were nofootmarks."
"Meaning that you saw none?"
"I assure you, sir, that there were none."
"My good Hopkins, I have investigated many crimes, but I havenever yet seen one which was committed by a flying creature. Aslong as the criminal remains upon two legs so long must there besome indentation, some abrasion, some trifling displacement whichcan be detected by the scientific searcher. It is incredible thatthis blood-bespattered room contained no trace which could haveaided us. I understand, however, from the inquest that there weresome objects which you failed to overlook?"
The young inspector winced at my companion's ironicalcomments.
"I was a fool not to call you in at the time, Mr. Holmes.However, that's past praying for now. Yes, there were severalobjects in the room which called for special attention. One was theharpoon with which the deed was committed. It had been snatcheddown from a rack on the wall. Two others remained there, and therewas a vacant place for the third. On the stock was engraved `Ss.SEA UNICORN, Dundee.' This seemed to establish that the crime hadbeen done in a moment of fury, and that the murderer had seized thefirst weapon which came in his way. The fact that the crime wascommitted at two in the morning, and yet Peter Carey was fullydressed, suggested that he had an appointment with the murderer,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 arepermissible. Was there any other spirit but rum in the room?"
"Yes; there was a tantalus containing brandy and whisky on thesea-chest. It is of no importance to us, however, since thedecanters 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 toyou to 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 seal-skin -- thestraight-haired skin, with a leather thong to bind it. Inside was`P.C.' on the flap. There was half an ounce of strong ship'stobacco in it."
"Excellent! What more?"
Stanley Hopkins drew from his pocket a drab-covered note-book.The outside was rough and worn, the leaves discoloured. On thefirst page were written the initials "J.H.N." and the date "1883."Holmes laid it on the table and examined it in his minute way,while Hopkins and I gazed over each shoulder. On the second pagewere the printed letters "C.P.R.," and then came several sheets ofnumbers. Another heading was Argentine, another Costa Rica, andanother San Paulo, each with pages of signs and figures afterit.
"What do you make of these?" asked Holmes.
"They appear to be lists of Stock Exchange securities. I thoughtthat `J.H.N.' were the initials of a broker, and that `C.P.R.' mayhave been his client."
"Try Canadian Pacific Railway," said Holmes.
Stanley Hopkins swore between his teeth and struck his thighwith his clenched hand.
"What a fool I have been!" he cried. "Of course, it is as yousay. Then `J.H.N.' are the only initials we have to solve. I havealready examined the old Stock Exchange lists, and I can find noone in 1883 either in the House or among the outside brokers whoseinitials correspond with these. Yet I feel that the clue is themost important one that I hold. You will admit, Mr. Holmes, thatthere is a possibility that these initials are those of the secondperson who was present -- in other words, of the murderer. I wouldalso urge that the introduction into the case of a documentrelating to large masses of valuable securities gives us for thefirst time some indication of a motive for the crime."
Sherlock Holmes's face showed that he was thoroughly taken abackby this new development.
"I must admit both your points," said he. "I confess that thisnote-book, which did not appear at the inquest, modifies any viewswhich I may have formed. I had come to a theory of the crime inwhich I can find no place for this. Have you endeavoured to traceany of the securities here mentioned?"
"Inquiries are now being made at the offices, but I fear thatthe complete register of the stockholders of these South Americanconcerns is in South America, and that some weeks must elapsebefore we can trace the shares."
Holmes had been examining the cover of the note-book with hismagnifying lens.
"Surely there is some discolouration here," said he.
"Yes, sir, it is a blood-stain. I told you that I picked thebook off the floor."
"Was the blood-stain above or below?"
"On the side next the boards."
"Which proves, of course, that the book was dropped after thecrime was committed."
"Exactly, Mr. Holmes. I appreciated that point, and Iconjectured that it was dropped by the murderer in his hurriedflight. It lay near the door."
"I suppose that none of these securities have been found amongthe property 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 therewas a knife, was there not?"
"A sheath-knife, still in its sheath. It lay at the feet of thedead man. Mrs. Carey has identified it as being her husband'sproperty."
Holmes was lost in thought for some time.
"Well," said he, at last, "I suppose I shall have to come outand have a look 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. "Buteven now my visit may not be entirely fruitless. Watson, if you canspare the time I should be very glad of your company. If you willcall a four-wheeler, Hopkins, we shall be ready to start for ForestRow in a quarter of an hour."
Alighting at the small wayside station, we drove for some milesthrough the remains of widespread woods, which were once part ofthat great forest which for so long held the Saxon invaders at bay-- the impenetrable "weald," for sixty years the bulwark ofBritain. Vast sections of it have been cleared, for this is theseat of the first iron-works of the country, and the trees havebeen felled to smelt the ore. Now the richer fields of the Northhave absorbed the trade, and nothing save these ravaged groves andgreat scars in the earth show the work of the past. Here in aclearing upon the green slope of a hill stood a long, low stonehouse, approached by a curving drive running through the fields.Nearer the road, and surrounded on three sides by bushes, was asmall outhouse, one window and the door facing in our direction. Itwas the scene of the murder!
Stanley Hopkins led us first to the house, where he introducedus to a haggard, grey-haired woman, the widow of the murdered man,whose gaunt and deep-lined face, with the furtive look of terror inthe depths of her red-rimmed eyes, told of the years of hardshipand ill-usage which she had endured. With her was her daughter, apale, fair-haired girl, whose eyes blazed defiantly at us as shetold us that she was glad that her father was dead, and that sheblessed the hand which had struck him down. It was a terriblehousehold that Black Peter Carey had made for himself, and it waswith a sense of relief that we found ourselves in the sunlightagain and making our way along a path which had been worn acrossthe fields by the feet of the dead man.
The outhouse was the simplest of dwellings, wooden-walled,shingle-roofed, one window beside the door and one on the fartherside. Stanley Hopkins drew the key from his pocket, and had stoopedto the lock, when he paused with a look of attention and surpriseupon his face.
"Someone has been tampering with it," he said.
There could be no doubt of the fact. The woodwork was cut andthe scratches showed white through the paint, as if they had beenthat instant done. Holmes had been examining the window.
"Someone has tried to force this also. Whoever it was has failedto make his way in. He must have been a very poor burglar."
"This is a most extraordinary thing," said the inspector; "Icould swear that these marks were not here yesterday evening."
"Some curious person from the village, perhaps," Isuggested.
"Very unlikely. Few of them would dare to set foot in thegrounds, far less try to force their way into the cabin. What doyou 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 tried to get in with the blade of a very small penknife. Hecould 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 toreceive him. Meanwhile, let me see the inside of the cabin."
The traces of the tragedy had been removed, but the furniturewithin the little room still stood as it had been on the night ofthe crime. For two hours, with most intense concentration, Holmesexamined every object in turn, but his face showed that his questwas not a successful one. Once only he paused in his patientinvestigation.
"Have you taken anything off this shelf, Hopkins?"
"No; I have moved nothing."
"Something has been taken. There is less dust in this corner ofthe shelf than elsewhere. It may have been a book lying on itsside. It may have been a box. Well, well, I can do nothing more.Let us walk in these beautiful woods, Watson, and give a few hoursto the birds and the flowers. We shall meet you here later,Hopkins, and see if we can come to closer quarters with thegentleman who has paid this visit in the night."
It was past eleven o'clock when we formed our little ambuscade.Hopkins was for leaving the door of the hut open, but Holmes was ofthe opinion that this would rouse the suspicions of the stranger.The lock was a perfectly simple one, and only a strong blade wasneeded to push it back. Holmes also suggested that we should wait,not inside the hut, but outside it among the bushes which grewround the farther window. In this way we should be able to watchour man if he struck a light, and see what his object was in thisstealthy nocturnal visit.
It was a long and melancholy vigil, and yet brought with itsomething of the thrill which the hunter feels when he lies besidethe water pool and waits for the coming of the thirsty beast ofprey. What savage creature was it which might steal upon us out ofthe darkness? Was it a fierce tiger of crime, which could only betaken fighting hard with flashing fang and claw, or would it proveto be some skulking jackal, dangerous only to the weak andunguarded?
In absolute silence we crouched amongst the bushes, waiting forwhatever might come. At first the steps of a few belated villagers,or the sound of voices from the village, lightened our vigil; butone by one these interruptions died away and an absolute stillnessfell upon us, save for the chimes of the distant church, which toldus of the progress of the night, and for the rustle and whisper ofa fine rain falling amid the foliage which roofed us in.
Half-past two had chimed, and it was the darkest hour whichprecedes the dawn, when we all started as a low but sharp clickcame from the direction of the gate. Someone had entered the drive.Again there was a long silence, and I had begun to fear that it wasa false alarm, when a stealthy step was heard upon the other sideof the hut, and a moment later a metallic scraping and clinking.The man was trying to force the lock! This time his skill wasgreater or his tool was better, for there was a sudden snap and thecreak of the hinges. Then a match was struck, and next instant thesteady light from a candle filled the interior of the hut. Throughthe gauze curtain our eyes were all riveted upon the scenewithin.
The nocturnal visitor was a young man, frail and thin, with ablack moustache which intensified the deadly pallor of his face. Hecould not have been much above twenty years of age. I have neverseen any human being who appeared to be in such a pitiable fright,for his teeth were visibly chattering and he was shaking in everylimb. He was dressed like a gentleman, in Norfolk jacket andknickerbockers, with a cloth cap upon his head. We watched himstaring round with frightened eyes. Then he laid the candle-endupon the table and disappeared from our view into one of thecorners. He returned with a large book, one of the log-books whichformed a line upon the shelves. Leaning on the table he rapidlyturned over the leaves of this volume until he came to the entrywhich he sought. Then, with an angry gesture of his clenched hand,he closed the book, replaced it in the corner, and put out thelight. He had hardly turned to leave the hut when Hopkins's handwas on the fellow's collar, and I heard his loud gasp of terror ashe understood that he was taken. The candle was re-lit, and therewas our wretched captive shivering and cowering in the grasp of thedetective. He sank down upon the sea-chest, and looked helplesslyfrom one of us to the other.
"Now, my fine fellow," said Stanley Hopkins, "who are you, andwhat do you want here?"
The man pulled himself together and faced us with an effort atself-composure.
"You are detectives, I suppose?" said he. "You imagine I amconnected with the death of Captain Peter Carey. I assure you thatI am innocent."
"We'll see about that," said Hopkins. "First of all, what isyour 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 thetrial."
The young man winced.
"Well, I will tell you," he said. "Why should I not? And yet Ihate to think of this old scandal gaining a new lease of life. Didyou ever hear of Dawson and Neligan?"
I could see from Hopkins's face that he never had; but Holmeswas keenly 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 along gap between an absconding banker and Captain Peter Careypinned against the wall with one of his own harpoons. We alllistened intently to the young man's words.
"It was my father who was really concerned. Dawson had retired.I was only ten years of age at the time, but I was old enough tofeel the shame and horror of it all. It has always been said thatmy father stole all the securities and fled. It is not true. It washis belief that if he were given time in which to realize them allwould be well and every creditor paid in full. He started in hislittle yacht for Norway just before the warrant was issued for hisarrest. I can remember that last night when he bade farewell to mymother. He left us a list of the securities he was taking, and heswore that he would come back with his honour cleared, and thatnone who had trusted him would suffer. Well, no word was ever heardfrom him again. Both the yacht and he vanished utterly. Webelieved, my mother and I, that he and it, with the securities thathe had taken with him, were at the bottom of the sea. We had afaithful friend, however, who is a business man, and it was he whodiscovered some time ago that some of the securities which myfather had with him have reappeared on the London market. You canimagine our amazement. I spent months in trying to trace them, andat last, after many doublings and difficulties, I discovered thatthe original seller had been Captain Peter Carey, the owner of thishut.
"Naturally, I made some inquiries about the man. I found that hehad been in command of a whaler which was due to return from theArctic seas at the very time when my father was crossing to Norway.The autumn of that year was a stormy one, and there was a longsuccession of southerly gales. My father's yacht may well have beenblown to the north, and there met by Captain Peter Carey's ship. Ifthat were so, what had become of my father? In any case, if I couldprove from Peter Carey's evidence how these securities came on themarket it would be a proof that my father had not sold them, andthat he had no view to personal profit when he took them.
"I came down to Sussex with the intention of seeing the captain,but it was at this moment that his terrible death occurred. I readat the inquest a description of his cabin, in which it stated thatthe old log-books of his vessel were preserved in it. It struck methat if I could see what occurred in the month of August, 1883, onboard the SEA UNICORN, I might settle the mystery of my father'sfate. I tried last night to get at these log-books, but was unableto open the door. To-night I tried again, and succeeded; but I findthat the pages which deal with that month have been torn from thebook. It was at that moment I found myself a prisoner in yourhands."
"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 upthe damning note-book, with the initials of our prisoner on thefirst leaf and the 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 Ihad lost it at the hotel."
"That is enough," said Hopkins, sternly. "Whatever else you haveto say 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 andto your friend for coming down to help me. As it turns out yourpresence was unnecessary, and I would have brought the case to thissuccessful issue without you; but none the less I am very grateful.Rooms have been reserved for you at the Brambletye Hotel, so we canall walk down to the village 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 sametime Stanley Hopkins's methods do not commend themselves to me. Iam disappointed in Stanley Hopkins. I had hoped for better thingsfrom him. One should always look for a possible alternative andprovide against it. It is the first rule of criminalinvestigation."
"What, then, is the alternative?"
"The line of investigation which I have myself been pursuing. Itmay give us nothing. I cannot tell. But at least I shall follow itto the end."
Several letters were waiting for Holmes at Baker Street. Hesnatched one of them up, opened it, and burst out into a triumphantchuckle of laughter.
"Excellent, Watson. The alternative develops. Have you telegraphforms? Just write a couple of messages for me: `Sumner, ShippingAgent, Ratcliff Highway. Send three men on, to arrive ten to-morrowmorning. -- Basil.' That's my name in those parts. The other is:`Inspector Stanley Hopkins, 46, Lord Street, Brixton. Comebreakfast to-morrow at nine-thirty. Important. Wire if unable tocome. -- Sherlock Holmes.' There, Watson, this infernal case hashaunted me for ten days. I hereby banish it completely from mypresence. To-morrow I trust that we shall hear the last of it forever."
Sharp at the hour named Inspector Stanley Hopkins appeared, andwe sat down together to the excellent breakfast which Mrs. Hudsonhad prepared. The young detective was in high spirits at hissuccess.
"You really think that your solution must be correct?" askedHolmes.
"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 theBrambletye Hotel on the very day of the crime. He came on thepretence of playing golf. His room was on the ground-floor, and hecould get out when he liked. That very night he went down toWoodman's Lee, saw Peter Carey at the hut, quarrelled with him, andkilled him with the harpoon. Then, horrified by what he had done,he fled out of the hut, dropping the note-book which he had broughtwith him in order to question Peter Carey about these differentsecurities. You may have observed that some of them were markedwith ticks, and the others -- the great majority -- were not. Thosewhich are ticked have been traced on the London market; but theothers presumably were still in the possession of Carey, and youngNeligan, according to his own account, was anxious to recover themin order to do the right thing by his father's creditors. After hisflight he did not dare to approach the hut again for some time; butat last he forced himself to do so in order to obtain theinformation which he needed. Surely that is all simple andobvious?"
Holmes smiled and shook his head.
"It seems to me to have only one drawback, Hopkins, and that isthat it is intrinsically impossible. Have you tried to drive aharpoon through a body? No? Tut, tut, my dear sir, you must reallypay attention to these details. My friend Watson could tell youthat I spent a whole morning in that exercise. It is no easymatter, and requires a strong and practised arm. But this blow wasdelivered with such violence that the head of the weapon sank deepinto the wall. Do you imagine that this anaemic youth was capableof so frightful an assault? Is he the man who hobnobbed in rum andwater with Black Peter in the dead of the night? Was it his profilethat was seen on the blind two nights before? No, no, Hopkins; itis another and a more formidable person for whom we must seek."
The detective's face had grown longer and longer during Holmes'sspeech. His hopes and his ambitions were all crumbling about him.But he would not abandon his position without a struggle.
"You can't deny that Neligan was present that night, Mr. Holmes.The book will prove that. I fancy that I have evidence enough tosatisfy a jury, even if you are able to pick a hole in it. Besides,Mr. Holmes, I have laid my hand upon MY man. As to this terribleperson 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 whereyou can reach it." He rose, and laid a written paper upon aside-table. "Now we are ready," said he.
There had been some talking in gruff voices outside, and nowMrs. Hudson opened the door to say that there were three meninquiring for Captain Basil.
"Show them in one by one," said Holmes.
The first who entered was a little ribston-pippin of a man, withruddy cheeks and fluffy white side-whiskers. Holmes had drawn aletter from his pocket.
"What name?" he asked.
"James Lancaster."
"I am sorry, Lancaster, but the berth is full. Here is half asovereign for your trouble. Just step into this room and wait therefor 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 fiercebull-dog face was framed in a tangle of hair and beard, and twobold dark eyes gleamed behind the cover of thick, tufted, overhungeyebrows. He saluted and stood sailor-fashion, turning his capround 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 hispocket. Holmes glanced over them and returned them.
"You are just the man I want," said he. "Here's the agreement onthe side-table. If you sign it the whole matter will besettled."
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 hisneck.
"This will do," said he.
I heard a click of steel and a bellow like an enraged bull. Thenext instant Holmes and the seaman were rolling on the groundtogether. He was a man of such gigantic strength that, even withthe handcuffs which Holmes had so deftly fastened upon his wrists,he would have very quickly overpowered my friend had Hopkins and Inot rushed to his rescue. Only when I pressed the cold muzzle ofthe revolver to his temple did he at last understand thatresistance was vain. We lashed his ankles with cord and rosebreathless from the struggle.
"I must really apologize, Hopkins," said Sherlock Holmes; "Ifear that the scrambled eggs are cold. However, you will enjoy therest of your breakfast all the better, will you not, for thethought that you have brought your case to a triumphantconclusion."
Stanley Hopkins was speechless with amazement.
"I don't 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 afool of myself from the beginning. I understand now, what I shouldnever have forgotten, that I am the pupil and you are the master.Even now I see what you have done, but I don't 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 losesight of the alternative. You were so absorbed in young Neliganthat you could not spare a thought to Patrick Cairns, the truemurderer of Peter Carey."
The hoarse voice of the seaman broke in on our conversation.
"See here, mister," said he, "I make no complaint of beingman-handled in this fashion, but I would have you call things bytheir right names. You say I murdered Peter Carey; I say I KILLEDPeter Carey, and there's all the difference. Maybe you don'tbelieve what I say. Maybe you think I am just slinging you ayarn."
"Not at all," said Holmes. "Let us hear what you have tosay."
"It's soon told, and, by the Lord, every word of it is truth. Iknew Black Peter, and when he pulled out his knife I whipped aharpoon through him sharp, for I knew that it was him or me. That'show he died. You can call it murder. Anyhow, I'd as soon die with arope round my neck as with Black Peter's knife in my heart."
"How came you there?" asked Holmes.
"I'll tell it you from the beginning. Just sit me up a little soas I can speak easy. It was in '83 that it happened -- August ofthat year. Peter Carey was master of the SEA UNICORN, and I wasspare harpooner. We were coming out of the ice-pack on our wayhome, with head winds and a week's southerly gale, when we pickedup a little craft that had been blown north. There was one man onher -- a landsman. The crew had thought she would founder, and hadmade for the Norwegian coast in the dinghy. I guess they were alldrowned. Well, we took him on board, this man, and he and theskipper had some long talks in the cabin. All the baggage we tookoff with him was one tin box. So far as I know, the man's name wasnever mentioned, and on the second night he disappeared as if hehad never been. It was given out that he had either thrown himselfoverboard or fallen overboard in the heavy weather that we werehaving. Only one man knew what had happened to him, and that wasme, 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 daysbefore we sighted the Shetland lights.
"Well, I kept my knowledge to myself and waited to see whatwould come of it. When we got back to Scotland it was easily hushedup, and nobody asked any questions. A stranger died by an accident,and it was nobody's business to inquire. Shortly after Peter Careygave up the sea, and it was long years before I could find where hewas. I guessed that he had done the deed for the sake of what wasin that tin box, and that he could afford now to pay me well forkeeping my mouth shut.
"I found out where he was through a sailor man that had met himin London, 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 Icame I found him three parts drunk and in a vile temper. We satdown and we drank and we yarned about old times, but the more hedrank the less I liked the look on his face. I spotted that harpoonupon the wall, and I thought I might need it before I was through.Then at last he broke out at me, spitting and cursing, with murderin his eyes and a great clasp-knife in his hand. He had not time toget it from the sheath before I had the harpoon through him.Heavens! what a yell he gave; and his face gets between me and mysleep! I stood there, with his blood splashing round me, and Iwaited for a bit; but all was quiet, so I took heart once more. Ilooked round, and there was the tin box on a shelf. I had as muchright to it as Peter Carey, anyhow, so I took it with me and leftthe hut. Like a fool I left my baccy-pouch upon the table.
"Now I'll tell you the queerest part of the whole story. I hadhardly got outside the hut when I heard someone coming, and I hidamong the bushes. A man came slinking along, went into the hut,gave a cry as if he had seen a ghost, and legged it as hard as hecould run until he was out of sight. Who he was or what he wantedis more than I can tell. For my part I walked ten miles, got atrain at Tunbridge Wells, and so reached London, and no one thewiser.
"Well, when I came to examine the box I found there was no moneyin it, and nothing but papers that I would not dare to sell. I hadlost my hold on Black Peter, and was stranded in London without ashilling. There was only my trade left. I saw these advertisementsabout harpooners and high wages, so I went to the shipping agents,and they sent me here. That's all I know, and I say again that if Ikilled Black Peter the law should give me thanks, for I saved themthe price of a hempen rope."
"A very clear statement," said Holmes, rising and lighting hispipe. "I think, Hopkins, that you should lose no time in conveyingyour prisoner to a place of safety. This room is not well adaptedfor a cell, and Mr. Patrick Cairns occupies too large a proportionof our carpet."
"Mr. Holmes," said Hopkins, "I do not know how to express mygratitude. Even now I do not understand how you attained thisresult."
"Simply by having the good fortune to get the right clue fromthe beginning. It is very possible if I had known about thisnote-book it might have led away my thoughts, as it did yours. Butall I heard pointed in the one direction. The amazing strength, theskill in the use of the harpoon, the rum and water, the seal-skintobacco-pouch, with the coarse tobacco -- all these pointed to aseaman, and one who had been a whaler. I was convinced that theinitials `P.C.' upon the pouch were a coincidence, and not those ofPeter Carey, since he seldom smoked, and no pipe was found in hiscabin. You remember that I asked whether whisky and brandy were inthe 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 itwere a seaman, it could only be a seaman who had been with him onthe SEA UNICORN. So far as I could learn he had sailed in no othership. I spent three days in wiring to Dundee, and at the end ofthat time I had ascertained the names of the crew of the SEAUNICORN in 1883. When I found Patrick Cairns among the harpoonersmy research was nearing its end. I argued that the man was probablyin London, and that he would desire to leave the country for atime. I therefore spent some days in the East-end, devised anArctic expedition, put forth tempting terms for harpooners whowould serve under Captain Basil -- and behold the result!"
"Wonderful!" cried Hopkins. "Wonderful!"
"You must obtain the release of young Neligan as soon aspossible," said Holmes. "I confess that I think you owe him someapology. The tin box must be returned to him, but, of course, thesecurities which Peter Carey has sold are lost for ever. There'sthe cab, Hopkins, and you can remove your man. If you want me forthe trial, my address and that of Watson will be somewhere inNorway -- I'll send particulars later."
ADVENTURE VII. THE ADVENTURE OF CHARLES AUGUSTUSMILVERTON
IT is years since the incidents of which I speak took place, andyet it is with diffidence that I allude to them. For a long time,even with the utmost discretion and reticence, it would have beenimpossible to make the facts public; but now the principal personconcerned is beyond the reach of human law, and with duesuppression the story may be told in such fashion as to injure noone. It records an absolutely unique experience in the career bothof Mr. Sherlock Holmes and of myself. The reader will excuse me ifI conceal the date or any other fact by which he might trace theactual occurrence.
We had been out for one of our evening rambles, Holmes and I,and had returned about six o'clock on a cold, frosty winter'sevening. As Holmes turned up the lamp the light fell upon a card onthe table. He glanced at it, and then, with an ejaculation ofdisgust, threw it on the floor. I picked it up and read:--
"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 thecard?"
I turned it over.
"Will call at 6.30 -- C.A.M.," I read.
"Hum! He's about due. Do you feel a creeping, shrinkingsensation, Watson, when you stand before the serpents in the Zooand see the slithery, gliding, venomous creatures, with theirdeadly eyes and wicked, flattened faces? Well, that's how Milvertonimpresses me. I've had to do with fifty murderers in my career, butthe worst of them never gave me the repulsion which I have for thisfellow. And yet I can't get out of doing business with him --indeed, he is here at my invitation."
"But who is he?"
"I'll tell you, Watson. He is the king of all the blackmailers.Heaven help the man, and still more the woman, whose secret andreputation come into the power of Milverton. With a smiling faceand a heart of marble he will squeeze and squeeze until he hasdrained them dry. The fellow is a genius in his way, and would havemade his mark in some more savoury trade. His method is as follows:He allows it to be known that he is prepared to pay very high sumsfor letters which compromise people of wealth or position. Hereceives these wares not only from treacherous valets or maids, butfrequently from genteel ruffians who have gained the confidence andaffection of trusting women. He deals with no niggard hand. Ihappen to know that he paid seven hundred pounds to a footman for anote two lines in length, and that the ruin of a noble family wasthe result. Everything which is in the market goes to Milverton,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 richand far too cunning to work from hand to mouth. He will hold a cardback for years in order to play it at the moment when the stake isbest worth winning. I have said that he is the worst man in London,and I would ask you how could one compare the ruffian who in hotblood bludgeons his mate with this man, who methodically and at hisleisure tortures the soul and wrings the nerves in order to add tohis already swollen money-bags?"
I had seldom heard my friend speak with such intensity offeeling.
"But surely," said I, "the fellow must be within the grasp ofthe law?"
"Technically, no doubt, but practically not. What would itprofit a woman, for example, to get him a few months' imprisonmentif her own ruin must immediately follow? His victims dare not hitback. If ever he blackmailed an innocent person, then, indeed, weshould have him; but he is as cunning as the Evil One. No, no; wemust find other ways to fight him."
"And why is he here?"
"Because an illustrious client has placed her piteous case in myhands. It is the Lady Eva Brackwell, the most beautiful DEBUTANTEof last season. She is to be married in a fortnight to the Earl ofDovercourt. This fiend has several imprudent letters -- imprudent,Watson, nothing worse -- which were written to an impecunious youngsquire in the country. They would suffice to break off the match.Milverton will send the letters to the Earl unless a large sum ofmoney is paid him. I have been commissioned to meet him, and -- tomake the best terms I can."
At that instant there was a clatter and a rattle in the streetbelow. Looking down I saw a stately carriage and pair, thebrilliant lamps gleaming on the glossy haunches of the noblechestnuts. A footman opened the door, and a small, stout man in ashaggy astrachan overcoat descended. A minute later he was in theroom.
Charles Augustus Milverton was a man of fifty, with a large,intellectual head, a round, plump, hairless face, a perpetualfrozen smile, and two keen grey eyes, which gleamed brightly frombehind broad, golden-rimmed glasses. There was something of Mr.Pickwick's benevolence in his appearance, marred only by theinsincerity of the fixed smile and by the hard glitter of thoserestless and penetrating eyes. His voice was as smooth and suave ashis countenance, as he advanced with a plump little hand extended,murmuring his regret for having missed us at his first visit.Holmes disregarded the outstretched hand and looked at him with aface of granite. Milverton's smile broadened; he shrugged hisshoulders, removed his overcoat, folded it with great deliberationover the back of a chair, and then took a seat.
"This gentleman?" said he, with a wave in my direction. "Is itdiscreet? Is it right?"
"Dr. Watson is my friend and partner."
"Very good, Mr. Holmes. It is only in your client's intereststhat I protested. The matter is so very delicate ----"
"Dr. Watson has already heard of it."
"Then we can proceed to business. You say that you are actingfor Lady Eva. Has she empowered you to accept my terms?"
"What are your terms?"
"Seven thousand pounds."
"And the alternative?"
"My dear sir, it is painful for me to discuss it; but if themoney is not paid on the 14th there certainly will be no marriageon the 18th." His insufferable smile was more complacent thanever.
Holmes thought for a little.
"You appear to me," he said, at last, "to be taking matters toomuch for granted. I am, of course, familiar with the contents ofthese letters. My client will certainly do what I may advise. Ishall counsel her to tell her future husband the whole story and totrust to his generosity."
Milverton chuckled.
"You evidently do not know the Earl," said he.
From the baffled look upon Holmes's face I could see clearlythat he did.
"What harm is there in the letters?" he asked.
"They are sprightly -- very sprightly," Milverton answered. "Thelady was a charming correspondent. But I can assure you that theEarl of Dovercourt would fail to appreciate them. However, sinceyou think otherwise, we will let it rest at that. It is purely amatter of business. If you think that it is in the best interestsof your client that these letters should be placed in the hands ofthe Earl, then you would indeed be foolish to pay so large a sum ofmoney to regain them." He rose and seized his astrachan coat.
Holmes was grey with anger and mortification.
"Wait a little," he said. "You go too fast. We would certainlymake every 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 uponher resources, and that the sum you name is utterly beyond herpower. I beg, therefore, that you will moderate your demands, andthat you will return the letters at the price I indicate, which is,I assure you, the highest that you can get."
Milverton's smile broadened and his eyes twinkledhumorously.
"I am aware that what you say is true about the lady'sresources," said he. "At the same time, you must admit that theoccasion of a lady's marriage is a very suitable time for herfriends and relatives to make some little effort upon her behalf.They may hesitate as to an acceptable wedding present. Let meassure them that this little bundle of letters would give more joythan all the candelabra and butter-dishes in London."
"It is impossible," said Holmes.
"Dear me, dear me, how unfortunate!" cried Milverton, taking outa bulky pocket-book. "I cannot help thinking that ladies areill-advised in not making an effort. Look at this!" He held up alittle note with a coat-of-arms upon the envelope. "That belongs to-- well, perhaps it is hardly fair to tell the name until to-morrowmorning. But at that time it will be in the hands of the lady'shusband. And all because she will not find a beggarly sum which shecould get by turning her diamonds into paste. It IS such a pity.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 itwas all off. And why? It is almost incredible, but the absurd sumof twelve hundred pounds would have settled the whole question. Isit not pitiful? And here I find you, a man of sense, boggling aboutterms when your client's future and honour are at stake. Yousurprise me, Mr. Holmes."
"What I say is true," Holmes answered. "The money cannot befound. Surely it is better for you to take the substantial sumwhich I offer than to ruin this woman's career, which can profityou in no way?"
"There you make a mistake, Mr. Holmes. An exposure would profitme indirectly to a considerable extent. I have eight or ten similarcases maturing. If it was circulated among them that I had made asevere example of the Lady Eva I should find all of them much moreopen to reason. You see my point?"
Holmes sprang from his chair.
"Get behind him, Watson! Don't let him out! Now, sir, let us seethe contents of that note-book."
Milverton had glided as quick as a rat to the side of the room,and stood with his back against the wall.
"Mr. Holmes, Mr. Holmes," he said, turning the front of his coatand exhibiting the butt of a large revolver, which projected fromthe inside pocket. "I have been expecting you to do somethingoriginal. This has been done so often, and what good has ever comefrom it? I assure you that I am armed to the teeth, and I amperfectly prepared to use my weapons, knowing that the law willsupport me. Besides, your supposition that I would bring theletters here in a note-book is entirely mistaken. I would donothing so foolish. And now, gentlemen, I have one or two littleinterviews this evening, and it is a long drive to Hampstead." Hestepped forward, took up his coat, laid his hand on his revolver,and turned to the door. I picked up a chair, but Holmes shook hishead and I laid it down again. With bow, a smile, and a twinkleMilverton was out of the room, and a few moments after we heard theslam of the carriage door and the rattle of the wheels as he droveaway.
Holmes sat motionless by the fire, his hands buried deep in histrouser pockets, his chin sunk upon his breast, his eyes fixed uponthe glowing embers. For half an hour he was silent and still. Then,with the gesture of a man who has taken his decision, he sprang tohis feet and passed into his bedroom. A little later a rakish youngworkman with a goatee beard and a swagger lit his clay pipe at thelamp before descending into the street. "I'll be back some time,Watson," said he, and vanished into the night. I understood that hehad opened his campaign against Charles Augustus Milverton; but Ilittle dreamed the strange shape which that campaign was destinedto take.
For some days Holmes came and went at all hours in this attire,but beyond a remark that his time was spent at Hampstead, and thatit was not wasted, I knew nothing of what he was doing. At last,however, on a wild, tempestuous evening, when the wind screamed andrattled against the windows, he returned from his last expedition,and having removed his disguise he sat before the fire and laughedheartily in his silent inward fashion.
"You would not call me a marrying man, Watson?"
"No, indeed!"
"You'll be interested to hear that I am engaged."
"My dear fellow! I congrat ----"
"To Milverton's housemaid."
"Good heavens, Holmes!"
"I wanted information, Watson."
"Surely you have gone too far?"
"It was a most necessary step. I am a plumber with a risingbusiness, Escott by name. I have walked out with her each evening,and I have talked with her. Good heavens, those talks! However, Ihave got all I wanted. I know Milverton's house as I know the palmof my hand."
"But the girl, Holmes?"
He shrugged his shoulders.
"You can't help it, my dear Watson. You must play your cards asbest you can when such a stake is on the table. However, I rejoiceto say that I have a hated rival who will certainly cut me out theinstant that my back is turned. What a splendid night it is!"
"You like this weather?"
"It suits my purpose. Watson, I mean to burgle Milverton's houseto-night."
I had a catching of the breath, and my skin went cold at thewords, which were slowly uttered in a tone of concentratedresolution. As a flash of lightning in the night shows up in aninstant every detail of a wide landscape, so at one glance I seemedto see every possible result of such an action -- the detection,the capture, the honoured career ending in irreparable failure anddisgrace, my friend himself lying at the mercy of the odiousMilverton.
"For Heaven's sake, Holmes, think what you are doing," Icried.
"My dear fellow, I have given it every consideration. I am neverprecipitate in my actions, nor would I adopt so energetic andindeed so dangerous a course if any other were possible. Let uslook at the matter clearly and fairly. I suppose that you willadmit that the action is morally justifiable, though technicallycriminal. To burgle his house is no more than to forcibly take hispocket-book -- an action in which you were prepared to aid me."
I turned it over in my mind.
"Yes," I said; "it is morally justifiable so long as our objectis to take no articles save those which are used for an illegalpurpose."
"Exactly. Since it is morally justifiable I have only toconsider the question of personal risk. Surely a gentleman shouldnot lay much stress upon this when a lady is in most desperate needof his help?"
"You will be in such a false position."
"Well, that is part of the risk. There is no other possible wayof regaining these letters. The unfortunate lady has not the money,and there are none of her people in whom she could confide.To-morrow is the last day of grace, and unless we can get theletters to-night this villain will be as good as his word and willbring about her ruin. I must, therefore, abandon my client to herfate or I must play this last card. Between ourselves, Watson, it'sa sporting duel between this fellow Milverton and me. He had, asyou saw, the best of the first exchanges; but my self-respect andmy reputation are concerned to fight it to a finish."
"Well, I don't like it; but I suppose it must be," said I. "Whendo we start?"
"You are not coming."
"Then you are not going," said I. "I give you my word of honour-- and I never broke it in my life -- that I will take a cabstraight to the police-station and give you away unless you let meshare this adventure with you."
"You can't help me."
"How do you know that? You can't tell what may happen. Anyway,my resolution is taken. Other people beside you have self-respectand even reputations."
Holmes had looked annoyed, but his brow cleared, and he clappedme on the shoulder.
"Well, well, my dear fellow, be it so. We have shared the sameroom for some years, and it would be amusing if we ended by sharingthe same cell. You know, Watson, I don't mind confessing to youthat I have always had an idea that I would have made a highlyefficient criminal. This is the chance of my lifetime in thatdirection. See here!" He took a neat little leather case out of adrawer, and opening it he exhibited a number of shininginstruments. "This is a first-class, up-to-date burgling kit, withnickel-plated jemmy, diamond-tipped glass-cutter, adaptable keys,and every modern improvement which the march of civilizationdemands. Here, too, is my dark lantern. Everything is in order.Have you a 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 ofthing. Very good; do you make the masks. We shall have some coldsupper before we start. It is now nine-thirty. At eleven we shalldrive as far as Church Row. It is a quarter of an hour's walk fromthere to Appledore Towers. We shall be at work before midnight.Milverton is a heavy sleeper and retires punctually at ten-thirty.With any luck we should be back here by two, with the Lady Eva'sletters in my pocket."
Holmes and I put on our dress-clothes, so that we might appearto be two theatre-goers homeward bound. In Oxford Street we pickedup a hansom and drove to an address in Hampstead. Here we paid offour cab, and with our great-coats buttoned up, for it was bitterlycold and the wind seemed to blow through us, we walked along theedge of the Heath.
"It's a business that needs delicate treatment," said Holmes."These documents are contained in a safe in the fellow's study, andthe study is the ante-room of his bed-chamber. On the other hand,like all these stout, little men who do themselves well, he is aplethoric sleeper. Agatha -- that's my FIANCEE -- says it is a jokein the servants' hall that it's impossible to wake the master. Hehas a secretary who is devoted to his interests and never budgesfrom the study all day. That's why we are going at night. Then hehas a beast of a dog which roams the garden. I met Agatha late thelast two evenings, and she locks the brute up so as to give me aclear run. This is the house, this big one in its own grounds.Through the gate -- now to the right among the laurels. We mightput on our masks here, I think. You see, there is not a glimmer oflight in any of the windows, and everything is workingsplendidly."
With our black silk face-coverings, which turned us into two ofthe most truculent figures in London, we stole up to the silent,gloomy house. A sort of tiled veranda extended along one side ofit, lined by several windows and two doors.
"That's his bedroom," Holmes whispered. "This door opensstraight into the study. It would suit us best, but it is bolted aswell as locked, and we should make too much noise getting in. Comeround here. There's a greenhouse which opens into thedrawing-room."
The place was locked, but Holmes removed a circle of glass andturned the key from the inside. An instant afterwards he had closedthe door behind us, and we had become felons in the eyes of thelaw. The thick, warm air of the conservatory and the rich, chokingfragrance of exotic plants took us by the throat. He seized my handin the darkness and led me swiftly past banks of shrubs whichbrushed against our faces. Holmes had remarkable powers, carefullycultivated, of seeing in the dark. Still holding my hand in one ofhis he opened a door, and I was vaguely conscious that we hadentered a large room in which a cigar had been smoked not longbefore. He felt his way among the furniture, opened another door,and closed it behind us. Putting out my hand I felt several coatshanging from the wall, and I understood that I was in a passage. Wepassed along it, and Holmes very gently opened a door upon theright-hand side. Something rushed out at us and my heart spranginto my mouth, but I could have laughed when I realized that it wasthe cat. A fire was burning in this new room, and again the air washeavy with tobacco smoke. Holmes entered on tiptoe, waited for meto follow, and then very gently closed the door. We were inMilverton's study, and a PORTIERE at the farther side showed theentrance to his bedroom.
It was a good fire, and the room was illuminated by it. Near thedoor I saw the gleam of an electric switch, but it was unnecessary,even if it had been safe, to turn it on. At one side of thefireplace was a heavy curtain, which covered the bay window we hadseen from outside. On the other side was the door whichcommunicated with the veranda. A desk stood in the centre, with aturning chair of shining red leather. Opposite was a largebookcase, with a marble bust of Athene on the top. In the cornerbetween the bookcase and the wall there stood a tall green safe,the firelight flashing back from the polished brass knobs upon itsface. Holmes stole across and looked at it. Then he crept to thedoor of the bedroom, and stood with slanting head listeningintently. No sound came from within. Meanwhile it had struck methat it would be wise to secure our retreat through the outer door,so I examined it. To my amazement it was neither locked nor bolted!I touched Holmes on the arm, and he turned his masked face in thatdirection. I saw him start, and he was evidently as surprised asI.
"I don't like it," he whispered, putting his lips to my veryear. "I can't quite make it out. Anyhow, we have no time tolose."
"Can I do anything?"
"Yes; stand by the door. If you hear anyone come, bolt it on theinside, and we can get away as we came. If they come the other way,we can get through the door if our job is done, or hide behindthese window curtains if it is not. Do you understand?"
I nodded and stood by the door. My first feeling of fear hadpassed away, and I thrilled now with a keener zest than I had everenjoyed when we were the defenders of the law instead of itsdefiers. The high object of our mission, the consciousness that itwas unselfish and chivalrous, the villainous character of ouropponent, all added to the sporting interest of the adventure. Farfrom feeling guilty, I rejoiced and exulted in our dangers. With aglow of admiration I watched Holmes unrolling his case ofinstruments and choosing his tool with the calm, scientificaccuracy of a surgeon who performs a delicate operation. I knewthat the opening of safes was a particular hobby with him, and Iunderstood the joy which it gave him to be confronted with thisgreen and gold monster, the dragon which held in its maw thereputations of many fair ladies. Turning up the cuffs of hisdress-coat -- he had placed his overcoat on a chair -- Holmes laidout two drills, a jemmy, and several skeleton keys. I stood at thecentre door with my eyes glancing at each of the others, ready forany emergency; though, indeed, my plans were somewhat vague as towhat I should do if we were interrupted. For half an hour Holmesworked with concentrated energy, laying down one tool, picking upanother, handling each with the strength and delicacy of thetrained mechanic. Finally I heard a click, the broad green doorswung open, and inside I had a glimpse of a number of paperpackets, each tied, sealed, and inscribed. Holmes picked one out,but it was hard to read by the flickering fire, and he drew out hislittle dark lantern, for it was too dangerous, with Milverton inthe next room, to switch on the electric light. Suddenly I saw himhalt, listen intently, and then in an instant he had swung the doorof the safe to, picked up his coat, stuffed his tools into thepockets, and darted behind the window curtain, motioning me to dothe same.
It was only when I had joined him there that I heard what hadalarmed his quicker senses. There was a noise somewhere within thehouse. A door slammed in the distance. Then a confused, dull murmurbroke itself into the measured thud of heavy footsteps rapidlyapproaching. They were in the passage outside the room. They pausedat the door. The door opened. There was a sharp snick as theelectric light was turned on. The door closed once more, and thepungent reek of a strong cigar was borne to our nostrils. Then thefootsteps continued backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards,within a few yards of us. Finally, there was a creak from a chair,and the footsteps ceased. Then a key clicked in a lock and I heardthe rustle of papers.
So far I had not dared to look out, but now I gently parted thedivision of the curtains in front of me and peeped through. Fromthe pressure of Holmes's shoulder against mine I knew that he wassharing my observations. Right in front of us, and almost withinour reach, was the broad, rounded back of Milverton. It was evidentthat we had entirely miscalculated his movements, that he had neverbeen to his bedroom, but that he had been sitting up in somesmoking or billiard room in the farther wing of the house, thewindows of which we had not seen. His broad, grizzled head, withits shining patch of baldness, was in the immediate foreground ofour vision. He was leaning far back in the red leather chair, hislegs outstretched, a long black cigar projecting at an angle fromhis mouth. He wore a semi-military smoking jacket, claret-coloured,with a black velvet collar. In his hand he held a long legaldocument, which he was reading in an indolent fashion, blowingrings of tobacco smoke from his lips as he did so. There was nopromise of a speedy departure in his composed bearing and hiscomfortable attitude.
I felt Holmes's hand steal into mine and give me a reassuringshake, as if to say that the situation was within his powers andthat he was easy in his mind. I was not sure whether he had seenwhat was only too obvious from my position, that the door of thesafe was imperfectly closed, and that Milverton might at any momentobserve it. In my own mind I had determined that if I were sure,from the rigidity of his gaze, that it had caught his eye, I wouldat once spring out, throw my great-coat over his head, pinion him,and leave the rest to Holmes. But Milverton never looked up. He waslanguidly interested by the papers in his hand, and page after pagewas turned as he followed the argument of the lawyer. At least, Ithought, when he has finished the document and the cigar he will goto his room; but before he had reached the end of either there camea remarkable development which turned our thoughts into quiteanother channel.
Several times I had observed that Milverton looked at his watch,and once he had risen and sat down again, with a gesture ofimpatience. The idea, however, that he might have an appointment atso strange an hour never occurred to me until a faint sound reachedmy ears from the veranda outside. Milverton dropped his papers andsat rigid in his chair. The sound was repeated, and then there camea 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 thenocturnal vigil of Milverton. There was the gentle rustle of awoman's dress. I had closed the slit between the curtains asMilverton's face had turned in our direction, but now I venturedvery carefully to open it once more. He had resumed his seat, thecigar still projecting at an insolent angle from the corner of hismouth. In front of him, in the full glare of the electric light,there stood a tall, slim, dark woman, a veil over her face, amantle drawn round her chin. Her breath came quick and fast, andevery inch of the lithe figure was quivering with strongemotion.
"Well," said Milverton, "you've made me lose a good night'srest, my dear. I hope you'll prove worth it. You couldn't come anyother time -- eh?"
The woman shook her head.
"Well, if you couldn't you couldn't. If the Countess is a hardmistress you have your chance to get level with her now. Bless thegirl, what are you shivering about? That's right! Pull yourselftogether! Now, let us get down to business." He took a note fromthe drawer of his desk. "You say that you have five letters whichcompromise the Countess d'Albert. You want to sell them. I want tobuy them. So far so good. It only remains to fix a price. I shouldwant to inspect the letters, of course. If they are really goodspecimens --- 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 Milverton, a face with a curved nose, strong, darkeyebrows shading hard, glittering eyes, and a straight, thin-lippedmouth set in a dangerous smile.
"It is I," she said; "the woman whose life you have ruined."
Milverton laughed, but fear vibrated in his voice. "You were sovery obstinate," said he. "Why did you drive me to suchextremities? I assure you I wouldn't hurt a fly of my own accord,but every man has his business, and what was I to do? I put theprice well within your means. You would not pay."
"So you sent the letters to my husband, and he -- the noblestgentleman that ever lived, a man whose boots I was never worthy tolace -- he broke his gallant heart and died. You remember that lastnight when I came through that door I begged and prayed you formercy, and you laughed in my face as you are trying to laugh now,only your coward heart cannot keep your lips from twitching? Yes,you never thought to see me here again, but it was that night whichtaught me how I could meet you face to face, and alone. Well,Charles Milverton, what have you to say?"
"Don't imagine that you can bully me," said he, rising to hisfeet. "I have only to raise my voice, and I could call my servantsand have you arrested. But I will make allowance for your naturalanger. Leave the room at once as you came, and I will say nomore."
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 ruined mine. You will wringno more hearts as you wrung mine. I will free the world of apoisonous thing. Take that, you hound, and that! -- and that! --and that!"
She had drawn a little, gleaming revolver, and emptied barrelafter barrel into Milverton's body, the muzzle within two feet ofhis shirt front. He shrank away and then fell forward upon thetable, coughing furiously and clawing among the papers. Then hestaggered to his feet, received another shot, and rolled upon thefloor. "You've done me," he cried, and lay still. The woman lookedat him intently and ground her heel into his upturned face. Shelooked again, but there was no sound or movement. I heard a sharprustle, the night air blew into the heated room, and the avengerwas gone.
No interference upon our part could have saved the man from hisfate; but as the woman poured bullet after bullet into Milverton'sshrinking body I was about to spring out, when I felt Holmes'scold, strong grasp upon my wrist. I understood the whole argumentof that firm, restraining grip -- that it was no affair of ours;that justice had overtaken a villain; that we had our own dutiesand our own objects which were not to be lost sight of. But hardlyhad the woman rushed from the room when Holmes, with swift, silentsteps, was over at the other door. He turned the key in the lock.At the same instant we heard voices in the house and the sound ofhurrying feet. The revolver shots had roused the household. Withperfect coolness Holmes slipped across to the safe, filled his twoarms with bundles of letters, and poured them all into the fire.Again and again he did it, until the safe was empty. Someone turnedthe handle and beat upon the outside of the door. Holmes lookedswiftly round. The letter which had been the messenger of death forMilverton lay, all mottled with his blood, upon the table. Holmestossed it in among the blazing papers. Then he drew the key fromthe outer door, passed through after me, and locked it on theoutside. "This way, Watson," said he; "we can scale the garden wallin this direction."
I could not have believed that an alarm could have spread soswiftly. Looking back, the huge house was one blaze of light. Thefront door was open, and figures were rushing down the drive. Thewhole garden was alive with people, and one fellow raised aview-halloa as we emerged from the veranda and followed hard at ourheels. Holmes seemed to know the ground perfectly, and he threadedhis way swiftly among a plantation of small trees, I close at hisheels, and our foremost pursuer panting behind us. It was asix-foot wall which barred our path, but he sprang to the top andover. As I did the same I felt the hand of the man behind me grabat my ankle; but I kicked myself free and scrambled over aglass-strewn coping. I fell upon my face among some bushes; butHolmes had me on my feet in an instant, and together we dashed awayacross the huge expanse of Hampstead Heath. We had run two miles, Isuppose, before Holmes at last halted and listened intently. Allwas absolute silence behind us. We had shaken off our pursuers andwere 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 usheredinto our 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,you might care to assist us in a most remarkable case whichoccurred only last night at Hampstead."
"Dear me!" said Holmes. "What was that?"
"A murder -- a most dramatic and remarkable murder. I know howkeen you are upon these things, and I would take it as a greatfavour if you would step down to Appledore Towers and give us thebenefit of your advice. It is no ordinary crime. We have had oureyes 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 heused for blackmailing purposes. These papers have all been burnedby the murderers. No article of value was taken, as it is probablethat the criminals were men of good position, whose sole object wasto prevent social exposure."
"Criminals!" said Holmes. "Plural!"
"Yes, there were two of them. They were, as nearly as possible,captured red-handed. We have their foot-marks, we have theirdescription; it's ten to one that we trace them. The first fellowwas a bit too active, but the second was caught by theunder-gardener and only got away after a struggle. He was amiddle-sized, strongly-built man -- square jaw, thick neck,moustache, a mask over his eyes."
"That's rather vague," said Sherlock Holmes. "Why, it might be adescription of Watson!"
"It's true," said the inspector, with much amusement. "It mightbe a description of Watson."
"Well, I am afraid I can't help you, Lestrade," said Holmes."The fact is that I knew this fellow Milverton, that I consideredhim one of the most dangerous men in London, and that I think thereare certain crimes which the law cannot touch, and which therefore,to some extent, justify private revenge. No, it's no use arguing. Ihave made up my mind. My sympathies are with the criminals ratherthan with the victim, and I will not handle this case."
Holmes had not said one word to me about the tragedy which wehad witnessed, but I observed all the morning that he was in hismost thoughtful mood, and he gave me the impression, from hisvacant eyes and his abstracted manner, of a man who is striving torecall something to his memory. We were in the middle of our lunchwhen he suddenly sprang to his feet. "By Jove, Watson; I've gotit!" he cried. "Take your hat! Come with me!" He hurried at his topspeed down Baker Street and along Oxford Street, until we hadalmost reached Regent Circus. Here on the left hand there stands ashop window filled with photographs of the celebrities and beautiesof the day. Holmes's eyes fixed themselves upon one of them, andfollowing his gaze I saw the picture of a regal and stately lady inCourt dress, with a high diamond tiara upon her noble head. Ilooked at that delicately-curved nose, at the marked eyebrows, atthe straight mouth, and the strong little chin beneath it. Then Icaught my breath as I read the time-honoured title of the greatnobleman and statesman whose wife she had been. My eyes met thoseof Holmes, and he put his finger to his lips as we turned away fromthe window.
ADVENTURE VIII. THE ADVENTURE OF THE SIXNAPOLEONS
IT was no very unusual thing for Mr. Lestrade, of Scotland Yard,to look in upon us of an evening, and his visits were welcome toSherlock Holmes, for they enabled him to keep in touch with allthat was going on at the police head-quarters. In return for thenews which Lestrade would bring, Holmes was always ready to listenwith attention to the details of any case upon which the detectivewas engaged, and was able occasionally, without any activeinterference, to give some hint or suggestion drawn from his ownvast knowledge and experience.
On this particular evening Lestrade had spoken of the weatherand the newspapers. Then he had fallen silent, puffing thoughtfullyat his cigar. Holmes looked keenly at him.
"Anything remarkable on hand?" he asked.
"Oh, no, Mr. Holmes, nothing very particular."
"Then tell me about it."
Lestrade laughed.
"Well, Mr. Holmes, there is no use denying that there ISsomething on my mind. And yet it is such an absurd business that Ihesitated to bother you about it. On the other hand, although it istrivial, it is undoubtedly queer, and I know that you have a tastefor all that is out of the common. But in my opinion it comes morein Dr. Watson's line than ours."
"Disease?" said I.
"Madness, anyhow. And a queer madness too! You wouldn't thinkthere was anyone living at this time of day who had such a hatredof Napoleon the First that he would break any image of him that hecould see."
Holmes sank back in his chair.
"That's no business of mine," said he.
"Exactly. That's what I said. But then, when the man commitsburglary in order to break images which are not his own, thatbrings it away from the doctor and on to the policeman."
Holmes sat up again.
"Burglary! This is more interesting. Let me hear thedetails."
Lestrade took out his official note-book and refreshed hismemory from its pages.
"The first case reported was four days ago," said he. "It was atthe shop of Morse Hudson, who has a place for the sale of picturesand statues in the Kennington Road. The assistant had left thefront shop for an instant when he heard a crash, and hurrying in hefound a plaster bust of Napoleon, which stood with several otherworks of art upon the counter, lying shivered into fragments. Herushed out into the road, but, although several passers-by declaredthat they had noticed a man run out of the shop, he could neithersee anyone nor could he find any means of identifying the rascal.It seemed to be one of those senseless acts of Hooliganism whichoccur from time to time, and it was reported to the constable onthe beat as such. The plaster cast was not worth more than a fewshillings, and the whole affair appeared to be too childish for anyparticular investigation.
"The second case, however, was more serious and also moresingular. It occurred only last night.
"In Kennington Road, and within a few hundred yards of MorseHudson's shop, there lives a well-known medical practitioner, namedDr. Barnicot, who has one of the largest practices upon the southside of the Thames. His residence and principal consulting-room isat Kennington Road, but he has a branch surgery and dispensary atLower Brixton Road, two miles away. This Dr. Barnicot is anenthusiastic admirer of Napoleon, and his house is full of books,pictures, and relics of the French Emperor. Some little time ago hepurchased from Morse Hudson two duplicate plaster casts of thefamous head of Napoleon by the French sculptor, Devine. One ofthese he placed in his hall in the house at Kennington Road, andthe other on the mantelpiece of the surgery at Lower Brixton. Well,when Dr. Barnicot came down this morning he was astonished to findthat his house had been burgled during the night, but that nothinghad been taken save the plaster head from the hall. It had beencarried out and had been dashed savagely against the garden wall,under which its splintered 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 endyet. Dr. Barnicot was due at his surgery at twelve o'clock, and youcan imagine his amazement when, on arriving there, he found thatthe window had been opened in the night, and that the broken piecesof his second bust were strewn all over the room. It had beensmashed to atoms where it stood. In neither case were there anysigns which could give us a clue as to the criminal or lunatic whohad done the mischief. Now, Mr. Holmes, you have got thefacts."
"They are singular, not to say grotesque," said Holmes. "May Iask whether the two busts smashed in Dr. Barnicot's rooms were theexact duplicates of the one which was destroyed in Morse Hudson'sshop?"
"They were taken from the same mould."
"Such a fact must tell against the theory that the man whobreaks them is influenced by any general hatred of Napoleon.Considering how many hundreds of statues of the great Emperor mustexist in London, it is too much to suppose such a coincidence asthat a promiscuous iconoclast should chance to begin upon threespecimens of the same bust."
"Well, I thought as you do," said Lestrade. "On the other hand,this Morse Hudson is the purveyor of busts in that part of London,and these three were the only ones which had been in his shop foryears. So, although, as you say, there are many hundreds of statuesin London, it is very probable that these three were the only onesin 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," Ianswered. "There is the condition which the modern Frenchpsychologists have called the `idee fixe,' which may be trifling incharacter, and accompanied by complete sanity in every other way. Aman who had read deeply about Napoleon, or who had possiblyreceived some hereditary family injury through the great war, mightconceivably form such an `idee fixe' and under its influence becapable of any fantastic outrage."
"That won't do, my dear Watson," said Holmes, shaking his head;"for no amount of `idee fixe' would enable your interestingmonomaniac to find out where these busts were situated."
"Well, how do YOU explain it?"
"I don't attempt to do so. I would only observe that there is acertain method in the gentleman's eccentric proceedings. Forexample, in Dr. Barnicot's hall, where a sound might arouse thefamily, the bust was taken outside before being broken, whereas inthe surgery, where there was less danger of an alarm, it wassmashed where it stood. The affair seems absurdly trifling, and yetI dare call nothing trivial when I reflect that some of my mostclassic cases have had the least promising commencement. You willremember, Watson, how the dreadful business of the Abernetty familywas first brought to my notice by the depth which the parsley hadsunk into the butter upon a hot day. I can't afford, therefore, tosmile at your three broken busts, Lestrade, and I shall be verymuch obliged to you if you will let me hear of any freshdevelopments of so singular a chain of events."
The development for which my friend had asked came in a quickerand an infinitely more tragic form than he could have imagined. Iwas still dressing in my bedroom next morning when there was a tapat the door and Holmes entered, a telegram in his hand. He read italoud:--
"Come instantly, 131, Pitt Street, Kensington. -- Lestrade."
"What is it, then?" I asked.
"Don't know -- may be anything. But I suspect it is the sequelof the story of the statues. In that case our friend, theimage-breaker, has begun operations in another quarter of London.There's coffee on the table, Watson, and I have a cab at thedoor."
In half an hour we had reached Pitt Street, a quiet littlebackwater just beside one of the briskest currents of London life.No. 131 was one of a row, all flat-chested, respectable, and mostunromantic dwellings. As we drove up we found the railings in frontof the house lined by a curious crowd. Holmes whistled.
"By George! it's attempted murder at the least. Nothing lesswill hold the London message-boy. There's a deed of violenceindicated in that fellow's round shoulders and outstretched neck.What's this, Watson? The top steps swilled down and the other onesdry. Footsteps enough, anyhow! Well, well, there's Lestrade at thefront window, and we shall soon know all about it."
The official received us with a very grave face and showed usinto a sitting-room, where an exceedingly unkempt and agitatedelderly man, clad in a flannel dressing-gown, was pacing up anddown. He was introduced to us as the owner of the house -- Mr.Horace Harker, of the Central Press Syndicate.
"It's the Napoleon bust business again," said Lestrade. "Youseemed interested last night, Mr. Holmes, so I thought perhaps youwould be glad to be present now that the affair has taken a verymuch graver turn."
"What has it turned to, then?"
"To murder. Mr. Harker, will you tell these gentlemen exactlywhat has occurred?"
The man in the dressing-gown turned upon us with a mostmelancholy face.
"It's an extraordinary thing," said he, "that all my life I havebeen collecting other people's news, and now that a real piece ofnews has come my own way I am so confused and bothered that I can'tput two words together. If I had come in here as a journalist Ishould have interviewed myself and had two columns in every eveningpaper. As it is I am giving away valuable copy by telling my storyover and over to a string of different people, and I can make nouse of it myself. However, I've heard your name, Mr. SherlockHolmes, and if you'll only explain this queer business I shall bepaid for my trouble in telling you the story."
Holmes sat down and listened.
"It all seems to centre round that bust of Napoleon which Ibought for this very room about four months ago. I picked it upcheap from Harding Brothers, two doors from the High StreetStation. A great deal of my journalistic work is done at night, andI often write until the early morning. So it was to-day. I wassitting in my den, which is at the back of the top of the house,about three o'clock, when I was convinced that I heard some soundsdownstairs. I listened, but they were not repeated, and I concludedthat they came from outside. Then suddenly, about five minuteslater, there came a most horrible yell -- the most dreadful sound,Mr. Holmes, that ever I heard. It will ring in my ears as long as Ilive. 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 gonefrom the mantelpiece. Why any burglar should take such a thingpasses my understanding, for it was only a plaster cast and of noreal value whatever.
"You can see for yourself that anyone going out through thatopen window could reach the front doorstep by taking a long stride.This was clearly what the burglar had done, so I went round andopened the door. Stepping out into the dark I nearly fell over adead man who was lying there. I ran back for a light, and there wasthe poor fellow, a great gash in his throat and the whole placeswimming in blood. He lay on his back, his knees drawn up, and hismouth horribly open. I shall see him in my dreams. I had just timeto blow on my police-whistle, and then I must have fainted, for Iknew nothing more until I found the policeman standing over me inthe hall."
"Well, who was the murdered man?" asked Holmes.
"There's nothing to show who he was," said Lestrade. "You shallsee the body at the mortuary, but we have made nothing of it up tonow. He is a tall man, sunburned, very powerful, not more thanthirty. He is poorly dressed, and yet does not appear to be alabourer. A horn-handled clasp knife was lying in a pool of bloodbeside him. Whether it was the weapon which did the deed, orwhether it belonged to the dead man, I do not know. There was noname on his clothing, and nothing in his pockets save an apple,some string, a shilling map of London, and a photograph. Here itis."
It was evidently taken by a snap-shot from a small camera. Itrepresented an alert, sharp-featured simian man with thickeyebrows, and a very peculiar projection of the lower part of theface like the muzzle of a baboon.
"And what became of the bust?" asked Holmes, after a carefulstudy of this picture.
"We had news of it just before you came. It has been found inthe front garden of an empty house in Campden House Road. It wasbroken into fragments. I am going round now to see it. Will youcome?"
"Certainly. I must just take one look round." He examined thecarpet and the window. "The fellow had either very long legs or wasa most active man," said he. "With an area beneath, it was no meanfeat to reach that window-ledge and open that window. Getting backwas comparatively simple. Are you coming with us to see the remainsof your bust, Mr. Harker?"
The disconsolate journalist had seated himself at awriting-table.
"I must try and make something of it," said he, "though I haveno doubt that the first editions of the evening papers are outalready with full details. It's like my luck! You remember when thestand fell at Doncaster? Well, I was the only journalist in thestand, and my journal the only one that had no account of it, for Iwas too shaken to write it. And now I'll be too late with a murderdone on my own doorstep."
As we left the room we heard his pen travelling shrilly over thefoolscap.
The spot where the fragments of the bust had been found was onlya few hundred yards away. For the first time our eyes rested uponthis presentment of the great Emperor, which seemed to raise suchfrantic and destructive hatred in the mind of the unknown. It layscattered in splintered shards upon the grass. Holmes picked upseveral of them and examined them carefully. I was convinced fromhis intent face and his purposeful manner that at last he was upona clue.
"Well?" asked Lestrade.
Holmes shrugged his shoulders.
"We have a long way to go yet," said he. "And yet -- and yet --well, we have some suggestive facts to act upon. The possession ofthis trifling bust was worth more in the eyes of this strangecriminal than a human life. That is one point. Then there is thesingular fact that he did not break it in the house, or immediatelyoutside the house, if to break it was his sole object."
"He was rattled and bustled by meeting this other fellow. Hehardly knew what he was doing."
"Well, that's likely enough. But I wish to call your attentionvery particularly to the position of this house in the garden ofwhich the bust was destroyed."
Lestrade looked about him.
"It was an empty house, and so he knew that he would not bedisturbed in the garden."
"Yes, but there is another empty house farther up the streetwhich he must have passed before he came to this one. Why did henot break it there, since it is evident that every yard that hecarried it increased the risk of 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.That was his reason."
"By Jove! that's true," said the detective. "Now that I come tothink of it, Dr. Barnicot's bust was broken not far from his redlamp. Well, Mr. Holmes, what are we to do with that fact?"
"To remember it -- to docket it. We may come on something laterwhich will bear upon it. What steps do you propose to take now,Lestrade?"
"The most practical way of getting at it, in my opinion, is toidentify the dead man. There should be no difficulty about that.When we have found who he is and who his associates are, we shouldhave a good start in learning what he was doing in Pitt Street lastnight, and who it was who met him and killed him on the doorstep ofMr. Horace Harker. Don't you think so?"
"No doubt; and yet it is not quite the way in which I shouldapproach the case."
"What would you do, then?"
"Oh, you must not let me influence you in any way! I suggestthat you go on your line and I on mine. We can compare notesafterwards, and each will supplement the other."
"Very good," said Lestrade.
"If you are going back to Pitt Street you might see Mr. HoraceHarker. Tell him from me that I have quite made up my mind, andthat it is certain that a dangerous homicidal lunatic withNapoleonic delusions was in his house last night. It will be usefulfor his article."
Lestrade stared.
"You don't seriously believe that?"
Holmes smiled.
"Don't I? Well, perhaps I don't. But I am sure that it willinterest Mr. Horace Harker and the subscribers of the Central PressSyndicate. Now, Watson, I think that we shall find that we have along and rather complex day's work before us. I should be glad,Lestrade, if you could make it convenient to meet us at BakerStreet at six o'clock this evening. Until then I should like tokeep this photograph found in the dead man's pocket. It is possiblethat I may have to ask your company and assistance upon a smallexpedition which will have be undertaken to-night, if my chain ofreasoning should prove to be correct. Until then, good-bye and goodluck!"
Sherlock Holmes and I walked together to the High Street, wherehe stopped at the shop of Harding Brothers, whence the bust hadbeen purchased. A young assistant informed us that Mr. Hardingwould be absent until after noon, and that he was himself anewcomer who could give us no information. Holmes's face showed hisdisappointment and annoyance.
"Well, well, we can't expect to have it all our own way,Watson," he said, at last. "We must come back in the afternoon ifMr. Harding will not be here until then. I am, as you have no doubtsurmised, endeavouring to trace these busts to their source, inorder to find if there is not something peculiar which may accountfor their remarkable fate. Let us make for Mr. Morse Hudson, of theKennington Road, and see if he can throw any light upon theproblem."
A drive of an hour brought us to the picture-dealer'sestablishment. He was a small, stout man with a red face and apeppery manner.
"Yes, sir. On my very counter, sir," said he. "What we pay ratesand taxes for I don't know, when any ruffian can come in and breakone's goods. Yes, sir, it was I who sold Dr. Barnicot his twostatues. Disgraceful, sir! A Nihilist plot, that's what I make it.No one but an Anarchist would go about breaking statues. Redrepublicans, that's what I call 'em. Who did I get the statuesfrom? I don't see what that has to do with it. Well, if you reallywant to know, I got them from Gelder and Co., in Church Street,Stepney. They are a well-known house in the trade, and have beenthis twenty years. How many had I? Three -- two and one are three-- two of Dr. Barnicot's and one smashed in broad daylight on myown counter. Do I know that photograph? No, I don't. Yes, I do,though. Why, it's Beppo. He was a kind of Italian piece-work man,who made himself useful in the shop. He could carve a bit and gildand frame, and do odd jobs. The fellow left me last week, and I'veheard nothing of him since. No, I don't know where he came from norwhere he went to. I have nothing against him while he was here. Hewas gone two days before the bust was smashed."
"Well, that's all we could reasonably expect to get from MorseHudson," said Holmes, as we emerged from the shop. "We have thisBeppo as a common factor, both in Kennington and in Kensington, sothat is worth a ten-mile drive. Now, Watson, let us make for Gelderand Co., of Stepney, the source and origin of busts. I shall besurprised if we don't get some help down there."
In rapid succession we passed through the fringe of fashionableLondon, hotel London, theatrical London, literary London,commercial London, and, finally, maritime London, till we came to ariverside city of a hundred thousand souls, where the tenementhouses swelter and reek with the outcasts of Europe. Here, in abroad thoroughfare, once the abode of wealthy City merchants, wefound the sculpture works for which we searched. Outside was aconsiderable yard full of monumental masonry. Inside was a largeroom in which fifty workers were carving or moulding. The manager,a big blond German, received us civilly, and gave a clear answer toall Holmes's questions. A reference to his books showed thathundreds of casts had been taken from a marble copy of Devine'shead 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, theother three being sent to Harding Brothers, of Kensington. Therewas no reason why those six should be different to any of the othercasts. He could suggest no possible cause why anyone should wish todestroy them -- in fact, he laughed at the idea. Their wholesaleprice was six shillings, but the retailer would get twelve or more.The cast was taken in two moulds from each side of the face, andthen these two profiles of plaster of Paris were joined together tomake the complete bust. The work was usually done by Italians inthe room we were in. When finished the busts were put on a table inthe passage to dry, and afterwards stored. That was all he couldtell us.
But the production of the photograph had a remarkable effectupon the manager. His face flushed with anger, and his browsknotted over his blue Teutonic eyes.
"Ah, the rascal!" he cried. "Yes, indeed, I know him very well.This has always been a respectable establishment, and the only timethat we have ever had the police in it was over this very fellow.It was more than a year ago now. He knifed another Italian in thestreet, and then he came to the works with the police on his heels,and he was taken here. Beppo was his name -- his second name Inever knew. Serve me right for engaging a man with such a face. Buthe was a good workman, one of the best."
"What did he get?"
"The man lived and he got off with a year. I have no doubt he isout now; but he has not dared to show his nose here. We have acousin of his here, and I dare say he could tell you where heis."
"No, no," cried Holmes, "not a word to the cousin -- not a word,I beg you. The matter is very important, and the farther I go withit the more important it seems to grow. When you referred in yourledger to the sale of those casts I observed that the date was June3rd of last year. Could you give me the date when Beppo wasarrested?"
"I could tell you roughly by the pay-list," the manageranswered. "Yes," he continued, after some turning over of pages,"he was paid last on May 20th."
"Thank you," said Holmes. "I don't think that I need intrudeupon your time and patience any more." With a last word of cautionthat he should say nothing as to our researches we turned our faceswestward once more.
The afternoon was far advanced before we were able to snatch ahasty luncheon at a restaurant. A news-bill at the entranceannounced "Kensington Outrage. Murder by a Madman," and thecontents of the paper showed that Mr. Horace Harker had got hisaccount into print after all. Two columns were occupied with ahighly sensational and flowery rendering of the whole incident.Holmes propped it against the cruet-stand and read it while he ate.Once or twice he chuckled.
"This is all right, Watson," said he. "Listen to this: `It issatisfactory to know that there can be no difference of opinionupon this case, since Mr. Lestrade, one of the most experiencedmembers of the official force, and Mr. Sherlock Holmes, thewell-known consulting expert, have each come to the conclusion thatthe grotesque series of incidents, which have ended in so tragic afashion, arise from lunacy rather than from deliberate crime. Noexplanation save mental aberration can cover the facts.' The Press,Watson, is a most valuable institution if you only know how to useit. And now, if you have quite finished, we will hark back toKensington and see what the manager of Harding Brothers has to sayto the matter."
The founder of that great emporium proved to be a brisk, crisplittle person, very dapper and quick, with a clear head and a readytongue.
"Yes, sir, I have already read the account in the eveningpapers. Mr. Horace Harker is a customer of ours. We supplied himwith the bust some months ago. We ordered three busts of that sortfrom Gelder and Co., of Stepney. They are all sold now. To whom?Oh, I dare say by consulting our sales book we could very easilytell you. Yes, we have the entries here. One to Mr. Harker, yousee, and one to Mr. Josiah Brown, of Laburnum Lodge, Laburnum Vale,Chiswick, and one to Mr. Sandeford, of Lower Grove Road, Reading.No, I have never seen this face which you show me in thephotograph. You would hardly forget it, would you, sir, for I'veseldom seen an uglier. Have we any Italians on the staff? Yes, sir,we have several among our workpeople and cleaners. I dare say 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,it's a very strange business, and I hope that you'll let me know ifanything comes of your inquiries."
Holmes had taken several notes during Mr. Harding's evidence,and I could see that he was thoroughly satisfied by the turn whichaffairs were taking. He made no remark, however, save that, unlesswe hurried, we should be late for our appointment with Lestrade.Sure enough, when we reached Baker Street the detective was alreadythere, and we found him pacing up and down in a fever ofimpatience. His look of importance showed that his day's work hadnot 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 thewholesale manufacturers. I can trace each of the busts now from thebeginning."
"The busts!" cried Lestrade. "Well, well, you have your ownmethods, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and it is not for me to say a wordagainst them, but I think I have done a better day's work than you.I have identified the dead man."
"You don't say so?"
"And found a cause for the crime."
"Splendid!"
"We have an inspector who makes a specialty of Saffron Hill andthe Italian quarter. Well, this dead man had some Catholic emblemround his neck, and that, along with his colour, made me think hewas from the South. Inspector Hill knew him the moment he caughtsight of him. His name is Pietro Venucci, from Naples, and he isone of the greatest cut-throats in London. He is connected with theMafia, which, as you know, is a secret political society, enforcingits decrees by murder. Now you see how the affair begins to clearup. The other fellow is probably an Italian also, and a member ofthe Mafia. He has broken the rules in some fashion. Pietro is setupon his track. Probably the photograph we found in his pocket isthe man himself, so that he may not knife the wrong person. He dogsthe 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 didn't quitefollow your 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 that we are really investigating, and I tell youthat I am gathering all the threads into my hands."
"And the next stage?"
"Is a very simple one. I shall go down with Hill to the Italianquarter, find the man whose photograph we have got, and arrest himon the charge of murder. Will you come with us?"
"I think not. I fancy we can attain our end in a simpler way. Ican't say for certain, because it all depends -- well, it alldepends upon a factor which is completely outside our control. ButI have great hopes -- in fact, the betting is exactly two to one --that if you will come with us to-night I shall be able to help youto lay him by the heels."
"In the Italian quarter?"
"No; I fancy Chiswick is an address which is more likely to findhim. If you will come with me to Chiswick to-night, Lestrade, I'llpromise to go to the Italian quarter with you to-morrow, and noharm will be done by the delay. And now I think that a few hours'sleep would do us all good, for I do not propose to leave beforeeleven o'clock, and it is unlikely that we shall be back beforemorning. You'll dine with us, Lestrade, and then you are welcome tothe sofa until it is time for us to start. In the meantime, Watson,I should be glad if you would ring for an express messenger, for Ihave a letter to send, and it is important that it should go atonce."
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 saidnothing to either of us as to the result of his researches. For myown part, I had followed step by step the methods by which he hadtraced the various windings of this complex case, and, though Icould not yet perceive the goal which we would reach, I understoodclearly that Holmes expected this grotesque criminal to make anattempt upon the two remaining busts, one of which, I remembered,was at Chiswick. No doubt the object of our journey was to catchhim in the very act, and I could not but admire the cunning withwhich my friend had inserted a wrong clue in the evening paper, soas to give the fellow the idea that he could continue his schemewith impunity. I was not surprised when Holmes suggested that Ishould take my revolver with me. He had himself picked up theloaded hunting-crop which was his favourite weapon.
A four-wheeler was at the door at eleven, and in it we drove toa spot at the other side of Hammersmith Bridge. Here the cabman wasdirected to wait. A short walk brought us to a secluded roadfringed with pleasant houses, each standing in its own grounds. Inthe light of a street lamp we read "Laburnum Villa" upon thegate-post of one of them. The occupants had evidently retired torest, for all was dark save for a fanlight over the hall door,which shed a single blurred circle on to the garden path. Thewooden fence which separated the grounds from the road threw adense black shadow upon the inner side, and here it was that wecrouched.
"I fear that you'll have a long wait," Holmes whispered. "We maythank our stars that it is not raining. I don't think we can evenventure to smoke to pass the time. However, it's a two to onechance that we get something to pay us for our trouble."
It proved, however, that our vigil was not to be so long asHolmes had led us to fear, and it ended in a very sudden andsingular fashion. In an instant, without the least sound to warn usof his coming, the garden gate swung open, and a lithe, darkfigure, as swift and active as an ape, rushed up the garden path.We saw it whisk past the light thrown from over the door anddisappear against the black shadow of the house. There was a longpause, 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 wasmaking his way into the house. We saw the sudden flash of a darklantern inside the room. What he sought was evidently not there,for again we saw the flash through another blind, and then throughanother.
"Let us get to the open window. We will nab him as he climbsout," Lestrade whispered.
But before we could move the man had emerged again. As he cameout into the glimmering patch of light we saw that he carriedsomething white under his arm. He looked stealthily all round him.The silence of the deserted street reassured him. Turning his backupon us he laid down his burden, and the next instant there was thesound of a sharp tap, followed by a clatter and rattle. The man wasso intent upon what he was doing that he never heard our steps aswe stole across the grass plot. With the bound of a tiger Holmeswas on his back, and an instant later Lestrade and I had him byeither wrist and the handcuffs had been fastened. As we turned himover I saw a hideous, sallow face, with writhing, furious features,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 hisattention. Squatted on the doorstep, he was engaged in mostcarefully examining that which the man had brought from the house.It was a bust of Napoleon like the one which we had seen thatmorning, and it had been broken into similar fragments. CarefullyHolmes held each separate shard to the light, but in no way did itdiffer from any other shattered piece of plaster. He had justcompleted his examination when the hall lights flew up, the dooropened, 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 thenote which you sent by the express messenger, and I did exactlywhat you told me. We locked every door on the inside and awaiteddevelopments. Well, I'm very glad to see that you have got therascal. I hope, gentlemen, that you will come in and have somerefreshment."
However, Lestrade was anxious to get his man into safe quarters,so within a few minutes our cab had been summoned and we were allfour upon our way to London. Not a word would our captive say; buthe glared at us from the shadow of his matted hair, and once, whenmy hand seemed within his reach, he snapped at it like a hungrywolf. We stayed long enough at the police-station to learn that asearch of his clothing revealed nothing save a few shillings and along sheath knife, the handle of which bore copious traces ofrecent blood.
"That's all right," said Lestrade, as we parted. "Hill knows allthese gentry, and he will give a name to him. You'll find that mytheory of the Mafia will work out all right. But I'm sure I amexceedingly obliged to you, Mr. Holmes, for the workmanlike way inwhich you laid hands upon him. I don't quite understand it allyet."
"I fear it is rather too late an hour for explanations," saidHolmes. "Besides, there are one or two details which are notfinished off, and it is one of those cases which are worth workingout to the very end. If you will come round once more to my roomsat six o'clock to-morrow I think I shall be able to show you thateven now you have not grasped the entire meaning of this business,which presents some features which make it absolutely original inthe history of crime. If ever I permit you to chronicle any more ofmy little problems, Watson, I foresee that you will enliven yourpages by an account of the singular adventure of the Napoleonicbusts."
When we met again next evening Lestrade was furnished with muchinformation concerning our prisoner. His name, it appeared, wasBeppo, second name unknown. He was a well-known ne'er-do-well amongthe Italian colony. He had once been a skilful sculptor and hadearned an honest living, but he had taken to evil courses and hadtwice already been in gaol -- once for a petty theft and once, aswe had already heard, for stabbing a fellow-countryman. He couldtalk English perfectly well. His reasons for destroying the bustswere still unknown, and he refused to answer any questions upon thesubject; but the police had discovered that these same busts mightvery well have been made by his own hands, since he was engaged inthis class of work at the establishment of Gelder and Co. To allthis information, much of which we already knew, Holmes listenedwith polite attention; but I, who knew him so well, could clearlysee that his thoughts were elsewhere, and I detected a mixture ofmingled uneasiness and expectation beneath that mask which he waswont to assume. At last he started in his chair and his eyesbrightened. There had been a ring at the bell. A minute later weheard steps upon the stairs, and an elderly, red-faced man withgrizzled side-whiskers was ushered in. In his right hand he carriedan old-fashioned carpet-bag, which he placed upon the table.
"Is Mr. Sherlock Holmes here?"
My friend bowed and smiled. "Mr. Sandeford, of Reading, Isuppose?" said he.
"Yes, sir, I fear that I am a little late; but the trains wereawkward. You wrote to me about a bust that is in mypossession."
"Exactly."
"I have your letter here. You said, `I desire to possess a copyof Devine's Napoleon, and am prepared to pay you ten pounds for theone which is in your possession.' Is that right?"
"Certainly."
"I was very much surprised at your letter, for I could notimagine how you knew that I owned such a thing."
"Of course you must have been surprised, but the explanation isvery simple. Mr. Harding, of Harding Brothers, said that they hadsold you their last copy, and he gave me your address."
"Oh, that was it, was it? Did he tell you what I paid forit?"
"No, he did not."
"Well, I am an honest man, though not a very rich one. I onlygave fifteen shillings for the bust, and I think you ought to knowthat before I take ten pounds from you."
"I am sure the scruple does you honour, Mr. Sandeford. But Ihave named that price, so I intend to stick to it."
"Well, it is very handsome of you, Mr. Holmes. I brought thebust up with me, as you asked me to do. Here it is!" He opened hisbag, and at last we saw placed upon our table a complete specimenof that bust which we had already seen more than once infragments.
Holmes took a paper from his pocket and laid a ten-pound noteupon the table.
"You will kindly sign that paper, Mr. Sandeford, in the presenceof these witnesses. It is simply to say that you transfer everypossible right that you ever had in the bust to me. I am amethodical man, you see, and you never know what turn events mighttake afterwards. Thank you, Mr. Sandeford; here is your money, andI wish you a very good evening."
When our visitor had disappeared Sherlock Holmes's movementswere such as to rivet our attention. He began by taking a cleanwhite cloth from a drawer and laying it over the table. Then heplaced his newly-acquired bust in the centre of the cloth. Finally,he picked up his hunting-crop and struck Napoleon a sharp blow onthe top of the head. The figure broke into fragments, and Holmesbent eagerly over the shattered remains. Next instant, with a loudshout of triumph, he held up one splinter, in which a round, darkobject was fixed like a plum in a pudding.
"Gentlemen," he cried, "let me introduce you to the famous blackpearl of the Borgias."
Lestrade and I sat silent for a moment, and then, with aspontaneous impulse, we both broke out clapping as at thewell-wrought crisis of a play. A flush of colour sprang to Holmes'spale cheeks, and he bowed to us like the master dramatist whoreceives the homage of his audience. It was at such moments thatfor an instant he ceased to be a reasoning machine, and betrayedhis human love for admiration and applause. The same singularlyproud and reserved nature which turned away with disdain frompopular notoriety was capable of being moved to its depths byspontaneous wonder and praise from a friend.
"Yes, gentlemen," said he, "it is the most famous pearl nowexisting in the world, and it has been my good fortune, by aconnected chain of inductive reasoning, to trace it from the Princeof Colonna's bedroom at the Dacre Hotel, where it was lost, to theinterior of this, the last of the six busts of Napoleon which weremanufactured by Gelder and Co., of Stepney. You will remember,Lestrade, the sensation caused by the disappearance of thisvaluable jewel, and the vain efforts of the London police torecover it. I was myself consulted upon the case; but I was unableto throw any light upon it. Suspicion fell upon the maid of thePrincess, who was an Italian, and it was proved that she had abrother in London, but we failed to trace any connection betweenthem. The maid's name was Lucretia Venucci, and there is no doubtin my mind that this Pietro who was murdered two nights ago was thebrother. I have been looking up the dates in the old files of thepaper, and I find that the disappearance of the pearl was exactlytwo days before the arrest of Beppo for some crime of violence, anevent which took place in the factory of Gelder and Co., at thevery moment when these busts were being made. Now you clearly seethe sequence of events, though you see them, of course, in theinverse order to the way in which they presented themselves to me.Beppo had the pearl in his possession. He may have stolen it fromPietro, he may have been Pietro's confederate, he may have been thego-between of Pietro and his sister. It is of no consequence to uswhich is the correct solution.
"The main fact is that he HAD the pearl, and at that moment,when it was on his person, he was pursued by the police. He madefor the factory in which he worked, and he knew that he had only afew minutes in which to conceal this enormously valuable prize,which would otherwise be found on him when he was searched. Sixplaster casts of Napoleon were drying in the passage. One of themwas still soft. In an instant Beppo, a skilful workman, made asmall hole in the wet plaster, dropped in the pearl, and with a fewtouches covered over the aperture once more. It was an admirablehiding-place. No one could possibly find it. But Beppo wascondemned to a year's imprisonment, and in the meanwhile his sixbusts were scattered over London. He could not tell which containedhis treasure. Only by breaking them could he see. Even shakingwould tell him nothing, for as the plaster was wet it was probablethat the pearl would adhere to it -- as, in fact, it has done.Beppo did not despair, and he conducted his search withconsiderable ingenuity and perseverance. Through a cousin who workswith Gelder he found out the retail firms who had bought the busts.He managed to find employment with Morse Hudson, and in that waytracked down three of them. The pearl was not there. Then, with thehelp of some Italian EMPLOYE, he succeeded in finding out where theother three busts had gone. The first was at Harker's. There he wasdogged by his confederate, who held Beppo responsible for the lossof the pearl, and he stabbed him in the scuffle whichfollowed."
"If he was his confederate why should he carry his photograph?"I asked.
"As a means of tracing him if he wished to inquire about himfrom any third person. That was the obvious reason. Well, after themurder I calculated that Beppo would probably hurry rather thandelay his movements. He would fear that the police would read hissecret, and so he hastened on before they should get ahead of him.Of course, I could not say that he had not found the pearl inHarker's bust. I had not even concluded for certain that it was thepearl; but it was evident to me that he was looking for something,since he carried the bust past the other houses in order to breakit in the garden which had a lamp overlooking it. Since Harker'sbust was one in three the chances were exactly as I told you, twoto one against the pearl being inside it. There remained two busts,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 we went down with the happiest results. By that time, ofcourse, I knew for certain that it was the Borgia pearl that wewere after. The name of the murdered man linked the one event withthe other. There only remained a single bust -- the Reading one --and the pearl must be there. I bought it in your presence from theowner -- and there it lies."
We sat in silence for a moment.
"Well," said Lestrade, "I've seen you handle a good many cases,Mr. Holmes, but I don't know that I ever knew a more workmanlikeone than that. We're not jealous of you at Scotland Yard. No, sir,we are very proud of you, and if you come down to-morrow there'snot a man, from the oldest inspector to the youngest constable, whowouldn't be glad to shake 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 coldand practical thinker once more. "Put the pearl in the safe,Watson," said he, "and get out the papers of the Conk-Singletonforgery case. Good-bye, Lestrade. If any little problem comes yourway I shall be happy, if I can, to give you a hint or two as to itssolution."
ADVENTURE IX. THE ADVENTURE OF THE THREESTUDENTS
IT was in the year '95 that a combination of events, into whichI need not enter, caused Mr. Sherlock Holmes and myself to spendsome weeks in one of our great University towns, and it was duringthis time that the small but instructive adventure which I am aboutto relate befell us. It will be obvious that any details whichwould help the reader to exactly identify the college or thecriminal would be injudicious and offensive. So painful a scandalmay well be allowed to die out. With due discretion the incidentitself 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 tolimit the events to any particular place, or give a clue as to thepeople concerned.
We were residing at the time in furnished lodgings close to alibrary where Sherlock Holmes was pursuing some laboriousresearches in early English charters -- researches which led toresults so striking that they may be the subject of one of myfuture narratives. Here it was that one evening we received a visitfrom an acquaintance, Mr. Hilton Soames, tutor and lecturer at theCollege of St. Luke's. Mr. Soames was a tall, spare man, of anervous and excitable temperament. I had always known him to berestless in his manner, but on this particular occasion he was insuch a state of uncontrollable agitation that it was clearsomething very unusual had 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. Luke's,and really, but for the happy chance of your being in the town, Ishould have been at a loss what to do."
"I am very busy just now, and I desire no distractions," myfriend answered. "I should much prefer that you called in the aidof the police."
"No, no, my dear sir; such a course is utterly impossible. Whenonce the law is evoked it cannot be stayed again, and this is justone of those cases where, for the credit of the college, it is mostessential to avoid scandal. Your discretion is as well known asyour powers, and you are the one man in the world who can help me.I beg you, Mr. Holmes, to do what you can."
My friend's temper had not improved since he had been deprivedof the congenial surroundings of Baker Street. Without hisscrap-books, his chemicals, and his homely untidiness, he was anuncomfortable man. He shrugged his shoulders in ungraciousacquiescence, while our visitor in hurried words and with muchexcitable gesticulation poured forth his story.
"I must explain to you, Mr. Holmes, that to-morrow is the firstday of the examination for the Fortescue Scholarship. I am one ofthe examiners. My subject is Greek, and the first of the papersconsists of a large passage of Greek translation which thecandidate has not seen. This passage is printed on the examinationpaper, and it would naturally be an immense advantage if thecandidate could prepare it in advance. For this reason great careis taken to keep the paper secret.
"To-day about three o'clock the proofs of this paper arrivedfrom the printers. The exercise consists of half a chapter ofThucydides. I had to read it over carefully, as the text must beabsolutely correct. At four-thirty my task was not yet completed. Ihad, however, promised to take tea in a friend's rooms, so I leftthe proof upon my desk. I was absent rather more than an hour.
"You are aware, Mr. Holmes, that our college doors are double --a green baize one within and a heavy oak one without. As Iapproached my outer door I was amazed to see a key in it. For aninstant I imagined that I had left my own there, but on feeling inmy pocket I found that it was all right. The only duplicate whichexisted, so far as I knew, was that which belonged to my servant,Bannister, a man who has looked after my room for ten years, andwhose honesty is absolutely above suspicion. I found that the keywas indeed his, that he had entered my room to know if I wantedtea, 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 wouldhave mattered little upon any other occasion, but on this one dayit has produced 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 hadleft them all together. Now, I found that one of them was lying onthe floor, one was on the side table near the window, and the thirdwas where I had left it."
Holmes stirred for the first time.
"The first page on the floor, the second in the window, thethird where you 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 theunpardonable liberty of examining my papers. He denied it, however,with the utmost earnestness, and I am convinced that he wasspeaking the truth. The alternative was that someone passing hadobserved the key in the door, had known that I was out, and hadentered to look at the papers. A large sum of money is at stake,for the scholarship is a very valuable one, and an unscrupulous manmight very well run a risk in order to gain an advantage over hisfellows.
"Bannister was very much upset by the incident. He had nearlyfainted when we found that the papers had undoubtedly been tamperedwith. I gave him a little brandy and left him collapsed in a chairwhile I made a most careful examination of the room. I soon sawthat the intruder had left other traces of his presence besides therumpled papers. On the table in the window were several shreds froma pencil which had been sharpened. A broken tip of lead was lyingthere also. Evidently the rascal had copied the paper in a greathurry, had broken his pencil, and had been compelled to put a freshpoint to it."
"Excellent!" said Holmes, who was recovering his good-humour ashis attention became more engrossed by the case. "Fortune has beenyour friend."
"This was not all. I have a new writing-table with a finesurface of red leather. I am prepared to swear, and so isBannister, that it was smooth and unstained. Now I found a cleancut in it about three inches long -- not a mere scratch, but apositive cut. Not only this, but on the table I found a small ballof black dough, or clay, with specks of something which looks likesawdust in it. I am convinced that these marks were left by the manwho rifled the papers. There were no footmarks and no otherevidence as to his identity. I was at my wits' ends, when suddenlythe happy thought occurred to me that you were in the town, and Icame straight round to put the matter into your hands. Do help me,Mr. Holmes! You see my dilemma. Either I must find the man or elsethe examination must be postponed until fresh papers are prepared,and since this cannot be done without explanation there will ensuea hideous scandal, which will throw a cloud not only on thecollege, but on the University. Above all things I desire to settlethe matter quietly and discreetly."
"I shall be happy to look into it and to give you such advice asI can," said Holmes, rising and putting on his overcoat. "The caseis not entirely devoid of interest. Had anyone visited you in yourroom after the papers came to you?"
"Yes; young Daulat Ras, an Indian student who lives on the samestair, came in to ask me some particulars about theexamination."
"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 recognised 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 thechair. I was in such 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 Indianstudent recognised the roll as being proofs, the man who tamperedwith them came upon them accidentally without knowing that theywere there."
"So it seems to me."
Holmes gave an enigmatic smile.
"Well," said he, "let us go round. Not one of your cases, Watson-- mental, not physical. All right; come if you want to. Now, Mr.Soames -- at your disposal!"
The sitting-room of our client opened by a long, low, latticedwindow on to the ancient lichen-tinted court of the old college. AGothic arched door led to a worn stone staircase. On the groundfloor was the tutor's room. Above were three students, one on eachstory. It was already twilight when we reached the scene of ourproblem. Holmes halted and looked earnestly at the window. Then heapproached it, and, standing on tiptoe with his neck craned, helooked into the room.
"He must have entered through the door. There is no openingexcept the one pane," said our learned guide.
"Dear me!" said Holmes, and he smiled in a singular way as heglanced at our companion. "Well, if there is nothing to be learnedhere we had best go inside."
The lecturer unlocked the outer door and ushered us into hisroom. We stood at the entrance while Holmes made an examination ofthe carpet.
"I am afraid there are no signs here," said he. "One couldhardly hope for any upon so dry a day. Your servant seems to havequite recovered. You left him in a chair, you say; whichchair?"
"By the window there."
"I see. Near this little table. You can come in now. I havefinished with the carpet. Let us take the little table first. Ofcourse, what has happened is very clear. The man entered and tookthe papers, sheet by sheet, from the central table. He carried themover to the window table, because from there he could see if youcame across the courtyard, and so could effect an escape."
"As a matter of fact he could not," said Soames, "for I enteredby the side door."
"Ah, that's good! Well, anyhow, that was in his mind. Let me seethe three strips. No finger impressions -- no! Well, he carriedover this one first and he copied it. How long would it take him todo that, using every possible contraction? A quarter of an hour,not less. Then he tossed it down and seized the next. He was in themidst of that when your return caused him to make a very hurriedretreat -- VERY hurried, since he had not time to replace thepapers which would tell you that he had been there. You were notaware of any hurrying feet on the stair as you entered the outerdoor?"
"No, I can't say I was."
"Well, he wrote so furiously that he broke his pencil, and had,as you observe, to sharpen it again. This is of interest, Watson.The pencil was not an ordinary one. It was above the usual size,with a soft lead; the outer colour was dark blue, the maker's namewas printed in silver lettering, and the piece remaining is onlyabout an inch and a half long. Look for such a pencil, Mr. Soames,and you have got your man. When I add that he possesses a large andvery blunt knife, you have an additional aid."
Mr. Soames was somewhat overwhelmed by this flood ofinformation. "I can follow the other points," said he, "but really,in this matter of the length ----"
Holmes held out a small chip with the letters NN and a space ofclear wood after them.
"You see?"
"No, I fear that even now ----"
"Watson, I have always done you an injustice. There are others.What could this NN be? It is at the end of a word. You are awarethat Johann Faber is the most common maker's name. Is it not clearthat there is just as much of the pencil left as usually followsthe Johann?" He held the small table sideways to the electriclight. "I was hoping that if the paper on which he wrote was thinsome trace of it might come through upon this polished surface. No,I see nothing. I don't think there is anything more to be learnedhere. Now for the central table. This small pellet is, I presume,the black, doughy mass you spoke of. Roughly pyramidal in shape andhollowed out, I perceive. As you say, there appear to be grains ofsawdust in it. Dear me, this is very interesting. And the cut -- apositive tear, I see. It began with a thin scratch and ended in ajagged hole. I am much indebted to you for directing my attentionto this case, Mr. Soames. Where does that door lead to?"
"To my bedroom."
"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-fashioned room! Perhaps you will kindly wait a minute until Ihave examined the floor. No, I see nothing. What about thiscurtain? You hang your clothes behind it. If anyone were forced toconceal himself in this room he must do it there, since the bed istoo low and the wardrobe too shallow. No one there, I suppose?"
As Holmes drew the curtain I was aware, from some littlerigidity and alertness of his attitude, that he was prepared for anemergency. As a matter of fact the drawn curtain disclosed nothingbut three or four suits of clothes hanging from a line of pegs.Holmes turned away and stooped suddenly to the floor.
"Halloa! What's this?" said he.
It was a small pyramid of black, putty-like stuff, exactly likethe one upon the table of the study. Holmes held it out on his openpalm in the glare of the electric light.
"Your visitor seems to have left traces in your bedroom as wellas in your sitting-room, Mr. Soames."
"What could he have wanted there?"
"I think it is clear enough. You came back by an unexpected way,and so he had no warning until you were at the very door. Whatcould he do? He caught up everything which would betray him and herushed into your bedroom to conceal himself."
"Good gracious, Mr. Holmes, do you mean to tell me that all thetime I was talking to Bannister in this room we had the manprisoner if we had only known it?"
"So I read it."
"Surely there is another alternative, Mr. Holmes. I don't knowwhether you observed my bedroom window?"
"Lattice-paned, lead framework, three separate windows, oneswinging on hinge and large enough to admit a man."
"Exactly. And it looks out on an angle of the courtyard so as tobe partly invisible. The man might have effected his entrancethere, left traces as he passed through the bedroom, and, finally,finding the door open have escaped that way."
Holmes shook his head impatiently.
"Let us be practical," said he. "I understand you to say thatthere are three students who use this stair and are in the habit ofpassing your door?"
"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 tothrow suspicion 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 thethree men who inhabit these rooms. The lower of the three isGilchrist, a fine scholar and athlete; plays in the Rugby team andthe cricket team for the college, and got his Blue for the hurdlesand the long jump. He is a fine, manly fellow. His father was thenotorious Sir Jabez Gilchrist, who ruined himself on the turf. Myscholar has been left very poor, but he is hard-working andindustrious. He will do well.
"The second floor is inhabited by Daulat Ras, the Indian. He isa quiet, inscrutable fellow, as most of those Indians are. He iswell up in his work, though his Greek is his weak subject. He issteady and methodical.
"The top floor belongs to Miles McLaren. He is a brilliantfellow when he chooses to work -- one of the brightest intellectsof the University, but he is wayward, dissipated, and unprincipled.He was nearly expelled over a card scandal in his first year. Hehas been idling all this term, and he must look forward with dreadto the examination."
"Then it is he whom you suspect?"
"I dare not go so far as that. But of the three he is perhapsthe least unlikely."
"Exactly. Now, Mr. Soames, let us have a look at your servant,Bannister."
He was a little, white-faced, clean-shaven, grizzly-hairedfellow of fifty. He was still suffering from this suddendisturbance of the quiet routine of his life. His plump face wastwitching with his nervousness, and his fingers could not keepstill.
"We are investigating this unhappy business, Bannister," saidhis master.
"Yes, sir."
"I understand," said Holmes, "that you left your key in thedoor?"
"Yes, sir."
"Was it not very extraordinary that you should do this on thevery day when there were these papers inside?"
"It was most unfortunate, sir. But I have occasionally done thesame thing at other times."
"When did you enter the room?"
"It was about half-past four. That is Mr. Soames's teatime."
"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, sir; certainly 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 forthe key. 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 yearsthat I have been here. I nearly fainted, sir."
"So I understand. Where were you when you began to feelbad?"
"Where was I, sir? Why, here, near the door."
"That is singular, because you sat down in that chair overyonder near the corner. Why did you pass these other chairs?"
"I don't know, sir. It didn't matter to me where I sat."
"I really don't think he knew much about it, Mr. Holmes. He waslooking very bad -- quite ghastly."
"You stayed here when your master left?"
"Only for a minute or so. Then I locked the door and went to myroom."
"Whom do you suspect?"
"Oh, I would not venture to say, sir. I don't believe there isany gentleman in this University who is capable of profiting bysuch an action. No, sir, I'll not believe it."
"Thank you; that will do," said Holmes. "Oh, one more word. Youhave not mentioned to any of the three gentlemen whom you attendthat anything is amiss?"
"No, sir; not a word."
"You haven't seen any of them?"
"No, sir."
"Very good. Now, Mr. Soames, we will take a walk in thequadrangle, if you please."
Three yellow squares of light shone above us in the gatheringgloom."
"Your three birds are all in their nests," said Holmes, lookingup. "Halloa! What's that? One of them seems restless enough."
It was the Indian, whose dark silhouette appeared suddenly uponhis blind. He was pacing swiftly up and down his room.
"I should like to have a peep at each of them," said Holmes. "Isit possible?"
"No difficulty in the world," Soames answered. "This set ofrooms is quite the oldest in the college, and it is not unusual forvisitors to go over them. Come along, and I will personally conductyou."
"No names, please!" said Holmes, as we knocked at Gilchrist'sdoor. A tall, flaxen-haired, slim young fellow opened it, and madeus welcome when he understood our errand. There were some reallycurious pieces of mediaeval domestic architecture within. Holmeswas so charmed with one of them that he insisted on drawing it onhis note-book, broke his pencil, had to borrow one from our host,and finally borrowed a knife to sharpen his own. The same curiousaccident happened to him in the rooms of the Indian -- a silent,little, hook-nosed fellow, who eyed us askance and was obviouslyglad when Holmes's 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 proveabortive. The outer door would not open to our knock, and nothingmore substantial than a torrent of bad language came from behindit. "I don't care who you are. You can go to blazes!" roared theangry voice. "To-morrow's the exam, and I won't be drawn byanyone."
"A rude fellow," said our guide, flushing with anger as wewithdrew down the stair. "Of course, he did not realize that it wasI who was knocking, but none the less his conduct was veryuncourteous, and, indeed, under the circumstances rathersuspicious."
Holmes's response was a curious one.
"Can you tell me his exact height?" he asked.
"Really, Mr. Holmes, I cannot undertake to say. He is tallerthan the Indian, not so tall as Gilchrist. I suppose five foot sixwould be about it."
"That is very important," said Holmes. "And now, Mr. Soames, Iwish you good-night."
Our guide cried aloud in his astonishment and dismay. "Goodgracious, Mr. Holmes, you are surely not going to leave me in thisabrupt fashion! You don't seem to realize the position. To-morrowis the examination. I must take some definite action to-night. Icannot allow the examination to be held if one of the papers hasbeen tampered with. The situation must be faced."
"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 aposition then to indicate some course of action. Meanwhile youchange nothing -- nothing at all."
"Very good, Mr. Holmes."
"You can be perfectly easy in your mind. We shall certainly findsome way out of your difficulties. I will take the black clay withme, also the pencil cuttings. Good-bye."
When we were out in the darkness of the quadrangle we againlooked up at the windows. The Indian still paced his room. Theothers were invisible.
"Well, Watson, what do you think of it?" Holmes asked, as wecame out into the main street. "Quite a little parlour game -- sortof three-card trick, is it not? There are your three men. It mustbe one of them. You take your choice. Which is yours?"
"The foul-mouthed fellow at the top. He is the one with theworst record. And yet that Indian was a sly fellow also. Why shouldhe be pacing his room all the time?"
"There is nothing in that. Many men do it when they are tryingto learn anything by heart."
"He looked at us in a queer way."
"So would you if a flock of strangers came in on you when youwere preparing for an examination next day, and every moment was ofvalue. No, I see nothing in that. Pencils, too, and knives -- allwas satisfactory. But that fellow DOES puzzle me."
"Who?"
"Why, Bannister, the servant. What's his game in thematter?"
"He impressed me as being a perfectly honest man."
"So he did me. That's the puzzling part. Why should a perfectlyhonest man -- well, well, here's a large stationer's. We shallbegin our researches here."
There were only four stationers of any consequence in the town,and at each Holmes produced his pencil chips and bid high for aduplicate. All were agreed that one could be ordered, but that itwas not a usual size of pencil and that it was seldom kept instock. My friend did not appear to be depressed by his failure, butshrugged his shoulders in half-humorous resignation.
"No good, my dear Watson. This, the best and only final clue,has run to nothing. But, indeed, I have little doubt that we canbuild up a sufficient case without it. By Jove! my dear fellow, itis nearly nine, and the landlady babbled of green peas atseven-thirty. What with your eternal tobacco, Watson, and yourirregularity at meals, I expect that you will get notice to quitand that I shall share your downfall -- not, however, before wehave solved the problem of the nervous tutor, the careless servant,and the three enterprising students."
Holmes made no further allusion to the matter that day, thoughhe sat lost in thought for a long time after our belated dinner. Ateight in the morning he came into my room just as I finished mytoilet.
"Well, Watson," said he, "it is time we went down to St. Luke's.Can you do without breakfast?"
"Certainly."
"Soames will be in a dreadful fidget until we are able to tellhim something positive."
"Have you anything positive to tell him?"
"I think so."
"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 bedat the untimely hour of six. I have put in two hours' hard work andcovered at least five miles, with something to show for it. Look atthat!"
He held out his hand. On the palm were three little pyramids ofblack, doughy clay.
"Why, Holmes, you had only two yesterday!"
"And one more this morning. It is a fair argument that whereverNo. 3 came from is also the source of Nos. 1 and 2. Eh, Watson?Well, come along and put friend Soames out of his pain."
The unfortunate tutor was certainly in a state of pitiableagitation when we found him in his chambers. In a few hours theexamination would commence, and he was still in the dilemma betweenmaking the facts public and allowing the culprit to compete for thevaluable scholarship. He could hardly stand still, so great was hismental agitation, and he ran towards Holmes with two eager handsoutstretched.
"Thank Heaven that you have come! I feared that you had given itup in despair. 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 smallprivate court-martial. You there, if you please, Soames! Watson,you here! I'll take the arm-chair in the middle. I think that weare now sufficiently imposing to strike terror into a guiltybreast. Kindly ring the bell!"
Bannister entered, and shrunk back in evident surprise and fearat our judicial appearance.
"You will kindly close the door," said Holmes. "Now, Bannister,will you please tell us the truth about yesterday's 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 satdown on that chair yesterday, did you do so in order to concealsome object which would have shown who had been in the room?"
Bannister's face was ghastly.
"No, sir; certainly not."
"It is only a suggestion," said Holmes, suavely. "I franklyadmit that I am unable to prove it. But it seems probable enough,since the moment that Mr. Soames's back was turned you released theman who was hiding in that bedroom."
Bannister licked his dry lips.
"There was no man, sir."
"Ah, that's a pity, Bannister. Up to now you may have spoken thetruth, but now I know that you have lied."
The man's 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 youplease remain in the room? Stand over there near the bedroom door.Now, Soames, I am going to ask you to have the great kindness to goup to the room of young Gilchrist, and to ask him to step down intoyours."
An instant later the tutor returned, bringing with him thestudent. He was a fine figure of a man, tall, lithe, and agile,with a springy step and a pleasant, open face. His troubled blueeyes glanced at each of us, and finally rested with an expressionof blank dismay upon Bannister in the farther corner.
"Just close the door," said Holmes. "Now, Mr. Gilchrist, we areall quite alone here, and no one need ever know one word of whatpasses between us. We can be perfectly frank with each other. Wewant to know, Mr. Gilchrist, how you, an honourable man, ever cameto commit such an action 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 word -- never oneword!" cried the servant.
"No, but you have now," said Holmes. "Now, sir, you must seethat after Bannister's words your position is hopeless, and thatyour only chance 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 kneesbeside the table and, burying his face in his hands, he had burstinto a storm of passionate sobbing.
"Come, come," said Holmes, kindly; "it is human to err, and atleast no one can accuse you of being a callous criminal. Perhaps itwould be easier for you if I were to tell Mr. Soames what occurred,and you can check me where I am wrong. Shall I do so? Well, well,don't trouble to answer. Listen, and see that I do you noinjustice.
"From the moment, Mr. Soames, that you said to me that no one,not even Bannister, could have told that the papers were in yourroom, the case began to take a definite shape in my mind. Theprinter one could, of course, dismiss. He could examine the papersin his own office. The Indian I also thought nothing of. If theproofs were in a roll he could not possibly know what they were. Onthe other hand, it seemed an unthinkable coincidence that a manshould dare to enter the room, and that by chance on that very daythe papers were on the table. I dismissed that. The man who enteredknew that the papers were there. How did he know?
"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 oppositerooms, forced himself through it. Such an idea was absurd. I wasmeasuring how tall a man would need to be in order to see as hepassed what papers were on the central table. I am six feet high,and I could do it with an effort. No one less than that would havea chance. Already you see I had reason to think that if one of yourthree students was a man of unusual height he was the most worthwatching of the three.
"I entered and I took you into my confidence as to thesuggestions of the side table. Of the centre table I could makenothing, until in your description of Gilchrist you mentioned thathe was a long-distance jumper. Then the whole thing came to me inan instant, and I only needed certain corroborative proofs, which Ispeedily obtained.
"What happened was this. This young fellow had employed hisafternoon at the athletic grounds, where he had been practising thejump. He returned carrying his jumping shoes, which are provided,as you are aware, with several sharp spikes. As he passed yourwindow he saw, by means of his great height, these proofs upon yourtable, and conjectured what they were. No harm would have been donehad it not been that as he passed your door he perceived the keywhich had been left by the carelessness of your servant. A suddenimpulse came over him to enter and see if they were indeed theproofs. It was not a dangerous exploit, for he could always pretendthat he had simply looked in to ask a question.
"Well, when he saw that they were indeed the proofs, it was thenthat he yielded to temptation. He put his shoes on the table. Whatwas it you put on that chair near the window?"
"Gloves," said the young man.
Holmes looked triumphantly at Bannister. "He put his gloves onthe chair, and he took the proofs, sheet by sheet, to copy them. Hethought the tutor must return by the main gate, and that he wouldsee him. As we know, he came back by the side gate. Suddenly heheard him at the very door. There was no possible escape. He forgothis gloves, but he caught up his shoes and darted into the bedroom.You observe that the scratch on that table is slight at one side,but deepens in the direction of the bedroom door. That in itself isenough to show us that the shoe had been drawn in that directionand that the culprit had taken refuge there. The earth round thespike had been left on the table, and a second sample was loosenedand fell in the bedroom. I may add that I walked out to theathletic grounds this morning, saw that tenacious black clay isused in the jumping-pit, and carried away a specimen of it,together with some of the fine tan or sawdust which is strewn overit to prevent the athlete from slipping. 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 exposurehas bewildered me. I have a letter here, Mr. Soames, which I wroteto you early this morning in the middle of a restless night. It wasbefore I knew that my sin had found me out. Here it is, sir. Youwill see that I have said, `I have determined not to go in for theexamination. I have been offered a commission in the RhodesianPolice, and I am going out to South Africa at once."'
"I am indeed pleased to hear that you did not intend to profitby your unfair advantage," said Soames. "But why did you changeyour 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 youfrom what I have said that only you could have let this young manout, since you were left in the room, and must have locked the doorwhen you went out. As to his escaping by that window, it wasincredible. Can you not clear up the last point in this mystery,and tell us the reasons for your action?"
"It was simple enough, sir, if you only had known; but with allyour cleverness it was impossible that you could know. Time was,sir, when I was butler to old Sir Jabez Gilchrist, this younggentleman's father. When he was ruined I came to the college asservant, but I never forgot my old employer because he was down inthe world. I watched his son all I could for the sake of the olddays. Well, sir, when I came into this room yesterday when thealarm was given, the very first thing I saw was Mr. Gilchrist's tangloves a-lying in that chair. I knew those gloves well, and Iunderstood their message. If Mr. Soames saw them the game was up. Iflopped down into that chair, and nothing would budge me until Mr.Soames he went for you. Then out came my poor young master, whom Ihad dandled on my knee, and confessed it all to me. Wasn't itnatural, sir, that I should save him, and wasn't it natural alsothat I should try to speak to him as his dead father would havedone, and make him understand that he could not profit by such adeed? 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, andour breakfast awaits us at home. Come, Watson! As to you, sir, Itrust that a bright future awaits you in Rhodesia. For once youhave fallen low. Let us see in the future how high you canrise."
ADVENTURE X. THE ADVENTURE OF THE GOLDENPINCE-NEZ
WHEN I look at the three massive manuscript volumes whichcontain our work for the year 1894 I confess that it is verydifficult for me, out of such a wealth of material, to select thecases which are most interesting in themselves and at the same timemost conducive to a display of those peculiar powers for which myfriend was famous. As I turn over the pages I see my notes upon therepulsive story of the red leech and the terrible death of Crosbythe banker. Here also I find an account of the Addleton tragedy andthe singular contents of the ancient British barrow. The famousSmith-Mortimer succession case comes also within this period, andso does the tracking and arrest of Huret, the Boulevard assassin --an exploit which won for Holmes an autograph letter of thanks fromthe French President and the Order of the Legion of Honour. Each ofthese would furnish a narrative, but on the whole I am of opinionthat none of them unite so many singular points of interest as theepisode of Yoxley Old Place, which includes not only the lamentabledeath of young Willoughby Smith, but also those subsequentdevelopments which threw so curious a light upon the causes of thecrime.
It was a wild, tempestuous night towards the close of November.Holmes and I sat together in silence all the evening, he engagedwith a powerful lens deciphering the remains of the originalinscription upon a palimpsest, I deep in a recent treatise uponsurgery. Outside the wind howled down Baker Street, while the rainbeat fiercely against the windows. It was strange there in the verydepths of the town, with ten miles of man's handiwork on every sideof us, to feel the iron grip of Nature, and to be conscious that tothe huge elemental forces all London was no more than the molehillsthat dot the fields. I walked to the window and looked out on thedeserted street. The occasional lamps gleamed on the expanse ofmuddy road and shining pavement. A single cab was splashing its wayfrom the Oxford Street end.
"Well, Watson, it's as well we have not to turn out to-night,"said Holmes, laying aside his lens and rolling up the palimpsest."I've done enough for one sitting. It is trying work for the eyes.So far as I can make out it is nothing more exciting than anAbbey's accounts dating from the second half of the fifteenthcentury. Halloa! halloa! halloa! What's this?"
Amid the droning of the wind there had come the stamping of ahorse's hoofs and the long grind of a wheel as it rasped againstthe kerb. The cab which I had seen had pulled up at our door.
"What can he want?" I ejaculated, as a man stepped out ofit.
"Want! He wants us. And we, my poor Watson, want overcoats andcravats and goloshes, and every aid that man ever invented to fightthe weather. Wait a bit, though! There's the cab off again! There'shope yet. He'd have kept it if he had wanted us to come. Run down,my dear fellow, and open the door, for all virtuous folk have beenlong in bed."
When the light of the hall lamp fell upon our midnight visitor Ihad no difficulty in recognising him. It was young Stanley Hopkins,a promising detective, in whose career Holmes had several timesshown a very practical interest.
"Is he in?" he asked, eagerly.
"Come up, my dear sir," said Holmes's voice from above. "I hopeyou have no designs upon us on 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 ablaze out of the logs in the grate.
"Now, my dear Hopkins, draw up and warm your toes," said he."Here's a cigar, and the doctor has a prescription containing hotwater and a lemon which is good medicine on a night like this. Itmust be something important which has brought you out in such agale."
"It is indeed, Mr. Holmes. I've had a bustling afternoon, Ipromise you. Did you see anything of the Yoxley case in the latesteditions?"
"I've seen nothing later than the fifteenth century to-day."
"Well, it was only a paragraph, and all wrong at that, so youhave not missed anything. I haven't let the grass grow under myfeet. It's down in Kent, seven miles from Chatham and three fromthe railway line. I was wired for at three-fifteen, reached YoxleyOld Place at five, conducted my investigation, was back at CharingCross by the last train, and straight to you by cab."
"Which means, I suppose, that you are not quite clear about yourcase?"
"It means that I can make neither head nor tail of it. So far asI can see it is just as tangled a business as ever I handled, andyet at first it seemed so simple that one couldn't go wrong.There's no motive, Mr. Holmes. That's what bothers me -- I can'tput my hand on a motive. Here's a man dead -- there's no denyingthat -- but, so far as I can see, no reason on earth why anyoneshould wish him harm."
Holmes lit his cigar and leaned back in his chair.
"Let us hear about it," said he.
"I've got my facts pretty clear," said Stanley Hopkins. "All Iwant now is to know what they all mean. The story, so far as I canmake it out, is like this. Some years ago this country house,Yoxley Old Place, was taken by an elderly man, who gave the name ofProfessor Coram. He was an invalid, keeping his bed half the time,and the other half hobbling round the house with a stick or beingpushed about the grounds by the gardener in a bath-chair. He waswell liked by the few neighbours who called upon him, and he hasthe reputation down there of being a very learned man. Hishousehold used to consist of an elderly housekeeper, Mrs. Marker,and of a maid, Susan Tarlton. These have both been with him sincehis arrival, and they seem to be women of excellent character. TheProfessor is writing a learned book, and he found it necessaryabout a year ago to engage a secretary. The first two that he triedwere not successes; but the third, Mr. Willoughby Smith, a veryyoung man straight from the University, seems to have been justwhat his employer wanted. His work consisted in writing all themorning to the Professor's dictation, and he usually spent theevening in hunting up references and passages which bore upon thenext day's work. This Willoughby Smith has nothing against himeither as a boy at Uppingham or as a young man at Cambridge. I haveseen his testimonials, and from the first he was a decent, quiet,hardworking fellow, with no weak spot in him at all. And yet thisis the lad who has met his death this morning in the Professor'sstudy 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 bypoint developed his singular narrative.
"If you were to search all England," said he, "I don't supposeyou could find a household more self-contained or free from outsideinfluences. Whole weeks would pass and not one of them go past thegarden gate. The Professor was buried in his work and existed fornothing else. Young Smith knew nobody in the neighbourhood, andlived very much as his employer did. The two women had nothing totake them from the house. Mortimer the gardener, who wheels thebath-chair, is an Army pensioner -- an old Crimean man of excellentcharacter. He does not live in the house, but in a three-roomedcottage at the other end of the garden. Those are the only peoplethat you would find within the grounds of Yoxley Old Place. At thesame time, the gate of the garden is a hundred yards from the mainLondon to Chatham road. It opens with a latch, and there is nothingto prevent anyone from walking in.
"Now I will give you the evidence of Susan Tarlton, who is theonly person who can say anything positive about the matter. It wasin the forenoon, between eleven and twelve. She was engaged at themoment in hanging some curtains in the upstairs front bedroom.Professor Coram was still in bed, for when the weather is bad heseldom rises before midday. The housekeeper was busied with somework in the back of the house. Willoughby Smith had been in hisbedroom, which he uses as a sitting-room; but the maid heard him atthat moment pass along the passage and descend to the studyimmediately below her. She did not see him, but she says that shecould not be mistaken in his quick, firm tread. She did not hearthe study door close, but a minute or so later there was a dreadfulcry in the room below. It was a wild, hoarse scream, so strange andunnatural 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,and then all was silence. The maid stood petrified for a moment,and then, recovering her courage, she ran downstairs. The studydoor was shut, and she opened it. Inside young Mr. Willoughby Smithwas stretched upon the floor. At first she could see no injury, butas she tried to raise him she saw that blood was pouring from theunderside of his neck. It was pierced by a very small but very deepwound, which had divided the carotid artery. The instrument withwhich the injury had been inflicted lay upon the carpet beside him.It was one of those small sealing-wax knives to be found onold-fashioned writing-tables, with an ivory handle and a stiffblade. It was part of the fittings of the Professor's own desk.
"At first the maid thought that young Smith was already dead,but on pouring some water from the carafe over his forehead heopened his eyes for an instant. `The Professor,' he murmured -- `itwas she.' The maid is prepared to swear that those were the exactwords. He tried desperately to say something else, and he held hisright hand up in the air. Then he fell back dead.
"In the meantime the housekeeper had also arrived upon thescene, but she was just too late to catch the young man's dyingwords. Leaving Susan with the body, she hurried to the Professor'sroom. He was sitting up in bed horribly agitated, for he had heardenough to convince him that something terrible had occurred. Mrs.Marker is prepared to swear that the Professor was still in hisnight-clothes, and, indeed, it was impossible for him to dresswithout the help of Mortimer, whose orders were to come at twelveo'clock. The Professor declares that he heard the distant cry, butthat he knows nothing more. He can give no explanation of the youngman's last words, `The Professor -- it was she,' but imagines thatthey were the outcome of delirium. He believes that WilloughbySmith had not an enemy in the world, and can give no reason for thecrime. His first action was to send Mortimer the gardener for thelocal police. A little later the chief constable sent for me.Nothing was moved before I got there, and strict orders were giventhat no one should walk upon the paths leading to the house. It wasa 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 job did youmake of it?"
"I must ask you first, Mr. Holmes, to glance at this rough plan,which will give you a general idea of the position of theProfessor's study and the various points of the case. It will helpyou in following my investigation."
He unfolded the rough chart, which I here reproduce, and he laidit across Holmes's knee. I rose, and, standing behind Holmes, Istudied it over his shoulder.
"It is very rough, of course, and it only deals with the pointswhich seem to me to be essential. All the rest you will see laterfor yourself. Now, first of all, presuming that the assassinentered the house, how did he or she come in? Undoubtedly by thegarden path and the back door, from which there is direct access tothe study. Any other way would have been exceedingly complicated.The escape must have also been made along that line, for of the twoother exits from the room one was blocked by Susan as she randownstairs and the other leads straight to the Professor's bedroom.I therefore directed my attention at once to the garden path, whichwas saturated with recent rain and would certainly show anyfootmarks.
"My examination showed me that I was dealing with a cautious andexpert criminal. No footmarks were to be found on the path. Therecould be no question, however, that someone had passed along thegrass border which lines the path, and that he had done so in orderto avoid leaving a track. I could not find anything in the natureof a distinct impression, but the grass was trodden down andsomeone had undoubtedly passed. It could only have been themurderer, since neither the gardener nor anyone else had been therethat morning and the rain had only begun during the night."
"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 couldsurely pick 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 theycoming or going?"
"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 can't be helped. What did you do, Hopkins, after you hadmade certain that you had 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 nextexamined the corridor. It is lined with cocoanut matting and hadtaken no impression of any kind. This brought me into the studyitself. It is a scantily-furnished room. The main article is alarge writing-table with a fixed bureau. This bureau consists of adouble column of drawers with a central small cupboard betweenthem. The drawers were open, the cupboard locked. The drawers, itseems, were always open, and nothing of value was kept in them.There were some papers of importance in the cupboard, but therewere no signs that this had been tampered with, and the Professorassures me that nothing was missing. It is certain that no robberyhas 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. Thestab was on the right side of the neck and from behind forwards, sothat it is almost impossible that it could have beenself-inflicted."
"Unless he fell upon the knife," said Holmes.
"Exactly. The idea crossed my mind. But we found the knife somefeet away from the body, so that seems impossible. Then, of course,there are the man's own dying words. And, finally, there was thisvery important piece of evidence which was found clasped in thedead man's right hand."
From his pocket Stanley Hopkins drew a small paper packet. Heunfolded it and disclosed a golden pince-nez, with two broken endsof black silk cord dangling from the end of it. "Willoughby Smithhad excellent sight," he added. "There can be no question that thiswas snatched 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 upthe street with them, looked at them most minutely in the fulllight of the lamp, and finally, with a chuckle, seated himself atthe table and wrote a few lines upon a sheet of paper, which hetossed across to Stanley Hopkins.
"That's the best I can do for you," said he. "It may prove to beof some use."
The astonished detective read the note aloud. It ran asfollows:--
"Wanted, a woman of good address, attired like a lady. She has aremarkably 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 havebeen reflected upon my features.
"Surely my deductions are simplicity itself," said he. "It wouldbe difficult to name any articles which afford a finer field forinference than a pair of glasses, especially so remarkable a pairas these. That they belong to a woman I infer from their delicacy,and also, of course, from the last words of the dying man. As toher being a person of refinement and well dressed, they are, as youperceive, handsomely mounted in solid gold, and it is inconceivablethat anyone who wore such glasses could be slatternly in otherrespects. You will find that the clips are too wide for your nose,showing that the lady's nose was very broad at the base. This sortof nose is usually a short and coarse one, but there are asufficient number of exceptions to prevent me from being dogmaticor from insisting upon this point in my description. My own face isa narrow one, and yet I find that I cannot get my eyes into thecentre, or near the centre, of these glasses. Therefore the lady'seyes are set very near to the sides of the nose. You will perceive,Watson, that the glasses are concave and of unusual strength. Alady whose vision has been so extremely contracted all her life issure to have the physical characteristics of such vision, which areseen 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 thedouble visit to the optician."
Holmes took the glasses in his hand.
"You will perceive," he said, "that the clips are lined withtiny bands of cork to soften the pressure upon the nose. One ofthese is discoloured and worn to some slight extent, but the otheris new. Evidently one has fallen off and been replaced. I shouldjudge that the older of them has not been there more than a fewmonths. They exactly correspond, so I gather that the lady wentback to the same establishment for the second."
"By George, it's marvellous!" cried Hopkins, in an ecstasy ofadmiration. "To think that I had all that evidence in my hand andnever knew it! I had intended, however, to go the round of theLondon opticians."
"Of course you would. Meanwhile, have you anything more to tellus about the case?"
"Nothing, Mr. Holmes. I think that you know as much as I do now-- probably more. We have had inquiries made as to any strangerseen on the country roads or at the railway station. We have heardof none. What beats me is the utter want of all object in thecrime. Not a ghost of a motive can anyone suggest."
"Ah! there I am not in a position to help you. But I suppose youwant us to come out to-morrow?"
"If it is not asking too much, Mr. Holmes. There's a train fromCharing Cross to Chatham at six in the morning, and we should be atYoxley Old Place between eight and nine."
"Then we shall take it. Your case has certainly some features ofgreat interest, and I shall be delighted to look into it. Well,it's nearly one, and we had best get a few hours' sleep. I dare sayyou can manage all right on the sofa in front of the fire. I'lllight my spirit-lamp and give you a cup of coffee before westart."
The gale had blown itself out next day, but it was a bittermorning when we started upon our journey. We saw the cold wintersun rise over the dreary marshes of the Thames and the long, sullenreaches of the river, which I shall ever associate with our pursuitof the Andaman Islander in the earlier days of our career. After along and weary journey we alighted at a small station some milesfrom Chatham. While a horse was being put into a trap at the localinn we snatched a hurried breakfast, and so we were all ready forbusiness when we at last arrived at Yoxley Old Place. A constablemet us at the garden gate.
"Well, Wilson, any news?"
"No, sir, nothing."
"No reports of any stranger seen?"
"No, sir. Down at the station they are certain that no strangereither came or went yesterday."
"Have you had inquiries made at inns and lodgings?"
"Yes, sir; there is no one that we cannot account for."
"Well, it's only a reasonable walk to Chatham. Anyone might staythere, or take a train without being observed. This is the gardenpath of which I spoke, Mr. Holmes. I'll pledge my word there was nomark on it yesterday."
"On which side were the marks on the grass?"
"This side, sir. This narrow margin of grass between the pathand the flower-bed. I can't see the traces now, but they were clearto me then."
"Yes, yes; someone has passed along," said Holmes, stooping overthe grass border. "Our lady must have picked her steps carefully,must she not, since on the one side she would leave a track on thepath, and on the other an even clearer one on the soft bed?"
"Yes, sir, she must have been a cool hand."
I saw an intent look pass over Holmes's 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."
"Hum! It was a very remarkable performance -- very remarkable.Well, I think we have exhausted the path. Let us go farther. Thisgarden door is usually kept open, I suppose? Then this visitor hadnothing to do but to walk in. The idea of murder was not in hermind, or she would have provided herself with some sort of weapon,instead of having to pick this knife off the writing-table. Sheadvanced along this corridor, leaving no traces upon the cocoanutmatting. Then she found herself in this study. How long was shethere? We have no means of judging."
"Not more than a few minutes, sir. I forgot to tell you thatMrs. Marker, the housekeeper, had been in there tidying not verylong before -- about a quarter of an hour, she says."
"Well, that gives us a limit. Our lady enters this room and whatdoes she do? She goes over to the writing-table. What for? Not foranything in the drawers. If there had been anything worth hertaking it would surely have been locked up. No; it was forsomething in that wooden bureau. Halloa! what is that scratch uponthe face of it? Just hold a match, Watson. Why did you not tell meof this, Hopkins?"
The mark which he was examining began upon the brass work on theright-hand side of the keyhole, and extended for about four inches,where it had scratched the varnish from the surface.
"I noticed it, Mr. Holmes. But you'll always find scratchesround a keyhole."
"This is recent, quite recent. See how the brass shines where itis cut. An old scratch would be the same colour as the surface.Look at it through my lens. There's the varnish, too, like earth oneach side of a furrow. 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 Chubb's key."
"Very good. Mrs. Marker, you can go. Now we are making a littleprogress. Our lady enters the room, advances to the bureau, andeither opens it or tries to do so. While she is thus engaged youngWilloughby Smith enters the room. In her hurry to withdraw the keyshe makes this scratch upon the door. He seizes her, and she,snatching up the nearest object, which happens to be this knife,strikes at him in order to make him let go his hold. The blow is afatal one. He falls and she escapes, either with or without theobject for which she has come. Is Susan the maid there? Couldanyone have got away through that door after the time that youheard the cry, Susan?"
"No sir; it is impossible. Before I got down the stair I'd haveseen anyone in the passage. Besides, the door never opened, for Iwould have heard it."
"That settles this exit. Then no doubt the lady went out the wayshe came. I understand that this other passage leads only to theProfessor's room. There is no exit that way?"
"No, sir."
"We shall go down it and make the acquaintance of the Professor.Halloa, Hopkins! this is very important, very important indeed. TheProfessor's corridor is also lined with cocoanut matting."
"Well, sir, what of that?"
"Don't you see any bearing upon the case? Well, well, I don'tinsist upon it. No doubt I am wrong. And yet it seems to me to besuggestive. 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 stepsending in a door. Our guide knocked, and then ushered us into theProfessor's bedroom.
It was a very large chamber, lined with innumerable volumes,which had overflowed from the shelves and lay in piles in thecorners, or were stacked all round at the base of the cases. Thebed was in the centre of the room, and in it, propped up withpillows, was the owner of the house. I have seldom seen a moreremarkable-looking person. It was a gaunt, aquiline face which wasturned towards us, with piercing dark eyes, which lurked in deephollows under overhung and tufted brows. His hair and beard werewhite, save that the latter was curiously stained with yellowaround his mouth. A cigarette glowed amid the tangle of white hair,and the air of the room was fetid with stale tobacco-smoke. As heheld out his hand to Holmes I perceived that it also was stainedyellow with nicotine.
"A smoker, Mr. Holmes?" said he, speaking well-chosen Englishwith a curious little mincing accent. "Pray take a cigarette. Andyou, sir? I can recommend them, for I have them especially preparedby Ionides of Alexandria. He sends me a thousand at a time, and Igrieve to say that I have to arrange for a fresh supply everyfortnight. Bad, sir, very bad, but an old man has few pleasures.Tobacco and my work -- that is all that is left to me."
Holmes had lit a cigarette, and was shooting little dartingglances all over the room.
"Tobacco and my work, but now only tobacco," the old manexclaimed. "Alas! what a fatal interruption! Who could haveforeseen such a terrible catastrophe? So estimable a young man! Iassure you that after a few months' training he was an admirableassistant. What do you think 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 lightwhere all is so dark to us. To a poor bookworm and invalid likemyself such a blow is paralyzing. I seem to have lost the facultyof thought. But you are a man of action -- you are a man ofaffairs. It is part of the everyday routine of your life. You canpreserve your balance in every emergency. We are fortunate indeedin having you at our side."
Holmes was pacing up and down one side of the room whilst theold Professor was talking. I observed that he was smoking withextraordinary rapidity. It was evident that he shared our host'sliking for the fresh Alexandrian cigarettes.
"Yes, sir, it is a crushing blow," said the old man. "That is myMAGNUM OPUS -- the pile of papers on the side table yonder. It ismy analysis of the documents found in the Coptic monasteries ofSyria and Egypt, a work which will cut deep at the very foundationsof revealed religion. With my enfeebled health I do not knowwhether I shall ever be able to complete it now that my assistanthas been taken from me. Dear me, Mr. Holmes; why, you are even aquicker smoker than I am myself."
Holmes smiled.
"I am a connoisseur," said he, taking another cigarette from thebox -- his fourth -- and lighting it from the stub of that which hehad finished. "I will not trouble you with any lengthycross-examination, Professor Coram, since I gather that you were inbed at the time of the crime and could know nothing about it. Iwould only ask this. What do you imagine that this poor fellowmeant by his last words: `The Professor -- it 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; possibly -- I only breathe it amongourselves -- a suicide. Young men have their hidden troubles --some affair of the heart, perhaps, which we have never known. It isa more probable supposition than murder."
"But the eye-glasses?"
"Ah! I am only a student -- a man of dreams. I cannot explainthe practical things of life. But still, we are aware, my friend,that love-gages may take strange shapes. By all means take anothercigarette. It is a pleasure to see anyone appreciate them so. Afan, a glove, glasses -- who knows what article may be carried as atoken or treasured when a man puts an end to his life? Thisgentleman speaks of footsteps in the grass; but, after all, it iseasy to be mistaken on such a point. As to the knife, it might wellbe thrown far from the unfortunate man as he fell. It is possiblethat 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 hecontinued to walk up and down for some time, lost in thought andconsuming cigarette after cigarette.
"Tell me, Professor Coram," he said, at last, "what is in thatcupboard in the bureau?"
"Nothing that would help a thief. Family papers, letters from mypoor wife, diplomas of Universities which have done me honour. Hereis the key. You can look for yourself."
Holmes picked up the key and looked at it for an instant; thenhe handed it back.
"No; I hardly think that it would help me," said he. "I shouldprefer to go quietly down to your garden and turn the whole matterover in my head. There is something to be said for the theory ofsuicide which you have put forward. We must apologize for havingintruded upon you, Professor Coram, and I promise that we won'tdisturb you until after lunch. At two o'clock we will come againand report to you anything which may have happened in theinterval."
Holmes was curiously distrait, and we walked up and down thegarden path for some time in silence.
"Have you a clue?" I asked, at last.
"It depends upon those cigarettes that I smoked," said he. "Itis possible that I am utterly mistaken. The cigarettes will showme."
"My dear Holmes," I exclaimed, "how on earth ----"
"Well, well, you may see for yourself. If not, there's no harmdone. Of course, we always have the optician clue to fall backupon, but I take a short cut when I can get it. Ah, here is thegood Mrs. Marker! Let us enjoy five minutes of instructiveconversation 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 whichhe had named he had captured the housekeeper's goodwill, and waschatting with her 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. I've seen that roomof a morning -- well, sir, you'd have thought it was a London fog.Poor young Mr. Smith, he was a smoker also, but not as bad as theProfessor. His health -- well, I don't know that it's better norworse for the smoking."
"Ah!" said Holmes, "but it kills the appetite."
"Well, I don't know about that, sir."
"I suppose the Professor eats hardly anything?"
"Well, he is variable. I'll say that for him."
"I'll wager he took no breakfast this morning, and won't facehis lunch after all the cigarettes I saw him consume."
"Well, you're out there, sir, as it happens, for he ate aremarkable big breakfast this morning. I don't know when I've knownhim make a better one, and he's ordered a good dish of cutlets forhis lunch. I'm surprised myself, for since I came into that roomyesterday and saw young Mr. Smith lying there on the floor Icouldn't bear to look at food. Well, it takes all sorts to make aworld, and the Professor hasn't let it take his appetite away."
We loitered the morning away in the garden. Stanley Hopkins hadgone down to the village to look into some rumours of a strangewoman who had been seen by some children on the Chatham Road theprevious morning. As to my friend, all his usual energy seemed tohave deserted him. I had never known him handle a case in such ahalf-hearted fashion. Even the news brought back by Hopkins that hehad found the children and that they had undoubtedly seen a womanexactly corresponding with Holmes's description, and wearing eitherspectacles or eye-glasses, failed to rouse any sign of keeninterest. He was more attentive when Susan, who waited upon us atlunch, volunteered the information that she believed Mr. Smith hadbeen out for a walk yesterday morning, and that he had onlyreturned half an hour before the tragedy occurred. I could notmyself see the bearing of this incident, but I clearly perceivedthat Holmes was weaving it into the general scheme which he hadformed in his brain. Suddenly he sprang from his chair and glancedat his watch. "Two o'clock, gentlemen," said he. "We must go up andhave it out with our friend the Professor."
The old man had just finished his lunch, and certainly his emptydish bore evidence to the good appetite with which his housekeeperhad credited him. He was, indeed, a weird figure as he turned hiswhite mane and his glowing eyes towards us. The eternal cigarettesmouldered in his mouth. He had been dressed and was seated in anarm-chair by the fire.
"Well, Mr. Holmes, have you solved this mystery yet?" He shovedthe large tin of cigarettes which stood on a table beside himtowards my companion. Holmes stretched out his hand at the samemoment, and between them they tipped the box over the edge. For aminute or two we were all on our knees retrieving stray cigarettesfrom impossible places. When we rose again I observed that Holmes'seyes were shining and his cheeks tinged with colour. Only at acrisis have I seen those battle-signals flying.
"Yes," said he, "I have solved it."
Stanley Hopkins and I stared in amazement. Something like asneer quivered 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 totell you that this is too serious a matter to be treated in such afashion."
"I have forged and tested every link of my chain, ProfessorCoram, and I am sure that it is sound. What your motives are orwhat exact part you play in this strange business I am not yet ableto say. In a few minutes I shall probably hear it from your ownlips. Meanwhile I will reconstruct what is past for your benefit,so that you may know the information which I still require.
"A lady yesterday entered your study. She came with theintention of possessing herself of certain documents which were inyour bureau. She had a key of her own. I have had an opportunity ofexamining yours, and I do not find that slight discolouration whichthe scratch made upon the varnish would have produced. You were notan accessory, therefore, and she came, so far as I can read theevidence, without your knowledge to rob you."
The Professor blew a cloud from his lips. "This is mostinteresting and instructive," said he. "Have you no more to add?Surely, having traced this lady so far, you can also say what hasbecome of her."
"I will endeavour to do so. In the first place she was seized byyour secretary, and stabbed him in order to escape. Thiscatastrophe I am inclined to regard as an unhappy accident, for Iam convinced that the lady had no intention of inflicting sogrievous an injury. An assassin does not come unarmed. Horrified bywhat she had done she rushed wildly away from the scene of thetragedy. Unfortunately for her she had lost her glasses in thescuffle, and as she was extremely short-sighted she was reallyhelpless without them. She ran down a corridor, which she imaginedto be that by which she had come -- both were lined with cocoanutmatting -- and it was only when it was too late that she understoodthat she had taken the wrong passage and that her retreat was cutoff behind her. What was she to do? She could not go back. Shecould not remain where she was. She must go on. She went on. Shemounted a stair, pushed open a door, and found herself in yourroom."
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 insincerelaughter.
"All very fine, Mr. Holmes," said he. "But there is one littleflaw in your splendid theory. I was myself in my room, and I neverleft it during the day."
"I am aware of that, Professor Coram."
"And you mean to say that I could lie upon that bed and not beaware that a woman had entered my room?"
"I never said so. You WERE aware of it. You spoke with her. Yourecognised her. You aided her to escape."
Again the Professor burst into high-keyed laughter. He had risento his feet and his eyes glowed like embers.
"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 bookcasein the corner of the room.
I saw the old man throw up his arms, a terrible convulsionpassed over his grim face, and he fell back in his chair. At thesame instant the bookcase at which Holmes pointed swung round upona hinge, and a woman rushed out into the room. "You are right!" shecried, in a strange foreign voice. "You are right! I am here."
She was brown with the dust and draped with the cobwebs whichhad come from the walls of her hiding-place. Her face, too, wasstreaked with grime, and at the best she could never have beenhandsome, for she had the exact physical characteristics whichHolmes had divined, with, in addition, a long and obstinate chin.What with her natural blindness, and what with the change from darkto light, she stood as one dazed, blinking about her to see whereand who we were. And yet, in spite of all these disadvantages,there was a certain nobility in the woman's bearing, a gallantry inthe defiant chin and in the upraised head, which compelledsomething of respect and admiration. Stanley Hopkins had laid hishand upon her arm and claimed her as his prisoner, but she wavedhim aside gently, and yet with an overmastering dignity whichcompelled obedience. The old man lay back in his chair, with atwitching face, and stared at her with brooding eyes.
"Yes, sir, I am your prisoner," she said. "From where I stood Icould hear everything, and I know that you have learned the truth.I confess it all. It was I who killed the young man. But you areright, you who say it was an accident. I did not even know that itwas a knife which I held in my hand, for in my despair I snatchedanything from the table and struck at him to make him let me go. Itis the truth that I tell."
"Madam," said Holmes, "I am sure that it is the truth. I fearthat you are far from well."
She had turned a dreadful colour, the more ghastly under thedark dust-streaks upon her face. She seated herself on the side ofthe bed; then she resumed.
"I have only a little time here," she said, "but I would haveyou to know the whole truth. I am this man's wife. He is not anEnglishman. He is a Russian. 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. "Whyshould you cling so hard to that wretched life of yours, Sergius?"said she. "It has done harm to many and good to none -- not even toyourself. However, it is not for me to cause the frail thread to besnapped before God's time. I have enough already upon my soul sinceI crossed the threshold of this cursed house. But I must speak or Ishall be too late.
"I have said, gentlemen, that I am this man's wife. He was fiftyand I a foolish girl of twenty when we married. It was in a city ofRussia, a University -- I will not name the place."
"God bless you, Anna!" murmured the old man again.
"We were reformers -- revolutionists -- Nihilists, youunderstand. He and I and many more. Then there came a time oftrouble, a police officer was killed, many were arrested, evidencewas wanted, and in order to save his own life and to earn a greatreward my husband betrayed his own wife and his companions. Yes, wewere all arrested upon his confession. Some of us found our way tothe gallows and some to Siberia. I was among these last, but myterm was not for life. My husband came to England with hisill-gotten gains, and has lived in quiet ever since, knowing wellthat if the Brotherhood knew where he was not a week would passbefore 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 alwaysgood to me."
"I have not yet told you the height of his villainy," said she."Among our comrades of the Order there was one who was the friendof my heart. He was noble, unselfish, loving -- all that my husbandwas not. He hated violence. We were all guilty -- if that is guilt-- but he was not. He wrote for ever dissuading us from such acourse. These letters would have saved him. So would my diary, inwhich from day to day I had entered both my feelings towards himand the view which each of us had taken. My husband found and keptboth diary and letters. He hid them, and he tried hard to swearaway the young man's life. In this he failed, but Alexis was sent aconvict to Siberia, where now, at this moment, he works in a saltmine. Think of that, you villain, you villain; now, now, at thisvery moment, Alexis, a man whose name you are not worthy to speak,works and lives like a slave, and yet I have your life in my handsand I let you go."
"You were always a noble woman, Anna," said the old man, puffingat his cigarette.
She had risen, but she fell back again with a little cry ofpain.
"I must finish," she said. "When my term was over I set myselfto get the diary and letters which, if sent to the RussianGovernment, would procure my friend's release. I knew that myhusband had come to England. After months of searching I discoveredwhere he was. I knew that he still had the diary, for when I was inSiberia I had a letter from him once reproaching me and quotingsome passages from its pages. Yet I was sure that with hisrevengeful nature he would never give it to me of his own freewill. I must get it for myself. With this object I engaged an agentfrom a private detective firm, who entered my husband's house assecretary -- it was your second secretary, Sergius, the one wholeft you so hurriedly. He found that papers were kept in thecupboard, and he got an impression of the key. He would not gofarther. He furnished me with a plan of the house, and he told methat in the forenoon the study was always empty, as the secretarywas employed up here. So at last I took my courage in both handsand I came down to get the papers for myself. I succeeded, but atwhat a cost!
"I had just taken the papers and was locking the cupboard whenthe young man seized me. I had seen him already that morning. Hehad met me in the road and I had asked him to tell me whereProfessor Coram lived, not knowing that he was in his employ."
"Exactly! exactly!" said Holmes. "The secretary came back andtold his employer of the woman he had met. Then in his last breathhe tried to send a message that it was she -- the she whom he hadjust discussed with him."
"You must let me speak," said the woman, in an imperative voice,and her face contracted as if in pain. "When he had fallen I rushedfrom the room, chose the wrong door, and found myself in myhusband's room. He spoke of giving me up. I showed him that if hedid so his life was in my hands. If he gave me to the law I couldgive him to the Brotherhood. It was not that I wished to live formy own sake, but it was that I desired to accomplish my purpose. Heknew that I would do what I said -- that his own fate was involvedin mine. For that reason and for no other he shielded me. He thrustme into that dark hiding-place, a relic of old days, known only tohimself. He took his meals in his own room, and so was able to giveme 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 insome way you have read our plans." She tore from the bosom of herdress a small packet. "These are my last words," said she; "here isthe packet which will save Alexis. I confide it to your honour andto your love of justice. Take it! You will deliver it at theRussian Embassy. Now I have done my duty, and ----"
"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 tookthe poison before I left my hiding-place. My head swims! I amgoing! I charge 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 outsetupon the pince-nez. But for the fortunate chance of the dying manhaving seized these I am not sure that we could ever have reachedour solution. It was clear to me from the strength of the glassesthat the wearer must have been very blind and helpless whendeprived of them. When you asked me to believe that she walkedalong a narrow strip of grass without once making a false step Iremarked, as you may remember, that it was a noteworthyperformance. In my mind I set it down as an impossible performance,save in the unlikely case that she had a second pair of glasses. Iwas forced, therefore, to seriously consider the hypothesis thatshe had remained within the house. On perceiving the similarity ofthe two corridors it became clear that she might very easily havemade such a mistake, and in that case it was evident that she musthave entered the Professor's room. I was keenly on the alert,therefore, for whatever would bear out this supposition, and Iexamined the room narrowly for anything in the shape of ahiding-place. The carpet seemed continuous and firmly nailed, so Idismissed 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 allother points, but that one bookcase was left clear. This, then,might be the door. I could see no marks to guide me, but the carpetwas of a dun colour, which lends itself very well to examination. Itherefore smoked a great number of those excellent cigarettes, andI dropped the ash all over the space in front of the suspectedbookcase. It was a simple trick, but exceedingly effective. I thenwent downstairs and I ascertained, in your presence, Watson,without your perceiving the drift of my remarks, that ProfessorCoram's consumption of food had increased -- as one would expectwhen he is supplying a second person. We then ascended to the roomagain, when, by upsetting the cigarette-box, I obtained a veryexcellent view of the floor, and was able to see quite clearly,from the traces upon the cigarette ash, that the prisoner had, inour absence, come out from her retreat. Well, Hopkins, here we areat Charing Cross, and I congratulate you on having brought yourcase to a successful conclusion. You are going to head-quarters, nodoubt. I think, Watson, you and I will drive together to theRussian Embassy."
ADVENTURE XI. THE ADVENTURE OF THE MISSINGTHREE-QUARTER
WE were fairly accustomed to receive weird telegrams at BakerStreet, but I have a particular recollection of one which reachedus on a gloomy February morning some seven or eight years ago andgave Mr. Sherlock Holmes a puzzled quarter of an hour. It wasaddressed to him, and ran thus:--
"Please await me. Terrible misfortune. Right wing three-quartermissing; indispensable to morrow. -- OVERTON."
"Strand post-mark and dispatched ten-thirty-six," said Holmes,reading it over and over. "Mr. Overton was evidently considerablyexcited when he sent it, and somewhat incoherent in consequence.Well, well, he will be here, I dare say, by the time I have lookedthrough the TIMES, and then we shall know all about it. Even themost insignificant problem would be welcome in these stagnantdays."
Things had indeed been very slow with us, and I had learned todread such periods of inaction, for I knew by experience that mycompanion's brain was so abnormally active that it was dangerous toleave it without material upon which to work. For years I hadgradually weaned him from that drug mania which had threatened onceto check his remarkable career. Now I knew that under ordinaryconditions he no longer craved for this artificial stimulus, but Iwas well aware that the fiend was not dead, but sleeping; and Ihave known that the sleep was a light one and the waking near whenin periods of idleness I have seen the drawn look upon Holmes'sascetic face, and the brooding of his deep-set and inscrutableeyes. Therefore I blessed this Mr. Overton, whoever he might be,since he had come with his enigmatic message to break thatdangerous calm which brought more peril to my friend than all thestorms of his tempestuous life.
As we had expected, the telegram was soon followed by itssender, and the card of Mr. Cyril Overton, of Trinity College,Cambridge, announced the arrival of an enormous young man, sixteenstone of solid bone and muscle, who spanned the doorway with hisbroad shoulders and looked from one of us to the other with acomely face which was haggard with anxiety.
"Mr. Sherlock Holmes?"
My companion bowed.
"I've been down to Scotland Yard, Mr. Holmes. I saw InspectorStanley Hopkins. He advised me to come to you. He said the case, sofar as he could see, was more in your line than in that of theregular police."
"Pray sit down and tell me what is the matter."
"It's awful, Mr. Holmes, simply awful! I wonder my hair isn'tgrey. Godfrey Staunton -- you've heard of him, of course? He'ssimply the hinge that the whole team turns on. I'd rather spare twofrom the pack and have Godfrey for my three-quarter line. Whetherit's passing, or tackling, or dribbling, there's no one to touchhim; and then, he's got the head and can hold us all together. Whatam I to do? That's what I ask you, Mr. Holmes. There's Moorhouse,first reserve, but he is trained as a half, and he always edgesright in on to the scrum instead of keeping out on the touch-line.He's a fine place-kick, it's true, but, then, he has no judgment,and he can't sprint for nuts. Why, Morton or Johnson, the Oxfordfliers, could romp round him. Stevenson is fast enough, but hecouldn't drop from the twenty-five line, and a three-quarter whocan't either punt or drop isn't worth a place for pace alone. No,Mr. Holmes, we are done unless you can help me to find GodfreyStaunton."
My friend had listened with amused surprise to this long speech,which was poured forth with extraordinary vigour and earnestness,every point being driven home by the slapping of a brawny hand uponthe speaker's knee. When our visitor was silent Holmes stretchedout his hand and took down letter "S" of his commonplace book. Foronce he dug in vain into that mine of varied information.
"There is Arthur H. Staunton, the rising young forger," said he,"and there was Henry Staunton, whom I helped to hang, but GodfreyStaunton is a new name to me."
It was our visitor's turn to look surprised.
"Why, Mr. Holmes, I thought you knew things," said he. "Isuppose, then, if you have never heard of Godfrey Staunton youdon't know Cyril Overton either?"
Holmes shook his head good-humouredly.
"Great Scot!" cried the athlete. "Why, I was first reserve forEngland against Wales, and I've skippered the 'Varsity all thisyear. But that's nothing! I didn't think there was a soul inEngland who didn't know Godfrey Staunton, the crack three-quarter,Cambridge, Blackheath, and five Internationals. Good Lord! Mr.Holmes, where HAVE you lived?"
Holmes laughed at the young giant's naive astonishment.
"You live in a different world to me, Mr. Overton, a sweeter andhealthier one. My ramifications stretch out into many sections ofsociety, but never, I am happy to say, into amateur sport, which isthe best and soundest thing in England. However, your unexpectedvisit this morning shows me that even in that world of fresh airand fair play there may be work for me to do; so now, my good sir,I beg you to sit down and to tell me slowly and quietly exactlywhat it is that has occurred, and how you desire that I should helpyou."
Young Overton's face assumed the bothered look of the man who ismore accustomed to using his muscles than his wits; but by degrees,with many repetitions and obscurities which I may omit from hisnarrative, he laid his strange story before us.
"It's this way, Mr. Holmes. As I have said, I am the skipper ofthe Rugger team of Cambridge 'Varsity, and Godfrey Staunton is mybest man. To-morrow we play Oxford. Yesterday we all came up and wesettled at Bentley's private hotel. At ten o'clock I went round andsaw that all the fellows had gone to roost, for I believe in stricttraining and plenty of sleep to keep a team fit. I had a word ortwo with Godfrey before he turned in. He seemed to me to be paleand bothered. I asked him what was the matter. He said he was allright -- just a touch of headache. I bade him good-night and lefthim. Half an hour later the porter tells me that a rough-lookingman with a beard called with a note for Godfrey. He had not gone tobed and the note was taken to his room. Godfrey read it and fellback 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, hada drink of water, and pulled himself together. Then he wentdownstairs, said a few words to the man who was waiting in thehall, and the two of them went off together. The last that theporter saw of them, they were almost running down the street in thedirection of the Strand. This morning Godfrey's room was empty, hisbed had never been slept in, and his things were all just as I hadseen them the night before. He had gone off at a moment's noticewith this stranger, and no word has come from him since. I don'tbelieve he will ever come back. He was a sportsman, was Godfrey,down to his marrow, and he wouldn't have stopped his training andlet 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 weshould never see him again."
Sherlock Holmes listened with the deepest attention to thissingular narrative.
"What did you do?" he asked.
"I wired to Cambridge to learn if anything had been heard of himthere. I have had an answer. No one has seen him."
"Could he have got back to Cambridge?"
"Yes, there is a late train -- quarter-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 nearestrelative -- his uncle, I believe."
"Indeed. This throws new light upon the matter. Lord Mount-Jamesis one of the richest men in England."
"So I've heard Godfrey say."
"And your friend was closely related?"
"Yes, he was his heir, and the old boy is nearly eighty -- cramfull of gout, too. They say he could chalk his billiard-cue withhis knuckles. He never allowed Godfrey a shilling in his life, forhe is an absolute miser, but it will all come to him rightenough."
"Have you heard from Lord Mount-James?"
"No."
"What motive could your friend have in going to LordMount-James?"
"Well, something was worrying him the night before, and if itwas to do with money it is possible that he would make for hisnearest relative who had so much of it, though from all I haveheard he would not have much chance of getting it. Godfrey was notfond of the old man. He would not go if he could help it."
"Well, we can soon determine that. If your friend was going tohis relative, Lord Mount-James, you have then to explain the visitof this rough-looking fellow at so late an hour, and the agitationthat was caused by his coming."
Cyril Overton pressed his hands to his head. "I can make nothingof it," said he.
"Well, well, I have a clear day, and I shall be happy to lookinto the matter," said Holmes. "I should strongly recommend you tomake your preparations for your match without reference to thisyoung gentleman. It must, as you say, have been an overpoweringnecessity which tore him away in such a fashion, and the samenecessity is likely to hold him away. Let us step round together tothis hotel, and see if the porter can throw any fresh light uponthe matter."
Sherlock Holmes was a past-master in the art of putting a humblewitness at his ease, and very soon, in the privacy of GodfreyStaunton's abandoned room, he had extracted all that the porter hadto tell. The visitor of the night before was not a gentleman,neither was he a working man. He was simply what the porterdescribed as a "medium-looking chap"; a man of fifty, beardgrizzled, pale face, quietly dressed. He seemed himself to beagitated. The porter had observed his hand trembling when he hadheld out the note. Godfrey Staunton had crammed the note into hispocket. Staunton had not shaken hands with the man in the hall.They had exchanged a few sentences, of which the porter had onlydistinguished the one word "time." Then they had hurried off in themanner described. It was just half-past ten by the hall clock.
"Let me see," said Holmes, seating himself on Staunton's bed."You are 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! that's interesting. What o'clock 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 backturned at that table. When he had written it he said, `All right,porter, I will take this 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, throwingthem down again with a shrug of disappointment. "As you have nodoubt frequently observed, Watson, the impression usually goesthrough -- a fact which has dissolved many a happy marriage.However, I can find no trace here. I rejoice, however, to perceivethat he wrote with a broad-pointed quill pen, and I can hardlydoubt that we will find some impression upon this blotting-pad. Ah,yes, surely this is the very thing!"
He tore off a strip of the blotting-paper and turned towards usthe following hieroglyphic:--
Cyril Overton was much excited. "Hold it to the glass!" hecried.
"That is unnecessary," said Holmes. "The paper is thin, and thereverse will give the message. Here it is." He turned it over andwe read:--
"So that is the tail end of the telegram which Godfrey Stauntondispatched within a few hours of his disappearance. There are atleast six words of the message which have escaped us; but whatremains -- `Stand by us for God's sake!' -- proves that this youngman saw a formidable danger which approached him, and from whichsomeone else could protect him. `US,' mark you! Another person wasinvolved. Who should it be but the pale-faced, bearded man, whoseemed himself in so nervous a state? What, then, is the connectionbetween Godfrey Staunton and the bearded man? And what is the thirdsource from which each of them sought for help against pressingdanger? Our inquiry has already narrowed down to that."
"We have only to find to whom that telegram is addressed," Isuggested.
"Exactly, my dear Watson. Your reflection, though profound, hadalready crossed my mind. But I dare say it may have come to yournotice that if you walk into a post-office and demand to see thecounterfoil of another man's message there may be somedisinclination on the part of the officials to oblige you. There isso much red tape in these matters! However, I have no doubt thatwith a little delicacy and finesse the end may be attained.Meanwhile, I should like in your presence, Mr. Overton, to gothrough these papers which have been left upon the table."
There were a number of letters, bills, and note-books, whichHolmes turned over and examined with quick, nervous fingers anddarting, penetrating eyes. "Nothing here," he said, at last. "Bythe way, I suppose your friend was a healthy young fellow --nothing 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 slippedhis knee-cap, but that was nothing."
"Perhaps he was not so strong as you suppose. I should think hemay have had some secret trouble. With your assent I will put oneor two of these papers in my pocket, in case they should bear uponour future inquiry."
"One moment! one moment!" cried a querulous voice, and we lookedup to find a queer little old man, jerking and twitching in thedoorway. He was dressed in rusty black, with a very broad brimmedtop-hat and a loose white necktie -- the whole effect being that ofa very rustic parson or of an undertaker's mute. Yet, in spite ofhis shabby and even absurd appearance, his voice had a sharpcrackle, and his manner a quick intensity which commandedattention.
"Who are you, sir, and by what right do you touch thisgentleman's papers?" he asked.
"I am a private detective, and I am endeavouring to explain hisdisappearance."
"Oh, you are, are you? And who instructed you, eh?"
"This gentleman, Mr. Staunton's 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 LordMount-James. I came round as quickly as the Bayswater 'bus wouldbring me. So you 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,will be prepared to do that."
"But if he is never found, eh? Answer me that!"
"In that case no doubt his family ----"
"Nothing of the sort, sir!" screamed the little man. "Don't lookto me for a penny -- not a penny! You understand that, Mr.Detective! I am all the family that this young man has got, and Itell you that I am not responsible. If he has any expectations itis due to the fact that I have never wasted money, and I do notpropose to begin to do so now. As to those papers with which youare making so free, I may tell you that in case there should beanything of any value among them you will be held strictly toaccount for what you do with them."
"Very good, sir," said Sherlock Holmes. "May I ask in themeanwhile whether you have yourself any theory to account for thisyoung man's disappearance?"
"No, sir, I have not. He is big enough and old enough to lookafter himself, and if he is so foolish as to lose himself Ientirely refuse to accept the responsibility of hunting forhim."
"I quite understand your position," said Holmes, with amischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Perhaps you don't quiteunderstand mine. Godfrey Staunton appears to have been a poor man.If he has been kidnapped it could not have been for anything whichhe himself possesses. The fame of your wealth has gone abroad, LordMount-James, and it is entirely possible that a gang of thieveshave secured your nephew in order to gain from him some informationas to your house, your habits, and your treasure."
The face of our unpleasant little visitor turned as white as hisneckcloth.
"Heavens, sir, what an idea! I never thought of such villainy!What inhuman rogues there are in the world! But Godfrey is a finelad -- a staunch lad. Nothing would induce him to give his olduncle away. I'll have the plate moved over to the bank thisevening. In the meantime spare no pains, Mr. Detective! I beg youto leave no stone unturned to bring him safely back. As to money,well, so far as a fiver, or even a tenner, goes, you can alwayslook to me."
Even in his chastened frame of mind the noble miser could giveus no information which could help us, for he knew little of theprivate life of his nephew. Our only clue lay in the truncatedtelegram, and with a copy of this in his hand Holmes set forth tofind a second link for his chain. We had shaken off LordMount-James, and Overton had gone to consult with the other membersof his team over the misfortune which had befallen them.
There was a telegraph-office at a short distance from the hotel.We halted outside it.
"It's worth trying, Watson," said Holmes. "Of course, with awarrant we could demand to see the counterfoils, but we have notreached that stage yet. I don't suppose they remember faces in sobusy a place. Let us venture it."
"I am sorry to trouble you," said he, in his blandest manner, tothe young woman behind the grating; "there is some small mistakeabout a telegram I sent yesterday. I have had no answer, and I verymuch fear that I must have omitted to put my name at the end. Couldyou tell me if this was so?"
The young woman turned over a sheaf of counterfoils.
"What o'clock was it?" she asked.
"A little after six."
"Whom was it to?"
Holmes put his finger to his lips and glanced at me. "The lastwords in it were `for God's sake,'" he whispered, confidentially;"I am very anxious at getting no answer."
The young woman separated one of the forms.
"This is it. There is no name," said she, smoothing it out uponthe counter.
"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 oncemore.
"Well?" I asked.
"We progress, my dear Watson, we progress. I had seven differentschemes for getting a glimpse of that telegram, but I could hardlyhope to succeed the very first time."
"And what have you gained?"
"A starting-point for our investigation." He hailed a cab."King's Cross Station," 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 Gray's Inn Road, "have youany suspicion yet as to the cause of the disappearance? I don'tthink that among all our cases I have known one where the motivesare more obscure. Surely you don't really imagine that he may bekidnapped in order to give information against his wealthyuncle?"
"I confess, my dear Watson, that that does not appeal to me as avery probable explanation. It struck me, however, as being the onewhich was most likely to interest that exceedingly unpleasant oldperson."
"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 thisimportant match, and should involve the only man whose presenceseems essential to the success of the side. It may, of course, becoincidence, but it is interesting. Amateur sport is free frombetting, but a good deal of outside betting goes on among thepublic, and it is possible that it might be worth someone's whileto get at a player as the ruffians of the turf get at a race-horse.There is one explanation. A second very obvious one is that thisyoung man really is the heir of a great property, however modesthis means may at present be, and it is not impossible that a plotto hold him for ransom might be concocted."
"These theories take no account of the telegram."
"Quite true, Watson. The telegram still remains the only solidthing with which we have to deal, and we must not permit ourattention to wander away from it. It is to gain light upon thepurpose of this telegram that we are now upon our way to Cambridge.The path of our investigation is at present obscure, but I shall bevery much surprised if before evening we have not cleared it up ormade a considerable advance along it."
It was already dark when we reached the old University city.Holmes took a cab at the station, and ordered the man to drive tothe house of Dr. Leslie Armstrong. A few minutes later we hadstopped at a large mansion in the busiest thoroughfare. We wereshown in, and after a long wait were at last admitted into theconsulting-room, where we found the doctor seated behind histable.
It argues the degree in which I had lost touch with myprofession that the name of Leslie Armstrong was unknown to me. NowI am aware that he is not only one of the heads of the medicalschool of the University, but a thinker of European reputation inmore than one branch of science. Yet even without knowing hisbrilliant record one could not fail to be impressed by a mereglance at the man, the square, massive face, the brooding eyesunder 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, formidable -- so I read Dr. LeslieArmstrong. He held my friend's card in his hand, and he looked upwith no very pleased expression upon his dour features.
"I have heard your name, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and I am aware ofyour profession, one 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 ofcrime, sir, they must have the support of every reasonable memberof the community, though I cannot doubt that the official machineryis amply sufficient for the purpose. Where your calling is moreopen to criticism is when you pry into the secrets of privateindividuals, when you rake up family matters which are betterhidden, and when you incidentally waste the time of men who aremore busy than yourself. At the present moment, for example, Ishould be writing a treatise instead of conversing with you."
"No doubt, doctor; and yet the conversation may prove moreimportant than the treatise. Incidentally I may tell you that weare doing the reverse of what you very justly blame, and that weare endeavouring to prevent anything like public exposure ofprivate matters which must necessarily follow when once the case isfairly in the hands of the official police. You may look upon mesimply as an irregular pioneer who goes in front of the regularforces 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 night. He 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 man'sfate interests me deeply, since I know him and like him. Thefootball match does not come within my horizon at all."
"I claim your sympathy, then, in my investigation of Mr.Staunton's fate. 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 doctor's eyes. "Thenperhaps you will explain this receipted bill for thirteen guineas,paid by Mr. Godfrey Staunton last month to Dr. Leslie Armstrong ofCambridge. I picked it out from among the papers upon hisdesk."
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 note-book. "If you prefer apublic explanation it must come sooner or later," said he. "I havealready told you that I can hush up that which others will be boundto publish, and you would really be wiser to take me into yourcomplete confidence."
"I know nothing about it."
"Did you hear from Mr. Staunton in London?"
"Certainly not."
"Dear me, dear me; the post-office again!" Holmes sighed,wearily. "A most urgent telegram was dispatched to you from Londonby Godfrey Staunton at six-fifteen yesterday evening -- a telegramwhich is undoubtedly associated with his disappearance -- and yetyou have not had it. It is most culpable. I shall certainly go downto the office here and register a complaint."
Dr. Leslie Armstrong sprang up from behind his desk, and hisdark face was crimson with fury.
"I'll trouble you to walk out of my house, sir," said he. "Youcan tell your employer, Lord Mount-James, that I do not wish tohave anything to do either with him or with his agents. No, sir,not another word!" He rang the bell furiously. "John, show thesegentlemen out!" A pompous butler ushered us severely to the door,and we found ourselves in the street. Holmes burst outlaughing.
"Dr. Leslie Armstrong is certainly a man of energy andcharacter," said he. "I have not seen a man who, if he turned histalents that way, was more calculated to fill the gap left by theillustrious Moriarty. And now, my poor Watson, here we are,stranded and friendless in this inhospitable town, which we cannotleave without abandoning our case. This little inn just oppositeArmstrong's house is singularly adapted to our needs. If you wouldengage 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 lengthyproceeding than Holmes had imagined, for he did not return to theinn until nearly nine o'clock. He was pale and dejected, stainedwith dust, and exhausted with hunger and fatigue. A cold supper wasready upon the table, and when his needs were satisfied and hispipe alight he was ready to take that half comic and whollyphilosophic view which was natural to him when his affairs weregoing awry. The sound of carriage wheels caused him to rise andglance out of the window. A brougham and pair of greys under theglare of a gas-lamp stood before the doctor's door.
"It's been out three hours," said Holmes; "started at half-pastsix, and here it is back again. That gives a radius of ten ortwelve miles, and he does 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 alecturer and a consultant, but he does not care for generalpractice, which distracts him from his literary work. Why, then,does he make these long journeys, which must be exceedingly irksometo him, and who is it that he visits?"
"His coachman ----"
"My dear Watson, can you doubt that it was to him that I firstapplied? I do not know whether it came from his own innatedepravity or from the promptings of his master, but he was rudeenough to set a dog at me. Neither dog nor man liked the look of mystick, however, and the matter fell through. Relations werestrained after that, and further inquiries out of the question. Allthat I have learned I got from a friendly native in the yard of ourown inn. It was he who told me of the doctor's habits and of hisdaily journey. At that instant, to give point to his words, thecarriage came round to the door."
"Could you not follow it?"
"Excellent, Watson! You are scintillating this evening. The ideadid cross my mind. There is, as you may have observed, a bicycleshop next to our inn. Into this I rushed, engaged a bicycle, andwas able to get started before the carriage was quite out of sight.I rapidly overtook it, and then, keeping at a discreet distance ofa hundred yards or so, I followed its lights until we were clear ofthe town. We had got well out on the country road when a somewhatmortifying incident occurred. The carriage stopped, the doctoralighted, walked swiftly back to where I had also halted, and toldme in an excellent sardonic fashion that he feared the road wasnarrow, and that he hoped his carriage did not impede the passageof my bicycle. Nothing could have been more admirable than his wayof putting it. I at once rode past the carriage, and, keeping tothe main road, I went on for a few miles, and then halted in aconvenient place to see if the carriage passed. There was no signof it, however, and so it became evident that it had turned downone of several side roads which I had observed. I rode back, butagain saw nothing of the carriage, and now, as you perceive, it hasreturned after me. Of course, I had at the outset no particularreason to connect these journeys with the disappearance of GodfreyStaunton, and was only inclined to investigate them on the generalgrounds that everything which concerns Dr. Armstrong is at presentof interest to us; but, now that I find he keeps so keen a look-outupon anyone who may follow him on these excursions, the affairappears 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 notfamiliar with Cambridgeshire scenery, are you? It does not lenditself to concealment. All this country that I passed over to-nightis as flat and clean as the palm of your hand, and the man we arefollowing is no fool, as he very clearly showed to-night. I havewired to Overton to let us know any fresh London developments atthis address, and in the meantime we can only concentrate ourattention upon Dr. Armstrong, whose name the obliging young lady atthe office allowed me to read upon the counterfoil of Staunton'surgent message. He knows where the young man is -- to that I'llswear -- and if he knows, then it must be our own fault if wecannot manage to know also. At present it must be admitted that theodd trick is in his possession, and, as you are aware, Watson, itis not my habit 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 timein dogging my movements. I have, as you discovered last night, awindow at the back of my brougham, and if you desire a twenty-mileride which will lead you to the spot from which you started, youhave only to follow me. Meanwhile, I can inform you that no spyingupon me can in any way help Mr. Godfrey Staunton, and I amconvinced that the best service you can do to that gentleman is toreturn at once to London and to report to your employer that youare unable to trace him. Your time in Cambridge will certainly bewasted.
"An outspoken, honest antagonist is the doctor," said Holmes."Well, well, he excites my curiosity, and I must really know morebefore I leave him."
"His carriage is at his door now," said I. "There he is steppinginto it. I saw him glance up at our window as he did so. Suppose Itry my luck upon the bicycle?"
"No, no, my dear Watson! With all respect for your naturalacumen I do not think that you are quite a match for the worthydoctor. I think that possibly I can attain our end by someindependent explorations of my own. I am afraid that I must leaveyou to your own devices, as the appearance of TWO inquiringstrangers upon a sleepy countryside might excite more gossip than Icare for. No doubt you will find some sights to amuse you in thisvenerable city, and I hope to bring back a more favourable reportto you before evening."
Once more, however, my friend was destined to be disappointed.He came back at night weary and unsuccessful.
"I have had a blank day, Watson. Having got the doctor's generaldirection, I spent the day in visiting all the villages upon thatside of Cambridge, and comparing notes with publicans and otherlocal news agencies. I have covered some ground: Chesterton,Histon, Waterbeach, and Oakington have each been explored and haveeach proved disappointing. The daily appearance of a brougham andpair could hardly have been overlooked in such Sleepy Hollows. Thedoctor has scored once more. Is there a telegram for me?"
"Yes; I opened it. Here it is: `Ask for Pompey from JeremyDixon, Trinity College.' I don't understand it."
"Oh, it is clear enough. It is from our friend Overton, and isin answer to a question from me. I'll just send round a note to Mr.Jeremy Dixon, and then I have no doubt that our luck will turn. Bythe way, is there any news of the match?"
"Yes, the local evening paper has an excellent account in itslast edition. Oxford won by a goal and two tries. The lastsentences of the description say: `The defeat of the Light Bluesmay be entirely attributed to the unfortunate absence of the crackInternational, Godfrey Staunton, whose want was felt at everyinstant of the game. The lack of combination in the three-quarterline and their weakness both in attack and defence more thanneutralized the efforts of a heavy and hard-working pack.'"
"Then our friend Overton's forebodings have been justified,"said Holmes. "Personally I am in agreement with Dr. Armstrong, andfootball does not come within my horizon. Early to bed to-night,Watson, for I foresee that to-morrow may be an eventful day."
I was horrified by my first glimpse of Holmes next morning, forhe sat by the fire holding his tiny hypodermic syringe. Iassociated that instrument with the single weakness of his nature,and I feared the worst when I saw it glittering in his hand. Helaughed at my expression of dismay, and laid it upon the table.
"No, no, my dear fellow, there is no cause for alarm. It is notupon this occasion the instrument of evil, but it will rather proveto be the key which will unlock our mystery. On this syringe I baseall my hopes. I have just returned from a small scouting expeditionand everything is favourable. Eat a good breakfast, Watson, for Ipropose to get upon Dr. Armstrong's trail to-day, and once on it Iwill not stop for rest or food until I run him to his burrow."
"In that case," said I, "we had best carry our breakfast withus, for he is making an early start. His carriage is at thedoor."
"Never mind. Let him go. He will be clever if he can drive whereI cannot follow him. When you have finished come downstairs withme, and I will introduce you to a detective who is a very eminentspecialist in the work that lies before us."
When we descended I followed Holmes into the stable yard, wherehe opened the door of a loose-box and led out a squat, lop-eared,white-and-tan dog, something between a beagle and a foxhound.
"Let me introduce you to Pompey," said he. "Pompey is the prideof the local draghounds, no very great flier, as his build willshow, but a staunch hound on a scent. Well, Pompey, you may not befast, but I expect you will be too fast for a couple of middle-agedLondon gentlemen, so I will take the liberty of fastening thisleather leash to your collar. Now, boy, come along, and show whatyou can do." He led him across to the doctor's door. The dogsniffed round for an instant, and then with a shrill whine ofexcitement started off down the street, tugging at his leash in hisefforts to go faster. In half an hour, we were clear of the townand hastening down a country road.
"What have you done, Holmes?" I asked.
"A threadbare and venerable device, but useful upon occasion. Iwalked into the doctor's yard this morning and shot my syringe fullof aniseed over the hind wheel. A draghound will follow aniseedfrom here to John o' Groat's, and our friend Armstrong would haveto drive through the Cam before he would shake Pompey off histrail. Oh, the cunning rascal! This is how he gave me the slip theother night."
The dog had suddenly turned out of the main road into agrass-grown lane. Half a mile farther this opened into anotherbroad road, and the trail turned hard to the right in the directionof the town, which we had just quitted. The road took a sweep tothe south of the town and continued in the opposite direction tothat in which we started.
"This DETOUR has been entirely for our benefit, then?" saidHolmes. "No wonder that my inquiries among those villages led tonothing. The doctor has certainly played the game for all it isworth, and one would like to know the reason for such elaboratedeception. This should be the village of Trumpington to the rightof us. And, by Jove! here is the brougham coming round the corner.Quick, Watson, quick, or we are done!"
He sprang through a gate into a field, dragging the reluctantPompey after him. We had hardly got under the shelter of the hedgewhen the carriage rattled past. I caught a glimpse of Dr. Armstrongwithin, his shoulders bowed, his head sunk on his hands, the veryimage of distress. I could tell by my companion's graver face thathe also had seen.
"I fear there is some dark ending to our quest," said he. "Itcannot be long before we know it. Come, Pompey! Ah, it is thecottage in the field!"
There could be no doubt that we had reached the end of ourjourney. Pompey ran about and whined eagerly outside the gate wherethe marks of the brougham's wheels were still to be seen. Afootpath led across to the lonely cottage. Holmes tied the dog tothe hedge, and we hastened onwards. My friend knocked at the littlerustic door, and knocked again without response. And yet thecottage was not deserted, for a low sound came to our ears -- akind of drone of misery and despair, which was indescribablymelancholy. Holmes paused irresolute, and then he glanced back atthe road which we had just traversed. A brougham was coming downit, and there could be no mistaking those grey horses.
"By Jove, the doctor is coming back!" cried Holmes. "Thatsettles it. We are bound to see what it means before he comes."
He opened the door and we stepped into the hall. The droningsound swelled louder upon our ears until it became one long, deepwail of distress. It came from upstairs. Holmes darted up and Ifollowed him. He pushed open a half-closed door and we both stoodappalled at the sight before us.
A woman, young and beautiful, was lying dead upon the bed. Hercalm, pale face, with dim, wide-opened blue eyes, looked upwardfrom amid a great tangle of golden hair. At the foot of the bed,half sitting, half kneeling, his face buried in the clothes, was ayoung man, whose frame was racked by his sobs. So absorbed was heby his bitter grief that he never looked up until Holmes's hand wason his shoulder.
"Are you Mr. Godfrey Staunton?"
"Yes, yes; I am -- but you are too late. She is dead."
The man was so dazed that he could not be made to understandthat we were anything but doctors who had been sent to hisassistance. Holmes was endeavouring to utter a few words ofconsolation, and to explain the alarm which had been caused to hisfriends by his sudden disappearance, when there was a step upon thestairs, 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.I would not brawl in the presence of death, but I can assure youthat if I were a younger man your monstrous conduct would not passwith impunity."
"Excuse me, Dr. Armstrong, I think we are a little atcross-purposes," said my friend, with dignity. "If you could stepdownstairs with us we may each be able to give some light to theother upon this miserable affair."
A minute later the grim doctor and ourselves were in thesitting-room below.
"Well, sir?" said he.
"I wish you to understand, in the first place, that I am notemployed by Lord Mount-James, and that my sympathies in this matterare entirely against that nobleman. When a man is lost it is myduty to ascertain his fate, but having done so the matter ends sofar as I am concerned; and so long as there is nothing criminal, Iam much more anxious to hush up private scandals than to give thempublicity. If, as I imagine, there is no breach of the law in thismatter, you can absolutely depend upon my discretion and myco-operation 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 thankHeaven that my compunction at leaving poor Staunton all alone inthis plight caused me to turn my carriage back, and so to make youracquaintance. Knowing as much as you do, the situation is veryeasily explained. A year ago Godfrey Staunton lodged in London fora time, and became passionately attached to his landlady'sdaughter, whom he married. She was as good as she was beautiful,and as intelligent as she was good. No man need be ashamed of sucha wife. But Godfrey was the heir to this crabbed old nobleman, andit was quite certain that the news of his marriage would have beenthe end of his inheritance. I knew the lad well, and I loved himfor his many excellent qualities. I did all I could to help him tokeep things straight. We did our very best to keep the thing fromeveryone, for when once such a whisper gets about it is not longbefore everyone has heard it. Thanks to this lonely cottage and hisown discretion, Godfrey has up to now succeeded. Their secret wasknown to no one save to me and to one excellent servant who has atpresent gone for assistance to Trumpington. But at last there camea terrible blow in the shape of dangerous illness to his wife. Itwas consumption of the most virulent kind. The poor boy was halfcrazed with grief, and yet he had to go to London to play thismatch, for he could not get out of it without explanations whichwould expose his secret. I tried to cheer him up by a wire, and hesent me one in reply imploring me to do all I could. This was thetelegram which you appear in some inexplicable way to have seen. Idid not tell him how urgent the danger was, for I knew that hecould do no good here, but I sent the truth to the girl's father,and he very injudiciously communicated it to Godfrey. The resultwas that he came straight away in a state bordering on frenzy, andhas remained in the same state, kneeling at the end of her bed,until this morning death put an end to her sufferings. That is all,Mr. Holmes, and I am sure that I can rely upon your discretion andthat of your friend."
Holmes grasped the doctor's hand.
"Come, Watson," said he, and we passed from that house of griefinto the pale sunlight of the winter day.
ADVENTURE XII. THE ADVENTURE OF THE ABBEYGRANGE
It was on a bitterly cold and frosty morning during the winterof '97 that I was awakened by a tugging at my shoulder. It wasHolmes. The candle in his hand shone upon his eager, stooping faceand told me at a glance that something was amiss.
"Come, Watson, come!" he cried. "The game is afoot. Not a word!Into your clothes and come!"
Ten minutes later we were both in a cab and rattling through thesilent streets on our way to Charing Cross Station. The first faintwinter's dawn was beginning to appear, and we could dimly see theoccasional figure of an early workman as he passed us, blurred andindistinct in the opalescent London reek. Holmes nestled in silenceinto his heavy coat, and I was glad to do the same, for the air wasmost bitter and neither of us had broken our fast. It was not untilwe had consumed some hot tea at the station, and taken our placesin the Kentish train, that we were sufficiently thawed, he to speakand I to listen. Holmes drew a note from his pocket and read italoud:--
"Abbey Grange, Marsham, Kent,
"3.30 a.m.
"MY DEAR MR. HOLMES, --- I should be very glad of your immediateassistance in what promises to be a most remarkable case. It issomething quite in your line. Except for releasing the lady I willsee that everything is kept exactly as I have found it, but I begyou not to lose an instant, as it is difficult to leave Sir Eustacethere.
"Hopkins has called me in seven times, and on each occasion hissummons has been entirely justified," said Holmes. "I fancy thatevery one of his cases has found its way into your collection, andI must admit, Watson, that you have some power of selection whichatones for much which I deplore in your narratives. Your fatalhabit of looking at everything from the point of view of a storyinstead of as a scientific exercise has ruined what might have beenan instructive and even classical series of demonstrations. Youslur over work of the utmost finesse and delicacy in order to dwellupon sensational details which may excite, but cannot possiblyinstruct, the reader."
"Why do you not write them yourself?" I said, with somebitterness.
"I will, my dear Watson, I will. At present I am, as you know,fairly busy, but I propose to devote my declining years to thecomposition of a text-book which shall focus the whole art ofdetection into one volume. Our present research appears to be acase of murder."
"You think this Sir Eustace is dead, then?"
"I should say so. Hopkins's writing shows considerableagitation, and he is not an emotional man. Yes, I gather there hasbeen violence, and that the body is left for our inspection. A meresuicide would not have caused him to send for me. As to the releaseof the lady, it would appear that she has been locked in her roomduring the tragedy. We are moving in high life, Watson; cracklingpaper, `E.B.' monogram, coat-of-arms, picturesque address. I thinkthat friend Hopkins will live up to his reputation and that weshall have an interesting morning. The crime was committed beforetwelve last night."
"How can you possibly tell?"
"By an inspection of the trains and by reckoning the time. Thelocal police had to be called in, they had to communicate withScotland Yard, Hopkins had to go out, and he in turn had to sendfor me. All that makes a fair night's work. Well, here we are atChislehurst Station, and we shall soon set our doubts at rest."
A drive of a couple of miles through narrow country lanesbrought us to a park gate, which was opened for us by an oldlodge-keeper, whose haggard face bore the reflection of some greatdisaster. The avenue ran through a noble park, between lines ofancient elms, and ended in a low, widespread house, pillared infront after the fashion of Palladio. The central part was evidentlyof a great age and shrouded in ivy, but the large windows showedthat modern changes had been carried out, and one wing of the houseappeared to be entirely new. The youthful figure and alert, eagerface of Inspector Stanley Hopkins confronted us in the opendoorway.
"I'm very glad you have come, Mr. Holmes. And you too, Dr.Watson! But, indeed, if I had my time over again I should not havetroubled you, for since the lady has come to herself she has givenso clear an account of the affair that there is not much left forus to do. You remember that Lewisham gang of burglars?"
"What, the three Randalls?"
"Exactly; the father and two sons. It's their work. I have not adoubt of it. They did a job at Sydenham a fortnight ago, and wereseen and described. Rather cool to do another so soon and so near,but it is they, beyond all doubt. It's a hanging matter thistime."
"Sir Eustace is dead, then?"
"Yes; his head was knocked in with his own poker."
"Sir Eustace Brackenstall, the driver tells me."
"Exactly -- one of the richest men in Kent. Lady Brackenstall isin the morning-room. Poor lady, she has had a most dreadfulexperience. She seemed half dead when I saw her first. I think youhad best see her and hear her account of the facts. Then we willexamine the dining-room together."
Lady Brackenstall was no ordinary person. Seldom have I seen sograceful a figure, so womanly a presence, and so beautiful a face.She was a blonde, golden-haired, blue-eyed, and would, no doubt,have had the perfect complexion which goes with such colouring hadnot her recent experience left her drawn and haggard. Hersufferings were physical as well as mental, for over one eye rose ahideous, plum-coloured swelling, which her maid, a tall, austerewoman, was bathing assiduously with vinegar and water. The lady layback exhausted upon a couch, but her quick, observant gaze as weentered the room, and the alert expression of her beautifulfeatures, showed that neither her wits nor her courage had beenshaken by her terrible experience. She was enveloped in a loosedressing-gown of blue and silver, but a black sequin-covereddinner-dress was hung 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 itnecessary, I will tell these gentlemen what occurred. Have theybeen in the dining-room yet?"
"I thought they had better hear your ladyship's storyfirst."
"I shall be glad when you can arrange matters. It is horrible tome to think of him still lying there." She shuddered and buried herface in her hands. As she did so the loose gown fell back from herforearms. Holmes uttered an exclamation.
"You have other injuries, madam! What is this?" Two vivid redspots stood out on one of the white, round limbs. She hastilycovered it.
"It is nothing. It has no connection with the hideous businessof last night. If you and your friend will sit down I will tell youall I can.
"I am the wife of Sir Eustace Brackenstall. I have been marriedabout a year. I suppose that it is no use my attempting to concealthat our marriage has not been a happy one. I fear that all ourneighbours would tell you that, even if I were to attempt to denyit. Perhaps the fault may be partly mine. I was brought up in thefreer, less conventional atmosphere of South Australia, and thisEnglish life, with its proprieties and its primness, is notcongenial to me. But the main reason lies in the one fact which isnotorious to everyone, and that is that Sir Eustace was a confirmeddrunkard. To be with such a man for an hour is unpleasant. Can youimagine what it means for a sensitive and high-spirited woman to betied to him for day and night? It is a sacrilege, a crime, avillainy to hold that such a marriage is binding. I say that thesemonstrous laws of yours will bring a curse upon the land -- Heavenwill not let such wickedness endure." For an instant she sat up,her cheeks flushed, and her eyes blazing from under the terriblemark upon her brow. Then the strong, soothing hand of the austeremaid drew her head down on to the cushion, and the wild anger diedaway into passionate sobbing. At last she continued:--
"I will tell you about last night. You are aware, perhaps, thatin this house all servants sleep in the modern wing. This centralblock is made up of the dwelling-rooms, with the kitchen behind andour bedroom above. My maid Theresa sleeps above my room. There isno one else, and no sound could alarm those who are in the fartherwing. This must have been well known to the robbers, or they wouldnot have acted as they did.
"Sir Eustace retired about half-past ten. The servants hadalready gone to their quarters. Only my maid was up, and she hadremained in her room at the top of the house until I needed herservices. I sat until after eleven in this room, absorbed in abook. Then I walked round to see that all was right before I wentupstairs. It was my custom to do this myself, for, as I haveexplained, Sir Eustace was not always to be trusted. I went intothe kitchen, the butler's pantry, the gun-room, the billiard-room,the drawing-room, and finally the dining-room. As I approached thewindow, which is covered with thick curtains, I suddenly felt thewind blow upon my face and realized that it was open. I flung thecurtain aside and found myself face to face with abroad-shouldered, elderly man who had just stepped into the room.The window is a long French one, which really forms a door leadingto the lawn. I held my bedroom candle lit in my hand, and, by itslight, behind the first man I saw two others, who were in the actof entering. I stepped back, but the fellow was on me in aninstant. He caught me first by the wrist and then by the throat. Iopened my mouth to scream, but he struck me a savage blow with hisfist over the eye, and felled me to the ground. I must have beenunconscious for a few minutes, for when I came to myself I foundthat they had torn down the bell-rope and had secured me tightly tothe oaken chair which stands at the head of the dining-room table.I was so firmly bound that I could not move, and a handkerchiefround my mouth prevented me from uttering any sound. It was at thisinstant that my unfortunate husband entered the room. He hadevidently heard some suspicious sounds, and he came prepared forsuch a scene as he found. He was dressed in his shirt and trousers,with his favourite blackthorn cudgel in his hand. He rushed at oneof the burglars, but another -- it was the elderly man -- stooped,picked the poker out of the grate, and struck him a horrible blowas he passed. He fell without a groan, and never moved again. Ifainted once more, but again it could only have been a very fewminutes during which I was insensible. When I opened my eyes Ifound that they had collected the silver from the sideboard, andthey had drawn a bottle of wine which stood there. Each of them hada 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 might have been a father with his two sons. They talkedtogether in whispers. Then they came over and made sure that I wasstill securely bound. Finally they withdrew, closing the windowafter them. It was quite a quarter of an hour before I got my mouthfree. When I did so my screams brought the maid to my assistance.The other servants were soon alarmed, and we sent for the localpolice, who instantly communicated with London. That is really allthat 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 Brackenstall'spatience and time," said Holmes. "Before I go into the dining-roomI should like to hear your experience." He looked at the maid.
"I saw the men before ever they came into the house," said she."As I sat by my bedroom window I saw three men in the moonlightdown by the lodge gate yonder, but I thought nothing of it at thetime. It was more than an hour after that I heard my mistressscream, and down I ran, to find her, poor lamb, just as she says,and him on the floor with his blood and brains over the room. Itwas enough to drive a woman out of her wits, tied there, and hervery dress spotted with him; but she never wanted courage, did MissMary Fraser of Adelaide, and Lady Brackenstall of Abbey Grangehasn't learned new ways. You've questioned her long enough, yougentlemen, 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 heras a baby, and came with her to England when they first leftAustralia eighteen months ago. Theresa Wright is her name, and thekind of maid you don't pick up nowadays. This way, Mr. Holmes, ifyou please!"
The keen interest had passed out of Holmes's expressive face,and I knew that with the mystery all the charm of the case haddeparted. There still remained an arrest to be effected, but whatwere these commonplace rogues that he should soil his hands withthem? An abstruse and learned specialist who finds that he has beencalled in for a case of measles would experience something of theannoyance which I read in my friend's eyes. Yet the scene in thedining-room of the Abbey Grange was sufficiently strange to arresthis attention and to recall his waning interest.
It was a very large and high chamber, with carved oak ceiling,oaken panelling, and a fine array of deer's heads and ancientweapons around the walls. At the farther end from the door was thehigh French window of which we had heard. Three smaller windows onthe right-hand side filled the apartment with cold winter sunshine.On the left was a large, deep fireplace, with a massive,over-hanging oak mantelpiece. Beside the fireplace was a heavyoaken chair with arms and cross-bars at the bottom. In and outthrough the open woodwork was woven a crimson cord, which wassecured at each side to the crosspiece below. In releasing the ladythe cord had been slipped off her, but the knots with which it hadbeen secured still remained. These details only struck ourattention afterwards, for our thoughts were entirely absorbed bythe terrible object which lay upon the tiger-skin hearthrug infront of the fire.
It was the body of a tall, well-made man, about forty years ofage. He lay upon his back, his face upturned, with his white teethgrinning through his short black beard. His two clenched hands wereraised above his head, and a heavy blackthorn stick lay acrossthem. His dark, handsome, aquiline features were convulsed into aspasm of vindictive hatred, which had set his dead face in aterribly fiendish expression. He had evidently been in his bed whenthe alarm had broken out, for he wore a foppish embroiderednight-shirt, and his bare feet projected from his trousers. Hishead was horribly injured, and the whole room bore witness to thesavage ferocity of the blow which had struck him down. Beside himlay the heavy poker, bent into a curve by the concussion. Holmesexamined both it and the indescribable wreck which it hadwrought.
"He must be a powerful man, this elder Randall," heremarked.
"Yes," said Hopkins. "I have some record of the fellow, and heis a rough customer."
"You should have no difficulty in getting him."
"Not the slightest. We have been on the look-out for him, andthere was some idea that he had got away to America. Now that weknow the gang are here I don't see how they can escape. We have thenews at every seaport already, and a reward will be offered beforeevening. What beats me is how they could have done so mad a thing,knowing that the lady could describe them, and that we could notfail to recognise the description."
"Exactly. One would have expected that they would have silencedLady Brackenstall as well."
"They may not have realized," I suggested, "that she hadrecovered from her faint."
"That is likely enough. If she seemed to be senseless they wouldnot take her life. What about this poor fellow, Hopkins? I seem tohave heard some queer stories about him."
"He was a good-hearted man when he was sober, but a perfectfiend when he was drunk, or rather when he was half drunk, for heseldom really went the whole way. The devil seemed to be in him atsuch times, and he was capable of anything. From what I hear, inspite of all his wealth and his title, he very nearly came our wayonce or twice. There was a scandal about his drenching a dog withpetroleum and setting it on fire -- her ladyship's dog, to make thematter worse -- and that was only hushed up with difficulty. Thenhe threw a decanter at that maid, Theresa Wright; there was troubleabout that. On the whole, and between ourselves, it will be abrighter house without him. What are you looking at now?"
Holmes was down on his knees examining with great attention theknots upon the red cord with which the lady had been secured. Thenhe carefully scrutinized the broken and frayed end where it hadsnapped off when the burglar had dragged it down.
"When this was pulled down the bell in the kitchen must haverung loudly," he remarked.
"No one could hear it. The kitchen stands right at the back ofthe house."
"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 Ihave asked myself again and again. There can be no doubt that thisfellow must have known the house and its habits. He must haveperfectly understood that the servants would all be in bed at thatcomparatively early hour, and that no one could possibly hear abell ring in the kitchen. Therefore he must have been in closeleague with one of the servants. Surely that is evident. But thereare eight servants, and all of good character."
"Other things being equal," said Holmes, "one would suspect theone at whose head the master threw a decanter. And yet that wouldinvolve treachery towards the mistress to whom this woman seemsdevoted. Well, well, the point is a minor one, and when you haveRandall you will probably find no difficulty in securing hisaccomplice. The lady's story certainly seems to be corroborated, ifit needed corroboration, by every detail which we see before us."He walked to the French window and threw it open. "There are nosigns here, but the ground is iron hard, and one would not expectthem. I see that these candles on the mantelpiece have beenlighted."
"Yes; it was by their light and that of the lady's bedroomcandle that the burglars saw their way about."
"And what did they take?"
"Well, they did not take much -- only half-a-dozen articles ofplate off the sideboard. Lady Brackenstall thinks that they werethemselves so disturbed by the death of Sir Eustace that they didnot ransack the house as they would otherwise have done."
"No doubt that is true. And yet they drank some wine, Iunderstand."
"To steady their own nerves."
"Exactly. These three glasses upon the sideboard have beenuntouched, 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 withwine, and one of them containing some dregs of bees-wing. Thebottle stood near them, two-thirds full, and beside it lay a long,deeply-stained cork. Its appearance and the dust upon the bottleshowed that it was no common vintage which the murderers hadenjoyed.
A change had come over Holmes's manner. He had lost his listlessexpression, and again I saw an alert light of interest in his keen,deep-set eyes. 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 tablelinen and a large cork-screw.
"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. Thisbottle was opened by a pocket-screw, probably contained in a knife,and not more than an inch and a half long. If you examine the topof the cork you will observe that the screw was driven in threetimes before the cork was extracted. It has never been transfixed.This long screw would have transfixed it and drawn it with a singlepull. When you catch this fellow you will find that he has one ofthese multiplex knives in his possession."
"Excellent!" said Hopkins.
"But these glasses do puzzle me, I confess. Lady Brackenstallactually SAW 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 yetyou must admit that the three glasses are very remarkable, Hopkins.What, you see nothing remarkable! Well, well, let it pass. Perhapswhen a man has special knowledge and special powers like my own itrather encourages him to seek a complex explanation when a simplerone is at hand. Of course, it must be a mere chance about theglasses. Well, good morning, Hopkins. I don't see that I can be ofany use to you, and you appear to have your case very clear. Youwill let me know when Randall is arrested, and any furtherdevelopments which may occur. I trust that I shall soon have tocongratulate 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 Holmes's face that hewas much puzzled by something which he had observed. Every now andthen, by an effort, he would throw off the impression and talk asif the matter were clear, but then his doubts would settle downupon him again, and his knitted brows and abstracted eyes wouldshow that his thoughts had gone back once more to the greatdining-room of the Abbey Grange in which this midnight tragedy hadbeen enacted. At last, by a sudden impulse, just as our train wascrawling out of a suburban station, he sprang on to the platformand pulled me out after him.
"Excuse me, my dear fellow," said he, as we watched the rearcarriages of our train disappearing round a curve; "I am sorry tomake you the victim of what may seem a mere whim, but on my life,Watson, I simply CAN'T leave that case in this condition. Everyinstinct that I possess cries out against it. It's wrong -- it'sall wrong -- I'll swear that it's wrong. And yet the lady's storywas complete, the maid's corroboration was sufficient, the detailwas fairly exact. What have I to put against that? Threewine-glasses, that is all. But if I had not taken things forgranted, if I had examined everything with care which I would haveshown had we approached the case DE NOVO and had no cut-and-driedstory to warp my mind, would I not then have found something moredefinite to go upon? Of course I should. Sit down on this bench,Watson, until a train for Chislehurst arrives, and allow me to laythe evidence before you, imploring you in the first instance todismiss from your mind the idea that anything which the maid or hermistress may have said must necessarily be true. The lady'scharming personality must not be permitted to warp ourjudgment.
"Surely there are details in her story which, if we looked at itin cold blood, would excite our suspicion. These burglars made aconsiderable haul at Sydenham a fortnight ago. Some account of themand of their appearance was in the papers, and would naturallyoccur to anyone who wished to invent a story in which imaginaryrobbers should play a part. As a matter of fact, burglars who havedone a good stroke of business are, as a rule, only too glad toenjoy the proceeds in peace and quiet without embarking on anotherperilous undertaking. Again, it is unusual for burglars to operateat so early an hour; it is unusual for burglars to strike a lady toprevent her screaming, since one would imagine that was the sureway to make her scream; it is unusual for them to commit murderwhen their numbers are sufficient to overpower one man; it isunusual for them to be content with a limited plunder when there ismuch more within their reach; and finally I should say that it wasvery unusual for such men to leave a bottle half empty. How do allthese unusuals strike you, Watson?"
"Their cumulative effect is certainly considerable, and yet eachof them is quite possible in itself. The most unusual thing of all,as it seems to me, is that the lady should be tied to thechair."
"Well, I am not so clear about that, Watson; for it is evidentthat they must either kill her or else secure her in such a waythat she could not give immediate notice of their escape. But atany rate I have shown, have I not, that there is a certain elementof improbability about the lady's story? And now on the top of thiscomes the incident of the wine-glasses."
"What about the wine-glasses?"
"Can you see them in your mind's eye?"
"I see them clearly."
"We are told that three men drank from them. Does that strikeyou as likely?"
"Why not? There was wine in each glass."
"Exactly; but there was bees-wing only in one glass. You musthave noticed that fact. What does that suggest to your mind?"
"The last glass filled would be most likely to containbees-wing."
"Not at all. The bottle was full of it, and it is inconceivablethat the first two glasses were clear and the third heavily chargedwith it. There are two possible explanations, and only two. One isthat after the second glass was filled the bottle was violentlyagitated, and so the third glass received the bees-wing. That doesnot appear probable. No, no; I am sure that I am right."
"What, then, do you suppose?"
"That only two glasses were used, and that the dregs of bothwere poured into a third glass, so as to give the false impressionthat three people had been here. In that way all the bees-wingwould be in the last glass, would it not? Yes, I am convinced thatthis is so. But if I have hit upon the true explanation of this onesmall phenomenon, then in an instant the case rises from thecommonplace to the exceedingly remarkable, for it can only meanthat Lady Brackenstall and her maid have deliberately lied to us,that not one word of their story is to be believed, that they havesome very strong reason for covering the real criminal, and that wemust construct our case for ourselves without any help from them.That is the mission which now lies before us, and here, Watson, isthe Chislehurst train."
The household of the Abbey Grange were much surprised at ourreturn, but Sherlock Holmes, finding that Stanley Hopkins had goneoff to report to head-quarters, took possession of the dining-room,locked the door upon the inside, and devoted himself for two hoursto one of those minute and laborious investigations which formedthe solid basis on which his brilliant edifices of deduction werereared. Seated in a corner like an interested student who observesthe demonstration of his professor, I followed every step of thatremarkable research. The window, the curtains, the carpet, thechair, the rope -- each in turn was minutely examined and dulypondered. The body of the unfortunate baronet had been removed, butall else remained as we had seen it in the morning. Then, to myastonishment, Holmes climbed up on to the massive mantelpiece. Farabove his head hung the few inches of red cord which were stillattached to the wire. For a long time he gazed upward at it, andthen in an attempt to get nearer to it he rested his knee upon awooden bracket on the wall. This brought his hand within a fewinches of the broken end of the rope, but it was not this so muchas the bracket itself which seemed to engage his attention. Finallyhe sprang down with an ejaculation of satisfaction.
"It's all right, Watson," said he. "We have got our case -- oneof the most remarkable in our collection. But, dear me, howslow-witted I have been, and how nearly I have committed theblunder of my lifetime! Now, I think that with a few missing linksmy chain is almost complete."
"You have got your men?"
"Man, Watson, man. Only one, but a very formidable person.Strong as a lion -- witness the blow that bent that poker. Six footthree in height, active as a squirrel, dexterous with his fingers;finally, remarkably quick-witted, for this whole ingenious story isof his concoction. Yes, Watson, we have come upon the handiwork ofa very remarkable individual. And yet in that bell-rope he hasgiven us a clue which should not have left us a doubt."
"Where was the clue?"
"Well, if you were to pull down a bell-rope, Watson, where wouldyou expect it to break? Surely at the spot where it is attached tothe wire. Why should it break three inches from the top as this onehas done?"
"Because it is frayed there?"
"Exactly. This end, which we can examine, is frayed. He wascunning enough to do that with his knife. But the other end is notfrayed. You could not observe that from here, but if you were onthe mantelpiece you would see that it is cut clean off without anymark of fraying whatever. You can reconstruct what occurred. Theman needed the rope. He would not tear it down for fear of givingthe alarm by ringing the bell. What did he do? He sprang up on themantelpiece, could not quite reach it, put his knee on the bracket-- you will see the impression in the dust -- and so got his knifeto bear upon the cord. I could not reach the place by at leastthree inches, from which I infer that he is at least three inches abigger man than I. Look at that mark upon the seat of the oakenchair! What is it?"
"Blood."
"Undoubtedly it is blood. This alone puts the lady's story outof court. If she were seated on the chair when the crime was done,how comes that mark? No, no; she was placed in the chair AFTER thedeath of her husband. I'll wager that the black dress shows acorresponding mark to this. We have not yet met our Waterloo,Watson, but this is our Marengo, for it begins in defeat and endsin victory. I should like now to have a few words with the nurseTheresa. We must be wary for awhile, if we are to get theinformation which we want."
She was an interesting person, this stern Australian nurse.Taciturn, suspicious, ungracious, it took some time before Holmes'spleasant manner and frank acceptance of all that she said thawedher into a corresponding amiability. She did not attempt to concealher hatred for her late employer.
"Yes, sir, it is true that he threw the decanter at me. I heardhim call my mistress a name, and I told him that he would not dareto speak so if her brother had been there. Then it was that hethrew it at me. He might have thrown a dozen if he had but left mybonny bird alone. He was for ever illtreating her, and she tooproud to complain. She will not even tell me all that he has doneto her. She never told me of those marks on her arm that you sawthis morning, but I know very well that they come from a stab witha hat-pin. The sly fiend -- Heaven forgive me that I should speakof him so, now that he is dead, but a fiend he was if ever onewalked the earth. He was all honey when first we met him, onlyeighteen months ago, and we both feel as if it were eighteen years.She had only just arrived in London. Yes, it was her first voyage-- she had never been from home before. He won her with his titleand his money and his false London ways. If she made a mistake shehas paid for it, if ever a woman did. What month did we meet him?Well, I tell you it was just after we arrived. We arrived in June,and it was July. They were married in January of last year. Yes,she is down in the morning-room again, and I have no doubt she willsee you, but you must not ask too much of her, for she has gonethrough all that flesh and blood will stand."
Lady Brackenstall was reclining on the same couch, but lookedbrighter than before. The maid had entered with us, and began oncemore to foment the bruise upon her mistress's brow.
"I hope," said the lady, "that you have not come tocross-examine me again?"
"No," Holmes answered, in his gentlest voice, "I will not causeyou any unnecessary trouble, Lady Brackenstall, and my whole desireis to make things easy for you, for I am convinced that you are amuch-tried woman. If you will treat me as a friend and trust me youmay find that I will justify your trust."
"What do you want me to do?"
"To tell me the truth."
"Mr. Holmes!"
"No, no, Lady Brackenstall, it is no use. You may have heard ofany little reputation which I possess. I will stake it all on thefact that your story is an absolute fabrication."
Mistress and maid were both staring at Holmes with pale facesand frightened eyes.
"You are an impudent fellow!" cried Theresa. "Do you mean to saythat my 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 tobe frank?"
For an instant there was hesitation in her beautiful face. Thensome new strong 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," hesaid, and without another word we left the room and the house.There was a pond in the park, and to this my friend led the way. Itwas frozen over, but a single hole was left for the convenience ofa solitary swan. Holmes gazed at it and then passed on to the lodgegate. There he scribbled a short note for Stanley Hopkins and leftit with the lodge-keeper.
"It may be a hit or it may be a miss, but we are bound to dosomething for friend Hopkins, just to justify this second visit,"said he. "I will not quite take him into my confidence yet. I thinkour next scene of operations must be the shipping office of theAdelaide-Southampton line, which stands at the end of Pall Mall, ifI remember right. There is a second line of steamers which connectSouth Australia with England, but we will draw the larger coverfirst."
Holmes's card sent in to the manager ensured instant attention,and he was not long in acquiring all the information which heneeded. In June of '95 only one of their line had reached a homeport. It was the ROCK OF GIBRALTAR, their largest and best boat. Areference to the passenger list showed that Miss Fraser ofAdelaide, with her maid, had made the voyage in her. The boat wasnow on her way to Australia, somewhere to the south of the SuezCanal. Her officers were the same as in '95, with one exception.The first officer, Mr. Jack Croker, had been made a captain and wasto take charge of their new ship, the BASS ROCK, sailing in twodays' time from Southampton. He lived at Sydenham, but he waslikely to be in that morning for instructions, if we cared to waitfor him.
No; Mr. Holmes had no desire to see him, but would be glad toknow more about his record and character.
His record was magnificent. There was not an officer in thefleet to touch him. As to his character, he was reliable on duty,but a wild, desperate fellow off the deck of his ship, hot-headed,excitable, but loyal, honest, and kind-hearted. That was the pithof the information with which Holmes left the office of theAdelaide-Southampton company. Thence he drove to Scotland Yard, butinstead of entering he sat in his cab with his brows drawn down,lost in profound thought. Finally he drove round to the CharingCross telegraph office, sent off a message, and then, at last, wemade for Baker Street once more.
"No, I couldn't do it, Watson," said he, as we re-entered ourroom. "Once that warrant was made out nothing on earth would savehim. Once or twice in my career I feel that I have done more realharm by my discovery of the criminal than ever he had done by hiscrime. I have learned caution now, and I had rather play trickswith the law of England than with my own conscience. Let us know alittle more before we act."
Before evening we had a visit from Inspector Stanley Hopkins.Things were not going very well with him.
"I believe that you are a wizard, Mr. Holmes. I really dosometimes think that you have powers that are not human. Now, howon earth could you know that the stolen silver was at the bottom ofthat pond?"
"I didn't 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 haven't helped me. You have made the affair far moredifficult. What sort of burglars are they who steal silver and thenthrow it into the nearest pond?"
"It was certainly rather eccentric behaviour. I was merely goingon the idea that if the silver had been taken by persons who didnot want it, who merely took it for a blind as it were, then theywould naturally be anxious to 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 inthe ice, right in front of their noses. Could there be a betterhiding-place?"
"Ah, a hiding-place -- that is better!" cried Stanley Hopkins."Yes, yes, I see it all now! It was early, there were folk upon theroads, they were afraid of being seen with the silver, so they sankit in the pond, intending to return for it when the coast wasclear. Excellent, Mr. Holmes -- that is better than your idea of ablind."
"Quite so; you have got an admirable theory. I have no doubtthat my own ideas were quite wild, but you must admit that theyhave ended in discovering the silver."
"Yes, sir, yes. It was all your doing. But I have had a badset-back."
"A set-back?"
"Yes, Mr. Holmes. The Randall gang were arrested in New Yorkthis morning."
"Dear me, Hopkins! That is certainly rather against your theorythat they committed a murder in Kent last night."
"It is fatal, Mr. Holmes, absolutely fatal. Still, there areother gangs of three besides the Randalls, or it may be some newgang of which the police 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 thebottom of 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, that's the question, of course. But I commend the idea toyour mind. You might possibly find that there was something in it.You won't stop for dinner? Well, good-bye, and let us know how youget on."
Dinner was over and the table cleared before Holmes alluded tothe matter again. He had lit his pipe and held his slippered feetto the cheerful blaze of the fire. Suddenly he looked at hiswatch.
"I expect developments, Watson."
"When?"
"Now -- within a few minutes. I dare say you thought I actedrather badly to Stanley Hopkins just now?"
"I trust your judgment."
"A very sensible reply, Watson. You must look at it this way:what I know is unofficial; what he knows is official. I have theright to private judgment, but he has none. He must disclose all,or he is a traitor to his service. In a doubtful case I would notput him in so painful a position, and so I reserve my informationuntil my own mind is clear upon the matter."
"But when will that be?"
"The time has come. You will now be present at the last scene ofa remarkable little drama."
There was a sound upon the stairs, and our door was opened toadmit as fine a specimen of manhood as ever passed through it. Hewas a very tall young man, golden-moustached, blue-eyed, with askin which had been burned by tropical suns, and a springy stepwhich showed that the huge frame was as active as it was strong. Heclosed the door behind him, and then he stood with clenched handsand heaving breast, choking down some overmastering emotion.
"Sit down, Captain Croker. You got my telegram?"
Our visitor sank into an arm-chair and looked from one to theother of us with questioning eyes.
"I got your telegram, and I came at the hour you said. I heardthat you had been down to the office. There was no getting awayfrom you. Let's hear the worst. What are you going to do with me?Arrest me? Speak out, man! You can't sit there and play with melike a cat with a mouse."
"Give him a cigar," said Holmes. "Bite on that, Captain Croker,and don't let your nerves run away with you. I should not sit heresmoking with you if I thought that you were a common criminal, youmay be sure of that. Be frank with me, and we may do some good.Play tricks with me, and I'll crush you."
"What do you wish me to do?"
"To give me a true account of all that happened at the AbbeyGrange last night -- a TRUE account, mind you, with nothing addedand nothing taken off. I know so much already that if you go oneinch off the straight I'll blow this police whistle from my windowand the affair goes out of my hands for ever."
The sailor thought for a little. Then he struck his leg with hisgreat, sun-burned hand.
"I'll chance it," he cried. "I believe you are a man of yourword, and a white man, and I'll tell you the whole story. But onething I will say first. So far as I am concerned I regret nothingand I fear nothing, and I would do it all again and be proud of thejob. Curse the beast, if he had as many lives as a cat he would owethem all to me! But it's the lady, Mary -- Mary Fraser -- for neverwill I call her by that accursed name. When I think of getting herinto trouble, I who would give my life just to bring one smile toher dear face, it's that that turns my soul into water. And yet --and yet -- what less could I do? I'll tell you my story, gentlemen,and then I'll ask you as man to man what less could I do.
"I must go back a bit. You seem to know everything, so I expectthat you know that I met her when she was a passenger and I wasfirst officer of the ROCK OF GIBRALTAR. From the first day I mether she was the only woman to me. Every day of that voyage I lovedher more, and many a time since have I kneeled down in the darknessof the night watch and kissed the deck of that ship because I knewher dear feet had trod it. She was never engaged to me. She treatedme as fairly as ever a woman treated a man. I have no complaint tomake. It was all love on my side, and all good comradeship andfriendship on hers. When we parted she was a free woman, but Icould never again be a free man.
"Next time I came back from sea I heard of her marriage. Well,why shouldn't she marry whom she liked? Title and money -- whocould carry them better than she? She was born for all that isbeautiful and dainty. I didn't grieve over her marriage. I was notsuch a selfish hound as that. I just rejoiced that good luck hadcome her way, and that she had not thrown herself away on apenniless sailor. That's how I loved Mary Fraser.
"Well, I never thought to see her again; but last voyage I waspromoted, and the new boat was not yet launched, so I had to waitfor a couple of months with my people at Sydenham. One day out in acountry lane I met Theresa Wright, her old maid. She told me abouther, about him, about everything. I tell you, gentlemen, it nearlydrove me mad. This drunken hound, that he should dare to raise hishand to her whose boots he was not worthy to lick! I met Theresaagain. Then I met Mary herself -- and met her again. Then she wouldmeet me no more. But the other day I had a notice that I was tostart on my voyage within a week, and I determined that I would seeher once before I left. Theresa was always my friend, for she lovedMary 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 herown little room downstairs. I crept round there last night andscratched at the window. At first she would not open to me, but inher heart I know that now she loves me, and she could not leave mein the frosty night. She whispered to me to come round to the bigfront window, and I found it open before me so as to let me intothe dining-room. Again I heard from her own lips things that mademy blood boil, and again I cursed this brute who mishandled thewoman that I loved. Well, gentlemen, I was standing with her justinside the window, in all innocence, as Heaven is my judge, when herushed like a madman into the room, called her the vilest name thata man could use to a woman, and welted her across the face with thestick 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 blowfell. Then it was my turn, and I went through him as if he had beena rotten pumpkin. Do you think I was sorry? Not I! It was his lifeor mine, but far more than that it was his life or hers, for howcould I leave her in the power of this madman? That was how Ikilled him. Was I wrong? Well, then, what would either of yougentlemen have done if you had been in my position?"
"She had screamed when he struck her, and that brought oldTheresa down from the room above. There was a bottle of wine on thesideboard, and I opened it and poured a little between Mary's lips,for she was half dead with the shock. Then I took a drop myself.Theresa was as cool as ice, and it was her plot as much as mine. Wemust make it appear that burglars had done the thing. Theresa kepton repeating our story to her mistress, while I swarmed up and cutthe rope of the bell. Then I lashed her in her chair, and frayedout the end of the rope to make it look natural, else they wouldwonder how in the world a burglar could have got up there to cutit. Then I gathered up a few plates and pots of silver, to carryout the idea of a robbery, and there I left them with orders togive the alarm when I had a quarter of an hour's start. I droppedthe silver into the pond and made off for Sydenham, feeling thatfor once in my life I had done a real good night's work. And that'sthe truth and the whole truth, Mr. Holmes, if it costs me myneck."
Holmes smoked for some time in silence. Then he crossed the roomand shook our visitor by the hand.
"That's what I think," said he. "I know that every word is true,for you have hardly said a word which I did not know. No one but anacrobat or a sailor could have got up to that bell-rope from thebracket, and no one but a sailor could have made the knots withwhich the cord was fastened to the chair. Only once had this ladybeen brought into contact with sailors, and that was on her voyage,and it was someone of her own class of life, since she was tryinghard to shield him and so showing that she loved him. You see howeasy it was for me to lay my hands upon you when once I had startedupon the right trail."
"I thought the police never could have seen through ourdodge."
"And the police haven't; nor will they, to the best of mybelief. Now, look here, Captain Croker, this is a very seriousmatter, though I am willing to admit that you acted under the mostextreme provocation to which any man could be subjected. I am notsure that in defence of your own life your action will not bepronounced legitimate. However, that is for a British jury todecide. Meanwhile I have so much sympathy for you that if youchoose to disappear in the next twenty-four hours I will promiseyou 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 oflaw to understand that Mary would be had as accomplice. Do youthink I would leave her alone to face the music while I slunk away?No, sir; let them do their worst upon me, but for Heaven's sake,Mr. Holmes, find some way of keeping my poor Mary out of thecourts."
Holmes for a second time held out his hand to the sailor.
"I was only testing you, and you ring true every time. Well, itis a great responsibility that I take upon myself, but I have givenHopkins an excellent hint, and if he can't avail himself of it Ican do no more. See here, Captain Croker, we'll do this in due formof law. You are the prisoner. Watson, you are a British jury, and Inever met a man who was more eminently fitted to represent one. Iam the judge. Now, gentleman of the jury, you have heard theevidence. Do you find the prisoner guilty or not guilty?"
"Not guilty, my lord," said I.
"Vox populi, vox Dei. You are acquitted, Captain Croker. So longas the law does not find some other victim you are safe from me.Come back to this lady in a year, and may her future and yoursjustify us in the judgment which we have pronounced thisnight."
ADVENTURE XIII. THE ADVENTURE OF THE SECONDSTAIN
I HAD intended "The Adventure of the Abbey Grange" to be thelast of those exploits of my friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, which Ishould ever communicate to the public. This resolution of mine wasnot due to any lack of material, since I have notes of manyhundreds of cases to which I have never alluded, nor was it causedby any waning interest on the part of my readers in the singularpersonality and unique methods of this remarkable man. The realreason lay in the reluctance which Mr. Holmes has shown to thecontinued publication of his experiences. So long as he was inactual professional practice the records of his successes were ofsome practical value to him; but since he has definitely retiredfrom London and betaken himself to study and bee-farming on theSussex Downs, notoriety has become hateful to him, and he hasperemptorily requested that his wishes in this matter should bestrictly observed. It was only upon my representing to him that Ihad given a promise that "The Adventure of the Second Stain" shouldbe published when the times were ripe, and pointing out to him thatit is only appropriate that this long series of episodes shouldculminate in the most important international case which he hasever been called upon to handle, that I at last succeeded inobtaining his consent that a carefully-guarded account of theincident should at last be laid before the public. If in tellingthe story I seem to be somewhat vague in certain details the publicwill readily understand that there is an excellent reason for myreticence.
It was, then, in a year, and even in a decade, that shall benameless, that upon one Tuesday morning in autumn we found twovisitors of European fame within the walls of our humble room inBaker Street. The one, austere, high-nosed, eagle-eyed, anddominant, was none other than the illustrious Lord Bellinger, twicePremier of Britain. The other, dark, clear-cut, and elegant, hardlyyet of middle age, and endowed with every beauty of body and ofmind, was the Right Honourable Trelawney Hope, Secretary forEuropean Affairs, and the most rising statesman in the country.They sat side by side upon our paper-littered settee, and it waseasy to see from their worn and anxious faces that it was businessof the most pressing importance which had brought them. ThePremier's thin, blue-veined hands were clasped tightly over theivory head of his umbrella, and his gaunt, ascetic face lookedgloomily from Holmes to me. The European Secretary pulled nervouslyat his moustache and fidgeted with the seals of hiswatch-chain.
"When I discovered my loss, Mr. Holmes, which was at eighto'clock this morning, I at once informed the Prime Minister. It wasat his suggestion that we have both come to you."
"Have you informed the police?"
"No, sir," said the Prime Minister, with the quick, decisivemanner for which he was famous. "We have not done so, nor is itpossible that we should do so. To inform the police must, in thelong run, mean to inform the public. This is what we particularlydesire to avoid."
"And why, sir?"
"Because the document in question is of such immense importancethat its publication might very easily -- I might almost sayprobably -- lead to European complications of the utmost moment. Itis not too much to say that peace or war may hang upon the issue.Unless its recovery can be attended with the utmost secrecy, thenit may as well not be recovered at all, for all that is aimed at bythose who have taken it is that its contents should be generallyknown."
"I understand. Now, Mr. Trelawney Hope, I should be much obligedif you would tell me exactly the circumstances under which thisdocument disappeared."
"That can be done in a very few words, Mr. Holmes. The letter --for it was a letter from a foreign potentate -- was received sixdays ago. It was of such importance that I have never left it in mysafe, but I have taken it across each evening to my house inWhitehall Terrace, and kept it in my bedroom in a lockeddespatch-box. It was there last night. Of that I am certain. Iactually 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 alight sleeper, and so is my wife. We are both prepared to swearthat no one could have entered the room during the night. And yet Irepeat that the paper 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 washalf-past eleven 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 housemaidin the morning, and my valet, or my wife's maid, during the rest ofthe day. They are both trusty servants who have been with us forsome time. Besides, neither of them could possibly have known thatthere was anything more valuable than the ordinary departmentalpapers in my despatch-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 paperthis morning."
The Premier nodded approvingly.
"I have long known, sir, how high is your sense of public duty,"said he. "I am convinced that in the case of a secret of thisimportance it would rise superior to the most intimate domesticties."
The European Secretary bowed.
"You do me no more than justice, sir. Until this morning I havenever breathed one word to my wife upon this matter."
"Could she have guessed?"
"No, Mr. Holmes, she could not have guessed -- nor could anyonehave guessed."
"Have you lost any documents before?"
"No, sir."
"Who is there in England who did know of the existence of thisletter?"
"Each member of the Cabinet was informed of it yesterday; butthe pledge of secrecy which attends every Cabinet meeting wasincreased by the solemn warning which was given by the PrimeMinister. Good heavens, to think that within a few hours I shouldmyself have lost it!" His handsome face was distorted with a spasmof despair, and his hands tore at his hair. For a moment we caughta glimpse of the natural man, impulsive, ardent, keenly sensitive.The next the aristocratic mask was replaced, and the gentle voicehad returned. "Besides the members of the Cabinet there are two, orpossibly three, departmental officials who know of the letter. Noone else in England, Mr. Holmes, I assure you."
"But abroad?"
"I believe that no one abroad has seen it save the man who wroteit. I am well convinced that his Ministers -- that the usualofficial channels have not been employed."
Holmes considered for some little time.
"Now, sir, I must ask you more particularly what this documentis, and why its disappearance should have such momentousconsequences?"
The two statesmen exchanged a quick glance and the Premier'sshaggy eyebrows gathered in a frown.
"Mr. Holmes, the envelope is a long, thin one of pale bluecolour. There is a seal of red wax stamped with a crouching lion.It is addressed in large, bold handwriting to ---"
"I fear, sir," said Holmes, "that, interesting and indeedessential as these details are, my inquiries must go more to theroot of things. What WAS the letter?"
"That is a State secret of the utmost importance, and I fearthat I cannot tell you, nor do I see that it is necessary. If bythe aid of the powers which you are said to possess you can findsuch an envelope as I describe with its enclosure, you will havedeserved well of your country, and earned any reward which it liesin our power to bestow."
Sherlock Holmes rose with a smile.
"You are two of the most busy men in the country," said he, "andin my own small way I have also a good many calls upon me. I regretexceedingly that I cannot help you in this matter, and anycontinuation of this interview would be a waste of time."
The Premier sprang to his feet with that quick, fierce gleam ofhis deep-set eyes before which a Cabinet has cowered. "I am notaccustomed, sir ----" he began, but mastered his anger and resumedhis seat. For a minute or more we all sat in silence. Then the oldstatesman shrugged his shoulders.
"We must accept your terms, Mr. Holmes. No doubt you are right,and it is unreasonable for us to expect you to act unless we giveyou our entire confidence."
"I agree with you, sir," said the younger statesman.
"Then I will tell you, relying entirely upon your honour andthat of your colleague, Dr. Watson. I may appeal to your patriotismalso, for I could not imagine a greater misfortune for the countrythan that this affair should come out."
"You may safely trust us."
"The letter, then, is from a certain foreign potentate who hasbeen ruffled by some recent Colonial developments of this country.It has been written hurriedly and upon his own responsibilityentirely. Inquiries have shown that his Ministers know nothing ofthe matter. At the same time it is couched in so unfortunate amanner, and certain phrases in it are of so provocative acharacter, that its publication would undoubtedly lead to a mostdangerous state of feeling in this country. There would be such aferment, sir, that I do not hesitate to say that within a week ofthe publication of that letter this country would be involved in agreat war."
Holmes wrote a name upon a slip of paper and handed it to thePremier.
"Exactly. It was he. And it is this letter -- this letter whichmay well mean the expenditure of a thousand millions and the livesof a hundred thousand men -- which has become lost in thisunaccountable 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 alreadyunderstands that he has acted in an indiscreet and hot-headedmanner. It would be a greater blow to him and to his country thanto us if this letter were to come out."
"If this is so, whose interest is it that the letter should comeout? Why should anyone desire to steal it or to publish it?"
"There, Mr. Holmes, you take me into regions of highinternational politics. But if you consider the European situationyou will have no difficulty in perceiving the motive. The whole ofEurope is an armed camp. There is a double league which makes afair balance of military power. Great Britain holds the scales. IfBritain were driven into war with one confederacy, it would assurethe supremacy of the other confederacy, whether they joined in thewar or not. Do you follow?"
"Very clearly. It is then the interest of the enemies of thispotentate to secure and publish this letter, so as to make a breachbetween his country and ours?"
"Yes, sir."
"And to whom would this document be sent if it fell into thehands of an enemy?"
"To any of the great Chancelleries of Europe. It is probablyspeeding on its way thither at the present instant as fast as steamcan take it."
Mr. Trelawney Hope dropped his head on his chest and groanedaloud. The Premier placed his hand kindly upon his shoulder.
"It is your misfortune, my dear fellow. No one can blame you.There is no precaution which you have neglected. Now, Mr. Holmes,you are in full possession of the facts. What course do yourecommend?"
Holmes shook his head mournfully.
"You think, sir, that unless this document is recovered therewill be war?"
"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 takenafter eleven-thirty at night, since I understand that Mr. Hope andhis wife were both in the room from that hour until the loss wasfound out. It was taken, then, yesterday evening betweenseven-thirty and eleven-thirty, probably near the earlier hour,since whoever took it evidently knew that it was there and wouldnaturally secure it as early as possible. Now, sir, if a documentof this importance were taken at that hour, where can it be now? Noone 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 totrace it? It is beyond our reach."
The Prime Minister rose from the settee.
"What you say is perfectly logical, Mr. Holmes. I feel that thematter is indeed out of our hands."
"Let us presume, for argument's sake, that the document wastaken by the maid or by the valet ----"
"They are both old and tried servants."
"I understand you to say that your room is on the second floor,that there is no entrance from without, and that from within no onecould go up unobserved. It must, then, be somebody in the house whohas taken it. To whom would the thief take it? To one of severalinternational spies and secret agents, whose names are tolerablyfamiliar to me. There are three who may be said to be the heads oftheir profession. I will begin my research by going round andfinding if each of them is at his post. If one is missing --especially if he has disappeared since last night -- we 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 asnot."
"I fancy not. These agents work independently, and theirrelations with the Embassies are often strained."
The Prime Minister nodded his acquiescence.
"I believe you are right, Mr. Holmes. He would take so valuablea prize to head-quarters with his own hands. I think that yourcourse of action is an excellent one. Meanwhile, Hope, we cannotneglect all our other duties on account of this one misfortune.Should there be any fresh developments during the day we shallcommunicate with you, and you will no doubt let us know the resultsof your own inquiries."
The two statesmen bowed and walked gravely from the room.
When our illustrious visitors had departed Holmes lit his pipein silence, and sat for some time lost in the deepest thought. Ihad opened the morning paper and was immersed in a sensationalcrime which had occurred in London the night before, when my friendgave an exclamation, sprang to his feet, and laid his pipe downupon the mantelpiece.
"Yes," said he, "there is no better way of approaching it. Thesituation is desperate, but not hopeless. Even now, if we could besure which of them has taken it, it is just possible that it hasnot yet passed out of his hands. After all, it is a question ofmoney with these fellows, and I have the British Treasury behindme. If it's on the market I'll buy it -- if it means another pennyon the income-tax. It is conceivable that the fellow might hold itback to see what bids come from this side before he tries his luckon the other. There are only those three capable of playing so bolda game; there are Oberstein, La Rothiere, and Eduardo Lucas. I willsee each of them."
I glanced at my morning paper.
"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 ouradventures that it was with a sense of exultation that I realizedhow completely I had astonished him. He stared in amazement, andthen snatched the paper from my hands. This was the paragraph whichI had been engaged in reading when he rose from his chair:--
"A crime of mysterious character was committed last night at 16,Godolphin 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 circles bothon account of his charming personality and because he has thewell-deserved reputation of being one of the best amateur tenors inthe country. Mr. Lucas is an unmarried man, thirty-four years ofage, and his establishment consists of Mrs. Pringle, an elderlyhousekeeper, and of Mitton, his valet. The former retires early andsleeps at the top of the house. The valet was out for the evening,visiting a friend at Hammersmith. From ten o'clock onwards Mr.Lucas had the house to himself. What occurred during that time hasnot yet transpired, but at a quarter to twelve Police-constableBarrett, passing along Godolphin Street, observed that the door ofNo. 16 was ajar. He knocked, but received no answer. Perceiving alight in the front room he advanced into the passage and againknocked, but without reply. He then pushed open the door andentered. The room was in a state of wild disorder, the furniturebeing all swept to one side, and one chair lying on its back in thecentre. Beside this chair, and still grasping one of its legs, laythe unfortunate tenant of the house. He had been stabbed to theheart and must have died instantly. The knife with which the crimehad been committed was a curved Indian dagger, plucked down from atrophy of Oriental arms which adorned one of the walls. Robberydoes not appear to have been the motive of the crime, for there hadbeen no attempt to remove the valuable contents of the room. Mr.Eduardo Lucas was so well known and popular that his violent andmysterious fate will arouse painful interest and intense sympathyin a wide-spread circle of friends."
"Well, Watson, what do you make of this?" asked Holmes, after along pause.
"It is an amazing coincidence."
"A coincidence! Here is one of the three men whom we had namedas possible actors in this drama, and he meets a violent deathduring the very hours when we know that that drama was beingenacted. The odds are enormous against its being coincidence. Nofigures could express them. No, my dear Watson, the two events areconnected -- MUST be connected. It is for us to find theconnection."
"But now the official police must know all."
"Not at all. They know all they see at Godolphin Street. Theyknow -- and shall know -- nothing of Whitehall Terrace. Only WEknow of both events, and can trace the relation between them. Thereis one obvious point which would, in any case, have turned mysuspicions against Lucas. Godolphin Street, Westminster, is only afew minutes' walk from Whitehall Terrace. The other secret agentswhom I have named live in the extreme West-end. It was easier,therefore, for Lucas than for the others to establish a connectionor receive a message from the European Secretary's household -- asmall thing, and yet where events are compressed into a few hoursit may prove essential. Halloa! what have we here?"
Mrs. Hudson had appeared with a lady's card upon her salver.Holmes glanced at it, raised his eyebrows, and handed it over tome.
"Ask Lady Hilda Trelawney Hope if she will be kind enough tostep up," said he.
A moment later our modest apartment, already so distinguishedthat morning, was further honoured by the entrance of the mostlovely woman in London. I had often heard of the beauty of theyoungest daughter of the Duke of Belminster, but no description ofit, and no contemplation of colourless photographs, had prepared mefor the subtle, delicate charm and the beautiful colouring of thatexquisite head. And yet as we saw it that autumn morning, it wasnot its beauty which would be the first thing to impress theobserver. The cheek was lovely, but it was paled with emotion; theeyes were bright, but it was the brightness of fever; the sensitivemouth was tight and drawn in an effort after self-command. Terror-- not beauty -- was what sprang first to the eye as our fairvisitor stood 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."Holmes bowed coldly, and motioned the lady to a chair.
"Your ladyship places me in a very delicate position. I beg thatyou will sit down and tell me what you desire; but I fear that Icannot make any unconditional promise."
She swept across the room and seated herself with her back tothe window. It was a queenly presence -- tall, graceful, andintensely womanly.
"Mr. Holmes," she said, and her white-gloved hands clasped andunclasped as she spoke -- "I will speak frankly to you in the hopethat it may induce you to speak frankly in return. There iscomplete confidence between my husband and me on all matters saveone. That one is politics. On this his lips are sealed. He tells menothing. Now, I am aware that there was a most deplorableoccurrence in our house last night. I know that a paper hasdisappeared. But because the matter is political my husband refusesto take me into his complete confidence. Now it is essential --essential, I say -- that I should thoroughly understand it. You arethe only other person, save only these politicians, who knows thetrue facts. I beg you, then, Mr. Holmes, to tell me exactly whathas happened and what it will lead to. Tell me all, Mr. Holmes. Letno regard for your client's interests keep you silent, for I assureyou that his interests, if he would only see it, would be bestserved by taking me into his complete confidence. What was thispaper 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 fitto keep you in the dark over this matter, is it for me, who hasonly learned the true facts under the pledge of professionalsecrecy, to tell what he has withheld? It is not fair to ask it. Itis him whom you must ask."
"I have asked him. I come to you as a last resource. But withoutyour telling me anything definite, Mr. Holmes, you may do a greatservice if you would enlighten me on one point."
"What is it, madam?"
"Is my husband's political career likely to suffer through thisincident?"
"Well, madam, unless it is set right it may certainly have avery unfortunate effect."
"Ah!" She drew in her breath sharply as one whose doubts areresolved.
"One more question, Mr. Holmes. From an expression which myhusband dropped in the first shock of this disaster I understoodthat terrible public consequences might arise from the loss of thisdocument."
"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 onyour side will not, I am sure, think the worse of me because Idesire, even against his will, to share my husband's anxieties.Once more I beg that you will say nothing of my visit." She lookedback at us from the door, and I had a last impression of thatbeautiful haunted face, the startled eyes, and the drawn mouth.Then she was gone.
"Now, Watson, the fair sex is your department," said Holmes,with a smile, when the dwindling frou-frou of skirts had ended inthe slam of the front door. "What was the fair lady's game? Whatdid she really want?"
"Surely her own statement is clear and her anxiety verynatural."
"Hum! Think of her appearance, Watson -- her manner, hersuppressed excitement, her restlessness, her tenacity in askingquestions. Remember that she comes of a caste who do not lightlyshow emotion."
"She was certainly much moved."
"Remember also the curious earnestness with which she assured usthat it was best for her husband that she should know all. What didshe mean by that? And you must have observed, Watson, how shemanoeuvred to have the light at her back. She did not wish us toread her expression."
"Yes; she chose the one chair in the room."
"And yet the motives of women are so inscrutable. You rememberthe woman at Margate whom I suspected for the same reason. Nopowder on her nose -- that proved to be the correct solution. Howcan you build on such a quicksand? Their most trivial action maymean volumes, or their most extraordinary conduct may depend upon ahairpin or a curling-tongs. Good morning, Watson."
"You are off?"
"Yes; I will wile away the morning at Godolphin Street with ourfriends of the regular establishment. With Eduardo Lucas lies thesolution of our problem, though I must admit that I have not aninkling as to what form it may take. It is a capital mistake totheorize in advance of the facts. Do you stay on guard, my goodWatson, and receive any fresh visitors. I'll join you at lunch if Iam able."
All that day and the next and the next Holmes was in a moodwhich his friends would call taciturn, and others morose. He ranout and ran in, smoked incessantly, played snatches on his violin,sank into reveries, devoured sandwiches at irregular hours, andhardly answered the casual questions which I put to him. It wasevident to me that things were not going well with him or hisquest. He would say nothing of the case, and it was from the papersthat I learned the particulars of the inquest, and the arrest withthe subsequent release of John Mitton, the valet of the deceased.The coroner's jury brought in the obvious "Wilful Murder," but theparties remained as unknown as ever. No motive was suggested. Theroom was full of articles of value, but none had been taken. Thedead man's papers had not been tampered with. They were carefullyexamined, and showed that he was a keen student of internationalpolitics, an indefatigable gossip, a remarkable linguist, and anuntiring letter-writer. He had been on intimate terms with theleading politicians of several countries. But nothing sensationalwas discovered among the documents which filled his drawers. As tohis relations with women, they appeared to have been promiscuousbut superficial. He had many acquaintances among them, but fewfriends, and no one whom he loved. His habits were regular, hisconduct inoffensive. His death was an absolute mystery, and likelyto remain so.
As to the arrest of John Mitton, the valet, it was a counsel ofdespair as an alternative to absolute inaction. But no case couldbe sustained against him. He had visited friends in Hammersmiththat night. The ALIBI was complete. It is true that he started homeat an hour which should have brought him to Westminster before thetime when the crime was discovered, but his own explanation that hehad walked part of the way seemed probable enough in view of thefineness of the night. He had actually arrived at twelve o'clock,and appeared to be overwhelmed by the unexpected tragedy. He hadalways been on good terms with his master. Several of the deadman's possessions -- notably a small case of razors -- had beenfound in the valet's boxes, but he explained that they had beenpresents from the deceased, and the housekeeper was able tocorroborate the story. Mitton had been in Lucas's employment forthree years. It was noticeable that Lucas did not take Mitton onthe Continent with him. Sometimes he visited Paris for three monthson end, but Mitton was left in charge of the Godolphin Streethouse. As to the housekeeper, she had heard nothing on the night ofthe crime. If her master had a visitor he had himself admittedhim.
So for three mornings the mystery remained, so far as I couldfollow it in the papers. If Holmes knew more he kept his owncounsel, but, as he told me that Inspector Lestrade had taken himinto his confidence in the case, I knew that he was in close touchwith every development. Upon the fourth day there appeared a longtelegram from Paris which seemed to solve the whole question.
"A discovery has just been made by the Parisian police," saidthe DAILY TELEGRAPH, "which raises the veil which hung round thetragic fate of Mr. Eduardo Lucas, who met his death by violencelast Monday night at Godolphin Street, Westminster. Our readerswill remember that the deceased gentleman was found stabbed in hisroom, and that some suspicion attached to his valet, but that thecase broke down on an ALIBI. Yesterday a lady, who has been knownas Mme. Henri Fournaye, occupying a small villa in the RueAusterlitz, was reported to the authorities by her servants asbeing insane. An examination showed that she had indeed developedmania of a dangerous and permanent form. On inquiry the police havediscovered that Mme. Henri Fournaye only returned from a journey toLondon on Tuesday last, and there is evidence to connect her withthe crime at Westminster. A comparison of photographs has provedconclusively that M. Henri Fournaye and Eduardo Lucas were reallyone and the same person, and that the deceased had for some reasonlived a double life in London and Paris. Mme. Fournaye, who is ofCreole origin, is of an extremely excitable nature, and hassuffered in the past from attacks of jealousy which have amountedto 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 herdescription attracted much attention at Charing Cross Station onTuesday morning by the wildness of her appearance and the violenceof her gestures. It is probable, therefore, that the crime waseither committed when insane, or that its immediate effect was todrive the unhappy woman out of her mind. At present she is unableto give any coherent account of the past, and the doctors hold outno hopes of the re-establishment of her reason. There is evidencethat a woman, who might have been Mme. Fournaye, was seen for somehours on Monday night watching the house in Godolphin Street."
"What do you think of that, Holmes?" I had read the accountaloud to him, while he finished his breakfast.
"My dear Watson," said he, as he rose from the table and pacedup and down the room, "you are most long-suffering, but if I havetold you nothing in the last three days it is because there isnothing to tell. Even now this report from Paris does not help usmuch."
"Surely it is final as regards the man's death."
"The man's death is a mere incident -- a trivial episode -- incomparison with our real task, which is to trace this document andsave a European catastrophe. Only one important thing has happenedin the last three days, and that is that nothing has happened. Iget reports almost hourly from the Government, and it is certainthat nowhere in Europe is there any sign of trouble. Now, if thisletter were loose -- no, it CAN'T be loose -- but if it isn'tloose, where can it be? Who has it? Why is it held back? That's thequestion that beats in my brain like a hammer. Was it, indeed, acoincidence that Lucas should meet his death on the night when theletter disappeared? Did the letter ever reach him? If so, why is itnot among his papers? Did this mad wife of his carry it off withher? If so, is it in her house in Paris? How could I search for itwithout the French police having their suspicions aroused? It is acase, my dear Watson, where the law is as dangerous to us as thecriminals are. Every man's hand is against us, and yet theinterests at stake are colossal. Should I bring it to a successfulconclusion it will certainly represent the crowning glory of mycareer. Ah, here is my latest from the front!" He glanced hurriedlyat the note which had been handed in. "Halloa! Lestrade seems tohave observed something of interest. Put on your hat, Watson, andwe will stroll down together to Westminster."
It was my first visit to the scene of the crime -- a high,dingy, narrow-chested house, prim, formal, and solid, like thecentury which gave it birth. Lestrade's bulldog features gazed outat us from the front window, and he greeted us warmly when a bigconstable had opened the door and let us in. The room into which wewere shown was that in which the crime had been committed, but notrace of it now remained, save an ugly, irregular stain upon thecarpet. This carpet was a small square drugget in the centre of theroom, surrounded by a broad expanse of beautiful, old-fashionedwood-flooring in square blocks highly polished. Over the fireplacewas a magnificent trophy of weapons, one of which had been used onthat tragic night. In the window was a sumptuous writing-desk, andevery detail of the apartment, the pictures, the rugs, and thehangings, all pointed to a taste which was luxurious to the vergeof effeminacy.
"Seen the Paris news?" asked Lestrade.
Holmes nodded.
"Our French friends seem to have touched the spot this time. Nodoubt it's just as they say. She knocked at the door -- surprisevisit, I guess, for he kept his life in water-tight compartments.He let her in -- couldn't keep her in the street. She told him howshe had traced him, reproached him, one thing led to another, andthen with that dagger so handy the end soon came. It wasn't alldone in an instant, though, for these chairs were all swept overyonder, and he had one in his hand as if he had tried to hold heroff with it. We've got it all clear as if we had seen it."
Holmes raised his eyebrows.
"And yet you have sent for me?"
"Ah, yes, that's another matter -- a mere trifle, but the sortof thing you take an interest in -- queer, you know, and what youmight call freakish. It has nothing to do with the main fact --can't have, on the face of it."
"What is it, then?"
"Well, you know, after a crime of this sort we are very carefulto keep things in their position. Nothing has been moved. Officerin charge here day and night. This morning, as the man was buriedand the investigation over -- so far as this room is concerned --we thought we could tidy up a bit. This carpet. You see, it is notfastened down; only just laid there. We had occasion to raise it.We found ----"
"Yes? You found ----"
Holmes's face grew tense with anxiety.
"Well, I'm sure you would never guess in a hundred years what wedid find. You see that stain on the carpet? Well, a great deal musthave soaked through, must it not?"
"Undoubtedly it must."
"Well, you will be surprised to hear that there is no stain onthe white woodwork to correspond."
"No stain! But there must ----"
"Yes; so you would say. But the fact remains that thereisn't."
He took the corner of the carpet in his hand and, turning itover, he showed that it was indeed as he said.
"But the underside is as stained as the upper. It must have lefta mark."
Lestrade chuckled with delight at having puzzled the famousexpert.
"Now I'll show you the explanation. There IS a second stain, butit does not correspond with the other. See for yourself." As hespoke he turned over another portion of the carpet, and there, sureenough, was a great crimson spill upon the square white facing ofthe old-fashioned floor. "What do you make of that, Mr.Holmes?"
"Why, it is simple enough. The two stains did correspond, butthe carpet has been turned round. As it was square and unfastenedit was easily done."
The official police don't need you, Mr. Holmes, to tell themthat the carpet must have been turned round. That's clear enough,for the stains lie above each other -- if you lay it over this way.But what I want to know is, who shifted the carpet, and why?"
I could see from Holmes's rigid face that he was vibrating withinward excitement.
"Look here, Lestrade," said he, "has that constable in thepassage been in charge of the place all the time?"
"Yes, he has."
"Well, take my advice. Examine him carefully. Don't do it beforeus. We'll wait here. You take him into the back room. You'll bemore likely to get a confession out of him alone. Ask him how hedared to admit people and leave them alone in this room. Don't askhim if he has done it. Take it for granted. Tell him you KNOWsomeone has been here. Press him. Tell him that a full confessionis his only chance of forgiveness. Do exactly what I tell you!"
"By George, if he knows I'll have it out of him!" criedLestrade. He darted into the hall, and a few moments later hisbullying voice sounded from the back room.
"Now, Watson, now!" cried Holmes, with frenzied eagerness. Allthe demoniacal force of the man masked behind that listless mannerburst out in a paroxysm of energy. He tore the drugget from thefloor, and in an instant was down on his hands and knees clawing ateach of the squares of wood beneath it. One turned sideways as hedug his nails into the edge of it. It hinged back like the lid of abox. A small black cavity opened beneath it. Holmes plunged hiseager hand into it, and drew it out with a bitter snarl of angerand disappointment. It was empty.
"Quick, Watson, quick! Get it back again!" The wooden lid wasreplaced, and the drugget had only just been drawn straight whenLestrade's voice was heard in the passage. He found Holmes leaninglanguidly against the mantelpiece, resigned and patient,endeavouring to conceal his irrepressible yawns.
"Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Holmes. I can see that you arebored to death with the whole affair. Well, he has confessed, allright. Come in here, MacPherson. Let these gentlemen hear of yourmost inexcusable conduct."
The big constable, very hot and penitent, sidled into theroom.
"I meant no harm, sir, I'm sure. The young woman came to thedoor last evening -- mistook the house, she did. And then we gottalking. It's lonesome, when you're on duty here all day."
"Well, what happened then?"
"She wanted to see where the crime was done -- had read about itin the papers, she said. She was a very respectable, well-spokenyoung woman, sir, and I saw no harm in letting her have a peep.When she saw that mark on the carpet, down she dropped on thefloor, and lay as if she were dead. I ran to the back and got somewater, but I could not bring her to. Then I went round the cornerto the Ivy Plant for some brandy, and by the time I had brought itback the young woman had recovered and was off -- ashamed ofherself, I dare say, 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 withnothing to keep it in place. I straightened it out afterwards."
"It's a lesson to you that you can't deceive me, ConstableMacPherson," said Lestrade, with dignity. "No doubt you thoughtthat your breach of duty could never be discovered, and yet a mereglance at that drugget was enough to convince me that someone hadbeen admitted to the room. It's lucky for you, my man, that nothingis missing, or you would find yourself in Queer Street. I'm sorryto have called you down over such a petty business, Mr. Holmes, butI thought the point of the second stain not corresponding with thefirst would interest you."
"Certainly, it was most interesting. Has this woman only beenhere once, constable?"
"Yes, sir, only once."
"Who was she?"
"Don't know the name, sir. Was answering an advertisement abouttype-writing, and came to the wrong number -- very pleasant,genteel young woman, 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,coaxing ways, as you might say, and I thought there was no harm inletting her just put her head through the door."
"How was she dressed?"
"Quiet, sir -- a long mantle down to her feet."
"What time was it?"
"It was just growing dusk at the time. They were lighting thelamps as I came back with the brandy."
"Very good," said Holmes. "Come, Watson, I think that we havemore important work elsewhere."
As we left the house Lestrade remained in the front room, whilethe repentant constable opened the door to let us out. Holmesturned on the step and held up something in his hand. The constablestared intently.
"Good Lord, sir!" he cried, with amazement on his face. Holmesput his finger on his lips, replaced his hand in his breast-pocket,and burst out laughing as we turned down the street. "Excellent!"said he. "Come, friend Watson, the curtain rings up for the lastact. You will be relieved to hear that there will be no war, thatthe Right Honourable Trelawney Hope will suffer no set-back in hisbrilliant career, that the indiscreet Sovereign will receive nopunishment for his indiscretion, that the Prime Minister will haveno 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 asever. But we have so much that it will be our own fault if wecannot get the rest. We will go straight to Whitehall Terrace andbring the matter to a head."
When we arrived at the residence of the European Secretary itwas for Lady Hilda Trelawney Hope that Sherlock Holmes inquired. Wewere shown into the morning-room.
"Mr. Holmes!" said the lady, and her face was pink with herindignation, "this is surely most unfair and ungenerous upon yourpart. I desired, as I have explained, to keep my visit to you asecret, lest my husband should think that I was intruding into hisaffairs. And yet you compromise me by coming here and so showingthat there are business relations between us."
"Unfortunately, madam, I had no possible alternative. I havebeen commissioned to recover this immensely important paper. I musttherefore ask you, madam, to be kind enough to place it in myhands."
The lady sprang to her feet, with the colour all dashed in aninstant from her beautiful face. Her eyes glazed -- she tottered --I thought that she would faint. Then with a grand effort sherallied from the shock, and a supreme astonishment and indignationchased every other expression from her features.
"You -- you 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 effortsto avoid a scandal will be frustrated. Give up the letter and allwill be set right. If you will work with me I can arrangeeverything. If you work against me I must expose you."
She stood grandly defiant, a queenly figure, her eyes fixed uponhis as if she would read his very soul. Her hand was on the bell,but she had forborne 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 youknow something. What is it that you know?"
"Pray sit down, madam. You will hurt yourself there if you fall.I will not 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 EduardoLucas, of your giving him this document, of your ingenious returnto the room last night, and of the manner in which you took theletter from the hiding-place under the carpet."
She stared at him with an ashen face and gulped twice before shecould speak.
"You are mad, Mr. Holmes -- you are mad!" she cried, atlast.
He drew a small piece of cardboard from his pocket. It was theface of a woman cut out of a portrait.
"I have carried this because I thought it might be useful," saidhe. "The policeman has recognised 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 endswhen I have returned the lost letter to your husband. Take myadvice and be frank with me; it is your only chance."
Her courage was admirable. Even now she would not owndefeat.
"I tell you again, Mr. Holmes, that you are under some absurdillusion."
Holmes rose from his chair.
"I am sorry for you, Lady Hilda. I have done my best for you; Ican see that 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 shallwait."
The butler had hardly closed the door behind him when Lady Hildawas down on her knees at Holmes's feet, her hands out-stretched,her beautiful face upturned and wet with her tears.
"Oh, spare me, Mr. Holmes! Spare me!" she pleaded, in a frenzyof supplication. "For Heaven's sake, don't tell him! I love him so!I would not bring one shadow on his life, and this I know wouldbreak his noble heart."
Holmes raised the lady. "I am thankful, madam, that you havecome to your senses even at this last moment! There is not aninstant to lose. Where is the letter?"
She darted across to a writing-desk, unlocked it, and drew out along blue envelope.
"Here it is, Mr. Holmes. Would to Heaven I had never seenit!"
"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 herhand.
"How did you open it before? You have a duplicate key? Yes, ofcourse you 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 blueenvelope deep down into the heart of them, between the leaves ofsome other document. The box was shut, locked, and returned to thebedroom.
"Now we are ready for him," said Holmes; "we have still tenminutes. I am going far to screen you, Lady Hilda. In return youwill spend the time in telling me frankly the real meaning of thisextraordinary 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 amoment of sorrow! There is no woman in all London who loves herhusband as I do, and yet if he knew how I have acted -- how I havebeen compelled to act -- he would never forgive me. For his ownhonour stands so high that he could not forget or pardon a lapse inanother. Help me, Mr. Holmes! My happiness, his happiness, our verylives are at stake!"
"Quick, madam, the time grows short!"
"It was a letter of mine, Mr. Holmes, an indiscreet letterwritten before my marriage -- a foolish letter, a letter of animpulsive, loving girl. I meant no harm, and yet he would havethought it criminal. Had he read that letter his confidence wouldhave been for ever destroyed. It is years since I wrote it. I hadthought that the whole matter was forgotten. Then at last I heardfrom this man, Lucas, that it had passed into his hands, and thathe would lay it before my husband. I implored his mercy. He saidthat he would return my letter if I would bring him a certaindocument which he described in my husband's despatch-box. He hadsome spy in the office who had told him of its existence. Heassured me that no harm could come to my husband. Put yourself inmy position, Mr. Holmes! What was I to do?"
"Take your husband into your confidence."
"I could not, Mr. Holmes, I could not! On the one side seemedcertain ruin; on the other, terrible as it seemed to take myhusband's paper, still in a matter of politics I could notunderstand the consequences, while in a matter of love and trustthey were only too clear to me. I did it, Mr. Holmes! I took animpression of his key; this man Lucas furnished a duplicate. Iopened his despatch-box, took the paper, and conveyed it toGodolphin Street."
"What happened there, madam?"
"I tapped at the door as agreed. Lucas opened it. I followed himinto his room, leaving the hall door ajar behind me, for I fearedto be alone with the man. I remember that there was a woman outsideas I entered. Our business was soon done. He had my letter on hisdesk; I handed him the document. He gave me the letter. At thisinstant there was a sound at the door. There were steps in thepassage. Lucas quickly turned back the drugget, thrust the documentinto some hiding-place there, and covered it over.
"What happened after that is like some fearful dream. I have avision of a dark, frantic face, of a woman's voice, which screamedin French, `My waiting is not in vain. At last, at last I havefound you with her!' There was a savage struggle. I saw him with achair in his hand, a knife gleamed in hers. I rushed from thehorrible scene, ran from the house, and only next morning in thepaper did I learn the dreadful result. That night I was happy, forI had my letter, and I had not seen yet what the future wouldbring.
"It was the next morning that I realized that I had onlyexchanged one trouble for another. My husband's anguish at the lossof his paper went to my heart. I could hardly prevent myself fromthere and then kneeling down at his feet and telling him what I haddone. But that again would mean a confession of the past. I came toyou that morning in order to understand the full enormity of myoffence. From the instant that I grasped it my whole mind wasturned to the one thought of getting back my husband's paper. Itmust still be where Lucas had placed it, for it was concealedbefore this dreadful woman entered the room. If it had not been forher coming, I should not have known where his hiding-place was. Howwas I to get into the room? For two days I watched the place, butthe door was never left open. Last night I made a last attempt.What I did and how I succeeded, you have already learned. I broughtthe paper back with me, and thought of destroying it since I couldsee no way of returning it, without confessing my guilt to myhusband. Heavens, I hear his step upon the 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 Ministeris lunching with me. May he share your hopes? He has nerves ofsteel, and yet I know that he has hardly slept since this terribleevent. Jacobs, will you ask the Prime Minister to come up? As toyou, dear, I fear that this is a matter of politics. We will joinyou in a few minutes in the dining-room."
The Prime Minister's manner was subdued, but I could see by thegleam of his eyes and the twitchings of his bony hands that heshared the excitement of his young colleague.
"I understand that you have something to report, Mr.Holmes?"
"Purely negative as yet," my friend answered. "I have inquiredat every point where it might be, and I am sure that there is nodanger to be apprehended."
"But that is not enough, Mr. Holmes. We cannot live for ever onsuch a volcano. We must have something definite."
"I am in hopes of getting it. That is why I am here. The more Ithink of the matter the more convinced I am that the letter hasnever left this house."
"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 hishouse?"
"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 thedespatch-box."
"Mr. Holmes, this joking is very ill-timed. You have myassurance that it 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 tohappen. I presume there are other papers there. Well, it may havegot mixed with them."
"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 ushave the despatch-box brought in."
The Secretary rang the bell.
"Jacobs, bring down my despatch-box. This is a farcical waste oftime, but still, if nothing else will satisfy you, it shall bedone. Thank you, Jacobs; put it here. I have always had the key onmy watch-chain. Here are the papers, you see. Letter from LordMerrow, report from Sir Charles Hardy, memorandum from Belgrade,note on the Russo-German grain taxes, letter from Madrid, note fromLord Flowers -- good heavens! what is this? Lord Bellinger! LordBellinger!"
The Premier snatched the blue envelope from his hand.
"Yes, it is it -- and the letter is intact. Hope, I congratulateyou."
"Thank you! Thank you! What a weight from my heart. But this isinconceivable -- impossible. Mr. Holmes, you are a wizard, asorcerer! 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 ismy wife? I must tell her that all is well. Hilda! Hilda!" we heardhis voice on the stairs.
The Premier looked at Holmes with twinkling eyes.
"Come, sir," said he. "There is more in this than meets the eye.How came the letter back in the box?"
Holmes turned away smiling from the keen scrutiny of thosewonderful eyes.
"We also have our diplomatic secrets," said he, and picking uphis hat he turned to the door.
THE VALLEY OF FEAR
PART I
The Tragedy of Birlstone
CHAPTER I. THE WARNING
"I am inclined to think -- " said I.
"I should do so," Sherlock Holmes remarked impatiently.
I believe that I am one of the most long-suffering of mortals;but I'll admit that I was annoyed at the sardonic interruption.
"Really, Holmes," said I severely, "you are a little trying attimes."
He was too much absorbed with his own thoughts to give anyimmediate answer to my remonstrance. He leaned upon his hand, withhis untasted breakfast before him, and he stared at the slip ofpaper which he had just drawn from its envelope. Then he took theenvelope itself, held it up to the light, and very carefullystudied both the exterior and the flap.
"It is Porlock's writing," said he thoughtfully. "I can hardlydoubt that it is Porlock's writing, though I have seen it onlytwice before. The Greek e with the peculiar top flourish isdistinctive. But if it is Porlock, then it must be something of thevery 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;but behind it lies a shifty and evasive personality. In a formerletter he frankly informed me that the name was not his own, anddefied me ever to trace him among the teeming millions of thisgreat city. Porlock is important, not for himself, but for thegreat man with whom he is in touch. Picture to yourself the pilotfish with the shark, the jackal with the lion -- anything that isinsignificant in companionship with what is formidable: not onlyformidable, Watson, but sinister -- in the highest degree sinister.That is where he comes within my purview. You have heard me speakof Professor Moriarty?"
"The famous scientific criminal, as famous among crooks as--"
"My blushes, Watson!" Holmes murmured in a deprecatingvoice.
"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 Imust learn to guard myself. But in calling Moriarty a criminal youare uttering libel in the eyes of the law -- and there lie theglory and the wonder of it! The greatest schemer of all time, theorganizer of every deviltry, the controlling brain of theunderworld, a brain which might have made or marred the destiny ofnations -- that's the man! But so aloof is he from generalsuspicion, so immune from criticism, so admirable in his managementand self-effacement, that for those very words that you haveuttered he could hale you to a court and emerge with your year'spension as a solatium for his wounded character. Is he not thecelebrated author of The Dynamics of an Asteroid, a book whichascends to such rarefied heights of pure mathematics that it issaid that there was no man in the scientific press capable ofcriticizing it? Is this a man to traduce? Foulmouthed doctor andslandered professor -- such would be your respective roles! That'sgenius, Watson. But if I am spared by lesser men, our day willsurely come."
"May I be there to see!" I exclaimed devoutly. "But you werespeaking of this man Porlock."
"Ah, yes -- the so-called Porlock is a link in the chain somelittle way from its great attachment. Porlock is not quite a soundlink -- between ourselves. He is the only flaw in that chain so faras I have been able to test it."
"But no chain is stronger than its weakest link."
"Exactly, my dear Watson! Hence the extreme importance ofPorlock. Led on by some rudimentary aspirations towards right, andencouraged by the judicious stimulation of an occasional ten-poundnote sent to him by devious methods, he has once or twice given meadvance information which has been of value -- that highest valuewhich anticipates and prevents rather than avenges crime. I cannotdoubt that, if we had the cipher, we should find that thiscommunication is of the nature that I indicate."
Again Holmes flattened out the paper upon his unused plate. Irose and, leaning over him, stared down at the curious inscription,which ran as follows:
534 C2 13 127 36 31 4 17 21 41
DOUGLAS 109 293 5 37 BIRLSTONE
26 BIRLSTONE 9 47 171
"What 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 thecipher?"
"In this instance, none at all."
"Why do you say 'in this instance'?"
"Because there are many ciphers which I would read as easily asI do the apocrypha of the agony column: such crude devices amusethe intelligence without fatiguing it. But this is different. It isclearly a reference to the words in a page of some book. Until I amtold which page and which book I am powerless."
"But why 'Douglas' and 'Birlstone'?"
"Clearly because those are words which were not contained in thepage in question."
"Then why has he not indicated the book?"
"Your native shrewdness, my dear Watson, that innate cunningwhich is the delight of your friends, would surely prevent you frominclosing cipher and message in the same envelope. Should itmiscarry, you are undone. As it is, both have to go wrong beforeany harm comes from it. Our second post is now overdue, and I shallbe surprised if it does not bring us either a further letter ofexplanation, or, as is more probable, the very volume to whichthese figures refer."
Holmes's calculation was fulfilled within a very few minutes bythe appearance of Billy, the page, with the very letter which wewere expecting.
"The same writing," remarked Holmes, as he opened the envelope,"and actually signed," he added in an exultant voice as he unfoldedthe epistle. "Come, we are getting on, Watson." His brow clouded,however, as he glanced over the contents.
"Dear me, this is very disappointing! I fear, Watson, that allour expectations come to nothing. I trust that the man Porlock willcome to no harm.
"DEAR MR. HOLMES [he says]:
"I will go no further in this matter. It is too dangerous -- hesuspects 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 Iread suspicion in his eyes. Please burn the cipher message, whichcan now be of no use to you.
FRED PORLOCK."
Holmes sat for some little time twisting this letter between hisfingers, and frowning, as he stared into the fire.
"After all," he said at last, "there may be nothing in it. Itmay be only his guilty conscience. Knowing himself to be a traitor,he may have read the accusation in the other's eyes."
"The other being, I presume, Professor Moriarty."
"No less! When any of that party talk about 'He' you know whomthey mean. There is one predominant 'He' for all of them."
"But what can he do?"
"Hum! That's a large question. When you have one of the firstbrains of Europe up against you, and all the powers of darkness athis back, there are infinite possibilities. Anyhow, Friend Porlockis evidently scared out of his senses -- kindly compare the writingin the note to that upon its envelope; which was done, he tells us,before this ill-omened visit. The one is clear and firm. The otherhardly 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 thatcase, and possibly bring trouble on him."
"No doubt," said I. "Of course." I had picked up the originalcipher message and was bending my brows over it. "It's prettymaddening to think that an important secret may lie here on thisslip of paper, and that it is beyond human power to penetrateit."
Sherlock Holmes had pushed away his untasted breakfast and litthe unsavoury pipe which was the companion of his deepestmeditations. "I wonder!" said he, leaning back and staring at theceiling. "Perhaps there are points which have escaped yourMachiavellian intellect. Let us consider the problem in the lightof pure reason. This man's reference is to a book. That is ourpoint of departure."
"A somewhat vague one."
"Let us see then if we can narrow it down. As I focus my mindupon it, it seems rather less impenetrable. What indications havewe as to this book?"
"None."
"Well, well, it is surely not quite so bad as that. The ciphermessage begins with a large 534, does it not? We may take it as aworking hypothesis that 534 is the particular page to which thecipher refers. So our book has already become a large book which issurely something gained. What other indications have we as to thenature of this large book? The next sign is C2. What do you make ofthat, Watson?"
"Chapter the second, no doubt."
"Hardly that, Watson. You will, I am sure, agree with me that ifthe page be given, the number of the chapter is immaterial. Alsothat if page 534 finds us only in the second chapter, the length ofthe first one must have been really intolerable."
"Column!" I cried.
"Brilliant, Watson. You are scintillating this morning. If it isnot column, then I am very much deceived. So now, you see, we beginto visualize a large book printed in double columns which are eachof a considerable length, since one of the words is numbered in thedocument as the two hundred and ninetythird. Have we reached thelimits of what reason can supply?"
"I fear that we have."
"Surely you do yourself an injustice. One more coruscation, mydear Watson -- yet another brain-wave! Had the volume been anunusual one, he would have sent it to me. Instead of that, he hadintended, before his plans were nipped, to send me the clue in thisenvelope. He says so in his note. This would seem to indicate thatthe book is one which he thought I would have no difficulty infinding for myself. He had it -- and he imagined that I would haveit, 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 in double columns and in common use."
"The Bible!" I cried triumphantly.
"Good, Watson, good! But not, if I may say so, quite goodenough! Even if I accepted the compliment for myself I could hardlyname any volume which would be less likely to lie at the elbow ofone of Moriarty's associates. Besides, the editions of Holy Writare so numerous that he could hardly suppose that two copies wouldhave the same pagination. This is clearly a book which isstandardized. He knows for certain that his page 534 will exactlyagree with my page 534."
"But very few books would correspond with that."
"Exactly. Therein lies our salvation. Our search is narroweddown to standardized books which anyone may be supposed topossess."
"Bradshaw!"
"There are difficulties, Watson. The vocabulary of Bradshaw isnervous and terse, but limited. The selection of words would hardlylend itself to the sending of general messages. We will eliminateBradshaw. The dictionary is, I fear, inadmissible for the samereason. What then is left?"
"An almanac!"
"Excellent, Watson! I am very much mistaken if you have nottouched the spot. An almanac! Let us consider the claims ofWhitaker's Almanac. It is in common use. It has the requisitenumber of pages. It is in double column. Though reserved in itsearlier vocabulary, it becomes, if I remember right, quitegarrulous towards the end." He picked the volume from his desk."Here is page 534, column two, a substantial block of printdealing, I perceive, with the trade and resources of British India.Jot down the words, Watson! Number thirteen is 'Mahratta.' Not, Ifear, a very auspicious beginning. Number one hundred andtwenty-seven is 'Government'; which at least makes sense, thoughsomewhat irrelevant to ourselves and Professor Moriarty. Now let ustry again. What does the Mahratta government do? Alas! the nextword is 'pig's-bristles.' We are undone, my good Watson! It isfinished!"
He had spoken in jesting vein, but the twitching of his bushyeyebrows bespoke his disappointment and irritation. I sat helplessand unhappy, staring into the fire. A long silence was broken by asudden exclamation from Holmes, who dashed at a cupboard, fromwhich he emerged with a second yellow-covered volume in hishand.
"We pay the price, Watson, for being too up-to-date!" he cried."We are before our time, and suffer the usual penalties. Being theseventh of January, we have very properly laid in the new almanac.It is more than likely that Porlock took his message from the oldone. No doubt he would have told us so had his letter ofexplanation been written. Now let us see what page 534 has in storefor us. Number thirteen is 'There,' which is much more promising.Number one hundred and twenty-seven is 'is' -- 'There is'" --Holmes's eyes were gleaming with excitement, and his thin, nervousfingers twitched as he counted the words -- "'danger.' Ha! Ha!Capital! Put that down, Watson. 'There is danger -- may -- come --very -- soon -- one.' Then we have the name 'Douglas' -- 'rich --country -- now -- at -- Birlstone -- House -- Birlstone --confidence -- is -- pressing.' There, Watson! What do you think ofpure reason and its fruit? If the greengrocer had such a thing as alaurel wreath, I should send Billy round 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!" saidI.
"On the contrary, he has done quite remarkably well," saidHolmes. "When you search a single column for words with which toexpress your meaning, you can hardly expect to get everything youwant. You are bound to leave something to the intelligence of yourcorrespondent. The purport is perfectly clear. Some deviltry isintended against one Douglas, whoever he may be, residing asstated, a rich country gentleman. He is sure -- 'confidence' was asnear as he could get to 'confident' -- that it is pressing. Thereis our result -- and a very workmanlike little bit of analysis itwas!"
Holmes had the impersonal joy of the true artist in his betterwork, even as he mourned darkly when it fell below the high levelto which he aspired. He was still chuckling over his success whenBilly swung open the door and Inspector MacDonald of Scotland Yardwas ushered into the room.
Those were the early days at the end of the '80's, when AlecMacDonald was far from having attained the national fame which hehas now achieved. He was a young but trusted member of thedetective force, who had distinguished himself in several caseswhich had been entrusted to him. His tall, bony figure gave promiseof exceptional physical strength, while his great cranium anddeep-set, lustrous eyes spoke no less clearly of the keenintelligence which twinkled out from behind his bushy eyebrows. Hewas a silent, precise man with a dour nature and a hard Aberdonianaccent.
Twice already in his career had Holmes helped him to attainsuccess, his own sole reward being the intellectual joy of theproblem. For this reason the affection and respect of the Scotchmanfor his amateur colleague were profound, and he showed them by thefrankness with which he consulted Holmes in every difficulty.Mediocrity knows nothing higher than itself; but talent instantlyrecognizes genius, and MacDonald had talent enough for hisprofession to enable him to perceive that there was no humiliationin seeking the assistance of one who already stood alone in Europe,both in his gifts and in his experience. Holmes was not prone tofriendship, but he was tolerant of the big Scotchman, and smiled atthe sight of him.
"You are an early bird, Mr. Mac," said he. "I wish you luck withyour worm. I fear this means that there is some mischiefafoot."
"If you said 'hope' instead of 'fear,' it would be nearer thetruth, I'm thinking, Mr. Holmes," the inspector answered, with aknowing grin. "Well, maybe a wee nip would keep out the raw morningchill. No, I won't smoke, I thank you. I'll have to be pushing onmy way; for the early hours of a case are the precious ones, as noman knows better than your own self. But -- but --"
The inspector had stopped suddenly, and was staring with a lookof absolute amazement at a paper upon the table. It was the sheetupon which I had scrawled the enigmatic message.
"Douglas!" he stammered. "Birlstone! What's this, Mr. Holmes?Man, it's witchcraft! Where in the name of all that is wonderfuldid you get those names?"
"It is a cipher that Dr. Watson and I have had occasion tosolve. But why -- what's amiss with the names?"
The inspector looked from one to the other of us in dazedastonishment. "Just this," said he, "that Mr. Douglas of BirlstoneManor House was horribly murdered last night!"
CHAPTER II. SHERLOCK HOLMES DISCOURSES
It was one of those dramatic moments for which my friendexisted. It would be an overstatement to say that he was shocked oreven excited by the amazing announcement. Without having a tinge ofcruelty in his singular composition, he was undoubtedly callousfrom long over-stimulation. Yet, if his emotions were dulled, hisintellectual perceptions were exceedingly active. There was notrace then of the horror which I had myself felt at this curtdeclaration; but his face showed rather the quiet and interestedcomposure of the chemist who sees the crystals falling intoposition from his oversaturated solution.
"Remarkable!" said he. "Remarkable!"
"You don't seem surprised."
"Interested, Mr. Mac, but hardly surprised. Why should I besurprised? I receive an anonymous communication from a quarterwhich I know to be important, warning me that danger threatens acertain person. Within an hour I learn that this danger hasactually materialized and that the person is dead. I am interested;but, as you observe, I am not surprised."
In a few short sentences he explained to the inspector the factsabout the letter and the cipher. MacDonald sat with his chin on hishands and his great sandy eyebrows bunched into a yellowtangle.
"I was going down to Birlstone this morning," said he. "I hadcome to ask you if you cared to come with me -- you and your friendhere. But from what you say we might perhaps be doing better workin London."
"I rather think not," said Holmes.
"Hang it all, Mr. Holmes!" cried the inspector. "The papers willbe full of the Birlstone mystery in a day or two; but where's themystery if there is a man in London who prophesied the crime beforeever it occurred? We have only to lay our hands on that man, andthe rest will follow."
"No doubt, Mr. Mac. But how do you propose to lay your hands onthe so-called Porlock?"
MacDonald turned over the letter which Holmes had handed him."Posted in Camberwell -- that doesn't help us much. Name, you say,is assumed. Not much to go on, certainly. Didn't you say that youhave sent him money?"
"Twice."
"And how?"
"In notes to Camberwell post-office."
"Did you ever trouble to see who called for them?"
"No."
The inspector looked surprised and a little shocked. "Whynot?"
"Because I always keep faith. I had promised when he first wrotethat I would not try to trace him."
"You think there is someone behind him?"
"I know there is."
"This professor that I've heard you mention?"
"Exactly!"
Inspector MacDonald smiled, and his eyelid quivered as heglanced towards me. "I won't conceal from you, Mr. Holmes, that wethink in the C. I. D. that you have a wee bit of a bee in yourbonnet over this professor. I made some inquiries myself about thematter. He seems to be a very respectable, learned, and talentedsort of man."
"I'm glad you've got so far as to recognize the talent."
"Man, you can't but recognize it! After I heard your view I madeit my business to see him. I had a chat with him on eclipses. Howthe talk got that way I canna think; but he had out a reflectorlantern and a globe, and made it all clear in a minute. He lent mea book; but I don't mind saying that it was a bit above my head,though I had a good Aberdeen upbringing. He'd have made a grandmeenister with his thin face and gray hair and solemn-like way oftalking. When he put his hand on my shoulder as we were parting, itwas like a father's blessing before you go out into the cold, cruelworld."
Holmes chuckled and rubbed his hands. "Great!" he said. "Great!Tell me, Friend MacDonald, this pleasing and touching interviewwas, I suppose, in the professor's study?"
"That's so."
"A fine room, is it not?"
"Very fine -- very 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 myface."
"It would be. Did you happen to observe a picture over theprofessor's head?"
"I don't miss much, Mr. Holmes. Maybe I learned that from you.Yes, I saw the picture -- a young woman with her head on her hands,peeping at you sideways."
"That painting was by Jean Baptiste Greuze."
The inspector endeavoured to look interested.
"Jean Baptiste Greuze," Holmes continued, joining his fingertips and leaning well back in his chair, "was a French artist whoflourished between the years 1750 and 1800. I allude, of course tohis working career. Modern criticism has more than indorsed thehigh opinion formed of him by his contemporaries."
The inspector's eyes grew abstracted. "Hadn't we better --" hesaid.
"We are doing so," Holmes interrupted. "All that I am saying hasa very direct and vital bearing upon what you have called theBirlstone Mystery. In fact, it may in a sense be called the verycentre of it."
MacDonald smiled feebly, and looked appealingly to me. "Yourthoughts move a bit too quick for me, Mr. Holmes. You leave out alink or two, and I can't get over the gap. What in the whole wideworld can be the connection between this dead painting man and theaffair at Birlstone?"
"All knowledge comes useful to the detective," remarked Holmes."Even the trivial fact that in the year 1865 a picture by Greuzeentitled La Jeune Fille a l'Agneau fetched one million two hundredthousand francs -- more than forty thousand pounds -- at thePortalis sale may start a train of reflection in your mind."
It was clear that it did. The inspector looked honestlyinterested.
"I may remind you," Holmes continued, "that the professor'ssalary can be ascertained in several trustworthy books ofreference. It is seven hundred a year."
"Then how could he buy --"
"Quite so! How could he?"
"Ay, that's remarkable," said the inspector thoughtfully. "Talkaway, Mr. Holmes. I'm just loving it. It's fine!"
Holmes smiled. He was always warmed by genuine admiration -- thecharacteristic of the real artist. "What about Birlstone?" heasked.
"We've time yet," said the inspector, glancing at his watch."I've a cab at the door, and it won't take us twenty minutes toVictoria. But about this picture: I thought you told me once, Mr.Holmes, that you had never met Professor Moriarty."
"No, I never have."
"Then how do you know about his rooms?"
"Ah, that's another matter. I have been three times in hisrooms, twice waiting for him under different pretexts and leavingbefore he came. Once -- well, I can hardly tell about the once toan official detective. It was on the last occasion that I took theliberty of running over his papers -- with the most unexpectedresults."
"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 verywealthy man. How did he acquire wealth? He is unmarried. Hisyounger brother is a station master in the west of England. Hischair is worth seven hundred a year. 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 inan illegal fashion?"
"Exactly. Of course I have other reasons for thinking so --dozens of exiguous threads which lead vaguely up towards the centreof the web where the poisonous, motionless creature is lurking. Ionly mention the Greuze because it brings the matter within therange of your own observation."
"Well, Mr. Holmes, I admit that what you say is interesting:it's more than interesting -- it's just wonderful. But let us haveit a little clearer if you can. Is it forgery, coining, burglary --where does the money come from?"
"Have you ever read of Jonathan Wild?"
"Well, the name has a familiar sound. Someone in a novel, was henot? I don't take much stock of detectives in novels -- chaps thatdo things and never let you see how they do them. That's justinspiration: not business."
"Jonathan Wild wasn't a detective, and he wasn't in a novel. Hewas a master criminal, and he lived last century -- 1750 orthereabouts."
"Then he's no use to me. I'm a practical man."
"Mr. Mac, the most practical thing that you ever did in yourlife would be to shut yourself up for three months and read twelvehours a day at the annals of crime. Everything comes in circles --even Professor Moriarty. Jonathan Wild was the hidden force of theLondon criminals, to whom he sold his brains and his organizationon a fifteen per cent commission. The old wheel turns, and the samespoke comes up. It's all been done before, and will be again. I'lltell you one or two things about Moriarty which may interestyou."
"You'll interest me, right enough."
"I happen to know who is the first link in his chain -- a chainwith this Napoleon-gone-wrong at one end, and a hundred brokenfighting men, pickpockets, blackmailers, and card sharpers at theother, with every sort of crime in between. His chief of staff isColonel Sebastian Moran, as aloof and guarded and inaccessible tothe law as himself. What do you think he pays him?"
"I'd like to hear."
"Six thousand a year. That's paying for brains, you see -- theAmerican business principle. I learned that detail quite by chance.It's more than the Prime Minister gets. That gives you an idea ofMoriarty's gains and of the scale on which he works. Another point:I made it my business to hunt down some of Moriarty's checks lately-- just common innocent checks that he pays his household billswith. They were drawn on six different banks. Does that make anyimpression 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 bankingaccounts; the bulk of his fortune abroad in the Deutsche Bank orthe Credit Lyonnais as likely as not. Sometime when you have a yearor two to spare I commend to you the study of ProfessorMoriarty."
Inspector MacDonald had grown steadily more impressed as theconversation proceeded. He had lost himself in his interest. Nowhis practical Scotch intelligence brought him back with a snap tothe matter in hand.
"He can keep, anyhow," said he. "You've got us side-tracked withyour interesting anecdotes, Mr. Holmes. What really counts is yourremark that there is some connection between the professor and thecrime. That you get from the warning received through the manPorlock. Can we for our present practical needs get any furtherthan that?"
"We may form some conception as to the motives of the crime. Itis, as I gather from your original remarks, an inexplicable, or atleast an unexplained, murder. Now, presuming that the source of thecrime is as we suspect it to be, there might be two differentmotives. In the first place, I may tell you that Moriarty ruleswith a rod of iron over his people. His discipline is tremendous.There is only one punishment in his code. It is death. Now we mightsuppose that this murdered man -- this Douglas whose approachingfate was known by one of the arch-criminal's subordinates -- had insome way betrayed the chief. His punishment followed, and would beknown to all -- if only to put the fear of death into them."
"Well, that is one suggestion, Mr. Holmes."
"The other is that it has been engineered by Moriarty in theordinary course of business. Was there any robbery?"
"I have not heard."
"If so, it would, of course, be against the first hypothesis andin favour of the second. Moriarty may have been engaged to engineerit on a promise of part spoils, or he may have been paid so muchdown to manage it. Either is possible. But whichever it may be, orif it is some third combination, it is down at Birlstone that wemust seek the solution. I know our man too well to suppose that hehas left anything up here which may lead us to him."
"Then to Birlstone we must go!" cried MacDonald, jumping fromhis chair. "My word! it's later than I thought. I can give you,gentlemen, five minutes for preparation, and that is all."
"And ample for us both," said Holmes, as he sprang up andhastened to change from his dressing gown to his coat. "While weare on our way, Mr. Mac, I will ask you to be good enough to tellme all about it."
"All about it" proved to be disappointingly little, and yetthere was enough to assure us that the case before us might well beworthy of the expert's closest attention. He brightened and rubbedhis thin hands together as he listened to the meagre but remarkabledetails. A long series of sterile weeks lay behind us, and here atlast there was a fitting object for those remarkable powers which,like all special gifts, become irksome to their owner when they arenot in use. That razor brain blunted and rusted with inaction.
Sherlock Holmes's eyes glistened, his pale cheeks took a warmerhue, and his whole eager face shone with an inward light when thecall for work reached him. Leaning forward in the cab, he listenedintently to MacDonald's short sketch of the problem which awaitedus in Sussex. The inspector was himself dependent, as he explainedto us, upon a scribbled account forwarded to him by the milk trainin the early hours of the morning. White Mason, the local officer,was a personal friend, and hence MacDonald had been notified muchmore promptly than is usual at Scotland Yard when provincials needtheir assistance. It is a very cold scent upon which theMetropolitan expert is generally asked to run.
"DEAR INSPECTOR MACDONALD [said the letter which he read tous]:
"Official requisition for your services is in separateenvelope. This is for your private eye. Wire me what train in themorning you can get for Birlstone, and I will meet it -- or have itmet if I am too occupied. This case is a snorter. Don't waste amoment in getting started. If you can bring Mr. Holmes, please doso; for he will find something after his own heart. We would thinkthe whole thing had been fixed up for theatrical effect if therewasn't a dead man in the middle of it. My word! it is asnorter."
"Your friend seems to be no fool," remarked Holmes.
"No, sir, White Mason is a very live man, if I am anyjudge."
"Well, have you anything more?"
"Only that he will give us every detail when we meet."
"Then how did you get at Mr. Douglas and the fact that he hadbeen horribly murdered?"
"That was in the enclosed official report. It didn't say'horrible': that's not a recognized official term. It gave the nameJohn Douglas. It mentioned that his injuries had been in the head,from the discharge of a shotgun. It also mentioned the hour of thealarm, which was close on to midnight last night. It added that thecase was undoubtedly one of murder, but that no arrest had beenmade, and that the case was one which presented some veryperplexing and extraordinary features. That's absolutely all wehave at present, Mr. Holmes."
"Then, with your permission, we will leave it at that, Mr. Mac.The temptation to form premature theories upon insufficient data isthe bane of our profession. I can see only two things for certainat present -- a great brain in London, and a dead man in Sussex.It's the chain between that we are going to trace."
CHAPTER III. THE TRAGEDY OF BIRLSTONE
Now for a moment I will ask leave to remove my own insignificantpersonality and to describe events which occurred before we arrivedupon the scene by the light of knowledge which came to usafterwards. Only in this way can I make the reader appreciate thepeople concerned and the strange setting in which their fate wascast.
The village of Birlstone is a small and very ancient cluster ofhalf-timbered cottages on the northern border of the county ofSussex. For centuries it had remained unchanged; but within thelast few years its picturesque appearance and situation haveattracted a number of well-to-do residents, whose villas peep outfrom the woods around. These woods are locally supposed to be theextreme fringe of the great Weald forest, which thins away until itreaches the northern chalk downs. A number of small shops have comeinto being to meet the wants of the increased population; so thereseems some prospect that Birlstone may soon grow from an ancientvillage into a modern town. It is the centre for a considerablearea of country, since Tunbridge Wells, the nearest place ofimportance, is ten or twelve miles to the eastward, over theborders of Kent.
About half a mile from the town, standing in an old park famousfor its huge beech trees, is the ancient Manor House of Birlstone.Part of this venerable building dates back to the time of the firstcrusade, when Hugo de Capus built a fortalice in the centre of theestate, which had been granted to him by the Red King. This wasdestroyed by fire in 1543, and some of its smoke-blackened cornerstones were used when, in Jacobean times, a brick country houserose upon the ruins of the feudal castle.
The Manor House, with its many gables and its small diamondpanedwindows, was still much as the builder had left it in the earlyseventeenth century. Of the double moats which had guarded its morewarlike predecessor, the outer had been allowed to dry up, andserved the humble function of a kitchen garden. The inner one wasstill there, and lay forty feet in breadth, though now only a fewfeet in depth, round the whole house. A small stream fed it andcontinued beyond it, so that the sheet of water, though turbid, wasnever ditch-like or unhealthy. The ground floor windows were withina foot of the surface of the water.
The only approach to the house was over a drawbridge, the chainsand windlass of which had long been rusted and broken. The latesttenants of the Manor House had, however, with characteristicenergy, set this right, and the drawbridge was not only capable ofbeing raised, but actually was raised every evening and loweredevery morning. By thus renewing the custom of the old feudal daysthe Manor House was converted into an island during the night -- afact which had a very direct bearing upon the mystery which wassoon to engage the attention of all England.
The house had been untenanted for some years and was threateningto moulder into a picturesque decay when the Douglases tookpossession of it. This family consisted of only two individuals --John Douglas and his wife. Douglas was a remarkable man, both incharacter and in person. In age he may have been about fifty, witha strong-jawed, rugged face, a grizzling moustache, peculiarly keengray eyes, and a wiry, vigorous figure which had lost nothing ofthe strength and activity of youth. He was cheery and genial toall, but somewhat offhand in his manners, giving the impressionthat he had seen life in social strata on some far lower horizonthan the county society of Sussex.
Yet, though looked at with some curiosity and reserve by hismore cultivated neighbours, he soon acquired a great popularityamong the villagers, subscribing handsomely to all local objects,and attending their smoking concerts and other functions, where,having a remarkably rich tenor voice, he was always ready to obligewith an excellent song. He appeared to have plenty of money, whichwas said to have been gained in the California gold fields, and itwas clear from his own talk and that of his wife that he had spenta part of his life in America.
The good impression which had been produced by his generosityand by his democratic manners was increased by a reputation gainedfor utter indifference to danger. Though a wretched rider, heturned out at every meet, and took the most amazing falls in hisdetermination to hold his own with the best. When the vicaragecaught fire he distinguished himself also by the fearlessness withwhich he reentered the building to save property, after the localfire brigade had given it up as impossible. Thus it came about thatJohn Douglas of the Manor House had within five years won himselfquite a reputation in Birlstone.
His wife, too, was popular with those who had made heracquaintance; though, after the English fashion, the callers upon astranger who settled in the county without introductions were fewand far between. This mattered the less to her, as she was retiringby disposition, and very much absorbed, to all appearance, in herhusband and her domestic duties. It was known that she was anEnglish lady who had met Mr. Douglas in London, he being at thattime a widower. She was a beautiful woman, tall, dark, and slender,some twenty years younger than her husband, a disparity whichseemed in no wise to mar the contentment of their family life.
It was remarked sometimes, however, by those who knew them best,that the confidence between the two did not appear to be complete,since the wife was either very reticent about her husband's pastlife, or else, as seemed more likely, was imperfectly informedabout it. It had also been noted and commented upon by a fewobservant people that there were signs sometimes of somenerve-strain upon the part of Mrs. Douglas, and that she woulddisplay acute uneasiness if her absent husband should ever beparticularly late in his return. On a quiet countryside, where allgossip is welcome, this weakness of the lady of the Manor House didnot pass without remark, and it bulked larger upon people's memorywhen the events arose which gave it a very specialsignificance.
There was yet another individual whose residence under that roofwas, it is true, only an intermittent one, but whose presence atthe time of the strange happenings which will now be narratedbrought his name prominently before the public. This was CecilJames Barker, of Hales Lodge, Hampstead.
Cecil Barker's tall, loose-jointed figure was a familiar one inthe main street of Birlstone village; for he was a frequent andwelcome visitor at the Manor House. He was the more noticed asbeing the only friend of the past unknown life of Mr. Douglas whowas ever seen in his new English surroundings. Barker was himselfan undoubted Englishman; but by his remarks it was clear that hehad first known Douglas in America and had there lived on intimateterms with him. He appeared to be a man of considerable wealth, andwas reputed to be a bachelor.
In age he was rather younger than Douglas -- forty-five at themost -- a tall, straight, broad-chested fellow with a clean-shaved,prize-fighter face, thick, strong, black eyebrows, and a pair ofmasterful black eyes which might, even without the aid of his verycapable hands, clear a way for him through a hostile crowd. Heneither rode nor shot, but spent his days in wandering round theold village with his pipe in his mouth, or in driving with hishost, 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 crossedhim!" He was cordial and intimate with Douglas, and he was no lessfriendly with his wife -- a friendship which more than once seemedto cause some irritation to the husband, so that even the servantswere able to perceive his annoyance. Such was the third person whowas one of the family when the catastrophe occurred.
As to the other denizens of the old building, it will sufficeout of a large household to mention the prim, respectable, andcapable Ames, and Mrs. Allen, a buxom and cheerful person, whorelieved the lady of some of her household cares. The other sixservants in the house bear no relation to the events of the nightof January 6th.
It was at eleven forty-five that the first alarm reached thesmall local police station, in charge of Sergeant Wilson of theSussex Constabulary. Cecil Barker, much excited, had rushed up tothe door and pealed furiously upon the bell. A terrible tragedy hadoccurred at the Manor House, and John Douglas had been murdered.That was the breathless burden of his message. He had hurried backto the house, followed within a few minutes by the police sergeant,who arrived at the scene of the crime a little after twelveo'clock, after taking prompt steps to warn the county authoritiesthat something serious was afoot.
On reaching the Manor House, the sergeant had found thedrawbridge down, the windows lighted up, and the whole household ina state of wild confusion and alarm. The white-faced servants werehuddling together in the hall, with the frightened butler wringinghis hands in the doorway. Only Cecil Barker seemed to be master ofhimself and his emotions; he had opened the door which was nearestto the entrance and he had beckoned to the sergeant to follow him.At that moment there arrived Dr. Wood, a brisk and capable generalpractitioner from the village. The three men entered the fatal roomtogether, while the horrorstricken butler followed at their heels,closing the door behind him to shut out the terrible scene from themaid servants.
The dead man lay on his back, sprawling with outstretched limbsin the centre of the room. He was clad only in a pink dressinggown, which covered his night clothes. There were carpet slipperson his bare feet. The doctor knelt beside him and held down thehand lamp which had stood on the table. One glance at the victimwas enough to show the healer that his presence could be dispensedwith. The man had been horribly injured. Lying across his chest wasa curious weapon, a shotgun with the barrel sawed off a foot infront of the triggers. It was clear that this had been fired atclose range and that he had received the whole charge in the face,blowing his head almost to pieces. The triggers had been wiredtogether, so as to make the simultaneous discharge moredestructive.
The country policeman was unnerved and troubled by thetremendous responsibility which had come so suddenly upon him. "Wewill touch nothing until my superiors arrive," he said in a hushedvoice, staring in horror at the dreadful head.
"Nothing has been touched up to now," said Cecil Barker. "I'llanswer for 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 Iwas sitting by the fire in my bedroom when I heard the report. Itwas not very loud -- it seemed to be muffled. I rushed down -- Idon't suppose it was thirty 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 lampsome minutes 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, the housekeeper, came and took her away. Ames had arrived,and we ran back into the room once more."
"But surely I have heard that the drawbridge is kept up allnight."
"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 thecurtain, and showed that the long, diamond-paned window was open toits full extent. "And look at this!" He held the lamp down andilluminated a smudge of blood like the mark of a boot-sole upon thewooden sill. "Someone has stood 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,he must have been in the water at that very moment."
"I have not a doubt of it. I wish to heaven that I had rushed tothe window! But the curtain screened it, as you can see, and so itnever occurred to me. Then I heard the step of Mrs. Douglas, and Icould not let her enter the room. It would have been toohorrible."
"Horrible enough!" said the doctor, looking at the shatteredhead and the terrible marks which surrounded it. "I've never seensuch injuries since the Birlstone railway smash."
"But, I say," remarked the police sergeant, whose slow, bucoliccommon sense was still pondering the open window. "It's all verywell your saying that a man escaped by wading this moat, but what Iask you is, how did he ever get into the house at all if the bridgewas up?"
"Ah, that's the question," said Barker.
"At what o'clock was it raised?"
"It was nearly six o'clock," said Ames, the butler.
"I've heard," said the sergeant, "that it was usually raised atsunset. That would be nearer half-past four than six at this timeof year."
"Mrs. Douglas had visitors to tea," said Ames. "I couldn't raiseit until they went. Then I wound it up myself."
"Then it comes to this," said the sergeant: "If anyone came fromoutside -- if they did -- they must have got in across the bridgebefore six and been in hiding ever since, until Mr. Douglas cameinto the room after eleven."
"That is so! Mr. Douglas went round the house every night thelast thing before he turned in to see that the lights were right.That brought him in here. The man was waiting and shot him. Then hegot away through the window and left his gun behind him. That's howI read it; for nothing else will fit the facts."
The sergeant picked up a card which lay beside the dead man onthe floor. The initials V. V. and under them the number 341 wererudely scrawled in ink upon it.
"What's 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. -- 341. I can make no sense of that."
The sergeant kept turning it over in his big fingers. "What's V.V.? Somebody's initials, maybe. What have you got there, Dr.Wood?"
It was a good-sized hammer which had been lying on the rug infront of the fireplace -- a substantial, workmanlike hammer. CecilBarker pointed to a box of brass-headed nails upon themantelpiece.
"Mr. Douglas was altering the pictures yesterday," he said. "Isaw him myself, standing upon that chair and fixing the big pictureabove it. That accounts for the hammer."
"We'd best put it back on the rug where we found it," said thesergeant, scratching his puzzled head in his perplexity. "It willwant the best brains in the force to get to the bottom of thisthing. It will be a London job before it is finished." He raisedthe hand lamp and walked slowly round the room. "Hullo!" he cried,excitedly, drawing the window curtain to one side. "What o'clockwere those curtains drawn?"
"When the lamps were lit," said the butler. "It would be shortlyafter four."
"Someone had been hiding here, sure enough." He held down thelight, and the marks of muddy boots were very visible in thecorner. "I'm bound to say this bears out your theory, Mr. Barker.It looks as if the man got into the house after four when thecurtains were drawn and before six when the bridge was raised. Heslipped into this room, because it was the first that he saw. Therewas no other place where he could hide, so he popped in behind thiscurtain. That all seems clear enough. It is likely that his mainidea was to burgle the house; but Mr. Douglas chanced to come uponhim, so he murdered him and escaped."
"That's how I read it," said Barker. "But, I say, aren't wewasting precious time? Couldn't we start out and scour the countrybefore the fellow gets away?"
The sergeant considered for a moment.
"There are no trains before six in the morning; so he can't getaway by rail. If he goes by road with his legs all dripping, it'sodds that someone will notice him. Anyhow, I can't leave heremyself until I am relieved. But I think none of you should go untilwe see more clearly how we all stand."
The doctor had taken the lamp and was narrowly scrutinizing thebody. "What's this mark?" he asked. "Could this have any connectionwith the crime?"
The dead man's right arm was thrust out from his dressing gown,and exposed as high as the elbow. About halfway up the forearm wasa curious brown design, a triangle inside a circle, standing out invivid relief upon the lard-coloured skin.
"It's not tattooed," said the doctor, peering through hisglasses. "I never saw anything like it. The man has been branded atsome time as they brand cattle. What is the meaning of this?"
"I don't profess to know the meaning of it," said Cecil Barker;"but I have seen the mark on Douglas many times this last tenyears."
"And so have I," said the butler. "Many a time when the masterhas rolled up his sleeves I have noticed that very mark. I've oftenwondered what it could be."
"Then it has nothing to do with the crime, anyhow," said thesergeant. "But it's a rum thing all the same. Everything about thiscase is rum. Well, what is it now?"
The butler had given an exclamation of astonishment and waspointing at the dead man's outstretched hand.
"They've taken his wedding ring!" he gasped.
"What!"
"Yes, indeed. Master always wore his plain gold wedding ring onthe little finger of his left hand. That ring with the rough nuggeton it was above it, and the twisted snake ring on the third finger.There's the nugget and there's the snake, but the wedding ring isgone."
"He's right," said Barker.
"Do you tell me," said the sergeant, "that the wedding ring wasbelow the other?"
"Always!"
"Then the murderer, or whoever it was, first took off this ringyou call the nugget ring, then the wedding ring, and afterwards putthe nugget ring back 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. "WhiteMason is a smart man. No local job has ever been too much for WhiteMason. It won't be long now before he is here to help us. But Iexpect we'll have to look to London before we are through. Anyhow,I'm not ashamed to say that it is a deal too thick for the likes ofme."
CHAPTER IV. DARKNESS
At three in the morning the chief Sussex detective, obeying theurgent call from Sergeant Wilson of Birlstone, arrived fromheadquarters in a light dog-cart behind a breathless trotter. Bythe five-forty train in the morning he had sent his message toScotland Yard, and he was at the Birlstone station at twelveo'clock to welcome us. White Mason was a quiet, comfortablelookingperson in a loose tweed suit, with a clean-shaved, ruddy face, astoutish body, and powerful bandy legs adorned with gaiters,looking like a small farmer, a retired gamekeeper, or anything uponearth except a very favourable specimen of the provincial criminalofficer.
"A real downright snorter, Mr. MacDonald!" he kept repeating."We'll have the pressmen down like flies when they understand it.I'm hoping we will get our work done before they get poking theirnoses into it and messing up all the trails. There has been nothinglike this that I can remember. There are some bits that will comehome to you, Mr. Holmes, or I am mistaken. And you also, Dr.Watson; for the medicos will have a word to say before we finish.Your room is at the Westville Arms. There's no other place; but Ihear that it is clean and good. The man will carry your bags. Thisway, gentlemen, if you please."
He was a very bustling and genial person, this Sussex detective.In ten minutes we had all found our quarters. In ten more we wereseated in the parlour of the inn and being treated to a rapidsketch of those events which have been outlined in the previouschapter. MacDonald made an occasional note, while Holmes satabsorbed, with the expression of surprised and reverent admirationwith which the botanist surveys the rare and precious bloom.
"Remarkable!" he said, when the story was unfolded, "mostremarkable! I can hardly recall any case where the features havebeen more peculiar."
"I thought you would say so, Mr. Holmes," said White Mason ingreat delight. "We're well up with the times in Sussex. I've toldyou now how matters were, up to the time when I took over fromSergeant Wilson between three and four this morning. My word! Imade the old mare go! But I need not have been in such a hurry, asit turned out; for there was nothing immediate that I could do.Sergeant Wilson had all the facts. I checked them and consideredthem 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 thereto help me. We found no signs of violence upon it. I was hopingthat if Mr. Douglas defended himself with the hammer, he might haveleft his mark upon the murderer before he dropped it on the mat.But there was no stain."
"That, of course, proves nothing at all," remarked InspectorMacDonald. "There has been many a hammer murder and no trace on thehammer."
"Quite so. It doesn't prove it wasn't used. But there might havebeen stains, and that would have helped us. As a matter of factthere were none. Then I examined the gun. They were buckshotcartridges, and, as Sergeant Wilson pointed out, the triggers werewired together so that, if you pulled on the hinder one, bothbarrels were discharged. Whoever fixed that up had made up his mindthat he was going to take no chances of missing his man. The sawedgun was not more than two foot long -- one could carry it easilyunder one's coat. There was no complete maker's name; but theprinted letters P-E-N were on the fluting between the barrels, andthe rest of the name had been cut off by the saw."
"A big P with a flourish above it, E and N smaller?" askedHolmes.
"Exactly."
"Pennsylvania Small Arms Company -- well-known American firm,"said Holmes.
White Mason gazed at my friend as the little villagepractitioner looks at the Harley Street specialist who by a wordcan solve the difficulties that perplex him.
"That is very helpful, Mr. Holmes. No doubt you are right.Wonderful! Wonderful! Do you carry the names of all the gun makersin the world 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 whoentered the house and killed its master was an American."
MacDonald shook his head. "Man, you are surely travellingoverfast," said he. "I have heard no evidence yet that any strangerwas ever in the house at all."
"The open window, the blood on the sill, the queer card, themarks of boots in the corner, the gun!"
"Nothing there that could not have been arranged. Mr. Douglaswas an American, or had lived long in America. So had Mr. Barker.You don't need to import an American from outside in order toaccount for American doings."
"Ames, the butler --"
"What about him? Is he reliable?"
"Ten years with Sir Charles Chandos -- as solid as a rock. Hehas been with Douglas ever since he took the Manor House five yearsago. He has never seen a gun of this sort in the house."
"The gun was made to conceal. That's why the barrels were sawed.It would fit into any box. How could he swear there was no such gunin the house?"
"Well, anyhow, he had never seen one."
MacDonald shook his obstinate Scotch head. "I'm not convincedyet that there was ever anyone in the house," said he. "I'm askingyou to conseedar" (his accent became more Aberdonian as he losthimself in his argument) "I'm asking you to conseedar what itinvolves if you suppose that this gun was ever brought into thehouse, and that all these strange things were done by a person fromoutside. Oh, man, it's just inconceivable! It's clean againstcommon sense! I put it to you, Mr. Holmes, judging it by what wehave heard."
"Well, state your case, Mr. Mac," said Holmes in his mostjudicial style.
"The man is not a burglar, supposing that he ever existed. Thering business and the card point to premeditated murder for someprivate reason. Very good. Here is a man who slips into a housewith the deliberate intention of committing murder. He knows, if heknows anything, that he will have a deeficulty in making hisescape, as the house is surrounded with water. What weapon would hechoose? You would say the most silent in the world. Then he couldhope when the deed was done to slip quickly from the window, towade the moat, and to get away at his leisure. That'sunderstandable. But is it understandable that he should go out ofhis way to bring with him the most noisy weapon he could select,knowing well that it will fetch every human being in the house tothe spot as quick as they can run, and that it is all odds that hewill be seen before he can get across the moat? Is that credible,Mr. Holmes?"
"Well, you put the case strongly," my friend repliedthoughtfully. "It certainly needs a good deal of justification. MayI ask, Mr. White Mason, whether you examined the farther side ofthe moat at once to see if there were any signs of the man havingclimbed out from the water?"
"There were no signs, Mr. Holmes. But it is a stone ledge, andone could hardly expect them."
"No tracks or marks?"
"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 toput you in touch with all the facts before we go. I suppose ifanything should strike you --" White Mason looked doubtfully at theamateur.
"I have worked with Mr. Holmes before," said InspectorMacDonald. "He plays the game."
"My own idea of the game, at any rate," said Holmes, with asmile. "I go into a case to help the ends of justice and the workof the police. If I have ever separated myself from the officialforce, it is because they have first separated themselves from me.I have no wish ever to score at their expense. At the same time,Mr. White Mason, I claim the right to work in my own way and givemy results at my own time -- complete rather than in stages."
"I am sure we are honoured by your presence and to show you allwe know," said White Mason cordially. "Come along, Dr. Watson, andwhen the time comes we'll all hope for a place in your book."
We walked down the quaint village street with a row of pollardedelms on each side of it. Just beyond were two ancient stonepillars, weather-stained and lichen-blotched bearing upon theirsummits a shapeless something which had once been the rampant lionof Capus of Birlstone. A short walk along the winding drive withsuch sward and oaks around it as one only sees in rural England,then a sudden turn, and the long, low Jacobean house of dingy,liver-coloured brick lay before us, with an old-fashioned garden ofcut yews on each side of it. As we approached it, there was thewooden drawbridge and the beautiful broad moat as still andluminous as quicksilver in the cold, winter sunshine.
Three centuries had flowed past the old Manor House, centuriesof births and of homecomings, of country dances and of the meetingsof fox hunters. Strange that now in its old age this dark businessshould have cast its shadow upon the venerable walls! And yet thosestrange, peaked roofs and quaint, overhung gables were a fittingcovering to grim and terrible intrigue. As I looked at the deep-setwindows and the long sweep of the dull-coloured, water-lappedfront, I felt that no more fitting scene could be set for such atragedy.
"That's the window," said White Mason, "that one on theimmediate right of the drawbridge. It's open just as it was foundlast night."
"It looks rather narrow for a man to pass."
"Well, it wasn't a fat man, anyhow. We don't need yourdeductions, Mr. Holmes, to tell us that. But you or I could squeezethrough all right."
Holmes walked to the edge of the moat and looked across. Then heexamined the stone ledge and the grass border beyond it.
"I've had a good look, Mr. Holmes," said White Mason. "There isnothing there, no sign that anyone has landed -- but why should heleave any sign?"
"Exactly. Why should he? Is the water always turbid?"
"Generally about this colour. The stream brings down theclay."
"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."
We walked across the drawbridge, and were admitted by a quaint,gnarled, dried-up person, who was the butler, Ames. The poor oldfellow was white and quivering from the shock. The villagesergeant, a tall, formal, melancholy man, still held his vigil inthe room of Fate. The doctor had departed.
"Anything fresh, Sergeant Wilson?" asked White Mason.
"No, sir."
"Then you can go home. You've had enough. We can send for you ifwe want you. The butler had better wait outside. Tell him to warnMr. Cecil Barker, Mrs. Douglas, and the housekeeper that we maywant a word with them presently. Now, gentlemen, perhaps you willallow me to give you the views I have formed first, and then youwill be able to arrive at your own."
He impressed me, this country specialist. He had a solid grip offact and a cool, clear, common-sense brain, which should take himsome way in his profession. Holmes listened to him intently, withno sign of that impatience which the official exponent too oftenproduced.
"Is it suicide, or is it murder -- that's our first question,gentlemen, is it not? If it were suicide, then we have to believethat this man began by taking off his wedding ring and concealingit; that he then came down here in his dressing gown, trampled mudinto a corner behind the curtain in order to give the idea someonehad waited for him, opened the window, put blood on the --"
"We can surely dismiss that," said MacDonald.
"So I think. Suicide is out of the question. Then a murder hasbeen done. What we have to determine is, whether it was done bysomeone outside or inside the house."
"Well, let's hear the argument."
"There are considerable difficulties both ways, and yet one orthe other it must be. We will suppose first that some person orpersons inside the house did the crime. They got this man down hereat a time when everything was still and yet no one was asleep. Theythen did the deed with the queerest and noisiest weapon in theworld so as to tell everyone what had happened -- a weapon that wasnever seen in the house before. That does not seem a very likelystart, does it?"
"No, it does not."
"Well, then, everyone is agreed that after the alarm was givenonly a minute at the most had passed before the whole household --not Mr. Cecil Barker alone, though he claims to have been thefirst, but Ames and all of them were on the spot. Do you tell methat in that time the guilty person managed to make footmarks inthe corner, open the window, mark the sill with blood, take thewedding ring off the dead man's finger, and all the rest of it?It's impossible!"
"You put it very clearly," said Holmes. "I am inclined to agreewith you."
"Well, then, we are driven back to the theory that it was doneby someone from outside. We are still faced with some bigdifficulties; but anyhow they have ceased to be impossibilities.The man got into the house between four-thirty and six; that is tosay, between dusk and the time when the bridge was raised. Therehad been some visitors, and the door was open; so there was nothingto prevent him. He may have been a common burglar, or he may havehad some private grudge against Mr. Douglas. Since Mr. Douglas hasspent most of his life in America, and this shotgun seems to be anAmerican weapon, it would seem that the private grudge is the morelikely theory. He slipped into this room because it was the firsthe came to, and he hid behind the curtain. There he remained untilpast eleven at night. At that time Mr. Douglas entered the room. Itwas a short interview, if there were any interview at all; for Mrs.Douglas declares that her husband had not left her more than a fewminutes when she heard the shot."
"The candle shows that," said Holmes.
"Exactly. The candle, which was a new one, is not burned morethan half an inch. He must have placed it on the table before hewas attacked; otherwise, of course, it would have fallen when hefell. This shows that he was not attacked the instant that heentered the room. When Mr. Barker arrived the candle was lit andthe lamp was out."
"That's all clear enough."
"Well, now, we can reconstruct things on those lines. Mr.Douglas enters the room. He puts down the candle. A man appearsfrom behind the curtain. He is armed with this gun. He demands thewedding ring -- Heaven only knows why, but so it must have been.Mr. Douglas gave it up. Then either in cold blood or in the courseof a struggle -- Douglas may have gripped the hammer that was foundupon the mat -- he shot Douglas in this horrible way. He droppedhis gun and also it would seem this queer card -- V. V. 341,whatever that may mean -- and he made his escape through the windowand across the moat at the very moment when Cecil Barker wasdiscovering the crime. How's that, Mr. Holmes?"
"Very interesting, but just a little unconvincing."
"Man, it would be absolute nonsense if it wasn't that anythingelse is even worse!" cried MacDonald. "Somebody killed the man, andwhoever it was I could clearly prove to you that he should havedone it some other way. What does he mean by allowing his retreatto be cut off like that? What does he mean by using a shotgun whensilence was his one chance of escape? Come, Mr. Holmes, it's up toyou to give us a lead, since you say Mr. White Mason's theory isunconvincing."
Holmes had sat intently observant during this long discussion,missing no word that was said, with his keen eyes darting to rightand to left, and his 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! theseinjuries are really appalling. Can we have the butler in for amoment? . . . Ames, I understand that you have often seen this veryunusual mark -- a branded triangle inside a circle -- upon Mr.Douglas's 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 isundoubtedly a burn. Now, I observe, Ames, that there is a smallpiece of plaster at the angle of Mr. Douglas's jaw. Did you observethat 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 merecoincidence, or it may point to some nervousness which wouldindicate that he had reason to apprehend danger. Had you noticedanything unusual in his conduct, yesterday, Ames?"
"It struck me that he was a little restless and excited,sir."
"Ha! The attack may not have been entirely unexpected. We doseem to make a little progress, do we not? Perhaps you would ratherdo the questioning, Mr. Mac?"
"No, Mr. Holmes, it's in better hands than mine."
"Well, then, we will pass to this card -- V. V. 341. It is roughcardboard. Have you any of the sort in the house?"
"I don't think so."
Holmes walked across to the desk and dabbed a little ink fromeach bottle on to the blotting paper. "It was not printed in thisroom," he said; "this is black ink and the other purplish. It wasdone by a thick pen, and these are fine. No, it was done elsewhere,I should say. Can you make anything 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 same with his badge upon the forearm."
"That's my idea, too," said White Mason.
"Well, we can adopt it as a working hypothesis and then see howfar our difficulties disappear. An agent from such a society makeshis way into the house, waits for Mr. Douglas, blows his headnearly off with this weapon, and escapes by wading the moat, afterleaving a card beside the dead man, which will when mentioned inthe papers, tell other members of the society that vengeance hasbeen done. That all hangs together. But why this gun, of allweapons?"
"Exactly."
"And why the missing ring?"
"Quite so."
"And why no arrest? It's past two now. I take it for grantedthat since dawn every constable within forty miles has been lookingout for a wet stranger?"
"That is so, Mr. Holmes."
"Well, unless he has a burrow close by or a change of clothesready, they can hardly miss him. And yet they have missed him up tonow!" Holmes had gone to the window and was examining with his lensthe blood mark on the sill. "It is clearly the tread of a shoe. Itis remarkably broad; a splay-foot, one would say. Curious, because,so far as one can trace any footmark in this mud-stained corner,one would say it was a more shapely sole. However, they arecertainly very indistinct. What's this under the side table?"
"Mr. Douglas's dumb-bells," said Ames.
"Dumb-bell -- there's only one. Where's the other?"
"I don't know, Mr. Holmes. There may have been only one. I havenot noticed them for months."
"One dumb-bell -- " Holmes said seriously; but his remarks wereinterrupted by a sharp knock at the door.
A tall, sunburned, capable-looking, clean-shaved man looked inat us. I had no difficulty in guessing that it was the Cecil Barkerof whom I had heard. His masterful eyes travelled quickly with aquestioning glance from face to face.
"Sorry to interrupt your consultation," said he, "but you shouldhear the latest news."
"An arrest?"
"No such luck. But they've found his bicycle. The fellow lefthis bicycle behind him. Come and have a look. It is within ahundred yards of the hall door."
We found three or four grooms and idlers standing in the driveinspecting a bicycle which had been drawn out from a clump ofevergreens in which it had been concealed. It was a well usedRudge-Whitworth, splashed as from a considerable journey. There wasa saddlebag with spanner and oilcan, but no clue as to theowner.
"It would be a grand help to the police," said the inspector,"if these things were numbered and registered. But we must bethankful for what we've got. If we can't find where he went to, atleast we are likely to get where he came from. But what in the nameof all that is wonderful made the fellow leave it behind? And howin the world has he got away without it? We don't seem to get agleam of light in the case, Mr. Holmes."
"Don't we?" my friend answered thoughtfully. "I wonder!"
CHAPTER V. THE PEOPLE OF THE DRAMA
"Have you seen all you want of the study?" asked White Mason aswe reentered the house.
"For the time," said the inspector, and Holmes nodded.
"Then perhaps you would now like to hear the evidence of some ofthe people in the house. We could use the dining-room, Ames. Pleasecome yourself first and tell us what you know."
The butler's 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 thatMr. Douglas was a rich gentleman who had made his money in America.He had been a kind and considerate employer -- not quite what Ameswas used to, perhaps; but one can't have everything. He never sawany signs of apprehension in Mr. Douglas: on the contrary, he wasthe most fearless man he had ever known. He ordered the drawbridgeto be pulled up every night because it was the ancient custom ofthe old house, and he liked to keep the old ways up.
Mr. Douglas seldom went to London or left the village; but onthe day before the crime he had been shopping at Tunbridge Wells.He (Ames) had observed some restlessness and excitement on the partof Mr. Douglas that day; for he had seemed impatient and irritable,which was unusual with him. He had not gone to bed that night; butwas in the pantry at the back of the house, putting away thesilver, when he heard the bell ring violently. He heard no shot;but it was hardly possible he would, as the pantry and kitchenswere at the very back of the house and there were several closeddoors and a long passage between. The housekeeper had come out ofher room, attracted by the violent ringing of the bell. They hadgone 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 himthat she was particularly agitated. Just as she reached the bottomof the stair Mr. Barker had rushed out of the study. He had stoppedMrs. Douglas and begged her to go back.
"For God's sake, go back to your room!" he cried. "Poor Jack isdead! You can do nothing. For God's sake, go back!"
After some persuasion upon the stairs Mrs. Douglas had goneback. She did not scream. She made no outcry whatever. Mrs. Allen,the housekeeper, had taken her upstairs and stayed with her in thebedroom. Ames and Mr. Barker had then returned to the study, wherethey had found everything exactly as the police had seen it. Thecandle was not lit at that time; but the lamp was burning. They hadlooked out of the window; but the night was very dark and nothingcould be seen or heard. They had then rushed out into the hall,where Ames had turned the windlass which lowered the drawbridge.Mr. Barker had then hurried off to get the police.
Such, in its essentials, was the evidence of the butler.
The account of Mrs. Allen, the housekeeper, was, so far as itwent, a corroboration of that of her fellow servant. Thehousekeeper's room was rather nearer to the front of the house thanthe pantry in which Ames had been working. She was preparing to goto bed when the loud ringing of the bell had attracted herattention. She was a little hard of hearing. Perhaps that was whyshe had not heard the shot; but in any case the study was a longway off. She remembered hearing some sound which she imagined to bethe slamming of a door. That was a good deal earlier -- half anhour at least before the ringing of the bell. When Mr. Ames ran tothe front she went with him. She saw Mr. Barker, very pale andexcited, come out of the study. He intercepted Mrs. Douglas, whowas coming down the stairs. He entreated her to go back, and sheanswered him, but what she said 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 tosoothe her. She was greatly excited, trembling all over, but madeno other attempt to go downstairs. She just sat in her dressinggown by her bedroom fire, with her head sunk in her hands. Mrs.Allen stayed with her most of the night. As to the other servants,they had all gone to bed, and the alarm did not reach them untiljust before the police arrived. They slept at the extreme back ofthe house, and could not possibly have heard anything.
So far the housekeeper could add nothing on cross-examinationsave lamentations and expressions of amazement.
Cecil Barker succeeded Mrs. Allen as a witness. As to theoccurrences of the night before, he had very little to add to whathe had already told the police. Personally, he was convinced thatthe murderer had escaped by the window. The bloodstain wasconclusive, in his opinion, on that point. Besides, as the bridgewas up, there was no other possible way of escaping. He could notexplain what had become of the assassin or why he had not taken hisbicycle, if it were indeed his. He could not possibly have beendrowned in the moat, which was at no place more than three feetdeep.
In his own mind he had a very definite theory about the murder.Douglas was a reticent man, and there were some chapters in hislife of which he never spoke. He had emigrated to America when hewas a very young man. He had prospered well, and Barker had firstmet him in California, where they had become partners in asuccessful mining claim at a place called Benito Canyon. They haddone very well; but Douglas had suddenly sold out and started forEngland. He was a widower at that time. Barker had afterwardsrealized his money and come to live in London. Thus they hadrenewed their friendship.
Douglas had given him the impression that some danger washanging over his head, and he had always looked upon his suddendeparture from California, and also his renting a house in so quieta place in England, as being connected with this peril. He imaginedthat some secret society, some implacable organization, was onDouglas's track, which would never rest until it killed him. Someremarks of his had given him this idea; though he had never toldhim what the society was, nor how he had come to offend it. Hecould only suppose that the legend upon the placard had somereference 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 I have seen her portrait. She was a very beautiful woman. Shedied of typhoid the year before I met him."
"You don't associate his past with any particular part ofAmerica?"
"I have heard him talk of Chicago. He knew that city well andhad worked there. I have heard him talk of the coal and irondistricts. He had travelled a good deal in his time."
"Was he a politician? Had this secret society to do withpolitics?"
"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 themountains. He would never go where other men were if he could helpit. That's why I first thought that someone was after him. Thenwhen he left so suddenly for Europe I made sure that it was so. Ibelieve that he had a warning of some sort. Within a week of hisleaving half a dozen men were inquiring for him."
"What sort of men?"
"Well, they were a mighty hard-looking crowd. They came up tothe claim and wanted to know where he was. I told them that he wasgone to Europe and that I did not know where to find him. Theymeant him no good -- it was easy to see that."
"Were these men Americans -- Californians?"
"Well, I don't know about Californians. They were Americans, allright. But they were not miners. I don't know what they were, andwas very glad to see their backs."
"That was six years ago?"
"Nearer seven."
"And then you were together five years in California, so thatthis business dates back not less than eleven years at theleast?"
"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 thatwould give rise to it."
"I think it shadowed his whole life. It was never quite out ofhis mind."
"But if a man had a danger hanging over him, and knew what itwas, don't you think he would turn to the police forprotection?"
"Maybe it was some danger that he could not be protectedagainst. There's one thing you should know. He always went aboutarmed. His revolver was never out of his pocket. But, by bad luck,he was in his dressing gown and had left it in the bedroom lastnight. Once the bridge was up, I guess he thought he was safe."
"I should like these dates a little clearer," said MacDonald."It is quite six years since Douglas left California. You followedhim next year, did you not?"
"That is so."
"And he had been married five years. You must have returnedabout the time 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 dealof him since," he answered. "If I have seen her, it is because youcannot visit a man without knowing his wife. If you imagine thereis any connection --"
"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.
"It's only the facts that we want. It is in your interest andeveryone's interest that they should be cleared up. Did Mr. Douglasentirely approve your friendship with his wife?"
Barker grew paler, and his great, strong hands were claspedconvulsively together. "You have no right to ask such questions!"he cried. "What has this to do with the matter you areinvestigating?"
"I must repeat the question."
"Well, I refuse to answer."
"You can refuse to answer; but you must be aware that yourrefusal is in itself an answer, for you would not refuse if you hadnot something to conceal."
Barker stood for a moment with his face set grimly and hisstrong black eyebrows drawn low in intense thought. Then he lookedup with a smile. "Well, I guess you gentlemen are only doing yourclear duty after all, and I have no right to stand in the way ofit. I'd only ask you not to worry Mrs. Douglas over this matter;for she has enough upon her just now. I may tell you that poorDouglas had just one fault in the world, and that was his jealousy.He was fond of me -- no man could be fonder of a friend. And he wasdevoted to his wife. He loved me to come here, and was foreversending for me. And yet if his wife and I talked together or thereseemed any sympathy between us, a kind of wave of jealousy wouldpass over him, and he would be off the handle and saying thewildest things in a moment. More than once I've sworn off comingfor that reason, and then 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 no man ever had a moreloving, faithful wife -- and I can say also no friend could be moreloyal than I!"
It was spoken with fervour and feeling, and yet InspectorMacDonald could not dismiss the subject.
"You are aware," said he, "that the dead man's wedding ring hasbeen taken 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 thering."
"The mere fact that the ring should be absent, whoever may haveremoved it, would suggest to anyone's mind, would it not, that themarriage and the tragedy were connected?"
Barker shrugged his broad shoulders. "I can't profess to saywhat it means." he answered. "But if you mean to hint that it couldreflect in any way upon this lady's honour" -- his eyes blazed foran instant, and then with an evident effort he got a grip upon hisown emotions -- "well, you are on the wrong track, that's all."
"I don't know that I've anything else to ask you at present,"said MacDonald, coldly.
"There was one small point," remarked Sherlock Holmes. "When youentered the room there was only a candle lighted on the table, wasthere not?"
"Yes, that was so."
"By its light you saw that some terrible incident hadoccurred?"
"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 outand that the lamp had been lighted. That seems veryremarkable."
Again Barker showed some signs of indecision. "I don't see thatit was remarkable, Mr. Holmes," he answered after a pause. "Thecandle threw a very bad light. My first thought was to get a betterone. The lamp was on the table; so I lit it."
"And blew out the candle?"
"Exactly."
Holmes asked no further question, and Barker, with a deliberatelook from one to the other of us, which had, as it seemed to me,something of defiance in it, turned and left the room.
Inspector MacDonald had sent up a note to the effect that hewould wait upon Mrs. Douglas in her room; but she had replied thatshe would meet us in the dining room. She entered now, a tall andbeautiful woman of thirty, reserved and self-possessed to aremarkable degree, very different from the tragic and distractedfigure I had pictured. It is true that her face was pale and drawn,like that of one who has endured a great shock; but her manner wascomposed, and the finely moulded hand which she rested upon theedge of the table was as steady as my own. Her sad, appealing eyestravelled from one to the other of us with a curiously inquisitiveexpression. That questioning gaze transformed itself suddenly intoabrupt speech.
"Have you found anything out yet?" she asked.
Was it my imagination that there was an undertone of fear ratherthan of hope in the question?
"We have taken every possible step, Mrs. Douglas," said theinspector. "You may rest assured that nothing will beneglected."
"Spare no money," she said in a dead, even tone. "It is mydesire that every possible effort should be made."
"Perhaps you can tell us something which may throw some lightupon the matter."
"I fear not; but all I know is at your service."
"We have heard from Mr. Cecil Barker that you did not actuallysee -- that you were never in the room where the tragedyoccurred?"
"No, he turned me back upon the stairs. He begged me to returnto my room."
"Quite so. You had heard the shot, and you had at once comedown."
"I put on my dressing gown and then came down."
"How long was it after hearing the shot that you were stopped onthe stair by Mr. Barker?"
"It may have been a couple of minutes. It is so hard to reckontime at such a moment. He implored me not to go on. He assured methat I could do nothing. Then Mrs. Allen, the housekeeper, led meupstairs again. It was all like some dreadful dream."
"Can you give us any idea how long your husband had beendownstairs before you heard the shot?"
"No, I cannot say. He went from his dressing room, and I did nothear him go. He did the round of the house every night, for he wasnervous of fire. It is the only thing that I have ever known himnervous of."
"That is just the point which I want to come to, Mrs. Douglas.You have 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 Americaand might bring some danger upon him?"
Mrs. Douglas thought earnestly before she answered. "Yes." shesaid at last, "I have always felt that there was a danger hangingover him. He refused to discuss it with me. It was not from want ofconfidence in me -- there was the most complete love and confidencebetween us -- but it was out of his desire to keep all alarm awayfrom me. He thought I should brood over it if I knew all, and so hewas silent."
"How did you know it, then?"
Mrs. Douglas's face lit with a quick smile. "Can a husband evercarry about a secret all his life and a woman who loves him have nosuspicion of it? I knew it by his refusal to talk about someepisodes in his American life. I knew it by certain precautions hetook. I knew it by certain words he let fall. I knew it by the wayhe looked at unexpected strangers. I was perfectly certain that hehad some powerful enemies, that he believed they were on his track,and that he was always on his guard against them. I was so sure ofit that for years I have been terrified if ever he came home laterthan was expected."
"Might I ask," asked Holmes, "what the words were whichattracted your attention?"
"The Valley of Fear," the lady answered. "That was an expressionhe has used when I questioned him. 'I have been in the Valley ofFear. I am not out of it yet.' -- 'Are we never to get out of theValley of Fear?' I have asked him when I have seen him more seriousthan usual. 'Sometimes I think that we never shall,' he hasanswered."
"Surely you asked him what he meant by the Valley of Fear?"
"I did; but his face would become very grave and he would shakehis head. 'It is bad enough that one of us should have been in itsshadow,' he said. 'Please God it shall never fall upon you!' It wassome real valley in which he had lived and in which somethingterrible had occurred to him, of that I am certain; but I can tellyou no more."
"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 namethat came continually to his lips. He spoke it with anger and asort of horror. McGinty was the name -- Bodymaster McGinty. I askedhim when he recovered who Bodymaster McGinty was, and whose body hewas master of. 'Never of mine, thank God!' he answered with alaugh, and that was all I could get from him. But there is aconnection between Bodymaster McGinty and the Valley of Fear."
"There is one other point," said Inspector MacDonald. "You metMr. Douglas in a boarding house in London, did you not, and becameengaged to him there? Was there any romance, anything secret ormysterious, 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.Does that suggest anything to you? Suppose that some enemy of hisold life had tracked him down and committed this crime, whatpossible reason could he have for taking his wedding ring?"
For an instant I could have sworn that the faintest shadow of asmile flickered over the woman's lips.
"I really cannot tell," she answered. "It is certainly a mostextraordinary thing."
"Well, we will not detain you any longer, and we are sorry tohave put you to this trouble at such a time," said the inspector."There are some other points, no doubt; but we can refer to you asthey arise."
She rose, and I was again conscious of that quick, questioningglance with which she had just surveyed us. "What impression has myevidence made upon you?" The question might as well have beenspoken. Then, with a bow, she swept from the room.
"She's a beautiful woman -- a very beautiful woman," saidMacDonald thoughtfully, after the door had closed behind her. "Thisman Barker has certainly been down here a good deal. He is a manwho might be attractive to a woman. He admits that the dead man wasjealous, and maybe he knew best himself what cause he had forjealousy. Then there's that wedding ring. You can't get past that.The man who tears a wedding ring off a dead man's -- What do yousay to it, Mr. Holmes?"
My friend had sat with his head upon his hands, sunk in thedeepest thought. Now he rose and rang the bell. "Ames," he said,when the butler entered, "where is Mr. Cecil Barker now?"
"I'll see, sir."
He came back in a moment to say that Barker was in thegarden.
"Can you remember, Ames, what Mr. Barker had on his feet lastnight when you joined him in the study?"
"Yes, Mr. Holmes. He had a pair of bedroom slippers. I broughthim his 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 knowwhich tracks may be Mr. Barker's and which from outside."
"Yes, sir. I may say that I noticed that the slippers werestained with blood -- so indeed were my own."
"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 broughtwith him the carpet slippers from the hall. As Ames had observed,the soles of both were dark with blood.
"Strange!" murmured Holmes, as he stood in the light of thewindow and examined them minutely. "Very strange indeed!"
Stooping with one of his quick feline pounces, he placed theslipper upon the blood mark on the sill. It exactly corresponded.He smiled in silence at his colleagues.
The inspector was transfigured with excitement. His nativeaccent rattled like a stick upon railings.
"Man," he cried, "there's not a doubt of it! Barker has justmarked the window himself. It's a good deal broader than anybootmark. I mind that you said it was a splay-foot, and here's theexplanation. But what's the game, Mr. Holmes -- what's thegame?"
"Ay, what's 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 real snorter it is!"
CHAPTER VI. A DAWNING LIGHT
The three detectives had many matters of detail into which toinquire; so I returned alone to our modest quarters at the villageinn. But before doing so I took a stroll in the curious old-worldgarden which flanked the house. Rows of very ancient yew trees cutinto strange designs girded it round. Inside was a beautifulstretch of lawn with an old sundial in the middle, the whole effectso soothing and restful that it was welcome to my somewhat janglednerves.
In that deeply peaceful atmosphere one could forget, or rememberonly as some fantastic nightmare, that darkened study with thesprawling, bloodstained figure on the floor. And yet, as I strolledround it and tried to steep my soul in its gentle balm, a strangeincident occurred, which brought me back to the tragedy and left asinister impression in my mind.
I have said that a decoration of yew trees circled the garden.At the end farthest from the house they thickened into a continuoushedge. On the other side of this hedge, concealed from the eyes ofanyone approaching from the direction of the house, there was astone seat. As I approached the spot I was aware of voices, someremark in the deep tones of a man, answered by a little ripple offeminine laughter.
An instant later I had come round the end of the hedge and myeyes lit upon Mrs. Douglas and the man Barker before they wereaware of my presence. Her appearance gave me a shock. In thedining-room she had been demure and discreet. Now all pretense ofgrief had passed away from her. Her eyes shone with the joy ofliving, and her face still quivered with amusement at some remarkof her companion. He sat forward, his hands clasped and hisforearms on his knees, with an answering smile upon his bold,handsome face. In an instant -- but it was just one instant toolate -- they resumed their solemn masks as my figure came intoview. A hurried word or two passed between them, and then Barkerrose and came towards me.
"Excuse me, sir," said he, "but am I addressing Dr. Watson?"
I bowed with a coldness which showed, I dare say, very plainlythe impression which had been produced upon my mind.
"We thought that it was probably you, as your friendship withMr. Sherlock Holmes is so well known. Would you mind coming overand speaking to Mrs. Douglas for one instant?"
I followed him with a dour face. Very clearly I could see in mymind's eye that shattered figure on the floor. Here within a fewhours of the tragedy were his wife and his nearest friend laughingtogether behind a bush in the garden which had been his. I greetedthe lady with reserve. I had grieved with her grief in thedining-room. Now I met her appealing gaze with an unresponsiveeye.
"I fear that you think me callous and hard-hearted." saidshe.
I shrugged my shoulders. "It is no business of mine," saidI.
"Perhaps some day you will do me justice. If you only realized--"
"There is no need why Dr. Watson should realize," said Barkerquickly. "As he has himself said, it is no possible business ofhis."
"Exactly," said I, "and so I will beg leave to resume mywalk."
"One moment, Dr. Watson," cried the woman in a pleading voice."There is one question which you can answer with more authoritythan anyone else in the world, and it may make a very greatdifference to me. You know Mr. Holmes and his relations with thepolice better than anyone else can. Supposing that a matter werebrought confidentially to his knowledge, is it absolutely necessarythat he should pass it on to the detectives?"
"Yes, that's it," said Barker eagerly. "Is he on his own or ishe entirely in with them?"
"I really don't know that I should be justified in discussingsuch a point."
"I beg -- I implore that you will, Dr. Watson! I assure you thatyou will be helping us -- helping me greatly if you will guide uson that point."
There was such a ring of sincerity in the woman's voice that forthe instant I forgot all about her levity and was moved only to doher will.
"Mr. Holmes is an independent investigator," I said. "He is hisown master, and would act as his own judgment directed. At the sametime, he would naturally feel loyalty towards the officials whowere working on the same case, and he would not conceal from themanything which would help them in bringing a criminal to justice.Beyond this I can say nothing, and I would refer you to Mr. Holmeshimself if you wanted fuller information."
So saying I raised my hat and went upon my way, leaving themstill seated behind that concealing hedge. I looked back as Irounded the far end of it, and saw that they were still talkingvery earnestly together, and, as they were gazing after me, it wasclear that it was our interview that was the subject of theirdebate.
"I wish none of their confidences," said Holmes, when I reportedto him what had occurred. He had spent the whole afternoon at theManor House in consultation with his two colleagues, and returnedabout five with a ravenous appetite for a high tea which I hadordered for him. "No confidences, Watson; for they are mightyawkward if it comes to an arrest for conspiracy and murder."
"You think it will come to that?"
He was in his most cheerful and debonair humour. "My dearWatson, when I have exterminated that fourth egg I shall be readyto put you in touch with the whole situation. I don't say that wehave fathomed it -- far from it -- but when we have traced themissing dumb-bell --"
"The dumb-bell!"
"Dear me, Watson, is it possible that you have not penetratedthe fact that the case hangs upon the missing dumb-bell? Well,well, you need not be downcast; for between ourselves I don't thinkthat either Inspector Mac or the excellent local practitioner hasgrasped the overwhelming importance of this incident. Onedumb-bell, Watson! Consider an athlete with one dumb-bell! Pictureto yourself the unilateral development, the imminent danger of aspinal curvature. Shocking, Watson, shocking!"
He sat with his mouth full of toast and his eyes sparkling withmischief, watching my intellectual entanglement. The mere sight ofhis excellent appetite was an assurance of success, for I had veryclear recollections of days and nights without a thought of food,when his baffled mind had chafed before some problem while histhin, eager features became more attenuated with the asceticism ofcomplete mental concentration. Finally he lit his pipe, and sittingin the inglenook of the old village inn he talked slowly and atrandom about his case, rather as one who thinks aloud than as onewho makes a considered statement.
"A lie, Watson -- a great, big, thumping, obtrusive,uncompromising lie -- that's what meets us on the threshold! Thereis our starting point. The whole story told by Barker is a lie. ButBarker's story is corroborated by Mrs. Douglas. Therefore she islying also. They are both lying, and in a conspiracy. So now wehave the clear problem. Why are they lying, and what is the truthwhich they are trying so hard to conceal? Let us try, Watson, youand I, if we can get behind the lie and reconstruct the truth.
"How do I know that they are lying? Because it is a clumsyfabrication which simply could not be true. Consider! According tothe story given to us, the assassin had less than a minute afterthe murder had been committed to take that ring, which was underanother ring, from the dead man's finger, to replace the other ring-- a thing which he would surely never have done -- and to put thatsingular card beside his victim. I say that this was obviouslyimpossible.
"You may argue -- but I have too much respect for your judgment,Watson, to think that you will do so -- that the ring may have beentaken before the man was killed. The fact that the candle had beenlit only a short time shows that there had been no lengthyinterview. Was Douglas, from what we hear of his fearlesscharacter, a man who would be likely to give up his wedding ring atsuch short notice, or could we conceive of his giving it up at all?No, no, Watson, the assassin was alone with the dead man for sometime with the lamp lit. Of that I have no doubt at all.
"But the gunshot was apparently the cause of death. Thereforethe shot must have been fired some time earlier than we are told.But there could be no mistake about such a matter as that. We arein the presence, therefore, of a deliberate conspiracy upon thepart of the two people who heard the gunshot -- of the man Barkerand of the woman Douglas. When on the top of this I am able to showthat the blood mark on the windowsill was deliberately placed thereby Barker, in order to give a false clue to the police, you willadmit that the case grows dark against him.
"Now we have to ask ourselves at what hour the murder actuallydid occur. Up to half-past ten the servants were moving about thehouse; so it was certainly not before that time. At a quarter toeleven they had all gone to their rooms with the exception of Ames,who was in the pantry. I have been trying some experiments afteryou left us this afternoon, and I find that no noise whichMacDonald can make in the study can penetrate to me in the pantrywhen the doors are all shut.
"It is otherwise, however, from the housekeeper's room. It isnot so far down the corridor, and from it I could vaguely hear avoice when it was very loudly raised. The sound from a shotgun isto some extent muffled when the discharge is at very close range,as it undoubtedly was in this instance. It would not be very loud,and yet in the silence of the night it should have easilypenetrated to Mrs. Allen's room. She is, as she has told us,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 thereport of the gun, and that this was the real instant of themurder.
"If this is so, we have now to determine what Barker and Mrs.Douglas, presuming that they are not the actual murderers, couldhave been doing from quarter to eleven, when the sound of the shotbrought them down, until quarter past eleven, when they rang thebell and summoned the servants. What were they doing, and why didthey not instantly give the alarm? That is the question which facesus, and when it has been answered we shall surely have gone someway 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 sitlaughing at some jest within a few hours of her husband'smurder."
"Exactly. She does not shine as a wife even in her own accountof what occurred. I am not a whole-souled admirer of womankind, asyou are aware, Watson, but my experience of life has taught me thatthere are few wives, having any regard for their husbands, whowould let any man's spoken word stand between them and thathusband's dead body. Should I ever marry, Watson, I should hope toinspire my wife with some feeling which would prevent her frombeing walked off by a housekeeper when my corpse was lying within afew yards of her. It was badly stage-managed; for even the rawestinvestigators must be struck by the absence of the usual feminineululation. If there had been nothing else, this incident alonewould have suggested a prearranged conspiracy to my mind."
"You think then, definitely, that Barker and Mrs. Douglas areguilty of the murder?"
"There is an appalling directness about your questions, Watson,"said Holmes, shaking his pipe at me. "They come at me like bullets.If you put it that Mrs. Douglas and Barker know the truth about themurder, and are conspiring to conceal it, then I can give you awhole-souled answer. I am sure they do. But your more deadlyproposition is not so clear. Let us for a moment consider thedifficulties which stand in the way.
"We will suppose that this couple are united by the bonds of aguilty love, and that they have determined to get rid of the manwho stands between them. It is a large supposition; for discreetinquiry among servants and others has failed to corroborate it inany way. On the contrary, there is a good deal of evidence that theDouglases were very attached to each other."
"That, I am sure, cannot he true." said I, thinking of thebeautiful smiling face in the garden.
"Well at least they gave that impression. However, we willsuppose that they are an extraordinarily astute couple, who deceiveeveryone upon this point, and conspire to murder the husband. Hehappens to be a man over whose head some danger hangs --"
"We have only their word for that."
Holmes looked thoughtful. "I see, Watson. You are sketching outa theory by which everything they say from the beginning is false.According to your idea, there was never any hidden menace, orsecret society, or Valley of Fear, or Boss MacSomebody, or anythingelse. Well, that is a good sweeping generalization. Let us see whatthat brings us to. They invent this theory to account for thecrime. They then play up to the idea by leaving this bicycle in thepark as proof of the existence of some outsider. The stain on thewindowsill conveys the same idea. So does the card on the body,which might have been prepared in the house. That all fits intoyour hypothesis, Watson. But now we come on the nasty, angular,uncompromising bits which won't slip into their places. Why acut-off shotgun of all weapons -- and an American one at that? Howcould they be so sure that the sound of it would not bring someoneon to them? It's a mere chance as it is that Mrs. Allen did notstart out to inquire for the slamming door. Why did your guiltycouple do all this, Watson?"
"I confess that I can't explain it."
"Then again, if a woman and her lover conspire to murder ahusband, are they going to advertise their guilt by ostentatiouslyremoving his wedding ring after his death? Does that strike you asvery probable, Watson?"
"No, it does not."
"And once again, if the thought of leaving a bicycle concealedoutside had occurred to you, would it really have seemed worthdoing when the dullest detective would naturally say this is anobvious blind, as the bicycle is the first thing which the fugitiveneeded in order to make his escape."
"I can conceive of no explanation."
"And yet there should be no combination of events for which thewit of man cannot conceive an explanation. Simply as a mentalexercise, without any assertion that it is true, let me indicate apossible line of thought. It is, I admit, mere imagination; but howoften is imagination the mother of truth?
"We will suppose that there was a guilty secret, a reallyshameful secret in the life of this man Douglas. This leads to hismurder by someone who is, we will suppose, an avenger, someone fromoutside. This avenger, for some reason which I confess I am stillat a loss to explain, took the dead man's wedding ring. Thevendetta might conceivably date back to the man's first marriage,and the ring be taken for some such reason.
"Before this avenger got away, Barker and the wife had reachedthe room. The assassin convinced them that any attempt to arresthim would lead to the publication of some hideous scandal. Theywere converted to this idea, and preferred to let him go. For thispurpose they probably lowered the bridge, which can be done quitenoiselessly, and then raised it again. He made his escape, and forsome reason thought that he could do so more safely on foot than onthe bicycle. He therefore left his machine where it would not bediscovered until he had got safely away. So far we are within thebounds of possibility, are we not?"
"Well, it is possible, no doubt," said I, with some reserve.
"We have to remember, Watson, that whatever occurred iscertainly something very extraordinary. Well, now, to continue oursupposititious case, the couple -- not necessarily a guilty couple-- realize after the murderer is gone that they have placedthemselves in a position in which it may be difficult for them toprove that they did not themselves either do the deed or connive atit. They rapidly and rather clumsily met the situation. The markwas put by Barker's bloodstained slipper upon the windowsill tosuggest how the fugitive got away. They obviously were the two whomust have heard the sound of the gun; so they gave the alarmexactly as they would have done, but a good half hour after theevent."
"And how do you propose to prove all this?"
"Well, if there were an outsider, he may be traced and taken.That would be the most effective of all proofs. But if not -- well,the resources of science are far from being exhausted. I think thatan evening alone in that study 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. Ishall sit in that room and see if its atmosphere brings meinspiration. I'm a believer in the genius loci. You smile, FriendWatson. Well, we shall see. By the way, you have that big umbrellaof yours, have you not?"
"It is here."
"Well, I'll borrow that if I may."
"Certainly -- but what a wretched weapon! If there is danger--"
"Nothing serious, my dear Watson, or I should certainly ask foryour assistance. But I'll take the umbrella. At present I am onlyawaiting the return of our colleagues from Tunbridge Wells, wherethey are at present engaged in trying for a likely owner to thebicycle."
It was nightfall before Inspector MacDonald and White Mason cameback from their expedition, and they arrived exultant, reporting agreat advance in our investigation.
"Man, I'll admeet that I had my doubts if there was ever anoutsider," said MacDonald, "but that's all past now. We've had thebicycle identified, and we have a description of our man; so that'sa long step on our journey."
"It sounds to me like the beginning of the end," said Holmes."I'm sure I congratulate you both with all my heart."
"Well, I started from the fact that Mr. Douglas had seemeddisturbed since the day before, when he had been at TunbridgeWells. It was at Tunbridge Wells then that he had become consciousof some danger. It was clear, therefore, that if a man had comeover with a bicycle it was from Tunbridge Wells that he might beexpected to have come. We took the bicycle over with us and showedit at the hotels. It was identified at once by the manager of theEagle Commercial as belonging to a man named Hargrave, who hadtaken a room there two days before. This bicycle and a small valisewere his whole belongings. He had registered his name as comingfrom London, but had given no address. The valise was London made,and the contents were British; but the man himself was undoubtedlyan American."
"Well, well," said Holmes gleefully, "you have indeed done somesolid work while I have been sitting spinning theories with myfriend! It's a lesson in being practical, Mr. Mac."
"Ay, it's just that, Mr. Holmes," said the inspector withsatisfaction.
"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. Wasthere nothing to identify this man?"
"So little that it was evident that he had carefully guardedhimself against identification. There were no papers or letters,and no marking upon the clothes. A cycle map of the county lay onhis bedroom table. He had left the hotel after breakfast yesterdaymorning on his bicycle, and no more was heard of him until ourinquiries."
"That's what puzzles me, Mr. Holmes," said White Mason. "If thefellow did not want the hue and cry raised over him, one wouldimagine that he would have returned and remained at the hotel as aninoffensive tourist. As it is, he must know that he will bereported to the police by the hotel manager and that hisdisappearance will be connected with the murder."
"So one would imagine. Still, he has been justified of hiswisdom up to date, at any rate, since he has not been taken. Buthis description -- what of that?"
MacDonald referred to his notebook. "Here we have it so far asthey could give it. They don't seem to have taken any veryparticular stock of him; but still the porter, the clerk, and thechambermaid are all agreed that this about covers the points. Hewas a man about five foot nine in height, fifty or so years of age,his hair slightly grizzled, a grayish moustache, a curved nose, anda face which all of them described as fierce and forbidding."
"Well, bar the expression, that might almost be a description ofDouglas himself," said Holmes. "He is just over fifty, withgrizzled hair and moustache, and about the same height. Did you getanything else?"
"He was dressed in a heavy gray suit with a reefer jacket, andhe wore a short yellow overcoat and a soft cap."
"What about the shotgun?"
"It is less than two feet long. It could very well have fittedinto his valise. He could have carried it inside his overcoatwithout difficulty."
"And how do you consider that all this bears upon the generalcase?"
"Well, Mr. Holmes," said MacDonald, "when we have got our man --and you may be sure that I had his description on the wires withinfive minutes of hearing it -- we shall be better able to judge.But, even as it stands, we have surely gone a long way. We knowthat an American calling himself Hargrave came to Tunbridge Wellstwo days ago with bicycle and valise. In the latter was a sawed-offshotgun; so he came with the deliberate purpose of crime. Yesterdaymorning he set off for this place on his bicycle, with his gunconcealed in his overcoat. No one saw him arrive, so far as we canlearn; but he need not pass through the village to reach the parkgates, and there are many cyclists upon the road. Presumably he atonce concealed his cycle among the laurels where it was found, andpossibly lurked there himself, with his eye on the house, waitingfor Mr. Douglas to come out. The shotgun is a strange weapon to useinside a house; but he had intended to use it outside, and there ithas very obvious advantages, as it would be impossible to miss withit, and the sound of shots is so common in an English sportingneighbourhood that no particular notice would be taken."
"That is all very clear," said Holmes.
"Well, Mr. Douglas did not appear. What was he to do next? Heleft his bicycle and approached the house in the twilight. He foundthe bridge down and no one about. He took his chance, intending, nodoubt, to make some excuse if he met anyone. He met no one. Heslipped into the first room that he saw, and concealed himselfbehind the curtain. Thence he could see the drawbridge go up, andhe knew that his only escape was through the moat. He waited untilquarter-past eleven, when Mr. Douglas upon his usual nightly roundcame into the room. He shot him and escaped, as arranged. He wasaware that the bicycle would be described by the hotel people andbe a clue against him; so he left it there and made his way by someother means to London or to some safe hiding place which he hadalready arranged. How is that, Mr. Holmes?"
"Well, Mr. Mac, it is very good and very clear so far as itgoes. That is your end of the story. My end is that the crime wascommitted half an hour earlier than reported; that Mrs. Douglas andBarker are both in a conspiracy to conceal something; that theyaided the murderer's escape -- or at least that they reached theroom before he escaped -- and that they fabricated evidence of hisescape through the window, whereas in all probability they hadthemselves let him go by lowering the bridge. That's my reading ofthe first half."
The two detectives shook their heads.
"Well, Mr. Holmes, if this is true, we only tumble out of onemystery into 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 connectioncould she have with an American assassin which would cause her toshelter him?"
"I freely admit the difficulties," said Holmes. "I propose tomake a little investigation of my own to-night, and it is justpossible that it may contribute something to the common cause."
"Can we help you, Mr. Holmes?"
"No, no! Darkness and Dr. Watson's umbrella -- my wants aresimple. And Ames, the faithful Ames, no doubt he will stretch apoint for me. All my lines of thought lead me back invariably tothe one basic question -- why should an athletic man develop hisframe upon so unnatural an instrument as a single dumb-bell?"
It was late that night when Holmes returned from his solitaryexcursion. We slept in a double-bedded room, which was the bestthat the little country inn could do for us. I was already asleepwhen I was partly awakened by his entrance.
"Well, Holmes," I murmured, "have you found anything out?"
He stood beside me in silence, his candle in his hand. Then thetall, lean figure inclined towards me. "I say, Watson," hewhispered, "would you be afraid to sleep in the same room with alunatic, a man with softening of the brain, an idiot whose mind haslost its grip?"
"Not in the least," I answered in astonishment.
"Ah, that's lucky," he said, and not another word would he utterthat night.
CHAPTER VII. THE SOLUTION
Next morning, after breakfast, we found Inspector MacDonald andWhite Mason seated in close consultation in the small parlour ofthe local police sergeant. On the table in front of them were pileda number of letters and telegrams, which they were carefullysorting and docketing. Three had been placed on one side.
"Still on the track of the elusive bicyclist?" Holmes askedcheerfully. "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 of them -- East Ham, Leicester, and Liverpool -- there isa clear case against him, and he has actually been arrested. Thecountry seems to be full of the fugitives 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 nodoubt remember, that I should not present you with half-provedtheories, but that I should retain and work out my own ideas untilI had satisfied myself that they were correct. For this reason I amnot at the present moment telling you all that is in my mind. Onthe other hand, I said that I would play the game fairly by you,and I do not think it is a fair game to allow you for oneunnecessary moment to waste your energies upon a profitless task.Therefore I am here to advise you this morning, and my advice toyou is summed up in three words -- abandon the case."
MacDonald and White Mason stared in amazement at theircelebrated colleague.
"You consider it hopeless!" cried the inspector.
"I consider your case to be hopeless. I do not consider that itis hopeless to arrive at the truth."
"But this cyclist. He is not an invention. We have hisdescription, his valise, his bicycle. The fellow must be somewhere.Why should we not get him?"
"Yes, yes, no doubt he is somewhere, and no doubt we shall gethim; but I would not have you waste your energies in East Ham orLiverpool. I am sure that we can find some shorter cut to aresult."
"You are holding something back. It's hardly fair of you, Mr.Holmes." The inspector was annoyed.
"You know my methods of work, Mr. Mac. But I will hold it backfor the shortest time possible. I only wish to verify my details inone way, which can very readily be done, and then I make my bow andreturn to London, leaving my results entirely at your service. Iowe you too much to act otherwise; for in all my experience Icannot recall any more singular and interesting study."
"This is clean beyond me, Mr. Holmes. We saw you when wereturned from Tunbridge Wells last night, and you were in generalagreement with our results. What has happened since then to giveyou a completely new idea of the case?"
"Well, since you ask me, I spent, as I told you that I would,some hours last night at the Manor House."
"Well, what happened?"
"Ah, I can only give you a very general answer to that for themoment. By the way, I have been reading a short but clear andinteresting account of the old building, purchasable at the modestsum of one penny from the local tobacconist."
Here Holmes drew a small tract, embellished with a rudeengraving of the ancient Manor House, from his waistcoatpocket.
"It immensely adds to the zest of an investigation, my dear Mr.Mac, when one is in conscious sympathy with the historicalatmosphere of one's surroundings. Don't look so impatient; for Iassure you that even so bald an account as this raises some sort ofpicture of the past in one's mind. Permit me to give you a sample.'Erected in the fifth year of the reign of James I, and standingupon the site of a much older building, the Manor House ofBirlstone presents one of the finest surviving examples of themoated Jacobean residence --' "
"You are making fools of us, Mr. Holmes!"
"Tut, tut, Mr. Mac! -- the first sign of temper I have detectedin you. Well, I won't read it verbatim, since you feel so stronglyupon the subject. But when I tell you that there is some account ofthe taking of the place by a parliamentary colonel in 1644, of theconcealment of Charles for several days in the course of the CivilWar, and finally of a visit there by the second George, you willadmit that there are various associations of interest connectedwith this ancient house."
"I don't doubt it, Mr. Holmes; but that is no business ofours."
"Is it not? Is it not? Breadth of view, my dear Mr. Mac, is oneof the essentials of our profession. The interplay of ideas and theoblique uses of knowledge are often of extraordinary interest. Youwill excuse these remarks from one who, though a mere connoisseurof crime, is still rather older and perhaps more experienced thanyourself."
"I'm the first to admit that," said the detective heartily. "Youget to your point, I admit; but you have such a deucedround-thecorner way of doing it."
"Well, well, I'll drop past history and get down to presentdayfacts. I called last night, as I have already said, at the ManorHouse. I did not see either Barker or Mrs. Douglas. I saw nonecessity to disturb them; but I was pleased to hear that the ladywas not visibly pining and that she had partaken of an excellentdinner. My visit was specially made to the good Mr. Ames, with whomI exchanged some amiabilities, which culminated in his allowing me,without reference to anyone else, to sit alone for a time in thestudy."
"What! With that?" I ejaculated.
"No, no, everything is now in order. You gave permission forthat, Mr. Mac, as I am informed. The room was in its normal state,and in it I passed an instructive quarter of an hour."
"What were you doing?"
"Well, not to make a mystery of so simple a matter, I waslooking for the missing dumb-bell. It has always bulked ratherlarge in my estimate of the case. I ended by finding it."
"Where?"
"Ah, there we come to the edge of the unexplored. Let me go alittle further, a very little further, and I will promise that youshall share everything that I know."
"Well, we're bound to take you on your own terms," said theinspector; "but when it comes to telling us to abandon the case --why in the name of goodness should we abandon the case?"
"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 ofBirlstone Manor."
"Yes, yes, so you are. But don't trouble to trace the mysteriousgentleman upon the bicycle. I assure you that it won't helpyou."
"Then what do you suggest that we do?"
"I will tell you exactly what to do, if you will do it."
"Well, I'm bound to say I've always found you had reason behindall your queer ways. I'll do what you advise."
"And you, Mr. White Mason?"
The country detective looked helplessly from one to the other.Holmes and his methods were new to him. "Well, if it is good enoughfor the inspector, 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 viewsfrom Birlstone Ridge over the Weald are very remarkable. No doubtlunch could be got at some suitable hostelry; though my ignoranceof the country prevents me from recommending one. In the evening,tired but happy --"
"Man, this is getting past a joke!" cried MacDonald, risingangrily from his chair.
"Well, well, spend the day as you like," said Holmes, pattinghim cheerfully upon the shoulder. "Do what you like and go whereyou will, but meet me here before dusk without fail -- withoutfail, Mr. Mac."
"That sounds more like sanity."
"All of it was excellent advice; but I don't insist, so long asyou are here when I need you. But now, before we part, I want youto write a note to Mr. Barker."
"Well?"
"I'll dictate it, if you like. Ready?
"Dear Sir:
"It has struck me that it is our duty to drain themoat, in the hope that we may find some --"
"It's impossible," said the inspector. "I've made inquiry."
"Tut, tut! My dear sir, please do what I ask you."
"Well, go on."
"-- in the hope that we may find something which maybear upon our investigation. I have made arrangements, and theworkmen will be at work early to-morrow morning diverting thestream --"
"Impossible!"
"-- diverting the stream; so I thought it best toexplain matters beforehand.
"Now sign that, and send it by hand about four o'clock. At thathour we shall meet again in this room. Until then we may each dowhat we like; for I can assure you that this inquiry has come to adefinite 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 nowto put everything to the test with me, and you will judge foryourselves whether the observations I have made justify theconclusions to which I have come. It is a chill evening, and I donot know how long our expedition may last; so I beg that you willwear your warmest coats. It is of the first importance that weshould be in our places before it grows dark; so with yourpermission we shall get started at once."
We passed along the outer bounds of the Manor House park untilwe came to a place where there was a gap in the rails which fencedit. Through this we slipped, and then in the gathering gloom wefollowed Holmes until we had reached a shrubbery which lies nearlyopposite to the main door and the drawbridge. The latter had notbeen raised. Holmes crouched down behind the screen of laurels, andwe all three followed his example.
"Well, what are we to do now?" asked MacDonald with somegruffness.
"Possess our souls in patience and make as little noise aspossible," Holmes answered.
"What are we here for at all? I really think that you mighttreat us with more frankness."
Holmes laughed. "Watson insists that I am the dramatist in reallife," said he. "Some touch of the artist wells up within me, andcalls insistently for a well-staged performance. Surely ourprofession, Mr. Mac, would be a drab and sordid one if we did notsometimes set the scene so as to glorify our results. The bluntaccusation, the brutal tap upon the shoulder -- what can one makeof such a denouement? But the quick inference, the subtle trap, theclever forecast of coming events, the triumphant vindication ofbold theories -- are these not the pride and the justification ofour life's work? At the present moment you thrill with the glamourof the situation and the anticipation of the hunt. Where would bethat thrill if I had been as definite as a timetable? I only ask alittle patience, Mr. Mac, and all will be clear to you."
"Well, I hope the pride and justification and the rest of itwill come before we all get our death of cold," said the Londondetective with comic resignation.
We all had good reason to join in the aspiration; for our vigilwas a long and bitter one. Slowly the shadows darkened over thelong, sombre face of the old house. A cold, damp reek from the moatchilled us to the bones and set our teeth chattering. There was asingle lamp over the gateway and a steady globe of light in thefatal study. Everything else was dark and still.
"How long is this to last?" asked the inspector finally. "Andwhat is it we are watching for?"
"I have no more notion than you how long it is to last," Holmesanswered with some asperity. "If criminals would always scheduletheir movements like railway trains, it would certainly be moreconvenient for all of us. As to what it is we -- Well, that's whatwe are watching for!"
As he spoke the bright, yellow light in the study was obscuredby somebody passing to and fro before it. The laurels among whichwe lay were immediately opposite the window and not more than ahundred feet from it. Presently it was thrown open with a whiningof hinges, and we could dimly see the dark outline of a man's headand shoulders looking out into the gloom. For some minutes hepeered forth in furtive, stealthy fashion, as one who wishes to beassured that he is unobserved. Then he leaned forward, and in theintense silence we were aware of the soft lapping of agitatedwater. He seemed to be stirring up the moat with something which heheld in his hand. Then suddenly he hauled something in as afisherman lands a fish -- some large, round object which obscuredthe light as it was dragged through the open casement.
"Now!" cried Holmes. "Now!"
We were all upon our feet, staggering after him with ourstiffened limbs, while he ran swiftly across the bridge and rangviolently at the bell. There was the rasping of bolts from theother side, and the amazed Ames stood in the entrance. Holmesbrushed him aside without a word and, followed by all of us, rushedinto the room which had been occupied by the man whom we had beenwatching.
The oil lamp on the table represented the glow which we had seenfrom outside. It was now in the hand of Cecil Barker, who held ittowards us as we entered. Its light shone upon his strong,resolute, clean-shaved face and his menacing eyes.
"What the devil is the meaning of all this?" he cried. "What areyou after, anyhow?"
Holmes took a swift glance round, and then pounced upon a soddenbundle tied together with cord which lay where it had been thrustunder the writing table.
"This is what we are after, Mr. Barker -- this bundle, weightedwith a dumb-bell, which you have just raised from the bottom of themoat."
Barker stared at Holmes with amazement in his face. "How inthunder came 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."You will remember, Inspector MacDonald, that I was somewhat struckby the absence of a dumb-bell. I drew your attention to it; butwith the pressure of other events you had hardly the time to giveit the consideration which would have enabled you to drawdeductions from it. When water is near and a weight is missing itis not a very far-fetched supposition that something has been sunkin the water. The idea was at least worth testing; so with the helpof Ames, who admitted me to the room, and the crook of Dr. Watson'sumbrella, I was able last night to fish up and inspect thisbundle.
"It was of the first importance, however, that we should be ableto prove who placed it there. This we accomplished by the veryobvious device of announcing that the moat would be driedto-morrow, which had, of course, the effect that whoever had hiddenthe bundle would most certainly withdraw it the moment thatdarkness enabled him to do so. We have no less than four witnessesas to who it was who took advantage of the opportunity, and so, Mr.Barker, I think the word lies now with you."
Sherlock Holmes put the sopping bundle upon the table beside thelamp and undid the cord which bound it. From within he extracted adumb-bell, which he tossed down to its fellow in the corner. Nexthe drew forth a pair of boots. "American, as you perceive," heremarked, pointing to the toes. Then he laid upon the table a long,deadly, sheathed knife. Finally he unravelled a bundle of clothing,comprising a complete set of underclothes, socks, a gray tweedsuit, and a short yellow overcoat.
"The clothes are commonplace," remarked Holmes, "save only theovercoat, which is full of suggestive touches." He held it tenderlytowards the light. "Here, as you perceive, is the inner pocketprolonged into the lining in such fashion as to give ample spacefor the truncated fowling piece. The tailor's tab is on the neck --'Neal, Outfitter, Vermissa, U. S. A.' I have spent an instructiveafternoon in the rector's library, and have enlarged my knowledgeby adding the fact that Vermissa is a flourishing little town atthe head of one of the best known coal and iron valleys in theUnited States. I have some recollection, Mr. Barker, that youassociated the coal districts with Mr. Douglas's first wife, and itwould surely not be too far-fetched an inference that the V. V.upon the card by the dead body might stand for Vermissa Valley, orthat this very valley which sends forth emissaries of murder may bethat Valley of Fear of which we have heard. So much is fairlyclear. And now, Mr. Barker, I seem to be standing rather in the wayof your explanation."
It was a sight to see Cecil Barker's expressive face during thisexposition of the great detective. Anger, amazement, consternation,and indecision swept over it in turn. Finally he took refuge in asomewhat acrid irony.
"You know such a lot, Mr. Holmes, perhaps you had better tell ussome more," he sneered.
"I have no doubt that I could tell you a great deal more, Mr.Barker; but it would come with a better grace from you."
"Oh, you think so, do you? Well, all I can say is that ifthere's any secret here it is not my secret, and I am not the manto give it away."
"Well, if you take that line, Mr. Barker," said the inspectorquietly, "we must just keep you in sight until we have the warrantand can hold you."
"You can do what you damn please about that," said Barkerdefiantly.
The proceedings seemed to have come to a definite end so far ashe was concerned; for one had only to look at that granite face torealize that no peine forte et dure would ever force him to pleadagainst his will. The deadlock was broken, however, by a woman'svoice. Mrs. Douglas had been standing listening at the half openeddoor, and now she entered the room.
"You have done enough for now, Cecil," said she. "Whatever comesof it in the future, you have done enough."
"Enough and more than enough," remarked Sherlock Holmes gravely."I have every sympathy with you, madam, and should strongly urgeyou to have some confidence in the common sense of our jurisdictionand to take the police voluntarily into your complete confidence.It may be that I am myself at fault for not following up the hintwhich you conveyed to me through my friend, Dr. Watson; but, atthat time I had every reason to believe that you were directlyconcerned in the crime. Now I am assured that this is not so. Atthe same time, there is much that is unexplained, and I shouldstrongly recommend that you ask Mr. Douglas to tell us his ownstory."
Mrs. Douglas gave a cry of astonishment at Holmes's words. Thedetectives and I must have echoed it, when we were aware of a manwho seemed to have emerged from the wall, who advanced now from thegloom of the corner in which he had appeared. Mrs. Douglas turned,and in an instant her arms were round him. Barker had seized hisoutstretched hand.
"It's best this way, Jack," his wife repeated; "I am sure thatit is best."
"Indeed, yes, Mr. Douglas," said Sherlock Holmes, "I am surethat you will find it best."
The man stood blinking at us with the dazed look of one whocomes from the dark into the light. It was a remarkable face, boldgray eyes, a strong, short-clipped, grizzled moustache, a square,projecting chin, and a humorous mouth. He took a good look at usall, and then to my amazement he advanced to me and handed me abundle of paper.
"I've heard of you," said he in a voice which was not quiteEnglish and not quite American, but was altogether mellow andpleasing. "You are the historian of this bunch. Well, Dr. Watson,you've never had such a story as that pass through your handsbefore, and I'll lay my last dollar on that. Tell it your own way;but there are the facts, and you can't miss the public so long asyou have those. I've been cooped up two days, and I've spent thedaylight hours -- as much daylight as I could get in that rat trap-- in putting the thing into words. You're welcome to them -- youand your public. There's the story of the Valley of Fear."
"That's the past, Mr. Douglas," said Sherlock Holmes quietly."What we desire now is to hear your story of the present."
"You'll have it, sir," said Douglas. "May I smoke as I talk?Well, thank you, Mr. Holmes. You're a smoker yourself, if Iremember right, and you'll guess what it is to be sitting for twodays with tobacco in your pocket and afraid that the smell willgive you away." He leaned against the mantelpiece and sucked at thecigar which Holmes had handed him. "I've heard of you, Mr. Holmes.I never guessed that I should meet you. But before you are throughwith that," he nodded at my papers, "you will say I've brought yousomething fresh."
Inspector MacDonald had been staring at the newcomer with thegreatest amazement. "Well, this fairly beats me!" he cried at last."If you are Mr. John Douglas of Birlstone Manor, then whose deathhave we been investigating for these two days, and where in theworld have you sprung from now? You seemed to me to come out of thefloor like a jack-in-a-box."
"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 dayswithout excellent hiding places, and the hiding place that has oncebeen used may be again. I had persuaded myself that we should findMr. Douglas under this roof."
"And how long have you been playing this trick upon us, Mr.Holmes?" said the inspector angrily. "How long have you allowed usto waste ourselves upon a search that you knew to be an absurdone?"
"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 thisevening, I invited you and your colleague to take a holiday for theday. Pray what more could I do? When I found the suit of clothes inthe moat, it at once became apparent to me that the body we hadfound could not have been the body of Mr. John Douglas at all, butmust be that of the bicyclist from Tunbridge Wells. No otherconclusion was possible. Therefore I had to determine where Mr.John Douglas himself could be, and the balance of probability wasthat with the connivance of his wife and his friend he wasconcealed in a house which had such conveniences for a fugitive,and awaiting quieter times when he could make his finalescape."
"Well, you figured it out about right," said Douglasapprovingly. "I thought I'd dodge your British law; for I was notsure how I stood under it, and also I saw my chance to throw thesehounds once for all off my track. Mind you, from first to last Ihave done nothing to be ashamed of, and nothing that I would not doagain; but you'll judge that for yourselves when I tell you mystory. Never mind warning me, Inspector: I'm ready to stand patupon the truth.
"I'm not going to begin at the beginning. That's all there," heindicated my bundle of papers, "and a mighty queer yarn you'll findit. It all comes down to this: That there are some men that havegood cause to hate me and would give their last dollar to know thatthey had got me. So long as I am alive and they are alive, there isno safety in this world for me. They hunted me from Chicago toCalifornia, then they chased me out of America; but when I marriedand settled down in this quiet spot I thought my last years weregoing to be peaceable.
"I never explained to my wife how things were. Why should I pullher into it? She would never have a quiet moment again; but wouldalways be imagining trouble. I fancy she knew something, for I mayhave dropped a word here or a word there; but until yesterday,after you gentlemen had seen her, she never knew the rights of thematter. She told you all she knew, and so did Barker here; for onthe night when this thing happened there was mighty little time forexplanations. She knows everything now, and I would have been awiser man if I had told her sooner. But it was a hard question,dear," he took her hand for an instant in his own, "and I acted forthe 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 wasonly a glimpse; but I have a quick eye for these things, and Inever doubted who it was. It was the worst enemy I had among themall -- one who has been after me like a hungry wolf after a caribouall these years. I knew there was trouble coming, and I came homeand made ready for it. I guessed I'd fight through it all right onmy own, my luck was a proverb in the States about '76. I neverdoubted that it would be with me still.
"I was on my guard all that next day, and never went out intothe park. It's as well, or he'd have had the drop on me with thatbuckshot gun of his before ever I could draw on him. After thebridge was up -- my mind was always more restful when that bridgewas up in the evenings -- I put the thing clear out of my head. Inever dreamed of his getting into the house and waiting for me. Butwhen I made my round in my dressing gown, as was my habit, I had nosooner entered the study than I scented danger. I guess when a manhas had dangers in his life -- and I've had more than most in mytime -- there is a kind of sixth sense that waves the red flag. Isaw the signal clear enough, and yet I couldn't tell you why. Nextinstant I spotted a boot under the window curtain, and then I sawwhy plain enough.
"I'd just the one candle that was in my hand; but there was agood light from the hall lamp through the open door. I put down thecandle and jumped for a hammer that I'd left on the mantel. At thesame moment he sprang at me. I saw the glint of a knife, and Ilashed at him with the hammer. I got him somewhere; for the knifetinkled down on the floor. He dodged round the table as quick as aneel, and a moment later he'd got his gun from under his coat. Iheard him cock it; but I had got hold of it before he could fire. Ihad it by the barrel, and we wrestled for it all ends up for aminute or more. It was death to the man that lost his grip.
"He never lost his grip; but he got it butt downward for amoment too long. Maybe it was I that pulled the trigger. Maybe wejust jolted it off between us. Anyhow, he got both barrels in theface, and there I was, staring down at all that was left of TedBaldwin. I'd recognized him in the township, and again when hesprang for me; but his own mother wouldn't recognize him as I sawhim then. I'm used to rough work; but I fairly turned sick at thesight of him.
"I was hanging on the side of the table when Barker camehurrying down. I heard my wife coming, and I ran to the door andstopped her. It was no sight for a woman. I promised I'd come toher soon. I said a word or two to Barker -- he took it all in at aglance -- and we waited for the rest to come along. But there wasno sign of them. Then we understood that they could hear nothing,and that all that had happened was known only to ourselves.
"It was at that instant that the idea came to me. I was fairlydazzled by the brilliance of it. The man's sleeve had slipped upand there was the branded mark of the lodge upon his forearm. Seehere!"
The man whom we had known as Douglas turned up his own coat andcuff to show a brown triangle within a circle exactly like thatwhich we had seen upon the dead man.
"It was the sight of that which started me on it. I seemed tosee it all clear at a glance. There were his height and hair andfigure, about the same as my own. No one could swear to his face,poor devil! I brought down this suit of clothes, and in a quarterof an hour Barker and I had put my dressing gown on him and he layas you found him. We tied all his things into a bundle, and Iweighted them with the only weight I could find and put themthrough the window. The card he had meant to lay upon my body waslying beside his own.
"My rings were put on his finger; but when it came to thewedding ring," he held out his muscular hand, "you can see foryourselves that I had struck the limit. I have not moved it sincethe day I was married, and it would have taken a file to get itoff. I don't know, anyhow, that I should have cared to part withit; but if I had wanted to I couldn't. So we just had to leave thatdetail 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 thisinstant. You slipped up there, Mr. Holmes, clever as you are; forif you had chanced to take off that plaster you would have found nocut underneath it.
"Well, that was the situation. If I could lie low for a whileand then get away where I could be joined by my 'widow' we shouldhave a chance at last of living in peace for the rest of our lives.These devils would give me no rest so long as I was above ground;but if they saw in the papers that Baldwin had got his man, therewould be an end of all my troubles. I hadn't much time to make itall clear to Barker and to my wife; but they understood enough tobe able to help me. I knew all about this hiding place, so didAmes; but it never entered his head to connect it with the matter.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 openedthe window 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 wasup there was no other way. Then, when everything was fixed, he rangthe bell for all he was worth. What happened afterward you know.And so, gentlemen, you can do what you please; but I've told youthe truth and the whole truth, so help me God! What I ask you nowis how do I stand by the 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 noworse than your deserts from that, Mr. Douglas. But I would ask youhow did this man know that you lived here, or how to get into yourhouse, or where to hide to get you?"
"I know nothing of this."
Holmes's face was very white and grave. "The story is not overyet, I fear," said he. "You may find worse dangers than the Englishlaw, or even than your enemies from America. I see trouble beforeyou, Mr. Douglas. You'll take my advice and still be on yourguard."
And now, my long-suffering readers, I will ask you to come awaywith me for a time, far from the Sussex Manor House of Birlstone,and far also from the year of grace in which we made our eventfuljourney which ended with the strange story of the man who had beenknown as John Douglas. I wish you to journey back some twenty yearsin time, and westward some thousands of miles in space, that I maylay before you a singular and terrible narrative -- so singular andso terrible that you may find it hard to believe that even as Itell it, even so did it occur.
Do not think that I intrude one story before another isfinished. As you read on you will find that this is not so. Andwhen I have detailed those distant events and you have solved thismystery of the past, we shall meet once more in those rooms onBaker Street, where this, like so many other wonderful happenings,will find its end.
PART II
The Scowrers
CHAPTER I. THE MAN
It was the fourth of February in the year 1875. It had been asevere winter, and the snow lay deep in the gorges of the GilmertonMountains. The steam ploughs had, however, kept the railroad open,and the evening train which connects the long line of coal-miningand iron-working settlements was slowly groaning its way up thesteep gradients which lead from Stagville on the plain to Vermissa,the central township which lies at the head of Vermissa Valley.From this point the track sweeps downward to Bartons Crossing,Helmdale, and the purely agricultural county of Merton. It was asingle-track railroad; but at every siding -- and they werenumerous -- long lines of trucks piled with coal and iron ore toldof the hidden wealth which had brought a rude population and abustling life to this most desolate corner of the United States ofAmerica.
For desolate it was! Little could the first pioneer who hadtraversed it have ever imagined that the fairest prairies and themost lush water pastures were valueless compared to this gloomyland of black crag and tangled forest. Above the dark and oftenscarcely penetrable woods upon their flanks, the high, bare crownsof the mountains, white snow, and jagged rock towered upon eachflank, leaving a long, winding, tortuous valley in the centre. Upthis the little train was slowly crawling.
The oil lamps had just been lit in the leading passenger car, along, bare carriage in which some twenty or thirty people wereseated. The greater number of these were workmen returning fromtheir day's toil in the lower part of the valley. At least a dozen,by their grimed faces and the safety lanterns which they carried,proclaimed themselves miners. These sat smoking in a group andconversed in low voices, glancing occasionally at two men on theopposite side of the car, whose uniforms and badges showed them tobe policemen.
Several women of the labouring class and one or two travellerswho might have been small local storekeepers made up the rest ofthe company, with the exception of one young man in a corner byhimself. It is with this man that we are concerned. Take a goodlook at him, for he is worth it.
He is a fresh-complexioned, middle-sized young man, not far, onewould guess, from his thirtieth year. He has large, shrewd,humorous gray eyes which twinkle inquiringly from time to time ashe looks round through his spectacles at the people about him. Itis easy to see that he is of a sociable and possibly simpledisposition, anxious to be friendly to all men. Anyone could pickhim at once as gregarious in his habits and communicative in hisnature, with a quick wit and a ready smile. And yet the man whostudied him more closely might discern a certain firmness of jawand grim tightness about the lips which would warn him that therewere depths beyond, and that this pleasant, brown-haired youngIrishman might conceivably leave his mark for good or evil upon anysociety to which he was introduced.
Having made one or two tentative remarks to the nearest miner,and receiving only short, gruff replies, the traveller resignedhimself to uncongenial silence, staring moodily out of the windowat the fading landscape.
It was not a cheering prospect. Through the growing gloom therepulsed the red glow of the furnaces on the sides of the hills.Great heaps of slag and dumps of cinders loomed up on each side,with the high shafts of the collieries towering above them. Huddledgroups of mean, wooden houses, the windows of which were beginningto outline themselves in light, were scattered here and there alongthe line, and the frequent halting places were crowded with theirswarthy inhabitants.
The iron and coal valleys of the Vermissa district were noresorts for the leisured or the cultured. Everywhere there werestern signs of the crudest battle of life, the rude work to bedone, and the rude, strong workers who did it.
The young traveller gazed out into this dismal country with aface of mingled repulsion and interest, which showed that the scenewas new to him. At intervals he drew from his pocket a bulky letterto which he referred, and on the margins of which he scribbled somenotes. Once from the back of his waist he produced something whichone would hardly have expected to find in the possession of somild-mannered a man. It was a navy revolver of the largest size. Ashe turned it slantwise to the light, the glint upon the rims of thecopper shells within the drum showed that it was fully loaded. Hequickly restored it to his secret pocket, but not before it hadbeen observed by a working man who had seated himself upon theadjoining 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 comefrom."
"And where may that be?"
"I'm 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.
"Have you heard nothing of doings hereabouts?"
"Nothing out of the way."
"Why, I thought the country was full of it. You'll hear quickenough. What made you come here?"
"I heard there was always work for a willing man."
"Are you a member of the union?"
"Sure."
"Then you'll get your job, I guess. Have you any friends?"
"Not yet; but I have the means of making them."
"How's that, then?"
"I am one of the Eminent Order of Freemen. There's no townwithout a lodge, and where there is a lodge I'll find myfriends."
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.He came across, seated himself close to the young traveller, andheld out his hand.
"Put it there," he said.
A hand-grip passed between the two.
"I see you speak the truth," said the workman. "But it's well tomake certain." He raised his right hand to his right eyebrow. Thetraveller at once raised his left hand to his left eyebrow.
"Dark nights are unpleasant," said the workman.
"Yes, for strangers to travel," the other answered.
"That's good enough. I'm Brother Scanlan, Lodge 341, VermissaValley. Glad to see you in these parts."
"Thank you. I'm Brother John McMurdo, Lodge 29, Chicago.Bodymaster J. H. Scott. But I am in luck to meet a brother soearly."
"Well, there are plenty of us about. You won't find the ordermore flourishing anywhere in the States than right here in VermissaValley. But we could do with some lads like you. I can't understanda spry man of the union 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 awhisper.
"Deep."
"A penitentiary job?"
"And the rest."
"Not a killing!"
"It's early days to talk of such things," said McMurdo with theair of a man who had been surprised into saying more than heintended. "I've my own good reasons for leaving Chicago, and letthat be enough for you. Who are you that you should take it onyourself to ask such things?" His gray eyes gleamed with sudden anddangerous anger from behind his glasses.
"All right, mate, no offense meant. The boys will think none theworse of you, whatever you may have done. Where are you bound fornow?"
"Vermissa."
"That's the third halt down the line. Where are youstaying?"
McMurdo took out an envelope and held it close to the murky oillamp. "Here is the address -- Jacob Shafter, Sheridan Street. It'sa boarding house that was recommended by a man I knew inChicago."
"Well, I don't know it; but Vermissa is out of my beat. I liveat Hobson's Patch, and that's here where we are drawing up. But,say, there's one bit of advice I'll give you before we part: Ifyou're in trouble in Vermissa, go straight to the Union House andsee Boss McGinty. He is the Bodymaster of Vermissa Lodge, andnothing can happen in these parts unless Black Jack McGinty wantsit. So long, mate! Maybe we'll meet in lodge one of these evenings.But mind my words: If you are in trouble, go to Boss McGinty."
Scanlan descended, and McMurdo was left once again to histhoughts. Night had now fallen, and the flames of the frequentfurnaces were roaring and leaping in the darkness. Against theirlurid background dark figures were bending and straining, twistingand turning, with the motion of winch or of windlass, to the rhythmof 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 inhis seat and was staring out into the fiery waste.
"For that matter," said the other policeman, "I allow that hellmust be something like that. If there are worse devils down yonderthan some we could name, it's more than I'd expect. I guess you arenew 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 inchoosing your friends. I don't think I'd begin with Mike Scanlan orhis gang if I were you."
"What the hell is it to you who are my friends?" roared McMurdoin a voice which brought every head in the carriage round towitness the altercation. "Did I ask you for your advice, or did youthink me such a sucker that I couldn't move without it? You speakwhen you are spoken to, and by the Lord you'd have to wait a longtime if it was me!" He thrust out his face and grinned at thepatrolmen like a snarling dog.
The two policemen, heavy, good-natured men, were taken aback bythe extraordinary vehemence with which their friendly advances hadbeen rejected.
"No offense, stranger," said one. "It was a warning for your owngood, seeing that you are, by your own showing, new to theplace."
"I'm new to the place; but I'm not new to you and your kind!"cried McMurdo in cold fury. "I guess you're the same in all places,shoving your advice in when nobody asks for it."
"Maybe we'll see more of you before very long," said one of thepatrolmen with a grin. "You're a real hand-picked one, if I am ajudge."
"I was thinking the same," remarked the other. "I guess we maymeet again."
"I'm not afraid of you, and don't you think it!" cried McMurdo."My name's Jack McMurdo -- see? If you want me, you'll find me atJacob Shafter's on Sheridan Street, Vermissa; so I'm not hidingfrom you, am I? Day or night I dare to look the like of you in theface -- don't make any mistake 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 betweenthemselves.
A few minutes later the train ran into the ill-lit station, andthere was a general clearing; for Vermissa was by far the largesttown on the line. McMurdo picked up his leather gripsack and wasabout to start off into the darkness, when one of the minersaccosted him.
"By Gar, mate! you know how to speak to the cops," he said in avoice of awe. "It was grand to hear you. Let me carry your grip andshow you the road. I'm passing Shafter's on the way to my ownshack."
There was a chorus of friendly "Good-nights" from the otherminers as they passed from the platform. Before ever he had setfoot in it, McMurdo the turbulent had become a character inVermissa.
The country had been a place of terror; but the town was in itsway even more depressing. Down that long valley there was at leasta certain gloomy grandeur in the huge fires and the clouds ofdrifting smoke, while the strength and industry of man foundfitting monuments in the hills which he had spilled by the side ofhis monstrous excavations. But the town showed a dead level of meanugliness and squalor. The broad street was churned up by thetraffic into a horrible rutted paste of muddy snow. The sidewalkswere narrow and uneven. The numerous gas-lamps served only to showmore clearly a long line of wooden houses, each with its verandafacing the street, unkempt and dirty.
As they approached the centre of the town the scene wasbrightened by a row of well-lit stores, and even more by a clusterof saloons and gaming houses, in which the miners spent theirhard-earned but generous wages.
"That's the Union House," said the guide, pointing to one saloonwhich rose almost to the dignity of being a hotel. "Jack McGinty isthe boss there."
"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 astranger in these parts?"
"Well, I thought his name was known clear across the country.It's been in the papers often enough."
"What for?"
"Well," the miner lowered his voice -- "over the affairs."
"What affairs?"
"Good Lord, mister! you are queer, if I must say it withoutoffense. There's only one set of affairs that you'll hear of inthese parts, and that's the 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,and gazing in amazement at his companion. "Man, you won't live longin these parts if you speak in the open street like that. Many aman has had the life beaten out of him for less."
"Well, I know nothing about them. It's only what I haveread."
"And I'm not saying that you have not read the truth." The manlooked nervously round him as he spoke, peering into the shadows asif he feared to see some lurking danger. "If killing is murder,then God knows there is murder and to spare. But don't you dare tobreathe the name of Jack McGinty in connection with it, stranger;for every whisper goes back to him, and he is not one that islikely to let it pass. Now, that's the house you're after, that onestanding back from the street. You'll find old Jacob Shafter thatruns it as honest a man as lives in this township."
"I thank you," said McMurdo, and shaking hands with his newacquaintance he plodded, gripsack in hand, up the path which led tothe dwelling house, at the door of which he gave a resoundingknock.
It was opened at once by someone very different from what he hadexpected. It was a woman, young and singularly beautiful. She wasof the German type, blonde and fair-haired, with the piquantcontrast of a pair of beautiful dark eyes with which she surveyedthe stranger with surprise and a pleasing embarrassment whichbrought a wave of colour over her pale face. Framed in the brightlight of the open doorway, it seemed to McMurdo that he had neverseen a more beautiful picture; the more attractive for its contrastwith the sordid and gloomy surroundings. A lovely violet growingupon one of those black slag-heaps of the mines would not haveseemed more surprising. So entranced was he that he stood staringwithout a word, and it was she who broke the silence.
"I thought it was father," said she with a pleasing little touchof a German accent. "Did you come to see him? He is downtown. Iexpect him back every minute."
McMurdo continued to gaze at her in open admiration until hereyes dropped in confusion before this masterful visitor.
"No, miss," he said at last, "I'm in no hurry to see him. Butyour house was recommended to me for board. I thought it might suitme -- and now I know 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 otheranswered.
She laughed at the compliment. "Come right in, sir," she said."I'm Miss Ettie Shafter, Mr. Shafter's daughter. My mother's dead,and I run the house. You can sit down by the stove in the frontroom until father comes along -- Ah, here he is! So you can fixthings with him right away."
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 fromsomeone else. Old Shafter was quite ready. The stranger made nobones about terms, agreed at once to every condition, and wasapparently fairly flush of money. For seven dollars a week paid inadvance he was to have board and lodging.
So it was that McMurdo, the self-confessed fugitive fromjustice, took up his abode under the roof of the Shafters, thefirst step which was to lead to so long and dark a train of events,ending in a far distant land.
CHAPTER II. THE BODYMASTER
McMurdo was a man who made his mark quickly. Wherever he was thefolk around soon knew it. Within a week he had become infinitelythe most important person at Shafter's. There were ten or a dozenboarders there; but they were honest foremen or commonplace clerksfrom the stores, of a very different calibre from the youngIrishman. Of an evening when they gathered together his joke wasalways the readiest, his conversation the brightest, and his songthe best. He was a born boon companion, with a magnetism which drewgood humour from all around him.
And yet he showed again and again, as he had shown in therailway carriage, a capacity for sudden, fierce anger, whichcompelled the respect and even the fear of those who met him. Forthe law, too, and all who were connected with it, he exhibited abitter contempt which delighted some and alarmed others of hisfellow boarders.
From the first he made it evident, by his open admiration, thatthe daughter of the house had won his heart from the instant thathe had set eyes upon her beauty and her grace. He was no backwardsuitor. On the second day he told her that he loved her, and fromthen onward he repeated the same story with an absolute disregardof what she might say to discourage him.
"Someone else?" he would cry. "Well, the worse luck for someoneelse! Let him look out for himself! Am I to lose my life's chanceand all my heart's desire for someone else? You can keep on sayingno, Ettie: the day will come when you will say yes, and I'm youngenough to wait."
He was a dangerous suitor, with his glib Irish tongue, and hispretty, coaxing ways. There was about him also that glamour ofexperience and of mystery which attracts a woman's interest, andfinally her love. He could talk of the sweet valleys of CountyMonaghan from which he came, of the lovely, distant island, the lowhills and green meadows of which seemed the more beautiful whenimagination viewed them from this place of grime and snow.
Then he was versed in the life of the cities of the North, ofDetroit, and the lumber camps of Michigan, and finally of Chicago,where he had worked in a planing mill. And afterwards came the hintof romance, the feeling that strange things had happened to him inthat great city, so strange and so intimate that they might not bespoken of. He spoke wistfully of a sudden leaving, a breaking ofold ties, a flight into a strange world, ending in this drearyvalley, and Ettie listened, her dark eyes gleaming with pity andwith sympathy -- those two qualities which may turn so rapidly andso 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 hadnot found occasion yet to report himself to the head of the lodgeof the Eminent Order of Freemen. He was reminded of his omission,however, by a visit one evening from Mike Scanlan, the fellowmember whom he had met in the train. Scanlan, the small,sharp-faced, nervous, black-eyed man, seemed glad to see him oncemore. After a glass or two of whisky he broached the object of hisvisit.
"Say, McMurdo," said he, "I remembered your address, so l madebold to call. I'm surprised that you've not reported to theBodymaster. Why haven't 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.Good Lord, man! you're a fool not to have been down to the UnionHouse and registered your name the first morning after you camehere! If you run against him -- well, you mustn't, that's all!"
McMurdo showed mild surprise. "I've been a member of the lodgefor over two years, Scanlan, but I never heard that duties were sopressing as all that."
"Maybe not in Chicago."
"Well, it's the same society here."
"Is it?"
Scanlan looked at him long and fixedly. There was somethingsinister in his eyes.
"Isn't it?"
"You'll tell me that in a month's time. I hear you had a talkwith the patrolmen after I left the train."
"How did you know that?"
"Oh, it got about -- things do get about for good and for bad inthis district."
"Well, yes. I told the hounds what I thought of them."
"By the Lord, you'll be a man after McGinty's heart!"
"What, does he hate the police too?"
Scanlan burst out laughing. "You go and see him, my lad," saidhe as he took his leave. "It's not the police but you that he'llhate if you don't! Now, take a friend's 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 mayhave been that his attentions to Ettie had been more evident thanbefore, or that they had gradually obtruded themselves into theslow mind of his good German host; but, whatever the cause, theboarding-house keeper beckoned the young man into his private roomand started on the subject without any circumlocution.
"It seems to me, mister," said he, "that you are gettin' set onmy Ettie. Ain't that so, or am I wrong?"
"Yes, that is so," the young man answered.
"Vell, I vant to tell you right now that it ain't no manner ofuse. There's someone slipped in afore you."
"She told me so."
"Vell, you can lay that she told you truth. But did she tell youwho it vas?"
"No, I asked her; but she wouldn't tell."
"I dare say not, the leetle baggage! Perhaps she did not vish tofrighten you avay."
"Frighten!" McMurdo was on fire in a moment.
"Ah, yes, my friend! You need not be ashamed to be frightened ofhim. It is Teddy Baldwin."
"And who the devil is he?"
"He is a boss of Scowrers."
"Scowrers! I've heard of them before. It's Scowrers here andScowrers there, and always in a whisper! What are you all afraidof? Who are the Scowrers?"
The boarding-house keeper instinctively sank his voice, aseveryone did who talked about that terrible society. "TheScowrers," said he, "are the Eminent Order of Freemen!"
The young man stared. "Why, I am a member of that ordermyself."
"You! I vould never have had you in my house if I had known it-- not if you vere to pay me a hundred dollar a week."
"What's wrong with the order? It's for charity and goodfellowship. The rules say so."
"Maybe in some places. Not here!"
"What is it here?"
"It's a murder society, that's vat it is."
McMurdo laughed incredulously. "How can you prove that?" heasked.
"Prove it! Are there not fifty murders to prove it? Vat aboutMilman and Van Shorst, and the Nicholson family, and old Mr. Hyam,and little Billy James, and the others? Prove it! Is there a man ora voman in this valley vat does not know it?"
"See here!" said McMurdo earnestly. "I want you to take backwhat you've said, or else make it good. One or the other you mustdo before I quit this room. Put yourself in my place. Here am I, astranger in the town. I belong to a society that I know only as aninnocent one. You'll find it through the length and breadth of theStates, but always as an innocent one. Now, when I am counting uponjoining it here, you tell me that it is the same as a murdersociety called the Scowrers. I guess you owe me either an apologyor else an explanation, Mr. Shafter."
"I can but tell you vat the whole vorld knows, mister. Thebosses of the one are the bosses of the other. If you offend theone, it is the other vat vill strike you. We have proved it toooften."
"That's just gossip -- I want proof!" said McMurdo.
"If you live here long you vill get your proof. But I forgetthat you are yourself one of them. You vill soon be as bad as therest. But you vill find other lodgings, mister. I cannot have youhere. Is it not bad enough that one of these people come courtingmy Ettie, and that I dare not turn him down, but that I should haveanother for my boarder? Yes, indeed, you shall not sleep here afterto-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 histroubles into her ear.
"Sure, your father is after giving me notice," he said. "It'slittle I would care if it was just my room, but indeed, Ettie,though it's only a week that I've known you, you are the verybreath of life to me, and I can't live without you!"
"Oh, hush, Mr. McMurdo, don't speak so!" said the girl. "I havetold you, have I not, that you are too late? There is another, andif I have not promised to marry him at once, at least I can promiseno one else."
"Suppose I had been first, Ettie, would I have had achance?"
The girl sank her face into her hands. "I wish to heaven thatyou had been first!" she sobbed.
McMurdo was down on his knees before her in an instant. "ForGod's sake, Ettie, let it stand at that!" he cried. "Will you ruinyour life and my own for the sake of this promise? Follow yourheart, acushla! 'Tis a safer guide than any promise before you knewwhat it was that you were saying."
He had seized Ettie's white hand between his own strong brownones.
"Say that you will be mine, and we will face it outtogether!"
"Not here?"
"Yes, here."
"No, no, Jack!" His arms were round her now. "It could not behere. Could you take me away?"
A struggle passed for a moment over McMurdo's face; but it endedby setting like granite. "No, here," he said. "I'll hold youagainst the world, Ettie, right here where we are!"
"Why should we not leave together?"
"No, Ettie, I can't leave here."
"But why?"
"I'd never hold my head up again if I felt that I had beendriven out. Besides, what is there to be afraid of? Are we not freefolks in a free country? If you love me, and I you, who will dareto come between?"
"You don't know, Jack. You've been here too short a time. Youdon't know this Baldwin. You don't know McGinty and hisScowrers."
"No, I don't know them, and I don't fear them, and I don'tbelieve in them!" said McMurdo. "I've lived among rough men, mydarling, and instead of fearing them it has always ended that theyhave feared me -- always, Ettie. It's mad on the face of it! Ifthese men, as your father says, have done crime after crime in thevalley, and if everyone knows them by name, how comes it that noneare brought to justice? You answer me that, Ettie!"
"Because no witness dares to appear against them. He would notlive a month if he did. Also because they have always their own mento swear that the accused one was far from the scene of the crime.But surely, Jack, you must have read all this. I had understoodthat every paper in the United States was writing about it."
"Well, I have read something, it is true; but I had thought itwas a story. Maybe these men have some reason in what they do.Maybe they are wronged and have no other way to helpthemselves."
"Oh, Jack, don't let me hear you speak so! That is how he speaks-- the other one!"
"Baldwin -- he speaks like that, does he?"
"And that is why I loathe him so. Oh, Jack, now I can tell youthe truth. I loathe him with all my heart; but I fear him also. Ifear him for myself; but above all I fear him for father. I knowthat some great sorrow would come upon us if I dared to say what Ireally felt. That is why I have put him off with halfpromises. Itwas in real truth our only hope. But if you would fly with me,Jack, we could take father with us and live forever far from thepower of these wicked men."
Again there was the struggle upon McMurdo's face, and again itset like granite. "No harm shall come to you, Ettie -- nor to yourfather either. As to wicked men, I expect you may find that I am asbad as the worst of them before we're 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 ispassing in mine. But, hullo, who's the visitor?"
The door had opened suddenly, and a young fellow came swaggeringin with the air of one who is the master. He was a handsome,dashing young man of about the same age and build as McMurdohimself. Under his broad-brimmed black felt hat, which he had nottroubled to remove, a handsome face with fierce, domineering eyesand a curved hawk-bill of a nose looked savagely at the pair whosat by the stove.
Ettie had jumped to her feet full of confusion and alarm. "I'mglad to see you, Mr. Baldwin," said she. "You're earlier than I hadthought. Come and sit down."
Baldwin stood with his hands on his hips looking at McMurdo."Who is this?" he asked curtly.
"It's 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?" saidBaldwin.
"I didn't understand that there was any relation betweenyou."
"Didn't you? Well, you can understand it now. You can take itfrom me that this young lady is mine, and you'll find it a veryfine evening for a walk."
"Thank you, I am in no humour for a walk."
"Aren't you?" The man's 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 neversaid a more welcome word."
"For God's sake, Jack! Oh, for God's sake!" cried poor,distracted Ettie. "Oh, Jack, Jack, he will hurt you!"
"Oh, it's Jack, is it?" said Baldwin with an oath. "You've cometo that already, have you?"
"Oh, Ted, be reasonable -- be kind! For my sake, Ted, if everyou loved me, be big-hearted and forgiving!"
"I think, Ettie, that if you were to leave us alone we could getthis thing settled," said McMurdo quietly. "Or maybe, Mr. Baldwin,you will take a turn down the street with me. It's a fine evening,and there's some open ground beyond the next block."
"I'll get even with you without needing to dirty my hands," saidhis enemy. "You'll wish you had never set foot in this house beforeI am through with you!"
"No time like the present," cried McMurdo.
"I'll choose my own time, mister. You can leave the time to me.See here!" He suddenly rolled up his sleeve and showed upon hisforearm a peculiar sign which appeared to have been branded there.It was a circle with a triangle within it. "D'you know what thatmeans?"
"I neither know nor care!"
"Well, you will know, I'll promise you that. You won't be mucholder, either. Perhaps Miss Ettie can tell you something about it.As to you, Ettie, you'll come back to me on your knees -- d'yehear, girl? -- on your knees -- and then I'll tell you what yourpunishment may be. You've sowed -- and by the Lord, I'll see thatyou reap!" He glanced at them both in fury. Then he turned upon hisheel, and an instant later the outer door had banged behindhim.
For a few moments McMurdo and the girl stood in silence. Thenshe threw her arms around him.
"Oh, Jack, how brave you were! But it is no use, you must fly!To-night -- Jack -- to-night! It's your only hope. He will haveyour life. I read it in his horrible eyes. What chance have youagainst a dozen of them, with Boss McGinty and all the power of thelodge behind them?"
McMurdo disengaged her hands, kissed her, and gently pushed herback into a chair. "There, acushla, there! Don't be disturbed orfear for me. I'm a Freeman myself. I'm after telling your fatherabout it. Maybe I am no better than the others; so don't make asaint of me. Perhaps you hate me too, now that I've told you asmuch?"
"Hate you, Jack? While life lasts I could never do that! I'veheard that there is no harm in being a Freeman anywhere but here;so why should I think the worse of you for that? But if you are aFreeman, Jack, why should you not go down and make a friend of BossMcGinty? Oh, hurry, Jack, hurry! Get your word in first, or thehounds will be on your trail."
"I was thinking the same thing," said McMurdo. "I'll go rightnow and fix it. You can tell your father that I'll sleep hereto-night and find some other quarters in the morning."
The bar of McGinty's saloon was crowded as usual, for it was thefavourite loafing place of all the rougher elements of the town.The man was popular; for he had a rough, jovial disposition whichformed a mask, covering a great deal which lay behind it. But apartfrom this popularity, the fear in which he was held throughout thetownship, and indeed down the whole thirty miles of the valley andpast the mountains on each side of it, was enough in itself to fillhis bar; for none could afford to neglect his good will.
Besides those secret powers which it was universally believedthat he exercised in so pitiless a fashion, he was a high publicofficial, a municipal councillor, and a commissioner of roads,elected to the office through the votes of the ruffians who in turnexpected to receive favours at his hands. Assessments and taxeswere enormous; the public works were notoriously neglected, theaccounts were slurred over by bribed auditors, and the decentcitizen was terrorized into paying public blackmail, and holdinghis tongue lest some worse thing befall him.
Thus it was that, year by year, Boss McGinty's diamond pinsbecame more obtrusive, his gold chains more weighty across a moregorgeous vest, and his saloon stretched farther and farther, untilit threatened to absorb 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 blurredwith tobacco smoke and heavy with the smell of spirits. The placewas brilliantly lighted, and the huge, heavily gilt mirrors uponevery wall reflected and multiplied the garish illumination. Therewere several bartenders in their shirt sleeves, hard at work mixingdrinks for the loungers who fringed the broad, brass-trimmedcounter.
At the far end, with his body resting upon the bar and a cigarstuck at an acute angle from the corner of his mouth, stood a tall,strong, heavily built man who could be none other than the famousMcGinty himself. He was a black-maned giant, bearded to thecheek-bones, and with a shock of raven hair which fell to hiscollar. His complexion was as swarthy as that of an Italian, andhis eyes were of a strange dead black, which, combined with aslight squint, gave them a particularly sinister appearance.
All else in the man -- his noble proportions, his fine features,and his frank bearing -- fitted in with that jovial, man-to-manmanner which he affected. Here, one would say, is a bluff, honestfellow, whose heart would be sound however rude his outspoken wordsmight seem. It was only when those dead, dark eyes, deep andremorseless, were turned upon a man that he shrank within himself,feeling that he was face to face with an infinite possibility oflatent evil, with a strength and courage and cunning behind itwhich 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 himselfthrough the little group of courtiers who were fawning upon thepowerful boss, laughing uproariously at the smallest of his jokes.The young stranger's bold gray eyes looked back fearlessly throughtheir glasses at the deadly black ones which turned sharply uponhim.
"Well, young man, I can't call your face to mind."
"I'm new here, Mr. McGinty."
"You are not so new that you can't give a gentleman his propertitle."
"He's Councillor McGinty, young man," said a voice from thegroup.
"I'm sorry, Councillor. I'm strange to the ways of the place.But I was advised to see you."
"Well, you see me. This is all there is. What d'you think ofme?"
"Well, it's early days. If your heart is as big as your body,and your soul as fine as your face, then I'd ask for nothingbetter," said McMurdo.
"By Gar! you've got an Irish tongue in your head anyhow," criedthe saloon-keeper, not quite certain whether to humour thisaudacious visitor or 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 healthCouncillor, and to our better acquaintance." He raised a glass withwhich he had been served to his lips and elevated his little fingeras he drank it.
McGinty, who had been watching him narrowly, raised his thickblack eyebrows. "Oh, it's like that, is it?" said he. "I'll have tolook a bit closer into this, Mister --"
"McMurdo."
"A bit closer, Mr. McMurdo; for we don't take folk on trust inthese parts, nor believe all we're told neither. Come in here for amoment, behind the bar."
There was a small room there, lined with barrels. McGintycarefully closed the door, and then seated himself on one of them,biting thoughtfully on his cigar and surveying his companion withthose disquieting eyes. For a couple of minutes he sat in completesilence. McMurdo bore the inspection cheerfully, one hand in hiscoat pocket, the other twisting his brown moustache. SuddenlyMcGinty stooped and produced a wicked-looking revolver.
"See here, my joker," said he, "if I thought you were playingany game on 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 strangerbrother."
"Ay, but it's just that same that you have to prove," saidMcGinty, "and God 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 doinghere?"
"Working, the same as you -- but 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 heardanything of the lodge in these parts?"
"I've heard that it takes a man to be a brother."
"True for you, Mr. McMurdo. Why did you leave Chicago?"
"I'm damned if I tell you that!"
McGinty opened his eyes. He was not used to being answered insuch fashion, and it amused him. "Why won't 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 can't expect me, as Bodymaster, to passinto the lodge a man for whose past he can't answer."
McMurdo looked puzzled. Then he took a worn newspaper cuttingfrom an inner pocket.
"You wouldn't squeal on a fellow?" said he.
"I'll wipe my hand across your face if you say such words tome!" cried McGinty hotly.
"You are right, Councillor," said McMurdo meekly. "I shouldapologize. I spoke without thought. Well, I know that I am safe inyour hands. Look at that clipping."
McGinty glanced his eyes over the account of the shooting of oneJonas Pinto, in the Lake Saloon, Market Street, Chicago, in the NewYear week of 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.This man Pinto helped me to shove the queer --"
"To do what?"
"Well, it means to pass the dollars out into circulation. Thenhe said he would split. Maybe he did split. I didn't wait to see. Ijust killed him and lighted out for the coal country."
"Why the coal country?"
"'Cause I'd read in the papers that they weren't too particularin those parts."
McGinty laughed. "You were first a coiner and then a murderer,and you came to these parts because you thought you'd bewelcome."
"That's about the size of it," McMurdo answered.
"Well, I guess you'll go far. Say, can you make those dollarsyet?"
McMurdo took half a dozen from his pocket. "Those never passedthe Philadelphia mint," said he.
"You don't say!" McGinty held them to the light in his enormoushand, which was hairy as a gorilla's. "I can see no difference.Gar! you'll be a mighty useful brother, I'm thinking! We can dowith a bad man or two among us, Friend McMurdo: for there are timeswhen we have to take our own part. We'd soon be against the wall ifwe didn't shove back at those that were pushing us."
"Well, I guess I'll do my share of shoving with the rest of theboys."
"You seem to have a good nerve. You didn't squirm when I shovedthis gun at you."
"It was not me that was in danger."
"Who then?"
"It was you, Councillor." McMurdo drew a cocked pistol from theside pocket of his peajacket. "I was covering you all the time. Iguess my shot would have been as quick as yours."
"By Gar!" McGinty flushed an angry red and then burst into aroar of laughter. "Say, we've had no such holy terror come to handthis many a year. I reckon the lodge will learn to be proud ofyou.... Well, what the hell do you want? And can't I speak alonewith a gentleman for five minutes but you must butt in on us?"
The bartender stood abashed. "I'm sorry, Councillor, but it'sTed Baldwin. 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 servant's shoulder. He pushed thebartender out and closed the door on him.
"So," said he with a furious glance at McMurdo, "you got herefirst, did you? I've a word to say to you, Councillor, about thisman."
"Then say it here and now before my face," cried McMurdo.
"I'll say it at my own time, in my own way."
"Tut! Tut!" said McGinty, getting off his barrel. "This willnever do. We have a new brother here, Baldwin, and it's not for usto greet him in such fashion. Hold out your hand, man, and make itup!"
"Never!" cried Baldwin in a fury.
"I've offered to fight him if he thinks I have wronged him,"said McMurdo. "I'll fight him with fists, or, if that won't satisfyhim, I'll fight him any other way he chooses. Now, I'll leave it toyou, Councillor, to judge between us as a Bodymaster should."
"What is it, then?"
"A young lady. She's free to choose for herself."
"Is she?" cried Baldwin.
"As between two brothers of the lodge I should say that shewas," said the Boss.
"Oh, that's your ruling, is it?"
"Yes, it is, Ted Baldwin," said McGinty, with a wicked stare."Is it you that would dispute it?"
"You would throw over one that has stood by you this five yearsin favour of a man that you never saw before in your life? You'renot Bodymaster for life, Jack McGinty, and by God! when next itcomes to a vote --"
The Councillor sprang at him like a tiger. His hand closed roundthe other's neck, and he hurled him back across one of the barrels.In his mad fury he would have squeezed the life out of him ifMcMurdo had not interfered.
"Easy, Councillor! For heaven's sake, go easy!" he cried, as hedragged him back.
McGinty released his hold, and Baldwin, cowed and shaken gaspingfor breath, and shivering in every limb, as one who has looked overthe very edge of death, sat up on the barrel over which he had beenhurled.
"You've been asking for it this many a day, Ted Baldwin -- nowyou've got it!" cried McGinty, his huge chest rising and falling."Maybe you think if I was voted down from Bodymaster you would findyourself in my shoes. It's for the lodge to say that. But so longas I am the chief I'll have no man lift his voice against me or myrulings."
"I have nothing against you," mumbled Baldwin, feeling histhroat.
"Well, then," cried the other, relapsing in a moment into abluff joviality, "we are all good friends again and there's an endof the matter."
He took a bottle of champagne down from the shelf and twistedout the cork.
"See now," he continued, as he filled three high glasses. "Letus drink the quarrelling toast of the lodge. After that, as youknow, there can be no bad blood between us. Now, then the left handon the apple of my throat. I say to you, Ted Baldwin, what is theoffense, sir?"
"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. "That's the end ofthe black blood. You come under lodge discipline if it goesfurther, and that's a heavy hand in these parts, as Brother Baldwinknows -- and as you will damn soon find out, Brother McMurdo, ifyou ask for trouble!"
"Faith, I'd be slow to do that," said McMurdo. He held out hishand to Baldwin. "I'm quick to quarrel and quick to forgive. It'smy hot Irish blood, they tell me. But it's over for me, and I bearno grudge."
Baldwin had to take the proffered hand, for the baleful eye ofthe terrible Boss was upon him. But his sullen face showed howlittle the words of the other had moved him.
McGinty clapped them both on the shoulders. "Tut! These girls!These girls!" he cried. "To think that the same petticoats shouldcome between two of my boys! It's the devil's own luck! Well, it'sthe colleen inside of them that must settle the question for it'soutside the jurisdiction of a Bodymaster -- and the Lord be praisedfor that! We have enough on us, without the women as well. You'llhave to be affiliated to Lodge 341, Brother McMurdo. We have ourown ways and methods, different from Chicago. Saturday night is ourmeeting, and if you come then, we'll make you free forever of theVermissa Valley."
CHAPTER III. LODGE 341, VERMISSA
On the day following the evening which had contained so manyexciting events, McMurdo moved his lodgings from old JacobShafter's and took up his quarters at the Widow MacNamara's on theextreme outskirts of the town. Scanlan, his original acquaintanceaboard the train, had occasion shortly afterwards to move intoVermissa, and the two lodged together. There was no other boarder,and the hostess was an easy-going old Irishwoman who left them tothemselves; so that they had a freedom for speech and actionwelcome to men who had secrets in common.
Shafter had relented to the extent of letting McMurdo come tohis meals there when he liked; so that his intercourse with Ettiewas by no means broken. On the contrary, it drew closer and moreintimate as the weeks went by.
In his bedroom at his new abode McMurdo felt it safe to take outthe coining moulds, and under many a pledge of secrecy a number ofbrothers from the lodge were allowed to come in and see them, eachcarrying away in his pocket some examples of the false money, socunningly struck that there was never the slightest difficulty ordanger in passing it. Why, with such a wonderful art at hiscommand, McMurdo should condescend to work at all was a perpetualmystery to his companions; though he made it clear to anyone whoasked him that if he lived without any visible means it would veryquickly bring the police upon his track.
One policeman was indeed after him already; but the incident, asluck would have it, did the adventurer a great deal more good thanharm. After the first introduction there were few evenings when hedid not find his way to McGinty's saloon, there to make closeracquaintance with "the boys," which was the jovial title by whichthe dangerous gang who infested the place were known to oneanother. His dashing manner and fearlessness of speech made him afavourite with them all; while the rapid and scientific way inwhich he polished off his antagonist in an "all in" bar-room scrapearned the respect of that rough community. Another incident,however, raised him even higher in their estimation.
Just at the crowded hour one night, the door opened and a manentered with the quiet blue uniform and peaked cap of the minepolice. This was a special body raised by the railways and collieryowners to supplement the efforts of the ordinary civil police, whowere perfectly helpless in the face of the organized ruffianismwhich terrorized the district. There was a hush as he entered, andmany a curious glance was cast at him; but the relations betweenpolicemen 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 policeofficer. "I don't think we have met before, Councillor?"
"You'll be the new captain?" said McGinty.
"That's so. We're looking to you, Councillor, and to the otherleading citizens, to help us in upholding law and order in thistownship. Captain Marvin is my name."
"We'd do better without you, Captain Marvin," said McGintycoldly; "for we have our own police of the township, and no needfor any imported goods. What are you but the paid tool of thecapitalists, hired by them to club or shoot your poorer fellowcitizen?"
"Well, well, we won't argue about that," said the police officergood-humouredly. "I expect we all do our duty same as we see it;but we can't all see it the same." He had drunk off his glass andhad turned to go, when his eyes fell upon the face of Jack McMurdo,who was scowling at his elbow. "Hullo! Hullo!" he cried, lookinghim up and down. "Here's an old acquaintance!"
McMurdo shrank away from him. "I was never a friend to you norany other cursed copper in my life," said he.
"An acquaintance isn't always a friend," said the policecaptain, grinning. "You're Jack McMurdo of Chicago, right enough,and don't you deny it!"
McMurdo shrugged his shoulders. "I'm not denying it," said he."D'ye think I'm ashamed of my own name?"
"You've got good cause to be, anyhow."
"What the devil d'you mean by that?" he roared with his fistsclenched.
"No, no, Jack, bluster won't do with me. I was an officer inChicago before ever I came to this darned coal bunker, and I know aChicago crook when I see one."
McMurdo's face fell. "Don't tell me that you're Marvin of theChicago Central!" he cried.
"Just the same old Teddy Marvin, at your service. We haven'tforgotten the shooting of Jonas Pinto up there."
"I never shot him."
"Did you not? That's good impartial evidence, ain't it? Well,his death came in uncommon handy for you, or they would have hadyou for shoving the queer. Well, we can let that be bygones; for,between you and me -- and perhaps I'm going further than my duty insaying it -- they could get no clear case against you, andChicago's open to you to-morrow."
"I'm very well where I am."
"Well, I've given you the pointer, and you're a sulky dog not tothank me for it."
"Well, I suppose you mean well, and I do thank you," saidMcMurdo in no very gracious manner.
"It's mum with me so long as I see you living on the straight,"said the captain. "But, by the Lord! if you get off after this,it's another story! So good-night to you -- and goodnight,Councillor."
He left the bar-room; but not before he had created a localhero. McMurdo's deeds in far Chicago had been whispered before. Hehad put off all questions with a smile, as one who did not wish tohave greatness thrust upon him. But now the thing was officiallyconfirmed. The bar loafers crowded round him and shook him heartilyby the hand. He was free of the community from that time on. Hecould drink hard and show little trace of it; but that evening, hadhis mate Scanlan not been at hand to lead him home, the feted herowould surely have spent his night under the bar.
On a Saturday night McMurdo was introduced to the lodge. He hadthought to pass in without ceremony as being an initiate ofChicago; but there were particular rites in Vermissa of which theywere proud, and these had to be undergone by every postulant. Theassembly met in a large room reserved for such purposes at theUnion House. Some sixty members assembled at Vermissa; but that byno means represented the full strength of the organization, forthere were several other lodges in the valley, and others acrossthe mountains on each side, who exchanged members when any seriousbusiness was afoot, so that a crime might be done by men who werestrangers to the locality. Altogether there were not less than fivehundred scattered over the coal district.
In the bare assembly room the men were gathered round a longtable. At the side was a second one laden with bottles and glasses,on which some members of the company were already turning theireyes. McGinty sat at the head with a flat black velvet cap upon hisshock of tangled black hair, and a coloured purple stole round hisneck, so that he seemed to be a priest presiding over somediabolical ritual. To right and left of him were the higher lodgeofficials, the cruel, handsome face of Ted Baldwin among them. Eachof these wore some scarf or medallion as emblem of his office.
They were, for the most part, men of mature age; but the rest ofthe company consisted of young fellows from eighteen to twentyfive,the ready and capable agents who carried out the commands of theirseniors. Among the older men were many whose features showed thetigerish, lawless souls within; but looking at the rank and file itwas difficult to believe that these eager and open-faced youngfellows were in very truth a dangerous gang of murderers, whoseminds had suffered such complete moral perversion that they took ahorrible pride in their proficiency at the business, and lookedwith deepest respect at the man who had the reputation of makingwhat they called "a clean job."
To their contorted natures it had become a spirited andchivalrous thing to volunteer for service against some man who hadnever injured them, and whom in many cases they had never seen intheir lives. The crime committed, they quarrelled as to who hadactually struck the fatal blow, and amused one another and thecompany by describing the cries and contortions of the murderedman.
At first they had shown some secrecy in their arrangements; butat the time which this narrative describes their proceedings wereextraordinarily open, for the repeated failures of the law hadproved to them that, on the one hand, no one would dare to witnessagainst them, and on the other they had an unlimited number ofstanch witnesses upon whom they could call, and a well-filledtreasure chest from which they could draw the funds to engage thebest legal talent in the state. In ten long years of outrage therehad been no single conviction, and the only danger that everthreatened the Scowrers lay in the victim himself -- who, howeveroutnumbered and taken by surprise, might and occasionally did leavehis mark upon his assailants.
McMurdo had been warned that some ordeal lay before him; but noone would tell him in what it consisted. He was led now into anouter room by two solemn brothers. Through the plank partition hecould hear the murmur of many voices from the assembly within. Onceor twice he caught the sound of his own name, and he knew that theywere discussing his candidacy. Then there entered an inner guardwith a green and gold sash across his chest.
"The Bodymaster orders that he shall be trussed, blinded, andentered," said he.
The three of them removed his coat, turned up the sleeve of hisright arm, and finally passed a rope round above the elbows andmade it fast. They next placed a thick black cap right over hishead and the upper part of his face, so that he could see nothing.He was then led into the assembly hall.
It was pitch dark and very oppressive under his hood. He heardthe rustle and murmur of the people round him, and then the voiceof McGinty sounded dull and distant through the covering of hisears.
"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 youare indeed one of us," said McGinty. "We would have you know,however, that in this county and in other counties of these partswe have certain rites, and also certain duties of our own whichcall for good men. Are you ready 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 hiseyes, pressing upon them so that it appeared as if he could notmove forward without a danger of losing them. None the less, henerved himself to step resolutely out, and as he did so thepressure melted away. There was a low murmur of applause.
"He is of stout heart," said the voice. "Can you bear pain?"
"As well as another," he answered.
"Test him!"
It was all he could do to keep himself from screaming out, foran agonizing pain shot through his forearm. He nearly fainted atthe sudden shock of it; but he bit his lip and clenched his handsto hide his agony.
"I can take more than that," said he.
This time there was loud applause. A finer first appearance hadnever been made in the lodge. Hands clapped him on the back, andthe hood was plucked from his head. He stood blinking and smilingamid the congratulations of the brothers.
"One last word, Brother McMurdo," said McGinty. "You havealready sworn the oath of secrecy and fidelity, and you are awarethat the punishment for any breach of it is instant and inevitabledeath?"
"I am," said McMurdo.
"And you accept the rule of the Bodymaster for the time beingunder all circumstances?"
"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,Brother Scanlan, and we will drink to our worthy brother."
McMurdo's coat had been brought to him; but before putting it onhe examined his right arm, which still smarted heavily. There onthe flesh of the forearm was a circle with a triangle within it,deep and red, as the branding iron had left it. One or two of hisneighbours pulled up their sleeves and showed their own lodgemarks.
"We've all had it," said one; "but not all as brave as you overit."
"Tut! It was nothing," said he; but it burned and ached all thesame.
When the drinks which followed the ceremony of initiation hadall been disposed of, the business of the lodge proceeded. McMurdo,accustomed only to the prosaic performances of Chicago, listenedwith open ears and more surprise than he ventured to show to whatfollowed.
"The first business on the agenda paper," said McGinty, "is toread the following letter from Division Master Windle of MertonCounty Lodge 249. 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 lodge owesus a return, having had the service of two brethren in the matterof the patrolman last fall. You will send two good men, they willbe taken charge of by Treasurer Higgins of this lodge, whoseaddress you know. He will show them when to act and where. Yours infreedom,
"J. W. WINDLE D. M. A. O. F.
"Windle has never refused us when we have had occasion to askfor the loan of a man or two, and it is not for us to refuse him."McGinty paused and looked round the room with his dull, malevolenteyes. "Who will volunteer for the job?"
Several young fellows held up their hands. The Bodymaster lookedat them with an approving smile.
"You'll do, Tiger Cormac. If you handle it as well as you didthe last, you won't be wrong. And you, Wilson."
"I've no pistol," said the volunteer, a mere boy in histeens.
"It's your first, is it not? Well, you have to be blooded sometime. It will be a great start for you. As to the pistol, you'llfind it waiting for you, or I'm mistaken. If you report yourselveson Monday, it will be time enough. You'll get a great welcome whenyou return."
"Any reward this time?" asked Cormac, a thick-set, darkfaced,brutal-looking young man, whose ferocity had earned him thenickname of "Tiger."
"Never mind the reward. You just do it for the honour of thething. Maybe when it is done there will be a few odd dollars at thebottom of the box."
"What has the man done?" asked young Wilson.
"Sure, it's not for the likes of you to ask what the man hasdone. He has been judged over there. That's no business of ours.All we have to do is to carry it out for them, same as they wouldfor us. Speaking of that, two brothers from the Merton lodge arecoming over to us next week to do some business in thisquarter."
"Who are they?" asked someone.
"Faith, it is wiser not to ask. If you know nothing, you cantestify nothing, and no trouble can come of it. But they are menwho will make a clean job when they are about it."
"And time, too!" cried Ted Baldwin. "Folk are gettin' out ofhand in these parts. It was only last week that three of our menwere turned off by Foreman Blaker. It's been owing him a long time,and he'll get it full and proper."
"Get what?" McMurdo whispered to his neighbour.
"The business end of a buckshot cartridge!" cried the man with aloud laugh. "What think you of our ways, Brother?"
McMurdo's criminal soul seemed to have already absorbed thespirit of the vile association of which he was now a member. "Ilike it well," said he. "'Tis a proper place for a lad ofmettle."
Several of those who sat around heard his words and applaudedthem.
"What's that?" cried the black-maned Bodymaster from the end ofthe table.
"'Tis our new brother, sir, who finds our ways to histaste."
McMurdo rose to his feet for an instant. "I would say, EminentBodymaster, that if a man should be wanted I should take it as anhonour to be chosen to help the lodge."
There was great applause at this. It was felt that a new sun waspushing its rim above the horizon. To some of the elders it seemedthat the progress was a little too rapid.
"I would move," said the secretary, Harraway, a vulturefaced oldgraybeard who sat near the chairman, "that Brother McMurdo shouldwait until it is the good pleasure of the lodge to employ him."
"Sure, that was what I meant; I'm in your hands," saidMcMurdo.
"Your time will come, Brother," said the chairman. "We havemarked you down as a willing man, and we believe that you will dogood work in these parts. There is a small matter to-night in whichyou may take a hand if 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 knowwhat we stand for in this community. I will make the announcementlater. Meanwhile," he glanced at his agenda paper, "I have one ortwo more points to bring before the meeting. First of all, I willask the treasurer as to our bank balance. There is the pension toJim Carnaway's widow. He was struck down doing the work of thelodge, and it is for us to see that she is not the loser."
"Jim was shot last month when they tried to kill Chester Wilcoxof Marley Creek," McMurdo's 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.Max Linder & Co. paid five hundred to be left alone. WalkerBrothers sent in a hundred; but I took it on myself to return itand ask for five. If I do not hear by Wednesday, their winding gearmay get out of order. We had to burn their breaker last year beforethey became reasonable. Then the West Section Coaling Company haspaid its annual contribution. We have enough on hand to meet anyobligations."
"What about Archie Swindon?" asked a brother.
"He has sold out and left the district. The old devil left anote for us to say that he had rather be a free crossing sweeper inNew York than a large mine owner under the power of a ring ofblackmailers. By Gar! it was as well that he made a break for itbefore the note reached us! I guess he won't show his face in thisvalley again."
An elderly, clean-shaved man with a kindly face and a good browrose from the end of the table which faced the chairman. "Mr.Treasurer," he asked, "may I ask who has bought the property ofthis man that we have driven out of the district?"
"Yes, Brother Morris. It has been bought by the State &Merton County Railroad Company."
"And who bought the mines of Todman and of Lee that came intothe market 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 don't see, Brother Morris," said the chairman, "that itmatters to us who buys them, since they can't carry them out of thedistrict."
"With all respect to you, Eminent Bodymaster, I think it maymatter very much to us. This process has been going on now for tenlong years. We are gradually driving all the small men out oftrade. What is the result? We find in their places great companieslike the Railroad or the General Iron, who have their directors inNew York or Philadelphia, and care nothing for our threats. We cantake it out of their local bosses, but it only means that otherswill be sent in their stead. And we are making it dangerous forourselves. The small men could not harm us. They had not the moneynor the power. So long as we did not squeeze them too dry, theywould stay on under our power. But if these big companies find thatwe stand between them and their profits, they will spare no painsand no expense to hunt us down and bring us to court."
There was a hush at these ominous words, and every face darkenedas gloomy looks were exchanged. So omnipotent and unchallenged hadthey been that the very thought that there was possible retributionin the background had been banished from their minds. And yet theidea struck a chill to the most reckless of them.
"It is my advice," the speaker continued, "that we go easierupon the small men. On the day that they have all been driven outthe power of this society will have been broken."
Unwelcome truths are not popular. There were angry cries as thespeaker resumed his seat. McGinty rose with gloom upon hisbrow.
"Brother Morris," said he, "you were always a croaker. So longas the members of this lodge stand together there is no power inthe United States that can touch them. Sure, have we not tried itoften enough in the law courts? I expect the big companies willfind it easier to pay than to fight, same as the little companiesdo. And now, Brethren," McGinty took off his black velvet cap andhis stole as he spoke, "this lodge has finished its business forthe evening, save for one small matter which may be mentioned whenwe are parting. The time has now come for fraternal refreshment andfor harmony."
Strange indeed is human nature. Here were these men, to whommurder was familiar, who again and again had struck down the fatherof the family, some man against whom they had no personal feeling,without one thought of compunction or of compassion for his weepingwife or helpless children, and yet the tender or pathetic in musiccould move them to tears. McMurdo had a fine tenor voice, and if hehad failed to gain the good will of the lodge before, it could nolonger have been withheld after he had thrilled them with "I'mSitting on the Stile, Mary," and "On the Banks of Allan Water."
In his very first night the new recruit had made himself one ofthe most popular of the brethren, marked already for advancementand high office. There were other qualities needed, however,besides those of good fellowship, to make a worthy Freeman, and ofthese he was given an example before the evening was over. Thewhisky bottle had passed round many times, and the men were flushedand ripe for mischief when their Bodymaster rose once more toaddress them.
"Boys," said he, "there's one man in this town that wantstrimming up, and it's for you to see that he gets it. I'm speakingof James Stanger of the Herald. You've seen how he's been openinghis mouth against us again?"
There was a murmur of assent, with many a muttered oath. McGintytook a slip of paper from his waistcoat pocket.
That's how he heads it.
"Twelve years have now elapsed since the firstassassinations which proved the existence of a criminalorganization in our midst. From that day these outrages have neverceased, until now they have reached a pitch which makes us theopprobrium of the civilized world. Is it for such results as thisthat our great country welcomes to its bosom the alien who fliesfrom the despotisms of Europe? Is it that they shall themselvesbecome tyrants over the very men who have given them shelter, andthat a state of terrorism and lawlessness should be establishedunder the very shadow of the sacred folds of the starry Flag ofFreedom which would raise horror in our minds if we read of it asexisting under the most effete monarchy of the East? The men areknown. The organization is patent and public. How long are we toendure it? Can we forever live --
Sure, I've read enough of the slush!" cried the chairman,tossing the paper down upon the table. "That's what he says of us.The question I'm asking you is what shall we say to him?"
"Kill him!" cried a dozen fierce voices.
"I protest against that," said Brother Morris, the man of thegood brow and shaved face. "I tell you, Brethren, that our hand istoo heavy in this valley, and that there will come a point where inself-defense every man will unite to crush us out. James Stanger isan old man. He is respected in the township and the district. Hispaper stands for all that is solid in the valley. If that man isstruck down, there will be a stir through this state that will onlyend 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 ourpay and half of them afraid of us. Or is it by the law courts andthe judge? Haven't we tried that before now, and what ever came ofit?"
"There is a Judge Lynch that might try the case," said BrotherMorris.
A general shout of anger greeted the suggestion.
"I have but to raise my finger," cried McGinty, "and I could puttwo hundred men into this town that would clear it out from end toend." Then suddenly raising his voice and bending his huge blackbrows into a terrible frown, "See here, Brother Morris, I have myeye on you, and have had for some time! You've no heart yourself,and you try to take the heart out of others. It will be an ill dayfor you, Brother Morris, when your own name comes on our agendapaper, and I'm thinking that it's just there that I ought to placeit."
Morris had turned deadly pale, and his knees seemed to give wayunder him as he fell back into his chair. He raised his glass inhis trembling hand and drank before he could answer. "I apologize,Eminent Bodymaster, to you and to every brother in this lodge if Ihave said more than I should. I am a faithful member -- you allknow that -- and it is my fear lest evil come to the lodge whichmakes me speak in anxious words. But I have greater trust in yourjudgment than in my own, Eminent Bodymaster, and I promise you thatI will not offend again."
The Bodymaster's scowl relaxed as he listened to the humblewords. "Very good, Brother Morris. It's myself that would be sorryif it were needful to give you a lesson. But so long as I am inthis chair we shall be a united lodge in word and in deed. And now,boys," he continued, looking round at the company, "I'll say thismuch, that if Stanger got his full deserts there would be moretrouble than we need ask for. These editors hang together, andevery journal in the state would be crying out for police andtroops. But I guess you can give him a pretty severe warning. Willyou fix it, Brother Baldwin?"
"Sure!" said the young man eagerly.
"How many will you take?"
"Half a dozen, and two to guard the door. You'll come, Gower,and you, Mansel, and you, Scanlan, and the two Willabys."
"I promised the new brother he should go," said thechairman.
Ted Baldwin looked at McMurdo with eyes which showed that he hadnot forgotten nor forgiven. "Well, he can come if he wants," hesaid in a surly voice. "That's enough. The sooner we get to workthe better."
The company broke up with shouts and yells and snatches ofdrunken song. The bar was still crowded with revellers, and many ofthe brethren remained there. The little band who had been told offfor duty passed out into the street, proceeding in twos and threesalong the sidewalk so as not to provoke attention. It was abitterly cold night, with a half-moon shining brilliantly in afrosty, star-spangled sky. The men stopped and gathered in a yardwhich faced a high building. The words "Vermissa Herald" wereprinted 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 atthe door and see that the road is kept open for us. Arthur Willabycan stay with you. You others come with me. Have no fears, boys;for we have a dozen witnesses that we are in the Union Bar at thisvery moment."
It was nearly midnight, and the street was deserted save for oneor two revellers upon their way home. The party crossed the road,and, pushing open the door of the newspaper office, Baldwin and hismen rushed in and up the stair which faced them. McMurdo andanother remained below. From the room above came a shout, a cry forhelp, and then the sound of trampling feet and of falling chairs.An instant later a gray-haired man rushed out on the landing.
He was seized before he could get farther, and his spectaclescame tinkling down to McMurdo's feet. There was a thud and a groan.He was on his face, and half a dozen sticks were clatteringtogether as they fell upon him. He writhed, and his long, thinlimbs quivered under the blows. The others ceased at last; butBaldwin, his cruel face set in an infernal smile, was hacking atthe man's head, which he vainly endeavoured to defend with hisarms. His white hair was dabbled with patches of blood. Baldwin wasstill stooping over his victim, putting in a short, vicious blowwhenever he could see a part exposed, when McMurdo dashed up thestair and pushed him back.
"You'll kill the man," said he. "Drop it!"
Baldwin looked at him in amazement. "Curse you!" he cried. "Whoare you to interfere -- you that are new to the lodge? Stand back!"He raised his stick; but McMurdo had whipped his pistol out of hiship pocket.
"Stand back yourself!" he cried. "I'll blow your face in if youlay a hand on me. As to the lodge, wasn't it the order of theBodymaster that the man was not to be killed -- and what are youdoing but killing him?"
"It's truth he says," remarked one of the men.
"By Gar! you'd best hurry yourselves!" cried the man below. "Thewindows are all lighting up, and you'll have the whole town hereinside of five minutes."
There was indeed the sound of shouting in the street, and alittle group of compositors and pressmen was forming in the hallbelow and nerving itself to action. Leaving the limp and motionlessbody of the editor at the head of the stair, the criminals rusheddown and made their way swiftly along the street. Having reachedthe Union House, some of them mixed with the crowd in McGinty'ssaloon, whispering across the bar to the Boss that the job had beenwell carried through. Others, and among them McMurdo, broke awayinto side streets, and so by devious paths to their own homes.
CHAPTER IV. THE VALLEY OF FEAR
When McMurdo awoke next morning he had good reason to rememberhis initiation into the lodge. His head ached with the effect ofthe drink, and his arm, where he had been branded, was hot andswollen. Having his own peculiar source of income, he was irregularin his attendance at his work; so he had a late breakfast, andremained at home for the morning writing a long letter to a friend.Afterwards he read the Daily Herald. In a special column put in atthe last moment he read:
It was a short account of the facts with which he was himselfmore familiar than the writer could have been. It ended with thestatement:
The matter is now in the hands of the police; but itcan hardly be hoped that their exertions will be attended by anybetter results than in the past. Some of the men were recognized,and there is hope that a conviction may be obtained. The source ofthe outrage was, it need hardly be said, that infamous societywhich has held this community in bondage for so long a period, andagainst which the Herald has taken so uncompromising a stand. Mr.Stanger's many friends will rejoice to hear that, though he hasbeen cruelly and brutally beaten, and though he has sustainedsevere injuries about the head, there is no immediate danger to hislife.
Below it stated that a guard of police, armed with Winchesterrifles, had been requisitioned for the defense of the office.
McMurdo had laid down the paper, and was lighting his pipe witha hand which was shaky from the excesses of the previous evening,when there was a knock outside, and his landlady brought to him anote which had just been handed in by a lad. It was unsigned, andran thus:
I should wish to speak to you, but would rather not doso in your house. You will find me beside the flagstaff upon MillerHill. If you will come there now, I have something which it isimportant for you to hear and for me to say.
McMurdo read the note twice with the utmost surprise; for hecould not imagine what it meant or who was the author of it. Had itbeen in a feminine hand, he might have imagined that it was thebeginning of one of those adventures which had been familiar enoughin his past life. But it was the writing of a man, and of a welleducated one, too. Finally, after some hesitation, he determined tosee the matter through.
Miller Hill is an ill-kept public park in the very centre of thetown. In summer it is a favourite resort of the people; but inwinter it is desolate enough. From the top of it one has a view notonly of the whole straggling, grimy town, but of the winding valleybeneath, with its scattered mines and factories blackening the snowon each side of it, and of the wooded and white-capped rangesflanking it.
McMurdo strolled up the winding path hedged in with evergreensuntil he reached the deserted restaurant which forms the centre ofsummer gaiety. Beside it was a bare flagstaff, and underneath it aman, his hat drawn down and the collar of his overcoat turned up.When he turned his face McMurdo saw that it was Brother Morris, hewho had incurred the anger of the Bodymaster the night before. Thelodge sign was given and exchanged as they met.
"I wanted to have a word with you, Mr. McMurdo," said the olderman, speaking with a hesitation which showed that he was ondelicate ground. "It was kind of you to come."
"Why did you not put your name to the note?"
"One has to be cautious, mister. One never knows in times likethese how a thing may come back to one. One never knows either whoto trust or who not to trust."
"Surely one may trust brothers of the lodge."
"No, no, not always," cried Morris with vehemence. "Whatever wesay, even what we think, seems to go back to that man McGinty."
"Look here!" said McMurdo sternly. "It was only last night, asyou know well, that I swore good faith to our Bodymaster. Would yoube asking me to break my oath?"
"If that is the view you take," said Morris sadly, "I can onlysay that I am sorry I gave you the trouble to come and meet me.Things have come to a bad pass when two free citizens cannot speaktheir thoughts to each other."
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 me to open my mouth, Mr. Morris, and if you thinkwell to say anything to me 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. "Formyself I am loyal to the lodge, and so I tell you straight; but Iwould be a poor creature if I were to repeat to any other what youmight say to me in confidence. It will go no further than me;though I warn you that you may get neither help nor sympathy."
"I have given up looking for either the one or the other," saidMorris. "I may be putting my very life in your hands by what I say;but, bad as you are -- and it seemed to me last night that you wereshaping to be as bad as the worst -- still you are new to it, andyour conscience cannot yet be as hardened as theirs. That was why Ithought 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 Freeman's society inChicago and swore vows of charity and fidelity, did ever it crossyour mind 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."You have seen little of it if you can call it anything else. Wasit crime last night when a man old enough to be your father wasbeaten till the blood dripped from his white hairs? Was that crime-- or what else would you call it?"
"There are some would say it was war," said McMurdo, "a war oftwo classes with all in, so that each struck as best it could."
"Well, did you think of such a thing when you joined theFreeman's society at Chicago?"
"No, I'm bound to say I did not."
"Nor did I when I joined it at Philadelphia. It was just abenefit club and a meeting place for one's fellows. Then I heard ofthis place -- curse the hour that the name first fell upon my ears!-- and I came to better myself! My God! to better myself! My wifeand three children came with me. I started a dry goods store onMarket Square, and I prospered well. The word had gone round that Iwas a Freeman, and I was forced to join the local lodge, same asyou did last night. I've the badge of shame on my forearm andsomething worse branded on my heart. I found that I was under theorders of a black villain and caught in a meshwork of crime. Whatcould I do? Every word I said to make things better was taken astreason, same as it was last night. I can't get away; for all Ihave in the world is in my store. If I leave the society, I knowwell that it means murder to me, and God knows what to my wife andchildren. Oh, man, it is awful -- awful!" He put his hands to hisface, and his body shook with convulsive sobs.
McMurdo shrugged his shoulders. "You were too soft for the job,"said he. "You are the wrong sort for such work."
"I had a conscience and a religion; but they made me a criminalamong them. I was chosen for a job. If I backed down I knew wellwhat would come to me. Maybe I'm a coward. Maybe it's the thoughtof my poor little woman and the children that makes me one. AnyhowI went. I guess it will haunt me forever.
"It was a lonely house, twenty miles from here, over the rangeyonder. I was told off for the door, same as you were last night.They could not trust me with the job. The others went in. When theycame out their hands were crimson to the wrists. As we turned awaya child was screaming out of the house behind us. It was a boy offive who had seen his father murdered. I nearly fainted with thehorror of it, and yet I had to keep a bold and smiling face; forwell I knew that if I did not it would be out of my house that theywould come next with their bloody hands and it would be my littleFred that would be screaming for his father.
"But I was a criminal then, part sharer in a murder, lostforever in this world, and lost also in the next. I am a goodCatholic; but the priest would have no word with me when he heard Iwas a Scowrer, and I am excommunicated from my faith. That's how itstands with me. And I see you going down the same road, and I askyou what the end is to be. Are you ready to be a cold-bloodedmurderer also, or can we do anything to stop it?"
"What would you do?" asked McMurdo abruptly. "You would notinform?"
"God forbid!" cried Morris. "Sure, the very thought would costme my life."
"That's well," said McMurdo. "I'm thinking that you are a weakman and 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! Itell you that the cloud of murder hangs thicker and lower than thatover the heads of the people. It is the Valley of Fear, the Valleyof Death. The terror is in the hearts of the people from the duskto the dawn. Wait, young man, and you will learn for yourself."
"Well, I'll let you know what I think when I have seen more,"said McMurdo carelessly. "What is very clear is that you are notthe man for the place, and that the sooner you sell out -- if youonly get a dime a dollar for what the business is worth -- thebetter it will be for you. What you have said is safe with me; but,by Gar! if I thought you were an informer --"
"No, no!" cried Morris piteously.
"Well, let it rest at that. I'll bear what you have said inmind, and maybe some day I'll come back to it. I expect you meantkindly by speaking to me like this. Now I'll 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! that's well thought of."
"I offer you a clerkship in my store."
"And I refuse it. That's our business. Well, so long, BrotherMorris, and may you find things go better with you in thefuture."
That same afternoon, as McMurdo sat smoking, lost in thoughtbeside the stove of his sitting-room, the door swung open and itsframework was filled with the huge figure of Boss McGinty. Hepassed the sign, and then seating himself opposite to the young manhe looked at him steadily for some time, a look which was assteadily returned.
"I'm not much of a visitor, Brother McMurdo," he said at last."I guess I am too busy over the folk that visit me. But I thoughtI'd stretch a point and drop down to see you in your ownhouse."
"I'm proud to see you here, Councillor," McMurdo answeredheartily, bringing his whisky bottle out of the cupboard. "It's anhonour that I had not expected."
"How's the arm?" asked the Boss.
McMurdo made a wry face. "Well, I'm not forgetting it," he said;"but it's worth it."
"Yes, it's worth it," the other answered, "to those that areloyal and go through with it and are a help to the lodge. What wereyou speaking to Brother Morris about on Miller Hill thismorning?"
The question came so suddenly that it was well that he had hisanswer prepared. He burst into a hearty laugh. "Morris didn't knowI could earn a living here at home. He shan't know either; for hehas got too much conscience for the likes of me. But he's agood-hearted old chap. It was his idea that I was at a loose end,and that he would do me a good turn by offering me a clerkship in adry goods store."
"Oh, that was it?"
"Yes, that was it."
"And you refused it?"
"Sure. Couldn't I earn ten times as much in my own bedroom withfour hours' work?"
"That's so. But I wouldn't get about too much with Morris."
"Why not?"
"Well, I guess because I tell you not. That's enough for mostfolk in these parts."
"It may be enough for most folk; but it ain't enough for me,Councillor," said McMurdo boldly. "If you are a judge of men,you'll know that."
The swarthy giant glared at him, and his hairy paw closed for aninstant round the glass as though he would hurl it at the head ofhis companion. Then he laughed in his loud, boisterous, insincerefashion.
"You're a queer card, for sure," said he. "Well, if you wantreasons, I'll give them. Did Morris say nothing to you against thelodge?"
"No."
"Nor against me?"
"No."
"Well, that's because he daren't trust you. But in his heart heis not a loyal brother. We know that well. So we watch him and wewait for the time to admonish him. I'm thinking that the time isdrawing near. There's no room for scabby sheep in our pen. But ifyou keep company with a disloyal man, we might think that you weredisloyal, too. See?"
"There's no chance of my keeping company with him; for I dislikethe man," McMurdo answered. "As to being disloyal, if it was anyman but you he would not use the word to me twice."
"Well, that's enough," said McGinty, draining off his glass. "Icame down to give you a word in season, and you've had it."
"I'd like to know," said McMurdo, "how you ever came to learnthat I had spoken with Morris at all?"
McGinty laughed. "It's my business to know what goes on in thistownship," said he. "I guess you'd best reckon on my hearing allthat passes. Well, time's up, and I'll just say --"
But his leavetaking was cut short in a very unexpected fashion.With a sudden crash the door flew open, and three frowning, intentfaces glared in at them from under the peaks of police caps.McMurdo sprang to his feet and half drew his revolver; but his armstopped midway as he became conscious that two Winchester rifleswere levelled at his head. A man in uniform advanced into the room,a six-shooter in his hand. It was Captain Marvin, once of Chicago,and now of the Mine Constabulary. He shook his head with ahalf-smile at McMurdo.
"I thought you'd be getting into trouble, Mr. Crooked McMurdo ofChicago," said he. "Can't keep out of it, can you? Take your hatand come along with us."
"I guess you'll pay for this, Captain Marvin," said McGinty."Who are you, I'd like to know, to break into a house in thisfashion and molest honest, law-abiding men?"
"You're standing out in this deal, Councillor McGinty," said thepolice captain. "We are not out after you, but after this manMcMurdo. It is for you to help, not to hinder us in our duty,"
"He is a friend of mine, and I'll answer for his conduct," saidthe Boss.
"By all accounts, Mr. McGinty, you may have to answer for yourown conduct some of these days," the captain answered. "This manMcMurdo was a crook before ever he came here, and he's a crookstill. Cover him, Patrolman, while I disarm him."
"There's my pistol," said McMurdo coolly. "Maybe, CaptainMarvin, if you and I were alone and face to face you would not takeme so easily."
"Where's your warrant?" asked McGinty. "By Gar! a man might aswell live in Russia as in Vermissa while folk like you are runningthe police. It's a capitalist outrage, and you'll hear more of it,I reckon."
"You do what you think is your duty the best way you can,Councillor. We'll look after ours."
"What am I accused of?" asked McMurdo.
"Of being concerned in the beating of old Editor Stanger at theHerald office. It wasn't your fault that it isn't a murdercharge."
"Well, if that's all you have against him," cried McGinty with alaugh, "you can save yourself a deal of trouble by dropping itright now. This man was with me in my saloon playing poker up tomidnight, and I can bring a dozen to prove it."
"That's your affair, and I guess you can settle it in courtto-morrow. Meanwhile, come on, McMurdo, and come quietly if youdon't want a gun across your head. You stand wide, Mr. McGinty; forI warn you I will stand no resistance when I am on duty!"
So determined was the appearance of the captain that bothMcMurdo and his boss were forced to accept the situation. Thelatter managed to have a few whispered words with the prisonerbefore they parted.
"What about --" he jerked his thumb upward to signify thecoining plant.
"All right," whispered McMurdo, who had devised a safe hidingplace under the floor.
"I'll bid you good-bye," said the Boss, shaking hands. "I'll seeReilly the lawyer and take the defense upon myself. Take my wordfor it that they won't be able to hold you."
"I wouldn't bet on that. Guard the prisoner, you two, and shoothim if he tries any games. I'll search the house before Ileave."
He did so; but apparently found no trace of the concealed plant.When he had descended he and his men escorted McMurdo toheadquarters. Darkness had fallen, and a keen blizzard was blowingso that the streets were nearly deserted; but a few loiterersfollowed the group, and emboldened by invisibility shoutedimprecations at the prisoner.
"Lynch the cursed Scowrer!" they cried. "Lynch him!" Theylaughed and jeered as he was pushed into the police station. Aftera short, formal examination from the inspector in charge he was putinto the common cell. Here he found Baldwin and three othercriminals of the night before, all arrested that afternoon andwaiting their trial next morning.
But even within this inner fortress of the law the long arm ofthe Freemen was able to extend. Late at night there came a jailerwith a straw bundle for their bedding, out of which he extractedtwo bottles of whisky, some glasses, and a pack of cards. Theyspent a hilarious night, without an anxious thought as to theordeal of the morning.
Nor had they cause, as the result was to show. The magistratecould not possibly, on the evidence, have held them for a highercourt. On the one hand the compositors and pressmen were forced toadmit that the light was uncertain, that they were themselves muchperturbed, and that it was difficult for them to swear to theidentity of the assailants; although they believed that the accusedwere among them. Cross examined by the clever attorney who had beenengaged by McGinty, they were even more nebulous in theirevidence.
The injured man had already deposed that he was so taken bysurprise by the suddenness of the attack that he could statenothing beyond the fact that the first man who struck him wore amoustache. He added that he knew them to be Scowrers, since no oneelse in the community could possibly have any enmity to him, and hehad long been threatened on account of his outspoken editorials. Onthe other hand, it was clearly shown by the united and unfalteringevidence of six citizens, including that high municipal official,Councillor McGinty, that the men had been at a card party at theUnion House until an hour very much later than the commission ofthe outrage.
Needless to say that they were discharged with something verynear to an apology from the bench for the inconvenience to whichthey had been put, together with an implied censure of CaptainMarvin and the police for 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 andbrooding eyes as the men filed out of the dock. One of them, alittle, dark-bearded, resolute fellow, put the thoughts of himselfand comrades into words as the ex-prisoners passed him.
"You damned murderers!" he said. "We'll fix you yet!"
CHAPTER V. THE DARKEST HOUR
If anything had been needed to give an impetus to Jack McMurdo'spopularity among his fellows it would have been his arrest andacquittal. That a man on the very night of joining the lodge shouldhave done something which brought him before the magistrate was anew record in the annals of the society. Already he had earned thereputation of a good boon companion, a cheery reveller, and withala man of high temper, who would not take an insult even from theall-powerful Boss himself. But in addition to this he impressed hiscomrades with the idea that among them all there was not one whosebrain was so ready to devise a bloodthirsty scheme, or whose handwould be more capable of carrying it out. "He'll be the boy for theclean job," said the oldsters to one another, and waited their timeuntil they could set him to his work.
McGinty had instruments enough already; but he recognized thatthis was a supremely able one. He felt like a man holding a fiercebloodhound in leash. There were curs to do the smaller work; butsome day he would slip this creature upon its prey. A few membersof the lodge, Ted Baldwin among them, resented the rapid rise ofthe stranger and hated him for it; but they kept clear of him, forhe was as ready to fight as to laugh.
But if he gained favour with his fellows, there was anotherquarter, one which had become even more vital to him, in which helost it. Ettie Shafter's father would have nothing more to do withhim, nor would he allow him to enter the house. Ettie herself wastoo deeply in love to give him up altogether, and yet her own goodsense warned her of what would come from a marriage with a man whowas regarded as a criminal.
One morning after a sleepless night she determined to see him,possibly for the last time, and make one strong endeavour to drawhim from those evil influences which were sucking him down. Shewent to his house, as he had often begged her to do, and made herway into the room which he used as his sittingroom. He was seatedat a table, with his back turned and a letter in front of him. Asudden spirit of girlish mischief came over her -- she was stillonly nineteen. He had not heard her when she pushed open the door.Now she tiptoed forward and laid her hand lightly upon his bendedshoulders.
If she had expected to startle him, she certainly succeeded; butonly in turn to be startled herself. With a tiger spring he turnedon her, and his right hand was feeling for her throat. At the sameinstant with the other hand he crumpled up the paper that laybefore him. For an instant he stood glaring. Then astonishment andjoy took the place of the ferocity which had convulsed his features-- a ferocity which had sent her shrinking back in horror as fromsomething which had never before intruded into her gentle life.
"It's you!" said he, mopping his brow. "And to think that youshould come to me, heart of my heart, and I should find nothingbetter to do than to want to strangle you! Come then, darling," andhe held out his arms, "let me make it up to you."
But she had not recovered from that sudden glimpse of guiltyfear which she had read in the man's face. All her woman's instincttold her that it was not the mere fright of a man who is startled.Guilt -- that was it -- guilt and fear!
"What's come over you, Jack?" she cried. "Why were you so scaredof me? Oh, Jack, if your conscience was at ease, you would not havelooked at me like that!"
"Sure, I was thinking of other things, and when you cametripping so lightly on those fairy feet of yours --"
"No, no, it was more than that, Jack." Then a sudden suspicionseized her. "Let me see that letter you were writing."
"Ah, Ettie, I couldn't do that."
Her suspicions became certainties. "It's to another woman," shecried. "I know it! Why else should you hold it from me? Was it toyour wife that you were writing? How am I to know that you are nota married man -- you, a stranger, that nobody knows?"
"I am not married, Ettie. See now, I swear it! You're the onlyone woman on earth to me. By the cross of Christ I swear it!"
He was so white with passionate earnestness that she could notbut believe him.
"Well, then," she cried, "why will you not show me theletter?"
"I'll tell you, acushla," said he. "I'm under oath not to showit, and just as I wouldn't break my word to you so I would keep itto those who hold my promise. It's the business of the lodge, andeven to you it's secret. And if I was scared when a hand fell onme, can't you understand it when it might have been the hand of adetective?"
She felt that he was telling the truth. He gathered her into hisarms and kissed away her fears and doubts.
"Sit here by me, then. It's a queer throne for such a queen; butit's the best your poor lover can find. He'll do better for yousome of these days, I'm 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 acriminal among criminals, when I never know the day that I may hearyou are in court for murder? 'McMurdo the Scowrer,' that's what oneof our boarders called you yesterday. It went through my heart likea knife."
"Sure, hard words break no bones."
"But they were true."
"Well, dear, it's not so bad as you think. We are but poor menthat are trying in our own way to get our rights."
Ettie threw her arms round her lover's neck. "Give it up, Jack!For my sake, for God's sake, give it up! It was to ask you that Icame here to-day. Oh, Jack, see -- I beg it of you on my bendedknees! Kneeling here before you I implore you to give it up!"
He raised her and soothed her with her head against hisbreast.
"Sure, my darlin', you don't know what it is you are asking. Howcould I give it up when it would be to break my oath and to desertmy comrades? If you could see how things stand with me you couldnever ask it of me. Besides, if I wanted to, how could I do it? Youdon't suppose that the lodge would let a man go free with all itssecrets?"
"I've thought of that, Jack. I've planned it all. Father hassaved some money. He is weary of this place where the fear of thesepeople darkens our lives. He is ready to go. We would fly togetherto Philadelphia or New York, where we would be safe from them."
McMurdo laughed. "The lodge has a long arm. Do you think itcould not stretch from here to Philadelphia or New York?"
"Well, then, to the West, or to England, or to Germany, wherefather came from -- anywhere to get away from this Valley ofFear!"
McMurdo thought of old Brother Morris. "Sure, it is the secondtime I have heard the valley so named," said he. "The shadow doesindeed seem to 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 do you suppose our chances would be? If you saw the look inthose dark, hungry eyes of his when they fall on me!"
"By Gar! I'd teach him better manners if I caught him at it! Butsee here, little girl. I can't leave here. I can't -- take thatfrom me once and for all. But if you will leave me to find my ownway, I will try to prepare a way of getting honourably out ofit."
"There is no honour in such a matter."
"Well, well, it's just how you look at it. But if you'll give mesix months, I'll work it so that I can leave without being ashamedto look others in the face."
The girl laughed with joy. "Six months!" she cried. "Is it apromise?"
"Well, it may be seven or eight. But within a year at thefurthest we will leave the valley behind us."
It was the most that Ettie could obtain, and yet it wassomething. There was this distant light to illuminate the gloom ofthe immediate future. She returned to her father's house morelighthearted than she had ever been since Jack McMurdo had comeinto her life.
It might be thought that as a member, all the doings of thesociety would be told to him; but he was soon to discover that theorganization was wider and more complex than the simple lodge. EvenBoss McGinty was ignorant as to many things; for there was anofficial named the County Delegate, living at Hobson's Patchfarther down the line, who had power over several different lodgeswhich he wielded in a sudden and arbitrary way. Only once didMcMurdo see him, a sly, little grayhaired rat of a man, with aslinking gait and a sidelong glance which was charged with malice.Evans Pott was his name, and even the great Boss of Vermissa felttowards him something of the repulsion and fear which the hugeDanton may have felt for the puny but dangerous Robespierre.
One day Scanlan, who was McMurdo's fellow boarder, received anote from McGinty inclosing one from Evans Pott, which informed himthat he was sending over two good men, Lawler and Andrews, who hadinstructions to act in the neighbourhood; though it was best forthe cause that no particulars as to their objects should be given.Would the Bodymaster see to it that suitable arrangements be madefor their lodgings and comfort until the time for action shouldarrive? McGinty added that it was impossible for anyone to remainsecret at the Union House, and that, therefore, he would be obligedif McMurdo and Scanlan would put the strangers up for a few days intheir boarding house.
The same evening the two men arrived, each carrying hisgripsack. Lawler was an elderly man, shrewd, silent, andselfcontained, clad in an old black frock coat, which with his softfelt hat and ragged, grizzled beard gave him a general resemblanceto an itinerant preacher. His companion Andrews was little morethan a boy, frank-faced and cheerful, with the breezy manner of onewho is out for a holiday and means to enjoy every minute of it.Both men were total abstainers, and behaved in all ways asexemplary members of the society, with the one simple exceptionthat they were assassins who had often proved themselves to be mostcapable instruments for this association of murder. Lawler hadalready carried out fourteen commissions of the kind, and Andrewsthree.
They were, as McMurdo found, quite ready to converse about theirdeeds in the past, which they recounted with the halfbashful prideof men who had done good and unselfish service for the community.They were reticent, 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 Delegatethat we obey."
"Sure, we are all in it together," said Scanlan, McMurdo's mate,as the four sat together at supper.
"That's true enough, and we'll talk till the cows come home ofthe killing of Charlie Williams or of Simon Bird, or any other jobin the past. But till the work is done we say nothing."
"There are half a dozen about here that I have a word to sayto," said McMurdo, with an oath. "I suppose it isn't Jack Knox ofIronhill that you are after. I'd go some way to see him get hisdeserts."
"No, it's not him yet."
"Or Herman Strauss?"
"No, nor him either."
"Well, if you won't tell us we can't make you; but I'd be gladto know."
Lawler smiled and shook his head. He was not to be drawn.
In spite of the reticence of their guests, Scanlan and McMurdowere quite determined to be present at what they called "the fun."When, therefore, at an early hour one morning McMurdo heard themcreeping down the stairs he awakened Scanlan, and the two hurriedon their clothes. When they were dressed they found that the othershad stolen out, leaving the door open behind them. It was not yetdawn, and by the light of the lamps they could see the two men somedistance down the street. They followed them warily, treadingnoiselessly in the deep snow.
The boarding house was near the edge of the town, and soon theywere at the crossroads which is beyond its boundary. Here three menwere waiting, 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 severaltrails which lead to various mines. The strangers took that whichled to the Crow Hill, a huge business which was in strong handswhich had been able, thanks to their energetic and fearless NewEngland manager, Josiah H. Dunn, to keep some order and disciplineduring 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 insight of the men whom they followed. A thick mist lay over them,and from the heart of it there came the sudden scream of a steamwhistle. It was the ten-minute signal before the cages descendedand the day's labour began.
When they reached the open space round the mine shaft there werea hundred miners waiting, stamping their feet and blowing on theirfingers; for it was bitterly cold. The strangers stood in a littlegroup under the shadow of the engine house. Scanlan and McMurdoclimbed a heap of slag from which the whole scene lay before them.They saw the mine engineer, a great bearded Scotchman namedMenzies, come out of the engine house and blow his whistle for thecages to be lowered.
At the same instant a tall, loose-framed young man with aclean-shaved, earnest face advanced eagerly towards the pit head.As he came forward his eyes fell upon the group, silent andmotionless, under the engine house. The men had drawn down theirhats and turned up their collars to screen their faces. For amoment the presentiment of Death laid its cold hand upon themanager's heart. At the next he had shaken it off and saw only hisduty towards intrusive strangers.
"Who are you?" he asked as he advanced. "What are you loiteringthere for?"
There was no answer; but the lad Andrews stepped forward andshot him in the stomach. The hundred waiting miners stood asmotionless and helpless as if they were paralyzed. The managerclapped his two hands to the wound and doubled himself up. Then hestaggered away; but another of the assassins fired, and he wentdown sidewise, kicking and clawing among a heap of clinkers.Menzies, the Scotchman, gave a roar of rage at the sight and rushedwith an iron spanner at the murderers; but was met by two balls inthe face which dropped him dead at their very feet.
There was a surge forward of some of the miners, and aninarticulate cry of pity and of anger; but a couple of thestrangers emptied their six-shooters over the heads of the crowd,and they broke and scattered, some of them rushing wildly back totheir homes in Vermissa.
When a few of the bravest had rallied, and there was a return tothe mine, the murderous gang had vanished in the mists of morning,without a single witness being able to swear to the identity ofthese men who in front of a hundred spectators had wrought thisdouble crime.
Scanlan and McMurdo made their way back; Scanlan somewhatsubdued, for it was the first murder job that he had seen with hisown eyes, and it appeared less funny than he had been led tobelieve. The horrible screams of the dead manager's wife pursuedthem as they hurried to the town. McMurdo was absorbed and silent;but he showed no sympathy for the weakening of his companion.
"Sure, it is like a war," he repeated. "What is it but a warbetween us and them, and we hit back where we best can."
There was high revel in the lodge room at the Union House thatnight, not only over the killing of the manager and engineer of theCrow Hill mine, which would bring this organization into line withthe other blackmailed and terror-stricken companies of thedistrict, but also over a distant triumph which had been wrought bythe hands of the lodge itself.
It would appear that when the County Delegate had sent over fivegood men to strike a blow in Vermissa, he had demanded that inreturn three Vermissa men should be secretly selected and sentacross to kill William Hales of Stake Royal, one of the best knownand most popular mine owners in the Gilmerton district, a man whowas believed not to have an enemy in the world; for he was in allways a model employer. He had insisted, however, upon efficiency inthe work, and had, therefore, paid off certain drunken and idleemployees who were members of the allpowerful society. Coffinnotices hung outside his door had not weakened his resolution, andso in a free, civilized country he found himself condemned todeath.
The execution had now been duly carried out. Ted Baldwin, whosprawled now in the seat of honour beside the Bodymaster, had beenchief of the party. His flushed face and glazed, blood-shot eyestold of sleeplessness and drink. He and his two comrades had spentthe night before among the mountains. They were unkempt andweather-stained. But no heroes, returning from a forlorn hope,could have had a warmer welcome from their comrades.
The story was told and retold amid cries of delight and shoutsof laughter. They had waited for their man as he drove home atnightfall, taking their station at the top of a steep hill, wherehis horse must be at a walk. He was so furred to keep out the coldthat he could not lay his hand on his pistol. They had pulled himout and shot him again and again. He had screamed for mercy. Thescreams were repeated for the amusement of the lodge.
"Let's hear again how he squealed," they cried.
None of them knew the man; but there is eternal drama in akilling, and they had shown the Scowrers of Gilmerton that theVermissa men were to be relied upon.
There had been one contretemps; for a man and his wife haddriven up while they were still emptying their revolvers into thesilent body. It had been suggested that they should shoot themboth; but they were harmless folk who were not connected with themines, so they were sternly bidden to drive on and keep silent,lest a worse thing befall them. And so the blood-mottled figure hadbeen left as a warning to all such hard-hearted employers, and thethree noble avengers had hurried off into the mountains whereunbroken nature comes down to the very edge of the furnaces and theslag heaps. Here they were, safe and sound, their work well done,and the plaudits of their companions in their ears.
It had been a great day for the Scowrers. The shadow had falleneven darker over the valley. But as the wise general chooses themoment of victory in which to redouble his efforts, so that hisfoes may have no time to steady themselves after disaster, so BossMcGinty, looking out upon the scene of his operations with hisbrooding and malicious eyes, had devised a new attack upon thosewho opposed him. That very night, as the half-drunken company brokeup, he touched McMurdo on the arm and led him aside into that innerroom where they had their first interview.
"See here, my lad," said he, "I've got a job that's worthy ofyou at last. You'll have the doing of it in your own hands."
"Proud I am to hear it," McMurdo answered.
"You can take two men with you -- Manders and Reilly. They havebeen warned for service. We'll never be right in this districtuntil Chester Wilcox has been settled, and you'll have the thanksof every lodge in the coal fields if you can down him."
"I'll do my best, anyhow. Who is he, and where shall I findhim?"
McGinty took his eternal half-chewed, half-smoked cigar from thecorner of his mouth, and proceeded to draw a rough diagram on apage torn from his notebook.
"He's the chief foreman of the Iron Dike Company. He's a hardcitizen, an old colour sergeant of the war, all scars and grizzle.We've had two tries at him; but had no luck, and Jim Carnaway losthis life over it. Now it's for you to take it over. That's thehouse -- all alone at the Iron Dike crossroad, same as you see hereon the map -- without another within earshot. It's no good by day.He's armed and shoots quick and straight, with no questions asked.But at night -- well, there he is with his wife, three children,and a hired help. You can't pick or choose. It's all or none. Ifyou could get a bag of blasting powder at the front door with aslow match to it -- "
"What's the man done?"
"Didn't 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. That's enough for me and you.You've got to settle the thing right."
"There's these two women and the children. Do they go uptoo?"
"They have to -- else how can we get him?"
"It seems hard on them; for they've done nothing."
"What sort of fool's talk is this? Do you back out?"
"Easy, Councillor, easy! What have I ever said or done that youshould think I would be after standing back from an order of theBodymaster of my own lodge? If it's right or if it's wrong, it'sfor you to decide."
"You'll do it, then?"
"Of course I will do it."
"When?"
"Well, you had best give me a night or two that I may see thehouse and make my plans. Then --"
"Very good," said McGinty, shaking him by the hand. "I leave itwith you. It will be a great day when you bring us the news. It'sjust the last stroke 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 adjacentvalley. That very night he started off all alone to prepare for theattempt. It was daylight before he returned from hisreconnaissance. Next day he interviewed his two subordinates,Manders and Reilly, reckless youngsters who were as elated as if itwere a deer-hunt.
Two nights later they met outside the town, all three armed, andone of them carrying a sack stuffed with the powder which was usedin the quarries. It was two in the morning before they came to thelonely house. The night was a windy one, with broken cloudsdrifting swiftly across the face of a three-quarter moon. They hadbeen warned to be on their guard against bloodhounds; so they movedforward cautiously, with their pistols cocked in their hands. Butthere was no sound save the howling of the wind, and no movementbut the swaying branches above them.
McMurdo listened at the door of the lonely house; but all wasstill within. Then he leaned the powder bag against it, ripped ahole in it with his knife, and attached the fuse. When it was wellalight he and his two companions took to their heels, and were somedistance off, safe and snug in a sheltering ditch, before theshattering roar of the explosion, with the low, deep rumble of thecollapsing building, told them that their work was done. No cleanerjob had ever been carried out in the bloodstained annals of thesociety.
But alas that work so well organized and boldly carried outshould all have gone for nothing! Warned by the fate of the variousvictims, and knowing that he was marked down for destruction,Chester Wilcox had moved himself and his family only the day beforeto some safer and less known quarters, where a guard of policeshould watch over them. It was an empty house which had been torndown by the gunpowder, and the grim old colour sergeant of the warwas still teaching discipline to the miners of Iron Dike.
"Leave him to me," said McMurdo. "He's my man, and I'll get himsure if I have to wait a year for him."
A vote of thanks and confidence was passed in full lodge, and sofor the time the matter ended. When a few weeks later it wasreported in the papers that Wilcox had been shot at from anambuscade, it was an open secret that McMurdo was still at workupon his unfinished job.
Such were the methods of the Society of Freemen, and such werethe deeds of the Scowrers by which they spread their rule of fearover the great and rich district which was for so long a periodhaunted by their terrible presence. Why should these pages bestained by further crimes? Have I not said enough to show the menand their methods?
These deeds are written in history, and there are recordswherein one may read the details of them. There one may learn ofthe shooting of Policemen Hunt and Evans because they had venturedto arrest two members of the society -- a double outrage planned atthe Vermissa lodge and carried out in cold blood upon two helplessand disarmed men. There also one may read of the shooting of Mrs.Larbey when she was nursing her husband, who had been beaten almostto death by orders of Boss McGinty. The killing of the elderJenkins, shortly followed by that of his brother, the mutilation ofJames Murdoch, the blowing up of the Staphouse family, and themurder of the Stendals all followed hard upon one another in thesame terrible winter.
Darkly the shadow lay upon the Valley of Fear. The spring hadcome with running brooks and blossoming trees. There was hope forall Nature bound so long in an iron grip; but nowhere was there anyhope for the men and women who lived under the yoke of the terror.Never had the cloud above them been so dark and hopeless as in theearly summer of the year 1875.
CHAPTER VI. DANGER
It was the height of the reign of terror. McMurdo, who hadalready been appointed Inner Deacon, with every prospect of someday succeeding McGinty as Bodymaster, was now so necessary to thecouncils of his comrades that nothing was done without his help andadvice. The more popular he became, however, with the Freemen, theblacker were the scowls which greeted him as he passed along thestreets of Vermissa. In spite of their terror the citizens weretaking heart to band themselves together against their oppressors.Rumours had reached the lodge of secret gatherings in the Heraldoffice and of distribution of firearms among the law-abidingpeople. But McGinty and his men were undisturbed by such reports.They were numerous, resolute, and well armed. Their opponents werescattered and powerless. It would all end, as it had done in thepast, in aimless talk and possibly in impotent arrests. So saidMcGinty, 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,the weaker brother of the order, came to see him. His brow wascreased with care, and his kindly face was drawn and haggard.
"Can I speak with you freely, Mr. McMurdo?"
"Sure."
"I can't forget that I spoke my heart to you once, and that youkept it to yourself, even though the Boss himself came to ask youabout it."
"What else could I do if you trusted me? It wasn't that I agreedwith what you said."
"I know that well. But you are the one that I can speak to andbe safe. I've a secret here," he put his hand to his breast, "andit is just burning the life out of me. I wish it had come to anyone of you but me. If I tell it, it will mean murder, for sure. IfI don't, it may bring the end of us all. God help me, but I am nearout of my wits over it!"
McMurdo looked at the man earnestly. He was trembling in everylimb. He poured some whisky into a glass and handed it to him."That's the physic for the likes of you," said he. "Now let me hearof it."
Morris drank, and his white face took a tinge of colour. "I cantell it to you all in one sentence," said he. "There's a detectiveon our trail."
McMurdo stared at him in astonishment. "Why, man, you're crazy,"he said. "Isn't the place full of police and detectives and whatharm did they ever do us?"
"No, no, it's no man of the district. As you say, we know them,and it is little that they can do. But you've heard ofPinkerton's?"
"I've read of some folk of that name."
"Well, you can take it from me you've no show when they are onyour trail. It's not a take-it-or-miss-it government concern. It'sa dead earnest business proposition that's out for results andkeeps out till by hook or crook it gets them. If a Pinkerton man isdeep in this business, we are all destroyed."
"We must kill him."
"Ah, it's the first thought that came to you! So it will be upat the lodge. Didn't I say to you that it would end in murder?"
"Sure, what is murder? Isn't it common enough in theseparts?"
"It is, indeed; but it's not for me to point out the man that isto be murdered. I'd never rest easy again. And yet it's our ownnecks that may be at stake. In God's name what shall I do?" Herocked to and fro in his agony of indecision.
But his words had moved McMurdo deeply. It was easy to see thathe shared the other's opinion as to the danger, and the need formeeting it. He gripped Morris's shoulder and shook him in hisearnestness.
"See here, man," he cried, and he almost screeched the words inhis excitement, "you won't gain anything by sitting keening like anold wife at a wake. Let's have the facts. Who is the fellow? Whereis he? How did you hear of him? Why did you come to me?"
"I came to you; for you are the one man that would advise me. Itold you that I had a store in the East before I came here. I leftgood friends behind me, and one of them is in the telegraphservice. Here's a letter that I had from him yesterday. It's thispart 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 readplenty of them in the papers. Between you and me I expect to hearnews from you before long. Five big corporations and the tworailroads have taken the thing up in dead earnest. They mean it,and you can bet they'll get there! They are right deep down intoit. Pinkerton has taken hold under their orders, and his best man,Birdy Edwards, is operating. The thing has got to be stopped rightnow.
"Now read the postscript."
Of course, what I give you is what I learned inbusiness; so it goes no further. It's a queer cipher that youhandle by the yard every day and can get no meaningfrom.
McMurdo sat in silence for some time, with the letter in hislistless hands. The mist had lifted for a moment, and there was theabyss before him.
"Does anyone else know of this?" he asked.
"I have told no one else."
"But this man -- your friend -- has he any other person that hewould be likely to write to?"
"Well, I dare say he knows one or two more."
"Of the lodge?"
"It's likely enough."
"I was asking because it is likely that he may have given somedescription of this fellow Birdy Edwards -- then we could get onhis trail."
"Well, it's possible. But I should not think he knew him. He isjust telling me the news that came to him by way of business. Howwould he know this Pinkerton man?"
McMurdo gave a violent start.
"By Gar!" he cried, "I've got him. What a fool I was not to knowit. Lord! but we're in luck! We will fix him before he can do anyharm. See here, Morris, will you leave this thing in my hands?"
"Sure, if you will only take it off mine."
"I'll do that. You can stand right back and let me run it. Evenyour name need not be mentioned. I'll take it all on myself, as ifit were to me that this letter has come. Will that contentyou?"
"It's just what I would ask."
"Then leave it at that and keep your head shut. Now I'll getdown to the lodge, and we'll soon make old man Pinkerton sorry forhimself."
"You wouldn't kill this man?"
"The less you know, Friend Morris, the easier your consciencewill be, and the better you will sleep. Ask no questions, and letthese things settle themselves. I have hold of it now."
Morris shook his head sadly as he left. "I feel that his bloodis on my hands," he groaned.
"Self-protection is no murder, anyhow," said McMurdo, smilinggrimly. "It's him or us. I guess this man would destroy us all ifwe left him long in the valley. Why, Brother Morris, we'll have toelect you Bodymaster yet; for you've surely saved the lodge."
And yet it was clear from his actions that he thought moreseriously of this new intrusion than his words would show. It mayhave been his guilty conscience, it may have been the reputation ofthe Pinkerton organization, it may have been the knowledge thatgreat, rich corporations had set themselves the task of clearingout the Scowrers; but, whatever his reason, his actions were thoseof a man who is preparing for the worst. Every paper which wouldincriminate him was destroyed before he left the house. After thathe gave a long sigh of satisfaction; for it seemed to him that hewas safe. And yet the danger must still have pressed somewhat uponhim; for on his way to the lodge he stopped at old man Shafter's.The house was forbidden him; but when he tapped at the window Ettiecame out to him. The dancing Irish deviltry had gone from herlover's eyes. She read his danger in his earnest face.
"Something has happened!" she cried. "Oh, Jack, you are indanger!"
"Sure, it is not very bad, my sweetheart. And yet it may be wisethat we make a move before it is worse."
"Make a move?"
"I promised you once that I would go some day. I think the timeis coming. I had news to-night, bad news, and I see troublecoming."
"The police?"
"Well, a Pinkerton. But, sure, you wouldn't know what that is,acushla, nor what it may mean to the likes of me. I'm too deep inthis thing, and I may have to get out of it quick. You said youwould come with me if I went."
"Oh, Jack, it would be the saving of you!"
"I'm an honest man in some things, Ettie. I wouldn't hurt a hairof your bonny head for all that the world can give, nor ever pullyou down one inch from the golden throne above the clouds where Ialways see you. Would you trust me?"
She put her hand in his without a word. "Well, then, listen towhat I say, and do as I order you, for indeed it's the only way forus. Things are going to happen in this valley. I feel it in mybones. There may be many of us that will have to look out forourselves. I'm one, anyhow. If I go, by day or night, it's you thatmust come with me!"
"I'd come after you, Jack."
"No, no, you shall come with me. If this valley is closed to meand I can never come back, how can I leave you behind, and meperhaps in hiding from the police with never a chance of a message?It's with me you must come. I know a good woman in the place I comefrom, and it's there I'd leave you till we can get married. Willyou come?"
"Yes, Jack, I will come."
"God bless you for your trust in me! It's a fiend out of hellthat I should be if I abused it. Now, mark you, Ettie, it will bejust a word to you, and when it reaches you, you will dropeverything and come right down to the waiting room at the depot andstay there till I come for you."
"Day or night, I'll come at the word, Jack."
Somewhat eased in mind, now that his own preparations for escapehad been begun, McMurdo went on to the lodge. It had alreadyassembled, and only by complicated signs and countersigns could hepass through the outer guard and inner guard who close-tiled it. Abuzz of pleasure and welcome greeted him as he entered. The longroom was crowded, and through the haze of tobacco smoke he saw thetangled black mane of the Bodymaster, the cruel, unfriendlyfeatures of Baldwin, the vulture face of Harraway, the secretary,and a dozen more who were among the leaders of the lodge. Herejoiced that they should all be there to take counsel over hisnews.
"Indeed, it's glad we are to see you, Brother!" cried thechairman. "There's business here that wants a Solomon in judgmentto set it right."
"It's Lander and Egan," explained his neighbour as he took hisseat. "They both claim the head money given by the lodge for theshooting of old man Crabbe over at Stylestown, and who's to saywhich fired the bullet?"
McMurdo rose in his place and raised his hand. The expression ofhis face froze the attention of the audience. There was a dead hushof expectation.
"Eminent Bodymaster," he said, in a solemn voice, "I claimurgency!"
"Brother McMurdo claims urgency," said McGinty. "It's a claimthat by the rules of this lodge takes precedence. Now Brother, weattend you."
McMurdo took the letter from his pocket.
"Eminent Bodymaster and Brethren," he said, "I am the bearer ofill news this day; but it is better that it should be known anddiscussed, than that a blow should fall upon us without warningwhich would destroy us all. I have information that the mostpowerful and richest organizations in this state have boundthemselves together for our destruction, and that at this verymoment there is a Pinkerton detective, one Birdy Edwards, at workin the valley collecting the evidence which may put a rope roundthe necks of many of us, and send every man in this room into afelon's cell. That is the situation for the discussion of which Ihave made a claim of urgency."
There was a dead silence in the room. It was broken by thechairman.
"What is your evidence for this, Brother McMurdo?" he asked.
"It is in this letter which has come into my hands," saidMcMurdo. Me read the passage aloud. "It is a matter of honour withme that I can give no further particulars about the letter, nor putit into your hands; but I assure you that there is nothing else init which can affect the interests of the lodge. I put the casebefore you as it has reached me."
"Let me say, Mr. Chairman," said one of the older brethren,"that I have heard of Birdy Edwards, and that he has the name ofbeing the best man 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 continuedwith an exulting smile upon his face. "If we act quickly andwisely, we can cut this thing short. If I have your confidence andyour help, it is little that we have to fear."
"What have we to fear, anyhow? What can he know of ouraffairs?"
"You might say so if all were as stanch as you, Councillor. Butthis man has all the millions of the capitalists at his back. Doyou think there is no weaker brother among all our lodges thatcould not be bought? He will get at our secrets -- maybe has gotthem already. There's only one sure cure."
"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 wordto-night."
"Where is he, then? Where shall we know him?"
"Eminent Bodymaster," said McMurdo, earnestly, "I would put itto you that this is too vital a thing for us to discuss in openlodge. God forbid that I should throw a doubt on anyone here; butif so much as a word of gossip got to the ears of this man, therewould be an end of any chance of our getting him. I would ask thelodge to choose a trusty committee, Mr. Chairman -- yourself, if Imight suggest it, and Brother Baldwin here, and five more. Then Ican talk freely of what I know and of what I advise should bedone."
The proposition was at once adopted, and the committee chosen.Besides the chairman and Baldwin there were the vulturefacedsecretary, Harraway, Tiger Cormac, the brutal young assassin,Carter, the treasurer, and the brothers Willaby, fearless anddesperate men who would stick at nothing.
The usual revelry of the lodge was short and subdued: for therewas a cloud upon the men's spirits, and many there for the firsttime began to see the cloud of avenging Law drifting up in thatserene sky under which they had dwelt so long. The horrors they haddealt out to others had been so much a part of their settled livesthat the thought of retribution had become a remote one, and soseemed the more startling now that it came so closely upon them.They broke up early and left their leaders to their council.
"Now, McMurdo!" said McGinty when they were alone. The seven mensat frozen in their seats.
"I said just now that I knew Birdy Edwards," McMurdo explained."I need not tell you that he is not here under that name. He's abrave man, but not a crazy one. He passes under the name of SteveWilson, and he is lodging at Hobson's Patch."
"How do you know this?"
"Because I fell into talk with him. I thought little of it atthe time, nor would have given it a second thought but for thisletter; but now I'm sure it's the man. I met him on the cars when Iwent down the line on Wednesday -- a hard case if ever there wasone. He said he was a reporter. I believed it for the moment.Wanted to know all he could about the Scowrers and what he called'the outrages' for a New York paper. Asked me every kind ofquestion so as to get something. You bet I was giving nothing away.'I'd pay for it and pay well,' said he, 'if I could get some stuffthat would suit my editor.' I said what I thought would please himbest, and he handed me a twenty-dollar bill for my information.'There's ten times that for you,' said he, 'if you can find me allthat I want.'"
"What did you tell him, then?"
"Any stuff I could make up."
"How do you know he wasn't a newspaper man?"
"I'll tell you. He got out at Hobson's Patch, and so did I. Ichanced into the telegraph bureau, and he was leaving it.
"'See here,' said the operator after he'd gone out, 'I guess weshould charge double rates for this.' -- 'I guess you should,' saidI. He had filled the form with stuff that might have been Chinese,for all we could make of it. 'He fires a sheet of this off everyday,' said the clerk. 'Yes,' said I; 'it's special news for hispaper, and he's scared that the others should tap it.' That waswhat the operator thought and what I thought at the time; but Ithink differently now."
"By Gar! I believe you are right," said McGinty. "But what doyou allow that we should do about it?"
"Why not go right down now and fix him?" someone suggested.
"Ay, the sooner the better."
"I'd start this next minute if I knew where we could find him,"said McMurdo. "He's in Hobson's Patch; but I don't know the house.I've got a plan, though, if you'll only take my advice."
"Well, what is it?"
"I'll go to the Patch to-morrow morning. I'll find him throughthe operator. He can locate him, I guess. Well, then I'll tell himthat I'm a Freeman myself. I'll offer him all the secrets of thelodge for a price. You bet he'll tumble to it. I'll tell him thepapers are at my house, and that it's as much as my life would beworth to let him come while folk were about. He'll see that that'shorse sense. Let him come at ten o'clock at night, and he shall seeeverything. That will fetch him sure."
"Well?"
"You can plan the rest for yourselves. Widow MacNamara's is alonely house. She's as true as steel and as deaf as a post. There'sonly Scanlan and me in the house. If I get his promise -- and I'lllet you know if I do -- I'd have the whole seven of you come to meby nine o'clock. We'll get him in. If ever he gets out alive --well, he can talk of Birdy Edwards's luck for the rest of hisdays!"
"There's going to be a vacancy at Pinkerton's or I'm mistaken.Leave it at that, McMurdo. At nine to-morrow we'll be with you. Youonce get the door shut behind him, and you can leave the rest withus."
CHAPTER VII. THE TRAPPING OF BIRDY EDWARDS
As McMurdo had said, the house in which he lived was a lonelyone and very well suited for such a crime as they had planned. Itwas on the extreme fringe of the town and stood well back from theroad. In any other case the conspirators would have simply calledout their man, as they had many a time before, and emptied theirpistols into his body; but in this instance it was very necessaryto find out how much he knew, how he knew it, and what had beenpassed on to his employers.
It was possible that they were already too late and that thework had been done. If that was indeed so, they could at least havetheir revenge upon the man who had done it. But they were hopefulthat nothing of great importance had yet come to the detective'sknowledge, as otherwise, they argued, he would not have troubled towrite down and forward such trivial information as McMurdo claimedto have given him. However, all this they would learn from his ownlips. Once in their power, they would find a way to make him speak.It was not the first time that they had handled an unwillingwitness.
McMurdo went to Hobson's Patch as agreed. The police seemed totake particular interest in him that morning, and Captain Marvin --he who had claimed the old acquaintance with him at Chicago --actually addressed him as he waited at the station. McMurdo turnedaway and refused to speak with him. He was back from his mission inthe afternoon, and saw McGinty at the Union House.
"He is coming," he said.
"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 andpolitics had made the Boss a very rich as well as powerful man. Themore terrible, therefore, seemed that glimpse of the prison or thegallows which had risen before him the night before.
"Do you reckon he knows much?" he asked anxiously.
McMurdo shook his head gloomily. "He's been here some time --six weeks at the least. I guess he didn't come into these parts tolook at the prospect. If he has been working among us all that timewith the railroad money at his back, I should expect that he hasgot results, and that he has passed them on."
"There's not a weak man in the lodge," cried McGinty. "True assteel, every man of them. And yet, by the Lord! there is that skunkMorris. What about him? If any man gives us away, it would be he.I've a mind to send a couple of the boys round before evening togive him a beating up and see what they can get from him."
"Well, there would be no harm in that," McMurdo answered. "Iwon't deny that I have a liking for Morris and would be sorry tosee him come to harm. He has spoken to me once or twice over lodgematters, and though he may not see them the same as you or I, henever seemed the sort that squeals. But still it is not for me tostand between him and you."
"I'll fix the old devil!" said McGinty with an oath. "I've hadmy eye on him this year past."
"Well, you know best about that," McMurdo answered. "Butwhatever you do must be to-morrow; for we must lie low until thePinkerton affair is settled up. We can't afford to set the policebuzzing, to-day of all days."
"True for you," said McGinty. "And we'll learn from BirdyEdwards himself where he got his news if we have to cut his heartout first. Did he seem to scent a trap?"
McMurdo laughed. "I guess I took him on his weak point," hesaid. "If he could get on a good trail of the Scowrers, he's readyto follow it into hell. I took his money," McMurdo grinned as heproduced a wad of dollar notes, "and as much more when he has seenall my papers."
"What papers?"
"Well, there are no papers. But I filled him up aboutconstitutions and books of rules and forms of membership. Heexpects to get right down to the end of everything before heleaves."
"Faith, he's right there," said McGinty grimly. "Didn't he askyou why you didn't bring him the papers?"
"As if I would carry such things, and me a suspected man, andCaptain Marvin after speaking to me this very day at thedepot!"
"Ay, I heard of that," said McGinty. "I guess the heavy end ofthis business is coming on to you. We could put him down an oldshaft when we've done with him; but however we work it we can't getpast the man living at Hobson's Patch and you being thereto-day."
McMurdo shrugged his shoulders. "If we handle it right, they cannever prove the killing," said he. "No one can see him come to thehouse after dark, and I'll lay to it that no one will see him go.Now see here, Councillor, I'll show you my plan and I'll ask you tofit the others into it. You will all come in good time. Very well.He comes at ten. He is to tap three times, and me to open the doorfor him. Then I'll get behind him and shut it. He's our manthen."
"That's all easy and plain."
"Yes; but the next step wants considering. He's a hardproposition. He's heavily armed. I've fooled him proper, and yet heis likely to be on his guard. Suppose I show him right into a roomwith seven men in it where he expected to find me alone. There isgoing to be shooting, and somebody is going to be hurt."
"That's so."
"And the noise is going to bring every damned copper in thetownship on top of it."
"I guess you are right."
"This is how I should work it. You will all be in the big room-- same as you saw when you had a chat with me. I'll open the doorfor him, show him into the parlour beside the door, and leave himthere while I get the papers. That will give me the chance oftelling you how things are shaping. Then I will go back to him withsome faked papers. As he is reading them I will jump for him andget my grip on his pistol arm. You'll hear me call and in you willrush. The quicker the better; for he is as strong a man as I, and Imay have more than I can manage. But I allow that I can hold himtill you come."
"It's a good plan," said McGinty. "The lodge will owe you a debtfor this. I guess when I move out of the chair I can put a name tothe man that's coming after me."
"Sure, Councillor, I am little more than a recruit," saidMcMurdo; but his face showed what he thought of the great man'scompliment.
When he had returned home he made his own preparations for thegrim evening in front of him. First he cleaned, oiled, and loadedhis Smith & Wesson revolver. Then he surveyed the room in whichthe detective was to be trapped. It was a large apartment, with along deal table in the centre, and the big stove at one side. Ateach of the other sides were windows. There were no shutters onthese: only light curtains which drew across. McMurdo examinedthese attentively. No doubt it must have struck him that theapartment was very exposed for so secret a meeting. Yet itsdistance from the road made it of less consequence. Finally hediscussed the matter with his fellow lodger. Scanlan, though aScowrer, was an inoffensive little man who was too weak to standagainst the opinion of his comrades, but was secretly horrified bythe deeds of blood at which he had sometimes been forced to assist.McMurdo told him shortly what was intended.
"And if I were you, Mike Scanlan, I would take a night off andkeep clear of it. There will be bloody work here beforemorning."
"Well, indeed then, Mac," Scanlan answered. "It's not the willbut the nerve that is wanting in me. When I saw Manager Dunn godown at the colliery yonder it was just more than I could stand.I'm not made for it, same as you or McGinty. If the lodge willthink none the worse of me, I'll just do as you advise and leaveyou 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 faceswould have read little hope for Birdy Edwards in those hard mouthsand remorseless eyes. There was not a man in the room whose handshad not been reddened a dozen times before. They were as hardenedto human murder as a butcher to sheep.
Foremost, of course, both in appearance and in guilt, was theformidable Boss. 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 wereconcerned, and with no notion of justice or honesty to anyonebeyond. The treasurer, Carter, was a middle-aged man, with animpassive, rather sulky expression, and a yellow parchment skin. Hewas a capable organizer, and the actual details of nearly everyoutrage had sprung from his plotting brain. The two Willabys weremen of action, tall, lithe young fellows with determined faces,while their companion, Tiger Cormac, a heavy, dark youth, wasfeared even by his own comrades for the ferocity of hisdisposition. These were the men who assembled that night under theroof of McMurdo for the killing of the Pinkerton detective.
Their host had placed whisky upon the table, and they hadhastened to prime themselves for the work before them. Baldwin andCormac were already half-drunk, and the liquor had brought out alltheir ferocity. Cormac placed his hands on the stove for an instant-- it 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 tothat, we will have the truth out of him."
"We'll have the truth out of him, never fear," said McMurdo. Hehad nerves of steel, this man; for though the whole weight of theaffair was on him his manner was as cool and unconcerned as ever.The others marked it and applauded.
"You are the one to handle him," said the Boss approvingly. "Nota warning will he get till your hand is on his throat. It's a pitythere are no shutters to your windows."
McMurdo went from one to the other and drew the curtainstighter. "Sure no one can spy upon us now. It's close upon thehour."
"Maybe he won't come. Maybe he'll get a sniff of danger," saidthe secretary.
"He'll come, never fear," McMurdo answered. "He is as eager tocome as you can be to see him. Hark to that!"
They all sat like wax figures, some with their glasses arrestedhalfway to their lips. Three loud knocks had sounded at thedoor.
"Hush!" McMurdo raised his hand in caution. An exulting glancewent round the circle, and hands were laid upon hidden weapons.
"Not a sound, for your lives!" McMurdo whispered, as he wentfrom the room, closing the door carefully behind him.
With strained ears the murderers waited. They counted the stepsof their comrade down the passage. Then they heard him open theouter door. There were a few words as of greeting. Then they wereaware of a strange step inside and of an unfamiliar voice. Aninstant later came the slam of the door and the turning of the keyin the lock. Their prey was safe within the trap. Tiger Cormaclaughed horribly, and Boss McGinty clapped his great hand acrosshis mouth.
"Be quiet, you fool!" he whispered. "You'll be the undoing of usyet!"
There was a mutter of conversation from the next room. It seemedinterminable. Then the door opened, and McMurdo appeared, hisfinger upon his lip.
He came to the end of the table and looked round at them. Asubtle change had come over him. His manner was as of one who hasgreat work to do. His face had set into granite firmness. His eyesshone with a fierce excitement behind his spectacles. He had becomea visible leader of men. They stared at him with eager interest;but he said nothing. Still with the same singular gaze he lookedfrom man to man.
"Well!" cried Boss McGinty at last. "Is he here? Is BirdyEdwards here?"
"Yes," McMurdo answered slowly. "Birdy Edwards is here. I amBirdy Edwards!"
There were ten seconds after that brief speech during which theroom might have been empty, so profound was the silence. Thehissing of a kettle upon the stove rose sharp and strident to theear. Seven white faces, all turned upward to this man who dominatedthem, were set motionless with utter terror. Then, with a suddenshivering of glass, a bristle of glistening rifle barrels brokethrough each window, while the curtains were torn from theirhangings.
At the sight Boss McGinty gave the roar of a wounded bear andplunged for the half-opened door. A levelled revolver met him therewith the stern blue eyes of Captain Marvin of the Mine Policegleaming behind the sights. The Boss recoiled and fell back intohis chair.
"You're safer there, Councillor," said the man whom they hadknown as McMurdo. "And you, Baldwin, if you don't take your handoff your pistol, you'll cheat the hangman yet. Pull it out, or bythe Lord that made me -- There, that will do. There are forty armedmen round this house, and you can figure it out for yourself whatchance you have. Take their pistols, Marvin!"
There was no possible resistance under the menace of thoserifles. The men were disarmed. Sulky, sheepish, and amazed, theystill sat round the table.
"I'd like to say a word to you before we separate," said the manwho had trapped them. "I guess we may not meet again until you seeme on the stand in the courthouse. I'll give you something to thinkover between now and then. You know me now for what I am. At last Ican put my cards on the table. I am Birdy Edwards of Pinkerton's. Iwas chosen to break up your gang. I had a hard and dangerous gameto play. Not a soul, not one soul, not my nearest and dearest, knewthat I was playing it. Only Captain Marvin here and my employersknew that. But it's over to-night, thank God, and I am thewinner!"
The seven pale, rigid faces looked up at him. There wasunappeasable hatred in their eyes. He read the relentlessthreat.
"Maybe you think that the game is not over yet. Well, I take mychance of that. Anyhow, some of you will take no further hand, andthere are sixty more besides yourselves that will see a jail thisnight. I'll tell you this, that when I was put upon this job Inever believed there was such a society as yours. I thought it waspaper talk, and that I would prove it so. They told me it was to dowith the Freemen; so I went to Chicago and was made one. Then I wassurer than ever that it was just paper talk; for I found no harm inthe society, but a deal of good.
"Still, I had to carry out my job, and I came to the coalvalleys. When I reached this place I learned that I was wrong andthat it wasn't a dime novel after all. So I stayed to look afterit. I never killed a man in Chicago. I never minted a dollar in mylife. Those I gave you were as good as any others; but I neverspent money better. But I knew the way into your good wishes and soI pretended to you that the law was after me. It all worked just asI thought.
"So I joined your infernal lodge, and I took my share in yourcouncils. Maybe they will say that I was as bad as you. They cansay what they like, so long as I get you. But what is the truth?The night I joined you beat up old man Stanger. I could not warnhim, for there was no time; but I held your hand, Baldwin, when youwould have killed him. If ever I have suggested things, so as tokeep my place among you, they were things which I knew I couldprevent. I could not save Dunn and Menzies, for I did not knowenough; but I will see that their murderers are hanged. I gaveChester Wilcox warning, so that when I blew his house in he and hisfolk were in hiding. There was many a crime that I could not stop;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, you'll see mywork."
"You blasted traitor!" hissed McGinty through his closedteeth.
"Ay, John McGinty, you may call me that if it eases your smart.You and your like have been the enemy of God and man in theseparts. It took a man to get between you and the poor devils of menand women that you held under your grip. There was just one way ofdoing it, and I did it. You call me a traitor; but I guess there'smany a thousand will call me a deliverer that went down into hellto save them. I've had three months of it. I wouldn't have threesuch months again if they let me loose in the treasury atWashington for it. I had to stay till I had it all, every man andevery secret right here in this hand. I'd have waited a littlelonger if it hadn't come to my knowledge that my secret was comingout. A letter had come into the town that would have set you wiseto it all. Then I had to act and act quickly.
"I've nothing more to say to you, except that when my time comesI'll die the easier when I think of the work I have done in thisvalley. Now, Marvin, I'll keep you no more. Take them in and get itover."
There is little more to tell. Scanlan had been given a sealednote to be left at the address of Miss Ettie Shafter, a missionwhich he had accepted with a wink and a knowing smile. In the earlyhours of the morning a beautiful woman and a much muffled manboarded a special train which had been sent by the railroadcompany, and made a swift, unbroken journey out of the land ofdanger. It was the last time that ever either Ettie or her loverset foot in the Valley of Fear. Ten days later they were married inChicago, with old Jacob Shafter as witness of the wedding.
The trial of the Scowrers was held far from the place wheretheir adherents might have terrified the guardians of the law. Invain they struggled. In vain the money of the lodge -- moneysqueezed by blackmail out of the whole countryside -- was spentlike water in the attempt to save them. That cold, clear,unimpassioned statement from one who knew every detail of theirlives, their organization, and their crimes was unshaken by all thewiles of their defenders. At last after so many years they werebroken and scattered. The cloud was lifted forever from thevalley.
McGinty met his fate upon the scaffold, cringing and whiningwhen the last hour came. Eight of his chief followers shared hisfate. Fifty-odd had various degrees of imprisonment. The work ofBirdy Edwards was complete.
And yet, as he had guessed, the game was not over yet. There wasanother hand to be played, and yet another and another. TedBaldwin, for one, had escaped the scaffold; so had the Willabys; sohad several others of the fiercest spirits of the gang. For tenyears they were out of the world, and then came a day when theywere free once more -- a day which Edwards, who knew his men, wasvery sure would be an end of his life of peace. They had sworn anoath on all that they thought holy to have his blood as a vengeancefor their comrades. And well they strove to keep their vow!
From Chicago he was chased, after two attempts so near successthat it was sure that the third would get him. From Chicago he wentunder a changed name to California, and it was there that the lightwent for a time out of his life when Ettie Edwards died. Once againhe was nearly killed, and once again under the name of Douglas heworked in a lonely canyon, where with an English partner namedBarker he amassed a fortune. At last there came a warning to himthat the bloodhounds were on his track once more, and he cleared --only just in time -- for England. And thence came the John Douglaswho for a second time married a worthy mate, and lived for fiveyears as a Sussex county gentleman, a life which ended with thestrange happenings of which we have heard.
Epilogue
The police trial had passed, in which the case of John Douglaswas referred to a higher court. So had the Quarter Sessions, atwhich he was acquitted as having acted in self-defense.
"Get him out of England at any cost," wrote Holmes to the wife."There are forces here which may be more dangerous than those hehas escaped. There is no safety for your husband in England."
Two months had gone by, and the case had to some extent passedfrom our minds. Then one morning there came an enigmatic noteslipped into our letter box. "Dear me, Mr. Holmes. Dear me!" saidthis singular epistle. There was neither superscription norsignature. I laughed at the quaint message; but Holmes showedunwonted seriousness.
"Deviltry, Watson!" he remarked, and sat long with a cloudedbrow.
Late last night Mrs. Hudson, our landlady, brought up a messagethat a gentleman wished to see Holmes, and that the matter was ofthe utmost importance. Close at the heels of his messenger cameCecil Barker, our friend of the moated Manor House. His face wasdrawn and haggard.
"I've had bad news -- terrible 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."
"It's poor Douglas. They tell me his name is Edwards; but hewill always be Jack Douglas of Benito Canyon to me. I told you thatthey started together for South Africa in the Palmyra three weeksago."
"Exactly."
"The ship reached Cape Town last night. I received this cablefrom Mrs 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, I've no doubt it was well stage-managed."
"You mean that you think there was no accident?"
"None in the world."
"He was murdered?"
"Surely!"
"So I think also. These infernal Scowrers, this cursedvindictive nest of criminals --"
"No, no, my good sir," said Holmes. "There is a master handhere. It is no case of sawed-off shot-guns and clumsy six-shooters.You can tell an old master by the sweep of his brush. I can tell aMoriarty when I see one. This crime is from London, not fromAmerica."
"But for what motive?"
"Because it is done by a man who cannot afford to fail -- onewhose whole unique position depends upon the fact that all he doesmust succeed. A great brain and a huge organization have beenturned to the extinction of one man. It is crushing the nut withthe hammer -- an absurd extravagance of energy -- but the nut isvery effectually crushed all the 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 thebusiness was from one of his lieutenants. These Americans were welladvised. Having an English job to do, they took into partnership,as any foreign criminal could do, this great consultant in crime.From that moment their man was doomed. At first he would contenthimself by using his machinery in order to find their victim. Thenhe would indicate how the matter might be treated. Finally, when heread in the reports of the failure of this agent, he would step inhimself with a master touch. You heard me warn this man atBirlstone Manor House that the coming danger was greater than thepast. Was I right?"
Barker beat his head with his clenched fist in his impotentanger.
"Do you tell me that we have to sit down under this? Do you saythat no one can ever get level with this king-devil?"
"No, I don't say that," said Holmes, and his eyes seemed to belooking far into the future. "I don't say that he can't be beat.But you must give me time -- you must give me time!"
We all sat in silence for some minutes, while those fateful eyesstill strained to pierce the veil.
HIS LAST BOW
ADVENTURE I. THE ADVENTURE OF THE CARDBOARD BOX
In choosing a few typical cases which illustrate the remarkablemental qualities of my friend, Sherlock Holmes, I have endeavoured,as far as possible, to select those which presented the minimum ofsensationalism, while offering a fair field for his talents. It is,however, unfortunately impossible entirely to separate thesensational from the criminal, and a chronicler is left in thedilemma that he must either sacrifice details which are essentialto his statement and so give a false impression of the problem, orhe must use matter which chance, and not choice, has provided himwith. With this short preface I shall turn to my notes of whatproved to be a strange, though a peculiarly terrible, chain ofevents.
It was a blazing hot day in August. Baker Street was like anoven, and the glare of the sunlight upon the yellow brickwork ofthe house across the road was painful to the eye. It was hard tobelieve that these were the same walls which loomed so gloomilythrough the fogs of winter. Our blinds were half-drawn, and Holmeslay curled upon the sofa, reading and re-reading a letter which hehad received by the morning post. For myself, my term of service inIndia had trained me to stand heat better than cold, and athermometer at ninety was no hardship. But the morning paper wasuninteresting. Parliament had risen. Everybody was out of town, andI yearned for the glades of the New Forest or the shingle ofSouthsea. A depleted bank account had caused me to postpone myholiday, and as to my companion, neither the country nor the seapresented the slightest attraction to him. He loved to lie in thevery center of five millions of people, with his filamentsstretching out and running through them, responsive to every littlerumour or suspicion of unsolved crime. Appreciation of nature foundno place among his many gifts, and his only change was when heturned his mind from the evil-doer of the town to track down hisbrother of the country.
Finding that Holmes was too absorbed for conversation I hadtossed side the barren paper, and leaning back in my chair I fellinto a brown study. Suddenly my companion's voice broke in upon mythoughts:
"You are right, Watson," said he. "It does seem a mostpreposterous way of settling a dispute."
"Most preposterous!" I exclaimed, and then suddenly realizinghow he had echoed the inmost thought of my soul, I sat up in mychair and stared at him in blank amazement.
"What is this, Holmes?" I cried. "This is beyond anything whichI could have imagined."
He laughed heartily at my perplexity.
"You remember," said he, "that some little time ago when I readyou the passage in one of Poe's sketches in which a close reasonerfollows the unspoken thoughts of his companion, you were inclinedto treat the matter as a mere tour-de-force of the author. On myremarking that I was constantly in the habit of doing the samething you expressed incredulity."
"Oh, no!"
"Perhaps not with your tongue, my dear Watson, but certainlywith your eyebrows. So when I saw you throw down your paper andenter upon a train of thought, I was very happy to have theopportunity of reading it off, and eventually of breaking into it,as a proof that I had been in rapport with you."
But I was still far from satisfied. "In the example which youread to me," said I, "the reasoner drew his conclusions from theactions of the man whom he observed. If I remember right, hestumbled over a heap of stones, looked up at the stars, and so on.But I have been seated quietly in my chair, and what clues can Ihave given you?"
"You do yourself an injustice. The features are given to man asthe means by which he shall express his emotions, and yours arefaithful servants."
"Do you mean to say that you read my train of thoughts from myfeatures?"
"Your features and especially your eyes. Perhaps you cannotyourself recall how your reverie commenced?"
"No, I cannot."
"Then I will tell you. After throwing down your paper, which wasthe action which drew my attention to you, you sat for half aminute with a vacant expression. Then your eyes fixed themselvesupon your newly framed picture of General Gordon, and I saw by thealteration in your face that a train of thought had been started.But it did not lead very far. Your eyes flashed across tho theunframed portrait of Henry Ward Beecher which stands upon the topof your books. Then you glanced up at the wall, and of course yourmeaning was obvious. You were thinking that if the portrait wereframed it would just cover that bare space and correspond withGordon's picture there."
"You have followed me wonderfully!" I exclaimed.
"So far I could hardly have gone astray. But now your thoughtswent back to Beecher, and you looked hard across as if you werestudying the character in his features. Then your eyes ceased topucker, but you continued to look across, and your face wasthoughtful. You were recalling the incidents of Beecher's career. Iwas well aware that you could not do this without thinking of themission which he undertook on behalf of the North at the time ofthe Civil War, for I remember your expressing your passionateindignation at the way in which he was received by the moreturbulent of our people. You felt so strongly about it that I knewyou could not think of Beecher without thinking of that also. Whena moment later I saw your eyes wander away from the picture, Isuspected that your mind had now turned to the Civil War, and whenI observed that your lips set, your eyes sparkled, and your handsclenched I was positive that you were indeed thinking of thegallantry which was shown by both sides in that desperate struggle.But then, again, your face grew sadder, you shook your head. Youwere dwelling upon the sadness and horror and useless waste oflife. Your hand stole towards your own old wound and a smilequivered on your lips, which showed me that the ridiculous side ofthis method of settling international questions had forced itselfupon 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, Iconfess that I am as amazed as before."
"It was very superficial, my dear Watson, I assure you. I shouldnot have intruded it upon your attention had you not shown someincredulity the other day. But I have in my hands here a littleproblem which may prove to be more difficult of solution than mysmall essay I thought reading. Have you observed in the paper ashort paragraph referring to the remarkable contents of a packetsent through the post to Miss Cushing, of Cross Street,Croydon?"
"No, I saw nothing."
"Ah! then you must have overlooked it. Just toss it over to me.Here it is, under the financial column. Perhaps you would be goodenough to read it aloud."
I picked up the paper which he had thrown back to me and readthe paragraph indicated. It was headed, "A Gruesome Packet."
"Miss Susan Cushing, living at Cross Street, Croydon, has beenmade the victim of what must be regarded as a peculiarly revoltingpractical joke unless some more sinister meaning should prove to beattached to the incident. At two o'clock yesterday afternoon asmall packet, wrapped in brown paper, was handed in by the postman.A cardboard box was inside, which was filled with coarse salt. Onemptying this, Miss Cushing was horrified to find two human ears,apparently quite freshly severed. The box had been sent by parcelpost from Belfast upon the morning before. There is no indicationas to the sender, and the matter is the more mysterious as MissCushing, who is a maiden lady of fifty, has led a most retiredlife, and has so few acquaintances or corespondents that it is arare event for her to receive anything through the post. Some yearsago, however, when she resided at Penge, she let apartments in herhouse to three young medical students, whom she was obliged to getrid of on account of their noisy and irregular habits. The policeare of opinion that this outrage may have been perpetrated uponMiss Cushing by these youths, who owed her a grudge and who hopedto frighten her by sending her these relics of thedissecting-rooms. Some probability is lent to the theory by thefact that one of these students came from the north of Ireland,and, to the best of Miss Cushing's belief, from Belfast. In themeantime, the matter is being actively investigated, Mr. Lestrade,one of the very smartest of our detective officers, being in chargeof the case."
"So much for the Daily Chronicle," said Holmes as I finishedreading. "Now for our friend Lestrade. I had a note from him thismorning, in which he says:
"I think that this case is very much in your line. We have everyhope of clearing the matter up, but we find a little difficulty ingetting anything to work upon. We have, of course, wired to theBelfast post-office, but a large number of parcels were handed inupon that day, and they have no means of identifying thisparticular one, or of remembering the sender. The box is ahalf-pound box of honeydew tobacco and does not help us in any 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 bevery happy to see you out here. I shall be either at the house orin the police-station all day.
"What say you, Watson? Can you rise superior to the heat and rundown to Croydon with me on the off chance of a case for yourannals?"
"I was longing for something to do."
"You shall have it then. Ring for our boots and tell them toorder a cab. I'll be back in a moment when I have changed mydressing-gown and filled my cigar-case."
A shower of rain fell while we were in the train, and the heatwas far less oppressive in Croydon than in town. Holmes had sent ona wire, so that Lestrade, as wiry, as dapper, and as ferretlike asever, was waiting for us at the station. A walk of five minutestook us to Cross Street, where Miss Cushing resided.
It was a very long street of two-story brick houses, neat andprim, with whitened stone steps and little groups of aproned womengossiping at the doors. Halfway down, Lestrade stopped and tappedat a door, which was opened by a small servant girl. Miss Cushingwas sitting in the front room, into which we were ushered. She wasa placid-faced woman, with large, gentle eyes, and grizzled haircurving down over her temples on each side. A worked antimacassarlay upon her lap and a basket of coloured silks stood upon a stoolbeside her.
"They are in the outhouse, those dreadful things," said she asLestrade entered. "I wish that you would take them awayaltogether."
"So I shall, Miss Cushing. I only kept them here until myfriend, 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 knownothing whatever about it?"
"Quite so, madam," said Holmes in his soothing way. "I have nodoubt that you have been annoyed more than enough already over thisbusiness."
"Indeed I have, sir. I am a quiet woman and live a retired life.It is something new for me to see my name in the papers and to findthe police in my house. I won't have those things I here, Mr.Lestrade. If you wish to see them you must go to the outhouse."
It was a small shed in the narrow garden which ran behind thehouse. Lestrade went in and brought out a yellow cardboard box,with a piece of brown paper and some string. There was a bench atthe end of the path, and we all sat down while Homes examined oneby one, the articles which Lestrade had handed to him.
"The string is exceedingly interesting," he remarked, holding itup to the light and sniffing at it. "What do you make of thisstring, Lestrade?"
"It has been tarred."
"Precisely. It is a piece of tarred twine. You have also, nodoubt, remarked that Miss Cushing has cut the cord with a scissors,as can be seen by the double fray on each side. This is ofimportance."
"I cannot see the importance," said Lestrade.
"The importance lies in the fact that the knot is left intact,and that this knot is of a peculiar character."
"It is very neatly tied. I had already made a note of thateffect," said Lestrade complacently.
"So much for the string, then," said Holmes, smiling, "now forthe box wrapper. Brown paper, with a distinct smell of coffee.What, did you not observe it? I think there can be no doubt of it.Address printed in rather straggling characters: 'Miss S. Cushing,Cross Street, Croydon.' Done with a broad-pointed pen, probably aJ, and with very inferior ink. The word 'Croydon' has beenoriginally spelled with an 'i', which has been changed to 'y'. Theparcel was directed, then, by a man--the printing is distinctlymasculine--of limited education and unacquainted with the town ofCroydon. So far, so good! The box is a yellow, half-pound honeydewbox, with nothing distinctive save two thumb marks at the leftbottom corner. It is filled with rough salt of the quality used forpreserving hides and other of the coarser commercial purposes. Andembedded in it are these very singular enclosures."
He took out the two ears as he spoke, and laying a board acrosshis knee he examined them minutely, while Lestrade and I, bendingforward on each side of him, glanced alternately at these dreadfulrelics and at the thoughtful, eager face of our companion. Finallyhe returned them to the box once more and sat for a while in deepmeditation.
"You have observed, of course," said he at last, "that the earsare not a pair."
"Yes, I have noticed that. But if this were the practical jokeof some students from the dissecting-rooms, it would be as easy forthem to send two odd ears as a pair."
"Precisely. But this is not a practical joke."
"You are sure of it?"
"The presumption is strongly against it. Bodies in thedissecting-rooms are injected with preservative fluid. These earsbear no signs of this. They are fresh, too. They have been cut offwith a blunt instrument, which would hardly happen if a student haddone it. Again, carbolic or rectified spirits would be thepreservatives which would suggest themselves to the medical mind,certainly not rough salt. I repeat that there is no practical jokehere, but that we are investigating a serious crime."
A vague thrill ran through me as I listened to my companion'swords and saw the stern gravity which had hardened his features.This brutal preliminary seemed to shadow forth some strange andinexplicable horror in the background. Lestrade, however, shook hishead like a man who is only half convinced.
"There are objections to the joke theory, no doubt," said he,"but there are much stronger reasons against the other. We knowthat this woman has led a most quiet and respectable life at Pengeand here for the last twenty years. She has hardly been away fromher home for a day during that time. Why on earth, then, should anycriminal send her the proofs of his guilt, especially as, unlessshe is a most consummate actress, she understands quite as littleof the matter as we do?"
"That is the problem which we have to solve," Holmes answered,"and for my part I shall set about it by presuming that myreasoning is correct, and that a double murder has been committed.One of these ears is a woman's, small, finely formed, and piercedfor an earring. The other is a man's, sun-burned, discoloured, andalso pierced for an earring. These two people are presumably dead,or we should have heard their story before now. To-day is Friday.The packet was posted on Thursday morning. The tragedy, then,occurred on Wednesday or Tuesday, or earlier. If the two peoplewere murdered, who but their murderer would have sent this sign ofhis work to Miss Cushing? We may take it that the sender of thepacket is the man whom we want. But he must have some strong reasonfor sending Miss Cushing this packet. What reason then? It musthave been to tell her that the deed was done! or to pain her,perhaps. But in that case she knows who it is. Does she know? Idoubt it. If she knew, why should she cal the police in? She mighthave buried the ears, and no one would have been the wiser. That iswhat she would have done if she had wished to shield the criminal.But if she does not wish to shield him she would give his name.There is a tangle here which needs straightening to." He had beentalking in a high, quick voice, staring blankly up over the gardenfence, but now he sprang briskly to his feet and walked towards thehouse.
"I have a few questions to ask Miss Cushing," said he.
"In that case I may leave you here," said Lestrade, "for I haveanother small business on hand. I think that I have nothing furtherto learn form Miss Cushing. You will find me at thepolice-station."
"We shall look in on our way to the train," answered Holmes. Amoment later he and I were back in the front room, where theimpassive lady was still quietly working away at her antimacassar.She put it down on her lap as we entered and looked at us with herfrank, searching blue eyes.
"I am convinced, sir," she said, "that this matter is a mistake,and that the parcel was never meant for me at all. I have said thisseveral times to the gentlemen from Scotland Yard, but he simplylaughs at me. I have not an enemy in 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," saidHolmes, taking a seat beside her. "I think that it is more thanprobable--" He paused, and I was surprised, on glancing round tosee that he was staring with singular intentness at the lady'sprofile. Surprise and satisfaction were both for an instant to beread upon his eager face, though when she glanced round to find outthe cause of his silence he had become as demure as ever. I staredhard myself at her flat, grizzled hair, her trim cap, her littlegilt earrings, her placid features; but I could see nothing whichcould account for my companion's evident excitement.
"There were one or two questions--"
"Oh, I am weary of questions!" cried Miss Cushingimpatiently.
"You have two sisters, I believe."
"How could you know that?"
"I observed the very instant that I entered the room that youhave a portrait group of three ladies upon the mantelpiece, one ofwhom is undoubtedly yourself, while the others are so exceedinglylike you that there could be no doubt of the relationship."
"Yes, you are quite right. Those are my sisters, Sarah andMary."
"And here at my elbow is another portrait, taken at Liverpool,of your younger sister, in the company of a man who appears to be asteward by his uniform. I observe that she was unmarried at thetime."
"You are very quick at observing."
"That is my trade."
"Well, you are quite right. But she was married to Mr. Browner afew days afterwards. He was on the South American line when thatwas taken, but he was so fond of her that he couldn't abide toleave her for so long, and he got into the Liverpool and Londonboats."
"Ah, the Conqueror, perhaps?"
"No, the May Day, when last I heard. Jim came down here to seeme once. That was before he broke the pledge; but afterwards hewould always take drink when he was ashore, and a little drinkwould send him stark, staring mad. Ah! it was a bad day that everhe took a glass in his hand again. First he dropped me, then hequarrelled with Sarah, and now that Mary has stopped writing wedon't know how things are going with them."
It was evident that Miss Cushing had come upon a subject onwhich she felt very deeply. Like most people who lead a lonelylife, she was shy at first, but ended by becoming extremelycommunicative. She told us many details about her brother-in-lawthe steward, and then wandering off on the subject of her formerlodgers, the medical students, she gave us a long account of theirdelinquencies, with their names and those of their hospitals.Holmes listened attentively to everything, throwing in a questionfrom time to time.
"About your second sister, Sarah," said he. "I wonder, since youare both maiden ladies, that you do not keep house together."
"Ah! you don't know Sarah's temper or you would wonder no more.I tried it when I came to Croydon, and we kept on until about twomonths ago, when we had to part. I don't want to say a word againstmy own sister, but she was always meddlesome 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, shewent up there to live in order to be near them. And now she has noword hard enough for Jim Browner. The last six months that she washere she would speak of nothing but his drinking and his ways. Hehad caught her meddling, I suspect, and given her a bit of hismind, and that was the start of it."
"Thank you, Miss Cushing," said Holmes, rising and bowing. "Yoursister Sarah lives, I think you said, at New Street, Wallington?Good-bye, and I am very sorry that you should have been troubledover a case with which, as you say, you have nothing whatever todo."
There was a cab passing as we came out, and Holmes hailedit.
"How far to Wallington?" he asked.
"Only about a mile, sir."
"Very good. Jump in, Watson. We must strike while the iron ishot. Simple as the case is, there have been one or two veryinstructive details in connection with it. Just pull up at atelegraph office as you pass, cabby."
Holmes sent off a short wire and for the rest of the drive layback in the cab, with his hat tilted over his nose to keep the sunfrom his face. Our drive pulled up at a house which was not unlikethe one which we had just quitted. My companion ordered him towait, and had his hand upon the knocker, when the door opened and agrave young gentleman in black, with a very shiny hat, appeared onthe step.
"Is Miss Cushing at home?" asked Holmes.
"Miss Sarah Cushing is extremely ill," said he. "She has beensuffering since yesterday from brain symptoms of great severity. Asher medical adviser, I cannot possibly take the responsibility ofallowing anyone to see her. I should recommend you to call again inten days." He drew on his gloves, closed the door, and marched offdown the street.
"Well, if we can't we can't," 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 lookat her. However, I think that I have got all that I want. Drive usto some decent hotel, cabby, where we may have some lunch, andafterwards we shall drop down upon friend Lestrade at thepolicestation."
We had a pleasant little meal together, during which Holmeswould talk about nothing but violins, narrating with greatexultation how he had purchased his own Stradivarius, which wasworth at least five hundred guineas, at a Jew broker's in TottenhamCourt Road for fifty-five shillings. This led him to Paganini, andwe sat for an hour over a bottle of claret while he told meanecdote after anecdote of that extraordinary man. The afternoonwas far advanced and the hot glare had softened into a mellow glowbefore we found ourselves at the police-station. Lestrade waswaiting 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 overit, and crumpled it into his pocket. "That's all right," saidhe.
"Have you found out anything?"
"I have found out everything!"
"What!" Lestrade stared at him in amazement. "You arejoking."
"I was never more serious in my life. A shocking crime has beencommitted, and I think I have now laid bare every detail ofit."
"And the criminal?"
Holmes scribbled a few words upon the back of one of hisvisiting cards and threw it over to Lestrade.
"That is the name," he said. "You cannot effect an arrest untilto-morrow night at the earliest. I should prefer that you do notmention my name at all in connection with the case, as I choose tobe only associated with those crimes which present some difficultyin their solution. Come on, Watson." We strode off together to thestation, leaving Lestrade still staring with a delighted face atthe card which Holmes had thrown him.
"The case," said Sherlock Holmes as we chatted over or cigarsthat night in our rooms at Baker Street, "is one where, as in theinvestigations which you have chronicled under the names of 'AStudy in Scarlet' and of 'The Sign of Four,' we have been compelledto reason backward from effects to causes. I have written toLestrade asking him to supply us with the details which are nowwanting, and which he will only get after he had secured his man.That he may be safely trusted to do, for although he is absolutelydevoid of reason, he is as tenacious as a bulldog when he onceunderstands what he has to do, and indeed, it is just this tenacitywhich 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 ofthe revolting business is, although one of the victims stillescapes us. Of course, you have formed your own conclusions."
"I presume that this Jim Browner, the steward of a Liverpoolboat, is the man whom 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 merun over the principal steps. We approached the case, you remember,with an absolutely blank mind, which is always an advantage. We hadformed no theories. We were simply there to observe and to drawinferences from our observations. What did we see first? A veryplacid and respectable lady, who seemed quite innocent of anysecret, and a portrait which showed me that she had two youngersisters. It instantly flashed across my mind that the box mighthave been meant for one of these. I set the idea aside as one whichcould be disproved or confirmed at our leisure. Then we went to thegarden, as you remember, and we saw the very singular contents ofthe little yellow box.
"The string was of the quality which is used by sail-makersaboard ship, and at once a whiff of the sea was perceptible in ourinvestigation. When I observed that the knot was one which ispopular with sailors, that the parcel had been posted at a port,and that the male ear was pierced for an earring which is so muchmore common among sailors than landsmen, I was quite certain thatall the actors in the tragedy were to be found among our seafaringclasses.
"When I came to examine the address of the packet I observedthat it was to Miss S. Cushing. Now, the oldest sister would, ofcourse, be Miss Cushing, and although her initial was 'S' it mightbelong to one of the others as well. In that case we should have tocommence our investigation from a fresh basis altogether. Itherefore went into the house with the intention of clearing upthis point. I was about to assure Miss Cushing that I was convincedthat a mistake had been made when you may remember that I camesuddenly to a stop. The fact was that I had just seen somethingwhich filled me with surprise and at the same time narrowed thefield of our inquiry immensely.
"As a medical man, you are aware, Watson, that there is no partof the body which varies so much as the human ear. Each ear is as arule quite distinctive and differs from all other ones. In lastyear's Anthropological Journal you will find two short monographsfrom my pen upon the subject. I had, therefore, examined the earsin the box with the eyes of an expert and had carefully noted theiranatomical peculiarities. Imagine my surprise, then, when onlooking at Miss Cushing I perceived that her ear correspondedexactly with the female ear which I had just inspected. The matterwas entirely beyond coincidence. There was the same shortening ofthe pinna, the same broad curve of the upper lobe, the sameconvolution of the inner cartilage. In all essentials it was thesame ear.
"In the first place, her sister's name was Sarah, and heraddress had until recently been the same, so that it was quiteobvious how the mistake had occurred and for whom the packet wasmeant. Then we heard of this steward, married to the third sister,and learned that he had at one time been so intimate with MissSarah that she had actually gone up to Liverpool to be near theBrowners, but a quarrel had afterwards divided them. This quarrelhad put a stop to all communications for some months, so that ifBrowner had occasion to address a packet to Miss Sarah, he wouldundoubtedly have done so to her old address.
"And now the matter had begun to straighten itself outwonderfully. We had learned of the existence of this steward, animpulsive man, of strong passions--you remember that he threw upwhat must have been a very superior berth in order to be nearer tohis wife--subject, too, to occasional fits of hard drinking. We hadreason to believe that his wife had been murdered, and that aman--presumably a seafaring man--had been murdered at the sametime. Jealousy, of course, at once suggests itself as the motivefor the crime. And why should these proofs of the deed be sent toMiss Sarah Cushing? Probably because during her residence inLiverpool she had some hand in bringing about the events which ledto the tragedy. You will observe that this line of boats call atBelfast, Dublin, and Waterford; so that, presuming that Browner hadcommitted the deed and had embarked at once upon his steamer, theMay Day, Belfast would be the first place at which he cold post histerrible packet.
"A second solution was at this stage obviously possible, andalthough I thought it exceedingly unlikely, I was determined toelucidate it before going further. An unsuccessful lover might havekilled Mr. and Mrs. Browner, and the male ear might have belongedto the husband. There were many grave objections to this theory,but it was conceivable. I therefore sent off a telegram to myfriend Algar, of the Liverpool force, and asked him to find our ifMrs. Browner were at home, and if Browner had departed in the MayDay. Then we went on to Wallington to visit Miss Sarah.
"I was curious, in the first place, to see how far the familyear had been reproduced in her. Then, of course, she might give usvery important information, but I was not sanguine that she would.She must have heard of the business the day before, since allCroydon was ringing with it, and she alone could have understoodfor whom the packet was meant. If she had been willing to helpjustice she would probably have communicated with the policealready. However, it was clearly our duty to see her, so we went.We found that the news of the arrival of the packet- -for herillness dated from that time--had such an effect upon her as tobring on brain fever. It was clearer than ever that she understoodits full significance, but equally clear that we should have towait some time for any assistance from her.
"However, we were really independent of her help. Our answerswere waiting for us at the police-station, where I had directedAlgar to send them. Nothing could be more conclusive. Mrs.Browner's house had been closed for more than three days, and theneighbours were of opinion that she had gone south to see herrelatives. It had been ascertained at the shipping offices thatBrowner had left aboard of the May Day, and I calculate that she isdue in the Thames tomorrow night. When he arrives he will be met bythe obtuse but resolute Lestrade, and I have no doubt that we shallhave all our details filled in."
Sherlock Holmes was not disappointed in his expectations. Twodays later he received a bulky envelope, which contained a shortnote form the detective, and a typewritten document, which coveredseveral pages of foolscap.
"Lestrade has got him all right," said Holmes, glancing up atme. "Perhaps it would interest you to hear what he says.
"My dear Mr. Holmes:
In accordance with the scheme which we had formed in order totest our theories" ["the 'we' is rather fine, Watson, is it not?"]"I went down to the Albert Dock yesterday at 6 p.m., and boardedthe S.S. May Day, belonging to the Liverpool, Dublin, and LondonSteam Packet Company. On inquiry, I found that there was a stewardon board of the name of James Browner and that he had acted duringthe voyage in such an extraordinary manner that the captain hadbeen compelled to relieve him of his duties. On descending to hisberth, I found him seated upon a chest with his head sunk upon hishands, rocking himself to and fro. He is a big, powerful chap,clean-shaven, and very swarthy--something like Aldrige, who helpedus in the bogus laundry affair. He jumped up when he heard mybusiness, and I had my whistle to my lips to call a couple of riverpolice, who were round the corner, but he seemed to have no heartin him, and he held out his hands quietly enough for the darbies.We brought him along to the cells, and his box as well, for wethought there might be something incriminating; but, bar a bigsharp knife such as most sailors have, we got nothing for ourtrouble. However, we find that we shall want no more evidence, foron being brought before the inspector at the station he asked leaveto make a statement, which was, of course, taken down, just as hemade it, by our shorthand man. We had three copies typewritten, oneof which I enclose. The affair proves, as I always thought itwould, to be an extremely simple one, but I am obliged to you forassisting me in my investigation. With kind regards,
"Yours very truly,
"G. Lestrade.
"Hum! The investigation really was a very simple one," remarkedHolmes, "but I don't think it struck him in that light when hefirst called us in. However, let us see what Jim Browner has to sayfor himself. This is his statement as made before InspectorMontgomery at the Shadwell Police Station, and it has the advantageof being verbatim."
"'Have I anything to say? Yes, I have a deal to say. I have tomake a clean breast of it all. You can hang me, or you can leave mealone. I don't care a plug which you do. I tell you I've not shutan eye in sleep since I did it, and I don't believe I ever willagain until I get past all waking. Sometimes it's his face, butmost generally it's hers. I'm never without one or the other beforeme. He looks frowning and black-like, but she has a kind o'surprise upon her face. Ay, the white lamb, she might well besurprised when she read death on a face that had seldom lookedanything but love upon her before.
"'But it was Sarah's fault, and may the curse of a broken manput a blight on her and set the blood rotting in her veins! It'snot that I want to clear myself. I know that I went back to drink,like the beast that I was. But she would have forgiven me; she woldhave stuck as close to me a rope to a block if that woman had neverdarkened our door. For Sarah Cushing loved me--that's the root ofthe business--she loved me until all her love turned to poisonoushate when she knew that I thought more of my wife's footmark in themud than I did of her whole body and soul.
"'There were three sisters altogether. The old one was just agood woman, the second was a devil, and the third was an angel.Sarah was thirty-three, and Mary was twenty-nine when I married. Wewere just as happy as the day was long when we set up housetogether, and in all Liverpool there was no better woman than myMary. 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 ofourselves.
"'In was blue ribbon at that time, and we were putting a littlemoney by, and all was as bright as a new dollar. My God, whoeverwould have thought that it cold have come to this? Whoever wouldhave dreamed it?
"'I used to be home for the week-ends very often, and sometimesif the ship were held back for cargo I would have a whole week at atime, and in this way I saw a deal of my sister-in-law, Sarah. Shewas a fine tall woman, black and quick and fierce, with a proud wayof carrying her head, and a glint from her eye like a spark from aflint. But when little Mary was there I had never a thought of her,and that I swear as I hope for God's mercy.
"'It had seemed to me sometimes that she liked to be alone withme, or to coax me out for a walk with her, but I had never thoughtanything of that. But one evening my eyes were opened. I had comeup form the ship and found my wife out, but Sarah at home. "Where'sMary?" I asked. "Oh, she has gone to pay some accounts." I wasimpatient and paced up and down the room. "Can't you be happy forfive minutes without Mary, Jim?" says she. "It's a bad complimentto me that you can't be contented with my society for so short atime." "That's all right, my lass," said I, putting out my handtowards her in a kindly way, but she had it in both hers in aninstant, and they burned as if they were in a fever. I looked intoher eyes and I read it all there. There was no need for her tospeak, nor for me either. I frowned and drew my hand away. Then shestood by may side in silence for a bit, and then put up her handand patted me on the shoulder. "Steady old Jim!" said she, and witha kind o' mocking laugh, she ran out of the room.
"'Well, from that time Sarah hated me with her whole heart andsoul, and she is a woman who can hate, too. I was a fool to let hergo on biding with us--a besotted fool--but I never said a word toMary, for I knew it would grieve her. Things went on much asbefore, but after a time I began to find that there was a bit of achange in Mary herself. She had always been so trusting and soinnocent, but now she became queer and suspicious, wanting to knowwhere I had been and what I had been doing, and whom my letterswere from, and what I had in my pockets, and a thousand suchfollies. Day by day she grew queerer and more irritable, and we hadceaseless rows about nothing. I was fairly puzzled by it all. Sarahavoided me now, but she and Mary were just inseparable. I can seenow how she was plotting and scheming and poisoning my wife's mindagainst me, but I was such a blind beetle that I could notunderstand it at the time. Then I broke my blue ribbon and began todrink again, but I think I should not have done it if Mary had beenthe same as ever. She had some reason to be disgusted with me now,and the gap between us began to be wider and wider. And then thisAlec Fairbairn chipped in, and things became a thousand timesblacker.
"'It was to see Sarah that he came to my house first, but soonit was to see us, for he was a man with winning ways, and he madefriends wherever he went. He was a dashing, swaggering chap, smartand curled, who had seen half the world and could talk of what hehad seen. He was good company, I won't deny it, and he hadwonderful polite ways with him for a sailor man, so that I thinkthere must have been a time when he knew more of the poop than theforecastle. For a month he was in and out of my house, and neveronce did it cross my mind that harm might come of his soft, trickyways. And then at last something made me suspect, and from that daymy peace was gone forever.
"'It was only a little thing, too. I had come into the parlourunexpected, and as I walked in at the door I saw a light of welcomeon my wife's face. But as she saw who it was it faded again, andshe turned away with a look of disappointment. That was enough forme. There was no one but Alec Fairbairn whose step she could havemistaken for mine. If I could have seen him then I should havekilled him, for I have always been like a madman when my tempergets loose. Mary saw the devil's light in my eyes, and she ranforward with her hands on my sleeve. "Don't, Jim, don't!" says she."Where's Sarah?" I asked. "In the kitchen," says she. "Sarah," saysI as I went in, "this man Fairbairn is never to darken my dooragain." "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 Fairbairn shows his face here again I'll send you one ofhis ears for a keepsake." She was frightened by my face, I think,for she never answered a word, and the same evening she left myhouse.
"'Well, I don't know now whether it was pure devilry on the partof this woman, or whether she thought that she could turn meagainst my wife by encouraging her to misbehave. Anyway, she took ahouse just two streets off and let lodgings to sailors. Fairbairnused to stay there, and Mary would go round to have tea with hersister and him. How often she went I don't know, but I followed herone 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 tomy wife that I would kill her if I found her in his company again,and I led her back with me, sobbing and trembling, and as white asa piece of paper. There was no trace of love between us any longer.I could see that she hated me and feared me, and when the thoughtof it drove me to drink, then she despised me as well.
"'Well, Sarah found that she could not make a living inLiverpool, so she went back, as I understand, to live with hersister in Croydon, and things jogged on much the same as ever athome. And then came this week and all the misery and ruin.
"'It was in this way. We had gone on the May Day for a roundvoyage of seven days, but a hogshead got loose and started one ofour plates, so that we had to put back into port for twelve hours.I left the ship and came home, thinking what a surprise it would befor my wife, and hoping that maybe she would be glad to see me sosoon. The thought was in my head as I turned into my 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 athought for me as I stood watching them from the footpath.
"'I tell you, and I give you my word for it, that from thatmoment I was not my own master, and it is all like a dim dream whenI look back on it. I had been drinking hard of late, and the twothings together fairly turned my brain. There's something throbbingin my head now, like a docker's hammer, but that morning I seemedto have all Niagara whizzing and buzzing in my ears.
"'Well, I took to my heels, and I ran after the cab. I had aheavy oak stick in my hand, and I tell you I saw red from thefirst; but as I ran I got cunning, too, and hung back a little tosee them without being seen. They pulled up soon at the railwaystation. There was a good crowd round the booking-office, so I gotquite close to them without being seen. They took tickets for NewBrighton. So did I, but I got in three carriages behind them. Whenwe reached it they walked along the Parade, and I was never morethan a hundred yards from them. At last I saw them hire a boat andstart for a row, for it was a very hot day, and they thought, nodoubt, that it would be cooler on the water.
"'It was just as if they had been given into my hands. There wasa bit of a haze, and you could not see more than a few hundredyards. I hired a boat for myself, and I pulled after them. I couldsee the blur of their craft, but they were going nearly as fast asI, and they must have been a long mile from the shore before Icaught them up. The haze was like a curtain all round us, and therewere we three in the middle of it. My God, shall I ever forgettheir faces when they saw who was in the boat that was closing inupon them? She screamed out. He swore like a madman and jabbed atme with an oar, for he must have seen death in my eyes. I got pastit and got one in with my stick that crushed his head like an egg.I would have spared her, perhaps, for all my madness, but she threwher arms round him, crying out to him, and calling him "Alec." Istruck again, and she lay stretched beside him. I was like a wildbeast then that had tasted blood. If Sarah had been there, by theLord, she should have joined them. I pulled out my knife,and--well, there! I've said enough. It gave me a kind of savage joywhen I thought how Sarah would feel when she had such signs asthese of what her meddling had brought about. Then I tied thebodies into the boat, stove a plank, and stood by until they hadsunk. I knew very well that the owner would think that they hadlost their bearings in the haze, and had drifted off out to sea. Icleaned myself up, got back to land, and joined my ship without asoul having a suspicion of what had passed. That night I made upthe packet for Sarah Cushing, and next day I sent it fromBelfast.
"'There you have the whole truth of it. You can hang me, or dowhat you like with me, but you cannot punish me as I have beenpunished already. I cannot shut my eyes but I see those two facesstaring at me--staring at me as they stared when my boat brokethrough the haze. I killed them quick, but they are killing meslow; and if I have another night of it I shall be either mad ordead before morning. You won't put me alone into a cell, sir? Forpity's sake don't, and may you be treated in your day of agony asyou treat me now.'
"What is the meaning of it, Watson?" said Holmes solemnly as helaid down the paper. "What object is served by this circle ofmisery and violence and fear? It must tend to some end, or else ouruniverse is ruled by chance, which is unthinkable. But what end?There is the great standing perennial problem to which human reasonis as far from an answer as ever."
ADVENTURE II. THE ADVENTURE OF WISTERIA LODGE
CHAPTER I. THE SINGULAR EXPERIENCE OF MR. JOHN SCOTTECCLES
I find it recorded in my notebook that it was a bleak and windyday towards the end of March in the year 1892. Holmes had receiveda telegram while we sat at our lunch, and he had scribbled a reply.He made no remark, but the matter remained in his thoughts, for hestood in front of the fire afterwards with a thoughtful face,smoking his pipe, and casting an occasional glance at the message.Suddenly he turned upon me with a mischievous twinkle in hiseyes.
"I suppose, Watson, we must look upon you as a man of letters,"said he. "How do you define the word 'grotesque'?"
"Strange--remarkable," I suggested.
He shook his head at my definition.
"There is surely something more than that," said he; "someunderlying suggestion of the tragic and the terrible. If you castyour mind back to some of those narratives with which you haveafflicted a long-suffering public, you will recognize how often thegrotesque has deepened into the criminal. Think of that littleaffair of the red-headed men. That was grotesque enough in theoutset, and yet it ended in a desperate attempt at robbery. Or,again, there was that most grotesque affair of the five orangepips, which let straight to a murderous conspiracy. The word putsme on the alert."
"Have you it there?" I asked.
He read the telegram aloud.
"Have just had most incredible and grotesque experience. May Iconsult 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, tearingitself to pieces because it is not connected up with the work forwhich it was built. Life is commonplace, the papers are sterile;audacity and romance seem to have passed forever from the criminalworld. Can you ask me, then, whether I am ready to look into anynew problem, however trivial it may prove? But here, unless I ammistaken, is our client."
A measured step was heard upon the stairs, and a moment later astout, tall, gray-whiskered and solemnly respectable person wasushered into the room. His life history was written in his heavyfeatures and pompous manner. From his spats to his gold-rimmedspectacles he was a Conservative, a churchman, a good citizen,orthodox and conventional to the last degree. But some amazingexperience had disturbed his native composure and left its tracesin his bristling hair, his flushed, angry cheeks, and his flurried,excited manner. He plunged instantly into his business.
"I have had a most singular and unpleasant experience, Mr.Holmes," said he. "Never in my life have I been placed in such asituation. It is most improper--most outrageous. I must insist uponsome explanation." He swelled and puffed in his anger.
"Pray sit down, Mr. Scott Eccles," said Holmes in a soothingvoice. "May I ask, in the first place, why you came to me atall?"
"Well, sir, it did not appear to be a matter which concerned thepolice, and yet, when you have heard the facts, you must admit thatI could not leave it where it was. Private detectives are a classwith whom I have absolutely no sympathy, but none the less, havingheard your name--"
"Quite so. But, in the second place, why did you not come atonce?"
Holmes glanced at his watch.
"It is a quarter-past two," he said. "Your telegram wasdispatched about one. But no one can glance at your toilet andattire without seeing that your disturbance dates from the momentof your waking."
Our client smoothed down his unbrushed hair and felt hisunshaven chin.
"You are right, Mr. Holmes. I never gave a thought to my toilet.I was only too glad to get out of such a house. But I have beenrunning round making inquiries before I came to you. I went to thehouse agents, you know, and they said that Mr. Garcia's rent waspaid up all right and that everything was in order at WisteriaLodge."
"Come, come, sir," said Holmes, laughing. "You are like myfriend, Dr. Watson, who has a bad habit of telling his storieswrong end foremost. Please arrange your thoughts and let me know,in their due sequence, exactly what those events are which havesent you out unbrushed and unkempt, with dress boots and waistcoatbuttoned awry, in search of advice and assistance."
Our client looked down with a rueful face at his ownunconventional appearance.
"I'm sure it must look very bad, Mr. Holmes, and I am not awarethat in my whole life such a thing has ever happened before. Butwill tell you the whole queer business, and when I have done so youwill admit, I am sure, that there has been enough to excuseme."
But his narrative was nipped in the bud. There was a bustleoutside, and Mrs. Hudson opened the door to usher in two robust andofficial-looking individuals, one of whom was well known to us asInspector Gregson of Scotland Yard, an energetic, gallant, and,within his limitations, a capable officer. He shook hands withHolmes and introduced his comrade as Inspector Baynes, of theSurrey Constabulary.
"We are hunting together, Mr. Holmes, and our trail lay in thisdirection." He turned his bulldog eyes upon our visitor. "Are youMr. 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," saidHolmes.
"Exactly, Mr. Holmes. We picked up the scent at Charing CrossPost-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 whichlet up to the death last night of Mr. Aloysius Garcia, of WisteriaLodge, near Esher."
Our client had sat up with staring eyes and every tinge ofcolour struck from 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 don't mean--you don't mean that Iam suspected?"
"A letter of yours was found in the dead man's pocket, and weknow by it that you had planned to pass last night at hishouse."
"So I did."
"Oh, you did, did you?"
Out came the official notebook.
"Wait a bit, Gregson," said Sherlock Holmes. "All you desire isa plain statement, is it not?"
"And it is my duty to warn Mr. Scott Eccles that it may be usedagainst him."
"Mr. Eccles was going to tell us about it when you entered theroom. I think, Watson, a brandy and soda would do him no harm. Now,sir, I suggest that you take no notice of this addition to youraudience, and that you proceed with your narrative exactly as youwould have done had you never been interrupted."
Our visitor had gulped off the brandy and the colour hadreturned to his face. With a dubious glance at the inspector'snotebook, he plunged at once into his extraordinary statement.
"I am a bachelor," said he, "and being of a sociable turn Icultivate a large number of friends. Among these are the family ofa retired brewer called Melville, living at Abermarle Mansion,Kensington. It was at his table that I met some weeks ago a youngfellow named Garcia. He was, I understood, of Spanish descent andconnected in some way with the embassy. He spoke perfect English,was pleasing in his manners, and as good-looking a man as ever Isaw in my life.
"In some way we struck up quite a friendship, this young fellowand I. He seemed to take a fancy to me from the first, and withintwo days of our meeting he came to see me at Lee. One thing led toanother, and it ended in his inviting me out to spend a few days athis house, Wisteria Lodge, between Esher and Oxshott. Yesterdayevening I went to Esher to fulfil this engagement.
"He had described his household to me before I went there. Helived with a faithful servant, a countryman of his own, who lookedafter all his needs. This fellow could speak English and did hishousekeeping for him. Then there was a wonderful cook, he said, ahalf-breed whom he had picked up in his travels, who could serve anexcellent dinner. I remember that he remarked what a queerhousehold it was to find in the heart of Surrey, and that I agreedwith him, though it has proved a good deal queerer than Ithought.
"I drove to the place--about two miles on the south side ofEsher. The house was a fair-sized one, standing back from the road,with a curving drive which was banked with high evergreen shrubs.It was an old, tumbledown building in a crazy state of disrepair.When the trap pulled up on the grass-grown drive in front of theblotched and weather-stained door, I had doubts as to my wisdom invisiting a man whom I knew so slightly. He opened the door himself,however, and greeted me with a great show of cordiality. I washanded over to the manservant, a melancholy, swarthy individual,who led the way, my bag in his hand, to my bedroom. The whole placewas depressing. Our dinner was tête-à-tête, andthough my host did his best to be entertaining, his thoughts seemedto continually wander, and he talked so vaguely and wildly that Icould hardly understand him. He continually drummed his fingers onthe table, gnawed his nails, and gave other signs of nervousimpatience. The dinner itself was neither well served nor wellcooked, and the gloomy presence of the taciturn servant did nothelp to enliven us. I can assure you that many times in the courseof the evening I wished that I could invent some excuse which wouldtake 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 thoughtnothing of it at the time. Near the end of dinner a note was handedin by the servant. I noticed that after my host had read it heseemed even more distrait and strange than before. He gave up allpretence at conversation and sat, smoking endless cigarettes, lostin his own thoughts, but he made no remark as to the contents.About eleven I was glad to go to bed. Some time later Garcia lookedin at my door--the room was dark at the time- -and asked me if Ihad rung. I said that I had not. He apologized for having disturbedme so late, saying that it was nearly one o'clock. I dropped offafter this and slept soundly all night.
"And now I come to the amazing part of my tale. When I woke itwas broad daylight. I glanced at my watch, and the time was nearlynine. I had particularly asked to be called at eight, so I was verymuch astonished at this forgetfulness. I sprang up and rang for theservant. There was no response. I rang again and again, with thesame result. Then I came to the conclusion that the bell was out oforder. I huddled on my clothes and hurried downstairs in anexceedingly bad temper to order some hot water. You can imagine mysurprise when I found that there was no one there. I shouted in thehall. There was no answer. Then I ran from room to room. All weredeserted. My host had shown me which was his bedroom the nightbefore, so I knocked at the door. No reply. I turned the handle andwalked 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,the foreign cook, all had vanished in the night! That was the endof my visit to Wisteria Lodge."
Sherlock Holmes was rubbing his hands and chuckling as he addedthis bizarre incident to his collection of strange episodes.
"Your experience is, so far as I know, perfectly unique," saidhe. "May I ask, sir, what you did then?"
"I was furious. My first idea was that I had been the victim ofsome absurd practical joke. I packed my things, banged the halldoor behind me, and set off for Esher, with my bag in my hand. Icalled at Allan Brothers', the chief land agents in the village,and found that it was from this firm that the villa had beenrented. It struck me that the whole proceeding could hardly be forthe purpose of making a fool of me, and that the main objet must beto get out of the rent. It is late in March, so quarterday is athand. But this theory would not work. The agent was obliged to mefor my warning, but told me that the rent had been paid in advance.Then I made my way to town and called at the Spanish embassy. Theman was unknown there. After this I went to see Melville, at whosehouse I had first met Garcia, but I found that he really knewrather less about him than I did. Finally when I got your reply tomy wire I came out to you, since I gather that you are a person whogives advice in difficult cases. But now, Mr. Inspector, Iunderstand, from what you said when you entered the room, that youcan carry the story on, and that some tragedy had occurred. I canassure you that every word I have said is the truth, and that,outside of what I have told you, I know absolutely nothing aboutthe fate of this man. My only desire is to help the law in everypossible way."
"I am sure of it, Mr. Scott Eccles--I am sure of it," saidInspector Gregson in a very amiable tone. "I am bound to say thateverything which you have said agrees very closely with the factsas they have come to our notice. For example, there was that notewhich arrived during dinner. Did you chance to observe what becameof it?"
"Yes, I did. Garcia rolled it up and threw it into thefire."
"What do you say to that, Mr. Baynes?"
The country detective was a stout, puffy, red man, whose facewas only redeemed from grossness by two extraordinarily brighteyes, almost hidden behind the heavy creases of cheek and brow.With a slow smile he drew a folded and discoloured scrap of paperfrom his pocket.
"It was a dog-grate, Mr. Holmes, and he overpitched it. I pickedthis out unburned from the back of it."
Holmes smiled his appreciation.
"You must have examined the house very carefully to find asingle pellet of paper."
"I did, Mr. Holmes. It's 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 snipswith a short-bladed scissors. It has been folded over three timesand sealed with purple wax, put on hurriedly and pressed down withsome flat oval object. It is addressed to Mr. Garcia, WisteriaLodge. It says:
"Our own colours, green and white. Green open, white shut. Mainstair, first corridor, seventh right, green baize. Godspeed. D.
"It is a woman's writing, done with a sharp-pointed pen, but theaddress is either done with another pen or by someone else. It isthicker 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 oval seal is undoubtedly a plain sleeve-link--what else is ofsuch a shape? The scissors were bent nail scissors. Short as thetwo snips are, you can distinctly see the same slight curve ineach."
The country detective chuckled.
"I thought I had squeezed all the juice out of it, but I seethere was a little over," he said. "I'm bound to say that I makenothing of the note except that there was something on hand, andthat a woman, as usual was at the bottom of it."
Mr. Scott Eccles had fidgeted in his seat during thisconversation.
"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 hashappened to Mr. Garcia, nor what has become of his household."
"As to Garcia," said Gregson, "that is easily answered. He wasfound dead this morning upon Oxshott Common, nearly a mile from hishome. His head had been smashed to pulp by heavy blows of a sandbagor some such instrument, which had crushed rather than wounded. Itis a lonely corner, and there is no house within a quarter of amile of the spot. He had apparently been struck down first frombehind, but his assailant had gone on beating him long after he wasdead. It was a most furious assault. There are no footsteps nor anyclue to the criminals."
"Robbed?"
"No, there was no attempt at robbery."
"This is very painful--very painful and terrible," said Mr.Scott Eccles in a querulous voice, "but it is really uncommonlyhard on me. I had nothing to do with my host going off upon anocturnal excursion and meeting so sad an end. How do I come to bemixed up with the case?"
"Very simply, sir," Inspector Baynes answered. "The onlydocument found in the pocket of the deceased was a letter from yousaying that you would be with him on the night of his death. It wasthe envelope of this letter which gave us the dead man's name andaddress. It was after nine this morning when we reached his houseand found neither you nor anyone else inside it. I wired to Mr.Gregson to run you down in London while 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 thismatter into an official shape. You will come round with us to thestation, Mr. Scott Eccles, and let us have your statement inwriting."
"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 thetruth."
My friend turned to the country inspector.
"I suppose that you have no objection to my collaborating withyou, Mr. Baynes?"
"Highly honoured, sir, I am sure."
"You appear to have been very prompt and businesslike in allthat you have done. Was there any clue, may I ask, as to the exacthour that the man met his death?"
"He had been there since one o'clock. There was rain about thattime, and his death had certainly been before the rain."
"But that is perfectly impossible, Mr. Baynes," cried ourclient. "His voice is unmistakable. I could swear to it that it washe who addressed me in 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 itcertainly presents some novel and interesting features. A furtherknowledge of facts is necessary before I would venture to give afinal and definite opinion. By the way, Mr. Baynes, did you findanything remarkable besides this note in your examination of thehouse?"
The detective looked at my friend in a singular way.
"There were," said he, "one or two VERY remarkable things.Perhaps when I have finished at the police-station you would careto come out and give me your opinion of them."
In am entirely at your service," said Sherlock Holmes, ringingthe bell. "You will show these gentlemen out, Mrs. Hudson, andkindly send the boy with this telegram. He is to pay a fiveshillingreply."
We sat for some time in silence after our visitors had left.Holmes smoked hard, with his browns drawn down over his keen eyes,and his head thrust forward in the eager way characteristic of theman.
"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 man's companions, Ishould say that they were in some way concerned in the murder andhad fled from justice."
"That is certainly a possible point of view. On the face of ityou must admit, however, that it is very strange that his twoservants should have been in a conspiracy against him and shouldhave attacked him on the one night when he had a guest. They hadhim alone at their mercy every other night in the week."
"Then why did they fly?"
"Quite so. Why did they fly? There is a big fact. Another bigfact is the remarkable experience of our client, Scott Eccles. Now,my dear Watson, is it beyond the limits of human ingenuity tofurnish an explanation which would cover both of these big facts?If it were one which would also admit of the mysterious note withits very curious phraseology, why, then it would be worth acceptingas a temporary hypothesis. If the fresh facts which come to ourknowledge all fit themselves into the scheme, then our hypothesismay 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 the coaxing of Scott Eccles to Wisteria Lodge had someconnection with them."
"But what possible connection?"
"Let us take it link by link. There is, on the face of it,something unnatural about this strange and sudden friendshipbetween the young Spaniard and Scott Eccles. It was the former whoforced the pace. He called upon Eccles at the other end of Londonon the very day after he first met him, and he kept in close touchwith him until he got him down to Esher. Now, what did he want withEccles? What could Eccles supply? I see no charm in the man. He isnot particulary intelligent--not a man likely to be congenial to aquick-witted Latin. Why, then, was he picked out from all the otherpeople whom Garcia met as particularly suited to his purpose? Hashe any one outstanding quality? I say that he has. He is the verytype of conventional British respectability, and the very man as awitness to impress another Briton. You saw yourself how neither ofthe inspectors dreamed of questioning his statement, extraordinaryas it was."
"But what was he to witness?"
"Nothing, as things turned out, but everything had they goneanother way. 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 argument's sake, that the household of Wisteria Lodgeare confederates in some design. The attempt, whatever it may be,is to come off, we will say, before one o'clock. By some jugglingof the clocks it is quite possible that they may have got ScottEccles to bed earlier than he thought, but in any case it is likelythat when Garcia went out of his way to tell him that it was one itwas really not more than twelve. If Garcia could do whatever he hadto do and be back by the hour mentioned he had evidently a powerfulreply to any accusation. Here was this irreproachable Englishmanready to swear in any court of law that the accused was in thehouse all the time. It was an insurance against the worst."
"Yes, yes, I see that. But how about the disappearance of theothers?"
"I have not all my facts yet, but I do not think there are anyinsuperable difficulties. Still, it is an error to argue in frontof your data. You find yourself insensibly twisting them round tofit 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. 'Mainstair, first corridor, seventh right, green baize.' This is anassignation. We may find a 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. 'D'--that should be a guide."
"The man was a Spaniard. I suggest that 'D' stands for Dolores,a common female name in Spain."
"Good, Watson, very good--but quite inadmissable. A Spaniardwould write to a Spaniard in Spanish. The writer of this note iscertainly English. Well, we can only possess our soul in patienceuntil this excellent inspector come back for us. Meanwhile we canthank our lucky fate which has rescued us for a few short hoursfrom the insufferable fatigues of idleness."
An answer had arrived to Holmes's telegram before our Surreyofficer had returned. Holmes read it and was about to place it inhis notebook when he caught a glimpse of my expectant face. Hetossed it across with a laugh.
"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., Purdley Place; Mr. James BakerWilliams, Forton Old Hall; Mr. Henderson, High Gable; Rev. JoshuaStone, Nether Walsling.
"This is a very obvious way of limiting our field ofoperations," said Holmes. "No doubt Baynes, with his methodicalmind, has already adopted some similar plan."
"I don't quite understand."
"Well, my dear fellow, we have already arrived at the conclusionthat the massage received by Garcia at dinner was an appointment oran assignation. Now, if the obvious reading of it is correct, andin order to keep the tryst one has to ascend a main stair and seekthe seventh door in a corridor, it is perfectly clear that thehouse is a very large one. It is equally certain that this housecannot be more than a mile or two from Oxshott, since Garcia waswalking in that direction and hoped, according to my reading of thefacts, to be back in Wisteria Lodge in time to avail himself of analibi, which would only be valid up to one o'clock. As the numberof large houses close to Oxshott must be limited, I adopted theobvious method of sending to the agents mentioned by Scott Ecclesand obtaining a list of them. Here they are in this telegram, andthe other end of our tangled skein must lie among them."
It was nearly six o'clock before we found ourselves in thepretty Surrey village of Esher, with Inspector Baynes as ourcompanion.
Holmes and I had taken things for the night, and foundcomfortable quarters at the Bull. Finally we set out in the companyof the detective on our visit to Wisteria Lodge. It was a cold,dark March evening, with a sharp wind and a fine rain beating uponour faces, a fit setting for the wild common over which our roadpassed and the tragic goal to which it led us.
CHAPTER II. THE TIGER OF SAN PEDRO
A cold and melancholy walk of a couple of miles brought us to ahigh wooden gate, which opened into a gloomy avenue of chestnuts.The curved and shadowed drive led us to a low, dark house,pitchblack against a slate-coloured sky. From the front window uponthe left of the door there peeped a glimmer of a feeble light.
"There's a constable in possession," said Baynes. "I'll knock atthe window." He stepped across the grass plot and tapped with hishand on the pane. Through the fogged glass I dimly saw a man springup from a chair beside the fire, and heard a sharp cry from withinthe room. An instant later a white-faced, hardbreathing policemanhad opened the door, the candle wavering in his trembling hand.
"What's the matter, Walters?" asked Baynes sharply.
The man mopped his forehead with his handkerchief and agave along sigh of relief.
"I am glad you have come, sir. It has been a long evening, and Idon't think my nerve is as good as it was."
"Your nerve, Walters? I should not have thought you had a nervein your body."
"Well, sir, it's this lonely, silent house and the queer thingin the kitchen. Then when you tapped at the window I thought it hadcome again."
"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. Iwas sitting reading in the chair. I don't know what made me lookup, but there was a face looking in at me through the lower pane.Lord, sir, what a face it was! I'll see it in my dreams."
"Tut, tut, Walters. This is not talk for apolice-constable."
"I know, sir, I know; but it shook me, sir, and there's no useto deny it. It wasn't black, sir, nor was it white, nor any colourthat I know but a kind of queer shade like clay with a splash ofmilk in it. Then there was the size of it--it was twice yours, sir.And the look of it--the great staring goggle eyes, and the line ofwhite teeth like a hungry beast. I tell you, sir, I couldn't move afinger, nor get my breath, till it whisked away and was gone. Out Iran and through the shrubbery, but thank God there was no onethere."
"If I didn't know you were a good man, Walters, I should put ablack mark against you for this. If it were the devil himself aconstable on duty should never thank God that he could not lay hishands upon him. I suppose the whole thing is not a vision and atouch of nerves?"
"That, at least, is very easily settled," said Holmes, lightinghis little pocket lantern. "Yes," he reported, after a shortexamination of the grass bed, "a number twelve shoe, I should say.If he was all on the same scale as his foot he must certainly havebeen 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,"whoever he may have been, and whatever he may have wanted, he'sgone for the present, and we have more immediate things to attendto. Now, Mr. Holmes, with your permission, I will show you roundthe house."
The various bedrooms and sitting-rooms had yielded nothing to acareful search. Apparently the tenants had brought little ornothing with them, and all the furniture down to the smallestdetails had been taken over with the house. A good deal of clothingwith the stamp of Marx and Co., High Holborn, had been left behind.Telegraphic inquiries had been already made which showed that Marxknew nothing of his customer save that he was a good payer. Oddsand ends, some pipes, a few novels, two of them in Spanish, andold-fashioned pinfire revolver, and a guitar were among thepersonal property.
"Nothing in all this," said Baynes, stalking, candle in hand,from room to room. "But now, Mr. Holmes, I invite your attention tothe kitchen."
It was a gloomy, high-ceilinged room at the back of the house,with a straw litter in one corner, which served apparently as a bedfor the cook. The table was piled with half-eaten dishes and dirtyplates, the debris of last night's dinner.
"Look at this," said Baynes. "What do you make of it?"
He held up his candle before an extraordinary object which stoodat the back of the dresser. It was so wrinkled and shrunken andwithered that it was difficult to say what it might have been. Onecould but say that it was black and leathery and that it bore someresemblance to a dwarfish, human figure. At first, as I examinedit, I thought that it was a mummified negro baby, and then itseemed a very twisted and ancient monkey. Finally I was left indoubt as to whether it was animal or human. A double band of whiteshells were strung round the centre of it.
"Very interesting--very interesting, indeed!" said Holmes,peering at this sinister relic. "Anything more?"
In silence Baynes led the way to the sink and held forward hiscandle. The limbs and body of some large, white bird, torn savagelyto pieces with the feathers still on, were littered all over it.Holmes pointed to the wattles on the severed head.
"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.>From under the sink he drew a zinc pail which contained aquantity of blood. Then from the table he took a platter heapedwith small pieces of charred bone.
"Something has been killed and something has been burned. Weraked all these out of the fire. We had a doctor in this morning.He says that they are not human."
Holmes smiled and rubbed his hands.
"I must congratulate you, Inspector, on handling so distinctiveand instructive a case. Your powers, if I may say so withoutoffence, seem superior to your opportunities."
Inspector Baynes's small eyes twinkled with pleasure.
"You're right, Mr. Holmes. We stagnate in the provinces. A caseof this sort gives a man a chance, and I hope that I shall take it.What do you make of these bones?"
"A lamb, I should say, or a kid."
"And the white cock?"
"Curious, Mr. Baynes, very curious. I should say almostunique."
"Yes, sir, there must have been some very strange people withsome very strange ways in this house. One of them is dead. Did hiscompanions follow him and kill him? If they did we should havethem, for every port is watched. But my own views are different.Yes, sir, my own views are very different."
"You have a theory then?"
"And I'll work it myself, Mr. Holmes. It's only due to my owncredit to do so. Your name is made, but I have still to make mine.I should be glad to be able to say afterwards that I had solved itwithout your help."
Holmes laughed good-humoredly.
"Well, well, Inspector," said he. "Do you follow your path and Iwill follow mine. My results are always very much at your serviceif you care to apply to me for them. I think that I have seen allthat I wish in this house, and that my time may be more profitablyemployed elsewhere. Au revoir and good luck!"
I could tell by numerous subtle signs, which might have beenlost upon anyone but myself, that Holmes was on a hot scent. Asimpassive as ever to the casual observer, there were none the lessa subdued eagerness and suggestion of tension in his brightenedeyes and brisker manner which assured me that the game was afoot.After his habit he said nothing, and after mine I asked noquestions. Sufficient for me to share the sport and lend my humblehelp to the capture without distracting that intent brain withneedless interruption. All would come round to me in due time.
I waited, therefore--but to my ever-deepening disappointment Iwaited in vain. Day succeeded day, and my friend took no stepforward. One morning he spent in town, and I learned from a casualreference that he had visited the British Museum. Save for this oneexcursion, he spent his days in long and often solitary walks, orin chatting with a number of village gossips whose acquaintance hehad cultivated.
"I'm sure, Watson, a week in the country will be invaluable toyou," he remarked. "It is very pleasant to see the first greenshoots upon the hedges and the catkins on the hazels once again.With a spud, a tin box, and an elementary book on botany, there areinstructive days to be spent." He prowled about with this equipmenthimself, but it was a poor show of plants which he would bring backof an evening.
Occasionally in our rambles we came across Inspector Baynes. Hisfat, red face wreathed itself in smiles and his small eyesglittered as he greeted my companion. He said little about thecase, but from that little we gathered that he also was notdissatisfied at the course of events. I must admit, however, that Iwas somewhat surprised when, some five days after the crime, Iopened my morning paper to find in large letters:
THE OXSHOTT MYSTERY
A SOLUTION
ARREST OF SUPPOSED ASSASSIN
Holmes sprang in his chair as if he had been stung when I readthe headlines.
"By Jove!" he cried. "You don't mean that Baynes has gothim?"
"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 hadbeen effected in connection with the Oxshott murder. It will beremembered that Mr. Garcia, of Wisteria Lodge, was found dead onOxshott Common, his body showing signs of extreme violence, andthat on the same night his servant and his cook fled, whichappeared to show their participation in the crime. It wassuggested, but never proved, that the deceased gentleman may havehad valuables in the house, and that their abstraction was themotive of the crime. Every effort was made by Inspector Baynes, whohas the case in hand, to ascertain the hiding place of thefugitives, and he had good reason to believe that they had not gonefar but were lurking in some retreat which had been alreadyprepared. It was certain from the first, however, that they wouldeventually be detected, as the cook, from the evidence of one ortwo tradespeople who have caught a glimpse of him through thewindow, was a man of most remarkable appearance--being a huge andhideous mulatto, with yellowish features of a pronounced negroidtype. This man has been seen since the crime, for he was detectedand pursued by Constable Walters on the same evening, when he hadthe audacity to revisit Wisteria Lodge. Inspector Baynes,considering that such a visit must have some purpose in view andwas likely, therefore, to be repeated, abandoned the house but leftan ambuscade in the shrubbery. The man walked into the trap and wascaptured last night after a struggle in which Constable Downing wasbadly bitten by the savage. We understand that when the prison isbrought before the magistrates a remand will be applied for by thepolice, and that great developments are hoped from hiscapture."
"Really we must see Baynes at once," cried Holmes, picking uphis hat. "We will just catch him before he starts." We hurried downthe village street and found, as we had expected, that theinspector was just leaving his lodgings.
"You've seen the paper, Mr. Holmes?" he asked, holding one outto us.
"Yes, Baynes, I've seen it. Pray don't think it a liberty if Igive you a word of friendly warning."
"Of warning, Mr. Holmes?"
"I have looked into this case with some care, and I am notconvinced that you are on the right lines. I don't want you tocommit yourself too far unless you are sure."
"You're very kind, Mr. Holmes."
"I assure you I speak for your good."
It seemed to me that something like a wink quivered for aninstant over one of Mr. Baynes's tiny eyes.
"We agreed to work on our own lines, Mr. Holmes. That's what Iam doing."
"Oh, very good," said Holmes. "Don't 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."
"You're welcome always to my news. This fellow is a perfectsavage, as strong as a cart-horse and as fierce as the devil. Hechewed Downing's thumb nearly off before they could master him. Hehardly speaks a word of English, and we can get nothing out of himbut grunts."
"And you think you have evidence that he murdered his latemaster?"
"I didn't say so, Mr. Holmes; I didn't say so. We all have ourlittle ways. You try yours and I will try mine. That's theagreement."
Holmes shrugged his shoulders as we walked away together. "Ican't make the man out. He seems to be riding for a fall. Well, ashe says, we must each try our own way and see what comes of it. Butthere's something in Inspector Baynes which I can't quiteunderstand."
"Just sit down in that chair, Watson," said Sherlock Holmes whenwe had returned to our apartment at the Bull. "I want to put you intouch with the situation, as I may need your help to-night. Let meshow you the evolution of this case so far as I have been able tofollow it. Simple as it has been in its leading features, it hasnone the less presented surprising difficulties in the way of anarrest. There are gaps in that direction which we have still tofill.
"We will go back to the note which was handed in to Garcia uponthe evening of his death. We may put aside this idea of Baynes'sthat Garcia's servants were concerned in the matter. The proof ofthis lies in the fact that it was HE who had arranged for thepresence of Scott Eccles, which could only have been done for thepurpose of an alibi. It was Garcia, then, who had an enterprise,and apparently a criminal enterprise, in hand that night in thecourse of which he met his death. I say 'criminal' because only aman with a criminal enterprise desires to establish an alibi. Who,then, is most likely to have taken his life? Surely the personagainst whom the criminal enterprise was directed. So far it seemsto me that we are on safe ground.
"We can now see a reason for the disappearance of Garcia'shousehold. They were ALL confederates in the same unknown crime. Ifit came off when Garcia returned, any possible suspicion would bewarded off by the Englishman's evidence, and all would be well. Butthe attempt was a dangerous one, and if Garcia did NOT return by acertain hour it was probable that his own life had been sacrificed.It had been arranged, therefore, that in such a case his twosubordinates were to make for some prearranged spot where theycould escape investigation and be in a position afterwards to renewtheir attempt. That would fully explain the facts, would itnot?"
The whole inexplicable tangle seemed to straighten out beforeme. I wondered, as I always did, how it had not been obvious to mebefore.
"But why should one servant return?"
"We can imagine that in the confusion of flight somethingprecious, something which he could not bear to part with, had beenleft behind. 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. Itindicates a confederate at the other end. Now, where was the otherend? I have already shown you that it could only lie in some largehouse, and that the number of large houses is limited. My firstdays in this village were devoted to a series of walks in which inthe intervals of my botanical researches I made a reconnaissance ofall the large houses and an examination of the family history ofthe occupants. One house, and only one, riveted my attention. It isthe famous old Jacobean grange of High Gable, one mile on thefarther side of Oxshott, and less than half a mile from the sceneof the tragedy. The other mansions belonged to prosaic andrespectable 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, Watson--the man himself the mostsingular of them all. I managed to see him on a plausible pretext,but I seemed to read in his dark, deepset, brooding eyes that hewas perfectly aware of my true 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 an emperor--a fierce, masterfulman, with a red-hot spirit behind his parchment face. He is eithera foreigner or has lived long in the tropics, for he is yellow andsapless, but tough as whipcord. His friend and secretary, 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 foreigners--one atWisteria Lodge and one at High Gable--so our gaps are beginning toclose.
"These two men, close and confidential friends, are the centreof the household; but there is one other person who for ourimmediate purpose may be even more important. Henderson has twochildren--girls of eleven and thirteen. Their governess is a MissBurnet, an Englishwoman of forty or thereabouts. There is also oneconfidential manservant. This little group forms the real family,for their travel about together, and Henderson is a greattraveller, always on the move. It is only within the last weeksthat he has returned, after a year's absence, to High Gable. I mayadd that he is enormously rich, and whatever his whims may be hecan very easily satisfy them. For the rest, his house is full ofbutlers, footmen, maidservants, and the usual overfed, underworkedstaff of a large English country house.
"So much I learned partly from village gossip and partly from myown observation. There are no better instruments than dischargedservants with a grievance, and I was lucky enough to find one. Icall it luck, but it would not have come my way had I not beenlooking out for it. As Baynes remarks, we all have our systems. Itwas my system which enabled me to find John Warner, late gardenerof High Gable, sacked in a moment of temper by his imperiousemployer. He in turn had friends among the indoor servants whounite in their fear and dislike of their master. So I had my key tothe secrets of the establishment.
"Curious people, Watson! I don't pretend to understand it allyet, but very curious people anyway. It's a double-winged house,and the servants live on one side, the family on the other. There'sno link between the two save for Henderson's own servant, whoserves the family's meals. Everything is carried to a certain door,which forms the one connection. Governess and children hardly goout at all, except into the garden. Henderson never by any chancewalks alone. His dark secretary is like his shadow. The gossipamong the servants is that their master is terribly afraid ofsomething. 'Sold his soul to the devil in exchange for money,' saysWarner, 'and expects his creditor to come up and claim his own.'Where they came from, or who they are, nobody has an idea. They arevery violent. Twice Henderson has lashed at folk with his dog-whip,and only his long purse and heavy compensation have kept him out ofthe courts.
"Well, now, Watson, let us judge the situation by this newinformation. We may take it that the letter came out of thisstrange household and was an invitation to Garcia to carry out someattempt which had already been planned. Who wrote the note? It wassomeone within the citadel, and it was a woman. Who then but MissBurnet, the governess? All our reasoning seems to point that way.At any rate, we may take it asa hypothesis and see whatconsequences it would entail. I may add that Miss Burnet's age andcharacter make it certain that my first idea that there might be alove interest in our story is out of the question.
"If she wrote the note she was presumably the friend andconfederate of Garcia. What, then, might she be expected to do ifshe heard of his death? If he met it in some nefarious enterpriseher lips might be sealed. Still, in her heart, she must retainbitterness and hatred against those who had killed him and wouldpresumably help so far as she could to have revenge upon 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 notbeen seen by any human eye since the night of the murder. From thatevening she has utterly vanished. Is she alive? Has she perhaps mether end on the same night as the friend whom she had summoned? Oris she merely a prisoner? There is the point which we still have todecide.
"You will appreciate the difficulty of the situation, Watson.There is nothing upon which we can apply for a warrant. Our wholescheme might seem fantastic if laid before a magistrate. Thewoman's disappearance counts for nothing, since in thatextraordinary household any member of it might be invisible for aweek. And yet she may at the present moment be in danger of herlife. All I can do is to watch the house and leave my agent,Warner, on guard at the gates. We can't let such a situationcontinue. If the law can do nothing we must take the riskourselves."
"What do you suggest?"
"I know which is her room. It is accessible from the top of anouthouse. My suggestion is that you and I go to-night and see if wecan strike at the very heart of the mystery."
It was not, I must confess, a very alluring prospect. The oldhouse with its atmosphere of murder, the singular and formidableinhabitants, the unknown dangers of the approach, and the fact thatwe were putting ourselves legally in a false position all combinedto damp my ardour. But there was something in the icecold reasoningof Holmes which made it impossible to shrink from any adventurewhich he might recommend. One knew that thus, and only thus, coulda solution be found. I clasped his hand in silence, and the die wascast.
But it was not destined that our investigation should have soadventurous an ending. It was about five o'clock, and the shadowsof the March evening were beginning to fall, when an excited rusticrushed into our room.
"They've gone, Mr. Holmes. They went by the last train. The ladybroke away, and I've got her in a cab downstairs."
"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.She bore upon her aquiline and emaciated face the traces of somerecent tragedy. Her head hung listlessly upon her breast, but asshe raised it and turned her dull eyes upon us I saw that herpupils were dark dots in the centre of the broad gray iris. She wasdrugged with opium.
"I watched at the gate, same as you advised, Mr. Holmes," saidour emissary, the discharged gardener. "When the carriage came outI followed it to the station. She was like one walking in hersleep, but when they tried to get her into the train she came tolife and struggled. They pushed her into the carriage. She foughther way out again. I took her part, got her into a cab, and here weare. I shan't forget the face at the carriage window as I led heraway. I'd have a short life if he had his way--the black-eyed,scowling, yellow devil."
We carried her upstairs, laid her on the sofa, and a couple ofcups of the strongest coffee soon cleared her brain from the mistsof the drug. Baynes had been summoned by Holmes, and the situationrapidly explained to him.
"Why, sir, you've got me the very evidence I want," said theinspector warmly, shaking my friend by the hand. "I was on the samescent as you from the first."
"What! You were after Henderson?"
"Why, Mr. Holmes, when you were crawling in the shrubbery atHigh Gable I was up one of the trees in the plantation and saw youdown below. 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 wassuspected, and that he would lie low and make no move so long as hethought he was in any danger. I arrested the wrong man to make himbelieve that our eyes were off him. I knew he would be likely toclear off then and give us a chance of getting at Miss Burnet."
Holmes laid his hand upon the inspector's shoulder.
"You will rise high in your profession. You have instinct andintuition," said he.
Baynes flushed with pleasure.
"I've had a plain-clothes man waiting at the station all theweek. Wherever the High Gable folk go he will keep them in sight.But he must have been hard put to it when Miss Burnet broke away.However, your man picked her up, and it all ends well. We can'tarrest without her evidence, that is clear, so the sooner we get astatement 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 callthe Tiger of San Pedro."
The Tiger of San Pedro! The whole history of the man came backto me in a flash. He had made his name as the most lewd andbloodthirsty tyrant that had ever governed any country with apretence to civilization. Strong, fearless, and energetic, he hadsufficient virtue to enable him to impose his odious vices upon acowering people for ten or twelve years. His name was a terrorthrough all Central America. At the end of that time there was auniversal rising against him. But he was as cunning as he wascruel, and at the first whisper of coming trouble he had secretlyconveyed his treasures aboard a ship which was manned by devotedadherents. It was an empty palace which was stormed by theinsurgents next day. The dictator, his two children, his secretary,and his wealth had all escaped them. >From that moment he hadvanished from the world, and his identity had been a frequentsubject for comment in the European press.
"Yes, sir, Don Murillo, the Tiger of San Pedro," said Baynes."If you look it up you will find that the San Pedro colours aregreen and white, same as in the note, Mr. Holmes. Henderson hecalled himself, but I traced him back, Paris and Rome and Madrid toBarcelona, where his ship came in in '86. They've been looking forhim all the time for their revenge, but it is only now that theyhave begun to find him out."
"They discovered him a year ago," said Miss Burnet, who had satup and was now intently following the conversation. "Once alreadyhis life has been attempted, but some evil spirit shielded him.Now, again, it is the noble, chivalrous Garcia who has fallen,while the monster goes safe. But another will come, and yetanother, until some day justice will be done; that is as certain asthe rise of to-morrow's sun." Her thin hands clenched, and her wornface 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 bywhich justice can be gained. What does the law of England care forthe rivers of blood shed years ago in San Pedro, or for theshipload of treasure which this man has stolen? To you they arelike crimes committed in some other planet. But WE know. We havelearned the truth in sorrow and in suffering. To us there is nofiend in hell like Juan Murillo, and no peace in life while hisvictims still cry for vengeance."
"No doubt," said Holmes, "he was as you say. I have heard thathe was atrocious. But how are you affected?"
"I will tell you it all. This villain's policy was to murder, onone pretext or another, every man who showed such promise that hemight in time come to be a dangerous rival. My husband--yes, myreal name is Signora Victor Durando--was the San Pedro minister inLondon. He met me and married me there. A nobler man never livedupon earth. Unhappily, Murillo heard of his excellence, recalledhim on some pretext, and had him shot. With a premonition of hisfate he had refused to take me with him. His estates wereconfiscated, and I was left with a pittance and a broken heart.
"Then came the downfall of the tyrant. He escaped as you havejust described. But the many whose lives he had ruined, whosenearest and dearest had suffered torture and death at his hands,would not let the matter rest. They banded themselves into asociety which should never be dissolved until the work was done. Itwas my part after we had discovered in the transformed Hendersonthe fallen despot, to attach myself to his household and keep theothers in touch with his movements. This I was able to do bysecuring the position of governess in his family. He little knewthat the woman who faced him at every meal was the woman whosehusband he had hurried at an hour's notice into eternity. I smiledon him, did my duty to his children, and bided my time. An attemptwas made in Paris and failed. We zigzagged swiftly here and thereover Europe to throw off the pursuers and finally returned to thishouse, which he had taken upon his first arrival in England.
"But here also the ministers of justice were waiting. Knowingthat he would return there, Garcia, who is the son of the formerhighest dignitary in San Pedro, was waiting with two trustycompanions of humble station, all three fired with the same reasonsfor revenge. He could do little during the day, for Murillo tookevery precaution and never went out save with his satellite Lucas,or Lopez as he was known in the days of his greatness. At night,however, he slept alone, and the avenger might find him. On acertain evening, which had been prearranged, I sent my friend finalinstructions, for the man was forever on the alert and continuallychanged his room. I was to see that the doors were open and thesignal of a green or white light in a window which faced the drivewas to give notice if all was safe or if the attempt had better bepostponed.
"But everything went wrong with us. In some way I had excitedthe suspicion of Lopez, the secretary. He crept up behind me andsprang upon me just as I had finished the note. He and his masterdragged me to my room and held judgment upon me as a convictedtraitress. Then and there they would have plunged their knives intome could they have seen how to escape the consequences of the deed.Finally, after much debate, they concluded that my murder was toodangerous. But they determined to get rid forever of Garcia. Theyhad gagged me, and Murillo twisted my arm round until I gave himthe address. I swear that he might have twisted it off had Iunderstood what it would mean to Garcia. Lopez addressed the notewhich I had written, sealed it with his sleeve-link, and sent it bythe hand of the servant, Jose. How they murdered him I do not know,save that it was Murillo's hand who struck him down, for Lopez hadremained to guard me. I believe he must have waited among the gorsebushes through which the path winds and struck him down as hepassed. At first they were of a mind to let him enter the house andto kill him as a detected burglar; but they argued that if theywere mixed up in an inquiry their own identity would at once bepublicly disclosed and they would be open to further attacks. Withthe death of Garcia, the pursuit might cease, since such a deathmight 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 weretimes when my life hung in the balance. I was confined to my room,terrorized by the most horrible threats, cruelly ill-used to breakmy spirit--see this stab on my shoulder and the bruises from end toend of my arms--and a gag was thrust into my mouth on the oneoccasion when I tried to call from the window. For five days thiscruel imprisonment continued, with hardly enough food to hold bodyand soul together. This afternoon a good lunch was brought me, butthe moment after I took it I knew that I had been drugged. In asort of dream I remember being half-led, halfcarried to thecarriage; 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 meback, and had it not been for the help of this good man, who led meto the cab, I should never had broken away. Now, thank God, I ambeyond their power forever."
We had all listened intently to this remarkable statement. Itwas Holmes who broke the silence.
"Our difficulties are not over," he remarked, shaking his head."Our police work ends, but our legal work begins."
"Exactly," said I. "A plausible lawyer could make it out as anact of self-defence. There may be a hundred crimes in thebackground, but it is only on this one that they can be tried."
"Come, come," said Baynes cheerily, "I think better of the lawthan that. Self-defence is one thing. To entice a man in cold bloodwith the object of murdering him is another, whatever danger youmay fear from him. No, no, we shall all be justified when we seethe tenants of High Gable at the next Guildford Assizes."
It is a matter of history, however, that a little time was stillto elapse before the Tiger of San Pedro should meet with hisdeserts. Wily and bold, he and his companion threw their pursueroff their track by entering a lodging-house in Edmonton Street andleaving by the back-gate into Curzon Square. From that day theywere seen no more in England. Some six months afterwards theMarquess of Montalva and Signor Rulli, his secretary, were bothmurdered in their rooms at the Hotel Escurial at Madrid. The crimewas ascribed to Nihilism, and the murderers were never arrested.Inspector Baynes visited us at Baker Street with a printeddescription of the dark face of the secretary, and of the masterfulfeatures, the magnetic black eyes, and the tufted brows of hismaster. We could not doubt that justice, if belated, had come atlast.
"A chaotic case, my dear Watson," said Holmes over an eveningpipe. "It will not be possible for you to present in that compactform which is dear to your heart. It covers two continents,concerns two groups of mysterious persons, and is furthercomplicated by the highly respectable presence of our friend, ScottEccles, whose inclusion shows me that the deceased Garcia had ascheming mind and a well-developed instinct of selfpreservation. Itis remarkable only for the fact that amid a perfect jungle ofpossibilities we, with our worthy collaborator, the inspector, havekept our close hold on the essentials and so been guided along thecrooked and winding path. Is there any point which is not quiteclear to you?"
"The object of the mulatto cook's return?"
"I think that the strange creature in the kitchen may accountfor it. The man was a primitive savage from the backwoods of SanPedro, and this was his fetish. When his companion and he had fledto some prearranged retreat--already occupied, no doubt by aconfederate--the companion had persuaded him to leave socompromising an article of furniture. But the mulatto's heart waswith it, and he was driven back to it next day, when, onreconnoitering 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 his usual astuteness, had minimized the incident before me,had really recognized its importance and had left a trap into whichthe creature walked. Any other point, Watson?"
"The torn bird, the pail of blood, the charred bones, all themystery of that weird kitchen?"
Holmes smiled as he turned up an entry in his note-book.
"I spent a morning in the British Museum reading up on that andother points. Here is a quotation from Eckermann's Voodooism andthe Negroid Religions:
"'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 is grotesque, Watson," Holmes added, as he slowly fastened hisnotebook, "but, as I have had occasion to remark, there is but onestep from the grotesque to the horrible."
ADVENTURE III. THE ADVENTURE OF THE BRUCE-PARTINGTONPLANS
In the third week of November, in the year 1895, a dense yellowfog settled down upon London. From the Monday to the Thursday Idoubt whether it was ever possible from our windows in Baker Streetto see the loom of the opposite houses. The first day Holmes hadspent in cross-indexing his huge book of references. The second andthird had been patiently occupied upon a subject which he handrecently made his hobby--the music of the Middle Ages. But when,for the fourth time, after pushing back our chairs from breakfastwe saw the greasy, heavy brown swirl still drifting past us andcondensing in oily drops upon the windowpanes, my comrade'simpatient and active nature could endure this drab existence nolonger. He paced restlessly about our sittingroom in a fever ofsuppressed energy, biting his nails, tapping the furniture, andchafing against inaction.
"Nothing of interest in the paper, Watson?" he said.
In was aware that by anything of interest, Holmes meant anythingof criminal interest. There was the news of a revolution, of apossible war, and of an impending change of government; but thesedid not come within the horizon of my companion. I could seenothing recorded in the shape of crime which was not commonplaceand futile. Holmes groaned and resumed hs restless meanderings.
"The London criminal is certainly a dull fellow," said he in thequerulous voice of the sportsman whose game has failed him. "Lookout this window, Watson. See how the figures loom up, are dimlyseen, and then blend once more into the cloud-bank. The thief orthe murderer could roam London on such a day as the tiger does thejungle, unseen until he pounces, and then evident only to hisvictim."
"There have," said I, "been numerous petty thefts."
Holmes snorted his contempt.
"This great and sombre stage is set for something more worthythan that," said he. "It is fortunate for this community that I amnot a criminal."
"It is, indeed!" said I heartily.
"Suppose that I were Brooks or Woodhouse, or any of the fiftymen who have good reason for taking my life, how long could Isurvive against my own pursuit? A summons, a bogus appointment, andall would be over. It is well they don't have days of fog in theLatin countries--the countries of assassination. By Jove! herecomes something at last to break our dead monotony."
It was the maid with a telegram. Holmes tore it open and burstout laughing.
"Well, well! What next?" said he. "Brother Mycroft is cominground."
"Why not?" I asked.
"Why not? It is as if you met a tram-car coming down a countrylane. Mycroft has his rails and he runs on them. His Pall Malllodgings, the Diogenes Club, Whitehall--that is his cycle. Once,and only once, he has been here. What upheaval can possibly havederailed him?"
"Does he not explain?"
Holmes handed me his brother's telegram.
Must see you over Cadogen West. Coming atonce.
Mycroft.
"Cadogen West? I have heard the name."
"It recalls nothing to my mind. But that Mycroft should breakout in this erratic fashion! A planet might as well leave itsorbit. By the way, do you know what Mycroft is?"
I had some vague recollection of an explanation at the time ofthe Adventure 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 bediscreet when one talks of high matters of state. You are right inthinking that he under the British government. You would also beright in a sense if you said that occasionally he IS the Britishgovernment."
"My dear Holmes!"
"I thought I might surprise you. Mycroft draws four hundred andfifty pounds a year, remains a subordinate, has no ambitions of anykind, will receive neither honour nor title, but remains the mostindispensable man in the country."
"But how?"
"Well, his position is unique. He has made it for himself. Therehas never been anything like it before, nor will be again. He hasthe tidiest and most orderly brain, with the greatest capacity forstoring facts, of any man living. The same great powers which Ihave turned to the detection of crime he has used for thisparticular business. The conclusions of every department are passedto him, and he is the central exchange, the clearinghouse, whichmakes 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, Canadaand the bimetallic question; he could get his separate advices fromvarious departments upon each, but only Mycroft can focus them all,and say offhand how each factor would affect the other. They beganby using him as a short-cut, a convenience; now he has made himselfan essential. In that great brain of his everything is pigeon-holedand can be handed out in an instant. Again and again his word hasdecided the national policy. He lives in it. He thinks of nothingelse save when, as an intellectual exercise, he unbends if I callupon him and ask him to advise me on one of my little problems. ButJupiter is descending to-day. What on earth can it mean? Who isCadogan West, and what is he to Mycroft?"
"I have it," I cried, and plunged among the litter of papersupon the sofa. "Yes, yes, here he is, sure enough! Cadogen West wasthe young man who was found dead on the Underground on Tuesdaymorning."
Holmes sat up at attention, his pipe halfway to his lips.
"This must be serious, Watson. A death which has caused mybrother to alter his habits can be no ordinary one. What in theworld can he have to do with it? The case was featureless as Iremember it. The young man had apparently fallen out of the trainand killed himself. He had not been robbed, and there was noparticular reason to suspect violence. Is that not so?"
"There has been an inquest," said I, "and a good many freshfacts have come out. Looked at more closely, I should certainly saythat it was a curious case."
"Judging by its effect upon my brother, I should think it mustbe a most extraordinary one." He snuggled down in his armchair."Now, Watson, let us have the facts."
"The man's 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 fogabout 7:30 that evening. There was no quarrel between them and shecan give no motive for his action. The next thing heard of him waswhen his dead body was discovered by a plate-layer named Mason,just outside Aldgate Station on the Underground system inLondon."
"When?"
"The body was found at six on Tuesday morning. It was lying wideof the metals upon the left hand of the track as one goes eastward,at a point close to the station, where the line emerges from thetunnel in which it runs. The head was badly crushed--an injurywhich might well have been caused by a fall from the train. Thebody could only have come on the line in that way. Had it beencarried down from any neighbouring street, it must have passed thestation barriers, where a collector is always standing. This pointseems absolutely certain."
"Very good. The case is definite enough. The man, dead or alive,either fell or was precipitated from a train. So much is clear tome. Continue."
"The trains which traverse the lines of rail beside which thebody was found are those which run from west to east, some beingpurely Metropolitan, and some from Willesden and outlyingjunctions. It can be stated for certain that this young man, whenhe met his death, was travelling in this direction at some latehour of the night, but at what point he entered the train it isimpossible 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 to my experience it is not possible to reach the platformof a Metropolitan train without exhibiting one's ticket.Presumably, then, the young man had one. Was it taken from him inorder to conceal the station from which he came? It is possible. Ordid he drop it in the carriage? That is also possible. But thepoint is of curious interest. I understand that there was no signof robbery?"
"Apparently not. There is a list here of his possessions. Hispurse contained two 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 dresscircle ticketsfor the Woolwich Theatre, dated for that very evening. Also a smallpacket of technical papers."
Holmes gave an exclamation of satisfaction.
"There we have it at last, Watson! British government--Woolwich.Arsenal--technical papers--Brother Mycroft, the chain is complete.But here 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 asuggestion of uncouth physical inertia in the figure, but abovethis unwieldy frame there was perched a head so masterful in itsbrow, so alert in its steel-gray, deep-set eyes, so firm in itslips, and so subtle in its play of expression, that after the firstglance one forgot the gross body and remembered only the dominantmind.
At his heels came our old friend Lestrade, of ScotlandYard--thin and austere. The gravity of both their faces foretoldsome weighty quest. The detective shook hands without a word.Mycroft Holmes struggled out of his overcoat and subsided into anarmchair.
"A most annoying business, Sherlock," said he. "I extremelydislike altering my habits, but the powers that be would take nodenial. In the present state of Siam it is most awkward that Ishould be away from the office. But it is a real crisis. I havenever seen the Prime Minister so upset. As to the Admiralty--it isbuzzing like an overturned bee-hive. Have you read up thecase?"
"We have just done so. What were the technical papers?"
"Ah, there's the point! Fortunately, it has not come out. Thepress would be furious if it did. The papers which this wretchedyouth had in his pocket were the plans of the Bruce-Partingtonsubmarine."
Mycroft Holmes spoke with a solemnity which showed his sense ofthe importance of the subject. His brother and I sat expectant.
"Surely you have heard of it? I thought everyone had heard ofit."
"Only as a name."
"Its importance can hardly be exaggerated. It has been the mostjealously guarded of all government secrets. You may take it fromme that naval warfare becomes impossible withing the radius of aBruce-Partington's operation. Two years ago a very large sum wassmuggled through the Estimates and was expended in acquiring amonopoly of the invention. Every effort has been made to keep thesecret. The plans, which are exceedingly intricate, comprising somethirty separate patents, each essential to the working of thewhole, are kept in an elaborate safe in a confidential officeadjoining the arsenal, with burglar-proof doors and windows. Underno conceivable circumstances were the plans to be taken from theoffice. If the chief constructor of the Navy desired to consultthem, even he was forced to go to the Woolwich office for thepurpose. And yet here we find them in the pocket of a dead juniorclerk in the heart of London. From an official point of view it'ssimply awful."
"But you have recovered them?"
"No, Sherlock, no! That's the pinch. We have not. Ten paperswere taken from Woolwich. There were seven in the pocket of CadoganWest. The three most essential are gone--stolen, vanished. You mustdrop everything, Sherlock. Never mind your usual petty puzzles ofthe police-court. It's a vital international problem that you haveto solve. Why did Cadogan West take the papers, where are themissing ones, how did he die, how came his body where it was found,how can the evil be set right? Find an answer to all thesequestions, and you will have done good service for yourcountry."
"Why do you not solve it yourself, Mycroft? You can see as faras I."
"Possibly, Sherlock. But it is a question of getting details.Give me your details, and from an armchair I will return you anexcellent expert opinion. But to run here and run there, tocross-question railway guards, and lie on my face with a lens to myeye--it is not my metier. No, you are the one man who can clear thematter up. If you have a fancy to see your name in the next honourslist--"
My friend smiled and shook his head.
"I play the game for the game's own sake," said he. "But theproblem certainly presents some points of interest, and I shall bevery pleased to look into it. Some more facts, please."
"I have jotted down the more essential ones upon this sheet ofpaper, together with a few addresses which you will find ofservice. The actual official guardian of the papers is the famousgovernment expert, Sir James Walter, whose decorations andsub-titles fill two lines of a book of reference. He has grown grayin the service, is a gentleman, a favoured guest in the mostexalted houses, and, above all, a man whose patriotism is beyondsuspicion. He is one of two who have a key of the safe. I may addthat the papers were undoubtedly in the office during working hourson Monday, and that Sir James left for London about three o'clocktaking his key with him. He was at the house of Admiral Sinclair atBarclay Square during the whole of the evening when this incidentoccurred."
"Has the fact been verified?"
"Yes; his brother, Colonel Valentine Walter, has testified tohis departure from Woolwich, and Admiral Sinclair to his arrival inLondon; so Sir James is no longer a direct factor in theproblem."
"Who was the other man with a key?"
"The senior clerk and draughtsman, Mr. Sidney Johnson. He is aman of forty, married, with five children. He is a silent, moroseman, but he has, on the whole, an excellent record in the publicservice. He is unpopular with his colleagues, but a hard worker.According to his own account, corroborated only by the word of hiswife, he was at home the whole of Monday evening after officehours, and his key has never left the watch-chain upon which ithangs."
"Tell us about Cadogan West."
"He has been ten years in the service and has done good work. Hehas the reputation of being hot-headed and imperious, but astraight, honest man. We have nothing against him. He was nextSidney Johnson in the office. His duties brought him into daily,personal contact with the plans. No one else had the handling ofthem."
"Who locked up the plans 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.That seems final, does it not?"
"It does, Sherlock, and yet it leaves so much unexplained. Inthe first place, why did he take them?"
"I presume they were of value?"
"He could have got several thousands for them very easily."
"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 Westtook the papers. Now this could only be done by having a falsekey--"
"Several false keys. He had to open the building and theroom."
"He had, then, several false keys. He took the papers to Londonto sell the secret, intending, no doubt, to have the plansthemselves back in the safe next morning before they were missed.While in London on this treasonable 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 thestation 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 leavethe carriage, fell out on the line, and so met his end. The otherclosed the door. There was a thick fog, and nothing could beseen."
"No better explanation can be given with our present knowledge;and yet consider, Sherlock, how much you leave untouched. We willsuppose, for argument's sake, that young Cadogan West HADdetermined to convey these papers to London. He would naturallyhave made an appointment with the foreign agent and kept hisevening clear. Instead of that he took two tickets for the theatre,escorted his fiancee halfway there, and then suddenlydisappeared."
"A blind," said Lestrade, who had sat listening with someimpatience to the conversation.
"A very singular one. That is objection No. 1. Objection No. 2:We will suppose that he reaches London and sees the foreign agent.He must bring back the papers before morning or the loss will bediscovered. He took away ten. Only seven were in his pocket. Whathad become of the other three? He certainly would not leave them ofhis own free will. Then, again, where is the price of his treason?Once would have expected to find a large sum of money in hispocket."
"It seems to me perfectly clear," said Lestrade. "I have nodoubt at all as to what occurred. He took the papers to sell them.He saw the agent. They could not agree as to price. He started homeagain, but the agent went with him. In the train the agent murderedhim, took the more essential papers, and threw his body from thecarriage. That would account for everything, would it not?"
"Why had he no ticket?"
"The ticket would have shown which station was nearest theagent's house. Therefore he took it from the murdered man'spocket."
"Good, Lestrade, very good," said Holmes. "Your theory holdstogether. But if this is true, then the case is at an end. On theone hand, the traitor is dead. On the other, the plans of theBruce-Partington submarine are presumably already on the Continent.What is there for us to do?"
"To act, Sherlock--to act!" cried Mycroft, springing to hisfeet. "All my instincts are against this explanation. Use yourpowers! Go to the scene of the crime! See the people concerned!Leave no stone unturned! In all your career you have never had sogreat a chance of serving your country."
"Well, well!" said Holmes, shrugging his shoulders. "Come,Watson! And you, Lestrade, could you favour us with your companyfor an hour or two? We will begin our investigation by a visit toAldgate Station. Good-bye, Mycroft. I shall let you have a reportbefore evening, but I warn you in advance that you have little toexpect."
An hour later Holmes, Lestrade and I stood upon the Undergroundrailroad at the point where it emerges from the tunnel immediatelybefore Aldgate Station. A courteous red-faced old gentlemanrepresented the railway company.
"This is where the young man's body lay," said he, indicating aspot about three feet from the metals. "It could not have fallenfrom above, for these, as you see, are all blank walls. Therefore,it could only have come from a train, and that train, so far as wecan trace it, must have passed about 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."A passenger who passed Aldgate in an ordinary Metropolitan trainabout 11:40 on Monday night declares that he heard a heavy thud, asof a body striking the line, just before the train reached thestation. There was dense fog, however, and nothing could be seen.He made no report of it at the time. Why, whatever is the matterwith Mr. Holmes?"
My friend was standing with an expression of strained intensityupon his face, staring at the railway metals where they curved outof the tunnel. Aldgate is a junction, and there was a network ofpoints. On these his eager, questioning eyes were fixed, and I sawon his keen, alert face that tightening of the lips, that quiver ofthe nostrils, and concentration of the heavy, tufted brows which Iknew 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 suchas this?"
"No; they are very few."
"And a curve, too. Points, and a curve. By Jove! if it were onlyso."
"What is it, Mr. Holmes? Have you a clue?"
"An idea--an indication, no more. But the case certainly growsin interest. Unique, perfectly unique, and yet why not? I do notsee any indications 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 externalinjury."
"And yet one would have expected some bleeding. Would it bepossible for me to inspect the train which contained the passengerwho heard the thud of a fall in the fog?"
"I fear not, Mr. Holmes. The train has been broken up beforenow, and the carriages redistributed."
"I can assure you, Mr. Holmes," said Lestrade, "that everycarriage has been carefully examined. I saw to it myself."
It was one of my friend's most obvious weaknesses that he wasimpatient with less alert intelligences than his own.
"Very likely," said he, turning away. "As it happens, it was notthe carriages which I desired to examine. Watson, we have done allwe can here. We need not trouble you any further, Mr. Lestrade. Ithink our investigations must now carry us to Woolwich."
At London Bridge, Holmes wrote a telegram to his brother, whichhe handed to me before dispatching it. It ran thus:
See some light in the darkness, but it may possiblyflicker out. Meanwhile, please send by messenger, to await returnat Baker Street, a complete list of all foreign spies orinternational agents known to be in England, with fulladdress.
Sherlock.
"That should be helpful, Watson," he remarked as we took ourseats in the Woolwich train. "We certainly owe Brother Mycroft adebt for having introduced us to what promises to be a really veryremarkable case."
His eager face still wore that expression of intense andhighstrung energy, which showed me that some novel and suggestivecircumstance had opened up a stimulating line of thought. See thefoxhound with hanging ears and drooping tail as it lolls about thekennels, and compare it with the same hound as, with gleaming eyesand straining muscles, it runs upon a breast-high scent--such wasthe change in Holmes since the morning. He was a different man fromthe limp and lounging figure in the mousecoloured dressing-gown whohad prowled so restlessly only a few hours before round thefog-girt room.
"There is material here. There is scope," said he. "I am dullindeed not to 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 whichmay lead us far. The man met his death elsewhere, and his body wason the ROOF of a carriage."
"On the roof!"
"Remarkable, is it not? But consider the facts. Is it acoincidence that it is found at the very point where the trainpitches and sways as it comes round on the points? Is not that theplace where an object upon the roof might be expected to fall off?The points would affect no object inside the train. Either the bodyfell from the roof, or a very curious coincidence has occurred. Butnow consider the question of the blood. Of course, there was nobleeding 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. Thiswould explain it. Everything fits together."
"But suppose it were so, we are still as far as ever fromunravelling the mystery of his death. Indeed, it becomes notsimpler but stranger."
"Perhaps," said Holmes, thoughtfully, "perhaps." He relapsedinto a silent reverie, which lasted until the slow train drew up atlast in Woolwich Station. There he called a cab and drew Mycroft'spaper from his pocket.
"We have quite a little round of afternoon calls to make," saidhe. "I think that Sir James Walter claims our first attention."
The house of the famous official was a fine villa with greenlawns stretching down to the Thames. As we reached it the fog waslifting, and a thin, watery sunshine was breaking through. A butleranswered 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,Colonel Valentine?"
"Yes, we had best do so."
We were ushered into a dim-lit drawing-room, where an instantlater we were joined by a very tall, handsome, light-beared man offifty, the younger brother of the dead scientist. His wild eyes,stained cheeks, and unkempt hair all spoke of the sudden blow whichhad fallen upon the household. He was hardly articulate as he spokeof it.
"It was this horrible scandal," said he. "My brother, Sir James,was a man of very sensitive honour, and he could not survive suchan affair. It broke his heart. He was always so proud of theefficiency of his department, 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 youand to all of us. He had already put all his knowledge at thedisposal of the police. Naturally he had no doubt that Cadogan Westwas guilty. But all the rest was 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, thatwe are much disturbed at present, and I must ask you to hasten thisinterview to an end."
"This is indeed an unexpected development," said my friend whenwe had regained the cab. "I wonder if the death was natural, orwhether the poor old fellow killed himself! If the latter, may itbe taken as some sign of self-reproach for duty neglected? We mustleave that question to the future. Now we shall turn to the CadoganWests."
A small but well-kept house in the outskirts of the townsheltered the bereaved mother. The old lady was too dazed withgrief to be of any use to us, but at her side was a white-facedyoung lady, who introduced herself as Miss Violet Westbury, thefiancee of the dead man, and the last to see him upon that fatalnight.
"I cannot explain it, Mr. Holmes," she said. "I have not shut aneye since the tragedy, thinking, thinking, thinking, night and day,what the true meaning of it can be. Arthur was the mostsingle-minded, chivalrous, patriotic man upon earth. He would havecut his right hand off before he would sell a State secret confidedto his keeping. It is absurd, impossible, preposterous to anyonewho 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 hadsaved a few 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 hermanner. She coloured and hesitated.
"Yes," she said at last, "I had a feeling that there wassomething on his mind."
"For long?"
"Only for the last week or so. He was thoughtful and worried.Once I pressed him about it. He admitted that there was something,and that it was concerned with his official life. 'It is tooserious for me to speak about, even to you,' said he. I could getnothing more."
Holmes looked grave.
"Go on, Miss Westbury. Even if it seems to tell against him, goon. We cannot say what it may lead to."
"Indeed, I have nothing more to tell. Once or twice it seemed tome that he was on the point of telling me something. He spoke oneevening of the importance of the secret, and I have somerecollection that he said that no doubt foreign spies would pay agreat deal to have it."
My friend's face grew graver still.
"Anything else?"
"He said that we were slack about such matters--that it would beeasy for 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 cabwas useless. We walked, and our way took us close to the office.Suddenly he darted away into the fog."
"Without a word?"
"He gave an exclamation; that was all. I waited but he neverreturned. Then I walked home. Next morning, after the officeopened, they came to inquire. About twelve o'clock we heard theterrible news. Oh, Mr. Holmes, if you could only, only save hishonour! It was so much to him."
Holmes shook his head sadly.
"Come, Watson," said he, "our ways lie elsewhere. Our nextstation must be the office from which the papers were taken.
"It was black enough before against this young man, but ourinquiries make it blacker," he remarked as the cab lumbered off."His coming marriage gives a motive for the crime. He naturallywanted money. The idea was in his head, since he spoke about it. Henearly made the girl an accomplice in the treason by telling herhis plans. It is all very bad."
"But surely, Holmes, character goes for something? Then, again,why should he leave the girl in the street and dart away to commita felony?"
"Exactly! There are certainly objections. But it is a formidablecase which they have to meet."
Mr. Sidney Johnson, the senior clerk, met us at the office andreceived us with that respect which my companion's card alwayscommanded. He was a thin, gruff, bespectacled man of middle age,his cheeks haggard, and his hands twitching from the nervous strainto which he had been subjected.
"It is bad, Mr. Holmes, very bad! Have you heard of the death ofthe chief?"
"We have just come from his house."
"The place is disorganized. The chief dead, Cadogan West dead,our papers stolen. And yet, when we closed our door on Mondayevening, we were as efficient an office as any in the governmentservice. Good God, it's dreadful to think of! That West, of allmen, should have done such a thing!"
"You are sure of his guilt, then?"
"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 an old soldier and a most trustworthy man. He saw nothingthat evening. Of course the fog was very thick."
"Suppose that Cadogan West wished to make his way into thebuilding after hours; he would need three keys, would he not,before the could reach the papers?"
"Yes, he would. The key of the outer door, the key of theoffice, and the key of the safe."
"Only Sir James Walter and you had those keys?"
"I had no keys of the doors--only 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 themthere."
"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. Andyet none was found upon his body. One other point: if a clerk inthis office desired to sell the plans, would it not be simply tocopy the plans for himself than to take the originals, as wasactually done?"
"It would take considerable technical knowledge to copy theplans in an effective way."
"But I suppose either Sir James, or you, or West has thattechnical knowledge?"
"No doubt we had, but I beg you won't try to drag me into thematter, Mr. Holmes. What is the use of our speculating in this waywhen the original plans were actually found on West?"
"Well, it is certainly singular that he should run the risk oftaking originals if he could safely have taken copies, which wouldhave equally served his turn."
"Singular, no doubt--and yet he did so."
"Every inquiry in this case reveals something inexplicable. Nowthere are 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-Partingtonsubmarine?"
"I reported to that effect to the Admiralty. But to-day I havebeen over the drawings again, and I am not so sure of it. Thedouble valves with the automatic self-adjusting slots are drawn inone of the papers which have been returned. Until the foreignershad invented that for themselves they could not make the boat. Ofcourse they might soon get over the difficulty."
"But the three missing drawings are the most important?"
"Undoubtedly."
"I think, with your permission, I will now take a stroll roundthe premises. I do not recall any other question which I desired toask."
He examined the lock of the safe, the door of the room, andfinally the iron shutters of the window. It was only when we wereon the lawn outside that his interest was strongly excited. Therewas a laurel bush outside the window, and several of the branchesbore signs of having been twisted or snapped. He examined themcarefully with his lens, and then some dim and vague marks upon theearth beneath. Finally he asked the chief clerk to close the ironshutters, and he pointed out to me that they hardly met in thecentre, and that it would be possible for anyone outside to seewhat was going on within the room.
"The indications are ruined by three days' delay. They may meansomething or nothing. Well, Watson, I do not think that Woolwichcan help us further. It is a small crop which we have gathered. Letus see if we can do better in London."
Yet we added one more sheaf to our harvest before we leftWoolwich Station. The clerk in the ticket office was able to saywith confidence that he saw Cadogan West--whom he knew well bysight--upon the Monday night, and that he went to London by the8:15 to London Bridge. He was alone and took a single thirdclassticket. The clerk was struck at the time by his excited and nervousmanner. So shaky was he that he could hardly pick up his change,and the clerk had helped him with it. A reference to the timetableshowed that the 8:15 was the first train which it was possible forWest to take after he had left the lady about 7:30.
"Let us reconstruct, Watson," said Holmes after half an hour ofsilence. "I am not aware that in all our joint researches we haveever had a case which was more difficult to get at. Every freshadvance which we make only reveals a fresh ridge beyond. And yet wehave surely made some appreciable progress.
"The effect of our inquiries at Woolwich has in the main beenagainst young Cadogan West; but the indications at the window wouldlend themselves to a more favourable hypothesis. Let us suppose,for example, that he had been approached by some foreign agent. Itmight have been done under such pledges as would have prevented himfrom speaking of it, and yet would have affected his thoughts inthe direction indicated by his remarks to his fiancee. Very good.We will now suppose that as he went to the theatre with the younglady he suddenly, in the fog, caught a glimpse of this same agentgoing in the direction of the office. He was an impetuous man,quick in his decisions. Everything gave way to his duty. Hefollowed the man, reached the window, saw the abstraction of thedocuments, and pursued the thief. In this way we get over theobjection that no one would take originals when he could makecopies. This outsider had to take originals. So far it holdstogether."
"What is the next step?"
"Then we come into difficulties. One would imagine that undersuch circumstances the first act of young Cadogan West would be toseize the villain and raise the alarm. Why did he not do so? Couldit have been an official superior who took the papers? That wouldexplain West's conduct. Or could the chief have given West the slipin the fog, and West started at once to London to head him off fromhis own rooms, presuming that he knew where the rooms were? Thecall must have been very pressing, since he left his girl standingin the fog and made no effort to communicate with her. Our scentruns cold here, and there is a vast gap between either hypothesisand the laying of West's body, with seven papers in his pocket, onthe roof of a Metropolitan train. My instinct now is to work fromthe other end. If Mycroft has given us the list of addresses we maybe able to pick our man and follow two tracks instead of one."
Surely enough, a note awaited us at Baker Street. A governmentmessenger had brought it post-haste. Holmes glanced at it and threwit over to me.
There are numerous small fry, but few who would handleso big an affair. The only men worth considering are Adolph Mayer,of 13 Great George Street, Westminster; Louis La Rothiere, ofCampden Mansions, Notting Hill; and Hugo Oberstein, 13 CaulfieldGardens, Kensington. The latter was known to be in town on Mondayand is now reported as having left. Glad to hear you have seen somelight. The Cabinet awaits your final report with the utmostanxiety. Urgent representations have arrived from the very highestquarter. The whole force of the State is at your back if you shouldneed it.
Mycroft.
"I'm afraid," said Holmes, smiling, "that all the queen's horsesand all the queen's men cannot avail in this matter." He had spreadout his big map of London and leaned eagerly over it. "Well, well,"said he presently with an exclamation of satisfaction, "things areturning a little in our direction at last. Why, Watson, I dohonestly believe that we are going to pull it off, after all." Heslapped me on the shoulder with a sudden burst of hilarity. "I amgoing out now. It is only a reconnaissance. I will do nothingserious without my trusted comrade and biographer at my elbow. Doyou stay here, and the odds are that you will see me again in anhour or two. If time hangs heavy get foolscap and a pen, and beginyour narrative of how we saved the State."
I felt some reflection of his elation in my own mind, for I knewwell that he would not depart so far from his usual austerity ofdemeanour unless there was good cause for exultation. All the longNovember evening I waited, filled with impatience for his return.At last, shortly after nine o'clock, there arrived a messenger witha note:
Am dining at Goldini's Restaurant, Gloucester Road,Kensington. Please come at once and join me there. Bring with you ajemmy, a dark lantern, a chisel, and a revolver.
S.H.
It was a nice equipment for a respectable citizen to carrythrough the dim, fog-draped streets. I stowed them all discreetlyaway in my overcoat and drove straight to the address given. Theresat my friend at a little round table near the door of the garishItalian restaurant.
"Have you had something to eat? Then join me in a coffee andcuracao. Try one of the proprietor's cigars. They are lesspoisonous than one would expect. Have you the tools?"
"They are here, in my overcoat."
"Excellent. Let me give you a short sketch of what I have done,with some indication of what we are about to do. Now it must beevident to you, Watson, that this young man's body was PLACED onthe roof of the train. That was clear from the instant that Idetermined the fact that it was from the roof, and not from acarriage, that he had fallen."
"Could it not have been dropped from a bridge?"
"I should say it was impossible. If you examine the roofs youwill find that they are slightly rounded, and there is no railinground them. Therefore, we can say for certain that young CadoganWest was placed on it."
"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 oftunnels at some points in the West End. I had a vague memory thatas I have travelled by it I have occasionally seen windows justabove my head. Now, suppose that a train halted under such awindow, would there be any difficulty in laying a body upon theroof?"
"It seems most improbable."
"We must fall back upon the old axiom that when all othercontingencies fail, whatever remains, however improbable, must bethe truth. Here all other contingencies HAVE failed. When I foundthat the leading international agent, who had just left London,lived in a row of houses which abutted upon the Underground, I wasso pleased that you were a little astonished at my suddenfrivolity."
"Oh, that was it, was it?"
"Yes, that was it. Mr. Hugo Oberstein, of 13 Caulfield Gardens,had become my objective. I began my operations at Gloucester RoadStation, where a very helpful official walked with me along thetrack and allowed me to satisfy myself not only that the back-stairwindows of Caulfield Gardens open on the line but the even moreessential fact that, owing to the intersection of one of the largerrailways, the Underground trains are frequently held motionless forsome minutes at that very spot."
"Splendid, Holmes! You have got it!"
"So far--so far, Watson. We advance, but the goal is afar. Well,having seen the back of Caulfield Gardens, I visited the front andsatisfied myself that the bird was indeed flown. It is aconsiderable house, unfurnished, so far as I could judge, in theupper rooms. Oberstein lived there with a single valet, who wasprobably a confederate entirely in his confidence. We must bear inmind that Oberstein has gone to the Continent to dispose of hisbooty, but not with any idea of flight; for he had no reason tofear a warrant, and the idea of an amateur domiciliary visit wouldcertainly never occur to him. Yet that is precisely what we areabout 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 don't like it, Holmes."
"My dear fellow, you shall keep watch in the street. I'll do thecriminal part. It's not a time to stick at trifles. Think ofMycroft's note, of the Admiralty, the Cabinet, the exalted personwho waits for news. We are bound 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 amoment I saw something in his eyes which was nearer to tendernessthan I had ever seen. 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. "Don't drop the instruments, I beg. Your arrest as asuspicious character would be a most unfortunate complication."
Caulfield Gardens was one of those lines of flat-faced pillared,and porticoed houses which are so prominent a product of the middleVictorian epoch in the West End of London. Next door there appearedto be a children's party, for the merry buzz of young voices andthe clatter of a piano resounded through the night. The fog stillhung about and screened us with its friendly shade. Holmes had lithis lantern and flashed it upon the massive door.
"This is a serious proposition," said he. "It is certainlybolted as well as locked. We would do better in the area. There isan excellent archway down yonder in case a too zealous policemanshould intrude. Give me a hand, Watson, and I'll do the same foryou."
A minute later we were both in the area. Hardly had we reachedthe dark shadows before the step of the policeman was heard in thefog above. As its soft rhythm died away, Holmes set to work uponthe lower door. I saw him stoop and strain until with a sharp crashit flew open. We sprang through into the dark passage, closing thearea door behind us. Holmes let the way up the curving, uncarpetedstair. His little fan of yellow light shone upon a low window.
"Here we are, Watson--this must be the one." He threw it open,and as he did so there was a low, harsh murmur, growing steadilyinto a loud roar as a train dashed past us in the darkness. Holmesswept his light along the window-sill. It was thickly coated withsoot from the passing engines, but the black surface was blurredand rubbed in places.
"You can see where they rested the body. Halloa, Watson! what isthis? There can be no doubt that it is a blood mark." He waspointing to faint discolourations along the woodwork of the window."Here it is on the stone of the stair also. The demonstration iscomplete. Let us stay here until a train stops."
We had not long to wait. The very next train roared from thetunnel as before, but slowed in the open, and then, with a creakingof brakes, pulled up immediately beneath us. It was not four feetfrom the window-ledge to the roof of the carriages. Holmes softlyclosed 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 conceivedthe idea of the body being upon the roof, which surely was not avery abstruse one, all the rest was inevitable. If it were not forthe grave interests involved the affair up to this point would beinsignificant. Our difficulties are still before us. But perhaps wemay find something here which may help us."
We had ascended the kitchen stair and entered the suite of roomsupon the first floor. One was a dining-room, severely furnished andcontaining nothing of interest. A second was a bedroom, which alsodrew blank. The remaining room appeared more promising, and mycompanion settled down to a systematic examination. It was litteredwith books and papers, and was evidently used as a study. Swiftlyand methodically Holmes turned over the contents of drawer afterdrawer and cupboard after cupboard, but no gleam of success came tobrighten his austere face. At the end of an hour he was no furtherthan when he started.
"The cunning dog has covered his tracks," said he. "He has leftnothing to incriminate him. His dangerous correspondence has beendestroyed or removed. This is our last chance."
It was a small tin cash-box which stood upon the writing-desk.Holmes pried it open with his chisel. Several rolls of paper werewithin, covered with figures and calculations, without any note toshow to what they referred. The recurring words, "water pressure"and "pressure to the square inch" suggested some possible relationto a submarine. Holmes tossed them all impatiently aside. Thereonly remained an envelope with some small newspaper slips insideit. He shook them out on the table, and at once I saw by his eagerface that his hopes had been raised.
"What's this, Watson? Eh? What's this? Record of a series ofmessages in the advertisements of a paper. Daily Telegraph agonycolumn by the print and paper. Right-hand top corner of a page. Nodates--but messages arrange 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 be sosuspicious. Payment in hard cash when goods delivered.
"Pierrot.
"A fairly complete record, Watson! If we could only get at theman at the other end!" He sat lost in thought, tapping his fingerson the table. Finally he sprang to his feet.
"Well, perhaps it won't be so difficult, after all. There isnothing more to be done here, Watson. I think we might drive roundto the offices of the Daily Telegraph, and so bring a good day'swork 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 overour confessed burglary.
"We can't do these things in the force, Mr. Holmes," said he."No wonder you get results that are beyond us. But some of thesedays you'll go too far, and you'll find yourself and your friend introuble."
"For England, home and beauty--eh, Watson? Martyrs on the altarof our country. But what do you think of it, Mycroft?"
"Excellent, Sherlock! Admirable! But what use will you make ofit?"
Holmes picked up the Daily Telegraph which lay upon thetable.
"Have you seen Pierrot's advertisement to-day?"
"What? Another one?"
"Yes, here it is:
"To-night. Same hour. Same place. Two taps. Most vitallyimportant. Your own safety at stake.
"Pierrot.
"By George!" cried Lestrade. "If he answers that we've gothim!"
"That was my idea when I put it in. I think if you could bothmake it convenient to come with us about eight o'clock to CaulfieldGardens we might possibly get a little nearer to a solution."
One of the most remarkable characteristics of Sherlock Holmeswas his power of throwing his brain out of action and switching allhis thoughts on to lighter things whenever he had convinced himselfthat he could no longer work to advantage. I remember that duringthe whole of that memorable day he lost himself in a monographwhich he had undertaken upon the Polyphonic Motets of Lassus. Formy own part I had none of this power of detachment, and the day, inconsequence, appeared to be interminable. The great nationalimportance of the issue, the suspense in high quarters, the directnature of the experiment which we were trying--all combined to workupon my nerve. It was a relief to me when at last, after a lightdinner, we set out upon our expedition. Lestrade and Mycroft met usby appointment at the outside of Gloucester Road Station. The areadoor of Oberstein's house had been left open the night before, andit was necessary for me, as Mycroft Holmes absolutely andindignantly declined to climb the railings, to pass in and open thehall door. By nine o'clock we were all seated in the study, waitingpatently for our man.
An hour passed and yet another. When eleven struck, the measuredbeat of the great church clock seemed to sound the dirge of ourhopes. Lestrade and Mycroft were fidgeting in their seats andlooking twice a minute at their watches. Holmes sat silent andcomposed, his eyelids half shut, but every sense on the alert. Heraised his head with a sudden jerk.
"He is coming," said he.
There had been a furtive step past the door. Now it returned. Weheard a shuffling sound outside, and then two sharp taps with theknocker. Holmes rose, motioning us to remain seated. The gas in thehall was a mere point of light. He opened the outer door, and thenas a dark figure slipped past him he closed and fastened it. "Thisway!" we heard him say, and a moment later our man stood before us.Holmes had followed him closely, and as the man turned with a cryof surprise and alarm he caught him by the collar and threw himback into the room. Before our prisoner had recovered his balancethe door was shut and Holmes standing with his back against it. Theman glared round him, staggered, and fell senseless upon the floor.With the shock, his broad-brimmed hat flew from his head, hiscravat slipped sown from his lips, and there were the long lightbeard and the soft, handsome delicate features of Colonel ValentineWalter.
Holmes gave a whistle of surprise.
"You can write me down an ass this time, Watson," said he. "Thiswas not the bird that I was looking for."
"Who is he?" asked Mycroft eagerly.
"The younger brother of the late Sir James Walter, the head ofthe Submarine Department. Yes, yes; I see the fall of the cards. Heis coming to. I think that you had best leave his examination tome."
We had carried the prostrate body to the sofa. Now our prisonersat up, looked round him with a horror-stricken face, and passedhis hand over his forehead, like one who cannot believe his ownsenses.
"What is this?" he asked. "I came here to visit Mr.Oberstein."
"Everything is known, Colonel Walter," said Holmes. "How anEnglish gentleman could behave in such a manner is beyond mycomprehension. But your whole correspondence and relations withOberstein are within our knowledge. So also are the circumstancesconnected with the death of young Cadogan West. Let me advise youto gain at least the small credit for repentance and confession,since there are still some details which we can only learn fromyour lips."
The man groaned and sank his face in his hands. We waited, buthe was silent.
"I can assure you," said Holmes, "that every essential isalready known. We know that you were pressed for money; that youtook an impress of the keys which your brother held; and that youentered into a correspondence with Oberstein, who answered yourletters through the advertisement columns of the Daily Telegraph.We are aware that you went down to the office in the fog on Mondaynight, but that you were seen and followed by young Cadogan West,who had probably some previous reason to suspect you. He saw yourtheft, but could not give the alarm, as it was just possible thatyou were taking the papers to your brother in London. Leaving allhis private concerns, like the good citizen that he was, hefollowed you closely in the fog and kept at your heels until youreached this very house. There he intervened, and then it was,Colonel Walter, that to treason you added the more terrible crimeof murder."
"I did not! I did not! Before God I swear that I did not!" criedour wretched 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 confessit. It was just as you say. A Stock Exchange debt had to be paid. Ineeded the money badly. Oberstein offered me five thousand. It wasto save myself from ruin. But as to murder, I am as innocent asyou."
"What happened, then?"
"He had his suspicions before, and he followed me as youdescribe. I never knew it until I was at the very door. It wasthick fog, and one could not see three yards. I had given two tapsand Oberstein had come to the door. The young man rushed up anddemanded to know what we were about to do with the papers.Oberstein had a short life-preserver. He always carried it withhim. As West forced his way after us into the house Obersteinstruck 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 ourwit's end what to do. Then Oberstein had this idea about the trainswhich halted under his back window. But first he examined thepapers which I had brought. He said that three of them wereessential, and that he must keep them. 'You cannot keep them,' saidI. 'There will be a dreadful row at Woolwich if they are notreturned.' 'I must keep them,' said he, 'for they are so technicalthat it is impossible in the time to make copies.' 'Then they mustall go back together to-night,' said I. He thought for a little,and then he cried out that he had it. 'Three I will keep,' said he.'The others we will stuff into the pocket of this young man. Whenhe is found the whole business will assuredly be put to hisaccount.' I could see no other way out of it, so we did as hesuggested. We waited half an hour at the window before a trainstopped. It was so thick that nothing could be seen, and we had nodifficulty in lowering West's body on to the train. That was theend 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 Ithink that he suspected. I read in his eyes that he suspected. Asyou know, he never held up his head again."
There was silence in the room. It was broken by MycroftHolmes.
"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 Hotel du Louvre, Paris, wouldeventually reach him."
"Then reparation is still within your power," said SherlockHolmes.
"I will do anything I can. I owe this fellow no particulargoodwill. He has been my ruin and my downfall."
"Here are paper and pen. Sit at this desk and write to mydictation. Direct the envelope to the address given. That is right.Now the letter:
"Dear Sir:
"With regard to our transaction, you will no doubt have observedby now that one essential detail is missing. I have a tracing whichwill make it complete. This has involved me in extra trouble,however, and I must ask you for a further advance of five hundredpounds. I will not trust it to the post, nor will I take anythingbut gold or notes. I would come to you abroad, but it would exciteremark if I left the country at present. Therefore I shall expectto meet you in the smoking-room of the Charing Cross Hotel at noonon Saturday. Remember that only English notes, or gold, will betaken.
"That will do very well. I shall be very much surprised if itdoes not fetch our man."
And it did! It is a matter of history--that secret history of anation which is often so much more intimate and interesting thanits public chronicles--that Oberstein, eager to complete the coupof his lifetime, came to the lure and was safely engulfed forfifteen years in a British prison. In his trunk were found theinvaluable Bruce-Partington plans, which he had put up for auctionin all the naval centres of Europe.
Colonel Walter died in prison towards the end of the second yearof his sentence. As to Holmes, he returned refreshed to hismonograph upon the Polyphonic Motets of Lassus, which has sincebeen printed for private circulation, and is said by experts to bethe last word upon the subject. Some weeks afterwards I learnedincidentally that my friend spent a day at Windsor, whence bereturned with a remarkably fine emerald tie-pin. When I asked himif he had bought it, he answered that it was a present from acertain gracious lady in whose interests he had once been fortunateenough to carry out a small commission. He said no more; but Ifancy that I could guess at that lady's august name, and I havelittle doubt that the emerald pin will forever recall to myfriend's memory the adventure of the Bruce-Partington plans.
ADVENTURE IV. THE ADVENTURE OF THE DEVIL'S FOOT
In recording from time to time some of the curious experiencesand interesting recollections which I associate with my long andintimate friendship with Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I have continuallybeen faced by difficulties caused by his own aversion to publicity.To his sombre and cynical spirit all popular applause was alwaysabhorrent, and nothing amused him more at the end of a successfulcase than to hand over the actual exposure to some orthodoxofficial, and to listen with a mocking smile to the general chorusof misplaced congratulation. It was indeed this attitude upon thepart of my friend and certainly not any lack of interestingmaterial which has caused me of late years to lay very few of myrecords before the public. My participation in some if hisadventures was always a privilege which entailed discretion andreticence upon me.
It was, then, with considerable surprise that I received atelegram from Homes last Tuesday--he has never been known to writewhere a telegram would serve--in the following terms:
Why not tell them of the Cornish horror--strangest case I havehandled.
I have no idea what backward sweep of memory had brought thematter fresh to his mind, or what freak had caused him to desirethat I should recount it; but I hasten, before another cancellingtelegram may arrive, to hunt out the notes which give me the exactdetails of the case and to lay the narrative before my readers.
It was, then, in the spring of the year 1897 that Holmes's ironconstitution showed some symptoms of giving way in the face ofconstant hard work of a most exacting kind, aggravated, perhaps, byoccasional indiscretions of his own. In March of that year Dr.Moore Agar, of Harley Street, whose dramatic introduction to HolmesI may some day recount, gave positive injunctions that the famousprivate agent lay aside all his cases and surrender himself tocomplete rest if he wished to avert an absolute breakdown. Thestate of his health was not a matter in which he himself took thefaintest interest, for his mental detachment was absolute, but hewas induced at last, on the threat of being permanentlydisqualified from work, to give himself a complete change of sceneand air. Thus it was that in the early spring of that year we foundourselves together in a small cottage near Poldhu Bay, at thefurther extremity of the Cornish peninsula.
It was a singular spot, and one peculiarly well suited to thegrim humour of my patient. From the windows of our littlewhitewashed house, which stood high upon a grassy headland, welooked down upon the whole sinister semicircle of Mounts Bay, thatold death trap of sailing vessels, with its fringe of black cliffsand surge-swept reefs on which innumerable seamen have met theirend. With a northerly breeze it lies placid and sheltered, invitingthe storm-tossed craft to tack into it for rest and protection.
Then come the sudden swirl round of the wind, the blisteringgale from the south-west, the dragging anchor, the lee shore, andthe last battle in the creaming breakers. The wise mariner standsfar out from that evil place.
On the land side our surroundings were as sombre as on the sea.It was a country of rolling moors, lonely and dun-colored, with anoccasional church tower to mark the site of some old-world village.In every direction upon these moors there were traces of somevanished race which had passed utterly away, and left as it solerecord strange monuments of stone, irregular mounds which containedthe burned ashes of the dead, and curious earthworks which hintedat prehistoric strife. The glamour and mystery of the place, withits sinister atmosphere of forgotten nations, appealed to theimagination of my friend, and he spent much of his time in longwalks and solitary meditations upon the moor. The ancient Cornishlanguage had also arrested his attention, and he had, I remember,conceived the idea that it was akin to the Chaldean, and had beenlargely derived from the Phoenician traders in tin. He had receiveda consignment of books upon philology and was settling down todevelop this thesis when suddenly, to my sorrow and to hisunfeigned delight, we found ourselves, even in that land of dreams,plunged into a problem at our very doors which was more intense,more engrossing, and infinitely more mysterious than any of thosewhich had driven us from London. Our simple life and peaceful,healthy routine were violently interrupted, and we wereprecipitated into the midst of a series of events which caused theutmost excitement not only in Cornwall but throughout the wholewest of England. Many of my readers may retain some recollection ofwhat was called at the time "The Cornish Horror," though a mostimperfect account of the matter reached the London press. Now,after thirteen years, I will give the true details of thisinconceivable affair to the public.
I have said that scattered towers marked the villages whichdotted this part of Cornwall. The nearest of these was the hamletof Tredannick Wollas, where the cottages of a couple of hundredinhabitants clustered round an ancient, moss-grown church. Thevicar of the parish, Mr. Roundhay, was something of anarchaeologist, and as such Holmes had made his acquaintance. He wasa middle-aged man, portly and affable, with a considerable fund oflocal lore. At his invitation we had taken tea at the vicarage andhad come to know, also, Mr. Mortimer Tregennis, an independentgentleman, who increased the clergyman's scanty resources by takingrooms in his large, straggling house. The vicar, being a bachelor,was glad to come to such an arrangement, though he had little incommon with his lodger, who was a thin, dark, spectacled man, witha stoop which gave the impression of actual, physical deformity. Iremember that during our short visit we found the vicar garrulous,but his lodger strangely reticent, a sad-faced, introspective man,sitting with averted eyes, brooding apparently upon his ownaffairs.
These were the two men who entered abruptly into our littlesitting-room on Tuesday, March the 16th, shortly after ourbreakfast hour, as we were smoking together, preparatory to ourdaily excursion upon the moors.
"Mr. Holmes," said the vicar in an agitated voice, "the mostextraordinary and tragic affair has occurred during the night. Itis the most unheard-of business. We can only regard it as a specialProvidence that you should chance to be here at the time, for inall England you are the one man we need."
I glared at the intrusive vicar with no very friendly eyes; butHolmes took his pipe from his lips and sat up in his chair like anold hound who hears the view-halloa. He waved his hand to the sofa,and our palpitating visitor with his agitated companion sat side byside upon it. Mr. Mortimer Tregennis was more selfcontained thanthe clergyman, but the twitching of his thin hands and thebrightness of his dark eyes showed that they shared a commonemotion.
"Shall I speak or you?" he asked of the vicar.
"Well, as you seem to have made the discovery, whatever it maybe, and the vicar to have had it second-hand, perhaps you hadbetter do the speaking," said Holmes.
I glanced at the hastily clad clergyman, with the formallydressed lodger seated beside him, and was amused at the surprisewhich Holmes's simple deduction had brought to their faces.
"Perhaps I had best say a few words first," said the vicar, "andthen you can judge if you will listen to the details from Mr.Tregennis, or whether we should not hasten at once to the scene ofthis mysterious affair. I may explain, then, that our friend herespent last evening in the company of his two brothers, Owen andGeorge, and of his sister Brenda, at their house of TredannickWartha, which is near the old stone cross upon the moor. He leftthem shortly after ten o'clock, playing cards round the dining-roomtable, in excellent health and spirits. This morning, being anearly riser, he walked in that direction before breakfast and wasovertaken by the carriage of Dr. Richards, who explained that hehad just been sent for on a most urgent call to Tredannick Wartha.Mr. Mortimer Tregennis naturally went with him. When he arrived atTredannick Wartha he found an extraordinary state of things. Histwo brothers and his sister were seated round the table exactly ashe had left them, the cards still spread in front of them and thecandles burned down to their sockets. The sister lay backstone-dead in her chair, while the two brothers sat on each side ofher laughing, shouting, and singing, the senses stricken clean outof them. All three of them, the dead woman and the two dementedmen, retained upon their faces an expression of the utmosthorror--a convulsion of terror which was dreadful to look upon.There was no sign of the presence of anyone in the house, exceptMrs. Porter, the old cook and housekeeper, who declared that shehad slept deeply and heard no sound during the night. Nothing hadbeen stolen or disarranged, and there is absolutely no explanationof what the horror can be which has frightened a woman to death andtwo 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 youwill have done a great work."
I had hoped that in some way I could coax my companion back intothe quiet which had been the object of our journey; but one glanceat his intense face and contracted eyebrows told me how vain wasnow the expectation. He sat for some little time in silence,absorbed in the strange drama which had broken in upon ourpeace.
"I will look into this matter," he said at last. "On the face ofit, it would appear to be a case of a very exceptional nature. Haveyou been there yourself, 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 tragedyoccurred?"
"About a mile inland."
"Then we shall walk over together. But before we start I mustask you a few question, Mr. Mortimer Tregennis."
The other had been silent all this time, but I had observed thathis more controlled excitement was even greater than the obtrusiveemotion of the clergyman. He sat with a pale, drawn face, hisanxious gaze fixed upon Holmes, and his thin hands claspedconvulsively together. His pale lips quivered as he listened to thedreadful experience which had befallen his family, and his darkeyes seemed to reflect something of the horror of the scene.
"Ask what you like, Mr. Holmes," said he eagerly. "It is a badthing to speak 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 myelder brother George proposed a game of whist afterwards. We satdown about nine o'clock. It was a quarter-past ten when I moved togo. I left them all round the table, as merry as could be."
"Who let you out?"
"Mrs. Porter had gone to bed, so I let myself out. I shut thehall door behind me. The window of the room in which they sat wasclosed, but the blind was not drawn down. There was no change indoor or window this morning, or any reason to think that anystranger had been to the house. Yet there they sat, driven cleanmad with terror, and Brenda lying dead of fright, with her headhanging over the arm of the chair. I'll never get the sight of thatroom out of my mind so long as I live."
"The facts, as you state them, are certainly most remarkable,"said Holmes. "I take it that you have no theory yourself which canin any way account for them?"
"It's devilish, Mr. Holmes, devilish!" cried Mortimer Tregennis."It is not of this world. Something has come into that room whichhas dashed the light of reason from their minds. What humancontrivance could do that?"
"I fear," said Holmes, "that if the matter is beyond humanity itis certainly beyond me. Yet we must exhaust all naturalexplanations before we fall back upon such a theory as this. As toyourself, Mr. Tregennis, I take it you were divided in some wayfrom your family, since they lived together and you had roomsapart?"
"That is so, Mr. Holmes, though the matter is past and donewith. We were a family of tin-miners at Redruth, but we sold ourventure to a company, and so retired with enough to keep us. Iwon't deny that there was some feeling about the division of themoney and it stood between us for a time, but it was all forgivenand forgotten, and we were the best of friends together."
"Looking back at the evening which you spent together, doesanything stand out in your memory as throwing any possible lightupon the tragedy? Think carefully, Mr. Tregennis, for any cluewhich 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 apprehensionof coming 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 satat the table my back was to the window, and my brother George, hebeing my partner at cards, was facing it. I saw him once look hardover my shoulder, so I turned round and looked also. The blind wasup and the window shut, but I could just make out the bushes on thelawn, and it seemed to me for a moment that I saw something movingamong them. I couldn't even say if it was man or animal, but I justthought there was something there. When I asked him what he waslooking at, he told me that he had the same feeling. That is allthat 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 thismorning."
"I am an early riser and generally take a walk before breakfast.This morning I had hardly started when the doctor in his carriageovertook me. He told me that old Mrs. Porter had sent a boy downwith an urgent message. I sprang in beside him and we drove on.When we got there we looked into that dreadful room. The candlesand the fire must have burned out hours before, and they had beensitting there in the dark until dawn had broken. The doctor saidBrenda must have been dead at least six hours. There were no signsof violence. She just lay across the arm of the chair with thatlook on her face. George and Owen were singing snatches of songsand gibbering like two great apes. Oh, it was awful to see! Icouldn't stand it, and the doctor was as white as a sheet. Indeed,he fell into a chair in a sort of faint, and we nearly had him onour hands as well."
"Remarkable--most remarkable!" said Holmes, rising and takinghis hat. "I think, perhaps, we had better go down to TredannickWartha without further delay. I confess that I have seldom known acase which at first 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 incidentwhich left the most sinister impression upon my mind. The approachto the spot at which the tragedy occurred is down a narrow,winding, country lane. While we made our way along it we heard therattle of a carriage coming towards us and stood aside to let itpass. As it drove by us I caught a glimpse through the closedwindow of a horribly contorted, grinning face glaring out at us.Those staring eyes and gnashing teeth flashed past us like adreadful vision.
"My brothers!" cried Mortimer Tregennis, white to his lips."They are taking them to Helston."
We looked with horror after the black carriage, lumbering uponits way. Then we turned our steps towards this ill-omened house inwhich they had met their strange fate.
It was a large and bright dwelling, rather a villa than acottage, with a considerable garden which was already, in thatCornish air, well filled with spring flowers. Towards this gardenthe window of the sitting-room fronted, and from it, according toMortimer Tregennis, must have come that thing of evil which had bysheer horror in a single instant blasted their minds. Holmes walkedslowly and thoughtfully among the flowerplots and along the pathbefore we entered the porch. So absorbed was he in his thoughts, Iremember, that he stumbled over the watering-pot, upset itscontents, 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 thefamily. She readily answered all Holmes's questions. She had heardnothing in the night. Her employers had all been in excellentspirits lately, and she had never known them more cheerful andprosperous. She had fainted with horror upon entering the room inthe morning and seeing that dreadful company round the table. Shehad, when she recovered, thrown open the window to let the morningair in, and had run down to the lane, whence she sent a farm-ladfor the doctor. The lady was on her bed upstairs if we cared to seeher. It took four strong men to get the brothers into the asylumcarriage. 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 BrendaTregennis had been a very beautiful girl, though now verging uponmiddle age. Her dark, clear-cut face was handsome, even in death,but there still lingered upon it something of that convulsion ofhorror which had been her last human emotion. From her bedroom wedescended to the sitting-room, where this strange tragedy hadactually occurred. The charred ashes of the overnight fire lay inthe grate. On the table were the four guttered and burned-outcandles, with the cards scattered over its surface. The chairs hadbeen moved back against the walls, but all else was as it had beenthe night before. Holmes paced with light, swift steps about theroom; he sat in the various chairs, drawing them up andreconstructing their positions. He tested how much of the gardenwas visible; he examined the floor, the ceiling, and the fireplace;but never once did I see that sudden brightening of his eyes andtightening of his lips which would have told me that he saw somegleam of light in this utter darkness.
"Why a fire?" he asked once. "Had they always a fire in thissmall room on a spring evening?"
Mortimer Tregennis explained that the night was cold and damp.For that reason, after his arrival, the fire was lit. "What are yougoing to do now, Mr. Holmes?" he asked.
My friend smiled and laid his hand upon my arm. "I think,Watson, that I shall resume that course of tobacco-poisoning whichyou have so often and so justly condemned," said he. "With yourpermission, gentlemen, we will now return to our cottage, for I amnot aware that any new factor is likely to come to our notice here.I will turn the facts over in my mid, Mr, Tregennis, and shouldanything occur to me I will certainly ommunicate with you and thevicar. In the meantime I wish you both good-morning."
It was not until long after we were back in Poldhu Cottage thatHolmes broke his complete and absorbed silence. He sat coiled inhis armchair, his haggard and ascetic face hardly visible amid theblue swirl of his tobacco smoke, his black brows drawn down, hisforehead contracted, his eyes vacant and far away. Finally he laiddown his pipe and sprang to his feet.
"It won't do, Watson!" said he with a laugh. "Let us walk alongthe cliffs together and search for flint arrows. We are more likelyto find them than clues to this problem. To let the brain workwithout sufficient material is like racing an engine. It racksitself to pieces. The sea air, sunshine, and patience, Watson--allelse will come.
"Now, let us calmly define our position, Watson," he continuedas we skirted the cliffs together. "Let us get a firm grip of thevery little which we DO know, so that when fresh facts arise we maybe ready to fit them into their places. I take it, in the firstplace, that neither of us is prepared to admit diabolicalintrusions into the affairs of men. Let us begin by ruling thatentirely out of our minds. Very good. There remain three personswho have been grievously stricken by some conscious or unconscioushuman agency. That is firm ground. Now, when did this occur?Evidently, assuming his narrative to be true, it was immediatelyafter Mr. Mortimer Tregennis had left the room. That is a veryimportant point. The presumption is that it was within a fewminutes afterwards. The cards still lay upon the table. It wasalready past their usual hour for bed. Yet they had not changedtheir position or pushed back their chairs. I repeat, then, thatthe occurrence was immediately after his departure, and not laterthan eleven o'clock last night.
"Our next obvious step is to check, so far as we can, themovements of Mortimer Tregennis after he left the room. In thisthere is no difficulty, and they seem to be above suspicion.Knowing my methods as you do, you were, of course, conscious of thesomewhat clumsy water-pot expedient by which I obtained a clearerimpress of his foot than might otherwise have been possible. Thewet, sandy path took it admirably. Last night was also wet, youwill remember, and it was not difficult--having obtained a sampleprint--to pick out his track among others and to follow hismovements. He appears to have walked away swiftly in the directionof the vicarage.
"If, then, Mortimer Tregennis disappeared from the scene, andyet some outside person affected the card-players, how can wereconstruct that person, and how was such an impression of horrorconveyed? Mrs. Porter may be eliminated. She is evidently harmless.Is there any evidence that someone crept up to the garden windowand in some manner produced so terrific an effect that he drovethose who saw it out of their senses? The only suggestion in thisdirection comes from Mortimer Tregennis himself, who says that hisbrother spoke about some movement in the garden. That is certainlyremarkable, as the night was rainy, cloudy, and dark. Anyone whohad the design to alarm these people would be compelled to placehis very face against the glass before he could be seen. There is athree-foot flowerborder outside this window, but no indication of afootmark. It is difficult to imagine, then, how an outsider couldhave made so terrible an impression upon the company, nor have wefound any possible motive for so 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 theyare not insurmountable," said Holmes. "I fancy that among yourextensive archives, Watson, you may find some which were nearly asobscure. Meanwhile, we shall put the case aside until more accuratedata are available, and devote the rest of our morning to thepursuit of neolithic man."
I may have commented upon my friend's power of mentaldetachment, but never have I wondered at it more than upon thatspring morning in Cornwall when for two hours he discoursed uponcelts, arrowheads, and shards, as lightly as if no sinister mysterywere waiting for his solution. It was not until we had returned inthe afternoon to our cottage that we found a visitor awaiting us,who soon brought our minds back to the matter in hand. Neither ofus needed to be told who that visitor was. The huge body, thecraggy and deeply seamed face with the fierce eyes and hawk-likenose, the grizzled hair which nearly brushed our cottage ceiling,the beard--golden at the fringes and white near the lips, save forthe nicotine stain from his perpetual cigar--all these were as wellknown in London as in Africa, and could only be associated with thetremendous personality of Dr. Leon Sterndale, the great lion-hunterand explorer.
We had heard of his presence in the district and had once ortwice caught sight of his tall figure upon the moorland paths. Hemade no advances to us, however, nor would we have dreamed of doingso to him, as it was well known that it was his love of seclusionwhich caused him to spend the greater part of the intervals betweenhis journeys in a small bungalow buried in the lonely wood ofBeauchamp Arriance. Here, amid his books and his maps, he lived anabsolutely lonely life, attending to his own simple wants andpaying little apparent heed to the affairs of his neighbours. Itwas a surprise to me, therefore, to hear him asking Holmes in aneager voice whether he had made any advance in his reconstructionof this mysterious episode. "The county police are utterly atfault," said he, "but perhaps your wider experience has suggestedsome conceivable explanation. My only claim to being taken intoyour confidence is that during my many residences here I have cometo know this family of Tregennis very well--indeed, upon my Cornishmother's side I could call them cousins--and their strange fate hasnaturally been a great shock to me. I may tell you that I had gotas far as Plymouth upon my way to Africa, but the news reached methis morning, and I came straight back again to help in theinquiry."
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 so--cousins of your mother. Was your baggage aboard theship?"
"Some of it, but the main part at the hotel."
"I see. But surely this event could not have found its way intothe Plymouth 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 ruffledcomposure.
"I have no objection to telling you," he said. "It was Mr.Roundhay, the vicar, who sent me the telegram which recalledme."
"Thank you," said Holmes. "I may say in answer to your originalquestion that I have not cleared my mind entirely on the subject ofthis case, but that I have every hope of reaching some conclusion.It would be premature to say more."
"Perhaps you would not mind telling me if your suspicions pointin any particular 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 illhumour,and within five minutes Holmes had followed him. I saw him no moreuntil the evening, when he returned with a slow step and haggardface which assured me that he had made no great progress with hisinvestigation. He glanced at a telegram which awaited him and threwit into the grate.
"From the Plymouth hotel, Watson," he said. "I learned the nameof it from the vicar, and I wired to make certain that Dr. LeonSterndale's account was true. It appears that he did indeed spendlast night there, and that he has actually allowed some of hisbaggage to go on to Africa, while he returned to be present at thisinvestigation. What do you make of that, Watson?"
"He is deeply interested."
"Deeply interested--yes. There is a thread here which we had notyet grasped and which might lead us through the tangle. Cheer up,Watson, for I am very sure that our material has not yet all cometo hand. When it does we may soon leave our difficulties behindus."
Little did I think how soon the words of Holmes would berealized, or how strange and sinister would be that new developmentwhich opened up an entirely fresh line of investigation. I wasshaving at my window in the morning when I heard the rattle ofhoofs and, looking up, saw a dog-cart coming at a gallop down theroad. It pulled up at our door, and our friend, the vicar, sprangfrom it and rushed up our garden path. Holmes was already dressed,and we hastened down to meet him.
Our visitor was so excited that he could hardly articulate, butat last in gasps and bursts his tragic story came out of him.
"We are devil-ridden, Mr. Holmes! My poor parish is devilridden!" he cried. "Satan himself is loose in it! We are given over intohis hands!" He danced about in his agitation, a ludicrous object ifit were not for his ashy face and startled eyes. Finally he shotout his terrible news.
"Mr. Mortimer Tregennis died during the night, and with exactlythe same 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, weare entirely at your disposal. Hurry--hurry, before things getdisarranged."
The lodger occupied two rooms at the vicarage, which were in anangle by themselves, the one above the other. Below was a largesitting-room; above, his bedroom. They looked out upon a croquetlawn which came up to the windows. We had arrived before the doctoror the police, so that everything was absolutely undisturbed. Letme describe exactly the scene as we saw it upon that misty Marchmorning. It has left an impression which can never be effaced frommy mind.
The atmosphere of the room was of a horrible and depressingstuffiness. The servant had first entered had thrown up the window,or it would have been even more intolerable. This might partly bedue to the fact that a lamp stood flaring and smoking on the centretable. Beside it sat the dead man, leaning back in his chair, histhing beard projecting, his spectacles pushed up on to hisforehead, and his lean dark face turned towards the window andtwisted into the same distortion of terror which had marked thefeatures of his dead sister. His limbs were convulsed and hisfingers contorted as though he had died in a very paroxysm of fear.He was fully clothed, though there were signs that his dressing hadbeen done in a hurry. We had already learned that his bed had beenslept in, and that the tragic end had come to him in the earlymorning.
One realized the red-hot energy which underlay Holmes'sphlegmatic exterior when one saw the sudden change which came overhim from the moment that he entered the fatal apartment. In aninstant he was tense and alert, his eyes shining, his face set, hislimbs quivering with eager activity. He was out on the lawn, inthrough the window, round the room, and up into the bedroom, forall the world like a dashing foxhound drawing a cover. In thebedroom he made a rapid cast around and ended by throwing open thewindow, which appeared to give him some fresh cause for excitement,for he leaned out of it with loud ejaculations of interest anddelight. Then he rushed down the stair, out through the openwindow, threw himself upon his face on the lawn, sprang up and intothe room once more, all with the energy of the hunter who is at thevery heels of his quarry. The lamp, which was an ordinary standard,he examined with minute care, making certain measurements upon itsbowl. He carefully scrutinized with his lens the talc shield whichcovered the top of the chimney and scraped off some ashes whichadhered to its upper surface, putting some of them into anenvelope, which he placed in his pocketbook. Finally, just as thedoctor and the official police put in an appearance, he beckoned tothe vicar and we all three went out upon the lawn.
"I am glad to say that my investigation has not been entirelybarren," he remarked. "I cannot remain to discuss the matter withthe police, but I should be exceedingly obliged, Mr. Roundhay, ifyou would give the inspector my compliments and direct hisattention to the bedroom window and to the sittingroom lamp. Eachis suggestive, and together they are almost conclusive. If thepolice would desire further information I shall be happy to see anyof them at the cottage. And now, Watson, I think that, perhaps, weshall be better employed elsewhere."
It may be that the police resented the intrusion of an amateur,or that they imagined themselves to be upon some hopeful line ofinvestigation; but it is certain that we heard nothing from themfor the next two days. During this time Holmes spent some of histime smoking and dreaming in the cottage; but a greater portion incountry walks which he undertook alone, returning after many hourswithout remark as to where he had been. One experiment served toshow me the line of his investigation. He had bought a lamp whichwas the duplicate of the one which had burned in the room ofMortimer Tregennis on the morning of the tragedy. This he filledwith the same oil as that used at the vicarage, and he carefullytimed the period which it would take to be exhausted. Anotherexperiment which he made was of a more unpleasant nature, and onewhich I am not likely ever to forget.
"You will remember, Watson," he remarked one afternoon, "thatthere is a single common point of resemblance in the varyingreports which have reached us. This concerns the effect of theatmosphere of the room in each case upon those who had firstentered it. You will recollect that Mortimer Tregennis, indescribing the episode of his last visit to his brother's house,remarked that the doctor on entering the room fell into a chair?You had forgotten? Well I can answer for it that it was so. Now,you will remember also that Mrs. Porter, the housekeeper, told usthat she herself fainted upon entering the room and had afterwardsopened the window. In the second case--that of Mortimer Tregennishimself--you cannot have forgotten the horrible stuffiness of theroom when we arrived, though the servant had thrown open thewindow. That servant, I found upon inquiry, was so ill that she hadgone to her bed. You will admit, Watson, that these facts are verysuggestive. In each case there is evidence of a poisonousatmosphere. In each case, also, there is combustion going on in theroom--in the one case a fire, in the other a lamp. The fire wasneeded, but the lamp was lit--as a comparison of the oil consumedwill show--long after it was broad daylight. Why? Surely becausethere is some connection between three things--the burning, thestuffy atmosphere, and, finally, the madness or death of thoseunfortunate people. That is clear, is it not?"
"It would appear so."
"At least we may accept it as a working hypothesis. We willsuppose, then, that something was burned in each case whichproduced an atmosphere causing strange toxic effects. Very good. Inthe first instance--that of the Tregennis family--this substancewas placed in the fire. Now the window was shut, but the fire wouldnaturally carry fumes to some extent up the chimney. Hence onewould expect the effects of the poison to be less than in thesecond case, where there was less escape for the vapour. The resultseems to indicate that it was so, since in the first case only thewoman, who had presumably the more sensitive organism, was killed,the others exhibiting that temporary or permanent lunacy which isevidently the first effect of the drug. In the second case theresult was complete. The facts, therefore, seem to bear out thetheory of a poison which worked by combustion.
"With this train of reasoning in my head I naturally lookedabout in Mortimer Tregennis's room to find some remains of thissubstance. The obvious place to look was the talc shelf orsmoke-guard of the lamp. There, sure enough, I perceived a numberof flaky ashes, and round the edges 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 theofficial police force. I leave them all the evidence which I found.The poison still remained upon the talc had they the wit to findit. Now, Watson, we will light our lamp; we will, however, take theprecaution to open our window to avoid the premature decease of twodeserving members of society, and you will seat yourself near thatopen window in an armchair unless, like a sensible man, youdetermine to have nothing to do with the affair. Oh, you will seeit out, will you? I thought I knew my Watson. This chair I willplace opposite yours, so that we may be the same distance from thepoison and face to face. The door we will leave ajar. Each is nowin a position to watch the other and to bring the experiment to anend should the symptoms seem alarming. Is that all clear? Well,then, I take our powder--or what remains of it--from the envelope,and I lay it above the burning lamp. So! Now, Watson, let us sitdown and await developments."
They were not long in coming. I had hardly settled in my chairbefore I was conscious of a thick, musky odour, subtle andnauseous. At the very first whiff of it my brain and my imaginationwere beyond all control. A thick, black cloud swirled before myeyes, and my mind told me that in this cloud, unseen as yet, butabout to spring out upon my appalled senses, lurked all that wasvaguely horrible, all that was monstrous and inconceivably wickedin the universe. Vague shapes swirled and swam amid the darkcloud-bank, each a menace and a warning of something coming, theadvent of some unspeakable dweller upon the threshold, whose veryshadow would blast my soul. A freezing horror took possession ofme. I felt that my hair was rising, that my eyes were protruding,that my mouth was opened, and my tongue like leather. The turmoilwithin 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,in some effort of escape, I broke through that cloud of despair andhad a glimpse of Holmes's face, white, rigid, and drawn withhorror--the very look which I had seen upon the features of thedead. It was that vision which gave me an instant of sanity and ofstrength. I dashed from my chair, threw my arms round Holmes, andtogether we lurched through the door, and an instant afterwards hadthrown ourselves down upon the grass plot and were lying side byside, conscious only of the glorious sunshine which was burstingits way through the hellish cloud of terror which had girt us in.Slowly it rose from our souls like the mists from a landscape untilpeace 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 wehad undergone.
"Upon my word, Watson!" said Holmes at last with an unsteadyvoice, "I owe you both my thanks and an apology. It was anunjustifiable experiment even for one's self, and doubly so for afriend. I am really very sorry."
"You know," I answered with some emotion, for I have never seenso much of Holmes's heart before, "that it is my greatest joy andprivilege to help you."
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 neverimagined that the effect could be so sudden and so severe." Hedashed into the cottage, and, reappearing with the burning lampheld at full arm's length, he threw it among a bank of brambles."We must give the room a little time to clear. I take it, Watson,that you have no longer a shadow of a doubt as to how thesetragedies were produced?"
"None whatever."
"But the cause remains as obscure as before. Come into thearbour here and let us discuss it together. That villainous stuffseems still to linger round my throat. I think we must admit thatall the evidence points to this man, Mortimer Tregennis, havingbeen the criminal in the first tragedy, though he was the victim inthe second one. We must remember, in the first place, that there issome story of a family quarrel, followed by a reconciliation. Howbitter that quarrel may have been, or how hollow the reconciliationwe cannot tell. When I think of Mortimer Tregennis, with the foxyface and the small shrewd, beady eyes behind the spectacles, he isnot a man whom I should judge to be of a particularly forgivingdisposition. Well, in the next place, you will remember that thisidea of someone moving in the garden, which took our attention fora moment from the real cause of the tragedy, emanated from him. Hehad a motive in misleading us. Finally, if he did not throw thesubstance into the fire at the moment of leaving the room, who diddo so? The affair happened immediately after his departure. Hadanyone else come in, the family would certainly have risen from thetable. Besides, in peaceful Cornwall, visitors did not arrive afterten o'clock at night. We may take it, then, that all the evidencepoints to Mortimer Tregennis as the culprit."
"Then his own death was suicide!"
"Well, Watson, it is on the face of it a not impossiblesupposition. The man who had the guilt upon his soul of havingbrought such a fate upon his own family might well be driven byremorse to inflict it upon himself. There are, however, some cogentreasons against it. Fortunately, there is one man in England whoknows all about it, and I have made arrangements by which we shallhear the facts this afternoon from his own lips. Ah! he is a littlebefore his time. Perhaps you would kindly step this way, Dr. LeonSterndale. We have been conducing a chemical experiment indoorswhich has left our little room hardly fit for the reception of sodistinguished a visitor."
I had heard the click of the garden gate, and now the majesticfigure of the great African explorer appeared upon the path. Heturned in some surprise towards the rustic arbour in which wesat.
"You sent for me, Mr. Holmes. I had your note about an hour ago,and I have come, though I really do not know why I should obey yoursummons."
"Perhaps we can clear the point up before we separate," saidHolmes. "Meanwhile, I am much obliged to you for your courteousacquiescence. You will excuse this informal reception in the openair, but my friend Watson and I have nearly furnished an additionalchapter to what the papers call the Cornish Horror, and we prefer aclear atmosphere for the present. Perhaps, since the matters whichwe have to discuss will affect you personally in a very intimatefashion, it is as well that we should talk where there can be noeavesdropping."
The explorer took his cigar from his lips and gazed sternly atmy companion.
"I am at a loss to know, sir," he said, "what you can have tospeak about which affects me personally in a very intimatefashion."
"The killing of Mortimer Tregennis," said Holmes.
For a moment I wished that I were armed. Sterndale's fierce faceturned to a dusky red, his eyes glared, and the knotted, passionateveins started out in his forehead, while he sprang forward withclenched hands towards my companion. Then he stopped, and with aviolent effort he resumed a cold, rigid calmness, which was,perhaps, more suggestive of danger than his hot-headedoutburst.
"I have lived so long among savages and beyond the law," saidhe, "that I have got into the way of being a law to myself. Youwould do well, Mr. Holmes, not to forget it, for I have no desireto do you an injury."
"Nor have I any desire to do you an injury, Dr. Sterndale.Surely the clearest proof of it is that, knowing what I know, Ihave sent for you and not for the police."
Sterndale sat down with a gasp, overawed for, perhaps, the firsttime in his adventurous life. There was a calm assurance of powerin Holmes's manner which could not be withstood. Our visitorstammered for a moment, his great hands opening and shutting in hisagitation.
"What do you mean?" he asked at last. "If this is bluff uponyour part, Mr. Holmes, you have chosen a bad man for yourexperiment. Let us have no more beating about the bush. What DO youmean?"
"I will tell you," said Holmes, "and the reason why I tell youis that I hope frankness may beget frankness. What my next step maybe will depend 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 myword, you are getting on," said he. "Do all your successes dependupon this prodigious 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 ofthe facts upon which my conclusions are based. Of your return fromPlymouth, allowing much of your property to go on to Africa, I willsay nothing save that it first informed me that you were one of thefactors which had to be taken into account in reconstructing thisdrama--"
"I came back--"
"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,waited outside it for some time, and finally returned to yourcottage."
"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 spenta restless night at your cottage, and you formed certain plans,which in the early morning you proceeded to put into execution.Leaving your door just as day was breaking, you filled your pocketwith some reddish gravel that was lying heaped beside yourgate."
Sterndale gave a violent start and looked at Holmes inamazement.
"You then walked swiftly for the mile which separated you fromthe vicarage. You were wearing, I may remark, the same pair ofribbed tennis shoes which are at the present moment upon your feet.At the vicarage you passed through the orchard and the side hedge,coming out under the window of the lodger Tregennis. It was nowdaylight, but the household was not yet stirring. You drew some ofthe gravel from your pocket, and you threw it up at the windowabove 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 possiblythree, handfuls before the lodger came to the window. You beckonedhim to come down. He dressed hurriedly and descended to hissitting-room. You entered by the window. There was an interview--ashort one--during which you walked up and down the room. Then youpassed out and closed the window, standing on the lawn outsidesmoking a cigar and watching what occurred. Finally, after thedeath of Tregennis, you withdrew as you had come. Now, Dr.Sterndale, how do you justify such conduct, and what were themotives for your actions? If you prevaricate or trifle with me, Igive you my assurance that the matter will pass out of my handsforever."
Our visitor's face had turned ashen gray as he listened to thewords of his accuser. Now he sat for some time in thought with hisface sunk in his hands. Then with a sudden impulsive gesture heplucked a photograph from his breast-pocket and threw it on therustic table before us.
"That is why I have done it," said he.
It showed the bust and face of a very beautiful woman. Holmesstooped over it.
"Brenda Tregennis," said he.
"Yes, Brenda Tregennis," repeated our visitor. "For years I haveloved her. For years she has loved me. There is the secret of thatCornish seclusion which people have marvelled at. It has brought meclose to the one thing on earth that was dear to me. I could notmarry her, for I have a wife who has left me for years and yetwhom, by the deplorable laws of England, I could not divorce. Foryears Brenda waited. For years I waited. And this is what we havewaited for." A terrible sob shook his great frame, and he clutchedhis throat under his brindled beard. Then with an effort hemastered himself and spoke on:
"The vicar knew. He was in our confidence. He would tell youthat she was an angel upon earth. That was why he telegraphed to meand I returned. What was my baggage or Africa to me when I learnedthat such a fate had come upon my darling? There you have themissing clue to my action, Mr. Holmes."
"Proceed," said my friend.
Dr. Sterndale drew from his pocket a paper packet and laid itupon the table. On the outside was written "Radix pedis diaboli"with a red poison label beneath it. He pushed it towards me. "Iunderstand that you are a doctor, sir. Have you ever heard of thispreparation?"
"Devil's-foot root! No, I have never heard of it."
"It is no reflection upon your professional knowledge," said he,"for I believe that, save for one sample in a laboratory at Buda,there is no other specimen in Europe. It has not yet found its wayeither into the pharmacopoeia or into the literature of toxicology.The root is shaped like a foot, half human, half goatlike; hencethe fanciful name given by a botanical missionary. It is used as anordeal poison by the medicine-men in certain districts of WestAfrica and is kept as a secret among them. This particular specimenI obtained under very extraordinary circumstances in the Ubangicountry." He opened the paper as he spoke and disclosed a heap ofreddish-brown, snuff-like powder.
"Well, sir?" asked Holmes sternly.
"I am about to tell you, Mr. Holmes, all that actually occurred,for you already know so much that it is clearly to my interest thatyou should know all. I have already explained the relationship inwhich I stood to the Tregennis family. For the sake of the sister Iwas friendly with the brothers. There was a family quarrel aboutmoney which estranged this man Mortimer, but it was supposed to bemade up, and I afterwards met him as I did the others. He was asly, subtle, scheming man, and several things arose which gave me asuspicion of him, but I had no cause for any positive 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 thingsI exhibited this powder, and I told him of its strange properties,how it stimulates those brain centres which control the emotion offear, and how either madness or death is the fate of the unhappynative who is subjected to the ordeal by the priest of his tribe. Itold him also how powerless European science would be to detect it.How he took it I cannot say, for I never left the room, but thereis no doubt that it was then, while I was opening cabinets andstooping to boxes, that he managed to abstract some of thedevil's-foot root. I well remember how he plied me with questionsas to the amount and the time that was needed for its effect, but Ilittle dreamed that he could have a personal reason for asking.
"I thought no more of the matter until the vicar's telegramreached me at Plymouth. This villain had thought that I would be atsea before the news could reach me, and that I should be lost foryears in Africa. But I returned at once. Of course, I could notlisten to the details without feeling assured that my poison hadbeen used. I came round to see you on the chance that some otherexplanation had suggested itself to you. But there could be none. Iwas convinced that Mortimer Tregennis was the murderer; that forthe sake of money, and with the idea, perhaps, that if the othermembers of his family were all insane he would be the sole guardianof their joint property, he had used the devil's-foot powder uponthem, driven two of them out of their senses, and killed his sisterBrenda, the one human being whom I have ever loved or who has everloved me. There was his crime; what was to be his punishment?
"Should I appeal to the law? Where were my proofs? I knew thatthe facts were true, but could I help to make a jury of countrymenbelieve so fantastic a story? I might or I might not. But I couldnot afford to fail. My soul cried out for revenge. I have said toyou once before, Mr. Holmes, that I have spent much of my lifeoutside the law, and that I have come at last to be a law tomyself. So it was even now. I determined that the fate which he hadgiven to others should be shared by himself. Either that or I woulddo justice upon him with my own hand. In all England there can beno man who sets less value upon his own life than I do at thepresent moment.
"Now I have told you all. You have yourself supplied the rest. Idid, as you say, after a restless night, set off early from mycottage. I foresaw the difficulty of arousing him, so I gatheredsome gravel from the pile which you have mentioned, and I used itto throw up to his window. He came down and admitted me through thewindow of the sitting-room. I laid his offence before him. I toldhim that I had come both as judge and executioner. The wretch sankinto a chair, paralyzed at the sight of my revolver. I lit thelamp, put the powder above it, and stood outside the window, readyto carry out my threat to shoot him should he try to leave theroom. In five minutes he died. My God! how he died! But my heartwas flint, for he endured nothing which my innocent darling had notfelt before him. There is my story, Mr. Holmes. Perhaps, if youloved a woman, you would have done as much yourself. At any rate, Iam in your hands. You can take what steps you like. As I havealready said, there is no man living who can fear death less than Ido."
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 thereis but half finished."
"Go and do the other half," said Holmes. "I, at least, am notprepared to prevent you."
Dr. Sterndale raised his giant figure, bowed gravely, and walkedfrom the 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 inwhich we are called upon to interfere. Our investigation has beenindependent, and our action shall be so also. You would notdenounce the man?"
"Certainly not," I answered.
"I have never loved, Watson, but if I did and if the woman Iloved had met such an end, I might act even as our lawlesslionhunter has done. Who knows? Well, Watson, I will not offendyour intelligence by explaining what is obvious. The gravel uponthe window-sill was, of course, the starting-point of my research.It was unlike anything in the vicarage garden. Only when myattention had been drawn to Dr. Sterndale and his cottage did Ifind its counterpart. The lamp shining in broad daylight and theremains of powder upon the shield were successive links in a fairlyobvious chain. And now, my dear Watson, I think we may dismiss thematter from our mind and go back with a clear conscience to thestudy of those Chaldean roots which are surely to be traced in theCornish branch of the great Celtic speech."
ADVENTURE V. THE ADVENTURE OF THE RED CIRCLE
"Well, Mrs. Warren, I cannot see that you have any particularcause for uneasiness, nor do I understand why I, whose time is ofsome value, should interfere in the matter. I really have otherthings to engage me." So spoke Sherlock Holmes and turned back tothe great scrapbook in which he was arranging and indexing some ofhis recent material.
But the landlady had the pertinacity and also the cunning of hersex. She held her ground firmly.
"You arranged an affair for a lodger of mine last year," shesaid--"Mr. Fairdale Hobbs."
"Ah, yes--a simple matter."
"But he would never cease talking of it--your kindness, sir, andthe way in which you brought light into the darkness. I rememberedhis words when I was in doubt and darkness myself. I know you couldif you only would."
Holmes was accessible upon the side of flattery, and also, to dohim justice, upon the side of kindliness. The two forces made himlay down his gum-brush with a sigh of resignation and push back hischair.
"Well, well, Mrs. Warren, let us hear about it, then. You don'tobject to tobacco, I take it? Thank you, Watson--the matches! Youare uneasy, as I understand, because your new lodger remains in hisrooms and you cannot see him. Why, bless you, Mrs. Warren, if Iwere your lodger you often would not see me for weeks on end."
"No doubt, sir; but this is different. It frightens me, Mr.Holmes. I can't sleep for fright. To hear his quick step movinghere and moving there from early morning to late at night, and yetnever to catch so much as a glimpse of him--it's more than I canstand. My husband is as nervous over it as I am, but he is out athis work all day, while I get no rest from it. What is he hidingfor? What has he done? Except for the girl, I am all alone in thehouse with him, and it's more than my nerves can stand."
Holmes leaned forward and laid his long, thin fingers upon thewoman's shoulder. He had an almost hypnotic power of soothing whenhe wished. The scared look faded from her eyes, and her agitatedfeatures smoothed into their usual commonplace. She sat down in thechair which he had indicated.
"If I take it up I must understand every detail," said he. "Taketime to consider. The smallest point may be the most essential. Yousay that the man came ten days ago and paid you for a fortnight'sboard and lodging?"
"He asked my terms, sir. I said fifty shillings a week. There isa small sitting-room and bedroom, and all complete, at the top ofthe house."
"Well?"
"He said, 'I'll pay you five pounds a week if I can have it onmy own terms.' I'm a poor woman, sir, and Mr. Warren earns little,and the money meant much to me. He took out a ten-pound note, andhe held it out to me then and there. 'You can have the same everyfortnight for a long time to come if you keep the terms,' he said.'If not, I'll have no more to do with you.'
"What were the terms?"
"Well, sir, they were that he was to have a key of the house.That was all right. Lodgers often have them. Also, that he was tobe left entirely to himself and never, upon any excuse, to bedisturbed."
"Nothing wonderful in that, surely?"
"Not in reason, sir. But this is out of all reason. He has beenthere for ten days, and neither Mr. Warren, nor I, nor the girl hasonce set eyes upon him. We can hear that quick step of his pacingup and down, up and down, night, morning, and noon; but except onthat first night he had never once gone out of the house."
"Oh, he went out the first night, did he?"
"Yes, sir, and returned very late--after we were all in bed. Hetold me after he had taken the rooms that he would do so and askedme not to bar the door. I heard him come up the stair aftermidnight."
"But his meals?"
"It was his particular direction that we should always, when herang, leave his meal upon a chair, outside his door. Then he ringsagain when he has finished, and we take it down from the samechair. If he wants anything else he prints it on a slip of paperand leaves it."
"Prints it?"
"Yes, sir; prints it in pencil. Just the word, nothing more.Here's the one I brought to show you--soap. Here's another-- match.This is one he left the first morning--daily gazette. I leave thatpaper with his breakfast every morning."
"Dear me, Watson," said Homes, staring with great curiosity atthe slips of foolscap which the landlady had handed to him, "thisis certainly a little unusual. Seclusion I can understand; but whyprint? Printing is a clumsy process. Why not write? What would itsuggest, Watson?"
"That he desired to conceal his handwriting."
"But why? What can it matter to him that his landlady shouldhave a word of his writing? Still, it may be as you say. Then,again, why such laconic messages?"
"I cannot imagine."
It opens a pleasing field for intelligent speculation. The wordsare written with a broad-pointed, violet-tinted pencil of a notunusual pattern. You will observe that the paper is torn away atthe side here after the printing 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,something which might give a clue to the person's identity. Now.Mrs. Warren, you say that the man was of middle size, dark, andbearded. What age would he be?"
"Youngish, sir--not over thirty."
"Well, can you give me no further indications?"
"He spoke good English, sir, and yet I thought he was aforeigner by his accent."
"And he was well dressed?"
"Very smartly dressed, sir--quite the gentleman. Dark clothes--nothing you 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 hisluggage?"
"He had one big brown bag with him--nothing else."
"Well, we don't seem to have much material to help us. Do yousay nothing has come out of that room--absolutely nothing?"
The landlady drew an envelope from her bag; from it she shookout two burnt matches and a cigarette-end upon the table.
"They were on his tray this morning. I brought them because Ihad heard 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,been used to light cigarettes. That is obvious from the shortnessof the burnt end. Half the match is consumed in lighting a pipe orcigar. But, dear me! this cigarette stub is certainly remarkable.The gentleman was bearded and moustached, you say?"
"Yes, sir."
"I don't understand that. I should say that only a clean-shavenman could 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 twopeople in your rooms, Mrs. Warren?"
"No, sir. He eats so little that I often wonder it can keep lifein one."
"Well, I think we must wait for a little more material. Afterall, you have nothing to complain of. You have received your rent,and he is not a troublesome lodger, though he is certainly anunusual one. He pays you well, and if he chooses to lie concealedit is no direct business of yours. We have no excuse for anintrusion upon his privacy until we have some reason to think thatthere is a guilty reason for it. I've taken up the matter, and Iwon't lose sight of it. Report to me if anything fresh occurs, andrely upon my assistance if it should be needed.
"There are certainly some points of interest in this case,Watson," he remarked when the landlady had left us. "It may, ofcourse, be trivial--individual eccentricity; or it may be very muchdeeper than appears on the surface. The first thing that strike oneis the obvious possibility that the person now in the rooms may beentirely different from the one who engaged them."
"Why should you think so?"
"Well, apart form this cigarette-end, was it not suggestive thatthe only time the lodger went out was immediately after his takingthe rooms? He came back--or someone came back--when all witnesseswere out of the way. We have no proof that the person who came backwas the person who went out. Then, again, the man who took therooms spoke English well. This other, however, prints 'match' whenit should have been 'matches.' I can imagine that the word wastaken out of a dictionary, which would give the noun but not theplural. The laconic style may be to conceal the absence ofknowledge of English. Yes, Watson, there are good reasons tosuspect 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,he filed the agony columns of the various London journals. "Dearme!" said he, turning over the pages, "what a chorus of groans,cries, and bleatings! What a rag-bag of singular happenings! Butsurely the most valuable hunting-ground that ever was given to astudent of the unusual! This person is alone and cannot beapproached by letter without a breach of that absolute secrecywhich is desired. How is any news or any message to reach him fromwithout? Obviously by advertisement through a newspaper. Thereseems no other way, and fortunately we need concern ourselves withthe one paper only. Here are the Daily Gazette extracts of the lastfortnight. 'Lady with a black boa at Prince's Skating Club'--thatwe may pass. 'Surely Jimmy will not break his mother's heart'--thatappears to be irrelevant. 'If the lady who fainted on Brixtonbus'--she does not interest me. 'Every day my heart longs--' Bleat,Watson-- unmitigated bleat! Ah, this is a little more possible.Listen to this: 'Be patient. Will find some sure means ofcommunications. Meanwhile, this column. G.' That is two days afterMrs. Warren's lodger arrived. It sounds plausible, does it not? Themysterious one could understand English, even if he could not printit. Let us see if we can pick up the trace again. Yes, here weare--three days later. 'Am making successful arrangements. Patienceand prudence. The clouds will pass. G.' Nothing for a week afterthat. Then comes something much more definite: 'The path isclearing. If I find chance signal message remember code agreed--OneA, two B, and so on. You will hear soon. G.' That was inyesterday's paper, and there is nothing in to-day's. It's all veryappropriate to Mrs. Warren's lodger. If we wait a little, Watson, Idon't doubt that the affair will grow more intelligible."
So it proved; for in the morning I found my friend standing onthe hearthrug with his back to the fire and a smile of completesatisfaction upon his face.
"How's this, Watson?" he cried, picking up the paper from thetable. "'High red house with white stone facings. Third floor.Second window left. After dusk. G.' That is definite enough. Ithink after breakfast we must make a little reconnaissance of Mrs.Warren's neighbourhood. Ah, Mrs. Warren! what news do you bring usthis morning?"
Our client had suddenly burst into the room with an explosiveenergy which told of some new and momentous development.
"It's a police matter, Mr. Holmes!" she cried. "I'll have nomore of it! He shall pack out of there with his baggage. I wouldhave gone straight up and told him so, only I thought it was butfair to you to take your opinion first. But I'm at the end of mypatience, and when it comes to knocking my old man about--"
"Knocking Mr. Warren about?"
"Using him roughly, anyway."
"But who used him roughly?"
"Ah! that's what we want to know! It was this morning, sir. Mr.Warren is a timekeeper at Morton and Waylight's, in Tottenham CourtRoad. He has to be out of the house before seven. Well, thismorning he had not gone ten paces down the road when two men cameup behind him, threw a coat over his head, and bundled him into acab that was beside the curb. They drove him an hour, and thenopened the door and shot him out. He lay in the roadway so shakenin his wits that he never saw what became of the cab. When hepicked himself up he found he was on Hampstead Heath; so he took abus home, and there he lies now on his sofa, while I came straightround to tell you what had happened."
"Most interesting," said Holmes. "Did he observe the appearanceof these men--did he hear them talk?"
"No; he is clean dazed. He just knows that he was lifted up asif by magic and dropped as if by magic. Two a least were in it, andmaybe three."
"And you connect this attack with your lodger?"
"Well, we've lived there fifteen years and no such happeningsever came before. I've had enough of him. Money's not everything.I'll have him out of my house before the day is done."
"Wait a bit, Mrs. Warren. Do nothing rash. I begin to think thatthis affair may be very much more important than appeared at firstsight. It is clear now that some danger is threatening your lodger.It is equally clear that his enemies, lying in wait for him nearyour door, mistook your husband for him in the foggy morning light.On discovering their mistake they released him. What they wouldhave 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 don't see how that is to be managed, unless you break in thedoor. I always hear him unlock it as I go down the stair after Ileave the tray."
"He has to take the tray in. Surely we could conceal ourselvesand see him do it."
The landlady thought for a moment.
"Well, sir, there's the box-room opposite. I could arrange alooking-glass, maybe, and if you were behind the door--"
"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.Warren's house--a high, thin, yellow-brick edifice in Great OrmeStreet, a narrow thoroughfare at the northeast side of the BritishMuseum. Standing as it does near the corner of the street, itcommands a view down Howe Street, with its ore pretentious houses.Holmes pointed with a chuckle to one of these, a row of residentialflats, which projected so that they could not fail to catch theeye.
"See, Watson!" said he. "'High red house with stone facings.'There is the signal station all right. We know the place, and weknow the code; so surely our task should be simple. There's a 'tolet' card in that window. It is evidently an empty flat to whichthe confederate has access. Well, Mrs. Warren, what now?"
"I have it all ready for you. If you will both come up and leaveyour boots below on the landing, I'll put you there now."
It was an excellent hiding-plate which she had arranged. Themirror was so placed that, seated in the dark, we could veryplainly see the door opposite. We had hardly settled down in it,and Mrs. Warren left us, when a distant tinkle announced that ourmysterious neighbour had rung. Presently the landlady appeared withthe tray, laid it down upon a chair beside the closed door, andthen, treading heavily, departed. Crouching together in the angleof the door, we kept our eyes fixed upon the mirror. Suddenly, asthe landlady's footsteps died away, there was the creak of aturning key, the handle revolved, and two thin hands darted out andlifted the tray form the chair. An instant later it was hurriedlyreplaced, and I caught a glimpse of a dark, beautiful, horrifiedface glaring at the narrow opening of the box-room. Then the doorcrashed to, the key turned once more, and all was silence. Holmestwitched my sleeve, and together we stole down the stair.
"I will call again in the evening," said he to the expectantlandlady. "I think, Watson, we can discuss this business better inour own quarters."
"My surmise, as you saw, proved to be correct," said he,speaking from the depths of his easy-chair. "There has been asubstitution of lodgers. What I did not foresee is that we shouldfind a woman, and no ordinary woman, Watson."
"She saw us."
"Well, she saw something to alarm her. That is certain. Thegeneral sequence of events is pretty clear, is it not? A coupleseek refuge in London from a very terrible and instant danger. Themeasure of that danger is the rigour of their precautions. The man,who has some work which he must do, desires to leave the woman inabsolute safety while he does it. It is not an easy problem, but hesolved it in an original fashion, and so effectively that herpresence was not even known to the landlady who supplies her withfood. The printed messages, as is now evident, were to prevent hersex being discovered by her writing. The man cannot come near thewoman, or he will guide their enemies to her. Since he cannotcommunicate with her direct, he has recourse to the agony column ofa paper. So far all is clear."
"But what is at the root of it?"
"Ah, yes, Watson--severely practical, as usual! What is at theroot of it all? Mrs. Warren's whimsical problem enlarges somewhatand assumes a more sinister aspect as we proceed. This much we cansay: that it is no ordinary love escapade. You saw the woman's faceat the sign of danger. We have heard, too, of the attack upon thelandlord, which was undoubtedly meant for the lodger. These alarms,and the desperate need for secrecy, argue that the matter is one oflife or death. The attach upon Mr. Warren further shows that theenemy, whoever they are, are themselves not aware of thesubstitution of the female lodger for the male. It is very curiousand complex, Watson."
"Why should you go further in it? What have you to gain fromit?"
"What, indeed? It is art for art's sake, Watson. I suppose whenyou doctored you found yourself studying cases without thought of afee?"
"For my education, Holmes."
"Education never ends, Watson. It is a series of lessons withthe greatest for the last. This is an instructive case. There isneither money nor credit in it, and yet one would wish to tidy itup. When dusk comes we should find ourselves one stage advanced inour investigation."
When we returned to Mrs. Warren's rooms, the gloom of a Londonwinter evening had thickened into one gray curtain, a dead monotoneof colour, broken only by the sharp yellow squares of the windowsand the blurred haloes of the gas-lamps. As we peered from thedarkened sitting-room of the lodging-house, one more dim lightglimmered high up through the obscurity.
"Someone is moving in that room," said Holmes in a whisper, hisgaunt and eager face thrust forward to the window-pane. "Yes, I cansee his shadow. There he is again! He has a candle in his hand. Nowhe is peering across. He wants to be sure that she is on thelookout. Now he begins to flash. Take the message also, Watson,that we may check each other. A single flash--that is A, surely.Now, then. How many did you make it? Twenty. Do did In. That shouldmean T. AT--that's intelligible enough. Another T. Surely this isthe beginning of a second word. Now, then--TENTA. Dead stop. Thatcan't be all, Watson? ATTENTA gives no sense. Nor is it any betteras three words AT, TEN, TA, unless T. A. are a person's initials.There it goes again! What's that? ATTE--why, it is the same messageover again. Curious, Watson, very curious. Now he is off once more!AT--why he is repeating it for the third time. ATTENTA three times!How often will he repeat it? No, that seems to be the finish. Hehas withdrawn form 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 isItalian! The A means that it is addressed to a woman. 'Beware!Beware! Beware!' How's that, Watson?
"I believe you have hit it."
"Not a doubt of it. It is a very urgent message, thrice repeatedto make it more so. But beware of what? Wait a bit, he is coming tothe window once more."
Again we saw the dim silhouette of a crouching man and the whiskof the small flame across the window as the signals were renewed.They came mor rapidly than before--so rapid that it was hard tofollow them.
"PERICOLO--pericolo--eh, what's that, Watson? 'Danger,' isn'tit? Yes, by Jove, it's a danger signal. There he goes again! PERI.Halloa, what on earth--"
The light had suddenly gone out, the glimmering square of windowhad disappeared, and the third floor formed a dark band round thelofty building, with its tiers of shining casements. That lastwarning cry had been suddenly cut short. How, and by whom? The samethought occurred on the instant to us both. Holmes sprang up fromwhere he crouched by the window.
"This is serious, Watson," he cried. "There is some devilrygoing forward! Why should such a message stop in such a way? Ishould put Scotland Yard in touch with this business--and yet, itis too pressing for us to leave."
"Shall I go for the police?"
We must define the situation a little more clearly. It may bearsome more innocent interpretation. Come, Watson, let us go acrossourselves and see what we can make of it."
Two
As we walked rapidly down Howe Street I glanced back at thebuilding which we had left. There, dimly outlined at the topwindow, I could see the shadow of a head, a woman's head, gazingtensely, rigidly, out into the night, waiting with breathlesssuspense for the renewal of that interrupted message. At thedoorway of the Howe Street flats a man, muffled in a cravat andgreatcoat, was leaning against the railing. He started as thehall-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. "Howyou got on to it I can't imagine."
"Different threads, but leading up to the same tangle. I've beentaking the signals."
"Signals?"
"Yes, from that window. They broke off in the middle. We cameover to see the reason. But since it is safe in your hands I see noobject in continuing this business."
"Wait a bit!" cried Gregson eagerly. "I'll do you this justice,Mr. Holmes, that I was never in a case yet that I didn't feelstronger for having you on my side. There's only the one exit tothese flats, so we have him safe."
"Who is he?"
"Well, well, we score over you for once, Mr. Holmes. You mustgive us best this time." He struck his stick sharply upon theground, on which a cabman, his whip in his hand, sauntered overfrom a four-wheeler which stood on the far side of the street. "MayI introduce you to Mr. Sherlock Holmes?" he said to the cabman."This is Mr. Leverton, of Pinkerton's American Agency."
"The hero of the Long Island cave mystery?" said Holmes. "Sir, Iam pleased to meet you."
The American, a quiet, businesslike young man, with acleanshaven, hatchet face, flushed up at the words of commendation."I am on the trail of my life now, Mr. Holmes," said he. "If I canget Gorgiano--"
"What! Gorgiano of the Red Circle?"
"Oh, he has a European fame, has he? Well, we've learned allabout him in America. We KNOW he is at the bottom of fifty murders,and yet we have nothing positive we can take him on. I tracked himover from New York, and I've been close to him for a week inLondon, waiting some excuse to get my hand on his collar. Mr.Gregson and I ran him to ground in that big tenement house, andthere's only one door, so he can't slip us. There's three folk comeout since he went in, but I'll swear he wasn't one of them."
"Mr. Holmes talks of signals," said Gregson. "I expect, asusual, he knows a good deal that we don't."
In a few clear words Holmes explained the situation as it hadappeared to us. The American struck his hands together withvexation.
"He's on to us!" he cried.
"Why do you think so?"
"Well, it figures out that way, does it not? Here he is, sendingout messages to an accomplice--there are several of his gang inLondon. Then suddenly, just as by your own account he was tellingthem that there was danger, he broke short off. What could it meanexcept that from the window he had suddenly either caught sight ofus in the street, or in some way come to understand how close thedanger was, and that he must act right 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,"said Gregson. "That is good enough for the moment. When we have himby the heels we can see if New York can't help us to keep him. I'lltake the responsibility of arresting him now."
Our official detectives may blunder in the matter ofintelligence, but never in that of courage. Gregson climbed thestair to arrest this desperate murderer with the same absolutelyquiet and businesslike bearing with which he would have ascendedthe official staircase of Scotland Yard. The Pinkerton man hadtried to push past him, but Gregson had firmly elbowed him back.London dangers were the privilege of the London force.
The door of the left-hand flat upon the third landing wasstanding ajar. Gregson pushed it open. Within all was absolutesilence and darkness. I struck a match and lit the detective'slantern. As I did so, and as the flicker steadied into a flame, weall gave a gasp of surprise. On the deal boards of the carpetlessfloor there was outlined a fresh track of blood. The red stepspointed towards us and led away from an inner room, the door ofwhich was closed. Gregson flung it open and held his light fullblaze in front of him, while we all peered eagerly over hisshoulders.
In the middle of the floor of the empty room was huddled thefigure of an enormous man, his clean-shaven, swarthy facegrotesquely horrible in its contortion and his head encircled by aghastly crimson halo of blood, lying in a broad wet circle upon thewhite woodwork. His knees were drawn up, his hands thrown out inagony, and from the centre of his broad, brown, upturned throatthere projected the white haft of a knife driven bladedeep into hisbody. Giant as he was, the man must have gone down like a pole-axedox before that terrific blow. Beside his right hand a mostformidable horn-handled, two-edged dagger lay upon the floor, andnear it a black kid glove.
"By George! it's 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 passingit backward and forward across the window-panes. Then he peeredinto the darkness, blew the candle out, and threw it on thefloor.
"I rather think that will be helpful," said he. He came over andstood in deep thought while the two professionals were examiningthe body. "You say that three people came out form the flat whileyou were waiting downstairs," said he at last. "Did you observethem closely?"
"Yes, I did."
"Was there a fellow about thirty, black-bearded, dark, of middlesize?"
"Yes; he was the last to pass me."
"That is your man, I fancy. I can give you his description, andwe have a very excellent outline of his footmark. That should beenough for you."
"Not much, Mr. Holmes, among the millions of London."
"Perhaps not. That is why I thought it best to summon this ladyto your aid."
We all turned round at the words. There, framed in the doorway,was a tall and beautiful woman--the mysterious lodger ofBloomsbury. Slowly she advanced, her face pale and drawn with afrightful apprehension, her eyes fixed and staring, her terrifiedgaze riveted upon the dark figure on the floor.
"You have killed him!" she muttered. "Oh, Dio mio, you havekilled him!" Then I heard a sudden sharp intake of her breath, andshe sprang into the air with a cry of joy. Round and round the roomshe danced, her hands clapping, her dark eyes gleaming withdelighted wonder, and a thousand pretty Italian exclamationspouring from her lips. It was terrible and amazing to see such awoman so convulsed with joy at such a sight. Suddenly she stoppedand 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,Gennaro Lucca. I am Emilia Lucca, and we are both from New York.Where is Gennaro? He called me this moment from this window, and Iran with all my 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 wouldsurely come."
The beautiful Italian looked with awe at my companion.
"I do not understand how you know these things," she said."Giuseppe Gorgiano--how did he--" She paused, and then suddenly herface lit up with pride and delight. "Now I see it! My Gennaro! Mysplendid, beautiful Gennaro, who has guarded me safe from all harm,he did it, with his own strong hand he killed the monster! Oh,Gennaro, how wonderful you are! What woman could every be worthy ofsuch a man?"
"Well, Mrs. Lucca," said the prosaic Gregson, laying his handupon the lady's sleeve with as little sentiment as if she were aNotting Hill hooligan, "I am not very clear yet who you are or whatyou are; but you've said enough to make it very clear that we shallwant you at the Yard."
"One moment, Gregson," said Holmes. "I rather fancy that thislady may be as anxious to give us information as we can be to getit. You understand, madam, that your husband will be arrested andtried for the death of the man who lies before us? What you say maybe used in evidence. But if you think that he has acted frommotives which are not criminal, and which he would wish to haveknown, then you cannot serve him better than by telling us thewhole story."
"Now that Gorgiano is dead we fear nothing," said the lady. "Hewas a devil and a monster, and there can be no judge in the worldwho would punish my husband for having killed him."
"In that case," said Holmes, "my suggestion is that we lock thisdoor, leave things as we found them, go with this lady to her room,and form our opinion after we have heard what it is that she hasto say to us."
Half an hour later we were seated, all four, in the smallsitting-room of Signora Lucca, listening to her remarkablenarrative of those sinister events, the ending of which we hadchanced to witness. She spoke in rapid and fluent but veryunconventional English, which, for the sake of clearness, I willmake grammatical.
"I was born in Posilippo, near Naples," said she, "and was thedaughter of Augusto Barelli, who was the chief lawyer and once thedeputy of that part. Gennaro was in my father's employment, and Icame to love him, as any woman must. He had neither money norposition--nothing but his beauty and strength and energy--so myfather forbade the match. We fled together, were married at Bari,and sold my jewels to gain the money which would take us toAmerica. This was four years ago, and we have been in New York eversince.
"Fortune was very good to us at first. Gennaro was able to do aservice to an Italian gentleman--he saved him from some ruffians inthe place called the Bowery, and so made a powerful friend. Hisname was Tito Castalotte, and he was the senior partner of thegreat firm of Castalotte and Zamba, who are the chief fruitimporters of New York. Signor Zamba is an invalid, and our newfriend Castalotte has all power within the firm, which employs morethan three hundred men. He took my husband into his employment,made him head of a department, and showed his goodwill towards himin every way. Signor Castalotte was a bachelor, and I believe thathe felt as if Gennaro was his son, and both my husband and I lovedhim as if he were our father. We had taken and furnished a littlehouse in Brooklyn, and our whole future seemed assured when thatblack cloud appeared which was soon to overspread our sky.
"One night, when Gennaro returned from his work, he brought afellow-countryman back with him. His name was Gorgiano, and he hadcome also from Posilippo. He was a huge man, as you can testify,for you have looked upon his corpse. Not only was his body that ofa giant but everything about him was grotesque, gigantic, andterrifying. His voice was like thunder in our little house. Therewas scarce room for the whirl of his great arms as he talked. Histhoughts, his emotions, his passions, all were exaggerated andmonstrous. He talked, or rather roared, with such energy thatothers could but sit and listen, cowed with the mighty stream ofwords. 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 nomore happy than I was in his presence. My poor husband would sitpale and listless, listening to the endless raving upon politicsand upon social questions which made up or visitor's conversation.Gennaro said nothing, but I, who knew him so well, could read inhis face some emotion which I had never seen there before. At firstI thought that it was dislike. And then, gradually, I understoodthat it was more than dislike. It was fear--a deep, secret,shrinking fear. That night--the night that I read his terror--I putmy arms round him and I implored him by his love for me and by allthat he held dear to hold nothing from me, and to tell me why thishuge man overshadowed him so.
"He told me, and my own heart grew cold as ice as I listened. Mypoor Gennaro, in his wild and fiery days, when all the world seemedagainst him and his mind was driven half mad by the injustices oflife, had joint a Neapolitan society, the Red Circle, which wasallied to the old Carbonari. The oaths and secrets of thisbrotherhood were frightful, but once within its rule no escape waspossible. When we had fled to America Gennaro thought that he hadcast it all off forever. What was his horror one evening to meet inthe streets the very man who had initiated him in Naples, the giantGorgiano, a man who had earned the name of 'Death' in the south ofItaly, for he was red to the elbow in murder! He had come to NewYork to avoid the Italian police, and he had already planted abranch of this dreadful society in his new home. All this Gennarotold me and showed me a summons which he had received that veryday, a Red Circle drawn upon the head of it telling him that alodge would be held upon a certain date, and that his presence atit was required and ordered.
"That was bad enough, but worse was to come. I had noticed forsome time that when Gorgiano came to us, as he constantly did, inthe evening, he spoke much to me; and even when his words were tomy husband those terrible, glaring, wild-beast eyes of his werealways turned upon me. One night his secret came out. I hadawakened what he called 'love' within him--the love of a brute--asavage. Gennaro had not yet returned when he came. He pushed hisway in, seized me in his mighty arms, hugged me in his bear'sembrace, covered me with kisses, and implored me to come away withhim. I was struggling and screaming when Gennaro entered andattacked him. He struck Gennaro senseless and fled from the housewhich he was never more to enter. It was a deadly enemy that wemade that night.
"A few days later came the meeting. Gennaro returned from itwith a face which told me that something dreadful had occurred. Itwas worse than we could have imagined possible. The funds of thesociety were raised by blackmailing rich Italians and threateningthem with violence should they refuse the money. It seems thatCastalotte, our dear friend and benefactor, had been approached. Hehad refused to yield to threats, and he had handed the notices tothe police. It was resolved now that such an example should be madeof them as would prevent any other victim from rebelling. At themeeting it was arranged that he and his house should be blown upwith dynamite. There was a drawing of lots as to who should carryout the deed. Gennaro saw our enemy's cruel face smiling at him ashe dipped his hand in the bag. No doubt it had been prearranged insome fashion, for it was the fatal disc with the Red Circle uponit, the mandate for murder, which lay upon his palm. He was to killhis best friend, or he was to expose himself and me to thevengeance of his comrades. It was part of their fiendish system topunish those whom they feared or hated by injuring not only theirown persons but those whom they loved, and it was the knowledge ofthis which hung as a terror over my poor Gennaro's head and drovehim 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 verynext evening had been fixed for the attempt. By midday my husbandand I were on our way to London, but not before he had given ourbenefactor full warning of this danger, and had also left suchinformation for the police as would safeguard his life for thefuture.
"The rest, gentlemen, you know for yourselves. We were sure thatour enemies would be behind us like our own shadows. Gorgiano hadhis private reasons for vengeance, but in any case we knew howruthless, cunning, and untiring he could be. Both Italy and Americaare full of stories of his dreadful powers. If ever they wereexerted it would be now. My darling made use of the few clear dayswhich our start had given us in arranging for a refuge for me insuch a fashion that no possible danger could reach me. For his ownpart, he wished to be free that he might communicate both with theAmerican and with the Italian police. I do not myself know where helived, or how. All that I learned was through the columns of anewspaper. But once as I looked through my window, I saw twoItalians watching the house, and I understood that in some wayGorgiano had found our retreat. Finally Gennaro told me, throughthe paper, that he would signal to me from a certain window, butwhen the signals came they were nothing but warnings, which weresuddenly interrupted. It is very clear to me now that he knewGorgiano to be close upon him, and that, thank God! he was readyfor him when he came. And now, gentleman, I would ask you whetherwe have anything to fear from the law, or whether any judge uponearth would condemn my Gennaro for what he has done?"
"Well, Mr. Gregson," said the American, looking across at theofficial, "I don't know what your British point of view may be, butI guess that in New York this lady's husband will receive a prettygeneral vote of thanks."
"She will have to come with me and see the chief," Gregsonanswered. "If what she says is corroborated, I do not think she orher husband has much to fear. But what I can't make head or tailof, Mr. Holmes, is how on earth YOU got yourself mixed up in thematter."
"Education, Gregson, education. Still seeking knowledge at theold university. Well, Watson, you have one more specimen of thetragic and grotesque to add to your collection. By the way, it isnot eight o'clock, and a Wagner night at Covent Garden! If wehurry, we might be in time for the second act."
ADVENTURE VI. THE DISAPPEARANCE OF LADY FRANCESCARFAX
"But why Turkish?" asked Mr. Sherlock Holmes, gazing fixedly atmy boots. I was reclining in a cane-backed chair at the moment, andmy protruded feet had attracted his ever-active attention.
"English," I answered in some surprise. "I got them atLatimer's, in Oxford Street."
Holmes smiled with an expression of weary patience.
"The bath!" he said; "the bath! Why the relaxing and expensiveTurkish rather than the invigorating home-made article?"
"Because for the last few days I have been feeling rheumatic andold. A Turkish bath is what we call an alterative in medicine--afresh starting-point, 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 oneto a logical mind, and yet I should be obliged to you if you wouldindicate it."
"The train of reasoning is not very obscure, Watson," saidHolmes with a mischievous twinkle. "It belongs to the sameelementary class of deduction which I should illustrate if I wereto ask you who shared your cab in your drive this morning."
"I don't admit that a fresh illustration is an explanation,"said I with some asperity.
"Bravo, Watson! A very dignified and logical remonstrance. Letme see, what were the points? Take the last one first--the cab. Youobserve that you have some splashes on the left sleeve and shoulderof your coat. Had you sat in the centre of a hansom you wouldprobably have had no splashes, and if you had they would certainlyhave been symmetrical. Therefore it is clear that you sat at theside. Therefore it is equally clear that 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 bootsin a certain way. I see them on this occasion fastened with anelaborate double bow, which is not your usual method of tying them.You have, therefore, had them off. Who has tied them? Abootmaker--or the boy at the bath. It is unlikely that it is thebootmaker, since your boots are nearly new. Well, what remains? Thebath. Absurd, is it not? But, for all that, the Turkish bath hasserved 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 dearWatson--first-class tickets and all expenses paid on a princelyscale?"
"Splendid! But why?"
Holmes leaned back in his armchair and took his notebook fromhis pocket.
"One of the most dangerous classes in the world," said he, "isthe drifting and friendless woman. She is the most harmless andoften the most useful of mortals, but she is the inevitable inciterof crime in others. She is helpless. She is migratory. She hassufficient means to take her from country to country and from hotelto hotel. She is lost, as often as not, in a maze of obscurepensions and boardinghouses. She is a stray chicken in a world offoxes. When she is gobbled up she is hardly missed. I much fearthat some evil has come to the Lady Frances Carfax."
I was relieved at this sudden descent from the general to theparticular. Holmes consulted his notes.
"Lady Frances," he continued, "is the sole survivor of thedirect family of the late Earl of Rufton. The estates went, as youmay remember, in the male line. She was left with limited means,but with some very remarkable old Spanish jewellery of silver andcuriously cut diamonds to which she was fondly attached--tooattached, for she refused to leave them with her banker and alwayscarried them about with her. A rather pathetic figure, the LadyFrances, a beautiful woman, still in fresh middle age, and yet, bya strange change, 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 ordead? There is our problem. She is a lady of precise habits, andfor four years it has been her invariable custom to write everysecond week to Miss Dobney, her old governess, who has long retiredand lives in Camberwell. It is this Miss Dobney who has consultedme. Nearly five weeks have passed without a word. The last letterwas from the Hotel National at Lausanne. Lady Frances seems to haveleft there and given no address. The family are anxious, and asthey are exceedingly wealthy no sum will be spared if we can clearthe matter up."
"Is Miss Dobney the only source of information? Surely she hadother correspondents?"
"There is one correspondent who is a sure draw, Watson. That isthe bank. Single ladies must live, and their passbooks arecompressed diaries. She banks at Silvester's. I have glanced overher account. The last check but one paid her bill at Lausanne, butit was a large one and probably left her with cash in hand. Onlyone check has been drawn since."
"To whom, and where?"
"To Miss Marie Devine. There is nothing to show where the checkwas drawn. It was cashed at the Credit Lyonnais at Montpellier lessthan three weeks ago. The sum was fifty pounds."
"And who is Miss Marie Devine?"
"That also I have been able to discover. Miss Marie Devine wasthe maid of Lady Frances Carfax. Why she should have paid her thischeck we have not yet determined. I have no doubt, however, thatyour researches 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 mortalterror of his life. Besides, on general principles it is best thatI should not leave the country. Scotland Yard feels lonely withoutme, and it causes an unhealthy excitement among the criminalclasses. Go, then, my dear Watson, and if my humble counsel canever be valued at so extravagant a rate as two pence a word, itwaits your disposal night and day at the end of the Continentalwire."
Two days later found me at the Hotel National at Lausanne, whereI received every courtesy at the hands of M. Moser, the wellknownmanager. Lady Frances, as he informed me, had stayed there forseveral weeks. She had been much liked by all who met her. Her agewas not more than forty. She was still handsome and bore every signof having in her youth been a very lovely woman. M. Moser knewnothing of any valuable jewellery, but it had been remarked by theservants that the heavy trunk in the lady's bedroom was alwaysscrupulously locked. Marie Devine, the maid, was as popular as hermistress. She was actually engaged to one of the head waiters inthe hotel, and there was no difficulty in getting her address. Itwas 11 Rue de Trajan, Montpellier. All this I jotted down and feltthat Holmes himself could not have been more adroit in collectinghis facts.
Only one corner still remained in the shadow. No light which Ipossessed could clear up the cause for the lady's sudden departure.She was very happy at Lausanne. There was every reason to believethat she intended to remain for the season in her luxurious roomsoverlooking the lake. And yet she had left at a single day'snotice, which involved her in the useless payment of a week's rent.Only Jules Vibart, the lover of the maid, had any suggestion tooffer. He connected the sudden departure with the visit to thehotel a day or two before of a tall, dark, bearded man. "Unsauvage--un veritable 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 norecord. Madame had left the place immediately afterwards. JulesVibart, and, what was of more importance, Jules Vibart'ssweetheart, thought that this call and the departure were cause andeffect. Only one thing Jules would not discuss. That was the reasonwhy Marie had left her mistress. Of that he could or would saynothing. If I wished to know, I must go to Montpellier and askher.
So ended the first chapter of my inquiry. The second was devotedto the place which Lady Frances Carfax had sought when she leftLausanne. Concerning this there had been some secrecy, whichconfirmed the idea that she had gone with the intention of throwingsomeone off her track. Otherwise why should not her luggage havebeen openly labelled for Baden? Both she and it reached the Rhenishspa by some circuitous route. This much I gathered from the managerof Cook's local office. So to Baden I went, after dispatching toHolmes an account of all my proceedings and receiving in reply atelegram of half-humorous commendation.
At Baden the track was not difficult to follow. Lady Frances hadstayed at the Englischer Hof for a fortnight. While there she hadmade the acquaintance of a Dr. Shlessinger and his wife, amissionary from South America. Like most lonely ladies, LadyFrances found her comfort and occupation in religion. Dr.Shlessinger's remarkable personality, his whole hearted devotion,and the fact that he was recovering from a disease contracted inthe exercise of his apostolic duties affected her deeply. She hadhelped Mrs. Shlessinger in the nursing of the convalescent saint.He spent his day, as the manager described it to me, upon alounge-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 waswriting a monograph. Finally, having improved much in health, heand his wife had returned to London, and Lady Frances had startedthither in their company. This was just three weeks before, and themanager had heard nothing since. As to the maid, Marie, she hadgone off some days beforehand in floods of tears, after informingthe other maids that she was leaving service forever. Dr.Shlessinger had paid the bill of the whole party before hisdeparture.
"By the way," said the landlord in conclusion, "you are not theonly friend of Lady Frances Carfax who is inquiring after her justnow. Only a week or so ago we had a man here upon the sameerrand."
"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 myillustrious friend.
"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, Ishould think, and one whom I should be sorry to offend."
Already the mystery began to define itself, as figures growclearer with the lifting of a fog. Here was this good and piouslady pursued from place to place by a sinister and unrelentingfigure. She feared him, or she would not have fled from Lausanne.He had still followed. Sooner or later he would overtake her. Hadhe already overtaken her? Was THAT the secret of her continuedsilence? Could the good people who were her companions not screenher from his violence or his blackmail? What horrible purpose, whatdeep 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 downto the roots of the matter. In reply I had a telegram asking for adescription of Dr. Shlessinger's left ear. Holmes's ideas of humourare strange and occasionally offensive, so I took no notice of hisill-timed jest--indeed, I had already reached Montpellier in mypursuit of the maid, Marie, before his message came.
I had no difficulty in finding the ex-servant and in learningall that she could tell me. She was a devoted creature, who hadonly left her mistress because she was sure that she was in goodhands, and because her own approaching marriage made a separationinevitable in any case. Her mistress had, as she confessed withdistress, shown some irritability of temper towards her duringtheir stay in Baden, and had even questioned her once as if she hadsuspicions of her honesty, and this had made the parting easierthan it would otherwise have been. Lady Frances had given her fiftypounds as a wedding-present. Like me, Marie viewed with deepdistrust the stranger who had driven her mistress from Lausanne.With her own eyes she had seen him seize the lady's wrist withgreat violence on the public promenade by the lake. He was a fierceand terrible man. She believed that it was out of dread of him thatLady Frances had accepted the escort of the Shlessingers to London.She had never spoken to Marie about it, but many little signs hadconvinced the maid that her mistress lived in a state of continualnervous apprehension. So far she had got in her narrative, whensuddenly she sprang from her chair and her face was convulsed withsurprise and fear. "See!" she cried. "The miscreant follows still!There is the very man of whom I speak."
Through the open sitting-room window I saw a huge, swarthy manwith a bristling black beard walking slowly down the centre of thestreet and staring eagerly at he numbers of the houses. It wasclear that, like myself, he was on the track of the maid. Actingupon 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.
"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 thebest.
"Where is the Lady Frances Carfax?" I asked.
He stared at me with amazement.
"What have you done with her? Why have you pursued her? I insistupon an answer!" said I.
The fellow gave a below of anger and sprang upon me like atiger. I have held my own in many a struggle, but the man had agrip of iron and the fury of a fiend. His hand was on my throat andmy senses were nearly gone before an unshaven French ouvrier in ablue blouse darted out from a cabaret opposite, with a cudgel inhis hand, and struck my assailant a sharp crack over the forearm,which made him leave go his hold. He stood for an instant fumingwith rage and uncertain whether he should not renew his attack.Then, with a snarl of anger, he left me and entered the cottagefrom 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 ofit! I rather think you had better come back with me to London bythe night express."
An hour afterwards, Sherlock Holmes, in his usual garb andstyle, was seated in my private room at the hotel. His explanationof his sudden and opportune appearance was simplicity itself, for,finding that he could get away from London, he determined to headme off at the next obvious point of my travels. In the disguise ofa workingman he had sat in the cabaret waiting for myappearance.
"And a singularly consistent investigation you have made, mydear Watson," said he. "I cannot at the moment recall any possibleblunder which you have omitted. The total effect of your proceedinghas been to give the alarm everywhere and yet to discovernothing."
"Perhaps you would have done no better," I answeredbitterly.
"There is no 'perhaps' about it. I HAVE done better. Here is theHon. Philip Green, who is a fellow-lodger with you in this hotel,and we may find him the starting-point for a more successfulinvestigation."
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 whenhe saw me.
"What is this, Mr. Holmes?" he asked. "I had your note and Ihave come. But what has this man to do with the matter?"
"This is my old friend and associate, Dr. Watson, who is helpingus in this affair."
The stranger held out a huge, sunburned hand, with a few wordsof apology.
"I hope I didn't harm you. When you accused me of hurting her Ilost my grip of myself. Indeed, I'm not responsible in these days.My nerves are like live wires. But this situation is beyond me.What I want to know, in the first place, Mr. Holmes, is, how in theworld you came to hear of my existence at all."
"I am in touch with Miss Dobney, Lady Frances's governess."
"Old Susan Dobney with the mob cap! I remember her well."
"And she remembers you. It was in the days before--before youfound it better to go to South Africa."
"Ah, I see you know my whole story. I need hide nothing fromyou. I swear to you, Mr. Holmes, that there never was in this worlda man who loved a woman with a more wholehearted love than I hadfor Frances. I was a wild youngster, I know--not worse than othersof my class. But her mind was pure as snow. She could not bear ashadow of coarseness. So, when she came to hear of things that Ihad done, she would have no more to say to me. And yet she lovedme--that is the wonder of it!--loved me well enough to remainsingle all her sainted days just for my sake alone. When the yearshad passed and I had made my money at Barberton I thought perhaps Icould seek her out and soften her. I had heard that she was stillunmarried, I found her at Lausanne and tried all I knew. Sheweakened, I think, but her will was strong, and when next I calledshe had left the town. I traced her to Baden, and then after a timeheard that her maid was here. I'm a rough fellow, fresh from arough life, and when Dr. Watson spoke to me as he did I lost holdof myself for a moment. But for God's sake tell me what has becomeof the Lady Frances."
"That is for us to find out," said Sherlock Holmes with peculiargravity. "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 incase I should want you? I have no desire to encourage false hopes,but you may rest assured that all that can be done will be done forthe safety of Lady Frances. I can say no more for the instant. Iwill leave you this card so that you may be able to keep in touchwith us. Now, Watson, if you will pack your bag I will cable toMrs. Hudson to make one of her best efforts for two hungrytravellers at 7:30 to-morrow."
A telegram was awaiting us when we reached our Baker Streetrooms, which Holmes read with an exclamation of interest and threwacross to me. "Jagged or torn," was the message, and the place oforigin, Baden.
"What is this?" I asked.
"It is everything," Holmes answered. "You may remember myseemingly irrelevant question as to this clerical gentleman's leftear. You did not answer it."
"I had left Baden and could not inquire."
"Exactly. For this reason I sent a duplicate to the manager ofthe Englischer Hof, whose answer lies here."
"What does it show?"
"It shows, my dear Watson, that we are dealing with anexceptionally astute and dangerous man. The Rev. Dr. Shlessinger,missionary from South America, is none other than Holy Peters, oneof the most unscrupulous rascals that Australia has everevolved--and for a young country it has turned out some veryfinished types. His particular specialty is the beguiling of lonelyladies by playing upon their religious feelings, and his so-calledwife, an Englishwoman named Fraser, is a worthy helpmate. Thenature of his tactics suggested his identity to me, and thisphysical peculiarity--he was badly bitten in a saloon-fight atAdelaide in '89--confirmed my suspicion. This poor lady is in thehands of a most infernal couple, who will stick at nothing, Watson.That she is already dead is a very likely supposition. If not, sheis undoubtedly in some sort of confinement and unable to write toMiss Dobney or her other friends. It is always possible that shenever reached London, or that she has passed through it, but theformer is improbable, as, with their system of registration, it isnot easy for foreigners to play tricks with the Continental police;and the latter is also unlikely, as these rouges could not hope tofind any other place where it would be as easy to keep a personunder restraint. All my instincts tell me that she is in London,but as we have at present no possible means of telling where, wecan only take the obvious steps, eat our dinner, and possess oursouls in patience. Later in the evening I will stroll down and havea word with friend Lestrade at Scotland Yard."
But neither the official police nor Holmes's 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. Advertisementswere tried, and failed. Clues were followed, and led to nothing.Every criminal resort which Shlessinger might frequent was drawn invain. His old associates were watched, but they kept clear of him.And then suddenly, after a week of helpless suspense there came aflash of light. A silver-andbrilliant pendant of old Spanish designhad been pawned at Bovington's, in Westminster Road. The pawner wasa large, cleanshaven man of clerical appearance. His name andaddress were demonstrably false. The ear had escaped notice, butthe description was surely that of Shlessinger.
Three times had our bearded friend from the Langham called fornews--the third time within an hour of this fresh development. Hisclothes were getting looser on his great body. He seemed to bewilting away in his anxiety. "If you will only give me something todo!" was his constant wail. 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 LadyFrances?"
Holmes shook his head very gravely.
"Supposing that they have held her prisoner up to now, it isclear that they cannot let her loose without their own destruction.We must prepare for 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 thefuture. in that case, we must begin again. On the other hand, hehas had a fair price and no questions asked, so if he is in need ofready-money he will probably come back to Bovington's. I will giveyou a note to them, and they will let you wait in the shop. If thefellow comes you will follow him home. But no indiscretion, and,above all, no violence. I put you on your honour that you will takeno step without my knowledge and consent."
For two days the Hon. Philip Green (he was, I may mention, theson of the famous admiral of that name who commanded the Sea ofAzof fleet in the Crimean War) brought us no news. On the eveningof the third he rushed into our sitting-room, pale, trembling, withevery muscle of his powerful frame quivering with excitement.
"We have him! We have him!" he cried.
He was incoherent in his agitation. Holmes soothed him with afew words 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 thependant she brought was the fellow of the other. She is a tall,pale woman, with ferret eyes."
"That is the lady," said Holmes.
"She left the office and I followed her. She walked up theKennington Road, and I kept behind her. Presently she went into ashop. Mr. Holmes, it was an undertaker's."
My companion started. "Well?" he asked in that vibrant voicewhich told of the fiery soul behind the cold gray face.
"She was talking to the woman behind the counter. I entered aswell. 'It is late,' I heard her say, or words to that effect. Thewoman was excusing herself. 'It should be there before now,' sheanswered. 'It took longer, being out of the ordinary.' They bothstopped and looked at me, so I asked some questions and then leftthe 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 she called a cab and got in. I was lucky enough to get anotherand so to follow her. She got down at last at No. 36, PoultneySquare, Brixton. I drove past, left my cab at the corner of thesquare, and watched the house."
"Did you see anyone?"
"The windows were all in darkness save one on the lower floor.The blind was down, and I could not see in. I was standing there,wondering what I should do next, when a covered van drove up withtwo men in it. They descended, took something out of the van, andcarried it up the steps to the hall door. Mr. Holmes, it was acoffin."
"Ah!"
"For an instant I was on the point of rushing in. The door hadbeen opened to admit the men and their burden. It was the woman whohad opened it. But as I stood there she caught a glimpse of me, andI think that she recognized me. I saw her start, and she hastilyclosed the door. I remembered my promise to you, and here Iam."
"You have done excellent work," said Holmes, scribbling a fewwords upon a half-sheet of paper. "We can do nothing legal withouta warrant, and you can serve the cause best by taking this notedown to the authorities and getting one. There may be somedifficulty, but I should think that the sale of the jewelleryshould be sufficient. Lestrade will see to 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 willbe lost. Leave it in our hands. Now Watson," he added as our clienthurried away, "he will set the regular forces on the move. We are,as usual, the irregulars, and we must take our own line of action.The situation strikes me as so desperate that the most extrememeasures are justified. Not a moment is to be lost in getting toPoultney Square.
"Let us try to reconstruct the situation," said he as we droveswiftly past the Houses of Parliament and over Westminster Bridge."These villains have coaxed this unhappy lady to London, afterfirst alienating her from her faithful maid. If she has written anyletters they have been intercepted. Through some confederate theyhave engaged a furnished house. Once inside it, they have made hera prisoner, and they have become possessed of the valuablejewellery which has been their object from the first. Already theyhave begun to sell part of it, which seems safe enough to them,since they have no reason to think that anyone is interested in thelady's fate. When she is released she will, of course, denouncethem. Therefore, she must not be released. But they cannot keep herunder 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 twodeparate chains of thought, Watson, you will find some point ofintersection which should approximate to the truth. We will startnow, not from the lady but from the coffin and argue backward. Thatincident proves, I fear, beyond all doubt that the lady is dead. Itpoints also to an orthodox burial with proper accompaniment ofmedical certificate and official sanction. Had the lady beenobviously murdered, they would have buried her in a hole in theback garden. But here all is open and regular. What does this mean?Surely that they have done her to death in some way which hasdeceived the doctor and simulated a natural end--poisoning,perhaps. And yet how strange that they should ever let a doctorapproach 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 doingthat. Pull up, cabby! This is evidently the undertaker's, for wehave just passed the pawnbroker's. Would go in, Watson? Yourappearance inspires confidence. Ask what hour the Poultney Squarefuneral takes place to-morrow."
The woman in the shop answered me without hesitation that it wasto be at eight o'clock in the morning. "You see, Watson, nomystery; everything above-board! In some way the legal forms haveundoubtedly been complied with, and they think that they havelittle to fear. Well, there's nothing for it now but a directfrontal attack. Are you armed?"
"My stick!"
"Well, well, we shall be strong enough. 'Thrice is he armed whohath his quarrel just.' We simply can't afford to wait for thepolice or to keep within the four corners of the law. You can driveoff, cabby. Now, Watson, we'll just take our luck together, as wehave occasionally in the past."
He had rung loudly at the door of a great dark house in thecentre of Poultney Square. It was opened immediately, and thefigure of a tall woman was outlined against the dim-lit hall.
"Well, what do you want?" she asked sharply, peering at usthrough the darkness.
"I want to speak to Dr. Shlessinger," said Holmes.
"There is no such person here," she answered, and tried to closethe door, but Holmes had jammed it with his foot.
"Well, I want to see the man who lives here, whatever he maycall himself," 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 the door behind us and showed us into a sitting-room onthe right side of the hall, turning up the gas as she left us. "Mr.Peters will be with you in an instant," she said.
Her words were literally true, for we had hardly time to lookaround the dusty and moth-eaten apartment in which we foundourselves before the door opened and a big, clean-shaven baldheadedman stepped lightly into the room. He had a large red face, withpendulous cheeks, and a general air of superficial benevolencewhich was marred by a cruel, vicious mouth.
"There is surely some mistake here, gentlemen," he said in anunctuous, make-everything-easy voice. "I fancy that you have beenmisdirected. Possibly if you tried farther down the street- -"
"That will do; we have no time to waste," said my companionfirmly. "You are Henry Peters, of Adelaide, late the Rev. Dr.Shlessinger, of Baden and South America. I am as sure of that asthat my own name is Sherlock Holmes."
Peters, as I will now call him, started and stared hard at hisformidable pursuer. "I guess your name does not frighten me, Mr.Holmes," said he coolly. "When a man's conscience is easy you can'trattle him. What is your 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."
"I'd be very glad if you could tell me where that lady may be,"Peters answered coolly. "I've a bill against her for a nearly ahundred pounds, and nothing to show for it but a couple of trumperypendants that the dealer would hardly look at. She attached herselfto Mrs. Peters and me at Baden--it is a fact that I was usinganother name at the time--and she stuck on to us until we came toLondon. I paid her bill and her ticket. Once in London, she gave usthe slip, and, as I say, left these outof -date jewels to pay herbills. You find her, Mr. Holmes, and I'm your debtor."
In MEAN to find her," said Sherlock Holmes. "I'm going throughthis house till I do find her."
"Where is your warrant?"
Holmes half drew a revolver from his pocket. "This will have toserve till a better one comes."
"Why, you're a common burglar."
"So you might describe me," said Holmes cheerfully. "Mycompanion is also a dangerous ruffian. And together we are goingthrough your house."
Our opponent opened the door.
"Fetch a policeman, Annie!" said he. There was a whisk offeminine skirts down the passage, and the hall door was opened andshut.
"Our time is limited, Watson," said Holmes. "If you try to stopus, Peters, you will most certainly get hurt. Where is that coffinwhich was brought into your house?"
"What do you want with the coffin? It is in use. There is a bodyin it."
"I must see the body."
"Never with my consent."
"Then without it." With a quick movement Holmes pushed thefellow to one side and passed into the hall. A door half openedstood immediately before us. We entered. It was the diningroom. Onthe table, under a half-lit chandelier, the coffin was lying.Holmes turned up the gas and raised the lid. Deep down in therecesses of the coffin lay an emaciated figure. The glare from thelights above beat down upon an aged and withered face. By nopossible process of cruelty, starvation, or disease could thiswornout wreck be the still beautiful Lady Frances. Holmes's faceshowed his amazement, and also his relief.
"Thank God!" he muttered. "It's someone else."
"Ah, you've blundered badly for once, Mr. Sherlock Holmes," saidPeters, who had followed us into the room.
"Who is the dead woman?"
"Well, if you really must know, she is an old nurse of mywife's, Rose Spender by name, whom we found in the BrixtonWorkhouse Infirmary. We brought her round here, called in Dr.Horsom, of 13 Firbank Villas--mind you take the address, Mr.Holmes--and had her carefully tended, as Christian folk should. Onthe third day she died--certificate says senile decay--but that'sonly the doctor's opinion, and of course you know better. Weordered her funeral to be carried out by Stimson and Co., of theKennington Road, who will bury her at eight o'clock to-morrowmorning. Can you pick any hole in that, Mr. Holmes? You've made asilly blunder, and you may as well own up to it. I'd give somethingfor a photograph of your gaping, staring face when you pulled asidethat lid expecting to see the Lady Frances Carfax and only found apoor old woman of ninety."
Holmes's expression was as impassive as ever under the jeers ofhis antagonist, but his clenched hands betrayed his acuteannoyance.
"I am going through your house," said he.
"Are you, though!" cried Peters as a woman's voice and heavysteps sounded in the passage. "We'll soon see about that. This way,officers, if you please. These men have forced their way into myhouse, and I cannot get rid of them. Help me to put them out."
A sergeant and a constable stood in the doorway. Holmes drew hiscard from 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, "butyou can't 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 iswanted," said the sergeant majestically, "but you'll have to go,Mr. Holmes."
"Yes, Watson, we shall have to go."
A minute later we were in the street once more. Holmes was ascool as ever, but I was hot with anger and humiliation. Thesergeant had followed us.
"Sorry, Mr. Holmes, but that's the law."
"Exactly, Sergeant, you could not do otherwise."
"I expect there was good reason for your presence there. Ifthere is anything I can do--"
"It's a missing lady, Sergeant, and we think she is in thathouse. I expect a warrant presently."
"Then I'll keep my eye on the parties, Mr. Holmes. If anythingcomes along, I will surely let you know."
It was only nine o'clock, and we were off full cry upon thetrail at once. First we drove to Brixton Workhoused Infirmary,where we found that it was indeed the truth that a charitablecouple had called some days before, that they had claimed animbecile old woman as a former servant, and that they had obtainedpermission to take her away with them. No surprise was expressed atthe news that she had since died.
The doctor was our next goal. He had been called in, had foundthe woman dying of pure senility, had actually seen her pass away,and had signed the certificate in due form. "I assure you thateverything was perfectly normal and there was no room for foul playin the matter," said he. Nothing in the house had struck him assuspicious save that for people of their class it was remarkablethat they should have no servant. So far and no further went thedoctor.
Finally we found our way to Scotland Yard. There had beendifficulties of procedure in regard to the warrant. Some delay wasinevitable. The magistrate's signature might not be obtained untilnext morning. If Holmes would call about nine he could go down withLestrade and see it acted upon. So ended the day, save that nearmidnight our friend, the sergeant, called to say that he had seenflickering lights here and there in the windows of the great darkhouse, but that no one had left it and none had entered. We couldbut pray for patience and wait for the morrow.
Sherlock Holmes was too irritable for conversation and toorestless for sleep. I left him smoking hard, with his heavy, darkbrows knotted together, and his long, nervous fingers tapping uponthe arms of his chair, as he turned over in his mind every possiblesolution of the mystery. Several times in the course of the night Iheard him prowling about the house. Finally, just after I had beencalled in the morning, he rushed into my room. He was in hisdressing-gown, but his pale, holloweyed face told me that his nighthad been a sleepless one.
"What time was the funeral? Eight, was it not?" he askedeagerly. "Well, it is 7:20 now. Good heavens, Watson, what hasbecome of any brains that God has given me? Quick, man, quick! It'slife or death--a hundred chances on death to one on life. I'llnever forgive myself, never, if we are too late!"
Five minutes had not passed before we were flying in a hansomdown Baker Street. But even so it was twenty-five to eight as wepassed Big Ben, and eight struck as we tore down the Brixton Road.But others were late as well as we. Ten minutes after the hour thehearse was still standing at the door of the house, and even as ourfoaming horse came to a halt the coffin, supported by three men,appeared on the threshold. Holmes darted forward and barred theirway.
"Take it back!" he cried, laying his hand on the breast of theforemost. "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 overthe farther end of the coffin.
"The warrant is on its way. The coffin shall remain in the houseuntil it comes."
The authority in Holmes's voice had its effect upon the bearers.Peters had suddenly vanished into the house, and they obeyed thesenew orders. "Quick, Watson, quick! Here is a screwdriver !" heshouted as the coffin was replaced upon the table. "Here's one foryou, my man! A sovreign if the lid comes off in a minute! Ask noquestions--work away! That's good! Another! And another! Now pullall together! It's giving! It's giving! Ah, that does it atlast."
With a united effort we tore off the coffin-lid. As we did sothere came from the inside a stupefying and overpowering smell ofchloroform. A body lay within, its head all wreathed in cottonwool,which had been soaked in the narcotic. Holmes plucked it off anddisclosed the statuesque face of a handsome and spiritual woman ofmiddle age. In an instant he had passed his arm round the figureand raised her to a sitting position.
"Is she gone, Watson? Is there a spark left? Surely we are nottoo late!"
For half an hour it seemed that we were. What with actualsuffocation, and what with the poisonous fumes of the chloroform,the Lady Frances seemed to have passed the last point of recall.And then, at last, with artificial respiration, with injectedether, and with every device that science could suggest, someflutter of life, some quiver of the eyelids, some dimming of amirror, spoke of the slowly returning life. A cab had driven up,and Holmes, parting the blind, looked out at it. "Here is Lestradewith his warrant," said he. "He will find that his birds haveflown. And here," he added as a heavy step hurried along thepassage, "is someone who has a better right to nurse this lady thanwe have. Good morning, Mr. Green; I think that the sooner we canmove the Lady Frances the better. Meanwhile, the funeral mayproceed, and the poor old woman who still lies in that coffin maygo to her last resting-place alone."
"Should you care to add the case to your annals, my dearWatson," said Holmes that evening, "it can only be as an example ofthat temporary eclipse to which even the best-balanced mind may beexposed. Such slips are common to all mortals, and the greatest ishe who can recognize and repair them. To this modified credit Imay, perhaps, make some claim. My night was haunted by the thoughtthat somewhere a clue, a strange sentence, a curious observation,had come under my notice and had been too easily dismissed. Then,suddenly, in the gray of the morning, the words came back to me. Itwas the remark of the undertaker's wife, as reported by PhilipGreen. She had said, 'It should be there before now. It tooklonger, being out of the ordinary.' It was the coffin of which shespoke. It had been out of the ordinary. That could only mean thatit had been made to some special measurement. But why? Why? Then inan instant I remembered the deep sides, and the little wastedfigure at the bottom. Why so large a coffin for so small a body? Toleave room for another body. Both would be buried under the onecertificate. It had all been so clear, if only my own sight had notbeen dimmed. At eight the Lady Frances would be buried. Our onechance was to stop the coffin before it left the house.
"It was a desperate chance that we might find her alive, but itWAS a chance, as the result showed. These people had never, to myknowledge, done a murder. They might shrink from actual violence atthe last. The could bury her with no sign of how she met her end,and even if she were exhumed there was a chance for them. I hopedthat such considerations might prevail with them. You canreconstruct the scene well enough. You saw the horrible denupstairs, where the poor lady had been kept so long. They rushed inand overpowered her with their chloroform, carried her down, pouredmore into the coffin to insure against her waking, and then screweddown the lid. A clever device, Watson. It is new to me in theannals of crime. If our ex-missionary friends escape the clutchesof Lestrade, I shall expect to hear of some brilliant incidents intheir future career."
ADVENTURE VII. THE ADVENTURE OF THE DYINGDETECTIVE
Mrs. Hudson, the landlady of Sherlock Holmes, was alongsuffering woman. Not only was her first-floor flat invaded atall hours by throngs of singular and often undesirable charactersbut her remarkable lodger showed an eccentricity and irregularityin his life which must have sorely tried her patience. Hisincredible untidiness, his addiction to music at strange hours, hisoccasional revolver practice within doors, his weird and oftenmalodorous 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 nodoubt that the house might have been purchased at the price whichHolmes paid for 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.She was fond of him, too, for he had a remarkable gentleness andcourtesy in his dealings with women. He disliked and distrusted thesex, but he was always a chivalrous opponent. Knowing how genuinewas her regard for him, I listened earnestly to her story when shecame to my rooms in the second year of my married life and told meof the sad condition to which my poor friend was reduced.
"He's dying, Dr. Watson," said she. "For three days he has beensinking, and I doubt if he will last the day. He would not let meget a doctor. This morning when I saw his bones sticking out of hisface and his great bright eyes looking at me I could stand no moreof it. 'With your leave or without it, Mr. Holmes, I am going for adoctor this very hour,' said I. 'Let it be Watson, then,' said he.I wouldn't waste an hour in coming to him, sir, or you may not seehim alive."
I was horrified for I had heard nothing of his illness. I neednot say that I rushed for my coat and my hat. As we drove back Iasked for the details.
"There is little I can tell you, sir. He has been working at acase down at Rotherhithe, in an alley near the river, and he hasbrought this illness back with him. He took to his bed on Wednesdayafternoon and has never moved since. For these three days neitherfood nor drink has passed his lips."
"Good God! Why did you not call in a doctor?"
"He wouldn't have it, sir. You know how masterful he is. Ididn't dare to disobey him. But he's not long for this world, asyou'll see for yourself the moment that you set eyes on him."
He was indeed a deplorable spectacle. In the dim light of afoggy November day the sick room was a gloomy spot, but it was thatgaunt, wasted face staring at me from the bed which sent a chill tomy heart. His eyes had the brightness of fever, there was a hecticflush upon either cheek, and dark crusts clung to his lips; thethin hands upon the coverlet twitched incessantly, his voice wascroaking and spasmodic. He lay listlessly as I entered the room,but the sight of me brought a gleam of recognition to his eyes.
"Well, Watson, we seem to have fallen upon evil days," said hein a feeble voice, but with something of his old carelessness ofmanner.
"My dear fellow!" I cried, approaching him.
"Stand back! Stand right back!" said he with the sharpimperiousness which I had associated only with moments of crisis."If you approach me, Watson, I shall order you out of thehouse."
"But why?"
"Because it is my desire. Is that not enough?"
Yes, Mrs. Hudson was right. He was more masterful than ever. Itwas pitiful, 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 aplight before me?
"It's for your own sake, Watson," he croaked.
"For MY sake?"
"I know what is the matter with me. It is a coolie disease fromSumatra--a thing that the Dutch know more about than we, thoughthey have made little of it up to date. One thing only is certain.It is infallibly deadly, and it is horribly contagious."
He spoke now with a feverish energy, the long hands twitchingand jerking as he motioned me away.
"Contagious by touch, Watson--that's it, by touch. Keep yourdistance and all is well."
"Good heavens, Holmes! Do you suppose that such a considerationweighs with me of an instant? It would not affect me in the case ofa stranger. Do you imagine it would prevent me from doing my dutyto so old a friend?"
Again I advanced, but he repulsed me with a look of furiousanger.
"If you will stand there I will talk. If you do not you mustleave the room."
I have so deep a respect for the extraordinary qualities ofHolmes that I have always deferred to his wishes, even when I leastunderstood them. But now all my professional instincts werearoused. Let him be my master elsewhere, I at least was his in asick room.
"Holmes," said I, "you are not yourself. A sick man is but achild, and so I will treat you. Whether you like it or not, I willexamine your symptoms 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 leasthave someone 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 verylimited experience and mediocre qualifications. It is painful tohave to say these things, but you leave me no choice."
I was bitterly hurt.
"Such a remark is unworthy of you, Holmes. It shows me veryclearly the state of your own nerves. But if you have no confidencein me I would not intrude my services. Let me bring Sir Jasper Meekor Penrose Fisher, or any of the best men in London. But someoneyou MUST have, and that is final. If you think that I am going tostand here and see you die without either helping you myself orbringing anyone else to help you, then you have mistaken yourman."
"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 sentenceto collect his failing strength. "I have learned so much duringsome recent researches which have a medico-criminal aspect. It wasin the course of them that I contracted this complaint. You can donothing."
"Possibly not. But I happen to know that Dr. Ainstree, thegreatest living authority upon tropical disease, is now in London.All remonstrance is useless, Holmes, I am going this instant tofetch him." I turned resolutely to the door.
Never have I had such a shock! In an instant, with atigerspring, the dying man had intercepted me. I heard the sharpsnap of a twisted key. The next moment he had staggered back to hisbed, exhausted and panting after his one tremendous outflame ofenergy.
"You won't take the key from be by force, Watson, I've got you,my friend. Here you are, and here you will stay until I willotherwise. But I'll humour you." (All this in little gasps, withterrible struggles for breath between.) "You've only my own good atheart. Of course I know that very well. You shall have your way,but give me time to get my strength. Not now, Watson, not now. It'sfour o'clock. At six you can go."
"This is insanity, Holmes."
"Only two hours, Watson. I promise you will go at six. Are youcontent to wait?"
"I seem to have no choice."
"None in the world, Watson. Thank you, I need no help inarranging the clothes. You will please keep your distance. Now,Watson, there is one other condition that I would make. You willseek help, not from the man you mention, but from the one that Ichoose."
"By all means."
"The first three sensible words that you have uttered since youentered this room, Watson. You will find some books over there. Iam somewhat exhausted; I wonder how a battery feels when it pourselectricity into a non-conductor? At six, Watson, we resume ourconversation."
But it was destined to be resumed long before that hour, and incircumstances which gave me a shock hardly second to that caused byhis spring to the door. I had stood for some minutes looking at thesilent figure in the bed. His face was almost covered by theclothes and he appeared to be asleep. Then, unable to settle downto reading, I walked slowly round the room, examining the picturesof celebrated criminals with which every wall was adorned. Finally,in my aimless perambulation, I came to the mantelpiece. A litter ofpipes, tobacco-pouches, syringes, penknives, revolver-cartridges,and other debris was scattered over it. In the midst of these was asmall black and white ivory box with a sliding lid. It was a neatlittle thing, and I had stretched out my hand to examine it moreclosely when
It was a dreadful cry that he gave--a yell which might have beenheard down the street. My skin went cold and my hair bristled atthat horrible scream. As I turned I caught a glimpse of a convulsedface and frantic eyes. I stood paralyzed, with the little box in myhand.
"Put it down! Down, this instant, Watson--this instant, I say!"His head sank back upon the pillow and he gave a deep sigh ofrelief as I replaced the box upon the mantelpiece. "I hate to havemy things touched, Watson. You know that I hate it. You fidget mebeyond endurance. You, a doctor--you are enough to drive a patientinto 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 ofspeech, so far removed from his usual suavity, showed me how deepwas the disorganization of his mind. Of all ruins, that of a noblemind is the most deplorable. I sat in silent dejection until thestipulated time had passed. He seemed to have been watching theclock as well as I, for it was hardly six before he began to talkwith the same feverish animation as before.
"Now, Watson," said he. "Have you any change in yourpocket?"
"Yes."
"Any silver?"
"A good deal."
"How many half-crowns?"
"I have five."
"Ah, too few! Too few! How very unfortunate, Watson! However,such as they are you can put them in your watchpocket. And all therest of your money in your left trouser pocket. Thank you. It willbalance you so much better 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 verycareful that not for one instant shall it be more than half on. Iimplore you to be careful, Watson. Thank you, that is excellent.No, you need not draw the blind. Now you will have the kindness toplace some letters and papers upon this table within my reach.Thank you. Now some of that litter from the mantelpiece. Excellent,Watson! There is a sugar-tongs there. Kindly raise that small ivorybox with its assistance. Place it here among the papers. Good! Youcan now go and fetch Mr. Culverton Smith, of 13 Lower BurkeStreet."
To tell the truth, my desire to fetch a doctor had somewhatweakened, for poor Holmes was so obviously delirious that it seemeddangerous to leave him. However, he was as eager now to consult theperson named as he had been obstinate in refusing.
"I never heard the name," said I.
"Possibly not, my good Watson. It may surprise you to know thatthe man upon earth who is best versed in this disease is not amedical man, but a planter. Mr. Culverton Smith is a well-knownresident of Sumatra, now visiting London. An outbreak of thedisease upon his plantation, which was distant from medical aid,caused him to study it himself, with some rather far-reachingconsequences. He is a very methodical person, and I did not desireyou to start before six, because I was well aware that you wouldnot find him in his study. If you could persuade him to come hereand give us the benefit of his unique experience of this disease,the investigation of which has been his dearest hobby, I cannotdoubt that he could help me."
I gave Holmes's remarks as a consecutive whole and will notattempt to indicate how they were interrupted by gaspings forbreath and those clutchings of his hands which indicated the painfrom which he was suffering. His appearance had changed for theworse during the few hours that I had been with him. Those hecticspots were more pronounced, the eyes shone more brightly out ofdarker hollows, and a cold sweat glimmered upon his brow. He stillretained, however, the jaunty gallantry of his speech. To the lastgasp he would always be the master.
"You will tell him exactly how you have left me," said he. "Youwill convey the very impression which is in your own mind--a dyingman--a dying and delirious man. Indeed, I cannot think why thewhole bed of the ocean is not one solid mass of oysters, soprolific the creatures seem. Ah, I am wondering! Strange how thebrain controls the brain! What was I saying, 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, Watson--Ihad suspicions of foul play and I allowed him to see it. The boydied horribly. He has a grudge against me. You will soften him,Watson. Beg him, pray him, get him here by any means. He can saveme--only he!"
"I will bring him in a cab, if I have to carry him down toit."
"You will do nothing of the sort. You will persuade him to come.And then you will return in front of him. Make any excuse so as notto come with him. Don't forget, Watson. You won't fail me. Younever did fail me. No doubt there are natural enemies which limitthe increase of the creatures. You and I, Watson, we have done ourpart. Shall the world, then, be overrun by oysters? No, no;horrible! You'll convey all that is in your mind."
I left him full of the image of this magnificent intellectbabbling like a foolish child. He had handed me the key, and with ahappy thought I took it with me lest he should lock himself in.Mrs. Hudson was waiting, trembling and weeping, in the passage.Behind me as I passed from the flat I heard Holmes's high, thinvoice in some delirious chant. Below, as I stood whistling for acab, 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 fanlightshowed exultation 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 inthe vague borderland between Notting Hill and Kensington. Theparticular one at which my cabman pulled up had an air of smug anddemure respectability in its old-fashioned iron railings, itsmassive folding-door, and its shining brasswork. All was in keepingwith a solemn butler who appeared framed in the pink radiance of atinted electrical light behind him.
"Yes, Mr. Culverton Smith is in. Dr. Watson! Very good, sir, Iwill take up your card."
My humble name and title did not appear to impress Mr. CulvertonSmith. Through the half-open door I heard a high, petulant,penetrating voice.
"Who is this person? What does he want? Dear me, Staples, howoften have I said that I am not to be disturbed in my hours ofstudy?"
There came a gentle flow of soothing explanation from thebutler.
"Well, I won't see him, Staples. I can't have my workinterrupted like this. I am not at home. Say so. Tell him to comein the morning if he really must see me."
Again the gentle murmur.
"Well, well, give him that message. He can come in the morning,or he can stay away. My work must not be hindered."
I thought of Holmes tossing upon his bed of sickness andcounting the minutes, perhaps, until I could bring help to him. Itwas not a time to stand upon ceremony. His life depended upon mypromptness. Before the apologetic butler had delivered his messageI had pushed past him and was in the room.
With a shrill cry of anger a man rose from a reclining chairbeside the fire. I saw a great yellow face, coarse-grained andgreasy, with heavy, double-chin, and two sullen, menacing gray eyeswhich glared at me from under tufted and sandy brows. A high baldhead had a small velvet smoking-cap poised coquettishly upon oneside of its pink curve. The skull was of enormous capacity, and yetas I looked down I saw to my amazement that the figure of the manwas small and frail, twisted in the shoulders and back like one whohas suffered from rickets in his childhood.
"What's this?" he cried in a high, screaming voice. "What is themeaning of this intrusion? Didn't I send you word that I would seeyou to-morrow morning?"
"I am sorry," said I, "but the matter cannot be delayed. Mr.Sherlock Holmes--"
The mention of my friend's name had an extraordinary effect uponthe little man. The look of anger passed in an instant from hisface. His features 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. Ashe did so I caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror over themantelpiece. I could have sworn that it was set in a malicious andabominable smile. Yet I persuaded myself that it must have beensome nervous contraction which I had surprised, for he turned to mean instant later with genuine concern upon his features.
"I am sorry to hear this," said he. "I only know Mr. Holmesthrough some business dealings which we have had, but I have everyrespect for his talents and his character. He is an amateur ofcrime, as I am of disease. For him the villain, for me the microbe.There are my prisons," he continued, pointing to a row of bottlesand jars which stood upon a side table. "Among those gelatinecultivations some of the very worst offenders in the world are nowdoing time."
"It was on account of your special knowledge that Mr. Holmesdesired to see you. He has a high opinion of you and thought thatyou were the one man in London who could help him."
The little man started, and the jaunty smoking-cap slid to thefloor.
"Why?" he asked. "Why should Mr. Homes think that I could helphim in his trouble?"
"Because of your knowledge of Eastern diseases."
"But why should he think that this disease which he hascontracted is Eastern?"
"Because, in some professional inquiry, he has been workingamong Chinese sailors down in the docks."
Mr. Culverton Smith smiled pleasantly and picked up hissmokingcap.
"Oh, that's it--is it?" said he. "I trust the matter is not sograve as you suppose. How long has he been ill?"
"About three days."
"Is he delirious?"
"Occasionally."
"Tut, tut! This sounds serious. It would be inhuman not toanswer his call. I very much resent any interruption to my work,Dr. Watson, but this case is certainly exceptional. I will comewith you at once."
I remembered Holmes's injunction.
"I have another appointment," said I.
"Very good. I will go alone. I have a note of Mr. Holmes'saddress. You can rely upon my being there within half an hour atmost."
It was with a sinking heart that I reentered Holmes's bedroom.For all that I knew the worst might have happened in my absence. Tomy enormous relief, he had improved greatly in the interval. Hisappearance was as ghastly as ever, but all trace of delirium hadleft him and he spoke in a feeble voice, it is true, but with evenmore than his usual crispness and lucidity.
"Well, did you see him, Watson?"
"Yes; he is coming."
"Admirable, Watson! Admirable! You are the best ofmessengers."
"He wished to return with me."
"That would never do, Watson. That would be obviouslyimpossible. 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 friendcould. 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 thisopinion would be very much more frank and valuable if he imaginesthat we are alone. 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 lenditself to concealment, which is as well, as it is the less likelyto arouse suspicion. But just there, Watson, I fancy that it couldbe done." Suddenly he sat up with a rigid intentness upon hishaggard face. "There are the wheels, Watson. Quick, man, if youlove me! And don't budge, whatever happens--whatever happens, doyou hear? Don't speak! Don't move! Just listen with all your ears."Then in an instant his sudden access of strength departed, and hismasterful, purposeful talk droned away into the low, vaguemurmurings of a semi-delirious man.
>From the hiding-place into which I had been so swiftlyhustled I heard the footfalls upon the stair, with the opening andthe closing of the bedroom door. Then, to my surprise, there came along silence, broken only by the heavy breathings and gaspings ofthe sick man. I could imagine that our visitor was standing by thebedside and looking down at the sufferer. At last that strange hushwas broken.
"Holmes!" he cried. "Holmes!" in the insistent tone of one whoawakens a sleeper. "Can't you hear me, Holmes?" There was arustling, as if he had shaken the sick man roughly by theshoulder.
"Is that you, Mr. Smith?" Holmes whispered. "I hardly dared hopethat you would come."
The other laughed.
"I should imagine not," he said. "And yet, you see, I am here.Coals of fire, Holmes--coals of fire!"
"It is very good of you--very noble of you. I appreciate yourspecial knowledge."
Our visitor sniggered.
"You do. You are, fortunately, the only man in London who does.Do you know what is the matter with you?"
"The same," said Holmes.
"Ah! You recognize the symptoms?"
"Only too well."
"Well, I shouldn't be surprised, Holmes. I shouldn't besurprised if it WERE the same. A bad lookout for you if it is. PoorVictor was a dead man on the fourth day--a strong, hearty youngfellow. It was certainly, as you said, very surprising that heshould have contracted and out-of-the-way Asiatic disease in theheart of London--a disease, too, of which I had made such a veryspecial study. Singular coincidence, Holmes. Very smart of you tonotice it, but rather uncharitable to suggest that it was cause andeffect."
"I knew that you did it."
"Oh, you did, did you? Well, you couldn't prove it, anyhow. Butwhat do you think of yourself spreading reports about me like that,and then crawling to me for help the moment you are in trouble?What sort of a game is that--eh?"
I heard the rasping, laboured breathing of the sick man. "Giveme the water!" he gasped.
"You're precious near your end, my friend, but I don't want youto go till I have had a word with you. That's why I give you water.There, don't slop it about! That's right. Can you understand what Isay?"
Holmes groaned.
"Do what you can for me. Let bygones be bygones," he whispered."I'll put the words out of my head--I swear I will. Only cure me,and I'll forget it."
"Forget what?"
"Well, about Victor Savage's death. You as good as admitted justnow that you had done it. I'll forget it."
"You can forget it or remember it, just as you like. I don't seeyou in the witnessbox. Quite another shaped box, my good Holmes, Iassure you. It matters nothing to me that you should know how mynephew died. It's not him we are talking about. It's you."
"Yes, yes."
"The fellow who came for me--I've forgotten his name--said thatyou contracted 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? Thinkyourself smart, don't you? You came across someone who was smarterthis time. Now cast your mind back, Holmes. Can you think of noother way you could have got this thing?"
"I can't think. My mind is gone. For heaven's sake help me!"
"Yes, I will help you. I'll help you to understand just whereyou are and how you got there. I'd like you to know before youdie."
"Give me something to ease my pain."
"Painful, is it? Yes, the coolies used to do some squealingtowards the end. Takes you as cramp, I fancy."
"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."
"I'm too ill to think."
"Well, then, I'll help you. Did anything come by post?"
"By post?"
"A box by chance?"
"I'm fainting--I'm gone!"
"Listen, Holmes!" There was a sound as if he was shaking thedying man, and it was all that I could do to hold myself quiet inmy hiding-place. "You must hear me. You SHALL hear me. Do youremember a box--an ivory box? It came on Wednesday. You openedit--do you remember?"
"Yes, yes, I opened it. There was a sharp spring inside it. Somejoke--"
"It was no joke, as you will find to your cost. You fool, youwould have it and you have got it. Who asked you to cross my path?If you had left me alone I would not have hurt you."
"I remember," Holmes gasped. "The spring! It drew blood. Thisbox--this on the table."
"The very one, by George! And it may as well leave the room inmy pocket. There goes your last shred of evidence. But you have thetruth now, Holmes, and you can die with the knowledge that I killedyou. You knew too much of the fate of Victor Savage, so I have sentyou to share it. You are very near your end, Holmes. I will sithere and I will watch you die."
Holmes's voice had sunk to an almost inaudible whisper.
"What is that?" said Smith. "Turn up the gas? Ah, the shadowsbegin to fall, do they? Yes, I will turn it up, that I may see youthe better." He crossed the room and the light suddenly brightened."Is there any other little service that I can do you, myfriend?"
"A match and a cigarette."
I nearly called out in my joy and my amazement. He was speakingin his natural voice--a little weak, perhaps, but the very voice Iknew. There was a long pause, and I felt that Culverton Smith wasstanding in silent amazement looking down at his companion.
"What's the meaning of this?" I heard him say at last in a dry,rasping tone.
"The best way of successfully acting a part is to be it," saidHolmes. "I give you my word that for three days I have tastedneither food nor drink until you were good enough to pour me outthat glass of water. But it is the tobacco which I find mostirksome. Ah, here ARE some cigarettes." I heard the striking of amatch. "That is very much better. Halloa! halloa! Do I hear thestep of a friend?"
There were footfalls outside, the door opened, and InspectorMorton appeared.
"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,"he concluded.
"And you might add of the attempted murder of one SherlockHolmes," remarked my friend with a chuckle. "To save an invalidtrouble, Inspector, Mr. Culverton Smith was good enough to give oursignal by turning up the gas. By the way, the prisoner has a smallbox in the right-hand pocket of his coat which it would be as wellto remove. Thank you. I would handle it gingerly if I were you. Putit down here. It may play its part in the trial."
There was a sudden rush and a scuffle, followed by the clash ofiron and a cry of pain.
"You'll only get yourself hurt," said the inspector. "Standstill, will you?" There was the click of the closing handcuffs.
"A nice trap!" cried the high, snarling voice. "It will bringYOU into the dock, Holmes, not me. He asked me to come here to curehim. I was sorry for him and I came. Now he will pretend, no doubt,that I have said anything which he may invent which willcorroborate his insane suspicions. You can lie as you like, Holmes.My word is always as good as yours."
"Good heavens!" cried Holmes. "I had totally forgotten him. Mydear Watson, I owe you a thousand apologies. To think that I shouldhave overlooked you! I need not introduce you to Mr. CulvertonSmith, since I understand that you met somewhat earlier in theevening. Have you the cab below? I will follow you when I amdressed, for I may be of some use at the station.
"I never needed it more," said Holmes as he refreshed himselfwith a glass of claret and some biscuits in the intervals of histoilet. "However, as you know, my habits are irregular, and such afeat means less to me than to most men. It was very essential thatI should impress Mrs. Hudson with the reality of my condition,since she was to convey it to you, and you in turn to him. Youwon't be offended, Watson? You will realize that among your manytalents dissimulation finds no place, and that if you had shared mysecret you would never have been able to impress Smith with theurgent necessity of his presence, which was the vital point of thewhole scheme. Knowing his vindictive nature, I was perfectlycertain that he would come to look upon his handiwork."
"But your appearance, Holmes--your ghastly face?"
"Three days of absolute fast does not improve one's beauty,Watson. For the rest, there is nothing which a sponge may not cure.With vaseline upon one's forehead, belladonna in one's eyes, rougeover the cheek-bones, and crusts of beeswax round one's lips, avery satisfying effect can be produced. Malingering is a subjectupon which I have sometimes thought of writing a monograph. Alittle occasional talk about half-crowns, oysters, or any otherextraneous subject produces a pleasing effect of delirium."
"But why would you not let me near you, since there was in truthno infection?"
"Can you ask, my dear Watson? Do you imagine that I have norespect for your medical talents? Could I fancy that your astutejudgment would pass a dying man who, however weak, had no rise ofpulse or temperature? At four yards, I could deceive you. If Ifailed to do so, who would bring my Smith within my grasp? No,Watson, I would not touch that box. You can just see if you look atit sideways where the sharp spring like a viper's tooth emerges asyou open it. I dare say it was by some such device that poorSavage, who stood between this monster and a reversion, was done todeath. My correspondence, however, is, as you know, a varied one,and I am somewhat upon my guard against any packages which reachme. It was clear to me, however, that by pretending that he hadreally succeeded in his design I might surprise a confession. Thatpretence I have carried out with the thoroughness of the trueartist. Thank you, Watson, you must help me on with my coat. Whenwe have finished at the policestation I think that somethingnutritious at Simpson's would not be out of place."
ADVENTURE VIII. HIS LAST BOW
An Epilogue of Sherlock Holmes
It was nine o'clock at night upon the second of August--the mostterrible August in the history of the world. One might have thoughtalready that God's curse hung heavy over a degenerate world, forthere was an awesome hush and a feeling of vague expectancy in thesultry and stagnant air. The sun had long set, but one blood-redgash like an open wound lay low in the distant west. Above, thestars were shining brightly, and below, the lights of the shippingglimmered in the bay. The two famous Germans stood beside the stoneparapet of the garden walk, with the long, low, heavily gabledhouse behind them, and they looked down upon the broad sweep of thebeach at the foot of the great chalk cliff in which Von Bork, likesome wandering eagle, had perched himself four years before. Theystood with their heads close together, talking in low, confidentialtones. From below the two glowing ends of their cigars might havebeen the smouldering eyes of some malignant fiend looking down inthe darkness.
A remarkable man this Von Bork--a man who could hardly bematched among all the devoted agents of the Kaiser. It was histalents which had first recommended him for the English mission,the most important mission of all, but since he had taken it overthose talents had become more and more manifest to the half-dozenpeople in the world who were really in touch with the truth. One ofthese was his present companion, Baron Von Herling, the chiefsecretary of the legation, whose huge 100-horse-power Benz car wasblocking the country lane as it waited to waft its owner back toLondon.
"So far as I can judge the trend of events, you will probably beback in Berlin within the week," the secretary was saying. "Whenyou get there, my dear Von Bork, I think you will be surprised atthe welcome you will receive. I happen to know what is thought inthe highest quarters of your work in this country." He was a hugeman, the secretary, deep, broad, and tall, with a slow, heavyfashion of speech which had been his main asset in his politicalcareer.
Von Bork laughed.
"They are not very hard to deceive," he remarked. "A moredocile, simple folk could not be imagined."
"I don't know about that," said the other thoughtfully. "Theyhave strange limits and one must learn to observe them. It is thatsurface simplicity of theirs which makes a trap for the stranger.One's first impression is that they are entirely soft. Then onecomes suddenly upon something very hard, and you know that you havereached the limit and must adapt yourself to the fact. They have,for example, their insular conventions which simply MUST beobserved."
"Meaning 'good form' and that sort of thing?" Von Bork sighed asone who had suffered much.
"Meaning British prejudice in all its queer manifestations. Asan example I may quote one of my own worst blunders--I can affordto talk of my blunders, for you know my work well enough to beaware of my successes. It was on my first arrival. I was invited toa week-end gathering at the country house of a cabinet minister.The conversation was amazingly indiscreet."
Von Bork nodded. "I've been there," said he dryly.
"Exactly. Well, I naturally sent a resume of the information toBerlin. Unfortunately our good chancellor is a little heavyhandedin these matters, and he transmitted a remark which showed that hewas aware of what had been said. This, of course, took the trailstraight up to me. You've no idea the harm that it did me. Therewas nothing soft about our British hosts on that occasion, I canassure you. I was two years living it down. Now you, with thissporting pose of yours--"
"No, no, don't call it a pose. A pose is an artificial thing.This is quite natural. I am a born sportsman. I enjoy it."
"Well, that makes it the more effective. You yacht against them,you hunt with them, you play polo, you match them in every game,your four-in-hand takes the prize at Olympia. I have even heardthat you go the length of boxing with the young officers. What isthe result? Nobody takes you seriously. You are a 'good old sport''quite a decent fellow for a German,' a hard-drinking, night-club,knock-about-town, devil-may-care young fellow. And all the timethis quiet country house of yours is the centre of half themischief in England, and the sporting squire the most astutesecret-service man in Europe. Genius, my dear Von Bork--genius!"
"You flatter me, Baron. But certainly I may claim my four yearsin this country have not been unproductive. I've never shown you mylittle store. Would you mind stepping in for a moment?"
The door of the study opened straight on to the terrace. VonBork pushed it back, and, leading the way, he clicked the switch ofthe electric light. He then closed the door behind the bulky formwhich followed him and carefully adjusted the heavy curtain overthe latticed window. Only when all these precautions had been takenand tested did he turn his sunburned aquiline face to hisguest.
"Some of my papers have gone," said he. "When my wife and thehousehold left yesterday for Flushing they took the less importantwith them. I must, of course, claim the protection of the embassyfor the others."
"Your name has already been files as one of the personal suite.There will be no difficulties for you or your baggage. Of course,it is just possible that we may not have to go. England may leaveFrance to her fate. We are sure that there is no binding treatybetween them."
"And Belgium?"
"Yes, and Belgium, too."
Von Bork shook his head. "I don't see how that could be. Thereis a definite treaty there. She could never recover from such ahumiliation."
"She would at least have peace for the moment."
"But her honor?"
"Tut, my dear sir, we live in a utilitarian age. Honour is amediaeval conception. Besides England is not ready. It is aninconceivable thing, but even our special war tax of fifty million,which one would think made our purpose as clear as if we hadadvertised it on the front page of the Times, has not roused thesepeople from their slumbers. Here and there one hears a question. Itis my business to find an answer. Here and there also there is anirritation. It is my business to soothe it. But I can assure youthat so far as the essentials go--the storage of munitions, thepreparation for submarine attack, the arrangements for making highexplosives--nothing is prepared. How, then, can England come in,especially when we have stirred he up such a devil's brew of Irishcivil war, window-breaking Furies, and God knows what to keep herthoughts at home."
"She must think of her future."
"Ah, that is another matter. I fancy that in the future we haveour own very definite plans about England, and that yourinformation will be very vital to us. It is to-day or to-morrowwith Mr. John Bull. If he prefers to-day we are perfectly ready. Ifit is to-morrow we shall be more ready still. I should think theywould be wiser to fight with allies than without them, but that istheir own affair. This week is their week of destiny. But you werespeaking of your papers." He sat in the armchair with the lightshining upon his broad bald head, while he puffed sedately at hiscigar.
The large oak-panelled, book-lined room had a curtain hung inthe future corner. When this was drawn it disclosed a large,brassbound safe. Von Bork detached a small key from his watchchain, and after some considerable manipulation of the lock heswung open the heavy door.
"Look!" said he, standing clear, with a wave of his hand.
The light shone vividly into the opened safe, and the secretaryof the embassy gazed with an absorbed interest at the rows ofstuffed pigeon-holes with which it was furnished. Each pigeonholehad its label, and his eyes as he glanced along them read a longseries of such titles as "Fords," "Harbour-defences," "Aeroplanes,""Ireland,", "Egypt," "Portsmouth forts," "The Channel," "Rosythe,"and a score of others. Each compartment was bristling with papersand plans.
"Colossal!" said the secretary. Putting down his cigar he softlyclapped his fat hands.
"And all in four years, Baron. Not such a bad show for theharddrinking, hard-riding country squire. But the gem of mycollection is coming and there is the setting all ready for it." Hepointed to a space over 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, Baron--theworst setback in my whole campaign. But thanks to my check-book andthe good 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 thingsare moving at present in Carlton Terrace and that we have all to beat our posts. I had hoped to be able to bring news of your greatcoup. Did Altamont name no hour?"
Von Bork pushed over a telegram.
Will come without fail to-night and bring new sparkingplugs.
Altamont.
"Sparking plugs, eh?"
"You see he poses as a motor expert and I keep a full garage. Inour code everything likely to come up is named after some sparepart. If he talks of a radiator it is a battleship, of an oil pumpa 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 asalary as well."
"The greedy rouge. They are useful, these traitors, but I grudgethem their blood money."
"I grudge Altamont nothing. He is a wonderful worker. If I payhim well, at least he delivers the goods, to use his own phrase.Besides he is not a traitor. I assure you that our most panGermanicJunker is a sucking dove in his feelings towards England ascompared with a real bitter Irish-American."
"Oh, an Irish-American?"
"If you heard him talk you would not doubt it. Sometimes Iassure you I can hardly understand him. He seems to have declaredwar on the King's English as well as on the English king. Must youreally go? He may be here any moment."
"No. I'm sorry, but I have already overstayed my time. We shallexpect you early to-morrow, and when you get that signal bookthrough the little door on the Duke of York's steps you can put atriumphant finis to your record in England. What! Tokay!" Heindicated a heavily sealed dust-covered bottle which stood with twohigh 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 myTokay. He is a touchy fellow and needs humouring in small things. Ihave to study him, I assure you." They had strolled out on to theterrace again, and along it to the further end where at a touchfrom the Baron's chauffeur the great car shivered and chuckled."Those are the lights of Harwich, I suppose," said the secretary,pulling on his dust coat. "How still and peaceful it all seems.There may be other lights within the week, and the English coast aless tranquil place! The heavens, too, may not be quite so peacefulif all that the good Zepplin promises us comes true. By the way,who is that?"
Only one window showed a light behind them; in it there stood alamp, and beside it, seated at a table, was a dear old ruddyfacedwoman in a country cap. She was bending over her knitting andstopping occasionally to stroke a large black cat upon a stoolbeside her.
"That is Martha, the only servant I have left."
The secretary chuckled.
"She might almost personify Britannia," said he, "with hercomplete self-absorption and general air of comfortable somnolence.Well, au revoir, Von Bork!" With a final wave of his hand he spranginto the car, and a moment later the two golden cones from theheadlights shot through the darkness. The secretary lay back in thecushions of the luxurious limousine, with his thoughts so full ofthe impending European tragedy that he hardly observed that as hiscar swung round the village street it nearly passed over a littleFord coming in the opposite direction.
Von Bork walked slowly back to the study when the last gleams ofthe motor lamps had faded into the distance. As he passed heobserved that his old housekeeper had put out her lamp and retired.It was a new experience to him, the silence and darkness of hiswidespread house, for his family and household had been a largeone. It was a relief to him, however, to think that they were allin safety and that, but for that one old woman who had lingered inthe kitchen, he had the whole place to himself. There was a gooddeal of tidying up to do inside his study and he set himself to doit until his keen, handsome face was flushed with the heat of theburning papers. A leather valise stood beside his table, and intothis 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 sounds of a distant car.Instantly he gave an exclamation of satisfaction, strapped up thevalise, shut the safe, locked it, and hurried out on to theterrace. He was just in time to see the lights of a small car cometo a halt at the gate. A passenger sprang out of it and advancedswiftly towards him, while the chauffeur, a heavily built, elderlyman with a gray moustache, settled down like one who resignshimself to a long vigil.
"Well?" asked Von Bork eagerly, running forward to meet hisvisitor.
For answer the man waved a small brown-paper parcel triumphantlyabove his head.
"You can give me the glad hand to-night, mister," he cried. "I'mbringing home the bacon at last."
"The signals?"
"Same as I said in my cable. Every last one of them, semaphore,lamp code, Marconi--a copy, mind you, not the original. That wastoo dangerous. But it's the real goods, and you can lay to that."He slapped the German upon the shoulder with a rough familiarityfrom which the other winced.
"Come in," he said. "I'm all alone in the house. I was onlywaiting for this. Of course a copy is better than the original. Ifan original were missing they would change the whole thing. Youthink it's all safe about the copy?"
The Irish-American had entered the study and stretched his longlimbs from the armchair. He was a tall, gaunt man of sixty, withclear-cut features and a small goatee beard which gave him ageneral resemblance to the caricatures of Uncle Sam. A halfsmoked,sodden cigar hung from the corner of his mouth, and as he sat downhe struck a match and relit it. "Making ready for a move?" heremarked as he looked round him. "Say, mister," he added, as hiseyes fell upon the safe from which the curtain was now removed,"you don't tell me you keep your papers in that?"
"Why not?"
"Gosh, in a wide-open contraption like that! And they reckon youto be some spy. Why, a Yankee crook would be into that with acan-opener. If I'd known that any letter of mine was goin' to lieloose in a thing like that I'd have been a mug to write to you atall."
"It would puzzle any crook to force that safe," Von Borkanswered. "You won't cut that metal with any tool."
"But the lock?"
"No, it's 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 youcan get the lock to work." He rose and showed a double-radiatingdisc round the keyhole. "This outer one is for the letters, theinner one for the figures."
"Well, well, that's fine."
"So it's nit quite as simple as you thought. It was four yearsago that I had it made, and what do you think I chose for the wordand figures?"
"It's beyond me."
"Well, I chose August for the word, and 1914 for the figures,and here we are."
The American's 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 itis , and I'm shutting down to-morrow morning."
"Well, I guess you'll have to fix me up also. I'm not staying isthis gol-darned country all on my lonesome. In a week or less, fromwhat I see, John Bull will be on his hind legs and fair ramping.I'd rather watch him from over the water."
"But you're an American citizen?"
"Well, so was Jack James an American citizen, but he's doingtime in Portland all the same. It cuts no ice with a British copperto tell him you're an American citizen. 'It's British law and orderover here,' says he. By the way, mister, talking of Jack James, itseems to me you don't do much to cover your men."
"What do you mean?" Von Bork asked sharply.
"Well, you are their employer, ain't you? It's up to you to seethat they don't fall down. But they do fall down, and when did youever pick them up? There's James--"
"It was James's own fault. You know that yourself. He was tooself-willed for the job."
"James was a bonehead--I give you that. Then there wasHollis."
"The man was mad."
"Well, he went a bit woozy towards the end. It's enough to makea man bug-house when he has to play a part from morning to nightwith a hundred guys all ready to set the coppers wise to him. Butnow there is Steiner--"
Von Bork started violently, and his ruddy face turned a shadepaler.
"What about Steiner?"
"Well, they've got him, that's all. They raided his store lastnight, and he and his papers are all in Portsmouth jail. You'll gooff and he, poor devil, will have to stand the racket, and lucky ifhe gets off with his life. That's why I want to get over the wateras soon as you do."
Von Bork was a strong, self-contained man, but it was easy tosee that the news had shaken him.
"How could they have got on to Steiner?" he muttered. "That'sthe worst blow yet."
"Well, you nearly had a worse one, for I believe they are notfar off me."
"You don't mean that!"
"Sure thing. My landlady down Fratton way had some inquiries,and when I heard of it I guessed it was time for me to hustle. Butwhat I want to know, mister, is how the coppers know these things?Steiner is the fifth man you've lost since I signed on with you,and I know the name of the sixth if I don't get a move on. How doyou explain it, and ain't you ashamed to see your men go down likethis?"
Von Bork flushed crimson.
"How dare you speak in such a way!"
"If I didn't dare things, mister, I wouldn't be in your service.But I'll tell you straight what is in my mind. I've heard that withyou German politicians when an agent has done his work you are notsorry to see him put away."
Von Bork sprang to his feet.
"Do you dare to suggest that I have given away my ownagents!"
"I don't stand for that, mister, but there's a stool pigeon or across somewhere, and it's up to you to find out where it is. AnyhowI am taking no more chances. It's me for little Holland, and thesooner the better."
Von Bork had mastered his anger.
"We have been allies too long to quarrel now at the very hour ofvictory," he said. "You've done splendid work and taken risks, andI can't forget it. By all means go to Holland, and you can get aboat from Rotterdam to New York. No other line will be safe a weekfrom now. I'll take that book and pack it with the rest."
The American held the small parcel in his hand, but made nomotion to give it up.
"What about the dough?" he asked.
"The what?"
"The boodle. The reward. The 500 pounds. The gunner turneddamned nasty at the last, and I had to square him with an extrahundred dollars or it would have been nitsky for you and me.'Nothin' doin'!' says he, and he meant it, too, but the lasthundred did it. It's cost me two hundred pound from first to last,so it isn't likely I'd give it up without gettin' my wad."
Von Bork smiled with some bitterness. "You don't seem to have avery high opinion of my honour," said he, "you want the moneybefore you give up the book."
"Well, mister, it is a business proposition."
"All right. Have your way." He sat down at the table andscribbled a check, which he tore from the book, but he refrainedfrom handing it to his companion. "After all, since we are to be onsuch terms, Mr. Altamont," said he, "I don't see why I should trustyou any more than you trust me. Do you understand?" he added,looking back over his shoulder at the American. "There's the checkupon the table. I claim the right to examine that parcel before youpick 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 dazing fora moment in silent amazement at a small blue book which lay beforehim. Across the cover was printed in golden letters PracticalHandbook of Bee Culture. Only for one instant did the master spyglare at this strangely irrelevant inscription. The next he wasgripped at the back of his neck by a grasp of iron, and achloroformed sponge was held in front of his writhing face.
"Another glass, Watson!" said Mr. Sherlock Holmes as he extendedthe bottle of Imperial Tokay.
The thickset chauffeur, who had seated himself by the table,pushed forward his glass with some eagerness.
"It is a good wine, Holmes."
"A remarkable wine, Watson. Our friend upon the sofa has assuredme that it is from Franz Josef's special cellar at the SchoenbrunnPalace. Might I trouble you to open the window, for chloroformvapour does not help the palate."
The safe was ajar, and Holmes standing in front of it wasremoving dossier after dossier, swiftly examining each, and thenpacking it neatly in Von Bork's valise. The German lay upon thesofa sleeping stertorously with a strap round his upper arms andanother round his legs.
"We need not hurry ourselves, Watson. We are safe frominterruption. Would you mind touching the bell? There is no one inthe house except old Martha, who has played her part to admiration.I got her the situation here when first I took the matter up. Ah,Martha, you will be glad to hear that all is well."
The pleasant old lady had appeared in the doorway. She curtseyedwith a smile to Mr. Holmes, but glanced with some apprehension atthe figure upon 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 hasbeen a kind master. He wanted me to go with his wife to Germanyyesterday, but that would hardly have suited your plans, would it,sir?"
"No, indeed, Martha. So long as you were here I was easy in mymind. 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 yourplans, sir, to find him here."
"No, indeed. Well, it only meant that we waited half an hour orso until I saw your lamp go out and knew that the coast was clear.You can report to me to-morrow in London, Martha, at Claridge'sHotel."
"Very good, sir."
"I suppose you have everything ready to leave."
"Yes, sir. He posted seven letters to-day. I have the addressesas usual."
"Very good, Martha. I will look into them to-morrow. Goodnight.These papers," he continued as the old lady vanished, "are not ofvery great importance, for, of course, the information which theyrepresent has been sent off long ago to the German government.These are the originals which cold not safely be got out of thecountry."
"Then they are of no use."
"I should not go so far as to say that, Watson. They will atleast show our people what is known and what is not. I may say thata good many of these papers have come through me, and I need notadd are thoroughly untrustworthy. It would brighten my decliningyears to see a German cruiser navigating the Solent according tothe mine-field plans which I have furnished. But you, Watson"--hestopped his work and took his old friend by the shoulders--"I'vehardly seen you in the light yet. How have the years used you? Youlook the same blithe boy as ever."
"I feel twenty years younger, Holmes. I have seldom felt sohappy as when I got your wire asking me to meet you at Harwich withthe car. But you, Holmes--you have changed very little-- save forthat horrible goatee."
"These are the sacrifices one makes for one's country, Watson,"said Holmes, pulling at his little tuft. "To-morrow it will be buta dreadful memory. With my hair cut and a few other superficialchanges I shall no doubt reappear at Claridge's tomorrow as I wasbefore this American stunt--I beg your pardon, Watson, my well ofEnglish seems to be permanently defiled-- before this American jobcame my way."
"But you have retired, Holmes. We heard of you as living thelife of a hermit among your bees and your books in a small farmupon the South Downs."
"Exactly, Watson. Here is the fruit of my leisured ease, themagnum opus of my latter years!" He picked up the volume from thetable and read out the whole title, Practical Handbook of BeeCulture, with Some Observations upon the Segregation of the Queen."Alone I did it. Behold the fruit of pensive nights and laboriousdays when I watched the little working gangs as once I watched thecriminal world of London."
"But how did you get to work again?"
"Ah, I have often marvelled at it myself. The Foreign Ministeralone I could have withstood, but when the Premier also deigned tovisit my humble roof--! The fact is, Watson, that this gentlemanupon the sofa was a bit too good for our people. He was in a classby himself. Things were going wrong, and no one could understandwhy they were going wrong. Agents were suspected or even caught,but there was evidence of some strong and secret central force. Itwas absolutely necessary to expose it. Strong pressure was broughtupon me to look into the matter. It has cost me two years, Watson,but they have not been devoid of excitement. When I say that Istarted my pilgrimage at Chicago, graduated in an Irish secretsociety at Buffalo, gave serious trouble to the constabulary atSkibbareen, and so eventually caught the eye of a subordinate agentof Von Bork, who recommended me as a likely man, you will realizethat the matter was complex. Since then I have been honoured by hisconfidence, which has not prevented most of his plans going subtlywrong and five of his best agents being in prison. I watched them,Watson, and I picked them as they ripened. Well, sir, I hope thatyou are none the worse!"
The last remark was addressed to Von Bork himself, who aftermuch gasping and blinking had lain quietly listening to Holmes'sstatement. He broke out now into a furious stream of Germaninvective, his face convulsed with passion. Holmes continued hisswift investigation of documents while his prisoner cursed andswore.
"Though unmusical, German is the most expressive of alllanguages," he observed when Von Bork had stopped from pureexhaustion. "Hullo! Hullo!" he added as he looked hard at thecorner of a tracing before putting it in the box. "This should putanother bird in the cage. I had no idea that the paymaster was sucha rascal, though I have long had an eye upon him. Mister Von Bork,you have a great deal to answer for."
The prisoner had raised himself with some difficulty upon thesofa and was staring with a strange mixture of amazement and hatredat his captor.
"I shall get level with you, Altamont," he said, speaking withslow deliberation. "If it takes me all my life I shall get levelwith you!"
"The old sweet song," said Holmes. "How often have I heard it indays gone by. It was a favorite ditty of the late lamentedProfessor Moriarty. Colonel Sebastian Moran has also been known towarble it. And yet I live and keep bees upon the South Downs."
"Curse you, you double traitor!" cried the German, strainingagainst his bonds and glaring murder from his furious eyes.
"No, no, it is not so bad as that," said Holmes, smiling. "As myspeech surely shows you, Mr. Altamont of Chicago had no existencein fact. I used him and he is gone."
"Then who are you?"
"It is really immaterial who I am, but since the matter seems tointerest you, Mr. Von Bork, I may say that this is not my firstacquaintance with the members of your family. I have done a gooddeal of business in Germany in the past and my name is probablyfamiliar to you."
"I would wish to know it," said the Prussian grimly.
"It was I who brought about the separation between Irene Adlerand the late King of Bohemia when your cousin Heinrich was theImperial Envoy. It was I also who saved from murder, by theNihilist Klopman, Count Von und Zu Grafenstein, who was yourmother's elder brother. It was I--"
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? Whathave I done? It is my ruin forever!"
"It is certainly a little untrustworthy," said Holmes. "It willrequire some checking and you have little time to check it. Youradmiral may find the new guns rather larger than he expects, andthe cruisers perhaps a trifle faster."
Von Bork clutched at his own throat in despair.
"There are a good many other points of detail which will, nodoubt, come to light in good time. But you have one quality whichis very rare in a German, Mr. Von Bork: you are a sportsman and youwill bear me no ill-will when you realize that you, who haveoutwitted so many other people, have at last been outwittedyourself. After all, you have done your best for your country, andI have done my best for mine, and what could be more natural?Besides," he added, not unkindly, as he laid his hand upon theshoulder of the prostrate man, "it is better than to fall beforesome ignoble foe. These papers are now ready, Watson. If you willhelp 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 walkedhim very slowly down the garden walk which he had trod with suchproud confidence when he received the congratulations of the famousdiplomatist only a few hours before. After a short, final strugglehe was hoisted, still bound hand and foot, into the spare seat ofthe little car. His precious valise was wedged in beside him.
"I trust that you are as comfortable as circumstances permit,"said Holmes when the final arrangements were made. "Should I beguilty of a liberty if I lit a cigar and placed it between yourlips?"
But all amenities were wasted upon the angry German.
"I suppose you realize, Mr. Sherlock Holmes," said he, "that ifyour government bears you out in this treatment it becomes an actof war."
"What about your government and all this treatment?" saidHolmes, tapping the valise.
"You are a private individual. You have no warrant for myarrest. The whole proceeding is absolutely illegal andoutrageous."
"Absolutely," said Holmes.
"Kidnapping a German subject."
"And stealing his private papers."
"Well, you realize your position, you and your accomplice here.If I were to shout for help as we pass through the village--"
"My dear sir, if you did anything so foolish you would probablyenlarge the two limited titles of our village inns by giving us'The Dangling Prussian' as a signpost. The Englishman is a patientcreature, but at present his temper is a little inflamed, and itwould be as well not to try him too far. No, Mr. Von Bork, you willgo with us in a quiet, sensible fashion to Scotland Yard, whenceyou can send for your friend, Baron Von Herling, and see if evennow you may not fill that place which he has reserved for you inthe ambassadorial suite. As to you, Watson, you are joining us withyour old service, as I understand, so London won't be out of yourway. 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 prisonervainly wriggled to undo the bonds that held him. As they turned tothe car Holmes pointed back to the moonlit sea and shook athoughtful head.
"There's 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.There's an east wind coming all the same, such a wind as never blewon England yet. It will be cold and bitter, Watson, and a good manyof us may wither before its blast. But it's God's own wind none theless, and a cleaner, better, stronger land will lie in the sunshinewhen the storm has cleared. Start her up, Watson, for it's timethat we were on our way. I have a check for five hundred poundswhich should be cashed early, for the drawer is quite capable ofstopping it if he can."
THE CASEBOOK OF SHERLOCK HOLMES
PREFACE
I fear that Mr. Sherlock Holmes may become like one of thosepopular tenors who, having outlived their time, are still temptedto make repeated farewell bows to their indulgent audiences. Thismust cease and he must go the way of all flesh, material orimaginary. One likes to think that there is some fantastic limbofor the children of imagination, some strange, impossible placewhere the beaux of Fielding may still make love to the belles ofRichardson, where Scott's heroes still may strut, Dickens'sdelightful Cockneys still raise a laugh, and Thackeray's worldlingscontinue to carry on their reprehensible careers. Perhaps in somehumble corner of such a Valhalla, Sherlock and his Watson may for atime find a place, while some more astute sleuth with some evenless astute comrade may fill the stage which they have vacated.
His career has been a long one--though it is possible toexaggerate it; decrepit gentlemen who approach me and declare thathis adventures formed the reading of their boyhood do not meet theresponse from me which they seem to expect. One is not anxious tohave one's personal dates handled so unkindly. As a matter of coldfact, Holmes made his debut in A Study in Scarlet and in The Signof Four, two small booklets which appeared between 1887 and 1889.It was in 1891 that "A Scandal in Bohemia," the first of the longseries of short stories, appeared in The Strand Magazine. Thepublic seemed appreciative and desirous of more, so that from thatdate, thirty-nine years ago, they have been produced in a brokenseries which now contains no fewer than fifty-six stories,republished in The Adventures, The Memoirs, The Return, and HisLast Bow. and there remain these twelve published during the lastfew years which are here produced under the title of The Case Bookof Sherlock Holmes. He began his adventures in the very heart ofthe later Victorian era, carried it through the all-too-short reignof Edward, and has managed to hold his own little niche even inthese feverish days. Thus it would be true to say that those whofirst read of him, as young men, have lived to see their owngrown-up children following the same adventures in the samemagazine. It is a striking example of the patience and loyalty ofthe British 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 bedirected too much into one channel. That pale, clear-cut face andloose-limbed figure were taking up an undue share of myimagination. I did the deed, but fortunately no coroner hadpronounced upon the remains, and so, after a long interval, it wasnot difficult for me to respond to the flattering demand and toexplain my rash act away. I have never regretted it, for I have notin actual practice found that these lighter sketches have preventedme from exploring and finding my limitations in such variedbranches of literature as history, poetry, historical novels,psychic research, and the drama. Had Holmes never existed I couldnot have done more, though he may perhaps have stood a little inthe way of the recognition of my more serious literary work.
And so, reader, farewell to Sherlock Holmes! I thank you foryour past constancy, and can but hope that some return has beenmade in the shape of that distraction from the worries of life andstimulating change of thought which can only be found in the fairykingdom of romance.
ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE.
ADVENTURE I. THE ADVENTURE OF THE MAZARIN STONE
It was pleasant to Dr. Watson to find himself once more in theuntidy room of the first floor in Baker Street which had been thestarting-point of so many remarkable adventures. He looked roundhim at the scientific charts upon the wall, the acid-charred benchof chemicals, the violin-case leaning in the corner, thecoal-scuttle, which contained of old the pipes and tobacco.Finally, his eyes came round to the fresh and smiling face ofBilly, the young but very wise and tactful page, who had helped alittle to fill up the gap of loneliness and isolation whichsurrounded the saturnine figure of the great detective.
"It all seems very unchanged, Billy. You don't change, either. Ihope the same can be said of him?"
Billy glanced with some solicitude at the closed door of thebedroom.
"I think he's in bed and asleep," he said.
It was seven in the evening of a lovely summer's day, but Dr.Watson was sufficiently familiar with the irregularity of his oldfriend's hours to feel no surprise at the idea.
"That means a case, I suppose?"
"Yes, sir, he is very hard at it just now. I'm frightened forhis health. He gets paler and thinner, and he eats nothing. 'Whenwill you be pleased to dine, Mr. Holmes?' Mrs. Hudson asked.'Seven-thirty, the day after to-morrow,' said he. You know his waywhen he is keen on a case."
"Yes, Billy, I know."
"He's following someone. Yesterday he was out as a workmanlooking for a job. To-day he was an old woman. Fairly took me in,he did, and I ought to know his ways by now." Billy pointed with agrin to a very baggy parasol which leaned against the sofa. "That'spart of the old woman's outfit," he said.
"But what is it all about, Billy?"
Billy sank his voice, as one who discusses great secrets ofState. "I don't mind telling you, sir, but it should go no farther.It's this case of the Crown diamond."
"What--the hundred-thousand-pound burglary?"
"Yes, sir. They must get it back, sir. Why, we had the PrimeMinister and the Home Secretary both sitting on that very sofa. Mr.Holmes was very nice to them. He soon put them at their ease andpromised he would do all he could. Then there is LordCantlemere--"
"Ah!"
"Yes, sir, you know what that means. He's a stiff'un, sir, if Imay say so. I can get along with the Prime Minister, and I'venothing against the Home Secretary, who seemed a civil, obligingsort of man, but I can't stand his Lordship. Neither can Mr.Holmes, sir. You see, he don't believe in Mr. Holmes and he wasagainst employing him. He'd rather he failed."
"And Mr. Holmes knows it?"
"Mr. Holmes always knows whatever there is to know."
"Well, we'll hope he won't fail and that Lord Cantlemere will beconfounded. But I say, Billy, what is that curtain for across thewindow?"
"Mr. Holmes had it put up there three days ago. We've gotsomething funny behind it."
Billy advanced and drew away the drapery which screened thealcove of 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 turnedthree-quarters towards the window and downward, as though readingan invisible book, while the body was sunk deep in an armchair.Billy detached the head and held it in the air.
"We put it at different angles, so that it may seem morelifelike. I wouldn't dare touch it if the blind were not down. Butwhen it's up you can see this from across the way."
"We used something of the sort once before."
"Before my time," said Billy. He drew the window curtains apartand looked out into the street. "There are folk who watch us fromover yonder. I can see a fellow now at the window. Have a look foryourself."
Watson had taken a step forward when the bedroom door opened,and the long, thin form of Holmes emerged, his face pale and drawn,but his step and bearing as active as ever. With a single spring hewas at the window, and had drawn the blind once more.
"That will do, Billy," said he. "You were in danger of your lifethen, my boy, and I can't do without you just yet. Well, Watson, itis good to see you in your old quarters once again. You come at acritical 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. I'm expecting something this evening."
"Expecting what?"
"To be murdered, Watson."
"No, no, you are joking, Holmes!"
"Even my limited sense of humour could evolve a better joke thanthat. But we may be comfortable in the meantime, may we not? Isalcohol permitted? The gasogene and cigars are in the old place.Let me see you once more in the customary armchair. You have not, Ihope, learned to despise my pipe and my lamentable tobacco? It hasto take the place of food 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 thebrain. I am a brain, Watson. The rest of me is a mere appendix.Therefore, it is the brain I must consider."
"But this danger, Holmes?"
"Ah. yes, in case it should come off, it would perhaps be aswell that you should burden your memory with the name and addressof the murderer. You can give it to Scotland Yard, with my love anda parting blessing. Sylvius is the name--Count Negretto Sylvius.Write it down, man, write it down! 136 Moorside Gardens, N. W. Gotit?"
Watson's honest face was twitching with anxiety. He knew onlytoo well the immense risks taken by Holmes and was well aware thatwhat he said was more likely to be under-statement thanexaggeration. Watson was always the man of action, and he rose tothe occasion.
"Count me in, Holmes. I have nothing to do for a day ortwo."
"Your morals don't improve, Watson. You have added fibbing toyour other vices. You bear every sign of the busy medical man, withcalls on him every hour."
"Not such important ones. But can't you have this fellowarrested?"
"Yes, Watson, I could. That's what worries him so."
"But why don't you?"
"Because I don't know where the diamond is."
"Ah! Billy told me--the missing Crown jewel!"
"Yes, the great yellow Mazarin stone. I've cast my net and Ihave my fish. But I have not got the stone. What is the use oftaking them? We can make the world a better place by laying them bythe heels. But that is not what I am out for. It's the stone Iwant."
"And is this Count Sylvius one of your fish?"
"Yes, and he's a shark. He bites. The other is Sam Merton theboxer. Not a bad fellow, Sam, but the Count has used him. Sam's nota shark. He is a great big silly bull-headed gudgeon. But he isflopping about in my net all the same."
"Where is this Count Sylvius?"
"I've been at his very elbow all the morning. You've seen me asan old lady, Watson. I was never more convincing. He actuallypicked up my parasol for me once. 'By your leave, madame,' saidhe--half-ltalian, you know, and with the Southern graces of mannerwhen in the mood, but a devil incarnate in the other mood. Life isfull of whimsical happenings, Watson."
"It might have been tragedy."
"Well, perhaps it might. I followed him to old Straubenzee'sworkshop in the Minories. Straubenzee made the air-gun--a verypretty bit of work, as I understand, and I rather fancy it is inthe opposite window at the present moment. Have you seen the dummy?Of course, Billy showed it to you. Well, it may get a bulletthrough its beautiful head at any moment. Ah, Billy, what isit?"
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 reputationas a shooter of big game. It would indeed be a triumphant ending tohis excellent sporting record if he added me to his bag. This is aproof that he feels my toe very close behind his heel."
"Send for the police."
"I probably shall. But not just yet. Would you glance carefullyout of the window, Watson, and see if anyone is hanging about inthe street?"
Watson looked warily round the edge of the curtain.
"Yes, there is one rough fellow near the door."
"That will be Sam Merton--the faithful but rather fatuous Sam.Where is 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 turnedearnestly to his companion.
"Look here, Holmes, this is simply impossible. This is adesperate man, who sticks at nothing. He may have come to murderyou."
"I should not be surprised."
"I insist upon staying with you."
"You would be horribly in the way."
"In his way?"
"No, my dear fellow--in my way."
"Well, I can't possibly leave you."
"Yes, you can, Watson. And you will, for you have never failedto play the game. I am sure you will play it to the end. This manhas come for his own purpose, but he may stay for mine."
Holmes took out his notebook and scribbled a few lines. "Take acab to Scotland Yard and give this to Youghal of the C. I. D. Comeback with the police. The fellow's arrest will follow."
"I'll do that with joy.
"Before you return I may have just time enough to find out wherethe stone is." He touched the bell. "I think we will go out throughthe bedroom. This second exit is exceedingly useful. I rather wantto see my shark without his seeing me, and I have, as you willremember, my own way of doing it."
It was, therefore, an empty room into which Billy, a minutelater, ushered Count Sylvius. The famous game-shot, sportsman, andman-about-town was a big, swarthy fellow, with a formidable darkmoustache shading a cruel, thin-lipped mouth, and surmounted by along, curved nose like the beak of an eagle. He was well dressed,but his brilliant necktie, shining pin, and glittering rings wereflamboyant in their effect. As the door closed behind him he lookedround him with fierce, startled eyes, like one who suspects a trapat every turn. Then he gave a violent start as he saw the impassivehead and the collar of the dressing-gown which projected above thearmchair in the window. At first his expression was one of pureamazement. Then the light of a horrible hope gleamed in his dark,murderous eyes. He took one more glance round to see that therewere no witnesses, and then, on tiptoe, his thick stick halfraised, he approached the silent figure. He was crouching for hisfinal spring and blow when a cool, sardonic voice greeted him fromthe open bedroom door:
"Don't break it, Count! Don't break it!"
The assassin staggered back, amazement in his convulsed face.For an instant he half raised his loaded cane once more, as if hewould turn his violence from the effigy to the original; but therewas something in that steady gray eye and mocking smile whichcaused his hand to sink to his side.
"It's a pretty little thing," said Holmes, advancing towards theimage. "Tavernier, the French modeller, made it. He is as good atwaxworks as your 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 takea seat. Would you care to put your revolver out also? Oh, verygood, if you prefer to sit upon it. Your visit is really mostopportune, for I wanted badly to have a few minutes' chat withyou."
The Count scowled, with heavy, threatening eyebrows.
"I, too, wished to have some words with you, Holmes. That is whyI am here. I won't deny that I intended to assault you justnow."
Holmes swung his leg on the edge of the table.
"I rather gathered that you had some idea of the sort in yourhead," said he. "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 wouldkindly give me my prefix when you address me. You can understandthat, with my routine of work, I should find myself on familiarterms with half the rogues' gallery, and you will agree thatexceptions are invidious."
"Well, Mr. Holmes, then."
"Excellent! But I assure you you are mistaken about my allegedagents."
Count Sylvius laughed contemptuously.
"Other people can observe as well as you. Yesterday there was anold sporting man. To-day it was an elderly woman. They held me inview all day."
"Really, sir, you compliment me. Old Baron Dowson said the nightbefore he was hanged that in my case what the law had gained thestage had lost. And now you give my little impersonations yourkindly praise?"
"It was you--you yourself?"
Holmes shrugged his shoulders. "You can see in the corner theparasol which you so politely handed to me in the Minories beforeyou began to suspect."
"If I had known, you might never--"
"Have seen this humble home again. I was well aware of it. Weall have neglected opportunities to deplore. As it happens, you didnot know, so here we are!"
The Count's knotted brows gathered more heavily over hismenacing eyes. "What you say only makes the matter worse. It wasnot your agents but your play-acting, busybody self! You admit thatyou have dogged me. Why?"
"Come now, Count. You used to shoot lions in Algeria."
"Well?"
"But why?"
"Why? The sport--the excitement--the 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 movedback to his hip-pocket.
"Sit down, sir, sit down! There was another, more practical,reason. I want 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 youare here to-night is to find out how much I know about the matterand how far my removal is absolutely essential. Well, I should saythat, from your point of view, it is absolutely essential, for Iknow all about it, save only one thing, which you are about to tellme."
"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 lell you where itis?"
"You can, and you will."
"Indeed!"
"You can't bluff me, Count Sylvius." Holmes's eyes, as he gazedat him, contracted and lightened until they were like two menacingpoints of steel. "You are absolute plate-glass. I see to the veryback of your mind."
"Then, of course, you see where the diamond is!"
Holmes clapped his hands with amusement, and then pointed aderisive finger. "Then you do know. You have admitted it!"
"I admit nothing."
"Now, Count, if you will be reasonable we can do business. Ifnot, you will get hurt."
Count Sylvius threw up his eyes to the ceiling. "And you talkabout bluff!" said he.
Holmes looked at him thoughtfully like a master chess-player whomeditates his crowning move. Then he threw open the table drawerand drew 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 here--every action of yor vile anddangerous life."
"Damn you, Holmes!" cried the Count with blazing eyes. "Thereare limits to my patience!"
"It's all here, Count. The real facts as to the death of oldMrs. Harold, who left you the Blymer estate, which you so rapidlygambled away."
"You are dreaming!"
"And the complete life history of Miss Minnie Warrender."
"Tut! You will make nothing of that!"
"Plenty more here, Count. Here is the robbery in the trainde-luxe to the Riviera on February 13, 1892. Here is the forgedcheck in the same year on the Credit Lyonnais."
"No, you're wrong there."
"Then I am right on the others! Now, Count, you are acard-player. When the other fellow has all the trumps, it savestime to throw down your hand."
"What has all this talk to do with the jewel of which youspoke?"
"Gently, Count. Restrain that eager mind! Let me get to thepoints in my own humdrum fashion. I have all this against you; but,above all, I have a clear case against both you and your fightingbully in the case of the 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 thecase. I have Ikey Sanders, who refused to cut it up for you. Ikeyhas peached, and the game is up."
The veins stood out on the Count's forehead. His dark, hairyhands were clenched in a convulsion of restrained emotion. He triedto speak, but the words would not shape themselves.
"That's the hand I play from," said Holmes. "I put it all uponthe table. But one card is missing. It's the king of diamonds. Idon't know where the stone is."
"You never shall know."
"No? Now, be reasonable, Count. Consider the situation. You aregoing to be locked up for twenty years. So is Sam Merton. What goodare you going to get out of your diamond? None in the world. But ifyou hand it over--well, I'll compound a felony. We don't want youor Sam. We want the stone. Give that up, and so far as I amconcerned you can go free so long as you behave yourself in thefuture. If you make another slip well, it will be the last. Butthis time my commission is to get the stone, not you."
"But if I refuse?"
"Why, then--alas!--it 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 friendSam at this conference. After all, his interests should berepresented. Billy, you will see a large and ugly gentleman outsidethe front door. Ask him to come up."
"If he won't come, sir?"
"No violence, Billy. Don't be rough with him. If you tell himthat Count Sylvius wants him he will certainly come."
"What are you going to do now?" asked the Count as Billydisappeared.
"My friend Watson was with me just now. I told him that I had ashark and a gudgeon in my net; now I am drawing the net and up theycome together."
The Count had risen from his chair, and his hand was behind hisback. Holmes held something half protruding from the pocket of hisdressing-gown.
"You won't die in your bed, Holmes."
"I have often had the same idea. Does it matter very much? Aherall, Count, your own exit is more likely to be perpendicular thanhorizontal. But these anticipations of the future are morbid. Whynot give ourselves up to the unrestrained enjoyment of thepresent?"
A sudden wild-beast light sprang up in the dark, menacing eyesof the master criminal. Holmes's figure seemed to grow taller as hegrew tense and ready.
"It is no use your fingering your revolver, my friend," he saidin a quiet voice. "You know perfectly well that you dare not useit, even if I gave you time to draw it. Nasty, noisy things,revolvers, Count. Better stick to air-guns. Ah! I think I hear thefairy footstep of your estimable partner. 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, lookingabout him with a puzzled expression. Holmes's debonair manner was anew experience, and though he vaguely felt that it was hostile, hedid not know how to counter it. He turned to his more astutecomrade for help.
"What's the game now, Count? What's this fellow want? What'sup?" His voice was deep and raucous.
The Count shrugged his shoulders, and it was Holmes whoanswered.
"If I may put it in a nutshell, Mr. Merton, I should say it wasall up."
The boxer still addressed his remarks to his associate.
"Is this cove trying to be funny, or what? I'm not in the funnymood myself."
"No, I expect not," said Holmes. "I think I can promise you thatyou will feel even less humorous as the evening advances. Now, lookhere, Count Sylvius. I'm a busy man and I can't waste time. I'mgoing into that bedroom. Pray make yourselves quite at home in myabsence. You can explain to your friend how the matter lies withoutthe restraint of my presence. I shall try over the Hoffman'Barcarole' upon my violin. In five minutes I shall return for yourfinal answer. You quite grasp the alternative, do you not? Shall wetake you, or shall we have the stone?"
Holmes withdrew, picking up his violin from the corner as hepassed. A few moments later the long-drawn, wailing notes of thatmost haunting of tunes came faintly through the closed door of thebedroom.
"What is it, then?" asked Merton anxiously as his companionturned to him. "Does he know about the stone?"
"He knows a damned sight too much about it. I'm not sure that hedoesn't know all about it."
"Good Lord!" The boxer's sallow face turned a shade whiter.
"Ikey Sanders has split on us."
"He has, has he? I'll do him down a thick 'un for that if Iswing for it."
"That won't help us much. We've got to make up our minds what todo."
"Half a mo'," said the boxer, looking suspiciously at thebedroom door. "He's a leary cove that wants watching. I supposehe's not listening?"
"How can he be listening with that music going?"
"That's right. Maybe somebody's behind a curtain. Too manycurtains in this room." As he looked round he suddenly saw for thefirst time the effigy in the window, and stood staring andpointing, too amazed for words.
"Tut! it's only a dummy," said the Count.
"A fake, is it? Well, strike me! Madame Tussaud ain't in it.It's the living spit of him, gown and all. But them curtainsCount!"
"Oh, confound the curtains! We are wasting our time, and thereis none too much. He can lag us over this stone."
"The deuce he can!"
"But he'll let us slip if we only tell him where the swagis."
"What! Give it up? Give up a hundred thousand quid?"
"It's one or the other."
Merton scratched his short-cropped pate.
"He's alone in there. Let's 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 awayin a place like this. Besides, it's likely enough that the policeknow whatever evidence 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 strangefigure seated in the chair, the room was certainly empty.
"Something in the street," said Merton. "Now look here, guv'nor,you've got the brains. Surely you can think a way out of it. Ifslugging is no use then it's up to you."
"I've fooled better men than he," the Count answered. "The stoneis here in my secret pocket. I take no chances leaving it about. Itcan be out of England to-night and cut into four pieces inAmsterdam 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 otherof us must slip round with the stone to Lime Street and tellhim."
"But the false bottom ain't ready."
"Well, he must take it as it is and chance it. There's not amoment to lose." Again, with the sense of danger which becomes aninstinct with the sportsman, he paused and looked hard at thewindow. Yes, it was surely from the street that the faint sound hadcome.
"As to Holmes," he continued, "we can fool him easily enough.You see, the damned fool won't arrest us if he can get the stone.Well, we'll promise him the stone. We'll put him on the wrong trackabout it, and before he finds that it is the wrong track it will bein Holland and we out of 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. I'll seethis sucker and fill him up with a bogus confession. I'll tell himthat the stone is in Liverpool. Confound that whining music; itgets on my nerves! By the time he finds it isn't in Liverpool itwill be in quarters and we on the blue water. Come back here, outof a line with that keyhole. Here is the stone."
"I wonder you dare carry it."
"Where could I have it safer? If we could take it out ofWhitehall someone else could surely take it out of mylodgings."
"Let's have a look at it."
Count Sylvius cast a somewhat unflattering glance at hisassociate and disregarded the unwashed hand which was extendedtowards him.
"What--d'ye think I'm going to snatch it off you? See here,mister, I'm getting a bit tired of your ways."
"Well, well, no offence, Sam. We can't afford to quarrel. Comeover to the window if you want to see the beauty properly. Now holdit to the light! Here!"
"Thank you!"
With a single spring Holmes had leaped from the dummy's chairand had grasped the precious jewel. He held it now in one hand,while his other pointed a revolver at the Count's head. The twovillains staggered back in utter amazement. Before they hadrecovered Holmes had pressed the electric bell.
"No violence, gentlemen--no violence, I beg of you! Consider thefurniture! It must be very clear to you that your position is animpossible one. The police are waiting below."
The Count's bewilderment overmastered his rage and fear.
"But how the deuce--?" he gasped.
"Your surprise is very natural. You are not aware that a seconddoor from my bedroom leads behind that curtain. I fancied that youmust have heard me when I displaced the figure, but luck was on myside. It gave me a chance of listening to your racy conversationwhich would have been painfully constrained had you been aware ofmy presence."
The Count gave a gesture of resignation.
"We give you best, Holmes. I believe you are the devilhimself."
"Not far from him, at any rate," Holmes answered with a politesmile.
Sam Merton's slow intellect had only gradually appreciated thesituation. Now, as the sound of heavy steps came from the stairsoutside, he broke silence at last.
"A fair cop!" said he. "But, I say, what about that bloomin'fiddle! I hear it yet."
"Tut, tut!" Holmes answered. "You are perfectly right. Let itplay! These modern gramophones are a remarkable invention."
There was an inrush of police, the handcuffs clicked and thecriminals were led to the waiting cab. Watson lingered with Holmes,congratulating him upon this fresh leaf added to his laurels. Oncemore their conversation was interrupted by the imperturbable Billywith his card-tray.
"Lord Cantlemere sir."
"Show him up, Billy. This is the eminent peer who represents thevery highest interests," said Holmes. "He is an excellent and loyalperson, but rather of the old regime. Shall we make him unbend?Dare we venture upon a slight liberty? He knows, we may conjecture,nothing of what has occurred."
The door opened to admit a thin, austere figure with a hatchetface and drooping mid-Victorian whiskers of a glossy blacknesswhich hardly corresponded with the rounded shoulders and feeblegait. Holmes advanced affably, and shook an unresponsive hand.
"How do you do, Lord Cantlemere? It is chilly for the time ofyear, but rather 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 havesimply looked in to know how your self-appointed task wasprogressing."
"It is difficult--very difficult."
"I feared that you would find it so."
There was a distinct sneer in the old courtier's words andmanner.
"Every man finds his limitations, Mr. Holmes, but at least itcures us of the weakness of self-satisfaction."
"Yes, sir, I have been much perplexed."
"No doubt."
"Especially upon one point. Possibly you could help me upon
"You apply for my advice rather late in the day. I thought thatyou had your own all-sufficient methods. Still, I am ready to helpyou."
"You see, Lord Cantlemere, we can no doubt frame a case againstthe actual thieves."
"When you have caught them."
"Exactly. But the question is--how shall we proceed against thereceiver?"
"Is this not rather premature?"
"It is as well to have our plans ready. Now, what would youregard as final 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 friendWatson could remember.
"In that case, my dear sir, I shall be under the painfulnecessity of advising your arrest."
Lord Cantlemere was very angry. Some of the ancient firesflickered up into his sallow cheeks.
"You take a great liberty, Mr. Holmes. In fifty years ofofficial life I cannot recall such a case. I am a busy man, sirengaged upon important affairs, and I have no time or taste forfoolish jokes. I may tell you frankly, sir, that I have never beena believer in your powers, and that I have always been of theopinion that the matter was far safer in the hands of the regularpolice force. Your conduct confirms all my conclusions. I have thehonour, sir, to wish you good-evening."
Holmes had swiftly changed his position and was between the peerand the door.
"One moment, sir," said he. "To actually go off with the Mazarinstone would be a more serious offence than to be found in temporarypossession of it."
"Sir, this is intolerable! Let me pass."
"Put your hand in the right-hand pocket of your overcoat."
"What do you mean, sir?"
"Come--come, 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 oldfriend here will tell you that I have an impish habit of practicaljoking. Also that I can never resist a dramatic situation. I tookthe liberty--the very great liberty, I admit--of putting the stoneinto your pocket at the beginning of our interview."
The old peer stared from the stone to the smiling face beforehim.
"Sir, I am bewildered. But--yes--it is indeed the Mazarin stone.We are greatly your debtors, Mr. Holmes. Your sense of humour may,as you admit, be somewhat perverted, and its exhibition remarkablyuntimely, but at least I withdraw any reflection I have made uponyour amazing professional powers. But how--"
"The case is but half finished; the details can wait. No doubt,Lord Cantlemere, your pleasure in telling of this successful resultin the exalted circle to which you return will be some smallatonement for my practical joke. Billy, you will show his Lordshipout, and tell Mrs. Hudson that I should be glad if she would sendup dinner for two as soon as possible."
ADVENTURE II. THE PROBLEM OF THOR BRIDGE
Somewhere in the vaults of the bank of Cox and Co., at CharingCross, there is a travel-worn and battered tin dispatchbox with myname, John H. Watson, M. D., Late Indian Army, painted upon thelid. It is crammed with papers, nearly all of which are records ofcases to illustrate the curious problems which Mr. Sherlock Holmeshad at various times to examine. Some, and not the leastinteresting, were complete failures, and as such will hardly bearnarrating, since no final explanation is forthcoming. A problemwithout a solution may interest the student, but can hardly fail toannoy the casual reader. Among these unfinished tales is that ofMr. James Phillimore, who, stepping back into his own house to gethis umbrella, was never more seen in this world. No less remarkableis that of the cutter Alicia, which sailed one spring morning intoa small patch of mist from where she never again emerged, nor wasanything further ever heard of herself and her crew. A third caseworthy of note is that of Isadora Persano, the well-knownjournalist and duellist, who was found stark staring mad with amatch box in front of him which contained a remarkable worm said tobe unknown to science. Apart from these unfathomed cases, there aresome which involve the secrets of private families to an extentwhich would mean consternation in many exalted quarters if it werethought possible that they might find their way into print. I neednot say that such a breach of confidence is unthinkable, and thatthese records will be separated and destroyed now that my friendhas time to turn his energies to the matter. There remain aconsiderable residue of cases of greater or less interest which Imight have edited before had I not feared to give the public asurfeit which might react upon the reputation of the man whom aboveall others I revere. In some I was myself concerned and can speakas an eye-witness, while in others I was either not present orplayed so small a part that they could only be told as by a thirdperson. The following narrative is drawn from my ownexperience.
It was a wild morning in October, and I observed as I wasdressing how the last remaining leaves were being whirled from thesolitary plane tree which graces the yard behind our house. Idescended to breakfast prepared to find my companion in depressedspirits, for, like all great artists, he was easily impressed byhis surroundings. On the contrary, I found that he had nearlyfinished his meal, and that his mood was particularly bright andjoyous, with that somewhat sinister cheerfulness which wascharacteristic 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 acase. After a month of trivialities and stagnation the wheels moveonce 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 copyof the Family Herald which I observed yesterday upon thehall-table. Even so trivial a matter as cooking an egg demands anattention which is conscious of the passage of time andincompatible with the love romance in that excellentperiodical."
A quarter of an hour later the table had been cleared and wewere face to 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 betterknown as the greatest gold-mining magnate in the world."
"Yes, I know of him. He has surely lived in England for sometime. His name is very familiar."
"Yes, he bought a considerable estate in Hampshire some fiveyears ago. Possibly you have already heard of the tragic end of hiswife?"
"Of course. I remember it now. That is why the name is familiar.But I really know nothing of the details."
Holmes waved his hand towards some papers on a chair. "I had noidea that the case was coming my way or I should have had myextracts ready," said he. "The fact is that the problem, thoughexceedingly sensational, appeared to present no difficulty. Theinteresting personality of the accused does not obscure theclearness of the evidence. That was the view taken by the coroner'sjury and also in the police-court proceedings. It is now referredto the Assizes at Winchester. I fear it is a thankless business. Ican discover facts, Watson, but I cannot change them. Unless someentirely new and unexpected ones come to light I do not see what myclient can hope for."
"Your client?"
"Ah, I forgot I had not told you. I am getting into yourinvolved habit, Watson, of telling a story backward. You had bestread this first."
The letter which he handed to me, written in a bold, masterfulhand, ran as follows:
CLARIDGE'S HOTEL,
October 3rd.
DEAR MR. SHERLOCK HOLMES:
I can't see the best woman God ever made go to her death withoutdoing all that is possible to save her. I can't explain things--Ican't even try to explain them, but I know beyond all doubt thatMiss Dunbar is innocent. You know the facts--who doesn't? It hasbeen the gossip of the country. And never a voice raised for her!It's the damned injustice of it all that makes me crazy. That womanhas a heart that wouldn't let her kill a fly. Well, I'll come ateleven to-morrow and see if you can get some ray of light in thedark. Maybe I have a clue and don't know it. Anyhow, all I know andall I have and all I am are for your use if only you can save her.If ever in your life you showed your powers, put them now into thiscase.
Yours faithfully,
J. NEIL GIBSON.
"There you have it," said Sherlock Holmes, knocking out theashes of his after-breakfast pipe and slowly refilling it. "That isthe gentleman I await. As to the story, you have hardly time tomaster all these papers, so I must give it to you in a nutshell ifyou are to take an intelligent interest in the proceedings. Thisman is the greatest financial power in the world, and a man, as Iunderstand, of most violent and formidable character. He married awife, the victim of this tragedy, of whom I know nothing save thatshe was past her prime, which was the more unfortunate as a veryattractive governess superintended the education of two youngchildren. These are the three people concerned, and the scene is agrand old manor house, the centre of a historical English state.Then as to the tragedy. The wife was found in the grounds nearlyhalf a mile from the house, late at night, clad in her dinnerdress, with a shawl over her shoulders and a revolver bulletthrough her brain. No weapon was found near her and there was nolocal clue as to the murder. No weapon near her, Watson--mark that!The crime seems to have been committed late in the evening, and thebody was found by a gamekeeper about eleven o'clock, when it wasexamined by the police and by a doctor before being carried up tothe house. Is this too condensed, or can you follow itclearly?"
"It is all very clear. But why suspect the governess?"
"Well, in the first place there is some very direct evidence. Arevolver with one discharged chamber and a calibre whichcorresponded with the bullet was found on the floor of herwardrobe." His eyes fixed and he repeated in broken words,"On--the--floor--of--her-- wardrobe." Then he sank into silence,and I saw that some train of thought had been set moving which Ishould be foolish to interrupt. Suddenly with a start he emergedinto brisk life once more. "Yes, Watson, it was found. Prettydamning, eh? So the two juries thought. Then the dead woman had anote upon her making an appointment at that very place and signedby the governess. How's that? Finally there is the motive. SenatorGibson is an attractive person. If his wife dies, who more likelyto succeed her than the young lady who had already by all accountsreceived pressing attentions from her employer? Love, fortune,power, all depending upon one middleaged life. Ugly, Watson-- veryugly!"
"Yes, indeed, Holmes."
"Nor could she prove an alibi. On the contrary, she had to admitthat she was down near Thor Bridge--that was the scene of thetragedy-- about that hour. She couldn't deny it, for some passingvillager had seen her there."
"That really seems final."
"And yet, Watson--and yet! This bridge--a single broad span ofstone with balustraded sides--carries the drive over the narrowestpart of a long, deep, reed-girt sheet of water. Thor Mere it iscalled. In the mouth of the bridge lay the dead woman. Such are themain facts. But here, if I mistake not, is our client, considerablybefore his time."
Billy had opened the door, but the name which he announced wasan unexpected one. Mr. Marlow Bates was a stranger to both of us.He was a thin, nervous wisp of a man with frightened eyes and atwitching, hesitating manner--a man whom my own professional eyewould judge to be on the brink of an absolute nervousbreakdown.
"You seem agitated, Mr. Bates," said Holmes. "Pray sit down. Ifear I can only give you a short time, for I have an appointment ateleven."
"I know you have," our visitor gasped, shooting out shortsentences like a man who is out of breath. "Mr. Gibson is coming.Mr. Gibson is my employer. I am manager of his estate. Mr. Holmes,he is a villain-- an infernal villain."
"Strong language, Mr. Bates."
"I have to be emphatic, Mr. Holmes, for the time is so limited.I would not have him find me here for the world. He is almost duenow. But I was so situated that I could not come earlier. Hissecretary, Mr. Ferguson, only told me this morning of hisappointment with you."
"And you are his manager?"
"I have given him notice. In a couple of weeks I shall haveshaken off his accursed slavery. A hard man, Mr. Holmes, hard toall about him. Those public charities are a screen to cover hisprivate iniquities. But his wife was his chief victim. He wasbrutal to her--yes, sir, brutal! How she came by her death I do notknow, but I am sure that he had made her life a misery to her. Shewas a creature of the tropics, a Brazilian by birth, as no doubtyou know."
"No, it had escaped me."
"Tropical by birth and tropical by nature. A child of the sunand of passion. She had loved him as such women can love, but whenher own physical charms had faded--I am told that they once weregreat-- there was nothing to hold him. We all liked her and feltfor her and hated him for the way that he treated her. But he isplausible and cunning. That is all I have to say to you. Don't takehim at his face value. There is more behind. Now I'll go. No, no,don't detain me! He is almost due."
With a frightened look at the clock our strange visitorliterally ran to the door and disappeared.
"Well! Well!" said Holmes after an interval of silence. "Mr.Gibson seems to have a nice loyal household. But the warning is auseful one, and now we can only wait till the man himselfappears."
Sharp at the hour we heard a heavy step upon the stairs, and thefamous millionaire was shown into the room. As I looked upon him Iunderstood not only the fears and dislike of his manager but alsothe execrations which so many business rivals have heaped upon hishead. If I were a sculptor and desired to idealize the successfulman of affairs, iron of nerve and leathery of conscience, I shouldchoose Mr. Neil Gibson as my model. His tall, gaunt, craggy figurehad a suggestion of hunger and rapacity. An Abraham Lincoln keyedto base uses instead of high ones would give some idea of the man.His face might have been chiselled in granite, hard-set, craggy,remorseless, with deep lines upon it, the scars of many a crisis.Cold gray eyes, looking shrewdly out from under bristling brows,surveyed us each in turn. He bowed in perfunctory fashion as Holmesmentioned my name, and then with a masterful air of possession hedrew 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 isnothing to me in this case. You can burn it if it's any use inlighting you to the truth. This woman is innocent and this womanhas to be cleared, and it's up to you to do it. Name yourfigure!"
"My professional charges are upon a fixed scale," said Holmescoldly. "I do not vary them, save when I remit themaltogether."
"Well, if dollars make no difference to you, think of thereputation. If you pull this off every paper in England and Americawill be booming you. You'll be the talk of two continents."
"Thank you, Mr. Gibson, I do not think that I am in need ofbooming. It may surprise you to know that I prefer to workanonymously, and that it is the problem itself which attracts me.But we are wasting time. Let us get down to the facts."
"I think that you will find all the main ones in the pressreports. I don't know that I can add anything which will help you.But if there is anything you would wish more light upon--well, I amhere 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.Then his massive calm came back to him.
"I suppose you are within your rights--and maybe doing yourduty-- in asking such a question, Mr. Holmes."
"We will agree to suppose so," said Holmes.
"Then I can assure you that our relations were entirely andalways those of an employer towards a young lady whom he neverconversed with, or ever saw, save when she was in the company ofhis children."
Holmes rose from his chair.
"I am a rather busy man, Mr. Gibson," said he, "and I have notime or taste for aimless conversations. I wish yougoodmorning."
Our visitor had risen also, and his great loose figure toweredabove Holmes. 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 dismissmy case?"
"Well, Mr. Gibson, at least I dismiss you. I should have thoughtmy words were plain."
"Plain enough, but what's at the back of it? Raising the priceon me, or afraid to tackle it, or what? I've a right to a plainanswer."
"Well, perhaps you have," said Holmes. "I'll give you one. Thiscase is quite sufficiently complicated to start with without thefurther difficulty of false information."
"Meaning that I lie."
"Well, I was trying to express it as delicately as I could, butif you insist upon the word I will not contradict you."
I sprang to my feet, for the expression upon the millionaire'sface was fiendish in its intensity, and he had raised his greatknotted fist. Holmes smiled languidly and reached his hand out forhis pipe.
"Don't be noisy, Mr. Gibson. I find that after breakfast eventhe smallest argument is unsettling. I suggest that a stroll in themorning air and a little quiet thought will be greatly to youradvantage."
With an effort the Gold King mastered his fury. I could not butadmire him, for by a supreme self-command he had turned in a minutefrom a hot flame of anger to a frigid and contemptuousindifference.
"Well, it's your choice. I guess you know how to run your ownbusiness. I can't make you touch the case against your will. You'vedone yourself no good this morning, Mr. Holmes, for I have brokenstronger men than you. No man ever crossed me and was the betterfor 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 tolearn."
Our visitor made a noisy exit, but Holmes smoked inimperturbable silence 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 isa man who would certainly brush any obstacle from his path, andwhen I remember that his wife may have been an obstacle and anobject of dislike, as that man Bates plainly told us, it seems tome--"
"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 itwith his self-contained manner and appearance, it was pretty clearthat there was some deep emotion which centred upon the accusedwoman rather than upon the victim. We've got to understand theexact relations of those three people if we are to reach the truth.You saw the frontal attack which I made upon him, and howimperturbably he received it. Then I bluffed him by giving him theimpression that I was absolutely certain, when in reality I wasonly extremely suspicious."
"Perhaps he will come back?"
"He is sure to come back. He must come back. He can't leave itwhere it is. Ha! isn't that a ring? Yes, there is his footstep.Well, Mr. Gibson, I was just saying to Dr. Watson that you weresomewhat overdue."
The Gold King had reentered the room in a more chastened moodthan he had left it. His wounded pride still showed in hisresentful eyes, but his common sense had shown him that he mustyield if he would attain his end.
"I've been thinking it over, Mr. Holmes, and I feel that I havebeen hasty in taking your remarks amiss. You are justified ingetting down to the facts, whatever they may be, and I think themore of you for it. I can assure you, however, that the relationsbetween Miss Dunbar and me don't really touch this case."
"That is for me to decide, is it not?"
"Yes, I guess that is so. You're like a surgeon who wants everysymptom before he can give his diagnosis."
"Exactly. That expresses it. And it is only a patient who has anobject in deceiving his surgeon who would conceal the facts of hiscase."
"That may be so, but you will admit, Mr. Holmes, that most menwould shy off a bit when they are asked point-blank what theirrelations with a woman may be--if there is really some seriousfeeling in the case. I guess most men have a little private reserveof their own in some corner of their souls where they don't welcomeintruders. And you burst suddenly into it. But the object excusesyou, since it was to try and save her. Well, the stakes are downand the reserve open, and you can explore where you will. What isit you want?"
"The truth."
The Gold King paused for a moment as one who marshals histhoughts. His grim, deep-lined face had become even sadder and moregrave.
"I can give it to you in a very few words, Mr. Holmes," said heat last. "There are some things that are painful as well asdifficult to say, so I won't go deeper than is needful. I met mywife when I was gold-hunting in Brazil. Maria Pinto was thedaughter of a government official at Manaos, and she was verybeautiful. I was young and ardent in those days, but even now, as Ilook back with colder blood and a more critical eye, I can see thatshe was rare and wonderful in her beauty. It was a deep richnature, too, passionate, whole-hearted, tropical, ill-balanced,very different from the American women whom I had known. Well, tomake a long story short, I loved her and I married her. It was onlywhen the romance had passed--and it lingered for years--that Irealized that we had nothing--absolutely nothing-- in common. Mylove faded. If hers had faded also it might have been easier. Butyou know the wonderful way of women! Do what I might, nothing couldturn her from me. If I have been harsh to her, even brutal as somehave said, it has been because I knew that if I could kill herlove, or if it turned to hate, it would be easier for both of us.But nothing changed her. She adored me in those English woods asshe had adored me twenty years ago on the banks of the Amazon. Dowhat 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 herportrait in the papers. The whole world has proclaimed that shealso is a very beautiful woman. Now, I make no pretence to be moremoral than my neighbours, and I will admit to you that I could notlive under the same roof with such a woman and in daily contactwith her without feeling a passionate regard for her. Do you blameme, Mr. Holmes?"
"I do not blame you for feeling it. I should blame you if youexpressed it, since this young lady was in a sense under yourprotection."
"Well, maybe so," said the millionaire, though for a moment thereproof had brought the old angry gleam into his eyes. "I'm notpretending to be any better than I am. I guess all my life I'vebeen a man that reached out his hand for what he wanted, and Inever wanted anything more than the love and possession of thatwoman. 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 itwas out of my power. I said that money was no object and that all Icould do to make her happy 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 on a question of morals. I'm not asking for yourcriticism."
"It is only for the young lady's sake that I touch your case atall," said Holmes sternly. "I don't know that anything she isaccused of is really worse than what you have yourself admitted,that you have tried to ruin a defenceless girl who was under yourroof. Some of you rich men have to be taught that all the worldcannot be bribed into condoning your offences."
To my surprise the Gold King took the reproof withequanimity.
"That's how I feel myself about it now. I thank God that myplans did not work out as I intended. She would have none of it,and she wanted to leave the house instantly."
"Why did she not?"
"Well, in the first place, others were dependent upon her, andit was no light matter for her to let them all down by sacrificingher living. When I had sworn--as I did--that she should never bemolested again, she consented to remain. But there was anotherreason. She knew the influence she had over me, and that it wasstronger than any other influence in the world. She wanted to useit for good."
"How?"
"Well, she knew something of my affairs. They are large, Mr.Holmes-- large beyond the belief of an ordinary man. I can make orbreak--and it is usually break. It wasn't individuals only. It wascommunities, cities, even nations. Business is a hard game, and theweak go to the wall. I played the game for all it was worth. Inever squealed myself, and I never cared if the other fellowsquealed. But she saw it different. I guess she was right. Shebelieved 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 shecould see past the dollars to something that was more lasting. Shefound that I listened to what she said, and she believed she wasserving the world by influencing my actions. So she stayed--andthen 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.
"It's very black against her. I can't deny that. And women leadan inward life and may do things beyond the judgment of a man. Atfirst I was so rattled and taken aback that I was ready to thinkshe had been led away in some extraordinary fashion that was cleanagainst her usual nature. One explanation came into my head. I giveit to you, Mr. Holmes, for what it is worth. There is no doubt thatmy wife was bitterly jealous. There is a soul-jealousy that can beas frantic as any body-jealousy, and though my wife had nocause--and I think she understood this--for the latter, she wasaware that this English girl exerted an influence upon my mind andmy acts that she herself never had. It was an influence for good,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 plannedto murder Miss Dunbar--or we will say to threaten her with a gunand so frighten her into leaving us. Then there might have been ascuffle and the gun gone off and shot the woman who held it."
"That possibility had already occurred to me," said Holmes."Indeed, it is the only obvious alternative to deliberatemurder."
"But she utterly denies it."
"Well, that is not final--is it? One can understand that a womanplaced in so awful a position might hurry home still in herbewilderment holding the revolver. She might even throw it downamong her clothes, hardly knowing what she was doing, and when itwas found she might try to lie her way out by a total denial, sinceall explanation was impossible. What is against such asupposition?"
"Miss Dunbar herself."
"Well, perhaps."
Holmes looked at his watch. "I have no doubt we can get thenecessary permits this morning and reach Winchester by the eveningtrain. When I have seen this young lady it is very possible that Imay be of more use to you in the matter, though I cannot promisethat my conclusions will necessarily be such as you desire."
There was some delay in the official pass, and instead ofreaching Winchester that day we went down to Thor Place, theHampshire estate of Mr. Neil Gibson. He did not accompany ushimself, but we had the address of Sergeant Coventry, of the localpolice, who had first examined into the affair. He was a tall,thin, cadaverous man, with a secretive and mysterious manner whichconveyed the idea that he knew or suspected a very great deal morethan he dared say. He had a trick, too, of suddenly sinking hisvoice 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 adecent, honest fellow who was not too proud to admit that he wasout of his depth and would welcome any help.
"Anyhow, I'd rather have you than Scotland Yard, Mr. Holmes,"said he. "If the Yard gets called into a case, then the local losesall credit for success and may be blamed for failure. Now, you playstraight, so I've heard."
"I need not appear in the matter at all," said Holmes to theevident relief of our melancholy acquaintance. "If I can clear itup I don't ask to have my name mentioned."
"Well, it's very handsome of you, I am sure. And your friend,Dr. Watson, can be trusted, I know. Now, Mr. Holmes, as we walkdown to the place there is one question I should like to ask you.I'd breathe it to no soul but you." He looked round as though hehardly dare utter the words. "Don't you think there might be a caseagainst Mr. Neil Gibson himself?"
"I have been considering that."
"You've not seen Miss Dunbar. She is a wonderful fine woman inevery way. He may well have wished his wife out of the road. Andthese Americans are readier with pistols than our folk are. It washis pistol, you know."
"Was that clearly made out?"
"Yes, sir. It was one of a pair that he had."
"One of a pair? Where is the other?"
"Well, the gentleman has a lot of firearms of one sort andanother. We never quite matched that particular pistol--but the boxwas made for two."
"If it was one of a pair you should surely be able to matchit."
"Well, we have them all laid out at the house if you would careto look them over."
"Later, perhaps. I think we will walk down together and have alook at the scene of the tragedy."
This conversation had taken place in the little front room ofSergeant Coventry's humble cottage which served as the localpolice-station. A walk of half a mile or so across a wind-sweptheath, all gold and bronze with the fading ferns, brought us to aside-gate opening into the grounds of the Thor Place estate. A pathled us through the pheasant preserves, and then from a clearing wesaw the widespread, half-timbered house, half Tudor and halfGeorgian, upon the crest of the hill. Beside us there was a long,reedy pool, constricted in the centre where the main carriage drivepassed over a stone bridge, but swelling into small lakes on eitherside. Our guide paused at the mouth of this bridge, and he pointedto the ground.
"That was where Mrs. Gibson's body lay. I marked it by thatstone."
"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 nothingshould be moved until the police should arrive."
"That was sensible. I gathered from the newspaper report thatthe shot was 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.The short 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 anyonecould have placed the note there after death in order to furnish afalse clue. Dear me! The note, as I remember, was quite short:
"'I will be at Thor Bridge at nine o'clock. 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 saynothing."
"The problem is certainly a very interesting one. The point ofthe letter is very obscure, is it not?"
"Well, sir," said the guide, "it seemed, if I may be so bold asto say so, the only really clear point in the whole case."
Holmes shook his head.
"Granting that the letter is genuine and was really written, itwas certainly received some time before--say one hour or two. Why,then, was this lady still clasping it in her left hand? Why shouldshe carry it so carefully? She did not need to refer to it in theinterview. Does it not seem remarkable?"
"Well, sir, as you put it, perhaps it does."
"I think I should like to sit quietly for a few minutes andthink it out." He seated himself upon the stone ledge of thebridge, and I could see his quick gray eyes darting theirquestioning glances in every direction. Suddenly he sprang up againand ran across to the opposite parapet, whipped his lens from hispocket, and began to examine the stonework.
"This is curious," said he.
"Yes, sir, we saw the chip on the ledge. I expect it's been doneby some passer-by."
The stonework was gray, but at this one point it showed whitefor a space not larger than a sixpence. When examined closely onecould see that the surface was chipped as by a sharp blow.
"It took some violence to do that," said Holmes thoughtfully.With his cane he struck the ledge several times without leaving amark. "Yes, it was a hard knock. In a curious place, too. It wasnot from above but from below, for you see that it is on the loweredge 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 todo with the matter, but it is a point worth noting. I do not thinkthat we have anything more to learn here. There were no footsteps,you say?"
"The ground was iron hard, sir. There were no traces atall."
"Then we can go. We will go up to the house first and look overthese weapons of which you speak. Then we shall get on toWinchester, for I should desire to see Miss Dunbar before we gofarther."
Mr. Neil Gibson had not returned from town, but we saw in thehouse the neurotic Mr. Bates who had called upon us in the morning.He showed us with a sinister relish the formidable array offirearms of various shapes and sizes which his employer hadaccumulated in the course of an adventurous 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 aretimes when all of us are afraid of him. I am sure that the poorlady who has passed was often terrified."
"Did you ever witness physical violence towards her?"
"No, I cannot say that. But I have heard words which were nearlyas bad --words of cold, cutting contempt, even before theservants."
"Our millionaire does not seem to shine in private life,"remarked Holmes as we made our way to the station. "Well, Watson,we have come on a good many facts, some of them new ones, and yet Iseem some way from my conclusion. In spite of the very evidentdislike which Mr. Bates has to his employer, I gather from him thatwhen the alarm came he was undoubtedly in his library. Dinner wasover at 8:30 and all was normal up to then. It is true that thealarm was somewhat late in the evening, but the tragedy certainlyoccurred about the hour named in the note. There is no evidence atall that Mr. Gibson had been out of doors since his return fromtown at five o'clock. 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 herlawyer had advised her to reserve her defence. We have several veryvital questions to ask that young lady, and my mind will not beeasy until we have seen her. I must confess that the case wouldseem to me to be very black against her if it were not for onething."
"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 perfunctoryreading as very strange, and now that I am in closer touch with thecase it is my only firm ground for hope. We must look forconsistency. Where there is a want of it we must suspectdeception."
"I hardly follow you."
"Well now, Watson, suppose for a moment that we visualize you inthe character of a woman who, in a cold, premeditated fashion, isabout to get rid of a rival. You have planned it. A note has beenwritten. The victim has come. You have your weapon. The crime isdone. It has been workmanlike and complete. Do you tell me thatafter carrying out so crafty a crime you would now ruin yourreputation as a criminal by forgetting to fling your weapon intothose adjacent reed-beds which would forever cover it, but you mustneeds carry it carefully home and put it in your own wardrobe, thevery first place that would be searched? Your best friends wouldhardly call you a schemer, Watson, and yet I could not picture youdoing anything so crude as that."
"In the excitement of the moment."
"No, no, Watson, I will not admit that it is possible. Where acrime is coolly premeditated, then the means of covering it arecoolly premeditated also. I hope, therefore, that we are in thepresence of a serious misconception."
"But there is so much to explain."
"Well, we shall set about explaining it. When once your point ofview is changed, the very thing which was so damning becomes a clueto the truth. For example, there is this revolver. Miss Dunbardisclaims all knowledge of it. On our new theory she is speakingtruth when she says so. Therefore, it was placed in her wardrobe.Who placed it there? Someone who wished to incriminate her. Was notthat person the actual criminal? You see how we come at once upon amost fruitful line of inquiry."
We were compelled to spend the night at Winchester, as theformalities had not yet been completed, but next morning, in thecompany of Mr. Joyce Cummings, the rising barrister who wasentrusted with the defence, we were allowed to see the young ladyin her cell. I had expected from all that we had heard to see abeautiful woman, but I can never forget the effect which MissDunbar produced upon me. It was no wonder that even the masterfulmillionaire had found in her something more powerful thanhimself--something which could control and guide him. One felt,too, as one looked at the strong, clear-cut, and yet sensitiveface, that even should she be capable of some impetuous deed, nonethe less there was an innate nobility of character which would makeher influence always for the good. She was a brunette, tall, with anoble figure and commanding presence, but her dark eyes had in themthe appealing, helpless expression of the hunted creature who feelsthe nets around it, but can see no way out from the toils. Now, asshe realized the presence and the help of my famous friend, therecame a touch of colour in her wan cheeks and a light of hope beganto 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 enteringinto that part of the story. After seeing you, I am prepared toaccept Mr. Gibson's statement both as to the influence which youhad over him and as to the innocence of your relations with him.But why was the whole situation not brought out in court?"
"It seemed to me incredible that such a charge could besustained. I thought that if we waited the whole thing must clearitself up without our being compelled to enter into painful detailsof the inner life of the family. But I understand that far fromclearing it has become even more serious."
"My dear young lady," cried Holmes earnestly, "I beg you to haveno illusions upon the point. Mr. Cummings here would assure youthat all the cards are at present against us, and that we must doeverything that is possible if we are to win clear. It would be acruel deception to pretend that 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. Gibson'swife."
"She hated me, Mr. Holmes. She hated me with all the fervour ofher tropical nature. She was a woman who would do nothing byhalves, and the measure of her love for her husband was the measurealso of her hatred for me. It is probable that she misunderstoodour relations. I would not wish to wrong her, but she loved sovividly in a physical sense that she could hardly understand themental, and even spiritual, tie which held her husband to me, orimagine that it was only my desire to influence his power to goodends which kept me under his roof. I can see now that I was 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 exactlywhat occurred that evening."
"I can tell you the truth so far as I know it, Mr. Holmes, but Iam in a position to prove nothing, and there are points--the mostvital points--which I can neither explain nor can I imagine anyexplanation."
"If you will find the facts, perhaps others may find theexplanation."
"With regard, then, to my presence at Thor Bridge that night, Ireceived a note from Mrs. Gibson in the morning. It lay on thetable of the schoolroom, and it may have been left there by her ownhand. It implored me to see her there after dinner, said she hadsomething important to say to me, and asked me to leave an answeron the sundial in the garden, as she desired no one to be in ourconfidence. I saw no reason for such secrecy, but I did as sheasked, accepting the appointment. She asked me to destroy her noteand I burned it in the schoolroom grate. She was very much afraidof her husband, who treated her with a harshness for which Ifrequently reproached him, and I could only imagine that she actedin this way because she did not wish him to know of ourinterview."
"Yet she kept your reply very carefully?"
"Yes. I was surprised to hear that she had it in her hand whenshe died."
"Well, what happened then?"
"I went down as I had promised. When I reached the bridge shewas waiting for me. Never did I realize till that moment how thispoor creature hated me. She was like a mad woman--indeed, I thinkshe was a mad woman, subtly mad with the deep power of deceptionwhich insane people may have. How else could she have met me withunconcern every day and yet had so raging a hatred of me in herheart? I will not say what she said. She poured her whole wild furyout in burning and horrible words. I did not even answer--I couldnot. It was dreadful to see her. I put my hands to my ears andrushed away. When I left her she was standing, still shrieking outher 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 youleft her, you heard no shot?"
"No, I heard nothing. But, indeed, Mr. Holmes, I was so agitatedand horrified by this terrible outbreak that I rushed to get backto the peace of my own room, and I was incapable of noticinganything which happened."
"You say that you returned to your room. Did you leave it againbefore next morning?"
"Yes, when the alarm came that the poor creature had met herdeath I ran out with the others."
"Did you see Mr. Gibson?"
"Yes, he had just returned from the bridge when I saw him. Hehad sent for the doctor and the police."
"Did he seem to you much perturbed?"
"Mr. Gibson is a very strong, self-contained man. I do not thinkthat he would ever show his emotions on the surface. But I, whoknew him so well, could see that he was deeply concerned."
"Then we come to the all-important point. This pistol that wasfound in your 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 thepistol there 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 whenI would 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 couldhelp me in the investigation?"
"I can think of none."
"There was some sign of violence on the stonework of thebridge--a perfectly fresh chip just opposite the body. Could yousuggest any possible explanation of that?"
"Surely it must be a mere coincidence."
"Curious, Miss Dunbar, very curious. Why should it appear at thevery time of the tragedy, and why at the very place?"
"But what could have caused it? Only great violence could havesuch an effect."
Holmes did not answer. His pale, eager face had suddenly assumedthat tense, far-away expression which I had learned to associatewith the supreme manifestations of his genius. So evident was thecrisis in his mind that none of us dared to speak, and we sat,barrister, prisoner, and myself, watching him in a concentrated andabsorbed silence. Suddenly he sprang from his chair, vibrating withnervous energy and the pressing need 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 whichwill make England ring. You will get news by to-morrow, MissDunbar, and meanwhile take my assurance that the clouds are liftingand that I have every hope that the light of truth is breakingthrough."
It was not a long journey from Winchester to Thor Place, but itwas long to me in my impatience, while for Holmes it was evidentthat it seemed endless; for, in his nervous restlessness he couldnot sit still, but paced the carriage or drummed with his long,sensitive fingers upon the cushions beside him. Suddenly, however,as we neared our destination he seated himself opposite to me--wehad a first-class carriage to ourselves--and laying a hand uponeach of my knees he looked into my eyes with the peculiarlymischievous gaze which was charactenstic of his more imp-likemoods.
"Watson," said he, "I have some recollection that you go armedupon these excursions of ours."
It was as well for him that I did so, for he took little carefor his own safety when his mind was once absorbed by a problem sothat more than once my revolver had been a good friend in need. Ireminded him of the fact.
"Yes, yes, I am a little absent-minded in such matters. But haveyou your revolver on you?"
I produced it from my hip-pocket, a short, handy, but veryserviceable little weapon. He undid the catch, shook out thecartridges, and examined it with care.
"It's heavy--remarkably 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 isgoing to have a very intimate connection with the mystery which weare investigating."
"My dear Holmes, you are joking."
"No, Watson, I am very serious. There is a test before us. Ifthe test comes off, all will be clear. And the test will dependupon the conduct of this little weapon. One cartridge out. Now wewill replace the other five and put on the safety-catch. So! Thatincreases the weight and makes it a better reproduction."
I had no glimmer of what was in his mind, nor did he enlightenme, but sat lost in thought until we pulled up in the littleHampshire station. We secured a ramshackle trap, and in a quarterof an hour were at the house of our confidential friend, thesergeant.
"A clue, Mr. Holmes? What is it?"
"It all depends upon the behaviour of Dr. Watson's revolver,"said my friend. "Here it is. Now, officer, can you give me tenyards of string?"
The village shop provided a ball of stout twine.
"I think that this is all we will need," said Holmes. "Now, ifyou please, we will get off on what I hope is the last stage of ourjourney."
The sun was setting and turning the rolling Hampshire moor intoa wonderful autumnal panorama. The sergeant, with many critical andincredulous glances, which showed his deep doubts of the sanity ofmy companion, lurched along beside us. As we approached the sceneof the crime I could see that my friend under all his habitualcoolness was in truth 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 ithas sometimes played me false. It seemed a certainty when first itflashed across my mind in the cell at Winchester, but one drawbackof an active mind is that one can always conceive alternativeexplanations which would make our scent a false one. And yet--andyet--Well, Watson, we can but try."
As he walked he had firmly tied one end of the string to thehandle of the revolver. We had now reached the scene of thetragedy. With great care he marked out under the guidance of thepoliceman the exact spot where the body had been stretched. He thenhunted among the heather and the ferns until he found aconsiderable stone. This he secured to the other end of his line ofstring, and he hung it over the parapet of the bridge so that itswung clear above the water. He then stood on the fatal spot, somedistance from the edge of the bridge, with my revolver in his hand,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 gohis grip. In an instant it had been whisked away by the weight ofthe stone, had struck with a sharp crack against the parapet, andhad vanished over the side into the water. It had hardly gonebefore Holmes was kneeling beside the stonework, and a joyous cryshowed 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 hepointed to a second chip of the exact size and shape of the firstwhich had appeared on the under edge of the stone balustrade.
"We'll stay at the inn to-night," he continued as he rose andfaced the astonished sergeant. "You will, of course, get agrappling-hook and you will easily restore my friend's revolver.You will also find beside it the revolver, string and weight withwhich this vindictive woman attempted to disguise her own crime andto fasten a charge of murder upon an innocent victim. You can letMr. Gibson know that I will see him in the morning, when steps canbe taken for Miss Dunbar's vindication."
Late that evening, as we sat together smoking our pipes in thevillage inn, Holmes gave me a brief review of what had passed.
"I fear, Watson," said he, "that you will not improve anyreputation which I may have acquired by adding the case of the ThorBridge mystery to your annals. I have been sluggish in mind andwanting in that mixture of imagination and reality which is thebasis of my art. I confess that the chip in the stonework was asufficient clue to suggest the true solution, and that I blamemyself for not having attained it sooner.
"It must be admitted that the workings of this unhappy woman'smind were deep and subtle, so that it was no very simple matter tounravel her plot. I do not think that in our adventures we haveever come across a stranger example of what perverted love canbring about. Whether Miss Dunbar was her rival in a physical or ina merely mental sense seems to have been equally unforgivable inher eyes. No doubt she blamed this innocent lady for all thoseharsh dealings and unkind words with which her husband tried torepel her too demonstrative affection. Her first resolution was toend her own life. Her second was to do it in such a way as toinvolve 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 cleverlyfrom Miss Dunbar which would make it appear that she had chosen thescene of the crime. In her anxiety that it should be discovered shesomewhat overdid it by holding it in her hand to the last. Thisalone should have excited my suspicions earlier than it did.
"Then she took one of her husband's revolvers--there was, as yousaw, an arsenal in the house--and kept it for her own use. Asimilar one she concealed that morning in Miss Dunbar's wardrobeafter discharging one barrel, which she could easily do in thewoods without attracting attention. She then went down to thebridge where she had contrived this exceedingly ingenious methodfor getting rid of her weapon. When Miss Dunbar appeared she usedher last breath in pouring out her hatred, and then, when she wasout of hearing, carried out her terrible purpose. Every link is nowin its place and the chain is complete. The papers may ask why themere 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-filledlake is no easy matter to drag unless you have a clear perceptionof what you are looking for and where. Well, Watson, we have helpeda remarkable woman, and also a formidable man. Should they in thefuture join their forces, as seems not unlikely, the financialworld may find that Mr. Neil Gibson has learned something in thatschoolroom of sorrow where our earthly lessons are taught."
ADVENTURE III. THE ADVENTURE OF THE CREEPINGMAN
Mr. Sherlock Holmes was always of opinion that I should publishthe singular facts connected with Professor Presbury, if only todispel once for all the ugly rumours which some twenty years agoagitated the university and were echoed in the learned societies ofLondon. There were, however, certain obstacles in the way, and thetrue history of this curious case remained entombed in the tin boxwhich contains so many records of my friend's adventures. Now wehave at last obtained permission to ventilate the facts whichformed one of the very last cases handled by Holmes before hisretirement from practice. Even now a certain reticence anddiscretion have to be observed in laying the matter before thepublic.
It was one Sunday evening early in September of the year 1903that I received one of Holmes's laconic messages:
Come at once if convenient--if inconvenient come all the same.S.H.
The relations between us in those latter days were peculiar. Hewas a man of habits, narrow and concentrated habits, and I hadbecome one of them. As an institution I was like the violin, theshag tobacco, the old black pipe, the index books, and othersperhaps less excusable. When it was a case of active work and acomrade was needed upon whose nerve he could place some reliance,my role was obvious. But apart from this I had uses. I was awhetstone for his mind. I stimulated him. He liked to think aloudin my presence. His remarks could hardly be said to be made tome--many of them would have been as appropriately addressed to hisbedstead--but none the less, having formed the habit, it had becomein some way helpful that I should register and interject. If Iirritated him by a certain methodical slowness in my mentality,that irritation served only to make his own flame-like intuitionsand impressions flash up the more vividly and swiftly. Such was myhumble role in our alliance.
When I arrived at Baker Street I found him huddled up in hisarmchair with updrawn knees, his pipe in his mouth and his browfurrowed with thought. It was clear that he was in the throes ofsome vexatious problem. With a wave of his hand he indicated my oldarmchair, but otherwise for half an hour he gave no sign that hewas aware of my presence. Then with a start he seemed to come fromhis reverie, and with his usual whimsical smile he greeted me backto what had once been my home.
"You will excuse a certain abstraction of mind, my dear Watson,"said he. "Some curious facts have been submitted to me within thelast twenty-four hours, and they in turn have given rise to somespeculations of a more general character. I have serious thoughtsof writing a small monograph upon the uses of dogs in the work ofthe detective."
"But surely, Holmes, this has been explored," said I."Bloodhounds-- sleuth-hounds--"
"No, no, Watson, that side of the matter is, of course, obvious.But there is another which is far more subtle. You may recollectthat in the case which you, in your sensational way, coupled withthe Copper Beeches, I was able, by watching the mind of the child,to form a deduction as to the criminal habits of the very smug andrespectable father."
"Yes, I remember it well."
"My line of thoughts about dogs is analogous. A dog reflects thefamily life. Whoever saw a frisky dog in a gloomy family, or a saddog in a happy one? Snarling people have snarling dogs, dangerouspeople have dangerous ones. And their passing moods may reflect thepassing moods of 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 noticeof my comment.
"The practical application of what I have said is very close tothe problem which I am investigating. It is a tangled skein, youunderstand. and I am looking for a loose end. One possible looseend lies in the question: Why does Professor Presbury's wolfhound,Roy, endeavour to bite him?"
I sank back in my chair in some disappointment. Was it for sotrivial a question as this that I had been summoned from my work?Holmes glanced across at me.
"The same old Watson!" said he. "You never learn that thegravest issues may depend upon the smallest things. But is it noton the face of it strange that a staid, elderly philosopher--you'veheard of Presbury, of course, the famous Camfordphysiologist?--that such a man, whose friend has been his devotedwolfhound, should now have been twice attacked by his own dog? Whatdo you make of it?"
"The dog is ill."
"Well, that has to be considered. But he attacks no one else,nor does he apparently molest his master, save on very specialoccasions. Curious, Watson--very curious. But young Mr. Bennett isbefore his time if that is his ring. I had hoped to have a longerchat with you before he came."
There was a quick step on the stairs, a sharp tap at the doorand a moment later the new client presented himself. He was a tall,handsome youth about thirty, well dressed and elegant, but withsomething in his bearing which suggested the shyness of the studentrather than the self-possession of the man of the world. He shookhands with Holmes, and then looked with some surprise at me.
"This matter is very delicate, Mr. Holmes," he said. "Considerthe relation in which I stand to Professor Presbury both privatelyand publicly. I really can hardly justify myself if I speak beforeany third person."
"Have no fear, Mr. Bennett. Dr. Watson is the very soul ofdiscretion, and I can assure you that this is a matter in which Iam very likely to need an assistant."
"As you like, Mr. Holmes. You will, I am sure, understand myhaving some reserves in the matter."
"You will appreciate it, Watson, when I tell you that thisgentleman, Mr. Trevor Bennett, is professional assistant to thegreat scientist, lives under his roof, and is engaged to his onlydaughter. Certainly we must agree that the professor has everyclaim upon his loyalty and devotion. But it may best be shown bytaking the necessary steps to clear up this strange mystery."
"I hope so, Mr. Holmes. That is my one object. Does Dr. Watsonknow the situation?"
"I have not had time to explain it."
"Then perhaps I had better go over the ground again beforeexplaining some fresh developments."
"I will do so myself," said Holmes, "in order to show that Ihave the events in their due order. The professor, Watson, is a manof European reputation. His life has been academic. There has neverbeen a breath of scandal. He is a widower with one daughter, Edith.He is, I gather, a man of very virile and positive, one mightalmost say combative, character. So the matter stood until a veryfew months ago.
"Then the current of his life was broken. He is sixty-one yearsof age, but he became engaged to the daughter of Professor Morphy,his colleague 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 amore devoted lover. The lady, Alice Morphy, was a very perfect girlboth in mind and body, so that there was every excuse for theprofessor's infatuation. None the less, it did not meet with fullapproval in his own family."
"We thought it rather excessive," said our visitor.
"Exactly. Excessive and a little violent and unnatural.Professor Presbury was rich, however, and there was no objectionupon the part of the father. The daughter, however, had otherviews, and there were already several candidates for her hand, who,if they were less eligible from a worldly point of view, were atleast more of an age. The girl seemed to like the professor inspite of his eccentricities. It was only age which stood in theway.
"About this time a little mystery suddenly clouded the normalroutine of the professor's life. He did what he had never donebefore. He left home and gave no indication where he was going. Hewas away a fortnight and returned looking rather travel-worn. Hemade no allusion to where he had been, although he was usually thefrankest of men. It chanced, however, that our client here, Mr.Bennett, received a letter from a fellowstudent in Prague, who saidthat he was glad to have seen Professor Presbury there, although hehad not been able to talk to him. Only in this way did his ownhousehold learn where he had been.
"Now comes the point. From that time onward a curious changecame over the professor. He became furtive and sly. Those aroundhim had always the feeling that he was not the man that they hadknown, but that he was under some shadow which had darkened hishigher qualities. His intellect was not affected. His lectures wereas brilliant as ever. But always there was something new, somethingsinister and unexpected. His daughter, who was devoted to him,tried again and again to resume the old relations and to penetratethis mask which her father seemed to have put on. You, sir, as Iunderstand, did the same--but all was in vain. And now, Mr.Bennett, tell in your own words the incident of the letters."
"You must understand, Dr. Watson, that the professor had nosecrets from me. If I were his son or his younger brother I couldnot have more completely enjoyed his confidence. As his secretary Ihandled every paper which came to him, and I opened and subdividedhis letters. Shortly after his return all this was changed. He toldme that certain letters might come to him from London which wouldbe marked by a cross under the stamp. These were to be set asidefor his own eyes only. I may say that several of these did passthrough my hands, that they had the E. C. mark, and were in anilliterate handwriting. If he answered them at all the answers didnot pass through my hands nor into the letterbasket in which ourcorrespondence was collected."
"And the box," said Holmes.
"Ah, yes, the box. The professor brought back a little woodenbox from his travels. It was the one thing which suggested aContinental tour, for it was one of those quaint carved thingswhich one associates with Germany. This he placed in his instrumentcupboard. One day, in looking for a canula, I took up the box. Tomy surprise he was very angry, and reproved me in words which werequite savage for my curiosity. It was the first time such a thinghad happened, and I was deeply hurt. I endeavoured to explain thatit was a mere accident that I had touched the box, but all theevening I was conscious that he looked at me harshly and that theincident 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 mayneed some of these dates which you have noted."
"I learned method among other things from my great teacher. Fromthe time that I observed abnormality in his behaviour I felt thatit was my duty to study his case. Thus I have it here that it wason that very day, July 2d, that Roy attacked the professor as hecame from his study into the hall. Again, on July 11th, there was ascene of the same sort, and then I have a note of yet another uponJuly 20th. After that we had to banish Roy to the stables. He was adear, affectionate animal--but I fear I weary you."
Mr. Bennett spoke in a tone of reproach, for it was very clearthat Holmes was not listening. His face was rigid and his eyesgazed abstractedly at the ceiling. With an effort he recoveredhimself.
"Singular! Most singular!" he murmured. "These details were newto me, Mr. Bennett. I think we have now fairly gone over the oldground, have we not? But you spoke of some fresh developments."
The pleasant, open face of our visitor clouded over, shadowed bysome grim remembrance. "What I speak of occurred the night beforelast," said he. "I was lying awake about two in the morning, when Iwas aware of a dull muffled sound coming from the passage. I openedmy door and peeped out. I should explain that the professor sleepsat the end of the passage--"
"The date being?" asked Holmes.
Our visitor was clearly annoyed at so irrelevant aninterruption.
"I have said, sir, that it was the night before last--that is,September 4th."
Holmes nodded and smiled.
"Pray continue," said he.
"He sleeps at the end of the passage and would have to pass mydoor in order to reach the staircase. It was a really terrifyingexperience, Mr. Holmes. I think that I am as strong-nerved as myneighbours, but I was shaken by what I saw. The passage was darksave that one window halfway along it threw a patch of light. Icould see that something was coming along the passage, somethingdark and crouching. Then suddenly it emerged into the light, and Isaw that it was he. He was crawling, Mr. Holmes--crawling! He wasnot quite on his hands and knees. I should rather say on his handsand feet, with his face sunk between his hands. Yet he seemed tomove with ease. I was so paralyzed by the sight that it was notuntil he had reached my door that I was able to step forward andask if I could assist him. His answer was extraordinary. He sprangup, spat out some atrocious word at me, and hurried on past me, anddown the staircase. I waited about for an hour, but he did not comeback. It must have been daylight before he regained his room."
"Well, Watson, what make you of that?" asked Holmes with the airof the pathologist who presents a rare specimen.
"Lumbago, possibly. I have known a severe attack make a man walkin just such a way, and nothing would be more trying to thetemper."
"Good, Watson! You always keep us flat-footed on the ground. Butwe can hardly accept lumbago, since he was able to stand erect in amoment."
"He was never better in health," said Bennett. "In fact, he isstronger than I have known him for years. But there are the facts,Mr. Holmes. It is not a case in which we can consult the police,and yet we are utterly at our wit's end as to what to do, and wefeel in some strange way that we are drifting towards disaster.Edith--Miss Presbury-- feels as I do, that we cannot wait passivelyany longer."
"It is certainly a very curious and suggestive case. What do youthink, Watson?"
"Speaking as a medical man," said I, "it appears to be a casefor an alienist. The old gentleman's cerebral processes weredisturbed by the love affair. He made a journey abroad in the hopeof breaking himself of the passion. His letters and the box may beconnected with some other private transaction--a loan, perhaps, orshare cenificates, which are in the box."
"And the wolfhound no doubt disapproved of the financialbargain. No, no, Watson, there is more in it than this. Now, I canonly suggest--"
What Sherlock Holmes was about to suggest will never be known,for at this moment the door opened and a young lady was shown intothe room. As she appeared Mr. Bennett sprang up with a cry and ranforward with his hands out to meet those which she had herselfoutstretched.
"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 myfiancee."
"We were gradually coming to that conclusion, were we not,Watson?" Holmes answered with a smile. "I take it, Miss Presbury,that there is some fresh development in the case, and that youthought we should know?"
Our new visitor, a bright, handsome girl of a conventionalEnglish type, smiled back at Holmes as she seated herself besideMr. 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 wouldconsult you. But, oh, Mr. Holmes, can you do nothing for my poorfather?"
"I have hopes, Miss Presbury, but the case is still obscure.Perhaps what you have to say may throw some fresh light uponit."
"It was last night, Mr. Holmes. He had been very strange allday. I am sure that there are times when he has no recollection ofwhat he does. He lives as in a strange dream. Yesterday was such aday. It was not my father with whom I lived. His outward shell wasthere, but it was not really he."
"Tell me what happened."
"I was awakened in the night by the dog barking most furiously.Poor Roy, he is chained now near the stable. I may say that Ialways sleep with my door locked; for, as Jack--as Mr.Bennett--will tell you, we all have a feeling of impending danger.My room is on the second floor. It happened that the blind was upin my window, and there was bright moonlight outside. As I lay withmy eyes fixed upon the square of light, listening to the frenziedbarkings of the dog, I was amazed to see my father's face lookingin at me. Mr. Holmes, I nearly died of surprise and horror. Thereit was pressed against the windowpane, and one hand seemed to beraised as if to push up the window. If that window had opened, Ithink I should have gone mad. It was no delusion, Mr. Holmes. Don'tdeceive yourself by thinking so. I dare say it was twenty secondsor so that I lay paralyzed and watched the face. Then it vanished,but I could not--I could not spring out of bed and look out afterit. I lay cold and shivering till morning. At breakfast he wassharp and fierce in manner, and made no allusion to the adventureof the night. Neither did I, but I gave an excuse for coming totown-- and here I am."
Holmes looked thoroughly surprised at Miss Presbury'snarrative.
"My dear young lady, you say that your room is on the secondfloor. Is there a long ladder in the garden?"
"No, Mr. Holmes, that is the amazing part of it. There is nopossible way of reaching the window--and yet he was there."
"The date being September 5th," said Holmes. "That certainlycomplicates matters."
It was the young lady's turn to look surprised. "This is thesecond time that you have alluded to the date, Mr. Holmes," saidBennett. "Is it possible that it has any bearing upon thecase?"
"It is possible--very possible--and yet I have not my fullmaterial at present."
"Possibly you are thinking of the connection between insanityand phases of the moon?"
"No, I assure you. It was quite a different line of thought.Possibly you can leave your notebook with me, and I will check thedates. Now I think, Watson, that our line of action is perfectlyclear. This young lady has informed us--and I have the greatestconfidence in her intuition--that her father remembers little ornothing which occurs upon certain dates. We will therefore callupon him as if he had given us an appointment upon such a date. Hewill put it down to his own lack of memory. Thus we will open ourcampaign by having a good close view of him."
"That is excellent," said Mr. Bennett. "I warn you, however,that the professor is irascible and violent at times."
Holmes smiled. "There are reasons why we should come atonce--very cogent reasons if my theories hold good. To-morrow, Mr.Bennett, will certainly see us in Camford. There is, if I rememberright, an inn called the Chequers where the port used to be abovemediocrity and the linen was above reproach. I think, Watson, thatour lot for the next few days might lie in less pleasantplaces."
Monday morning found us on our way to the famous universitytown--an easy effort on the part of Holmes, who had no roots topull up, but one which involved frantic planning and hurrying on mypart, as my practice was by this time not inconsiderable. Holmesmade no allusion to the case until after we had deposited oursuitcases at the ancient hostel of which he had spoken.
"I think, Watson, that we can catch the professor just beforelunch. He lectures at eleven and should have an interval athome."
"What possible excuse have we for calling?"
Holmes glanced at his notebook.
"There was a period of excitement upon August 26th. We willassume that he is a little hazy as to what he does at such times.If we insist that we are there by appointment I think he willhardly venture to contradict us. Have you the effrontery necessaryto put it through?"
"We can but try."
"Excellent, Watson! Compound of the Busy Bee and Excelsior. Wecan but try--the motto of the firm. A friendly native will surelyguide 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 at the door of a charming house, girt round with lawnsand covered with purple wistaria. Professor Presbury was certainlysurrounded with every sign not only of comfort but of luxury. Evenas we pulled up, a grizzled head appeared at the front window, andwe were aware of a pair of keen eyes from under shaggy brows whichsurveyed us through large horn glasses. A moment later we wereactually in his sanctum, and the mysterious scientist, whosevagaries had brought us from London, was standing before us. Therewas certainly no sign of eccentricity either in his manner orappearance, for he was a portly, largefeatured man, grave, tall,and frock-coated, with the dignity of bearing which a lecturerneeds. His eyes were his most remarkable feature, keen, observant,and clever to the verge of cunning.
He looked at our cards. "Pray sit down, gentlemen. What can I dofor you?"
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 personthat Professor Presbury of Camford had need of my services."
"Oh, indeed!" It seemed to me that there was a malicious sparklein the intense gray eyes. "You heard that, did you? May I ask thename of your informant?"
"I am sorry, Professor, but the matter was rather confidential.If I have made a mistake there is no harm done. I can only expressmy regret."
"Not at all. I should wish to go further into this matter. Itinterests me. Have you any scrap of writing, any letter ortelegram, to bear out your assertion?"
"No, I have not."
"I presume that you do not go so far as to assert that Isummoned you?"
"I would rather answer no questions," said Holmes.
"No, I dare say not," said the professor with asperity."However, that particular one can be answered very easily withoutyour 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 allmy correspondence. Have you a note of anything going to a personnamed Holmes?"
"No, sir," Bennett answered with a flush.
"That is conclusive," said the professor, glaring angrily at mycompanion. "Now, sir"--he leaned forward with his two hands uponthe table--" it seems to me that your position is a veryquestionable 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 highscreaming voice, with extraordinary malignancy upon his face. Hegot between us and the door as he spoke, and he shook his two handsat us with furious passion. "You can hardly get out of it so easilyas that." His face was convulsed, and he grinned and gibbered at usin his senseless rage. I am convinced that we should have had tofight our way out of the room if Mr. Bennett had notintervened.
"My dear Professor," he cried, "consider your position! Considerthe scandal at the university! Mr. Holmes is a wellknown man. Youcannot possibly treat him with such discourtesy."
Sulkily our host--if I may call him so--cleared the path to thedoor. We were glad to find ourselves outside the house and in thequiet of the tree-lined drive. Holmes seemed greatly amused by theepisode.
"Our learned friend's nerves are somewhat out of order," saidhe. "Perhaps our intrusion was a little crude, and yet we havegained that personal contact which I desired. But, dear me, Watson,he is surely at our heels. The villain still pursues us."
There were the sounds of running feet behind, but it was, to myrelief, not the formidable professor but his assistant who appearedround the curve 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 ofprofessional experience."
"I have never seen him in a more dangerous mood. But he growsmore sinister. 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 isevident that his memory is much more reliable than I had thought.By the way, can we, before we go, see the window of Miss Presbury'sroom?"
Mr. Bennett pushed his way through some shrubs, and we had aview of the side of the house.
"It is there. The second on the left."
"Dear me, it seems hardly accessible. And yet you will observethat there is a creeper below and a water-pipe above which givesome foothold."
"I could not climb it myself," said Mr. Bennett.
"Very likely. It would certainly be a dangerous exploit for anynormal man."
"There was one other thing I wish to tell you, Mr. Holmes. Ihave the address of the man in London to whom the professor writes.He seems to have written this morning, and I got it from hisblotting-paper. It is an ignoble position for a trusted secretary,but what else can I do?"
Holmes glanced at the paper and put it into his pocket.
"Dorak--a curious name. Slavonic, I imagine. Well, it is animportant link in the chain. We return to London this afternoon,Mr. Bennett. I see no good purpose to be served by our remaining.We cannot arrest the professor because he has done no crime, norcan we place him under constraint, for he cannot be proved to bemad. No action is as yet possible."
"Then what on earth are we to do?"
"A little patience, Mr. Bennett. Things will soon develop.Unless I am mistaken, next Tuesday may mark a crisis. Certainly weshall be in Camford on that day. Meanwhile, the general position isundeniably unpleasant, and if Miss Presbury can prolong hervisit"
"That is easy."
"Then let her stay till we can assure her that all danger ispast. Meanwhile, let him have his way and do not cross him. So longas he is in a good humour all is well."
"There he is!" said Bennett in a startled whisper. Lookingbetween the branches we saw the tall, erect figure emerge from thehall door and look around him. He stood leaning forward, his handsswinging straight before him, his head turning from side to side.The secretary with a last wave slipped off among the trees, and wesaw him presently rejoin his employer, the two entering the housetogether in what seemed to be animated and even excitedconversation.
"I expect the old gentleman has been putting two and twotogether," said Holmes as we walked hotelward. "He struck me ashaving a particularly clear and logical brain from the little I sawof him. Explosive, no doubt, but then from his point of view he hassomething to explode about if detectives are put on his track andhe suspects his own household of doing it. I rather fancy thatfriend Bennett is in for an uncomfortable time."
Holmes stopped at a post-office and sent off a telegram on ourway. The answer reached us in the evening, and he tossed it acrossto me.
Have visited the Commercial Road and seen Dorak. Suave person,Bohemian, elderly. Keeps large general store. MERCER.
"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 Praguevisit."
"Thank goodness that something connects with something," said I."At present we seem to be faced by a long series of inexplicableincidents with no bearing upon each other. For example, whatpossible connection can there be between an angry wolfhound and avisit to Bohemia, or either of them with a man crawling down apassage at night? As to your dates, that is the biggestmystification of all."
Holmes smiled and rubbed his hands. We were, I may say, seatedin the old sitting-room of the ancient hotel, with a bottle of thefamous vintage of which Holmes had spoken on the table betweenus.
"Well, now, let us take the dates first," said he, hisfingertips together and his manner as if he were addressing aclass. "This excellent young man's diary shows that there wastrouble upon July 2d, and from then onward it seems to have been atnine-day intervals, with, so far as I remember, only one exception.Thus the last outbreak upon Friday was on September 3d, which alsofalls into the series, as did August 26th, which preceded it. Thething is beyond coincidence."
I was forced to agree.
"Let us, then, form the provisional theory that every nine daysthe professor takes some strong drug which has a passing but highlypoisonous effect. His naturally violent nature is intensified byit. He learned to take this drug while he was in Prague, and is nowsupplied with it by a Bohemian intermediary in London. This allhangs together, Watson!"
"But the dog, the face at the window, the creeping man in thepassage?"
"Well, well, we have made a beginning. I should not expect anyfresh developments until next Tuesday. In the meantime we can onlykeep in touch with friend Bennett and enjoy the amenities of thischarming town."
In the morning Mr. Bennett slipped round to bring us the latestreport. As Holmes had imagined, times had not been easy with him.Without exactly accusing him of being responsible for our presence,the professor had been very rough and rude in his speech, andevidently felt some strong grievance. This morning he was quitehimself again, however, and had delivered his usual brilliantlecture to a crowded class. "Apart from his queer fits," saidBennett, "he has actually more energy and vitality than I can everremember, nor was his brain ever clearer. But it's not he--it'snever the man whom we have known."
"I don't think you have anything to fear now for a week atleast," Holmes answered. "I am a busy man, and Dr. Watson has hispatients to attend to. Let us agree that we meet here at this hournext Tuesday, and I shall be surprised if before we leave you againwe are not able to explain, even if we cannot perhaps put an endto, your troubles. Meanwhile, keep us posted in what occurs."
I saw nothing of my friend for the next few days, but on thefollowing Monday evening I had a short note asking me to meet himnext day at the train. From what he told me as we travelled up toCamford all was well, the peace of the professor's house had beenunruffled, and his own conduct perfectly normal. This also was thereport which was given us by Mr. Bennett himself when he calledupon us that evening at our old quarters in the Chequers. "He heardfrom his London correspondent to-day. There was a letter and therewas a small packet, each with the cross under the stamp whichwarned me not to touch them. There has been nothing else."
"That may prove quite enough," said Holmes grimly. "Now, Mr.Bennett, we shall, I think, come to some conclusion tonight. If mydeductions are correct we should have an opportunity of bringingmatters to a head. In order to do so it is necessary to hold theprofessor under observation. I would suggest, therefore, that youremain awake and on the lookout. Should you hear him pass yourdoor, do not interrupt him, but follow him as discreetly as youcan. Dr. Watson and I will not be far off. By the way, where is thekey of that little box of which you spoke?"
"Upon his watch-chain."
"I fancy our researches must lie in that direction. At the worstthe lock should not be very formidable. Have you any otherable-bodied man on the 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 wesee how things develop, Good-bye--but I expect that we shall seeyou before morning."
It was nearly midnight before we took our station among somebushes immediately opposite the hall door of the professor. It wasa 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 the half-moon. It would have been adismal vigil were it not for the expectation and excitement whichcarried us along, and the assurance of my comrade that we hadprobably reached the end of the strange sequence of events whichhad engaged our attention.
"If the cycle of nine days holds good then we shall have theprofessor at his worst to-night," said Holmes. "The fact that thesestrange symptoms began after his visit to Prague, that he is insecret correspondence with a Bohemian dealer in London, whopresumably represents someone in Prague, and that he received apacket from him this very day, all point in one direction. What hetakes and why he takes it are still beyond our ken, but that itemanates in some way from Prague is clear enough. He takes it underdefinite directions which regulate this ninth-day system, which wasthe first point which attracted my attention. But his symptoms aremost remarkable. 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, trouserknees,and boots. Very curious knuckles which can only be explained by themode of progression observed by--" Holmes paused and suddenlyclapped his hand to his forehead. "Oh, Watson, Watson, what a foolI have been! It seems incredible, and yet it must be true. Allpoints in one direction. How could I miss seeing the connection ofideas? Those knuckles how could I have passed those knuckles? Andthe dog! And the ivy! It's surely time that I disappeared into thatlittle farm of my dreams. Look out, Watson! Here he is! We shallhave the chance of seeing for ourselves."
The hall door had slowly opened, and against the lamplitbackground we saw the tall figure of Professor Presbury. He wasclad in his dressing gown. As he stood outlined in the doorway hewas erect but leaning forward with dangling arms, as when we sawhim last.
Now he stepped forward into the drive, and an extraordinarychange came over him. He sank down into a crouching position andmoved along upon his hands and feet, skipping every now and then asif he were overflowing with energy and vitality. He moved along theface of the house and then round the corner. As he disappearedBennett slipped through 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 couldsee the other side of the house, which was bathed in the light ofthe half-moon. The professor was clearly visible crouching at thefoot of the ivy-covered wall. As we watched him he suddenly beganwith incredible agility to ascend it. From branch to branch hesprang, sure of foot and firm of grasp, climbing apparently in merejoy at his own powers, with no definite object in view. With hisdressing-gown flapping on each side of him, he looked like somehuge bat glued against the side of his own house, a great squaredark patch upon the moonlit wall. Presently he tired of thisamusement, and, dropping from branch to branch, he squatted downinto the old attitude and moved towards the stables, creeping alongin the same strange way as before. The wolfhound was out now,barking furiously, and more excited than ever when it actuallycaught sight of its master. It was straining on its chain andquivering with eagerness and rage. The professor squatted down verydeliberately just out of reach of the hound and began to provoke itin every possible way. He took handfuls of pebbles from the driveand threw them in the dog's face, prodded him with a stick which hehad picked up, flicked his hands about only a few inches from thegaping mouth, and endeavoured in every way to increase the animal'sfury, which was already beyond all control. In all our adventures Ido not know that I have ever seen a more strange sight than thisimpassive 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 thatbroke, but it was the collar that slipped, for it had been made fora thick-necked Newfoundland. We heard the rattle of falling metal,and the next instant dog and man were rolling on the groundtogether, the one roaring in rage, the other screaming in a strangeshrill falsetto of terror. It was a very narrow thing for theprofessor's life. The savage creature had him fairly by the throat,its fangs had bitten deep, and he was senseless before we couldreach them and drag the two apart. It might have been a dangeroustask for us, but Bennett's voice and presence brought the greatwolflhound instantly to reason. The uproar had brought the sleepyand astonished coachman from his room above the stables. "I'm notsurprised," said he, shaking his head. "I've seen him at it before.I knew the dog would get him sooner or later."
The hound was secured, and together we carried the professor upto his room, where Bennett, who had a medical degree, helped me todress his torn throat. The sharp teeth had passed dangerously nearthe carotid artery, and the haemorrhage was serious. In half anhour the danger was past, I had given the patient an injection ofmorphia, and he had sunk into deep sleep. Then, and only then, werewe able to look at each other and to take stock of thesituation.
"I think a first-class surgeon should see him," said I.
"For God's sake, no!" cried Bennett. "At present the scandal isconfined to our own household. It is safe with us. If it getsbeyond these walls it will never stop. Consider his position at theuniversity, his European reputation, the feelings of hisdaughter."
"Quite so," said Holmes. "I think it may be quite possible tokeep the matter to ourselves, and also to prevent its recurrencenow that we have a free hand. The key from the watch-chain, Mr.Bennett. Macphail will guard the patient and let us know if thereis any change. Let us see what we can find in the professor'smysterious box."
There was not much, but there was enough--an empty phial,another nearly full, a hypodermic syringe, several letters in acrabbed, foreign hand. The marks on the envelopes showed that theywere those which had disturbed the routine of the secretary, andeach was dated from the Commercial Road and signed "A. Dorak." Theywere mere invoices to say that a fresh bottle was being sent toProfessor Presbury, or receipt to acknowledge money. There was oneother envelope, however, in a more educated hand and bearing theAustrian stamp with the postmark of Prague. "Here we have ourmaterial!" cried Holmes as he tore out the enclosure.
HONOURED COLLEAGUE [it ran]:
Since your esteemed visit I have thought much of your case, andthough in your circumstances there are some special reasons for thetreatment, I would none the less enjoin caution, as my results haveshown that it is not without danger of a kind. It is possible thatthe serum of anthropoid would have been better. I have, as Iexplained to you, used black-faced langur because a specimen wasaccessible. Langur is, of course, a crawler and climber, whileanthropoid walks erect and is in all ways nearer. I beg you to takeevery possible precaution that there be no premature revelation ofthe process. I have one other client in England, and Dorak is myagent 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 whowas striving in some unknown way for the secret of rejuvenescenceand the elixir of life. Lowenstein of Prague! Lowenstein with thewondrous strength-giving serum, tabooed by the profession becausehe refused to reveal its source. In a few words I said what Iremembered. Bennett had taken a manual of zoology from the shelves."'Langur,'" he read, "'the great black-faced monkey of theHimalayan slopes, biggest and most human of climbing monkeys.' Manydetails are added. Well, thanks to you, Mr. Holmes, it is veryclear that we have traced the evil to its source."
"The real source," said Holmes, "lies, of course, in thatuntimely love affair which gave our impetuous professor the ideathat he could only gain his wish by turning himself into a youngerman. When one tries to rise above Nature one is liable to fallbelow it. The highest type of man may revert to the animal if heleaves the straight road of destiny." He sat musing for a littlewith the phial in his hand, looking at the clear liquid within."When I have written to this man and told him that I hold himcriminally responsible for the poisons which he circulates, we willhave no more trouble. But it may recur. Others may find a betterway. There is danger there--a very real danger to humanity.Consider, Watson, that the material, the sensual, the worldly wouldall prolong their worthless lives. The spiritual would not avoidthe call to something higher. It would be the survival of the leastfit. What sort of cesspool may not our poor world become?" Suddenlythe dreamer disappeared, and Holmes, the man of action, sprang fromhis 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 farmore quickly than you. His smell would insure that. It was themonkey, not the professor, whom Roy attacked, just as it was themonkey who teased Roy. Climbing was a joy to the creature, and itwas a mere chance, I take it, that the pastime brought him to theyoung lady's window. There is an early train to town, Watson, but Ithink we shall just have time for a cup of tea at the Chequersbefore we catch it."
ADVENTURE IV. THE ADVENTURE OF THE SUSSEXVAMPIRE
Holmes had read carefully a note which the last post had broughthim. Then, with the dry chuckle which was his nearest approach to alaugh, he tossed it over to me.
"For a mixture of the modern and the mediaeval, of the practicaland of the wildly fanciful, I think this is surely the limit," saidhe. "What do you make of it, Watson?"
I read as follows:
46, OLD JEWRY,
Nov. 19th.
Re Vampires
SIR:
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 therefore recommendedMr. Ferguson to call upon you and lay the matter before you. Wehave not forgotten your successful action in the case of MatildaBriggs.
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 associatedwith the giant rat of Sumatra, a story for which the world is notyet prepared. But what do we know about vampires? Does it comewithin our purview either? Anything is better than stagnation, butreally we seem to have been switched on to a Grimms' fairy tale.Make a long arm, Watson, and see 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 slowlyand lovingly over the record of old cases, mixed with theaccumulated information of a lifetime.
"Voyage of the Gloria Scott," he read. "That was a bad business.I have some recollection that you made a record of it, Watson,though I was unable to congratulate you upon the result. VictorLynch, 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. Youcan't beat it. Listen to this, Watson. Vampirism in Hungary. Andagain, Vampires in Transylvania." He turned over the pages witheagerness, but after a short intent perusal he threw down the greatbook with a snarl of disappointment.
"Rubbish, Watson, rubbish! What have we to do with walkingcorpses who can only be held in their grave by stakes driventhrough their hearts? It's pure lunacy."
"But surely," said I, "the vampire was not necessarily a deadman? A living person might have the habit. I have read, forexample, of the old sucking the blood of the young in order toretain their youth."
"You are right, Watson. It mentions the legend in one of thesereferences. But are we to give serious attention to such things?This agency stands flat-footed upon the ground, and there it mustremain. The world is big enough for us. No ghosts need apply. Ifear that we cannot take Mr. Robert Ferguson very seriously.Possibly this note may be from him and may throw some light uponwhat is worrying him."
He took up a second letter which had lain unnoticed upon thetable while he had been absorbed with the first. This he began toread with a smile of amusement upon his face which gradually fadedaway into an expression of intense interest and concentration. Whenhe had finished he sat for some little time lost in thought withthe letter dangling from his fingers. Finally, with a start, hearoused himself from his reverie.
"Cheeseman's, Lamberley. Where is Lamberley, Watson?"
"It is in Sussex, South of Horsham."
"Not very far, eh? And Cheeseman's?"
"I know that country, Holmes. It is full of old houses which arenamed after the men who built them centuries ago. You get Odley'sand Harvey's and Carriton's--the folk are forgotten but their nameslive in their houses."
"Precisely," said Holmes coldly. It was one of the peculiaritiesof his proud, self-contained nature that though he docketed anyfresh information very quietly and accurately in his brain, heseldom made any acknowledgment to the giver. "I rather fancy weshall know a good deal more about Cheeseman's, Lamberley, before weare through. The letter is, as I had hoped, from Robert Ferguson.By the way, he claims acquaintance with you."
"With me!"
"You had better read it."
He handed the letter across. It was headed with the addressquoted.
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 factof her 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 have--to 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 and lefta great weal on his arm. This was a small matter, however, comparedwith her conduct to her own child, a dear boy just under one yearof age. On one occasion about a month ago this child had been leftby its nurse for a few minutes. A loud cry from the baby, as ofpain, called the nurse back. As she ran into the room she saw heremployer, the lady, leaning over the baby and apparently biting hisneck. There was a small wound in the neck from which a stream ofblood had escaped. The nurse was so horrified that she wished tocall the husband, but the lady implored her not to do so andactually gave her five pounds as a price for her silence. Noexplanation was ever given, and for the moment the matter waspassed over. It left, however, a terrible impression upon thenurse's mind, and from that time she began to watch her mistressclosely and to keep a closer guard upon the baby, whom she tenderlyloved. It seemed to her that even as she watched the mother, so themother watched her, and that every time she was compelled to leavethe baby alone the mother was waiting to get at it. Day and nightthe nurse 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 child's life and a man's sanity may depend uponit.
At last there came one dreadful day when the facts could nolonger be concealed from the husband. The nurse's nerve had givenway; she could stand the strain no longer, and she made a cleanbreast of it all to the man. To him it seemed as wild a tale as itmay 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 nurse thatshe was dreaming, that her suspicions were those of a lunatic, andthat such libels upon her mistress were not to be tolerated. Whilethey were talking a sudden cry of pain was heard. Nurse and masterrushed together to the nursery. Imagine his feelings, Mr. Holmes,as he saw his wife rise from a kneeling position beside the cot andsaw blood upon the child's exposed neck and upon the sheet. With acry of horror, he turned his wife's face to the light and saw bloodall round her lips. It was she--she beyond all question--who haddrunk the poor baby's blood. So the matter stands. She is nowconfined to her room. There has been no explanation. The husband ishalf demented. He knows, and I know, little of vampirism beyond thename. We had thought it was some wild tale of foreign parts. Andyet here in the very heart of the English Sussex--well, all thiscan be discussed with you in the morning. Will you see me? Will youuse your great powers in aiding a distracted man? If so, kindlywire to Ferguson, Cheeseman's, Lamberley, and I will be at yourrooms by ten o'clock.
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."Big Bob Ferguson, the finest three-quarter Richmond ever had. Hewas always a good-natured chap. It's like him to be so concernedover a friend's case."
Holmes looked at me thoughtfully and shook his head.
"I never get your limits, Watson," said he. "There areunexplored possibilities about you. Take a wire down, like a goodfellow. 'Will examine your case with pleasure.'"
"Your case!"
"We must not let him think that this agency is a home for theweak-minded. Of course it is his case. Send him that wire and letthe matter rest till morning."
Promptly at ten o'clock next morning Ferguson strode into ourroom. I had remembered him as a long, slab-sided man with looselimbs and a fine turn of speed which had carried him round many anopposing back. There is surely nothing in life more painful than tomeet the wreck of a fine athlete whom one has known in his prime.His great frame had fallen in, his flaxen hair was scanty, and hisshoulders were bowed. I fear that I roused corresponding emotionsin him.
"Hullo, Watson," said he, and his voice was still deep andhearty. "You don't look quite the man you did when I threw you overthe ropes into the crowd at the Old Deer Park. I expect I havechanged a bit also. But it's this last day or two that has aged me.I see by your telegram, Mr. Holmes, that it is no use my pretendingto be anyone's deputy.".
"It is simpler to deal direct," said Holmes.
"Of course it is. But you can imagine how difficult it is whenyou are speaking of the one woman whom you are bound to protect andhelp. What can I do? How am I to go to the police with such astory? And yet the kiddies have got to be protected. Is it madness,Mr. Holmes? Is it something in the blood? Have you any similar casein your experience? For God's sake, give me some advice, for I amat my wit's end."
"Very naturally, Mr. Ferguson. Now sit here and pull yourselftogether and give me a few clear answers. I can assure you that Iam very far from being at my wit's end, and that I am confident weshall find some solution. First of all, tell me what steps you havetaken. Is your wife still near the children?"
"We had a dreadful scene. She is a most loving woman, Mr.Holmes. If ever a woman loved a man with all her heart and soul,she loves me. She was cut to the heart that I should havediscovered this horrible, this incredible, secret. She would noteven speak. She gave no answer to my reproaches, save to gaze at mewith a sort of wild, despairing look in her eyes. Then she rushedto her room and locked herself in. Since then she has refused tosee me. She has a maid who was with her before her marriage,Dolores by name--a friend rather than a servant. She takes her foodto her."
"Then the child is in no immediate danger?"
"Mrs. Mason, the nurse, has sworn that she will not leave itnight or day. I can absolutely trust her. I am more uneasy aboutpoor little Jack, for, as I told you in my note, he has twice beenassaulted by her."
"But never wounded?"
"No, she struck him savagely. It is the more terrible as he is apoor little inoffensive cripple." Ferguson's gaunt featuressoftened as he spoke of his boy. "You would think that the dearlad's condition would soften anyone's heart. A fall in childhoodand a twisted spine, Mr. Holmes. But the dearest, most loving heartwithin."
Holmes had picked up the letter of yesterday and was reading itover. "What other inmates are there in your house, Mr.Ferguson?"
"Two servants who have not been long with us. One stablehand,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 ofyour marriage?"
"I had only known her a few weeks."
"How long had this maid Dolores been with her?"
"Some years."
"Then your wife's 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 thanhere. It is eminently a case for personal investigation. If thelady remains in her room, our presence could not annoy orinconvenience her. Of course, we would stay at the inn."
Ferguson gave a gesture of relief.
"It is what I hoped, Mr. Holmes. There is an excellent train attwo from Victoria if you could come."
"Of course we could come. There is a lull at present. I can giveyou my undivided energies. Watson, of course, comes with us. Butthere are one or two points upon which I wish to be very surebefore I start. This unhappy lady, as I understand it, has appearedto assault both the children, her own baby and your littleson?"
"That is so."
"But the assaults take different forms, do they not? She hasbeaten your son."
"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 jealous--jealous with all the strength of herfiery tropical love."
"But the boy--he is fifteen, I understand, and probably verydeveloped in mind, since his body has been circumscribed in action.Did he give you no 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 ishis life. He is absorbed in what I say or do."
Once again Holmes made a note. For some time he sat lost inthought.
"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, nodoubt, to the memory of his mother?"
"Most devoted."
"He would certainly seem to be a most interesting lad. There isone other point about these assaults. Were the strange attacks uponthe baby and the assaults upon yow son at the same period?"
"In the first case it was so. It was as if some frenzy hadseized her, and she had vented her rage upon both. In the secondcase it was only Jack who suffered. Mrs. Mason had no complaint tomake about the baby."
"That certainly complicates matters."
"I don't quite follow you, Mr. Holmes."
"Possibly not. One forms provisional theories and waits for timeor fuller 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 sayat the present stage that your problem does not appear to me to beinsoluble, and that you may expect to find us at Victoria at twoo'clock."
It was evening of a dull, foggy November day when, having leftour bags at the Chequers, Lamberley, we drove through the Sussexclay of a long winding lane and finally reached the isolated andancient farmhouse in which Ferguson dwelt. It was a large,straggling building, very old in the centre, very new at the wingswith towering Tudor chimneys and a lichen-spotted, high-pitchedroof of Horsham slabs. The doorsteps were worn into curves, and theancient tiles which lined the porch were marked with the rebus of acheese and a man after the original builder. Within, the ceilingswere corrugated with heavy oaken beams, and the uneven floorssagged into sharp curves. An odour of age and decay pervaded thewhole crumbling building.
There was one very large central room into which Ferguson ledus. Here, in a huge old-fashioned fireplace with an iron screenbehind it dated 1670, there blazed and spluttered a splendid logfire.
The room, as I gazed round, was a most singular mixture of datesand of places. The half-panelled walls may well have belonged tothe original yeoman farmer of the seventeenth century. They wereornamented, however, on the lower part by a line of well-chosenmodern water-colours; while above, where yellow plaster took theplace of oak, there was hung a fine collection of South Americanutensils and weapons, which had been brought, no doubt, by thePeruvian lady upstairs. Holmes rose, with that quick curiositywhich sprang from his eager mind, and examined 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 slowlyforward towards its master, walking with difficulty. Its hind legsmoved irregularly and its tail was on the ground. It lickedFerguson's hand.
"What is it, Mr. Holmes?"
"The dog. What's the matter with it?"
"That's what puzzled the vet. A sort of paralysis. Spinalmeningitis, he thought. But it is passing. He'll be all rightsoon--won't you, Carlo?"
A shiver of assent passed through the drooping tail. The dog'smournful eyes passed from one of us to the other. He knew that wewere discussing 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 God's sake, what do you think, Mr. Holmes? It may be a mereintellectual puzzle to you, but it is life and death to me! My wifea would-be murderer--my child in constant danger! Don't play withme, Mr. Holmes. It is too terribly serious."
The big Rugby three-quarter was trembling all over. Holmes puthis hand soothingly upon his arm.
"I fear that there is pain for you, Mr. Ferguson, whatever thesolution may be," said he. "I would spare you all I can. I cannotsay more for the instant, but before I leave this house I hope Imay have something definite."
"Please God you may! If you will excuse me, gentlemen, I will goup to my wife's 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 hostreturned it was clear from his downcast face that he had made noprogress. He brought with him a tall, slim, brown-faced girl.
"The tea is ready, Dolores," said Ferguson. "See that yourmistress has everything she can wish."
"She verra ill," cried the girl, looking with indignant eyes ather master. "She no ask for food. She verra ill. She need doctor. Ifrightened stay alone 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 I'll come with you at once."
I followed the girl, who was quivering with strong emotion, upthe staircase and down an ancient corridor. At the end was aniron-clamped and massive door. It struck me as I looked at it thatif Ferguson tried to force his way to his wife he would find it noeasy matter. The girl drew a key from her pocket, and the heavyoaken planks creaked upon their old hinges. I passed in and sheswiftly followed, fastening the door behind her.
On the bed a woman was lying who was clearly in a high fever.She was only half conscious, but as I entered she raised a pair offrightened but beautiful eyes and glared at me in apprehension.Seeing a stranger, she appeared to be relieved and sank back with asigh upon the pillow. I stepped up to her with a few reassuringwords, and she lay still while I took her pulse and temperature.Both were high, and yet my impression was that the condition wasrather that of mental and nervous excitement than of any actualseizure.
"She lie like that one day, two day. I 'fraid she die," said thegirl.
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 towander off into delirium. "A fiend! A fiend! Oh, what shall I dowith this devil?"
"Can I help you in any way?"
"No. No one can help. It is finished. All is destroyed. Do whatI will, all is destroyed."
The woman must have some strange delusion. I could not seehonest Bob 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 evento sacrifice myself rather than break his dear heart? That is how Ilove him. And yet he could think of me--he could speak of meso."
"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 uponhis face. I will not see him. Go now. You can do nothing for me.Tell him only one thing. I want my child. I have a right to mychild. That is the only message I can send him." She turned herface to the wall and would say no more.
I returned to the room downstairs, where Ferguson and Holmesstill sat by the fire. Ferguson listened moodily to my account ofthe interview.
"How can I send her the child?" he said. "How do I know whatstrange impulse might come upon her? How can I ever forget how sherose from beside it with its blood upon her lips?" He shuddered atthe recollection. "The child is safe with Mrs. Mason, and there hemust remain."
A smart maid, the only modern thing which we had seen in thehouse, had brought in some tea. As she was serving it the dooropened and a youth entered the room. He was a remarkable lad,pale-faced and fair-haired, with excitable light blue eyes whichblazed into a sudden flame of emotion and joy as they rested uponhis father. He rushed forward and threw his arms round his neckwith the abandon of a loving girl.
"Oh, daddy," he cried, "I did not know that you were due yet. Ishould have been here to meet you. Oh, I am so glad to seeyou!"
Ferguson gently disengaged himself from the embrace with somelittle show of embarrassment.
"Dear old chap," said he, patting the flaxen head with a verytender hand. "I came early because my friends, Mr. Holmes and Dr.Watson, have been persuaded to come down and spend an evening withus."
"Is that Mr. Holmes, the detective?"
"Yes."
The youth looked at us with a very penetrating and, as it seemedto me, unfriendly gaze.
"What about your other child, Mr. Ferguson?" asked Holmes."Might we 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 thathe was suffering from a weak spine. Presently he returned, andbehind him came a tall, gaunt woman bearing in her arms a verybeautiful child, dark-eyed, golden-haired, a wonderful mixture ofthe Saxon and the Latin. Ferguson was evidently devoted to it, forhe took it into his arms and fondled it most tenderly.
"Fancy anyone having the heart to hurt him," he muttered as heglanced down at the small, angry red pucker upon the cherubthroat.
It was at this moment that I chanced to glance at Holmes and sawa most singular intentness in his expression. His face was as setas if it had been carved out of old ivory, and his eyes, which hadglanced for a moment at father and child, were now fixed with eagercuriosity upon something at the other side of the room. Followinghis gaze I could only guess that he was looking out through thewindow at the melancholy, dripping garden. It is true that ashutter had half closed outside and obstructed the view, but nonethe less it was certainly at the window that Holmes was fixing hisconcentrated attention. Then he smiled, and his eyes came back tothe baby. On its chubby neck there was this small puckered mark.Without speaking, Holmes examined it with care. Finally he shookone of the dimpled fists which waved in front of him.
"Good-bye, little man. You have made a strange start in life.Nurse, I should wish to have a word with you in private."
He took her aside and spoke earnestly for a few minutes. I onlyheard the last words, which were: "Your anxiety will soon, I hope,be set at rest." The woman, who seemed to be a sour, silent kind ofcreature, withdrew with the child.
"What is Mrs. Mason like?" asked Holmes.
"Not very prepossessing externally, as you can see, but a heartof gold, and devoted to the child."
"Do you like her, Jack?" Holmes turned suddenly upon the boy.His expressive mobile face shadowed over, and he shook hishead.
"Jacky has very strong likes and dislikes," said Ferguson,putting his arm round the boy. "Luckily I am one of his likes."
The boy cooed and nestled his head upon his father's breast.Ferguson gently disengaged him.
"Run away, little Jacky," said he, and he watched his son withloving eyes until he disappeared. "Now, Mr. Holmes," he continuedwhen the boy was gone, "I really feel that I have brought you on afool's errand, for what can you possibly do save give me yoursympathy? It must be an exceedingly delicate and complex affairfrom your point of view."
"It is certainly delicate," said my friend with an amused smile,"but I have not been struck up to now with its complexity. It hasbeen a case for intellectual deduction, but when this originalintellectual deduction is confirmed point by point by quite anumber of independent incidents, then the subjective becomesobjective and we can say confidently that we have reached our goal.I had, in fact, reached it before we left Baker Street, and therest has merely been observation and confirmation."
Ferguson put his big hand to his furrowed forehead.
"For heaven's sake, Holmes," he said hoarsely; "if you can seethe truth in this matter, do not keep me in suspense. How do Istand? What shall I do? I care nothing as to how you have foundyour facts so long as you have really got them."
"Certainly I owe you an explanation, and you shall have it. Butyou will permit me to handle the matter in my own way? Is the ladycapable of seeing us, Watson?"
"She is ill, but she is quite rational."
"Very good. It is only in her presence that we can clear thematter 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 upona sheet of paper. "You at least have the entree, Watson. Will youhave the goodness 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 inwhich joy and surprise seemed to be blended. Dolores lookedout.
"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. Hesank into an armchair, while Holmes seated himself beside him,after bowing to the lady, who looked at him with wide-eyedamazement.
"I think we can dispense with Dolores," said Holmes. "Oh, verywell, madame, if you would rather she stayed I can see noobjection. Now, Mr. Ferguson, I am a busy man with many calls, andmy methods have to be short and direct. The swiftest surgery is theleast painful. Let me first say what will ease your mind. Your wifeis a very good, a very loving, and a very 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 inanother direction."
"I care nothing so long as you clear my wife. Everything onearth is insignificant compared to that."
"Let me tell you, then, the train of reasoning which passedthrough my mind in Baker Street. The idea of a vampire was to meabsurd. Such things do not happen in criminal practice in England.And yet your observation was precise. You had seen the lady risefrom beside the child's cot with the blood upon her lips."
"I did."
"Did it not occur to you that a bleeding wound may be sucked forsome other purpose than to draw the blood from it? Was there not aqueen in English history who sucked such a wound to draw poisonfrom it?"
"Poison!"
"A South American household. My instinct felt the presence ofthose weapons upon the wall before my eyes ever saw them. It mighthave been other poison, but that was what occurred to me. When Isaw that little empty quiver beside the small birdbow, it was justwhat I expected to see. If the child were pricked with one of thosearrows dipped in curare or some other devilish drug, it would meandeath if the venom were not sucked out.
"And the dog! If one were to use such a poison, would one nottry it first in order to see that it had not lost its power? I didnot foresee the dog, but at least I understand him and he fittedinto my reconstruction.
"Now do you understand? Your wife feared such an attack. She sawit made and saved the child's life, and yet she shrank from tellingyou all the truth, for she knew how you loved the boy and fearedlest it break your heart."
"Jacky!"
"I watched him as you fondled the child just now. His face wasclearly reflected in the glass of the window where the shutterformed a background. I saw such jealousy, such cruel hatred, as Ihave seldom seen in a human face."
"My Jacky!"
"You have to face it, Mr. Ferguson. It is the more painfulbecause it is a distorted love, a maniacal exaggerated love foryou, and possibly for his dead mother, which has prompted hisaction. His very soul is consumed with hatred for this splendidchild, whose health and beauty are a contrast to his ownweakness."
"Good God! It is incredible!"
"Have I spoken the truth, madame?"
The lady was sobbing, with her face buried in the pillows. Nowshe turned to her husband.
"How could I tell you, Bob? I felt the blow it would be to you.It was better that I should wait and that it should come from someother lips than mine. When this gentleman, who seems to have powersof magic, wrote that he knew all, I was glad."
"I think a year at sea would be my prescription for MasterJacky," said Holmes, rising from his chair. "Only one thing isstill clouded, madame. We can quite understand your attacks uponMaster Jacky. There is a limit to a mother's patience. But how didyou dare to leave 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 handsoutstretched and quivering.
"This, I fancy, is the time for our exit, Watson," said Holmesin a whisper. "If you will take one elbow of the too faithfulDolores, I will take the other. There, now," he added as he closedthe door behind him, "I think we may leave them to settle the restamong themselves."
I have only one further note of this case. It is the letterwhich Holmes wrote in final answer to that with which the narrativebegins. It ran thus:
BAKER STREET,
Nov. 21st.
Re Vampires
SIR:
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.
ADVENTURE V. THE ADVENTURE OF THE THREEGARRIDEBS
It may have been a comedy, or it may have been a tragedy. Itcost one man his reason, it cost me a blood-letting, and it costyet another man the penalties of the law. Yet there was certainlyan 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 myposition of partner and confidant I am obliged to be particularlycareful to avoid any indiscretion. I repeat, however, that thisenables me to fix the date, which was the latter end of June, 1902,shortly after the conclusion of the South African War. Holmes hadspent several days in bed, as was his habit from time to time, buthe emerged that morning with a long foolscap document in his handand a twinkle of amusement in his austere gray eyes.
"There is a chance for you to make some money. friend Watson,"said he. "Have you ever heard the name of Garrideb?"
I admitted that I had not.
"Well, if you can lay your hand upon a Garrideb, there's moneyin it."
"Why?"
"Ah, that's a long story--rather a whimsical one, too. I don'tthink in all our explorations of human complexities we have evercome upon anything more singular. The fellow will be here presentlyfor cross-examination, so I won't open the matter up till he comes.But, meanwhile, that's the name we want."
The telephone directory lay on the table beside me, and I turnedover the pages in a rather hopeless quest. But to my amazementthere was this strange name in its due place. I gave a cry oftriumph.
"Here you are, Holmes! Here it is!"
Holmes took the book from my hand.
"'Garrideb, N.,'" he read, "'136 Little Ryder Street, W.' Sorryto disappoint you, my dear Watson, but this is the man himself.That is the address upon his letter. We want another to matchhim."
Mrs. Hudson had come in with a card upon a tray. I took it upand glanced at it.
"Why, here it is!" I cried in amazement. "This is a differentinitial. John Garrideb, Counsellor at Law, Moorville, Kansas,U.S.A."
Holmes smiled as he looked at the card. "I am afraid you mustmake yet another effort, Watson," said he. "This gentleman is alsoin the plot already, though I certainly did not expect to see himthis morning. However, he is in a position to tell us a good dealwhich I want to know."
A moment later he was in the room. Mr. John Garrideb, Counsellorat Law, was a short, powerful man with the round, fresh,clean-shaven face characteristic of so many American men ofaffairs. The general effect was chubby and rather childlike, sothat one received the impression of quite a young man with a broadset smile upon his face. His eyes, however, were arresting. Seldomin any human head have I seen a pair which bespoke a more intenseinward life, so bright were they, so alert, so responsive to everychange of thought. His accent was American, but was not accompaniedby 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. Ibelieve you have had a letter from my namesake, Mr. NathanGarrideb, have you not?"
"Pray sit down," said Sherlock Holmes. "We shall, I fancy, havea good deal to discuss." He took up his sheets of foolscap. "Youare, of course, the Mr. John Garrideb mentioned in this document.But surely you have been 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. "I've read of your tricks, Mr.Holmes, but I never thought I would be the subject of them. Wheredo you read that?"
"The shoulder cut of your coat, the toes of your boots--couldanyone doubt it?"
"Well, well, I had no idea I was so obvious a Britisher. Butbusiness brought me over here some time ago, and so, as you say, myoutfit is nearly all London. However, I guess your time is ofvalue, and we did not meet to talk about the cut of my socks. Whatabout getting down to that paper you hold in your hand?"
Holmes had in some way ruffled our visitor, whose chubby facehad assumed a far less amiable expression.
"Patience! Patience, Mr. Garrideb!" said my friend in a soothingvoice. "Dr. Watson would tell you that these little digressions ofmine sometimes prove in the end to have some bearing on the matter.But why did Mr. Nathan Garrideb not come with you?"
"Why did he ever drag you into it at all?" asked our visitorwith a sudden outflame of anger. "What in thunder had you to dowith it? Here was a bit of professional business between twogentlemen, and one of them must needs call in a detective! I sawhim this morning, and he told me this fool-trick he had played me,and that's why I am here. But I feel bad about it, all thesame."
"There was no reflection upon you, Mr. Garrideb. It was simplyzeal upon his part to gain your end--an end which is, I understand,equally vital for both of you. He knew that I had means of gettinginformation, and, therefore, it was very natural that he shouldapply to me."
Our visitor's angry face gradually cleared.
"Well, that puts it different," said he. "When I went to see himthis morning and he told me he had sent to a detective, I justasked for your address and came right away. I don't want policebutting into a private matter. But if you are content just to helpus find the man, there can be no harm in that."
"Well, that is just how it stands," said Holmes. "And now, sir,since you are here, we had best have a clear account from your ownlips. My friend 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, there's no reason it should be kept a secret. I'll giveyou the facts as short as I can make them. If you came from KansasI would not need to explain to you who Alexander Hamilton Garridebwas. He made his money in real estate, and afterwards in the wheatpit at Chicago, but he spent it in buying up as much land as wouldmake one of your counties, lying along the Arkansas River, west ofFort Dodge. It's grazing-land and lumber-land and arable-land andmineralized-land, and just every sort of land that brings dollarsto the man that owns it.
"He had no kith nor kin--or, if he had, I never heard of it. Buthe took a kind of pride in the queerness of his name. That was whatbrought us together. I was in the law at Topeka, and one day I hada visit from the old man, and he was tickled to death to meetanother man with his own name. It was his pet fad, and he was deadset to find out if there were any more Garridebs in the world.'Find me another!' said he. I told him I was a busy man and couldnot spend my life hiking round the world in search of Garridebs.'None the less,' said he, 'that is just what you will do if thingspan out as I planned them.' I thought he was joking, but there wasa powerful lot of meaning in the words, as I was soon todiscover.
"For he died within a year of saying them, and he left a willbehind him. It was the queerest will that has ever been filed inthe State of Kansas. His property was divided into three parts andI was to have one on condition that I found two Garridebs who wouldshare the remainder. It's five million dollars for each if it is acent, but we can't lay a finger on it until we all three stand in arow.
"It was so big a chance that I just let my legal practice slideand I set forth looking for Garridebs. There is not one in theUnited States. I went through it, sir, with a fine-toothed comb andnever a Garrideb could I catch. Then I tried the old country. Sureenough there was the name in the London telephone directory. I wentafter him two days ago and explained the whole matter to him. Buthe is a lone man, like myself, with some women relations, but nomen. It says three adult men in the will. So you see we still havea vacancy, and if you can help to fill it we will be very ready topay your charges."
"Well, Watson," said Holmes with a smile, "l said it was ratherwhimsical, did I not? I should have thought, sir, that your obviousway was 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. Imay take a glance at it in my leisure. By the way, it is curiousthat you should have come from Topeka. I used to have acorrespondent--he is dead now--old Dr. Lysander Starr, who wasmayor in 1890."
"Good old Dr. Starr!" said our visitor. "His name is stillhonoured. Well, Mr. Holmes, I suppose all we can do is to report toyou and let you know how we progress. I reckon you will hear withina day or two." With this assurance our American bowed anddeparted.
Holmes had lit his pipe, and he sat for some time with a curioussmile upon his face.
"Well?" I asked at last.
"I am wondering, Watson--just wondering!"
"At what?"
Holmes took his pipe from his lips.
"I was wondering, Watson, what on earth could be the object ofthis man in telling us such a rigmarole of lies. I nearly asked himso--for there are times when a brutal frontal attack is the bestpolicy--but I judged it better to let him think he had fooled us.Here is a man with an English coat frayed at the elbow and trousersbagged at the knee with a year's wear, and yet by this document andby his own account he is a provincial American lately landed inLondon. There have been no advertisements in the agony columns. Youknow that I miss nothing there. They are my favourite covert forputting up a bird, and I would never have overlooked such a cockpheasant as that. I never knew a Dr. Lysander Starr, of Topeka.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? It's worth our attention, for,granting that the man is a rascal, he is certainly a complex andingenious one. We must now find out if our other correspondent is afraud also. Just ring him up, Watson."
I did so, and heard a thin, quavering voice at the other end ofthe line.
"Yes, yes, I am Mr. Nathan Garrideb. Is Mr. Holmes there? Ishould very 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 don't know him....How long? ... Only two days! ... Yes, yes, of course, it is a mostcaptivating prospect. Will you be at home this evening? I supposeyour namesake will not be there? . . . Very good, we will comethen, for I would rather have a chat without him.... Dr. Watsonwill come with me.... I understand from your note that you did notgo out often.... Well, we shall be round about six. You need notmention it to the American lawyer.... Very good. Good-bye!"
It was twilight of a lovely spring evening, and even LittleRyder Street, one of the smaller offshoots from the Edgware Road,within a stone-cast of old Tyburn Tree of evil memory, lookedgolden and wonderful in the slanting rays of the setting sun. Theparticular house to which we were directed was a large,old-fashioned, Early Georgian edifice, with a flat brick facebroken only by two deep bay windows on the ground floor. It was onthis ground floor that our client lived, and, indeed, the lowwindows proved to be the front of the huge room in which he spenthis waking hours. Holmes pointed as we passed to the small brassplate which bore the curious name.
"Up some years, Watson," he remarked, indicating its discolouredsurface. "It's his real name, anyhow, and that is something tonote."
The house had a common stair, and there were a number of namespainted in the hall, some indicating offices and some privatechambers. It was not a collection of residential flats, but ratherthe abode of Bohemian bachelors. Our client opened the door for ushimself and apologized by saying that the woman in charge left atfour o'clock. Mr. Nathan Garrideb proved to be a very tall,loosejointed, round-backed person, gaunt and bald, some sixty-oddyears of age. He had a cadaverous face, with the dull dead skin ofa man to whom exercise was unknown. Large round spectacles and asmall projecting goat's beard combined with his stooping attitudeto 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 largetable in the centre was littered with all sorts of debris, whilethe tall brass tube of a powerful microscope bristled up amongthem. As I glanced round I was surprised at the universality of theman's interests. Here was a case of ancient coins. There was acabinet of flint instruments. Behind his central table was a largecupboard of fossil bones. Above was a line of plaster skulls withsuch names as "Neanderthal," "Heidelberg," "Cro-Magnon" printedbeneath 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 leatherin his right hand with which he was polishing a coin.
"Syracusan--of the best period," he explained, holding it up."They degenerated greatly towards the end. At their best I holdthem supreme, though some prefer the Alexandrian school. You willfind a chair here, Mr. Holmes. Pray allow me to clear these bones.And you, sir--ah, yes, Dr. Watson--if you would have the goodnessto put the Japanese vase to one side. You see round me my littleinterests in life. My doctor lectures me about never going out, butwhy should I go out when I have so much to hold me here? I canassure you that the adequate cataloguing of one of those cabinetswould 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 Sotheby's or Christie's.Otherwise I very seldom leave my room. I am not too strong, and myresearches are very absorbing. But you can imagine, Mr. Holmes,what a terrific shock --pleasant but terrific--it was for me when Iheard of this unparalleled good fortune. It only needs one moreGarrideb to complete the matter, and surely we can find one. I hada brother, but he is dead, and female relatives are disqualified.But there must surely be others in the world. I had heard that youhandled strange cases, and that was why I sent to you. Of course,this American gentleman is quite right, and I should have taken hisadvice first, but I acted for the best."
"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 mycollection. But this gentleman has assured me that he will buy meout as soon as we have established our claim. Five million dollarswas the sum named. There are a dozen specimens in the market at thepresent moment which fill gaps in my collection, and which I amunable to purchase for want of a few hundred pounds. Just thinkwhat I could do with five million dollars. Why, I have the nucleusof a national collection. I shall be the Hans Sloane of myage."
His eyes gleamed behind his great spectacles. It was very clearthat no pains would be spared by Mr. Nathan Garrideb in finding anamesake.
"I merely called to make your acquaintance, and there is noreason why I should interrupt your studies," said Holmes. "I preferto establish personal touch with those with whom I do business.There are few questions I need ask, for I have your very clearnarrative in my pocket, and I filled up the blanks when thisAmerican gentleman called. I understand that up to this week youwere 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 hewas quite 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 nota very valuable one."
"You have no fear of burglars?"
"Not the least."
"How long have you been in these rooms?"
"Nearly five years."
Holmes's cross-examination was interrupted by an imperativeknocking at the door. No sooner had our client unlatched it thanthe American lawyer burst excitedly into the room.
"Here you are!" he cried, waving a paper over his head. "Ithought I should be in time to get you. Mr. Nathan Garrideb, mycongratulations! You are a rich man, sir. Our business is happilyfinished and all is well. As to you, Mr. Holmes, we can only say weare sorry if we have given you any useless trouble."
He handed over the paper to our client, who stood staring at amarked advertisement. Holmes and I leaned forward and read it overhis shoulder. This is how it ran:
HOWARD GARRIDEB
CONSTRUCTOR OF AGRICULTURAL MACHINERY
Binders, reapers, steam and hand plows, drills, harrows,farmer's carts, buckboards, and all other appliances. Estimates forArtesian Wells.
Apply Grosvenor Buildings, Aston
"Glorious!" gasped our host. "That makes our third man."
"I had opened up inquiries in Birmingham," said the American,"and my agent there has sent me this advertisement from a localpaper. We must hustle and put the thing through. I have written tothis man and told him that you will see him in his office to-morrowafternoon at four o'clock."
"You want me to see him?"
"What do you say, Mr. Holmes? Don't you think it would be wiser?Here am I, a wandering American with a wonderful tale. Why shouldhe believe what I tell him? But you are a Britisher with solidreferences, and he is bound to take notice of what you say. I wouldgo with you if you wished, but I have a very busy day to-morrow,and I could always follow you 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 ourconnections. You leave at twelve and should be there soon aftertwo. Then you can be back the same night. All you have to do is tosee this man, explain the matter, and get an affidavit of hisexistence. By the Lord!" he added hotly, "considering I've come allthe way from the centre of America, it is surely little enough ifyou go a hundred miles in order to put this matter through."
"Quite so," said Holmes. "I think what this gentleman says isvery true."
Mr. Nathan Garrideb shrugged his shoulders with a disconsolateair. "Well, if you insist I shall go," said he. "It is certainlyhard for me to refuse you anything, considering the glory of hopethat you have brought into my life."
"Then that is agreed," said Holmes, "and no doubt you will letme have a report as soon as you can."
"I'll see to that," said the American. "Well," he added lookingat his watch, "I'll have to get on. I'll call to-morrow, Mr.Nathan, and see you off to Birmingham. Coming my way, Mr. Holmes?Well, then, good-bye, and we may have good news for you to-morrownight."
I noticed that my friend's face cleared when the American leftthe room, and the look of thoughtful perplexity had vanished.
"I wish I could look over your collection, Mr. Garrideb," saidhe. "In my profession all sorts of odd knowledge comes useful, andthis room of yours is a storehouse of it."
Our client shone with pleasure and his eyes gleamed from behindhis big 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 welllabelled and classified that they hardly need your personalexplanation. If I should be able to look in to-morrow, I presumethat there would be no objection to my glancing over them?"
"None at all. You are most welcome. The place will, of course,be shut up, but Mrs. Saunders is in the basement up to four o'clockand would let you in with her key."
"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,who is 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,"said Holmes, laughing. "I was wondering if this was Queen Anne orGeorgian."
"Georgian, beyond doubt."
"Really. I should have thought a little earlier. However, it iseasily ascertained. Well, good-bye, Mr. Garrideb, and may you haveevery success in your Birmingham journey."
The house-agent's was close by, but we found that it was closedfor the day, so we made our way back to Baker Street. It was nottill after dinner that Holmes reverted to the subject.
"Our little problem draws to a close," said he. "No doubt youhave outlined 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 seeto-morrow. Did you notice nothing curious about thatadvertisement?"
"I saw that the word 'plough' was misspelt."
"Oh, you did notice that, did you? Come, Watson, you improve allthe time. Yes, it was bad English but good American. The printerhad set it up as received. Then the buckboards. That is Americanalso. And artesian wells are commoner with them than with us. Itwas a typical American advertisement, but purporting to be from anEnglish firm. What do you make of that?"
"I can only suppose that this American lawyer put it in himself.What his object was I fail to understand."
"Well, there are alternative explanations. Anyhow, he wanted toget this good old fossil up to Birmingham. That is very clear. Imight have told him that he was clearly going on a wild-goosechase, but, on second thoughts, it seemed better to clear the stageby letting him go. To-morrow, Watson--well, to-morrow will speakfor itself."
Holmes was up and out early. When he returned at lunchtime Inoticed that 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 bean additional reason to you for running your head into danger. Ishould know my Watson by now. But there is danger, and you shouldknow it."
"Well, it is not the first we have shared, Holmes. I hope it maynot be the 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,of sinister and murderous reputation."
"I fear I am none the wiser."
"Ah, it is not part of your profession to carry about a portableNewgate Calendar in your memory. I have been down to see friendLestrade at the Yard. There may be an occasional want ofimaginative intuition down there, but they lead the world forthoroughness and method. I had an idea that we might get on thetrack of our American friend in their records. Sure enough, I foundhis chubby face smiling up at me from the rogues' portrait gallery.'James Winter, alias Morecroft, alias Killer Evans,' was theinscription below." Holmes drew an envelope from his pocket. "Iscribbled down a few points from his dossier: Aged forty-four.Native of Chicago. Known to have shot three men in the States.Escaped from penitentiary through political influence. Came toLondon in 1893. Shot a man over cards in a night-club in theWaterloo Road in January, 1895. Man died, but he was shown to havebeen the aggressor in the row. Dead man was identified as RodgerPrescott, famous as forger and coiner in Chicago. Killer Evansreleased in 1901. Has been under police supervision since, but sofar as known has led an honest life. Very dangerous man, usuallycarries arms and is prepared to use them. That is our bird,Watson--a sporting bird, as you must admit."
"But what is his game?"
"Well, it begins to define itself. I have been to thehouseagent's. Our client, as he told us, has been there five years.It was unlet for a year before then. The previous tenant was agentleman at large named Waldron. Waldron's appearance was wellremembered at the office. He had suddenly vanished and nothing morebeen heard of him. He was a tall, bearded man with very darkfeatures. Now, Prescott, the man whom Killer Evans had shot, was,according to Scotland Yard, a tall, dark man with a beard. As aworking hypothesis, I think we may take it that Prescott, theAmerican criminal, used to live in the very room which our innocentfriend 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 triesto live up to his nickname, we must be ready for him. I'll give youan hour for a siesta, Watson, and then I think it will be time forour Ryder Street adventure."
It was just four o'clock when we reached the curious apartmentof Nathan Garrideb. Mrs. Saunders, the caretaker, was about toleave, but she had no hesitation in admitting us, for the door shutwith a spring lock, and Holmes promised to see that all was safebefore we left. Shortly afterwards the outer door closed, herbonnet passed the bow window, and we knew that we were alone in thelower floor of the house. Holmes made a rapid examination of thepremises. There was one cupboard in a dark corner which stood out alittle from the wall. It was behind this that we eventuallycrouched while Holmes in a whisper outlined his intentions.
"He wanted to get our amiable friend out of his room--that isvery clear, and, as the collector never went out, it took someplanning to do it. The whole of this Garrideb invention wasapparently for no other end. I must say, Watson, that there is acertain devilish ingenuity about it, even if the queer name of thetenant did give him an opening which he could hardly have 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 nothingwhatever to do with our client, so far as I can read the situation.It is something connected with the man he murdered--the man who mayhave been his confederate in crime. There is some guilty secret inthe room. That is how I read it. At first I thought our friendmight have something in his collection more valuable than heknew--something worth the attention of a big criminal. But the factthat Rodger Prescott of evil memory inhabited these rooms points tosome deeper reason. Well, Watson, we can but possess our souls inpatience and see what the hour may bring."
That hour was not long in striking. We crouched closer in theshadow as we heard the outer door open and shut. Then came thesharp, metallic snap of a key, and the American was in the room. Heclosed the door softly behind him, took a sharp glance around himto see that all was safe, threw off his overcoat, and walked up tothe central table with the brisk manner of one who knows exactlywhat he has to do and how to do it. He pushed the table to oneside, tore up the square of carpet on which it rested, rolled itcompletely back, and then, drawing a jemmy from his inside pocket,he knelt down and worked vigorously upon the floor. Presently weheard the sound of sliding boards, and an instant later a squarehad 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 asignal, and together we stole across to the open trap-door. Gentlyas we moved, however, the old floor must have creaked under ourfeet, for the head of our American, peering anxiously round,emerged suddenly from the open space. His face turned upon us witha glare of baffled rage, which gradually softened into a rathershamefaced grin as he realized that two pistols were pointed at hishead.
"Well, well!" said he coolly as he scrambled to the surface. "Iguess you have been one too many for me, Mr. Holmes. Saw through mygame, I suppose, and played me for a sucker from the first. Well,sir, I hand it to you; you have me beat and--"
In an instant he had whisked out a revolver from his breast andhad fired two shots. I felt a sudden hot sear as if a red-hot ironhad been pressed to my thigh. There was a crash as Holmes's pistolcame down on the man's head. I had a vision of him sprawling uponthe floor with blood running down his face while Holmes rummagedhim for weapons. Then my friend's wiry arms were round me, and hewas leading me to a chair.
"You're not hurt, Watson? For God's sake, say that you are nothurt!"
It was worth a wound--it was worth many wounds--to know thedepth of loyalty and love which lay behind that cold mask. Theclear, hard eyes were dimmed for a moment, and the firm lips wereshaking. For the one and only time I caught a glimpse of a greatheart as well as of a great brain. All my years of humble butsingle-minded service culminated in that moment of revelation.
"It's nothing, Holmes. It's 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 isquite superficial." His face set like flint as he glared at ourprisoner, who was sitting up with a dazed face. "By the Lord, it isas well for you. If you had killed Watson, you would not have gotout of this room alive. Now, sir, what have you to say foryourself?"
He had nothing to say for himself. He only sat and scowled. Ileaned on Holmes's arm, and together we looked down into the smallcellar which had been disclosed by the secret flap. It was stillilluminated by the candle which Evans had taken down with him. Oureyes fell upon a mass of rusted machinery, great rolls of paper, alitter of bottles, and, neatly arranged upon a small table, anumber of neat little bundles.
"A printing press--a counterfeiter's outfit," said Holmes.
"Yes, sir," said our prisoner, staggering slowly to his feet andthen sinking into the chair. "The greatest counterfeiter Londonever saw. That's Prescott's machine, and those bundles on the tableare two thousand of Prescott's notes worth a hundred each and fitto pass anywhere. Help yourselves, gentlemen. Call it a deal andlet me beat it."
Holmes laughed.
"We don't do things like that, Mr. Evans. There is no boltholefor you in this country. You shot this man Prescott, did younot?"
"Yes, sir, and got five years for it, though it was he whopulled on me. Five years--when I should have had a medal the sizeof a soup plate. No living man could tell a Prescott from a Bank ofEngland, and if I hadn't put him out he would have flooded Londonwith them. I was the only one in the world who knew where he madethem. Can you wonder that I wanted to get to the place? And can youwonder that when I found this crazy boob of a bug-hunter with thequeer name squatting right on the top of it, and never quitting hisroom, I had to do the best I could to shift him? Maybe I would havebeen wiser if I had put him away. It would have been easy enough,but I'm a soft-hearted guy that can't begin shooting unless theother man has a gun also. But say, Mr. Holmes, what have I donewrong, anyhow? I've not used this plant. I've not hurt this oldstiff. Where do you get me?"
"Only attempted murder, so far as I can see," said Holmes. "Butthat's not our job. They take that at the next stage. What wewanted at present was just your sweet self. Please give the Yard acall, Watson. It won't be entirely unexpected."
So those were the facts about Killer Evans and his remarkableinvention of the three Garridebs. We heard later that our poor oldfriend never got over the shock of his dissipated dreams. When hiscastle in the air fell down, it buried him beneath the ruins. Hewas last heard of at a nursing-home in Brixton. It was a glad dayat the Yard when the Prescott outfit was discovered, for, thoughthey knew that it existed, they had never been able, after thedeath of the man, to find out where it was. Evans had indeed donegreat service and caused several worthy C. I. D. men to sleep thesounder, for the counterfeiter stands in a class by himself as apublic danger. They would willingly have subscribed to thatsoup-plate medal of which the criminal had spoken, but anunappreciative bench took a less favourable view, and the Killerreturned to those shades from which he had just emerged.
ADVENTURE VI. THE ADVENTURE OF THE ILLUSTRIOUSCLIENT
"It can't hurt now," was Mr. Sherlock Holmes's comment when, forthe tenth time in as many years, I asked his leave to reveal thefollowing narrative. So it was that at last I obtained permissionto put on record what was, in some ways, the supreme moment of myfriend's career.
Both Holmes and I had a weakness for the Turkish bath. It wasover a smoke in the pleasant lassitude of the drying-room that Ihave found him less reticent and more human than anywhere else. Onthe upper floor of the Northumberland Avenue establishment there isan isolated corner where two couches lie side by side, and it wason these that we lay upon September 3, 1902, the day when mynarrative begins. I had asked him whether anything was stirring,and for answer he had shot his long, thin, nervous arm out of thesheets which enveloped him and had drawn an envelope from theinside pocket of the coat which hung beside him.
"It may be some fussy, self-important fool; it may be a matterof life or death," said he as he handed me the note. "I know nomore than this message tells me."
It was from the Carlton Club and dated the evening before. Thisis what I read:
Sir James Damery presents his compliments to Mr.Sherlock Holmes and will call upon him at 4:30 to-morrow. Sir Jamesbegs to say that the matter upon which he desires to consult Mr.Holmes is very delicate and also very important. He trusts,therefore, that Mr. Holmes will make every effort to grant thisinterview, and that he will confirm it over the telephone to theCarlton Club.
"I need not say that I have confirmed it, Watson," said Holmesas I returned the paper. "Do you know anything of this manDamery?"
"Only that this name is a household word in society."
"Well, I can tell you a little more than that. He has rather areputation for arranging delicate matters which are to be kept outof the papers. You may remember his negotiations with Sir GeorgeLewis over the Hammerford Will case. He is a man of the world witha natural turn for diplomacy. I am bound, therefore, to hope thatit is not a false scent and that he has some real need for ourassistance."
"Our?"
"Well, if you will be so good, Watson."
"I shall be honoured."
"Then you have the hour--4:30. Until then we can put the matterout of our heads."
I was living in my own rooms in Queen Anne Street at the time,but I was round at Baker Street before the time named. Sharp to thehalf-hour, Colonel Sir James Damery was announced. It is hardlynecessary to describe him, for many will remember that large,bluff, honest personality, that broad, cleanshaven face, and, aboveall, that pleasant, mellow voice. Frankness shone from his grayIrish eyes, and good humour played round his mobile, smiling lips.His lucent top-hat, his dark frock-coat, indeed, every detail, fromthe pearl pin in the black satin cravat to the lavender spats overthe varnished shoes, spoke of the meticulous care in dress forwhich he was famous. The big, masterful aristocrat dominated thelittle room.
"Of course, I was prepared to find Dr. Watson," he remarked witha courteous bow. "His collaboration may be very necessary, for weare dealing on this occasion, Mr. Holmes, with a man to whomviolence is familiar and who will, literally, stick at nothing. Ishould say that there is no more dangerous man in Europe."
"I have had several opponents to whom that flattering term hasbeen applied," said Holmes with a smile. "Don't you smoke? Then youwill excuse me if I light my pipe. If your man is more dangerousthan the late Professor Moriarty, or than the living ColonelSebastian Moran, then he is indeed worth meeting. May I ask hisname?"
"Have you ever heard of Baron Gruner?"
"You mean the Austrian murderer?"
Colonel Damery threw up his kid-gloved hands with a laugh."There is no getting past you, Mr. Holmes! Wonderful! So you havealready sized him up as a murderer?"
"It is my business to follow the details of Continental crime.Who could possibly have read what happened at Prague and have anydoubts as to the man's guilt! It was a purely technical legal pointand the suspicious death of a witness that saved him! I am as surethat he killed his wife when the socalled 'accident' happened inthe Splugen Pass as if I had seen him do it. I knew, also, that hehad come to England and had a presentiment that sooner or later hewould find me some work to do. Well, what has Baron Gruner been upto? I presume it is not this old tragedy which has come upagain?"
"No, it is more serious than that. To revenge crime isimportant, but to prevent it is more so. It is a terrible thing,Mr. Holmes, to see a dreadful event, an atrocious situation,preparing itself before your eyes, to clearly understand whither itwill lead and yet to be utterly unable to avert it. Can a humanbeing be placed in a more trying position?"
"Perhaps not."
"Then you will sympathize with the client in whose interests Iam acting."
"I did not understand that you were merely an intermediary. Whois the principal?"
"Mr. Holmes, I must beg you not to press that question. It isimportant that I should be able to assure him that his honouredname has been in no way dragged into the matter. His motives are,to the last degree, honourable and chivalrous, but he prefers toremain unknown. I need not say that your fees will be assured andthat you will be given a perfectly free hand. Surely the actualname of your client is immaterial?"
"I am sorry," said Holmes. "I am accustomed to have mystery atone end of my cases, but to have it at both ends is too confusing.I fear, Sir James, that I must decline to act."
Our visitor was greatly disturbed. His large, sensitive face wasdarkened with emotion and disappointment.
"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 couldgive you the facts, and yet a promise forbids me from revealingthem all. May I, at least, lay all that I can before you?"
"By all means, so long as it is understood that I commit myselfto nothing."
"That is understood. In the first place, you have no doubt heardof General 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,this lovely, innocent girl, whom we are endeavouring to save fromthe clutches of a fiend."
"Baron Gruner has some hold over her, then?"
"The strongest of all holds where a woman is concerned--the holdof love. The fellow is, as you may have heard, extraordinarilyhandsome, with a most fascinating manner. a gentle voice and thatair of romance and mystery which means so much to a woman. He issaid to have the whole sex at his mercy and to have made ample useof 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 hardlyrealized the Baron's true character until it was too late. Thevillain attached himself to the lady, and with such effect that hehas completely and absolutely won her heart. To say that she loveshim hardly expresses it. She dotes upon him, she is obsessed byhim. Outside of him there is nothing on earth. She will not hearone word against him. Everything has been done to cure her of hermadness, but in vain. To sum up, she proposes to marry him nextmonth. As she is of age and has a will of iron, it is hard to knowhow to prevent her."
"Does she know about the Austrian episode?"
"The cunning devil has told her every unsavoury public scandalof his past life, but always in such a way as to make himself outto be an innocent martyr. She absolutely accepts his version andwill listen to no other."
"Dear me! But surely you have inadvertently let out the name ofyour client? 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 notbe true. De Merville is a broken man. The strong soldier has beenutterly demoralized by this incident. He has lost the nerve whichnever failed him on the battlefield and has become a weak,doddering old man, utterly incapable of contending with abrilliant, forceful rascal like this Austrian. My client however isan old friend, one who has known the General intimately for manyyears and taken a paternal interest in this young girl since shewore short frocks. He cannot see this tragedy consummated withoutsome 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 heshould not be personally involved in the matter. I have no doubt,Mr. Holmes, with your great powers you could easily trace my clientback through me, but I must ask you, as a point of honour, torefrain from doing so, and not to break in upon his incognito."
Holmes gave a whimsical smile.
"I think I may safely promise that," said he. "I may add thatyour problem interests me, and that I shall be prepared to lookinto it. How shall I keep in touch with you?"
"The Carlton Club will find me. But in case of emergency, thereis a private telephone call, 'XX.31.'"
Holmes noted it down and sat, still smiling, with the openmemorandum-book upon his knee.
"The Baron's 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,which naturally 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 shorttime he played polo at Hurlingham, but then this Prague affair gotnoised about and he had to leave. He collects books and pictures.He is a man with a considerable artistic side to his nature. He is,I believe, a recognized authority upon Chinese pottery and haswritten a book upon the subject."
"A complex mind," said Holmes. "All great criminals have that.My old friend Charlie Peace was a violin virtuoso. Wainwright wasno mean artist. I could quote many more. Well, Sir James, you willinform your client that I am turning my mind upon Baron Gruner. Ican say no more. I have some sources of information of my own, andI dare say we may find some means of opening the matter up."
When our visitor had left us Holmes sat so long in deep thoughtthat it seemed to me that he had forgotten my presence. At last,however, he came 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,how shall I, a stranger, prevail? And yet there is something in thesuggestion if all else fails. But I think we must begin from adifferent angle. I rather fancy that Shinwell Johnson might be ahelp."
I have not had occasion to mention Shinwell Johnson in thesememoirs because I have seldom drawn my cases from the latter phasesof my friend's career. During the first years of the century hebecame a valuable assistant. Johnson, I grieve to say, made hisname first as a very dangerous villain and served two terms atParkhurst. Finally he repented and allied himself to Holmes, actingas his agent in the huge criminal underworld of London andobtaining information which often proved to be of vital importance.Had Johnson been a "nark" of the police he would soon have beenexposed, but as he dealt with cases which never came directly intothe courts, his activities were never realized by his companions.With the glamour of his two convictions upon him, he had the entreeof every night-club, doss house, and gamblingden in the town, andhis quick observation and active brain made him an ideal agent forgaining information. It was to him that Sherlock Holmes nowproposed to turn.
It was not possible for me to follow the immediate steps takenby my friend, for I had some pressing professional business of myown, but I met him by appointment that evening at Simpson's, where,sitting at a small table in the front window and looking down atthe rushing stream of life in the Strand, he told me something ofwhat had passed.
"Johnson is on the prowl," said he. "He may pick up some garbagein the darker recesses of the underworld, for it is down there,amid the black roots of crime, that we must hunt for this man'ssecrets."
"But if the lady will not accept what is already known, whyshould any fresh discovery of yours turn her from her purpose?"
"Who knows, Watson? Woman's heart and mind are insoluble puzzlesto the male. Murder might be condoned or explained, and yet somesmaller offence might rankle. Baron Gruner remarked to me--"
"He remarked to you!"
"Oh, to be sure, I had not told you of my plans. Well, Watson, Ilove to come to close grips with my man. I like to meet him eye toeye and read for myself the stuff that he is made of. When I hadgiven Johnson his instructions I took a cab out to Kingston andfound the Baron in a most affable mood."
"Did he recognize you?"
"There was no difficulty about that, for I simply sent in mycard. He is an excellent antagonist, cool as ice, silky voiced andsoothing as one of your fashionable consultants, and poisonous as acobra. He has breeding in him--a real aristocrat of crime with asuperficial suggestion of afternoon tea and all the cruelty of thegrave behind it. Yes, I am glad to have had my attention called toBaron Adelbert Gruner."
"You say he was affable?"
"A purring cat who thinks he sees prospective mice. Somepeople's affability is more deadly than the violence of coarsersouls. His greeting was characteristic. 'I rather thought I shouldsee you sooner or later, Mr. Holmes,' said he. 'You have beenengaged, no doubt by General de Merville, to endeavour to stop mymarriage with his daughter, Violet. That is so, is it not?'
"I acquiesced.
"'My dear man,' said he. 'you will only ruin your ownwell-deserved reputation. It is not a case in which you canpossibly succeed. You will have barren work, to say nothing ofincurring some danger. Let me very strongly advise you to draw offat once.'
"'It is curious,' I answered, 'but that was the very advicewhich I had intended to give you. I have a respect for your brains,Baron, and the little which I have seen of your personality has notlessened it. Let me put it to you as man to man. No one wants torake up your past and make you unduly uncomfortable. It is over,and you are now in smooth waters, but if you persist in thismarriage you will raise up a swarm of powerful enemies who willnever leave you alone until they have made England too hot to holdyou. Is the game worth it? Surely you would be wiser if you leftthe 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, likethe short antennae of an insect. These quivered with amusement ashe listened, and he finally broke into a gentle chuckle.
"'Excuse my amusement, Mr. Holmes,' said he, 'but it is reallyfunny to see you trying to play a hand with no cards in it. I don'tthink anyone could do it better, but it is rather pathetic all thesame. Not a colour card there, Mr. Holmes, nothing but the smallestof the small.'
"'So you think.'
"'So I know. Let me make the thing clear to you, for my own handis so strong that I can afford to show it. I have been fortunateenough to win the entire affection of this lady. This was given tome in spite of the fact that I told her very clearly of all theunhappy incidents in my past life. I also told her that certainwicked and designing persons --I hope you recognize yourself--wouldcome to her and tell her these things. and I warned her how totreat them. You have heard of post-hypnotic suggestion. Mr. Holmes.Well you will see how it works for a man of personality can usehypnotism without any vulgar passes or tomfoolery. So she is readyfor you and, I have no doubt, would give you an appointment, forshe is quite amenable to her father's will--save only in the onelittle matter.'
"Well, Watson, there seemed to be no more to say, so I took myleave with as much cold dignity as I could summon, but, as I had myhand on the 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. Don't do it, Mr.Holmes; it's not a lucky thing to do. Several have found that out.My last word to you is, 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 thesort of man who says rather less than he means."
"Must you interfere? Does it really matter if he marries thegirl?"
"Considering that he undoubtedly murdered his last wife, Ishould say it mattered very much. Besides, the client! Well, well,we need not discuss that. When you have finished your coffee youhad best come home with me, for the blithe Shinwell will be therewith his report."
We found him sure enough, a huge, coarse, red-faced, scorbuticman, with a pair of vivid black eyes which were the only externalsign of the very cunning mind within. It seems that he had diveddown into what was peculiarly his kingdom, and beside him on thesettee was a brand which he had brought up in the shape of a slim,flame-like young woman with a pale, intense face, youthful, and yetso worn with sin and sorrow that one read the terrible years whichhad left their leprous mark upon her.
"This is Miss Kitty Winter," said Shinwell Johnson, waving hisfat hand as an introduction. "What she don't know--well, there,she'll speak for herself. Put my hand right on her, Mr. Holmes,within an hour of your message."
"I'm easy to find," said the young woman. "Hell, London, gets meevery time. Same address for Porky Shinwell. We're old mates,Porky, you and I. But, by cripes! there is another who ought to bedown in a lower hell than we if there was any justice in the world!That is the man you are after, Mr. Holmes."
Holmes smiled. "I gather we have your good wishes, MissWinter."
"If I can help to put him where he belongs, I'm yours to therattle," said our visitor with fierce energy. There was anintensity of hatred in her white, set face and her blazing eyessuch as woman seldom and man never can attain.
"You needn't go into my past, Mr. Holmes. That's neither herenor there. But what I am Adelbert Gruner made me. If I could pullhim down!" She clutched frantically with her hands into the air."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. He's after some other poorfool and wants to marry her this time. You want to stop it. Well,you surely know enough about this devil to prevent any decent girlin her senses wanting to be in the same parish with him."
"She is not in her senses. She is madly in love. She has beentold all about him. She cares nothing."
"Told about the murder?"
"Yes."
"My Lord, she must have a nerve!"
"She puts them all down as slanders."
"Couldn't you lay proofs before her silly eyes?"
"Well, can you help us do so?"
"Ain't I a proof myself? If I stood before her and told her howhe used me--"
"Would you do this?"
"Would I? Would I not!"
"Well, it might be worth trying. But he has told her most of hissins and had pardon from her, and I understand she will not reopenthe question."
"I'll lay he didn't tell her all," said Miss Winter. "I caught aglimpse of one or two murders besides the one that made such afuss. He would speak of someone in his velvet way and then look atme with a steady eye and say: 'He died within a month.' It wasn'thot air, either. But I took little notice--you see, I loved himmyself at that time. Whatever he did went with me, same as withthis poor fool! There was just one thing that shook me. Yes, bycripes! if it had not been for his poisonous, lying tongue thatexplains and soothes. I'd have left him that very night. It's abook he has--a brown leather book with a lock, and his arms in goldon the outside. I think he was a bit drunk that night, or he wouldnot have shown it to me."
"What was it, then?"
"I tell you. Mr. Holmes. this man collects women, and takes apride in his collection. as some men collect moths or butterflies.He had it all in that book. Snapshot photographs. names, details,everything about them. It was a beastly book--a book no man, evenif he had come from the gutter, could have put together. But it wasAdelbert Gruner's book all the same. 'Souls I have ruined.' Hecould have put that on the outside if he had been so minded.However, that's neither here nor there, for the book would notserve you, and, if it would, you can't get it."
"Where is it?"
"How can I tell you where it is now? It's more than a year sinceI left him. I know where he kept it then. He's a precise, tidy catof a man in many of his ways, so maybe it is still in thepigeon-hole of the old bureau in the inner study. Do you know hishouse?"
"I've been in the study," said Holmes.
"Have you. though? You haven't been slow on the job if you onlystarted this morning. Maybe dear Adelbert has met his match thistime. The outer study is the one with the Chinese crockery init--big glass cupboard between the windows. Then behind his desk isthe door that leads to the inner study--a small room where he keepspapers and things."
"Is he not afraid of burglars?"
"Adelbert is no coward. His worst enemy couldn't say that ofhim. He can look after himself. There's a burglar alarm at night.Besides, what is there for a burglar--unless they got away with allthis fancy crockery?"
"No good," said Shinwell Johnson with the decided voice of theexpert. "No fence wants stuff of that sort that you can neithermelt nor sell."
"Quite so," said Holmes. "Well, now, Miss Winter. if you wouldcall here tomorrow evening at five. I would consider in themeanwhile whether your suggestion of seeing this lady personallymay not be arranged. I am exceedingly obliged to you for yourcooperation. I need not say that my clients will considerliberally--"
"None of that, Mr. Holmes," cried the young woman. "I am not outfor money. Let me see this man in the mud, and I've got all I'veworked for --in the mud with my foot on his cursed face. That's myprice. I'm with you tomorrow or any other day so long as you are onhis track. Porky here can tell you always where to find me."
I did not see Holmes again until the following evening when wedined once more at our Strand restaurant. He shrugged his shoulderswhen I asked him what luck he had had in his interview. Then hetold the story, which I would repeat in this way. His hard, drystatement needs some little editing to soften it into the terms ofreal life.
"There was no difficulty at all about the appointment," saidHolmes, "for the girl glories in showing abject filial obedience inall secondary things in an attempt to atone for her flagrant breachof it in her engagement. The General phoned that all was ready, andthe fiery Miss W. turned up according to schedule, so that athalf-past five a cab deposited us outside 104 Berkeley Square,where the old soldier resides--one of those awful gray Londoncastles which would make a church seem frivolous. A footman showedus into a great yellow-curtained drawing-room, and there was thelady awaiting us, demure, pale, self-contained, as inflexible andremote as a snow image on a mountain.
"I don't quite know how to make her clear to you, Watson.Perhaps you may meet her before we are through, and you can useyour own gift of words. She is beautiful, but with the etherealother-world beauty of some fanatic whose thoughts are set on high.I have seen such faces in the pictures of the old masters of theMiddle Ages. How a beastman could have laid his vile paws upon sucha being of the beyond I cannot imagine. You may have noticed howextremes call to each other, the spiritual to the animal, thecave-man to the angel. You never saw a worse case than this.
"She knew what we had come for, of course--that villain had lostno time in poisoning her mind against us. Miss Winter's adventrather amazed her, I think, but she waved us into our respectivechairs like a reverend abbess receiving two rather leprousmendicants. If your head is inclined to swell. my dear Watson, takea course of Miss Violet de Merville.
"'Well, sir,' said she in a voice like the wind from an iceberg,'your name is familiar to me. You have called. as I understand, tomalign my fiance, Baron Gruner. It is only by my father's requestthat I see you at all, and I warn you in advance that anything youcan say could not possibly have the slightest effect upon mymind.'
"I was sorry for her, Watson. I thought of her for the moment asI would have thought of a daughter of my own. I am not ofteneloquent. I use my head, not my heart. But I really did plead withher with all the warmth of words that I could find in my nature. Ipictured to her the awful position of the woman who only wakes to aman's character after she is his wife--a woman who has to submit tobe caressed by bloody hands and lecherous lips. I spared hernothing--the shame, the fear, the agony, the hopelessness of itall. All my hot words could not bring one tinge of colour to thoseivory cheeks or one gleam of emotion to those abstracted eyes. Ithought of what the rascal had said about a post-hypnoticinfluence. One could really believe that she was living above theearth in some ecstatic dream. Yet there was nothing indefinite inher replies.
"'I have listened to you with patience, Mr. Holmes,' said she.'The effect upon my mind is exactly as predicted. I am aware thatAdelbert, that my fiance, has had a stormy life in which he hasincurred bitter hatreds and most unjust aspersions. You are onlythe last of a series who have brought their slanders before me.Possibly you mean well, though I learn that you are a paid agentwho would have been equally willing to act for the Baron as againsthim. But in any case I wish you to understand once for all that Ilove him and that he loves me, and that the opinion of all theworld is no more to me than the twitter of those birds outside thewindow. If his noble nature has ever for an instant fallen, it maybe that I have been specially sent to raise it to its true andlofty level. I am not clear'--here she turned eyes upon mycompanion--'who this young lady may be.'
"I was about to answer when the girl broke in like a whirlwind.If ever you saw flame and ice face to face, it was those twowomen.
"'I'll tell you who I am,' she cried, springing out of herchair, her mouth all twisted with passion--'I am his last mistress.I am one of a hundred that he has tempted and used and ruined andthrown into the refuse heap, as he will you also. Your refuse heapis more likely to be a grave, and maybe that's the best. I tellyou, you foolish woman, if you marry this man he'll be the death ofyou. It may be a broken heart or it may be a broken neck, but he'llhave you one way or the other. It's not out of love for you I'mspeaking. I don't care a tinker's curse whether you live or die.It's out of hate for him and to spite him and to get back on himfor what he did to me. But it's all the same, and you needn't lookat me like that, my fine lady, for you may be lower than I ambefore you are through with it.'
"'I should prefer not to discuss such matters,' said Miss deMerville coldly. 'Let me say once for all that I am aware of threepassages in my fiance's life in which he became entangled withdesigning women, and that I am assured of his hearty repentance forany evil that he may have done.'
"'Three passages!' screamed my companion. 'You fool! Youunutterable fool!'
"'Mr. Holmes, I beg that you will bring this interview to anend,' said the icy voice. 'I have obeyed my father's wish in seeingyou, but I am not compelled to listen to the ravings of thisperson.'
"With an oath Miss Winter darted forward, and if I had notcaught her wrist she would have clutched this maddening woman bythe hair. I dragged her towards the door and was lucky to get herback into the cab without a public scene, for she was besideherself with rage. In a cold way I felt pretty furious myself,Watson, for there was something indescribably annoying in the calmaloofness and supreme self-complaisance of the woman whom we weretrying to save. So now once again you know exactly how we stand,and it is clear that I must plan some fresh opening move, for thisgambit won't work. I'll keep in touch with you, Watson, for it ismore than likely that you will have your part to play, though it isjust possible that the next move may lie with them rather than withus."
And it did. Their blow fell--or his blow rather, for never couldI believe that the lady was privy to it. I think I could show youthe very paving-stone upon which I stood when my eyes fell upon theplacard, and a pang of horror passed through my very soul. It wasbetween the Grand Hotel and Charing Cross Station, where aone-legged news-vender displayed his evening papers. The date wasjust two days after the last conversation. There, black uponyellow, was the terrible news-sheet:
MURDEROUS ATTACK UPON SHERLOCK HOLMES
I think I stood stunned for some moments. Then I have a confusedrecollection of snatching at a paper, of the remonstrance of theman, whom I had not paid, and, finally, of standing in the doorwayof a chemist's shop while I turned up the fateful paragraph. Thiswas how it ran:
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 o'clock in Regent Street, outside the Cafe Royal. The attackwas made by two men armed with sticks, and Mr. Holmes was beatenabout the head and body, receiving injuries which the doctorsdescribe as most serious. He was carried to Charing Cross Hospitaland afterwards insisted upon being taken to his rooms in BakerStreet. The miscreants who attacked him appear to have beenrespectably dressed men, who escaped from the bystanders by passingthrough the Cafe Royal and out into Glasshouse Street behindit.
No doubt they belonged to that criminal fraternity which has sooften had occasion to bewail the activity and ingenuity of theinjured man.
I need not say that my eyes had hardly glanced over theparagraph before I had sprung into a hansom and was on my way toBaker Street. I found Sir Leslie Oakshott, the famous surgeon, inthe hall and his brougham waiting at the curb.
"No immediate danger," was his report. "Two lacerated scalpwounds and some considerable bruises. Several stitches have beennecessary. Morphine has been injected and quiet is essential, butan interview of a few minutes would not be absolutelyforbidden."
With this permission I stole into the darkened room. Thesufferer was wide awake, and I heard my name in a hoarse whisper.The blind was three-quarters down, but one ray of sunlight slantedthrough and struck the bandaged head of the injured man. A crimsonpatch had soaked through the white linen compress. I sat beside himand bent my head.
"All right, Watson. Don't look so scared," he muttered in a veryweak voice. "It's not as bad as it seems."
"Thank God for that!"
"I'm a bit of a single-stick expert. as you know. I took most ofthem on my guard. It was the second man that was too much forme."
"What can I do, Holmes? Of course, it was that damned fellow whoset them on. I'll go and thrash the hide off him if you give theword."
"Good old Watson! No, we can do nothing there unless the policelay their hands on the men. But their get-away had been wellprepared. We may be sure of that. Wait a little. I have my plans.The first thing is to exaggerate my injuries. They'll come to youfor news. Put it on thick, Watson. Lucky if I live the week outconcussion delirium--what you like! You can't overdo it."
"But Sir Leslie Oakshott?"
"Oh, he's all right. He shall see the worst side of me. I'lllook after that."
"Anything else?"
"Yes. Tell Shinwell Johnson to get that girl out of the way.Those beauties will be after her now. They know, of course, thatshe was with me in the case. If they dared to do me in it is notlikely they will neglect her. That is urgent. Do it to-night."
"I'll go now. Anything more?"
"Put my pipe on the table--and the tobacco-slipper. Right! Comein each morning and we will plan our campaign."
I arranged with Johnson that evening to take Miss Winter to aquiet suburb and see that she lay low until the danger waspast.
For six days the public were under the impression that Holmeswas at the door of death. The bulletins were very grave and therewere sinister paragraphs in the papers. My continual visits assuredme that it was not so bad as that. His wiry constitution and hisdetermined will were working wonders. He was recovering fast, and Ihad suspicions at times that he was really finding himself fasterthan he pretended even to me. There was a curious secretive streakin the man which led to many dramatic effects, but left even hisclosest friend guessing as to what his exact plans might be. Hepushed 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 ofwhich there was a report of erysipelas in the evening papers. Thesame evening papers had an announcement which I was bound, sick orwell, to carry to my friend. It was simply that among thepassengers on the Cunard boat Ruritania, starting from Liverpool onFriday, was the Baron Adelbert Gruner, who had some importantfinancial business to settle in the States before his impendingwedding to Miss Violet de Merville, only daughter of, etc., etc.Holmes listened to the news with a cold, concentrated look upon hispale face, which told me that it hit him hard.
"Friday!" he cried. "Only three clear days. I believe the rascalwants to put himself out of danger's way. But he won't, Watson! Bythe Lord Harry, he won't! Now, Watson, I want you to do somethingfor me."
"I am here to be used, Holmes."
"Well, then, spend the next twenty-four hours in an intensivestudy of Chinese pottery."
He gave no explanations and I asked for none. By long experienceI had learned the wisdom of obedience. But when I had left his roomI walked down Baker Street, revolving in my head how on earth I wasto carry out so strange an order. Finally I drove to the LondonLibrary in St. James's Square, put the matter to my friend Lomax,the sublibrarian, and departed to my rooms with a goodly volumeunder my arm.
It is said that the barrister who crams up a case with such carethat he can examine an expert witness upon the Monday has forgottenall his forced knowledge before the Saturday. Certainly I shouldnot like now to pose as an authority upon ceramics. And yet allthat evening, and all that night with a short interval for rest,and all next morning, I was sucking in knowledge and committingnames to memory. There I learned of the hall-marks of the greatartist-decorators, of the mystery of cyclical dates, the marks ofthe Hung-wu and the beauties of the Yung-lo, the writings ofTang-ying, and the glories of the primitive period of the Sung andthe Yuan. I was charged with all this information when I calledupon Holmes next evening. He was out of bed now, though you wouldnot have guessed it from the published reports, and he sat with hismuch-bandaged head resting upon his hand in the depth of hisfavourite armchair.
"Why, Holmes," I said, "if one believed the papers, you aredying."
"That," said he, "is the very impression which I intended toconvey. And now, Watson, have you learned your lessons?"
"At least I have tried to."
"Good. You could keep up an intelligent conversation on thesubject?"
"I believe I could."
"Then hand me that little box from the mantelpiece."
He opened the lid and took out a small object most carefullywrapped in some fine Eastern silk. This he unfolded, and discloseda delicate little saucer of the most beautiful deep-bluecolour.
"It needs careful handling, Watson. This is the real egg-shellpottery of the Ming dynasty. No finer piece ever passed throughChristie's. A complete set of this would be worth a king'sransom--in fact, it is doubtful if there is a complete set outsidethe imperial palace of Peking. The sight of this would drive a realconnoisseur wild."
"What am I to do with it?"
Holmes handed me a card upon which was printed: "Dr. HillBarton, 369 Half Moon Street."
"That is your name for the evening, Watson. You will call uponBaron Gruner. I know something of his habits, and at half-pasteight he would probably be disengaged. A note will tell him inadvance that you are about to call, and you will say that you arebringing him a specimen of an absolutely unique set of Ming china.You may as well be a medical man, since that is a part which youcan play without duplicity. You are a collector this set has comeyour way, you have heard of the Baron's interest 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 youdid not know the value of your own wares. This saucer was got forme by Sir James, and comes, I understand, from the collection ofhis client. You will not exaggerate if you say that it could hardlybe matched in the world."
"I could perhaps suggest that the set should be valued by anexpert."
"Excellent, Watson! You scintillate to-day. Suggest Christie orSotheby. Your delicacy prevents your putting a price foryourself."
"But if he won't see me?"
"Oh, yes, he will see you. He has the collection mania in itsmost acute form--and especially on this subject, on which he is anacknowledged authority. Sit down, Watson, and I will dictate theletter. No answer needed. You will merely say that you are coming,and why."
It was an admirable document, short, courteous, and stimulatingto the curiosity of the connoisseur. A district messenger was dulydispatched with it. On the same evening, with the precious saucerin my hand and the card of Dr. Hill Barton in my pocket, I set offon my own adventure.
The beautiful house and grounds indicated that Baron Gruner was,as Sir James had said, a man of considerable wealth. A long windingdrive, with banks of rare shrubs on either side, opened out into agreat gravelled square adorned with statues. The place had beenbuilt by a South African gold king in the days of the great boom,and the long, low house with the turrets at the corners, though anarchitectural nightmare, was imposing in its size and solidity. Abutler, who would have adorned a bench of bishops, showed me in andhanded me over to a plush-clad footman, who ushered me into theBaron's presence.
He was standing at the open front of a great case which stoodbetween the windows and which contained part of his Chinesecollection. He turned as I entered with a small brown vase in hishand.
"Pray sit down, Doctor," said he. "I was looking over my owntreasures and wondering whether I could really afford to add tothem. This little Tang specimen, which dates from the seventhcentury, would probably interest you. I am sure you never saw finerworkmanship or a richer glaze. Have you the Ming saucer with you ofwhich you spoke?"
I carefully unpacked it and handed it to him. He seated himselfat his desk, pulled over the lamp, for it was growing dark, and sethimself to examine it. As he did so the yellow light beat upon hisown features, and I was able to study them at my ease.
He was certainly a remarkably handsome man. His Europeanreputation for beauty was fully deserved. In figure he was not morethan of middle size, but was built upon graceful and active lines.His face was swarthy, almost Oriental, with large, dark, languorouseyes which might easily hold an irresistible fascination for women.His hair and moustache were raven black, the latter short, pointed,and carefully waxed. His features were regular and pleasing, saveonly his straight, thin-lipped mouth. If ever I saw a murderer'smouth it was there--a cruel, hard gash in the face, compressed,inexorable, and terrible. He was ill-advised to train his moustacheaway from it, for it was Nature's danger-signal, set as a warningto his victims. His voice was engaging and his manners perfect. Inage I should have put him at little over thirty, though his recordafterwards showed that he was forty-two.
"Very fine--very fine indeed!" he said at last. "And you say youhave a set of six to correspond. What puzzles me is that I shouldnot have heard of such magnificent specimens. I only know of one inEngland to match this, and it is certainly not likely to be in themarket. Would it be indiscreet if I were to ask you, Dr. HillBarton, how you obtained this?"
"Does it really matter?" I asked with as careless an air as Icould muster.
"You can see that the piece is genuine, and, as to the value, Iam content to take an expert's valuation."
"Very mysterious," said he with a quick, suspicious flash of hisdark eyes. "In dealing with objects of such value, one naturallywishes to know all about the transaction. That the piece is genuineis certain. I have no doubts at all about that. But suppose--I ambound to take every possibility into account--that it should proveafterwards that you had no right to sell?"
"I would guarantee you against any claim of the son."
"That, of course, would open up the question as to what yourguarantee was worth."
"My bankers would answer that."
"Quite so. And yet the whole transaction strikes me as ratherunusual."
"You can do business or not," said I with indifference. "I havegiven you the first offer as I understood that you were aconnoisseur, but I shall have no difficulty in other quaerers."
"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 tounderstand! You are a connoisseur and collector with a veryvaluable piece in your collection, and yet you have never troubledto consult the one book which would have told you of the realmeaning and value of what you held. How do 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 his other pursuits may be. You said in your note that youwere a connoisseur."
"So I am."
"Might I ask you a few questions to test you? I am obliged totell you, Doctor--if you are indeed a doctor--that the incidentbecomes more and more suspicious. I would ask you what do you knowof the Emperor Shomu and how do you associate him with the Shoso-innear Nara? Dear me, does that puzzle you? Tell me a little aboutthe Nonhern Wei dynasty and its place in the history ofceramics."
I sprang from my chair in simulated anger.
"This is intolerable, sir," said I. "I came here to do you afavour, and not to be examined as if I were a schoolboy. Myknowledge on these subjects may be second only to your own, but Icertainly shall not answer questions which have been put in sooffensive a way."
He looked at me steadily. The languor had gone from his eyes.They suddenly glared. There was a gleam of teeth from between thosecruel 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 isdying I hear, so he sends his tools to keep watch upon me. You'vemade your way in here without leave, and, by God! you may find itharder to get out than to get in."
He had sprung to his feet, and I stepped back, bracing myselffor an attack, for the man was beside himself with rage. He mayhave suspected me from the first; certainly this cross-examinationhad shown him the truth; but it was clear that I could not hope todeceive him. He dived his hand into a side-drawer and rummagedfuriously. Then something struck upon his ear, for he stoodlistening 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 carrya clear picture of the scene within. The window leading out to thegarden was wide open. Beside it, looking like some terrible ghost,his head gin with bloody bandages, his face drawn and white, stoodSherlock Holmes. The next instant he was through the gap, and Iheard the crash of his body among the laurel bushes outside. With ahowl of rage the master of the house rushed after him to the openwindow.
And then! It was done in an instant, and yet I clearly saw it.An arm --a woman's arm--shot out from among the leaves. At the sameinstant the Baron uttered a horrible cry--a yell which will alwaysring in my memory. He clapped his two hands to his face and rushedround the room, beating his head horribly against the walls. Thenhe fell upon the carpet, rolling and writhing, while scream afterscream resounded through the house.
"Water! For God's sake, water!" was his cry.
I seized a carafe from a side-table and rushed to his aid. Atthe same moment the butler and several footmen ran in from thehall. I remember that one of them fainted as I knelt by the injuredman and turned that awful face to the light of the lamp. Thevitriol was eating into it everywhere and dripping from the earsand the chin. One eye was already white and glazed. The other wasred and inflamed. The features which I had admired a few minutesbefore were now like some beautiful painting over which the artisthas passed a wet and foul sponge. They were blurred, discoloured,inhuman, terrible.
In a few words I explained exactly what had occurred, so far asthe vitriol attack was concerned. Some had climbed through thewindow and others had rushed out on to the lawn, but it was darkand it had begun to rain. Between his screams the victim raged andraved against the avenger. "It was that hell-cat, Kitty Winter!" hecried. "Oh, the she-devil! She shall pay for it! She shall pay! Oh,God in heaven, this pain is more than I can bear!"
I bathed his face in oil, put cotton wadding on the rawsurfaces, and administered a hypodermic of morphia. All suspicionof me had passed from his mind in the presence of this shock, andhe clung to my hands as if I might have the power even yet to clearthose dead-fish eyes which glazed up at me. I could have wept overthe ruin had l not remembered very clearly the vile life which hadled up to so hideous a change. It was loathsome to feel the pawingof his burning hands, and I was relieved when his family surgeon,closely followed by a specialist, came to relieve me of my charge.An inspector of police had also arrived, and to him I handed myreal card. It would have been useless as well as foolish to dootherwise, for I was nearly as well known by sight at the Yard asHolmes himself. Then I left that house of gloom and terror. Withinan hour I was at Baker Street.
Holmes was seated in his familiar chair, looking very pale andexhausted. Apart from his injuries, even his iron nerves had beenshocked by the events of the evening, and he listened with horrorto my account of the Baron's transformation.
"The wages of sin, Watson--the wages of sin!" said he. "Sooneror later it will always come. God knows, there was sin enough," headded, taking up a brown volume from the table. "Here is the bookthe woman talked of. If this will not break off the marriage,nothing ever could. But it will, Watson. It must. Noself-respecting woman could stand it."
"It is his love diary?"
"Or his lust diary. Call it what you will. The moment the womantold us of it I realized what a tremendous weapon was there if wecould but lay our hands on it. I said nothing at the time toindicate my thoughts, for this woman might have given it away. ButI brooded over it. Then this assault upon me gave me the chance ofletting the Baron think that no precautions need be taken againstme. That was all to the good. I would have waited a little longer,but his visit to America forced my hand. He would never have leftso compromising a document behind him. Therefore we had to act atonce. Burglary at night is impossible. He takes precautions. Butthere was a chance in the evening if I could only be sure that hisattention was engaged. That was where you and your blue saucer camein. But I had to be sure of the position of the book, and I knew Ihad only a few minutes in which to act, for my time was limited byyour knowledge of Chinese pottery. Therefore I gathered the girl upat the last moment. How could I guess what the little packet wasthat she carried so carefully under her cloak? I thought she hadcome altogether on my business, but it seems she had some of herown."
"He guessed I came from you."
"I feared he would. But you held him in play just long enoughfor me to get the book, though not long enough for an unobservedescape. Ah, Sir James, I am very glad you have come!"
Our courtly friend had appeared in answer to a previous summons.He listened with the deepest attention to Holmes's account of whathad occurred.
"You have done wonders--wonders!" he cried when he had heard thenarrative. "But if these injuries are as terrible as Dr. Watsondescribes, then surely our purpose of thwarting the marriage issufficiently gained without the use of this horrible book."
Holmes shook his head.
"Women of the De Merville type do not act like that. She wouldlove him the more as a disfigured martyr. No, no. It is his moralside, not his physical, which we have to destroy. That book willbring her back to earth--and I know nothing else that could. It isin his own writing. She cannot get past it."
Sir James carried away both it and the precious saucer. As I wasmyself overdue, I went down with him into the street. A broughamwas waiting for him. He sprang in, gave a hurried order to thecockaded coachman, and drove swiftly away. He flung his overcoathalf out of the window to cover the armorial bearings upon thepanel, but I had seen them in the glare of our fanlight none theless. I gasped with surprise. Then I turned back and ascended thestair to Holmes's room.
"I have found out who our client is," I cried, bursting with mygreat news. "Why, Holmes, it is--"
"It is a loyal friend and a chivalrous gentleman," said Holmes,holding up a restraining hand. "Let that now and forever be enoughfor 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 lady's father. The effect, at any rate, wasall that could be desired.
Three days later appeared a paragraph in the Morning Post to saythat the marriage between Baron Adelbert Gruner and Miss Violet deMerville would not take place. The same paper had the firstpolice-court hearing of the proceedings against Miss Kitty Winteron the grave charge of vitriol-throwing. Such extenuatingcircumstances came out in the trial that the sentence, as will beremembered was the lowest that was possible for such an offence.Sherlock Holmes was threatened with a prosecution for burglary, butwhen an object is good and a client is sufficiently illustrious,even the rigid British law becomes human and elastic. My friend hasnot yet stood in the dock.
ADVENTURE VII. THE ADVENTURE OF THE BLANCHEDSOLDIER
The ideas of my friend Watson, though limited, are exceedinglypertinacious. For a long time he has worried me to write anexperience of my own. Perhaps I have rather invited thispersecution, since I have often had occasion to point out to himhow superficial are his own accounts and to accuse him of panderingto popular taste instead of confining himself rigidly to facts andfigures. "Try it yourself, Holmes!" he has retorted, and I amcompelled 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 mayinterest the reader. The following case can hardly fail to do so,as it is among the strangest happenings in my collection though itchanced that Watson had no note of it in his collection. Speakingof my old friend and biographer, I would take this opportunity toremark that if I burden myself with a companion in my variouslittle inquiries it is not done out of sentiment or caprice, but itis that Watson has some remarkable characteristics of his own towhich 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,but one to whom each development comes as a perpetual surprise, andto whom the future is always a closed book, is indeed an idealhelpmate.
I find from my notebook that it was in January, 1903, just afterthe conclusion of the Boer War, that I had my visit from Mr. JamesM. Dodd, a big, fresh, sunburned, upstanding Briton. The goodWatson had at that time deserted me for a wife, the only selfishaction which I can recall in our 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 uponthem. Mr. James M. Dodd seemed somewhat at a loss how to begin theinterview. I did not attempt to help him, for his silence gave memore time for observation. I have found it wise to impress clientswith a sense of power, and so I gave him some of myconclusions.
"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 suchtan upon his face as an English sun could never give, and with hishandkerchief in his sleeve instead of in his pocket, it is notdifficult to place him. You wear a short beard, which shows thatyou were not a regular. You have the cut of a riding-man. As toMiddlesex, your card has already shown me that you are astockbroker from Throgmorton Street. What other regiment would youjoin?"
"You see everything."
"I see no more than you, but I have trained myself to noticewhat I see. However, Mr. Dodd, it was not to discuss the science ofobservation that you called upon me this morning. What has beenhappening at Tuxbury Old Park?"
"Mr. Holmes--!"
"My dear sir, there is no mystery. Your letter came with thatheading, and as you fixed this appointment in very pressing termsit was clear that something sudden and important had occurred."
"Yes, indeed. But the letter was written in the afternoon, and agood deal has happened since then. If Colonel Emsworth had notkicked me out --"
"Kicked you out!"
"Well, that was what it amounted to. He is a hard nail, isColonel Emsworth. The greatest martinet in the Army in his day, andit was a day of rough language, too. I couldn't have stuck thecolonel if it had not been for Godfrey's 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 everythingwithout being told," said he. "But I will give you the facts, and Ihope to God that you will be able to tell me what they mean. I'vebeen awake all night puzzling my brain, and the more I think themore incredible does it become.
"When I joined up in January, 1901--just two years ago--youngGodfrey Emsworth had joined the same squadron. He was ColonelEmsworth's only son--Emsworth the Crimean V. C.--and he had thefighting blood in him, so it is no wonder he volunteered. There wasnot a finer lad in the regiment. We formed a friendship--the sortof friendship which can only be made when one lives the same lifeand shares the same joys and sorrows. He was my mate--and thatmeans a good deal in the Army. We took the rough and the smoothtogether for a year of hard fighting. Then he was hit with a bulletfrom an elephant gun in the action near Diamond Hilloutside-Pretoria. I got one letter from the hospital at Cape Townand one from Southampton. Since then not a word--not 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 tohis father and asked where Godfrey was. No answer. I waited a bitand then I wrote again. This time I had a reply, short and gruff.Godfrey had gone on a voyage round the world, and it was not likelythat he would be back for a year. That was all.
"I wasn't satisfied, Mr. Holmes. The whole thing seemed to me sodamned unnatural. He was a good lad, and he would not drop a pallike that. It was not like him. Then, again, I happened to knowthat he was heir to a lot of money, and also that his father and hedid not always hit it off too well. The old man was sometimes abully, and young Godfrey had too much spirit to stand it. No, Iwasn't satisfied, and I determined that I would get to the root ofthe matter. It happened, however, that my own affairs needed a lotof straightening out, after two years' absence, and so it is onlythis week that I have been able to take up Godfrey's case again.But since I have taken it up I mean to drop everything in order tosee it through."
Mr. James M. Dodd appeared to be the sort of person whom itwould be better to have as a friend than as an enemy. His blue eyeswere stern and 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,near Bedford, and to see for myself how the ground lay. I wrote tothe mother, therefore--I had had quite enough of the curmudgeon ofa father--and I made a clean frontal attack: Godfrey was my chum, Ihad a great deal of interest which I might tell her of our commonexperiences, I should be in the neighbourhood, would there be anyobjection, et cetera? In reply I had quite an amiable answer fromher and an offer to put me up for the night. That was what took medown on Monday.
"Tuxbury Old Hall is inaccessible--five miles from anywhere.There was no trap at the station, so I had to walk, carrying mysuitcase, and it was nearly dark before I arrived. It is a greatwandering house, standing in a considerable park. I should judge itwas of all sorts of ages and styles, starting on a half-timberedElizabethan foundation and ending in a Victorian portico. Inside itwas all panelling and tapestry and half-effaced old pictures, ahouse of shadows and mystery. There was a butler, old Ralph, whoseemed about the same age as the house, and there was his wife, whomight have been older. She had been Godfrey's nurse, and I hadheard him speak of her as second only to his mother in hisaffections, so I was drawn to her in spite of her queer appearance.The mother I liked also--a gentle little white mouse of a woman. Itwas only the colonel himself whom I barred.
"We had a bit of barney right away, and I should have walkedback to the station if I had not felt that it might be playing hisgame for me to do so. I was shown straight into his study, andthere I found him, a huge, bow-backed man with a smoky skin and astraggling gray beard, seated behind his littered desk. Ared-veined nose jutted out like a vulture's beak, and two fiercegray eyes glared at me from under tufted brows. I could understandnow why Godfrey seldom spoke of his father.
"'Well, sir,' said he in a rasping voice, 'I should beinterested to know the real reasons for this visit.'
"I answered that I had explained them in my letter to hiswife.
"'Yes, yes, you said that you had known Godfrey in Africa. Wehave, 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 tossedthem back.
"'Well, what then?' he asked.
"'I was fond of your son Godfrey, sir. Many ties and memoriesunited us. Is it not natural that I should wonder at his suddensilence and should wish to know what has become of him?'
"'I have some recollections, sir, that I had alreadycorresponded with you and had told you what had become of him. Hehas gone upon a voyage round the world. His health was in a poorway after his African experiences, and both his mother and I wereof opinion that camplete rest and change were needed. Kindly passthat explanation on to any other friends who may be interested inthe matter.'
"'Certainly,' I answered. 'But perhaps you would have thegoodness to let me have the name of the steamer and of the line bywhich he sailed, together with the date. I have no doubt that Ishould be able to get a letter through to him.'
"My request seemed both to puzzle and to irritate my host. Hisgreat eyebrows came down over his eyes, and he tapped his fingersimpatiently on the table. He looked up at last with the expressionof one who has seen his adversary make a dangerous move at chess,and has decided how to meet it.
"'Many people, Mr. Dodd,' said he, 'would take offence at yourinfernal pertinacity and would think that this insistence hadreached the point of damned impertinence.'
"'You must put it down, sir, to my real love for your son.'
"'Exactly. I have already made every allowance upon that score.I must ask you, however, to drop these inquiries. Every family hasits own inner knowledge and its own motives, which cannot always bemade clear to outsiders, however well-intentioned. My wife isanxious to hear something of Godfrey's past which you are in aposition to tell her, but I would ask you to let the present andthe future alone. Such inquiries serve no useful purpose, sir, andplace us in a delicate and difficult position.'
"So I came to a dead end, Mr. Holmes. There was no getting pastit. I could only pretend to accept the situation and register a vowinwardly that I would never rest until my friend's fate had beencleared up. It was a dull evening. We dined quietly, the three ofus, in a gloomy, faded old room. The lady questioned me eagerlyabout her son, but the old man seemed morose and depressed. I wasso bored by the whole proceeding that I made an excuse as soon as Idecently could and retired to my bedroom. It was a large, bare roomon the ground floor, as gloomy as the rest of the house, but aftera year of sleeping upon the veldt, Mr. Holmes, one is not tooparticular about one's quarters. I opened the curtains and lookedout into the garden, remarking that it was a fine night with abright half-moon. Then I sat down by the roaring fire with the lampon a table beside me, and endeavoured to distract my mind with anovel. I was interrupted, however, by Ralph, the old butler, whocame in with a fresh supply of coals.
"'I thought you might run short in the night-time, sir. It isbitter weather and these rooms are cold.'
"He hesitated before leaving the room, and when I looked roundhe was standing facing me with a wistful look upon his wrinkledface.
"'Beg your pardon, sir, but I could not help hearing what yousaid of young Master Godfrey at dinner. You know, sir, that my wifenursed him, and so I may say I am his foster-father. It's naturalwe should take an interest. 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 behere.'
"The old butler rubbed his skinny hands.
"'Yes, sir, yes, that is Master Godfrey all over. He was alwayscourageous. There's not a tree in the park, sir, that he has notclimbed. Nothing would stop him. He was a fine boy--and oh, sir, hewas a fine man.'
"I sprang to my feet.
"'Look here!' I cried. 'You say he was. You speak as if he weredead. What is all this mystery? What has become of GodfreyEmsworth?'
"I gripped the old man by the shoulder, but he shrank away.
"'I don't 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 beforeyou leave if I have to hold you all night. Is Godfrey dead?"
"He could not face my eyes. He was like a man hypnotized Theanswer was dragged from his lips. It was a terrible and unexpectedone.
"'I wish to God he was!' he cried, and, tearing himself free hedashed from the room.
"You will think, Mr. Holmes, that I returned to my chair in novery happy state of mind. The old man's words seemed to me to bearonly one interpretation. Clearly my poor friend had become involvedin some criminal or, at the least, disreputable transaction whichtouched the family honour. That stern old man had sent his son awayand hidden him from the world lest some scandal should come tolight. Godfrey was a reckless fellow. He was easily influenced bythose around him. No doubt he had fallen into bad hands and beenmisled to his ruin. It was a piteous business, if it was indeed so,but even now it was my duty to hunt him out and see if I could aidhim. I was anxiously pondering the matter when I looked up, andthere was Godfrey Emsworth standing before me."
My client had paused as one in deep emotion.
"Pray continue," I said. "Your problem presents some veryunusual features."
"He was outside the window, Mr. Holmes, with his face pressedagainst the glass. I have told you that I looked out at the night.When I did so I left the curtains partly open. His figure wasframed in this gap. The window came down to the ground and I couldsee the whole length of it, but it was his face which held my gaze.He was deadly pale--never have I seen a man so white. I reckonghosts may look like that; but his eyes met mine, and they were theeyes of a living man. He sprang back when he saw that I was lookingat him, and he vanished into the darkness.
"There was something shocking about the man, Mr. Holmes. Itwasn't merely that ghastly face glimmering as white as cheese inthe darkness. It was more subtle than that--something slinking,something furtive, something guilty--something very unlike thefrank, manly lad that I had known. It left a feeling of horror inmy mind.
"But when a man has been soldiering for a year or two withbrother Boer as a playmate, he keeps his nerve and acts quickly.Godfrey had hardly vanished before I was at the window. There wasan awkward catch, and I was some little time before I could throwit up. Then I nipped through and ran down the garden path in thedirection that I thought he might have taken.
"It was a long path and the light was not very good, but itseemed to me something was moving ahead of me. I ran on and calledhis name, but it was no use. When I got to the end of the paththere were several others branching in different directions tovarious outhouses. I stood hesitating, and as I did so I hearddistinctly the sound of a closing door. It was not behind me in thehouse, but ahead of me, somewhere in the darkness. That was enough,Mr. Holmes, to assure me that what I had seen was not a vision.Godfrey had run away from me, and he had shut a door behind him. Ofthat 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 theorywhich would cover the facts. Next day I found the colonel rathermore conciliatory, and as his wife remarked that there were someplaces of interest in the neighbourhood, it gave me an opening toask whether my presence for one more night would incommode them. Asomewhat grudging acquiescence from the old man gave me a clear dayin which to make my observations. I was already perfectly convincedthat Godfrey was in hiding somewhere near, but where and whyremained to be solved.
"The house was so large and so rambling that a regiment might behid away in it and no one the wiser. If the secret lay there it wasdifficult for me to penetrate it. But the door which I had heardclose was certainly not in the house. I must explore the garden andsee what I could find. There was no difficulty in the way, for theold people were busy in their own fashion and left me to my owndevices.
"There were several small outhouses, but at the end of thegarden there was a detached building of some size--large enough fora gardener's or a gamekeeper's residence. Could this be the placewhence the sound of that shutting door had come? I approached it ina careless fashion as though I were strolling aimlessly round thegrounds. As I did so, a small, brisk, bearded man in a black coatand bowler hat--not at all the gardener type--came out of the door.To my surprise, he locked it after him and put the key in hispocket. Then he looked at me with some surprise on his face.
"'Are you a visitor here?' he asked.
"I explained that I was and that I was a friend ofGodfrey's.
"'What a pity that he should be away on his travels, for hewould have so liked to see me,' I continued.
"'Quite so. Exactly,' said he with a rather guilty air. 'Nodoubt you will renew your visit at some more propitious time.' Hepassed on, but when I turned I observed that he was standingwatching me, half-concealed by the laurels at the far end of thegarden.
"I had a good look at the little house as I passed it, but thewindows were heavily curtained, and, so far as one could see, itwas empty. I might spoil my own game and even be ordered off thepremises if I were too audacious, for I was still conscious that Iwas being watched. Therefore, I strolled back to the house andwaited for night before I went on with my inquiry. When all wasdark and quiet I slipped out of my window and made my way assilently as possible to the mysterious lodge.
"I have said that it was heavily curtained, but now I found thatthe windows were shuttered as well. Some light, however, wasbreaking through one of them, so I concentrated my attention uponthis. I was in luck, for the curtain had not been quite closed, andthere was a crack in the shutter, so that I could see the inside ofthe room. It was a cheery place enough, a bright lamp and a blazingfire. Opposite to me was seated the little man whom I had seen inthe morning. He was smoking a pipe and reading a paper."
"What paper?" I asked.
My client seemed annoyed at the interruption of hisnarrative.
"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 ofthat smaller type which one associates with weeklies."
"Now that you mention it, it was not large. It might have beenthe Spectator. However, I had little thought to spare upon suchdetails, for a second man was seated with his back to the window,and I could swear that this second man was Godfrey. I could not seehis face, but I knew the familiar slope of his shoulders. He wasleaning upon his elbow in an attitude of great melancholy, his bodyturned towards the fire. I was hesitating as to what I should dowhen there was a sharp tap on my shoulder, and there was ColonelEmsworth beside me.
"'This way, sir!' said he in a low voice. He walked in silenceto the house, and I followed him into my own bedroom. He had pickedup a time-table in the hall.
" There is a train to London at 8:30,' said he. 'The trap willbe at the door at eight.'
"He was white with rage, and, indeed, I felt myself in sodifficult a position that I could only stammer out a few incoherentapologies in which I tried to excuse myself by urging my anxietyfor my friend.
"'The matter will not bear discussion,' said he abruptly. 'Youhave made a most damnable intrusion into the privacy of our family.You were here as a guest and you have become a spy. I have nothingmore to say, sir, save that I have no wish ever to see youagain.'
"At this I lost my temper, Mr. Holmes, and I spoke with somewarmth.
"'I have seen your son, and I am convinced that for some reasonof your own you are concealing him from the world. I have no ideawhat your motives are in cutting him off in this fashion, but I amsure that he is no longer a free agent. I warn you, ColonelEmsworth, that until I am assured as to the safety and well-beingof my friend I shall never desist in my efforts to get to thebottom of the mystery, and I shall certainly not allow myself to beintimidated by anything which you may say or do.'
"The old fellow looked diabolical, and I really thought he wasabout to attack me. I have said that he was a gaunt, fierce oldgiant, and though I am no weakling I might have been hard put to itto hold my own against him. However, after a long glare of rage heturned upon his heel and walked out of the room. For my part, Itook the appointed train in the morning, with the full intention ofcoming straight to you and asking for your advice and assistance atthe appointment for which I had already written."
Such was the problem which my visitor laid before me. Itpresented, as the astute reader will have already perceived, fewdifficulties in its solution, for a very limited choice ofalternatives must get to the root of the matter. Still, elementaryas it was, there were points of interest and novelty about it whichmay excuse my placing it upon record. I now proceeded, using myfamiliar method of logical analysis, to narrow down the possiblesolutions.
"The servants," I asked; "how many were in the house?"
"To the best of my belief there were only the old butler and hiswife. 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. Heseemed, however, to be quite a superior person."
"That seems very suggestive. Had you any indication that foodwas conveyed from the one house to the other?"
"Now that you mention it, I did see old Ralph carrying a basketdown the garden walk and going in the direction of this house. Theidea of food did 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 theinnkeeper in the village. I simply asked if they knew anything ofmy old comrade, Godfrey Emsworth. Both of them assured me that hehad gone for a voyage round the world. He had come home and thenhad almost at once started off again. The story was evidentlyuniversally accepted."
"You said nothing of your suspicions?"
"Nothing."
"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 whichmy friend Watson has described as that of the Abbey School, inwhich the Duke of Greyminster was so deeply involved. I had also acommission from the Sultan of Turkey which called for immediateaction, as political consequences of the gravest kind might arisefrom its neglect. Therefore it was not until the beginning of thenext week, as my diary records, that I was able to start forth onmy mission to Bedfordshire in company with Mr. James M. Dodd. As wedrove to Eustonn we picked up a grave and tacitum gentleman ofiron-gray aspect, with whom I had made the necessaryarrangements.
"This is an old friend," said I to Dodd. "It is possible thathis presence may be entirely unnecessary, and, on the other hand,it may be essential. It is not necessary at the present stage to gofurther into the matter."
The narratives of Watson have accustomed the reader, no doubt,to the fact that I do not waste words or disclose my thoughts whilea case is actually under consideration. Dodd seemed surprised, butnothing more was said, and the three of us continued our journeytogether. In the train I asked Dodd one more question which Iwished our companion to hear.
"You say that you saw your friend's face quite clearly at thewindow, so clearly that you are sure of his identity?"
"I have no doubt about it whatever. His nose was pressed againstthe glass. 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 was--how shall I describe it?--it wasof a fish-belly whiteness. It was bleached."
"Was it equally pale all over?"
"I think not. It was his brow which I saw so clearly as it waspressed against the window."
"Did you call to him?"
"I was too startled and horrified for the moment. Then I pursuedhim, 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,we arrived at the strange old rambling house which my client haddescribed, it was Ralph, the elderly butler, who opened the door. Ihad requisitioned the carriage for the day and had asked my elderlyfriend to remain within it unless we should summon him. Ralph, alittle wrinkled old fellow, was in the conventional costume ofblack coat and pepper-and-salt trousers, with only one curiousvariant. He wore brown leather gloves, which at sight of us heinstantly shuffled off, laying them down on the hall-table as wepassed 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, placedmy hat there, knocked it off, stooped to pick it up, and contrivedto bring my nose within a foot of the gloves. Yes, it wasundoubtedly from them that the curious tarry odour was oozing. Ipassed on into the study with my case complete. Alas, that I shouldhave to show my hand so when I tell my own story! It was byconcealing such links in the chain that Watson was enabled toproduce his meretricious finales.
Colonel Emsworth was not in his room, but he came quickly enoughon receipt of Ralph's message. We heard his quick, heavy step inthe passage. The door was flung open and he rushed in withbristling beard and twisted features, as terrible an old man asever I have seen. He held our cards in his hand, and he tore themup and stamped on the fragments.
"Have I not told you, you infernal busybody, that you are warnedoff the premises? Never dare to show your damned face here again.If you enter again without my leave I shall be within my rights ifI use violence. I'll shoot you, sir! By God, I will! As to you,sir," turning upon me, "I extend the same warning to you. I amfamiliar with your ignoble profession, but you must take yourreputed talents to some other field. There is no opening for themhere."
"I cannot leave here," said my client firmly, "until I hear fromGodfrey's own lips that he is under no restraint."
Our involuntary host rang the bell.
"Ralph," he said, "telephone down to the county police and askthe inspector to send up two constables. Tell him there areburglars in the house."
"One moment," said I. "You must be aware, Mr. Dodd, that ColonelEmsworth is within his rights and that we have no legal statuswithin his house. On the other hand, he should recognize that youraction is prompted entirely by solicitude for his son. I venture tohope that if I were allowed to have five minutes conversation withColonel Emsworth I could certainly alter his view of thematter."
"I am not so easily altered," said the old soldier. "Ralph, dowhat I have told you. What the devil are you waiting for? Ring upthe police!"
"Nothing of the sort," I said, putting my back to the door. "Anypolice interference would bring about the very catastrophe whichyou dread." I took out my notebook and scribbled one word upon aloose sheet. "That," said I as I handed it to Colonel Emsworth, "iswhat has brought us here."
He stared at the writing with a face from which every expressionsave amazement had vanished.
"How do you know?" he gasped, sitting down heavily in hischair.
"It is my business to know things. That is my trade."
He sat in deep thought, his gaunt hand tugging at his stragglingbeard. Then he made a gesture of resignation.
"Well, if you wish to see Godfrey, you shall. It is no doing ofmine, but you have forced my hand. Ralph, tell Mr. Godfrey and Mr.Kent that in five 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 beardedman stood at the door with a look of considerable astonishment uponhis face.
"This is very sudden, Colonel Emsworth," said he. "This willdisarrange all our plans."
"I can't 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 largeplainly furnished front room. A man was standing with his back tothe fire, and at the sight of him my client sprang forward withoutstretched hand.
"Why, Godfrey, old man, this is fine!"
But the other waved him back.
"Don't touch me, Jimmie. Keep your distance. Yes, you may wellstare! I don't quite look the smart Lance-Corporal Emsworth, of BSquadron, do I?"
His appearance was certainly extraordinary. One could see thathe had indeed been a handsome man with clear-cut features sunburnedby an African sun, but mottled in patches over this darker surfacewere curious whitish patches which had bleached his skin.
"That's why I don't court visitors," said he. "I don't mind you,Jimmie, but I could have done without your friend. I suppose thereis some good reason for it, but you have me at a disadvantage."
"I wanted to be sure that all was well with you, Godfrey. I sawyou that night when you looked into my window, and I could not letthe matter rest till I had cleared things up."
"Old Ralph told me you were there, and I couldn't help taking apeep at you. I hoped you would not have seen me, and I had to runto my burrow when I heard the window go up."
"But what in heaven's name is the matter?"
"Well, it's not a long story to tell," said he, lighting acigarette. "You remember that morning fight at Buffelsspruit,outside Pretoria, on the Eastern railway line? You heard I washit?"
"Yes, I heard that but I never got particulars."
"Three of us got separated from the others. It was very brokencountry, you may remember. There was Simpson--the fellow we calledBaldy Simpson--and Anderson, and I. We were clearing brother Boer,but he lay low and got the three of us. The other two were killed.I got an elephant bullet through my shoulder. I stuck on to myhorse, however, and he galloped several miles before I fainted androlled off the saddle.
"When I came to myself it was nightfall, and I raised myself up,feeling very weak and ill. To my surprise there was a house closebeside me, a fairly large house with a broad stoep and manywindows. It was deadly cold. You remember the kind of numb coldwhich used to come at evening, a deadly, sickening sort of cold,very different from a crisp healthy frost. Well, I was chilled tothe bone, and my only hope seemed to lie in reaching that house. Istaggered to my feet and dragged myself along, hardly conscious ofwhat I did. I have a dim memory of slowly ascending the steps,entering a wide-opened door, passing into a large room whichcontained several beds, and throwing myself down with a gasp ofsatisfaction upon one of them. It was unmade, but that troubled menot at all. I drew the clothes over my shivering body and in amoment I was in a deep sleep.
"It was morning when I wakened, and it seemed to me that insteadof coming out into a world of sanity I had emerged into someextraordinary nightmare. The African sun flooded through the big,curtainless windows, and every detail of the great, bare,whitewashed dormitory stood out hard and clear. In front of me wasstanding a small, dwarf-like man with a huge, bulbous head, who wasjabbering excitedly in Dutch, waving two horrible hands whichlooked to me like brown sponges. Behind him stood a group of peoplewho seemed to be intensely amused by the situation, but a chillcame over me as I looked at them. Not one of them was a normalhuman being. Every one was twisted or swollen or disfigured in somestrange way. The laughter of these strange monstrosities was adreadful thing to hear.
"It seemed that none of them could speak English, but thesituation wanted clearing up, for the creature with the big headwas growing furiously angry, and, uttering wild-beast cries, he hadlaid his deformed hands upon me and was dragging me out of bed,regardless of the fresh flow of blood from my wound. The littlemonster was as strong as a bull, and I don't know what he mighthave done to me had not an elderly man who was clearly in authoritybeen attracted to the room by the hubbub; He said a few stern wordsin Dutch, and my persecutor shrank away. Then he turned upon me,gazing at me in the utmost amazement.
"'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 shoulderof yours wants looking after. I am a doctor, and I'll soon have youtied up. But, man alive! you are in far greater danger here thanever you were on the battlefield. You are in the Leper Hospital,and you have slept in a leper's bed.'
"Need I tell you more, Jimmie? It seems that in view of theapproaching battle all these poor creatures had been evacuated theday before. Then, as the British advanced, they had been broughtback by this, their medical superintendent, who assured me that,though he believed he was immune to the disease, he would none theless never have dared to do what I had done. He put me in a privateroom, treated me kindly, and within a week or so I was removed tothe general hospital at Pretoria.
"So there you have my tragedy. I hoped against hope, but it wasnot until I had reached home that the terrible signs which you seeupon my face told me that I had not escaped. What was I to do? Iwas in this lonely house. We had two servants whom we could utterlytrust. There was a house where I could live. Under pledge ofsecrecy, Mr. Kent, who is a surgeon, was prepared to stay with me.It seemed simple enough on those lines. The alternative was adreadful one--segregation for life among strangers with never ahope of release. But absolute secrecy was necessary, or even inthis quiet countryside there would have been an outcry, and Ishould have been dragged to my horrible doom. Even you,Jimmie--even you had to be kept in the dark. Why my father hasrelented I cannot imagine."
Colonel Emsworth pointed to me.
"This is the gentleman who forced my hand." He unfolded thescrap of paper on which I had written the word "Leprosy." "Itseemed to me that if he knew so much as that it was safer that heshould 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 you are an authority on such complaints, which are, Iunderstand, tropical or semi-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 amsure that you will agree that in such a case a second opinion isvaluable. You have avoided this, I understand, for fear thatpressure should be put upon you to segregate the patient."
"That is so," said Colonel Emsworth.
"I foresaw this situation," I explained, "and I have broughtwith me a friend whose discretion may absolutely be trusted. I wasable once to do him a professional service, and he is ready toadvise as a friend rather than as a specialist. His name is SirJames Saunders."
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 inthe carriage 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 storyI have no such aid. And yet I will give my process of thought evenas I gave it to my small audience, which included Godfrey's motherin the study of Colonel Emsworth.
"That process," said I, "starts upon the supposition that whenyou have eliminated all which is impossible, then whatever remains,however improbable, must be the truth. It may well be that severalexplanations remain, in which case one tries test after test untilone or other of them has a convincing amount of support. We willnow apply this principle to the case in point. As it was firstpresented to me, there were three possible explanations of theseclusion or incarceration of this gentleman in an outhouse of hisfather's mansion. There was the explanation that he was in hidingfor a crime, or that he was mad and that they wished to avoid anasylum, or that he had some disease which caused his segregation. Icould think of no other adequate solutions. These, then, had to besifted and balanced against each other.
"The criminal solution would not bear inspection. No unsolvedcrime had been reported from that district. I was sure of that. Ifit were some crime not yet discovered, then clearly it would be tothe interest of the family to get rid of the delinquent and sendhim abroad rather than keep him concealed at home. I could see noexplanation for such a line of conduct.
"Insanity was more plausible. The presence of the second personin the outhouse suggested a keeper. The fact that he locked thedoor when he came out strengthened the supposition and gave theidea of constraint. On the other hand, this constraint could not besevere or the young man could not have got loose and come down tohave a look at his friend. You will remember, Mr. Dodd, that I feltround for points, asking you, for example, about the paper whichMr. Kent was reading. Had it been the Lancet or the British MedicalJournal it would have helped me. It is not illegal, however, tokeep a lunatic upon private premises so long as there is aqualified person in attendance and that the authorities have beenduly notified. Why, then, all this desperate desire for secrecy?Once again I could not get the theory to fit the facts.
"There remained the third possibility, into which, rare andunlikely as it was, everything seemed to fit. Leprosy is notuncommon in South Africa. By some extraordinary chance this youthmight have contracted it. His people would be placed in a verydreadful position, since they would desire to save him fromsegregation. Great secrecy would be needed to prevent rumours fromgetting about and subsequent interference by the authorities. Adevoted medical man, if sufficiently paid, would easily be found totake charge of the sufferer. There would be no reason why thelatter should not be allowed freedom after dark. Bleaching of theskin is a common result of the disease. The case was a strongone--so strong that I determined to act as if it were actuallyproved. When on arriving here I noticed that Ralph, who carries outthe meals, had gloves which are impregnated with disinfectants, mylast doubts were removed. A single word showed you, sir, that yoursecret was discovered, and if I wrote rather than said it, it wasto prove to you that my discretion was to be trusted."
I was finishing this little analysis of the case when the doorwas opened and the austere figure of the great dermatologist wasushered in. But for once his sphinx-like features had relaxed andthere was a warm humanity in his eyes. He strode up to ColonelEmsworth and shook him by the hand.
"It is often my lot to bring ill-tidings and seldom good," saidhe. "This occasion is the more welcome. It is not leprosy."
"What?"
"A well-marked case of pseudo-leprosy or ichthyosis, a scalelikeaffection of the skin, unsightly, obstinate, but possibly curable,and certainly noninfective. Yes, Mr. Holmes, the coincidence is aremarkable one. But is it coincidence? Are there not subtle forcesat work of which we know little? Are we assured that theapprehension from which this young man has no doubt sufferedterribly since his exposure to its contagion may not produce aphysical effect which simulates that which it fears? At any rate, Ipledge my professional reputation--But the lady has fainted! Ithink that Mr. Kent had better be with her until she recovers fromthis joyous shock."
ADVENTURE VIII. THE ADVENTURE OF THE RETIREDCOLOURMAN
Sherlock Holmes was in a melancholy and philosophic mood thatmorning. His alert practical nature was subject to suchreactions.
"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 lifepathetic and futile? Is not his story a microcosm of the whole? Wereach. We grasp. And what is left in our hands at the end? Ashadow. Or worse than a shadow--misery."
"Is he one of your clients?"
"Well, I suppose I may call him so. He has been sent on by theYard. Just as medical men occasionally send their incurables to aquack. They argue that they can do nothing more, and that whateverhappens the patient can be no worse than he is."
"What is the matter?"
Holmes took a rather soiled card from the table. "JosiahAmberley. He says he was junior partner of Brickfall and Amberley,who are manufacturers of artistic materials. You will see theirnames upon paint-boxes. He made his little pile, retired frombusiness at the age of sixty-one, bought a house at Lewisham. andsettled down to rest after a life of ceaseless grind. One wouldthink his future was tolerably assured."
"Yes, indeed."
Holmes glanced over some notes which he had scribbled upon theback of an envelope.
"Retired in 1896, Watson. Early in 1897 he married a womantwenty years younger than himself--a good-looking woman, too. ifthe photograph does not flatter. A competence, a wife, leisure--itseemed a straight road which lay before him. And yet within twoyears he is, as you have seen, as broken and miserable a creatureas crawls beneath the sun."
"But what has happened?"
"The old story, Watson. A treacherous friend and a fickle wife.It would appear that Amberley has one hobby in life, and it ischess. Not far from him at Lewisham there lives a young doctor whois also a chess-player. I have noted his name as Dr. Ray Ernest.Ernest was frequently in the house, and an intimacy between him andMrs. Amberley was a natural sequence, for you must admit that ourunfortunate client has few outward graces, whatever his innervirtues may be. The couple went off together last week--destinationuntraced. What is more, the faithless spouse carried off the oldman's deed-box as her personal luggage with a good part of hislife's savings within. Can we find the lady? Can we save the money?A commonplace problem so far as it has developed, and yet a vitalone for Josiah Amberley."
"What will you do about it?"
"Well, the immediate question, my dear Watson, happens to be,What will you do?--if you will be good enough to understudy me. Youknow that I am preoccupied with this case of the two CopticPatriarchs, which should come to a head to-day. I really have nottime to go out to Lewisham, and yet evidence taken on the spot hasa special value. The old fellow was quite insistent that I shouldgo, but I explained my difficulty. He is prepared to meet arepresentative."
"By all means," I answered. "I confess I don't see that I can beof much service, but I am willing to do my best." And so it wasthat on a summer afternoon I set forth to Lewisham, little dreamingthat within a week the affair in which I was engaging would be theeager debate of all England.
It was late that evening before I returned to Baker Street andgave an account of my mission. Holmes lay with his gaunt figurestretched in his deep chair, his pipe curling forth slow wreaths ofacrid tobacco, while his eyelids drooped over his eyes so lazilythat he might almost have been asleep were it not that at any haltor questionable passage of my narrative they half lifted, and twogray eyes, as bright and keen as rapiers, transfixed me with theirsearching glance.
"The Haven is the name of Mr. Josiah Amberley's house," Iexplained. "I think it would interest you, Holmes. It is like somepenurious patrician who has sunk into the company of his inferiors.You know that particular quarter, the monotonous brick streets, theweary suburban highways. Right in the middle of them, a littleisland of ancient culture and comfort, lies this old home,surrounded by a high sun-baked wall mottled with lichens and toppedwith moss, the sort of wall--"
"Cut out the poetry, Watson," said Holmes severely. "I note thatit was a 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, rathermilitary-looking man. He nodded in answer to my inquiry and gave mea curiously questioning glance, which came back to my memory alittle later.
"I had hardly entered the gateway before I saw Mr. Amberleycoming down the drive. I only had a glimpse of him this morning,and he certainly gave me the impression of a strange creature, butwhen I saw him in full light his appearance was even moreabnormal."
"I have, of course, studied it, and yet I should be interestedto have your impression," said Holmes.
"He seemed to me like a man who was literally bowed down bycare. His back was curved as though he carried a heavy burden. Yethe was not the weakling that I had at first imagined, for hisshoulders and chest have the framework of a giant, though hisfigure tapers away into a pair of spindled legs."
"Left shoe wrinkled, right one smooth."
"I did not observe that."
"No, you wouldn't. I spotted his artificial limb. Butproceed."
"I was struck by the snaky locks of grizzled hair which curledfrom under his old straw hat, and his face with its fierce, eagerexpression and the deeply lined features."
"Very good, Watson. What did he say?"
"He began pouring out the story of his grievances. We walkeddown the drive together, and of course I took a good look round. Ihave never seen a worse-kept place. The garden was all running toseed, giving me an impression of wild neglect in which the plantshad been allowed to find the way of Nature rather than of art. Howany decent woman could have tolerated such a state of things, Idon't know. The house, too, was slatternly to the last degree, butthe poor man seemed himself to be aware of it and to be trying toremedy it, for a great pot of green paint stood in the centre ofthe hall, and he was carrying a thick brush in his left hand. Hehad been working on the woodwork.
"He took me into his dingy sanctum, and we had a long chat. Ofcourse, he was disappointed that you had not come yourself. 'Ihardly expected,' he said, 'that so humble an individual as myself,especially after my heavy financial loss, could obtain the completeattention of so famous a man as Mr. Sherlock Holmes.'
"I assured him that the financial question did not arise. 'No ofcourse, it is art for art's sake with him,' said he, 'but even onthe artistic side of crime he might have found something here tostudy. And human nature, Dr. Watson--the black ingratitude of itall! When did I ever refuse one of her requests? Was ever a womanso pampered? And that young man--he might have been my own son. Hehad the run of my house. And yet see how they have treated me! Oh,Dr. Watson, it is a dreadful, dreadful world!'
"That was the burden of his song for an hour or more. He had, itseems, no suspicion of an intrigue. They lived alone save for awoman who comes in by the day and leaves every evening at six. Onthat particular evening old Amberley, wishing to give his wife atreat, had taken two upper circle seats at the Haymarket Theatre.At the last moment she had complained of a headache and had refusedto go. He had gone alone. There seemed to be no doubt about thefact, for he produced the unused ticket which he had taken for hiswife."
"That is remarkable--most remarkable," said Holmes, whoseinterest in the case seemed to be rising. "Pray continue, Watson. Ifind your narrative most arresting. Did you personally examine thisticket? You did not, perchance, take the number?"
"It so happens that I did," I answered with some pride. "Itchanced to be my old school number, thirty-one, and so is stuck inmy head."
"Excellent, Watson! His seat, then, was either thirty orthirty-two."
"Quite so," I answered with some mystification. "And on Brow."
"That is most satisfactory. What else did he tell you?"
"He showed me his strong-room, as he called it. It really is astrong-room--like a bank--with iron door and shutter--burglarproof, as he claimed. However, the woman seems to have had aduplicate key, and between them they had carried off some seventhousand pounds' worth of cash and securities."
"Securities! How could they dispose of those?"
"He said that he had given the police a list and that he hopedthey would be unsaleable. He had got back from the theatre aboutmidnight and found the place plundered, the door and window open,and the fugitives gone. There was no letter or message, nor has heheard a word since. 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 paintedthe door and woodwork of this room I spoke of."
"Does it not strike you as a strange occupation in thecircumstances?"
"'One must do something to ease an aching heart.' That was hisown explanation. It was eccentric, no doubt, but he is clearly aneccentric man. He tore up one of his wife's photographs in mypresence--tore it up furiously in a tempest of passion. 'I neverwish to see her damned face again,' he shrieked."
"Anything more, Watson?"
"Yes, one thing which struck me more than anything else. I haddriven to the Blackheath Station and had caught my train therewhen, just as it was starting, I saw a man dart into the carriagenext to my own. You know that I have a quick eye for faces, Holmes.It was undoubtedly the tall, dark man whom I had addressed in thestreet. I saw him once more at London Bridge, and then I lost himin the crowd. But I am convinced that he was following me."
"No doubt! No doubt!" said Holmes. "A tall, dark, heavilymoustached man, you say, with gray-tinted sun-glasses?"
"Holmes, you are a wizard. I did not say so, but he hadgray-tinted sun-glasses."
"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 tobe so absurdly simple as to be hardly worth my notice, is rapidlyassuming a very different aspect. It is true that though in yourmission you have missed everything of importance, yet even thosethings which have obtruded themselves upon your notice give rise toserious thought."
"What have I missed?"
"Don't be hurt, my dear fellow. You know that I am quiteimpersonal. No one else would have done better. Some possibly notso well. But clearly you have missed some vital points. What is theopinion of the neighbours about this man Amberley and his wife?That surely is of importance. What of Dr. Ernest? Was he the gayLothario one would expect? With your natural advantages, Watson,every lady is your helper and accomplice. What about the girl atthe post-office, or the wife of the greengrocer? I can picture youwhispering soft nothings with the young lady at the Blue Anchor,and receiving hard somethings in exchange. All this you have leftundone."
"It can still be done."
"It has been done. Thanks to the telephone and the help of theYard, I can usually get my essentials without leaving this room. Asa matter of fact, my information confirms the man's story. He hasthe local repute of being a miser as well as a harsh and exactinghusband. That he had a large sum of money in that strong-room ofhis is certain. So also is it that young Dr. Ernest, an unmarriedman, played chess with Amberley, and probably played the fool withhis wife. All this seems plain sailing, and one would think thatthere was no more to be said--and yet!--and yet!"
"Where lies the difficulty?"
"In my imagination, perhaps. Well, leave it there, Watson. Letus escape from this weary workaday world by the side door of music.Carina sings to-night at the Albert Hall, and we still have time todress, dine, and enjoy."
In the morning I was up betimes, but some toast crumbs and twoempty eggshells told me that my companion was earlier still. Ifound a scribbled note upon the table.
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 case--or not. I would only ask you to be on hand aboutthree o'clock, as I conceive it possible that I may want you.
S.H.
I saw nothing of Holmes all day, but at the hour named hereturned, grave, preoccupied, and aloof. At such times it was wiserto leave him to himself.
"Has Amberley been here yet?"
"No."
"Ah! I am expecting him."
He was not disappointed, for presently the old fellow arrivedwith a very worried and puzzled expression upon his austereface.
"I've 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 asto your recent loss. ELMAN. The Vicarage."
"Dispatched at 2:10 from Little Purlington," said Holmes."Little Purlington is in Essex, I believe, not far from Frinton.Well, of course you will start at once. This is evidently from aresponsible person, the vicar of the place. Where is my Crockford?Yes, here we have him: 'J. C. Elman, M. A., Living of Moosmoor cumLittle 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 helpor advice. Clearly we have come to a crisis in this affair."
But our client seemed by no means eager to start.
"It's perfectly absurd, Mr. Holmes," he said. "What can this manpossibly know of what has occurred? It is waste of time andmoney."
"He would not have telegraphed to you if he did not knowsomething. Wire at once that you are coming."
"I don't think I shall go."
Holmes assumed his sternest aspect.
"It would make the worst possible impression both on the policeand upon myself, Mr. Amberley, if when so obvious a clue arose youshould refuse to follow it up. We should feel that you were notreally in earnest in this investigation."
Our client seemed horrified at the suggestion.
"Why, of course I shall go if you look at it in that way," saidhe. "On the face of it, it seems absurd to suppose that this parsonknows anything, but if you think--"
"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 reallydoes go," said he. "Should he break away or return, get to thenearest telephone exchange and send the single word 'Bolted.' Iwill arrange here that it shall reach me wherever I am."
Little Purlington is not an easy place to reach, for it is on abranch line. My remembrance of the journey is not a pleasant one,for the weather was hot, the train slow, and my companion sullenand silent, hardly talking at all save to make an occasionalsardonic remark as to the futility of our proceedings. When we atlast reached the little station it was a two-mile drive before wecame to the Vicarage, where a big, solemn, rather pompous clergymanreceived us in his study. Our telegram lay 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 hiswife and his money."
"If this is a joke, sir, it is a very questionable one," saidthe vicar angrily. "I have never heard of the gentleman you name,and I have not sent 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 thiswire is a scandalous forgery, the origin of which shall certainlybe investigated by the police. Meanwhile, I can see no possibleobject in prolonging this interview."
So Mr. Amberley and I found ourselves on the roadside in whatseemed to me to be the most primitive village in England. We madefor the telegraph office, but it was already closed. There was atelephone, however, at the little Railway Arms, and by it I gotinto touch with Holmes, who shared in our amazement at the resultof our journey.
"Most singular!" said the distant voice. "Most remarkable! Imuch fear, my dear Watson, that there is no return train to-night.I have unwittingly condemned you to the horrors of a country inn.However, there is always Nature, Watson--Nature and JosiahAmberley--you can be in close commune with both." I heard his drychuckle as he turned away.
It was soon apparent to me that my companion's reputation as amiser was not undeserved. He had grumbled at the expense of thejourney, had insisted upon travelling third-class, and was nowclamorous in his objections to the hotel bill. Next morning, whenwe did at last arrive in London, it was hard to say which of us wasin the worse humour.
"You had best take Baker Street as we pass," said I. "Mr. Holmesmay have some fresh instructions."
"If they are not worth more than the last ones they are not ofmuch use," said Amberley with a malevolent scowl. None the less, hekept me company. I had already warned Holmes by telegram of thehour of our arrival, but we found a message waiting that he was atLewisham and would expect us there. That was a surprise, but aneven greater one was to find that he was not alone in thesitting-room of our client. A stern-looking, impassive man satbeside him, a dark man with gray-tinted glasses and a large Masonicpin projecting from his tie.
"This is my friend Mr. Barker," said Holmes. "He has beeninteresting himself also in your business, Mr. Josiah Amberley,though we have been working independently. But we both have thesame question to ask you!"
Mr. Amberley sat down heavily. He sensed impending danger. Iread it in his straining eyes and his twitching features.
"What is the question, Mr. Holmes?"
"Only this: What did you do with the bodies?"
The man sprang to his feet with a hoarse scream. He clawed intothe air with his bony hands. His mouth was open, and for theinstant he looked like some horrible bird of prey. In a flash wegot a glimpse of the real Josiah Amberley, a misshapen demon with asoul as distorted as his body. As he fell back into his chair heclapped his hand to his lips as if to stifle a cough. Holmes sprangat his throat like a tiger and twisted his face towards the ground.A white pellet fell from between his gasping lips.
"No short cuts, Josiah Amberley. Things must be done decentlyand in order. 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 gotogether. You can stay here, Watson. I shall be back within half anhour."
The old colourman had the strength of a lion in that great trunkof his, but he was helpless in the hands of the two experiencedman-handlers. Wriggling and twisting he was dragged to the waitingcab, and I was left to my solitary vigil in the ill-omened house.In less time than he had named, however, Holmes was back, incompany with a smart young police inspector.
"I've left Barker to look after the formalities," said Holmes."You had not met Barker, Watson. He is my hated rival upon theSurrey shore. When you said a tall dark man it was not difficultfor me to complete the picture. He has several good cases to hiscredit, has he not, Inspector?"
"He has certainly interfered several times," the inspectoranswered with reserve.
"His methods are irregular, no doubt, like my own. Theirregulars are useful sometimes, you know. You, for example, withyour compulsory warning about whatever he said being used againsthim, could never have bluffed this rascal into what is virtually aconfession."
"Perhaps not. But we get there all the same, Mr. Holmes. Don'timagine that we had not formed our own views of this case, and thatwe would not have laid our hands on our man. You will excuse us forfeeling sore when you jump in with methods which we cannot use, andso rob us of the credit."
"There shall be no such robbery, MacKinnon. I assure you that Iefface myself from now onward, and as to Barker, he has donenothing save what 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 thenewspapers begin to ask questions."
"Quite so. But they are pretty sure to ask questions anyhow, soit would be as well to have answers. What will you say, forexample, when the intelligent and enterprising reporter asks youwhat the exact points were which aroused your suspicion, andfinally gave you a certain conviction as to the real facts?"
The inspector looked puzzled.
"We don't seem to have got any real facts yet, Mr. Holmes. Yousay that the prisoner, in the presence of three witnesses,practically confessed by trying to commit suicide, that he hadmurdered 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 bodiescannot be far away. Try the cellars and the garden. It should nottake long to dig up the likely places. This house is older than thewater-pipes. There must be a disused well somewhere. Try your luckthere."
"But how did you know of it, and how was it done?"
"I'll show you first how it was done, and then I will give theexplanation which is due to you, and even more to my longsufferingfriend here, who has been invaluable throughout. But, first, Iwould give you an insight into this man's mentality. It is a veryunusual one --so much so that I think his destination is morelikely to be Broadmoor than the scaffold. He has, to a high degree,the sort of mind which one associates with the mediaeval Italiannature rather than with the modern Briton. He was a miserable miserwho made his wife so wretched by his niggardly ways that she was aready prey for any adventurer. Such a one came upon the scene inthe person of this chess-playing doctor. Amberley excelled atchess--one mark, Watson, of a scheming mind. Like all misers, hewas a jealous man, and his jealousy became a frantic mania. Rightlyor wrongly, he suspected an intrigue. He determined to have hisrevenge, and he planned it with diabolical cleverness. Comehere!"
Holmes led us along the passage with as much certainty as if hehad lived in the house and halted at the open door of thestrong-room.
"Pooh! What an awful smell of paint!" cried the inspector.
"That was our first clue," said Holmes. "You can thank Dr.Watson's observation for that, though he failed to draw theinference. It set my foot upon the trail. Why should this man atsuch a time be filling his house with strong odours? Obviously, tocover some other smell which he wisfhed to conceal--some guiltysmell which would suggest suspicions. Then came the idea of a roomsuch as you see here with iron door and shutter--a hermeticallysealed room. Put those two facts together, and whither do theylead? I could only determine that by examining the house myself. Iwas already certain that the case was serious, for I had examinedthe box-office chart at the Haymarket Theatre--another of Dr.Watson's bull's-eyes--and ascertained that neither B thirty northirty-two of the upper circle had been occupied that night.Therefore, Amberley had not been to the theatre, and his alibi fellto the ground. He made a bad slip when he allowed my astute friendto notice the number of the seat taken for his wife. The questionnow arose how I might be able to examine the house. I sent an agentto the most impossible village I could think of, and summoned myman to it at such an hour that he could not possibly get back. Toprevent any miscarriage, Dr. Watson accompanied him. The goodvicar's name I took, of course, out of my Crockford. Do I make itall clear to you?"
"It is masterly," said the inspector in an awed voice.
"There being no fear of interruption I proceeded to burgle thehouse. Burglary has always been an alternative profession had Icared to adopt it, and I have little doubt that I should have cometo the front. Observe what I found. You see the gas-pipe along theskirting here. Very good. It rises in the angle of the wall, andthere is a tap here in the corner. The pipe runs out into thestrong-room, as you can see, and ends in that plaster rose in thecentre of the ceiling, where it is concealed by the ornamentation.That end is wide open. At any moment by turning the outside tap theroom could be flooded with gas. With door and shutter closed andthe tap full on I would not give two minutes of conscious sensationto anyone shut up in that little chamber. By what devilish devicehe decoyed them there I do not know, but once inside the door theywere at his mercy."
The inspector examined the pipe with interest. "One of ourofficers mentioned the smell of gas," said he, "but of course thewindow and door were open then, and the paint--or some of it--wasalready 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 tomyself. I was slipping through the pantry window in the early dawnwhen I felt a hand inside my collar, and a voice said: 'Now, yourascal, what are you doing in there?' When I could twist my headround I looked into the tinted spectacles of my friend and rival,Mr. Barker. It was a curious foregathering and set us both smiling.It seems that he had been engaged by Dr. Ray Ernest's family tomake some investigations and had come to the same conclusion as tofoul play. He had watched the house for some days and had spottedDr. Watson as one of the obviously suspicious characters who hadcalled there. He could hardly arrest Watson, but when he saw a manactually climbing out of the pantry window there came a limit tohis 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 whichanswered so admirably. I fear you would not have gone so far."
The inspector smiled.
"Well, maybe not. I understand that I have your word, Mr.Holmes, that you step right out of the case now and that you turnall your results over to us."
"Certainly, that is always my custom."
"Well, in the name of the force I thank you. It seems a clearcase, as you put it, and there can't be much difficulty over thebodies."
"I'll show you a grim little bit of evidence," said Holmes, "andI am sure Amberley himself never observed it. You'll get results,Inspector, by always putting yourself in the other fellow's place,and thinking what you would do yourself. It takes some imagination,but it pays. Now, we will suppose that you were shut up in thislittle room, had not two minutes to live, but wanted to get evenwith the fiend who was probably mocking at you from the other sideof the door. What would you do?"
"Write a message."
"Exactly. You would like to tell people how you died. No usewriting on paper. That would be seen. If you wrote on the wallsomeone might rest upon it. Now, look here! Just above the skirtingis scribbled with a purple indelible pencil: 'We we--' That'sall.''
"What do you make of that?"
"Well, it's only a foot above the ground. The poor devil was onthe floor dying when he wrote it. He lost his senses before hecould finish."
"He was writing, 'We were murdered.'"
"That's how I read it. If you find an indelible pencil on thebody--"
"We'll look out for it, you may be sure. But those securities?Clearly there was no robbery at all. And yet he did possess thosebonds. We verified that."
"You may be sure he has them hidden in a safe place. When thewhole elopement had passed into history, he would suddenly discoverthem and announce that the guilty couple had relented and sent backthe plunder or had dropped it on the way."
"You certainly seem to have met every difficulty," said theinspector. "Of course, he was bound to call us in, but why heshould have gone to you I can't understand."
"Pure swank!" Holmes answered. "He felt so clever and so sure ofhimself that he imagined no one could touch him. He could say toany suspicious neighbour, 'Look at the steps I have taken. I haveconsulted not only the police but even Sherlock Holmes.'"
The inspector laughed.
"We must forgive you your 'even,' Mr. Holmes," said he "it's asworkmanlike a job as I can remember."
A couple of days later my friend tossed across to me a copy ofthe bi-weekly North Surrey Observer. Under a series of flamingheadlines, which began with "The Haven Horror" and ended with"Brilliant Police Investigation," there was a packed column ofprint which gave the first consecutive account of the affair. Theconcluding paragraph is typical of the whole. It ran thus:
The remarkable acumen by which Inspector MacKinnon deduced fromthe smell of paint that some other smell, that of gas, for example,might be concealed; the bold deduction that the strong-room mightalso be the death-chamber, and the subsequent inquiry which led tothe discovery of the bodies in a disused well, cleverly concealedby a dogkennel, should live in the history of crime as a standingexample of the intelligence of our professional detectives.
"Well, well, MacKinnon is a good fellow," said Holmes with atolerant smile. "You can file it in our archives, Watson. Some daythe true story may be told."
ADVENTURE IX. THE ADVENTURE OF THE THREE GABLES
I don't think that any of my adventures with Mr. Sherlock Holmesopened quite so abruptly, or so dramatically, as that which Iassociate with The Three Gables. I had not seen Holmes for somedays and had no idea of the new channel into which his activitieshad been directed. He was in a chatty mood that morning, however,and had just settled me into the well-worn low armchair on one sideof the fire, while he had curled down with his pipe in his mouthupon the opposite chair, when our visitor arrived. If I had saidthat a mad bull had arrived it would give a clearer impression ofwhat occurred.
The door had flown open and a huge negro had burst into theroom. He would have been a comic figure if he had not beenterrific, for he was dressed in a very loud gray check suit with aflowing salmon-coloured tie. His broad face and flattened nose werethrust forward, as his sullen dark eyes, with a smouldering gleamof malice in them, turned from one of us to the other.
"Which of you gen'l'men is Masser Holmes?" he asked.
Holmes raised his pipe with a languid smile.
"Oh! it's you, is it?" said our visitor, coming with anunpleasant, stealthy step round the angle of the table. "See here,Masser Holmes, you keep your hands out of other folks' business.Leave folks to manage their own affairs. Got that, MasserHolmes?"
"Keep on talking," said Holmes. "It's fine."
"Oh! it's fine, is it?" growled the savage. "It won't be so damnfine if I have to trim you up a bit. I've handled your kind beforenow, and they didn't look fine when I was through with them. Lookat that, Masser Holmes!"
He swung a huge knotted lump of a fist under my friend's nose.Holmes examined it closely with an air of great interest.
"Were you born so?" he asked. "Or did it come by degrees?"
It may have been the icy coolness of my friend, or it may havebeen the slight clatter which I made as I picked up the poker. Inany case, our visitor's manner became less flamboyant.
"Well, I've given you fair warnin'," said he. "I've a friendthat's interested out Harrow way--you know what I'm meaning--and hedon't intend to have no buttin' in by you. Got that? You ain't thelaw, and I ain't the law either, and if you come in I'll be on handalso. Don't you forget it."
"I've wanted to meet you for some time," said Holmes. "I won'task you to sit down, for I don't like the smell of you, but aren'tyou Steve Dixie, the bruiser?"
"That's my name, Masser Holmes, and you'll get put through itfor sure if you give me any lip."
"It is certainly the last thing you need," said Holmes, staringat our visitor's hideous mouth. "But it was the killing of youngPerkins outside the Holborn--Bar What! you're not going?"
The negro had sprung back, and his face was leaden. "I won'tlisten to no such talk," said he. "What have I to do with this 'erePerkins, Masser Holmes? I was trainin' at the Bull Ring inBirmingham when this boy done gone get into trouble."
"Yes, you'll tell the magistrate about it, Steve," said Holmes."I've been watching you and Barney Stockdale--"
"So help me the Lord! Masser Holmes--"
"That's enough. Get out of it. I'll pick you up when I wantyou."
"Good-mornin', Masser Holmes. I hope there ain't no hardfeelin's about this 'ere visit?"
"There will be unless you tell me who sent you."
"Why, there ain't no secret about that, Masser Holmes. It wasthat same gen'l'man that you have just done gone mention."
"And who set him on to it?"
"S'elp me. I don't know, Masser Holmes. He just say, 'Steve, yougo see Mr. Holmes, and tell him his life ain't safe if he go downHarrow way.' That's the whole truth." Without waiting for anyfurther questioning, our visitor bolted out of the room almost asprecipitately as he had entered. Holmes knocked out the ashes ofhis pipe with a quiet chuckle.
"I am glad you were not forced to break his woolly head, Watson.I observed your manoeuvres with the poker. But he is really rathera harmless fellow, a great muscular, foolish, blustering baby, andeasily cowed, as you have seen. He is one of the Spencer John gangand has taken part in some dirty work of late which I may clear upwhen I have time. His immediate principal, Barney, is a more astuteperson. They specialize in assaults, intimidation, and the like.What I want to know is, who is at the back of them on thisparticular occasion?"
"But why do they want to intimidate you?"
"It is this Harrow Weald case. It decides me to look into thematter, for if it is worth anyone's while to take so much trouble,there must be something in it."
"But what is it?"
"I was going to tell you when we had this comic interlude. Hereis Mrs. Maberley's note. If you care to come with me we will wireher and go out at 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 is within ashort walk of the Weald Station. I believe that my late husband,Mortimer Maberley, was one of your early clients.
Yours faithfully, MARY MABERLEY.
The address was "The Three Gables, Harrow Weald."
"So that's that!" said Holmes. "And now, if you can spare thetime, Watson, we will get upon our way."
A short railway journey, and a shorter drive, brought us to thehouse, a brick and timber villa, standing in its own acre ofundeveloped grassland. Three small projections above. the upperwindows made a feeble attempt to justify its name. Behind was agrove of melancholy, half-grown pines, and the whole aspect of theplace was poor and depressing. None the less, we found the house tobe well furnished, and the lady who received us was a most engagingelderly person, who bore every mark of refinement and culture.
"I remember your husband well, madam," said Holmes, "though itis some years since he used my services in some triflingmatter."
"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 magnificentcreature he was! Where is he now?"
"Dead, Mr. Holmes, dead! He was attache at Rome, and he diedthere of pneumonia last month."
"I am sorry. One could not connect death with such a man. I havenever known anyone so vitally alive. He lived intensely--everyfibre of him!"
"Too intensely, Mr. Holmes. That was the ruin of him. Youremember him as he was--debonair and splendid. You did not see themoody, morose, brooding creature into which he developed. His heartwas broken. In a single month I seemed to see my gallant boy turninto a worn-out cynical man."
"A love affair--a woman?"
"Or a fiend. Well, it was not to talk of my poor lad that Iasked you to come, Mr. Holmes."
"Dr. Watson and I are at your service."
"There have been some very strange happenings. I have been inthis house more than a year now, and as I wished to lead a retiredlife I have seen little of my neighbours. Three days ago I had acall from a man who said that he was a house agent. He said thatthis house would exactly suit a client of his, and that if I wouldpart with it money would be no object. It seemed to me very strangeas there are several empty houses on the market which appear to beequally eligible, but naturally I was interested in what he said. Itherefore named a price which was five hundred pounds more than Igave. He at once closed with the offer, but added that his clientdesired to buy the furniture as well and would I put a price uponit. Some of this furniture is from my old home, and it is, as yousee, very good, so that I named a good round sum. To this also heat once agreed. I had always wanted to travel, and the bargain wasso good a one that it really seemed that I should be my ownmistress for the rest of my life.
"Yesterday the man arrived with the agreement all drawn out.Luckily I showed it to Mr. Sutro, my lawyer, who lives in Harrow.He said to me, 'This is a very strange document. Are you aware thatif you sign it you could not legally take anything out of thehouse--not even your own private possessions?' When the man cameagain in the evening I pointed this out, and I said that I meantonly 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 clientis a very liberal man, but he has his fads and his own way of doingthings. It is everything or nothing with him.'
"'Then it must be nothing,' said I. And there the matter wasleft, but the whole thing seemed to me to be so unusual that Ithought--"
Here we had a very extraordinary interruption.
Holmes raised his hand for silence. Then he strode across theroom, flung open the door, and dragged in a great gaunt woman whomhe had seized by the shoulder. She entered with ungainly strugglelike some huge awkward chicken, torn, squawking, out of itscoop.
"Leave me alone! What are you a-doin' of?" she screeched.
"Why, Susan, what is this?"
"Well, ma'am, I was comin' in to ask if the visitors was stayin'for lunch when this man jumped out at me."
"I have been listening to her for the last five minutes, but didnot wish to interrupt your most interesting narrative. Just alittle wheezy, Susan, are you not? You breathe too heavily for thatkind of work."
Susan turned a sulky but amazed face upon her captor. "Who beyou, anyhow, and what right have you a-pullin' me about likethis?"
"It was merely that I wished to ask a question in your presence.Did you, Mrs. Maberley, mention to anyone that you were going towrite to me 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 amessage to say that your mistress was asking advice from me?"
"It's a lie. I sent no message."
"Now, Susan, wheezy people may not live long, you know. It's awicked thing to tell fibs. Whom did you tell?"
"Susan!" cried her mistress, "I believe you are a bad,treacherous woman. I remember now that I saw you speaking tosomeone over the hedge."
"That was my own business," said the woman sullenly.
"Suppose I tell you that it was Barney Stockdale to whom youspoke?" 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 beworth ten pounds to you if you will tell me who is at the back ofBarney."
"Someone that could lay down a thousand pounds for every ten youhave in the world."
"So, a rich man? No; you smiled--a rich woman. Now we have gotso far, you may as well give the name and earn the tenner."
"I'll see you in hell first."
"Oh, Susan! Language!"
"I am clearing out of here. I've had enough of you all. I'llsend for my box 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 closedbehind the flushed and angry woman, "this gang means business. Lookhow close they play the game. Your letter to me had the 10 P.M.postmark. And yet Susan passes the word to Barney. Barney has timeto go to his employer and get instructions; he or she--I incline tothe latter from Susan's grin when she thought I hadblundered--forms a plan. Black Steve is called in, and I am warnedoff by eleven o'clock next morning. That's quick work, youknow."
"But what do they want?"
"Yes, that's 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. Ofcourse, when people bury treasure nowadays they do it in thePost-Office bank. But there are always some lunatics about. Itwould be a dull world without them. At first I thought of someburied valuable. But why, in that case, should they want yourfurniture? You don't happen to have a Raphael or a first folioShakespeare without knowing it?"
"No, I don't think I have anything rarer than a Crown Derbytea-set."
"That would hardly justify all this mystery. Besides, why shouldthey not openly state what they want? If they covet your tea-set,they can surely offer a price for it without buying you out, lock,stock, and barrel. No, as I read it, there is something which youdo not know that you have, and which you would not give up if youdid 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 itto a finer point. You have been in this house a year."
"Nearly two."
"All the better. During this long period no one wants anythingfrom you. Now suddenly within three or four days you have urgentdemands. What would you gather from that?"
"It can only mean," said I, "that the object, whatever it maybe, has only 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 letmatters develop a little further until we have clearer data. Isthat lawyer of yours a capable man?"
"Mr. Sutro is most capable."
"Have you another maid, or was the fair Susan, who has justbanged your front door alone?"
"I have a young girl."
"Try and get Sutro to spend a night or two in the house. Youmight possibly want protection."
"Against whom?"
"Who knows? The matter is certainly obscure. If I can't findwhat they are after, I must approach the matter from the other endand try to get at the principal. Did this house-agent man give anyaddress?"
"Simply his card and occupation. Haines-Johnson, Auctioneer andValuer."
"I don't think we shall find him in the directory. Honestbusiness men don't conceal their place of business. Well, you willlet me know any fresh development. I have taken up your case, andyou may rely upon it that I shall see it through."
As we passed through the hall Holmes's eyes, which missednothing, lighted upon several trunks and cases which were piled ina corner. The labels shone out upon them.
"'Milano.' 'Lucerne.' These are from Italy."
"They are poor Douglas's things."
"You have not unpacked them? How long have you had them?"
"They arrived last week."
"But you said--why, 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 onlyhis pay 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 thesethings taken upstairs to your bedroom. Examine them as soon aspossible and see what they cohtain. I will come tomorrow and hearyour 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 thelane there was the negro prize-fighter standing in the shadow. Wecame on him quite suddenly, and a grim and menacing figure helooked in that lonely place. Holmes clapped his hand to hispocket.
"Lookin' for your gun, Masser Holmes?"
"No, for my scent-bottle, Steve."
"You are funny, Masser Holmes, ain't you?"
"It won't be funny for you, Steve, if I get after you. I gaveyou fair warning this morning."
"Well, Masser Holmes, I done gone think over what you said, andI don't want no more talk about that affair of Masser Perkins.S'pose I can help 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 truthbefore. I don't know. My boss Barney gives me orders and that'sall."
"Well, just bear in mind, Steve, that the lady in that house,and everything under that roof, is under my protection. Don'tforget it."
"All right, Masser Holmes. I'll remember."
"I've got him thoroughly frightened for his own skin, Watson,"Holmes remarked as we walked on. "I think he would double-cross hisemployer if he knew who he was. It was lucky I had some knowledgeof the Spencer John crowd, and that Steve was one of them. Now,Watson, this is a case for Langdale Pike, and I am going to see himnow. When I get back I may be clearer in the matter."
I saw no more of Holmes during the day, but I could well imaginehow he spent it, for Langdale Pike was his human book of referenceupon all matters of social scandal. This strange, languid creaturespent his waking hours in the bow window of a St. James's Streetclub and was the receiving-station as well as the transmitter forall the gossip of the metropolis. He made, it was said, afour-figure income by the paragraphs which he contributed everyweek to the garbage papers which cater to an inquisitive public. Ifever, far down in the turbid depths of London life, there was somestrange swirl or eddy, it was marked with automatic exactness bythis human dial upon the surface. Holmes discreetly helped Langdaleto knowledge, and on occasion was helped in turn.
When I met my friend in his room early next morning, I wasconscious from his bearing that all was well, but none the less amost unpleasant surprise was awaiting us. It took the shape of thefollowing telegram.
Please come out at once. Client's house burgled in thenight. Police in possession.
SUTRO.
Holmes whistled. "The drama has come to a crisis, and quickerthan I had expected. There is a great driving-power at the back ofthis business, Watson, which does not surprise me after what I haveheard. This Sutro, of course, is her lawyer. I made a mistake, Ifear, in not asking you to spend the night on guard. This fellowhas clearly proved a broken reed. Well, there is nothing for it butanother 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 grayold gentleman, who introduced himself as the lawyer together with abustling, rubicund inspector, who greeted Hoimes as an oldfriend.
"Well, Mr. Holmes, no chance for you in this case, I'm afraid.Just a common, ordinary burglary, and well within the capacity ofthe poor old police. No experts need apply."
"I am sure the case is in very good hands," said Holmes. "Merelya common 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 init-- they've been seen about here."
"Excellent! What did they get?"
"Well, they don't seem to have got much. Mrs. Maberley waschloroformed and the house was--Ah! here is the lady herself."
Our friend of yesterday, looking very pale and ill, had enteredthe room, leaning upon a little maidservant.
"You gave me good advice, Mr. Holmes," said she, smilingruefully. "Alas, I did not take it! I did not wish to trouble Mr.Sutro, and so I was unprotected."
"I only heard of it this morning," the lawyer explained.
"Mr. Holmes advised me to have some friend in the house. Ineglected his advice, and I have paid for it."
"You look wretchedly ill," said Holmes. "Perhaps you are hardlyequal to telling me what occurred."
"It is all here," said the inspector, tapping a bulkynotebook.
"Still, if the lady is not too exhausted--"
"There is really so little to tell. I have no doubt that wickedSusan had planned an entrance for them. They must have known thehouse to an inch. I was conscious for a moment of the chloroformrag which was thrust over my mouth, but I have no notion how long Imay have been senseless. When I woke, one man was at the bedsideand another was rising with a bundle in his hand from among myson's baggage, which was partially opened and littered over thefloor. Before he could get away I 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 havestruck me, for I can remember no more. Mary the maid heard thenoise and began screaming out of the window. That brought thepolice, but the rascals had got away."
"What did they take?"
"Well, I don't think there is anything of value missing. I amsure there was nothing in my son's trunks."
"Did the men leave no clue?"
"There was one sheet of paper which I may have torn from the manthat I grasped. It was lying all crumpled on the floor. It is in myson's handwriting."
"Which means that it is not of much use," said the inspector."Now if it had been in the burglar's--"
"Exactly," said Holmes. "What rugged common sense! None theless, I should be curious to see it."
The inspector drew a folded sheet of foolscap from hispocketbook.
"I never pass anything, however trifling," said he with somepomposity. "That is my advice to you, Mr. Holmes. In twentyfiveyears' experience I have learned my lesson. There is always thechance of finger-marks or something."
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 cansee."
"It may certainly prove to be the end of a queer tale," saidHolmes. "You have noticed the number on the top of the page. It istwo hundred and forty-five. Where are the odd two hundred andforty-four pages?"
"Well, I suppose the burglars got those. Much good may it dothem!"
"It seems a queer thing to break into a house in order to stealsuch papers as that. Does it suggest anything to you,Inspector?"
"Yes, sir, it suggests that in their hurry the rascals justgrabbed at what came first to hand. I wish them joy of what theygot."
"Why should they go to my son's things?" asked Mrs.Maberley.
"Well, they found nothing valuable downstairs, so they triedtheir luck upstairs. 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. Itbegan in the middle 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,the face for which he had been prepared to sacrifice his very life,looking out at his agony and humiliation. She smiled--yes, 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' suddenlychanged to 'my'? The writer was so carried away by his own storythat he imagined himself at the supreme moment to be the hero."
"It seemed mighty poor stuff," said the inspector as he replacedit in his book. "What! are you off, Mr. Holmes?"
"I don't think there is anything more for me to do now that thecase is in such capable hands. By the way, Mrs. Maberley, did yousay you wished to travel?"
"It has always been my dream, Mr. Holmes."
"Where would you like to go--Cairo, 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 aline in the evening." As we passed the window I caught a glimpse ofthe inspector's smile and shake of the head. "These clever fellowshave always a touch of madness." That was what I read in theinspector's smile.
"Now, Watson, we are at the last lap of our little journey,"said Holmes when we were back in the roar of central London oncemore. "I think we had best clear the matter up at once, and itwould be well that you should come with me, for it is safer to havea witness when you are dealing with such a lady as IsadoraKlein."
We had taken a cab and were speeding to some address inGrosvenor Square. Holmes had been sunk in thought, but he rousedhimself suddenly.
"By the way, Watson, I suppose you see it all clearly?"
"No, I can't say that I do. I only gather that we are going tosee the lady who is behind all this mischief."
"Exactly! But does the name Isadora Klein convey nothing to you?She was, of course, the celebrated beauty. There was never a womanto touch her. She is pure Spanish, the real blood of the masterfuiConquistadors, and her people have been leaders in Pernambuco forgenerations. She married the aged German sugar king, Klein, andpresently found herself the richest as well as the most lovelywidow upon earth. Then there was an interval of adventure when shepleased her own tastes. She had several lovers, and DouglasMaberley, 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 nota society butterfly but a strong, proud man who gave and expectedall. But she is the 'belle dame sans merci' of fiction. When hercaprice is satisfied the matter is ended, and if the other party inthe matter can't take her word for it she knows how to bring ithome to him."
"Then that was his own story--"
"Ah! you are piecing it together now. I hear that she is aboutto marry the young Duke of Lomond, who might almost be her son. HisGrace's ma might overlook the age, but a big scandal would be adifferent matter, so it is imperative--Ah! here we are."
It was one of the finest corner-houses of the West End. Amachine-like footman took up our cards and returned with word thatthe lady was not at home. "Then we shall wait until she is," saidHolmes 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 towait. Kindly give this note to your mistress."
He scribbled three or four words upon a sheet of his notebook,folded it, and handed it to the man.
"What did you say, Holmes?" I asked.
"I simply wrote: 'Shall it be the police, then?' I think thatshould pass us in."
It did--with amazing celerity. A minute later we were in anArabian Nights drawing-room, vast and wonderful, in a half gloom,picked out with an occasional pink electric light. The lady hadcome, I felt, to that time of life when even the proudest beautyfinds the half light more welcome. She rose from a settee as weentered: tall, queenly, a perfect figure, a lovely mask-like face,with two wonderful Spanish eyes which looked murder at us both.
"What is this intrusion--and this insulting message?" she asked,holding up the slip of paper.
"I need not explain, madame. I have too much respect for yourintelligence to do so--though I confess that intelligence has beensurprisingly at fault of late."
"How so, sir?"
"By supposing that your hired bullies could frighten me from mywork. Surely no man would take up my profession if it were not thatdanger attracts him. It was you, then, who forced me to examine thecase of young Maberley."
"I have no idea what you are talking about. What have I to dowith hired 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 usand was holding his arm. She had turned in a moment from steel tovelvet.
"Come and sit down, gentlemen. Let us talk this matter over. Ifeel that I may be frank with you, Mr. Holmes. You have thefeelings of a gentleman. How quick a woman's instinct is to find itout. I will treat you as a friend."
"I cannot promise to reciprocate, madame. I am not the law, butI represent justice so far as my feeble powers go. I am ready tolisten, and then I will tell you how I will act."
"No doubt it was foolish of me to threaten a brave man likeyourself."
"What was really foolish, madame, is that you have placedyourself in the power of a band of rascals who may blackmail orgive you away."
"No, no! I am not so simple. Since I have promised to be frank,I may say that no one, save Barney Stockdale and Susan, his wife,have the least idea who their employer is. As to them, well, it isnot the first --" She smiled and nodded with a charming coquettishintimacy.
"I see. You've tested them before."
"They are good hounds who run silent."
"Such hounds have a way sooner or later of biting the hand thatfeeds them. They will be arrested for this burglary. The police arealready after them."
"They will take what comes to them. That is what they are paidfor. I shall not appear in the matter."
"Unless I bring you into it."
"No, no, you would not. You are a gentleman. It is a woman'ssecret."
"In the first place, you must give back this manuscript."
She broke into a ripple of laughter and walked to the fireplace.There was a calcined mass which she broke up with the poker. "ShallI give this back?" she asked. So roguish and exquisite did she lookas she stood before us with a challenging smile that I felt of allHolmes's criminals this was the one whom he would find it hardestto face. However, he was immune from sentiment.
"That seals your fate," he said coldly. "You are very prompt inyour actions, madame, but you have overdone it on thisoccasion."
She threw the poker down with a clatter.
"How hard you are!" she cried. "May I tell you the wholestory?"
"I fancy I could tell it to you."
"But you must look at it with my eyes, Mr. Holmes. You mustrealize it from the point of view of a woman who sees all herlife's ambition about to be ruined at the last moment. Is such awoman to be blamed if she protects herself?"
"The original sin was yours."
"Yes, yes! I admit it. He was a dear boy, Douglas, but it sochanced that he could not fit into my plans. He wantedmarriage--marriage, Mr. Holmes--with a penniless commoner. Nothingless would serve him. Then he became pertinacious. Because I hadgiven he seemed to think that I still must give, and to him only.It was intolerable. At last I had 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. Barneyand the boys drove him away, and were, I admit, a little rough indoing so. But what did he do then? Could I have believed that agentleman would do such an act? He wrote a book in which hedescribed his own story. I, of course, was the wolf; he the lamb.It was all there, under different names, of course; but who in allLondon would have failed to recognize it? 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 andbrought with it the old cruel Italian spirit. He wrote to me andsent me a copy of his book that I might have the torture ofanticipation. There were two copies, he said--one for me, one forhis publisher."
"How did you know the publisher's had not reached him?"
"I knew who his publisher was. It is not his only novel, youknow. I found out that he had not heard from Italy. Then cameDouglas's sudden death. So long as that other manuscript was in theworld there was no safety for me. Of course, it must be among hiseffects, and these would be returned to his mother. I set the gangat work. One of them got into the house as servant. I wanted to dothe thing honestly. I really and truly did. I was ready to buy thehouse and everything in it. I offered any price she cared to ask. Ionly tried the other way when everything else had failed. Now, Mr.Holmes, granting that I was too hard on Douglas--and, God knows, Iam sorry for it!--what 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 afelony as usual. How much does it cost to go round the world infirst-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 Iwill see that it comes to Mrs. Maberley. You owe her a littlechange of air. Meantime, lady"--he wagged a cautionaryforefinger--"have a care! Have a care! You can't play with edgedtools forever without cutting those dainty hands."
ADVENTURE X. THE ADVENTURE OF THE LION'S MANE
It is a most singular thing that a problem which was certainlyas abstruse and unusual as any which I have faced in my longprofessional career should have come to me after my retirement, andbe brought, as it were, to my very door. It occurred after mywithdrawal to my little Sussex home, when I had given myself upentirely to that soothing life of Nature for which I had so oftenyearned during the long years spent amid the gloom of London. Atthis period of my life the good Watson had passed almost beyond myken. An occasional week-end visit was the most that I ever saw ofhim. Thus I must act as my own chronicler. Ah! had he but been withme, how much he might have made of so wonderful a happening and ofmy eventual triumph against every difficulty! As it is, however, Imust needs tell my tale in my own plain way, showing by my wordseach step upon the difficult road which lay before me as I searchedfor the mystery of the Lion's Mane.
My villa is situated upon the southern slope of the downs,commanding a great view of the Channel. At this point thecoast-line is entirely of chalk cliffs, which can only be descendedby a single, long, tortuous path, which is steep and slippery. Atthe bottom of the path lie a hundred yards of pebbles and shingle,even when the tide is at full. Here and there, however, there arecurves and hollows which make splendid swimmingpools filled afreshwith each flow. This admirable beach extends for some miles in eachdirection, save only at one point where the little cove and villageof Fulworth break the line.
My house is lonely. I, my old housekeeper, and my bees have theestate all to ourselves. Half a mile off, however, is HaroldStackhurst's well-known coaching establishment, The Gables, quite alarge place, which contains some score of young fellows preparingfor various professions, with a staff of several masters.Stackhurst himself was a well-known rowing Blue in his day, and anexcellent all-round scholar. He and I were always friendly from theday I came to the coast, and he was the one man who was on suchterms with me that we could drop in on each other in the eveningswithout 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 andleaving a lagoon at the turn of the tide. On the morning of which Ispeak the wind had abated, and all Nature was newly washed andfresh. It was impossible to work upon so delightful a day, and Istrolled out before breakfast to enjoy the exquisite air. I walkedalong the cliff path which led to the steep descent to the beach.As I walked I heard a shout behind me, and there was HaroldStackhurst waving his hand in cheery greeting.
"What a morning, Mr. Holmes! I thought I should see youout."
"Going for a swim, I see."
"At your old tricks again," he laughed, patting his bulgingpocket. "Yes. McPherson started early, and I expect I may find himthere."
Fitzroy McPherson was the science master, a fine upstandingyoung fellow whose life had been crippled by heart troublefollowing rheumatic fever. He was a natural athlete, however, andexcelled in every game which did not throw too great a strain uponhim. Summer and winter he went for his swim, and, as I am a swimmermyself, I have often joined him.
At this moment we saw the man himself. His head showed above theedge of the cliff where the path ends. Then his whole figureappeared at the top, staggering like a drunken man. The nextinstant he threw up his hands and, with a terrible cry, fell uponhis face. Stackhurst and I rushed forward--it may have been fiftyyards--and turned him on his back. He was obviously dying. Thoseglazed sunken eyes and dreadful livid cheeks could mean nothingelse. One glimmer of life came into his face for an instant, and heuttered two or three words with an eager air of warning. They wereslurred and indistinct, but to my ear the last of them, which burstin a shriek from his lips, were "the Lion's Mane." It was utterlyirrelevant and unintelligible, and yet I could twist the sound intono other sense. Then he half raised himself from the ground, threwhis arms into the air, and fell forward on his side. He wasdead.
My companion was paralyzed by the sudden horror of it, but I, asmay well be imagined, had every sense on the alert. And I had need,for it was speedily evident that we were in the presence of anextraordinary case. The man was dressed only in his Burberryovercoat, his trousers, and an unlaced pair of canvas shoes. As hefell over, his Burberry, which had been simply thrown round hisshoulders, slipped off, exposing his trunk. We stared at it inamazement. His back was covered with dark red lines as though hehad been terribly flogged by a thin wire scourge. The instrumentwith which this punishment had been inflicted was clearly flexible,for the long, angry weals curved round his shoulders and ribs.There was blood dripping down his chin, for he had bitten throughhis lower lip in the paroxysm of his agony. His drawn and distortedface told how terrible that agony had been.
I was kneeling and Stackhurst standing by the body when a shadowfell across us, and we found that Ian Murdoch was by our side.Murdoch was the mathematical coach at the establishment, a tall,dark, thin man, so taciturn and aloof that none can be said to havebeen his friend. He seemed to live in some high abstract region ofsurds and conic sections, with little to connect him with ordinarylife. He was looked upon as an oddity by the students, and wouldhave been their butt, but there was some strange outlandish bloodin the man, which showed itself not only in his coal-black eyes andswarthy face but also in occasional outbreaks of temper, whichcould only be described as ferocious. On one occasion, beingplagued by a little dog belonging to McPherson, he had caught thecreature up and hurled it through the plate-glass window, an actionfor which Stackhurst would certainly have given him his dismissalhad he not been a very valuable teacher. Such was the strangecomplex man who now appeared beside us. He seemed to be honestlyshocked at the sight before him, though the incident of the dog mayshow that there was no great sympathy between the dead man andhimself.
"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 have come straight from The Gables. What can I do?"
"You can hurry to the police-station at Fulworth. Report thematter at once."
Without a word he made off at top speed, and I proceeded to takethe matter in hand, while Stackhurst, dazed at this tragedy,remained by the body. My first task naturally was to note who wason the beach. From the top of the path I could see the whole sweepof it, and it was absolutely deserted save that two or three darkfigures could be seen far away moving towards the village ofFulworth. Having satisfied myself upon this point, I walked slowlydown the path. There was clay or soft marl mixed with the chalk,and every here and there I saw the same footstep, both ascendingand descending. No one else had gone down to the beach by thistrack that morning. At one place I observed the print of an openhand with the fingers towards the incline. This could only meanthat poor McPherson had fallen as he ascended. There were roundeddepressions, too, which suggested that he had come down upon hisknees more than once. At the bottom of the path was theconsiderable lagoon left by the retreating tide. At the side of itMcPherson had undressed, for there lay his towel on a rock. It wasfolded and dry, so that it would seem that, after all, he had neverentered the water. Once or twice as I hunted round amid the hardshingle I came on little patches of sand where the print of hiscanvas shoe, and also of his naked foot, could be seen. The latterfact proved that he had made all ready to bathe, though the towelindicated that he had not actually done so.
And here was the problem clearly defined--as strange a one ashad ever confronted me. The man had not been on the beach more thana quarter of an hour at the most. Stackhurst had followed him fromThe Gables, so there could be no doubt about that. He had gone tobathe and had stripped, as the naked footsteps showed. Then he hadsuddenly huddled on his clothes again--they were all dishevelledand unfastened--and he had returned without bathing, or at any ratewithout drying himself. And the reason for his change of purposehad been that he had been scourged in some savage, inhuman fashion,tortured until he bit his lip through in his agony, and was leftwith only strength enough to crawl away and to die. Who had donethis barbarous deed? There were, it is true, small grottos andcaves in the base of the cliffs, but the low sun shone directlyinto them, and there was no place for concealment. Then, again,there were those distant figures on the beach. They seemed too faraway to have been connected with the crime, and the broad lagoon inwhich McPherson had intended to bathe lay between him and them,lapping up to the rocks. On the sea two or three fishingboats wereat no great distance. Their occupants might be examined at ourleisure. There were several roads for inquiry, but none which ledto any very obvious goal.
When I at last returned to the body I found that a little groupof wondering folk had gathered round it. Stackhurst was, of course,still there, and Ian Murdoch had just arrived with Anderson, thevillage constable, a big, ginger-moustached man of the slow, solidSussex breed --a breed which covers much good sense under a heavy,silent exterior. He listened to everything, took note of all wesaid, and finally drew me aside.
"I'd be glad of your advice, Mr. Holmes. This is a big thing forme to handle, and I'll hear of it from Lewes if I go wrong."
I advised him to send for his immediate superior, and for adoctor; also to allow nothing to be moved, and as few freshfootmarks as possible to be made, until they came. In the meantimeI searched the dead man's pockets. There were his handkerchief, alarge knife, and a small folding card-case. From this projected aslip of paper, which I unfolded and handed to the constable. Therewas written on it in a scrawling, feminine hand:
I will be there, you may be sure.
MAUDIE.
It read like a love affair, an assignation, though when andwhere were a blank. The constable replaced it in the card-case andreturned it with the other things to the pockets of the Burberry.Then, as nothing more suggested itself, I walked back to my housefor breakfast, having first arranged that the base of the cliffsshould be thoroughly searched.
Stackhurst was round in an hour or two to tell me that the bodyhad been removed to The Gables, where the inquest would be held. Hebrought with him some serious and definite news. As I expected,nothing had been found in the small caves below the cliff, but hehad examined the papers in McPherson's desk and there were severalwhich showed an intimate correspondence with a certain Miss MaudBellamy, of Fulworth. We had then established the identity of thewriter of the note.
"The police have the letters," he explained. "I could not bringthem. But there is no doubt that it was a serious love affair. Isee no reason, however, to connect it with that horrible happeningsave, indeed, that the lady had made an appointment with him."
"But hardly at a bathing-pool which all of you were in the habitof using," I remarked.
"It is mere chance," said he, "that several of the students werenot with McPherson."
"Was it mere chance?"
Stackhurst knit his brows in thought.
"Ian Murdoch held them back," said he. "He would insist uponsome algebraic demonstration before breakfast. Poor chap, he isdreadfully cut up 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 hasbeen as near to McPherson as he ever could be to anyone. He is notof a very sympathetic disposition by nature."
"So I understand. I seem to remember your telling me once abouta quarrel 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 knowher?"
"Everyone knows her. She is the beauty of the neighbourhood--areal beauty, Holmes, who would draw attention everywhere. I knewthat McPherson was attracted by her, but I had no notion that ithad gone so far as these letters would seem to indicate."
"But who is she?"
"She is the daughter of old Tom Bellamy who owns all the boatsand bathing-cots at Fulworth. He was a fisherman to start with, butis now a man of some substance. He and his son William run thebusiness."
"Shall we walk into Fulworth and see them?"
"On what pretext?"
"Oh, we can easily find a pretext. After all, this poor man didnot ill-use himself in this outrageous way. Some human hand was onthe handle of that scourge, if indeed it was a scourge whichinflicted the injuries. His circle of acquaintances in this lonelyplace was surely limited. Let us follow it up in every directionand we can hardly fail to come upon the motive, which in turnshould lead us to the criminal."
It would have been a pleasant walk across the thyme-scenteddowns had our minds not been poisoned by the tragedy we hadwitnessed. The village of Fulworth lies in a hollow curving in asemicircle round the bay. Behind the old-fashioned hamlet severalmodern houses have been built upon the rising ground. It was to oneof these that Stackhurst guided me.
"That's The Haven, as Bellamy called it. The one with the cornertower and slate roof. Not bad for a man who started with nothingbut--By Jove, 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. Itwas Ian Murdoch, the mathematician. A moment later we confrontedhim upon the road.
"Hullo!" said Stackhurst. The man nodded, gave us a sidewaysglance from his curious dark eyes, and would have-passed us, buthis principal pulled him up.
"What were you doing there?" he asked.
Murdoch's face flushed with anger. "I am your subordinate, sir,under your roof. I am not aware that I owe you any account of myprivate actions."
Stackhurst's nerves were near the surface after all he hadendured. Otherwise, perhaps, he would have waited. Now he lost histemper completely.
"In the circumstances your answer is pure impertinence, Mr.Murdoch."
"Your own question might perhaps come under the sameheading."
"This is not the first time that I have had to overlook yourinsubordinate ways. It will certainly be the last. You will kindlymake fresh arrangements for your future as speedily as youcan."
"I had intended to do so. I have lost to-day the only person whomade The Gables habitable."
He strode off upon his way, while Stackhurst, with angry eyes,stood glaring after him. "Is he not an impossible, intolerableman?" he cried.
The one thing that impressed itself forcibly upon my mind wasthat Mr. Ian Murdoch was taking the first chance to open a path ofescape from the scene of the crime. Suspicion, vague and nebulous,was now beginning to take outline in my mind. Perhaps the visit tothe Bellamys might throw some further light upon the matter.Stackhurst pulled himself together, and we went forward to thehouse.
Mr. Bellamy proved to be a middle-aged man with a flaming redbeard. He seemed to be in a very angry mood, and his face was soonas florid as his hair.
"No, sir, I do not desire any particulars. My sonhere"--indicating a powerful young man, with a heavy, sullen face,in the corner of the sitting-room--"is of one mind with me that Mr.McPherson's attentions to Maud were insulting. Yes, sir, the word'marriage' was never mentioned, and yet there were letters andmeetings, and a great deal more of which neither of us couldapprove. She has no mother, and we are her only guardians. We aredetermined--"
But the words were taken from his mouth by the appearance of thelady herself. There was no gainsaying that she would have gracedany assembly in the world. Who could have imagined that so rare aflower would grow from such a root and in such an atmosphere? Womenhave seldom been an attraction to me, for my brain has alwaysgoverned my heart, but I could not look upon her perfect clear-cutface, with all the soft freshness of the downlands in her delicatecolouring, without realizing that no young man would cross her pathunscathed. Such was the girl who had pushed open the door and stoodnow, wide-eyed and intense, in front of Harold Stackhurst.
"I know already that Fitzroy is dead," she said. "Do not beafraid to tell me the particulars."
"This other gentleman of yours let us know the news," explainedthe father.
"There is no reason why my sister should be brought into thematter," growled the younger man.
The sister turned a sharp, fierce look upon him. "This is mybusiness, William. Kindly leave me to manage it in my own way. Byall accounts there has been a crime committed. If I can help toshow who did it, it is the least I can do for him who is gone."
She listened to a short account from my companion, with acomposed concentration which showed me that she possessed strongcharacter as well as great beauty. Maud Bellamy will always remainin my memory as a most complete and remarkable woman. It seems thatshe already knew me 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 glanceddefiantly at her father and brother as she spoke.
"Thank you," said I. "I value a woman's instinct in suchmatters. You use the word 'they.' You think that more than one wasconcerned?"
"I knew Mr. McPherson well enough to be aware that he was abrave and a strong man. No single person could ever have inflictedsuch an outrage upon him."
"Might I have one word with you alone?"
"I tell you, Maud, not to mix yourself up in the matter," criedher father angrily.
She looked at me helplessly. "What can I do?"
"The whole world will know the facts presently, so there can beno harm if I discuss them here," said I. "I should have preferredprivacy, but if your father will not allow it he must share thedeliberations." Then I spoke of the note which had been found inthe dead man's pocket. "It is sure to be produced at the inquest.May I ask you to throw any light upon it that you can?"
"I see no reason for mystery," she answered. "We were engaged tobe married, and we only kept it secret because Fitzroy's uncle, whois very old and said to be dying, might have disinherited him if hehad married against 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 ownstation."
"It was your prejudice against him which prevented us fromtelling you. As to this appointment"--she fumbled in her dress andproduced a crumpled note--"it was in answer to this."
DEAREST [ran the message]:
The old place on the beach just after sunset on Tuesday.
It is the only 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 youget it?"
"I would rather not answer that question. It has really nothingto do with the matter which you are investigating. But anythingwhich bears upon that I will most freely answer."
She was as good as her word, but there was nothing which washelpful in our investigation. She had no reason to think that herfiance had any hidden enemy, but she admitted that she had hadseveral 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 allchanged when he understood the relations between Fitzroy andmyself."
Again the shadow round this strange man seemed to me to betaking more definite shape. His record must be examined. His roomsmust be privately searched. Stackhurst was a willing collaborator,for in his mind also suspicions were forming. We returned from ourvisit to The Haven with the hope that one free end of this tangledskein was already in our hands.
A week passed. The inquest had thrown no light upon the matterand had been adjourned for further evidence. Stackhurst had madediscreet inquiry about his subordinate, and there had been asuperficial search of his room, but without result. Personally, Ihad gone over the whole ground again, both physically and mentally,but with no new conclusions. In all my chronicles the reader willfind no case which brought me so completely to the limit of mypowers. Even my imagination could conceive no solution to themystery. And then there came the incident of the dog.
It was my old housekeeper who heard of it first by that strangewireless by which such people collect the news of thecountryside.
"Sad story this, sir, about Mr. McPherson's dog," said she oneevening.
I do not encourage such conversations, but the words arrested myattention.
"What of Mr. McPherson's dog?"
"Dead, sir. Died of grief for its master."
"Who told you this?"
"Why, sir, everyone is talking of it. It took on terrible, andhas eaten nothing for a week. Then to-day two of the younggentlemen from The Gables found it dead--down on the beach, sir, atthe very place where its master met his end."
"At the very place." The words stood out clear in my memory.Some dim perception that the matter was vital rose in my mind. Thatthe dog should die was after the beautiful, faithful nature ofdogs. But "in the very place"! Why should this lonely beach befatal to it? Was it possible that it also had been sacrificed tosome revengeful feud? Was it possible--? Yes, the perception wasdim, but already something was building up in my mind. In a fewminutes I was on my way to The Gables, where I found Stackhurst inhis study. At my request he sent for Sudbury and Blount, the twostudents who had found the dog.
"Yes, it lay on the very edge of the pool," said one of them."It must have followed the trail of its dead master."
I saw the faithful little creature, an Airedale terrier, laidout upon the mat in the hall. The body was stiff and rigid, theeyes projecting, and the limbs contorted. There was agony in everyline of it.
From The Gables I walked down to the bathing-pool. The sun hadsunk and the shadow of the great cliff lay black across the water,which glimmered dully like a sheet of lead. The place was desertedand there was no sign of life save for two sea-birds circling andscreaming overhead. In the fading light I could dimly make out thelittle dog's spoor upon the sand round the very rock on which hismaster's towel had been laid. For a long time I stood in deepmeditation while the shadows grew darker around me. My mind wasfilled with racing thoughts. You have known what it was to be in anightmare in which you feel that there is some all-important thingfor which you search and which you know is there, though it remainsforever just beyond your reach. That was how I felt that evening asI stood alone by that place of death. Then at last I turned andwalked slowly homeward.
I had just reached the top of the path when it came to me. Likea flash, I remembered the thing for which I had so eagerly andvainly grasped. You will know, or Watson has written in vain, thatI hold a vast store of out-of-the-way knowledge without scientificsystem, but very available for the needs of my work. My mind islike a crowded box-room with packets of all sorts stowed awaytherein--so many that I may well have but a vague perception ofwhat was there. I had known that there was something which mightbear upon this matter. It was still vague, but at least I knew howI 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 withbooks. It was into this that I plunged and rummaged for an hour. Atthe end of that time I emerged with a little chocolate and silvervolume. Eagerly I turned up the chapter of which I had a dimremembrance. Yes, it was indeed a far-fetched and unlikelyproposition, and yet I could not be at rest until I had made sureif it might, indeed, be so. It was late when I retired, with mymind 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 Ihad a call from Inspector Bardle of the Sussex Constabulary--asteady, solid, bovine man with thoughtful eyes, which looked at menow with a very troubled expression.
"I know your immense experience, sir," said he. "This is quiteunofficial, of course, and need go no farther. But I am fairly upagainst it in this McPherson case. The question is, shall I make anarrest, or shall I not?"
"Meaning Mr. Ian Murdoch?"
"Yes, sir. There is really no one else when you come to think ofit. That's the advantage of this solitude. We narrow it down to avery small compass. 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 wasMurdoch's character and the mystery which seemed to hang round theman. His furious bursts of temper, as shown in the incident of thedog. The fact that he had quarrelled with McPherson in the past,and that there was some reason to think that he might have resentedhis attentions to Miss Bellamy. He had all my points, but no freshones, save that Murdoch seemed to be making every preparation fordeparture.
"What would my position be if I let him slip away with all thisevidence against him?" The burly, phlegmatic man was sorelytroubled in his mind.
"Consider," I said, "all the essential gaps in your case. On themorning of the crime he can surely prove an alibi. He had been withhis scholars till the last moment, and within a few minutes ofMcPherson's appearance he came upon us from behind. Then bear inmind the absolute impossibility that he could single-handed haveinflicted this outrage upon a man quite as strong as himself.Finally, there is this question of the instrument with which theseinjuries were inflicted."
"What could it be but a scourge or flexible whip of somesort?"
"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."This is 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 considerthis weal which extends round the right shoulder. Do you observenothing remarkable?"
"I can't say I do."
"Surely it is evident that it is unequal in its intensity. Thereis a dot of extravasated blood here, and another there. There aresimilar indications in this other weal down here. What can thatmean?"
"I have no idea. Have you?"
"Perhaps I have. Perhaps I haven't. I may be able to say moresoon. Anything which will define what made that mark will bring usa long way towards the criminal."
"It is, of course, an absurd idea," said the policeman, "but ifa red-hot net of wire had been laid across the back, then thesebetter marked points would represent where the meshes crossed eachother."
"A most ingenious comparison. Or shall we say a very stiffcat-o'-nine-tails with 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 yourcase is far too weak for an arrest. Besides, we have those lastwords--the 'Lion's Mane.'"
"I have wondered whether Ian--"
"Yes, I have considered that. If the second word had borne anyresemblance to Murdoch--but it did not. He gave it almost in ashriek. I am sure that it was 'Mane.'"
"Have you no alternative, Mr. Holmes?"
"Perhaps I have. But I do not care to discuss it until there issomething more solid to discuss."
"And when will that be?"
"In an hour--possibly less."
The inspector rubbed his chin and looked at me with dubiouseyes.
"I wish I could see what was in your mind, Mr. Holmes. Perhapsit's those fishing-boats."
"No, no, they were too far out."
"Well, then, is it Bellamy and that big son of his? They werenot too sweet upon Mr. McPherson. Could they have done him amischief?"
"No, no, you won't draw me until I am ready," said I with asmile. "Now, Inspector, we each have our own work to do. Perhaps ifyou were to meet me here at midday--"
So far we had got when there came the tremendous interruptionwhich was the beginning of the end.
My outer door was flung open, there were blundering footsteps inthe passage, and Ian Murdoch staggered into the room, pallid,dishevelled, his clothes in wild disorder, clawing with his bonyhands at the furniture to hold himself erect. "Brandy! Brandy!" hegasped, and fell groaning upon the sofa.
He was not alone. Behind him came Stackhurst, hatless andpanting, almost as distrait as his companion.
"Yes, yes, brandy!" he cried. "The man is at his last gasp. Itwas all I could do to bring him here. He fainted twice upon theway."
Half a tumbler of the raw spirit brought about a wondrouschange. He pushed himself up on one arm and swung his coat from hisshoulders. "For God's sake oil, opium, morphia!" he cried."Anything to ease this infernal agony!"
The inspector and I cried out at the sight. There, crisscrossedupon the man's naked shoulder, was the same strange reticulatedpattern of red, inflamed lines which had been the death-mark ofFitzroy McPherson.
The pain was evidently terrible and was more than local, for thesufferer's breathing would stop for a time, his face would turnblack, and then with loud gasps he would clap his hand to hisheart, while his brow dropped beads of sweat. At any moment hemight die. More and more brandy was poured down his throat, eachfresh dose bringing him back to life. Pads of cotton-wool soaked insalad-oil seemed to take the agony from the strange wounds. At lasthis head fell heavily upon the cushion. Exhausted Nature had takenrefuge in its last storehouse of vitality. It was half a sleep andhalf a faint, but at least it was ease from pain.
To question him had been impossible, but the moment we wereassured of 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 man's heart had been weak as McPherson's was, he would not behere now. More than once I thought he was gone as I brought him up.It was 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 theedge of the water, reeling about like a drunken man. I ran down,threw some clothes about him, and brought him up. For heaven'ssake, Holmes, use all the powers you have and spare no pains tolift the curse from this place, for life is becoming unendurable.Can you, with all your world-wide reputation, do nothing forus?"
"I think I can, Stackhurst. Come with me now! And you,Inspector, come along! We will see if we cannot deliver thismurderer into your hands."
Leaving the unconscious man in the charge of my housekeeper, weall three went down to the deadly lagoon. On the shingle there waspiled a little heap of towels and clothes left by the stricken man.Slowly I walked round the edge of the water, my comrades in Indianfile behind me. Most of the pool was quite shallow, but under thecliff where the beach was hollowed out it was four or five feetdeep. It was to this part that a swimmer would naturally go, for itformed a beautiful pellucid green pool as clear as crystal. A lineof rocks lay above it at the base of the cliff, and along this Iled the way, peering eagerly into the depths beneath me. I hadreached the deepest and stillest pool when my eyes caught that forwhich they were searching, and I burst into a shout of triumph.
"Cyanea!" I cried. "Cyanea! Behold the Lion's Mane!"
The strange object at which I pointed did indeed look like atangled mass torn from the mane of a lion. It lay upon a rockyshelf some three feet under the water, a curious waving, vibrating,hairy creature with streaks of silver among its yellow tresses. Itpulsated with a slow, heavy dilation and contraction.
"It has done mischief enough. Its day is over!" I cried. "Helpme, Stackhurst! Let us end the murderer forever."
There was a big boulder just above the ledge, and we pushed ituntil it fell with a tremendous splash into the water. When theripples had cleared we saw that it had settled upon the ledgebelow. One flapping edge of yellow membrane showed that our victimwas beneath it. A thick oily scum oozed out from below the stoneand stained the water round, rising slowly to the surface.
"Well, this gets me!" cried the inspector. "What was it, Mr.Holmes? I'm born and bred in these parts, but I never saw such athing. It don't belong to Sussex."
"Just as well for Sussex," I remarked. "It may have been thesouthwest gale that brought it up. Come back to my house, both ofyou, and I will give you the terrible experience of one who hasgood reason to remember his own meeting with the same peril of theseas."
When we reached my study we found that Murdoch was so farrecovered that he could sit up. He was dazed in mind, and every nowand then was shaken by a paroxysm of pain. In broken words heexplained that he had no notion what had occurred to him, save thatterrific pangs had suddenly shot through him, and that it had takenall his fortitude to reach the bank.
"Here is a book," I said, taking up the little volume, "whichfirst brought light into what might have been forever dark. It is'Out of Doors', by the famous observer, J. G. Wood. Wood himselfvery nearly perished from contact with this vile creature, so hewrote with a very full knowledge. Cyanea capillata is themiscreant's full name, and he can be as dangerous to life as, andfar more painful than, the bite of the cobra. Let me briefly givethis extract.
"'If the bather should see a loose roundish mass of tawnymembranes and fibres, something like very large handfuls of lion'smane 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 swimmingoff the coast of Kent. He found that the creature radiated almostinvisible filaments to the distance of fifty feet, and that anyonewithin that circumference from the deadly centre was in danger ofdeath. Even at a distance the effect upon Wood was almostfatal.
"'The multitudinous threads caused light scarlet lines upon theskin 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 theexquisite torment.
"'Pangs shot through the chest, causing me to fall as if struckby a bullet. The pulsation would cease, and then the heart wouldgive six or seven leaps as if it would force its way through thechest.'
"It nearly killed him, although he had only been exposed to itin the disturbed ocean and not in the narrow calm waters of abathing-pool. He says that he could hardly recognize himselfafterwards, so white, wrinkled and shrivelled was his face. Hegulped down brandy, a whole bottleful, and it seems to have savedhis life. There is the book, Inspector. I leave it with you, andyou cannot doubt that it contains a full explanation of the tragedyof poor McPherson."
"And incidentally exonerates me," remarked Ian Murdoch with awry smile. "I do not blame you, Inspector, nor you, Mr. Holmes, foryour suspicions were natural. I feel that on the very eve of myarrest I have only cleared myself by sharing the fate of my poorfriend."
"No, Mr. Murdoch. I was already upon the track, and had I beenout as early as I intended I might well have saved you from thisterrific experience."
"But how did you know, Mr. Holmes?"
"I am an omnivorous reader with a strangely retentive memory fortrifles. That phrase 'the Lion's Mane' haunted my mind. I knew thatI had seen it somewhere in an unexpected context. You have seenthat it does describe the creature. I have no doubt that it wasfloating on the water when McPherson saw it, and that this phrasewas the only one by which he could convey to us a warning as to thecreature which had been his death."
"Then I, at least, am cleared," said Murdoch, rising slowly tohis feet. "There are one or two words of explanation which I shouldgive, for I know the direction in which your inquiries have run. Itis true that I loved this lady, but from the day when she chose myfriend McPherson my one desire was to help her to happiness. I waswell content to stand aside and act as their go-between. Often Icarried their messages, and it was because I was in theirconfidence and because she was so dear to me that I hastened totell her of my friend's death, lest someone should forestall me ina more sudden and heartless manner. She would not tell you, sir, ofour relations lest you should disapprove and I might suffer. Butwith your leave I must try to get back to The Gables, for my bedwill be very welcome."
Stackhurst held out his hand. "Our nerves have all been atconcert-pitch," said he. "Forgive what is past, Murdoch. We shallunderstand each other better in the future." They passed outtogether with their arms linked in friendly fashion. The inspectorremained, staring at me in silence with his ox-like eyes.
"Well, you've done it!" he cried at last. "I had read of you,but I never believed it. It's wonderful!"
I was forced to shake my head. To accept such praise was tolower one's own standards.
"I was slow at the outset--culpably slow. Had the body beenfound in the water I could hardly have missed it. It was the towelwhich misled me. The poor fellow had never thought to dry himself,and so I in turn was led to believe that he had never been in thewater. Why, then, should the attack of any water creature suggestitself to me? That was where I went astray. Well, well, Inspector,I often ventured to chaff you gentlemen of the police force, butCyanea capillata very nearly avenged Scotland Yard."
ADVENTURE XI. THE ADVENTURE OF THE VEILEDLODGER
When one considers that Mr. Sherlock Holmes was in activepractice for twenty-three years, and that during seventeen of theseI was allowed to cooperate with him and to keep notes of hisdoings, it will be clear that I have a mass of material at mycommand. The problem has always been not to find but to choose.There is the long row of year-books which fill a shelf and thereare the dispatch-cases filled with documents, a perfect quarry forthe student not only of crime but of the social and officialscandals of the late Victorian era. Concerning these latter, I maysay that the writers of agonized letters, who beg that the honourof their families or the reputation of famous forebears may not betouched, have nothing to fear. The discretion and high sense ofprofessional honour which have always distinguished my friend arestill at work in the choice of these memoirs, and no confidencewill be abused. I deprecate, however, in the strongest way theattempts which have been made lately to get at and to destroy thesepapers. The source of these outrages is known, and if they arerepeated I have Mr. Holmes's authority for saying that the wholestory concerning the politician, the lighthouse, and the trainedcormorant will be given to the public. There is at least one readerwho will understand.
It is not reasonable to suppose that every one of these casesgave Holmes the opportunity of showing those curious gifts ofinstinct and observation which I have endeavoured to set forth inthese memoirs. Sometimes he had with much effort to pick the fruit,sometimes it fell easily into his lap. But the most terrible humantragedies were often involved in those cases which brought him thefewest personal opportunities, and it is one of these which I nowdesire to record. In telling it, I have made a slight change ofname and place, but otherwise the facts are as stated.
One forenoon--it was late in 1896--I received a hurried notefrom Holmes asking for my attendance. When I arrived I found himseated in a smoke-laden atmosphere, with an elderly, motherly womanof the buxom landlady type in the corresponding chair in front ofhim.
"This is Mrs. Merrilow, of South Brixton," said my friend with awave of the hand. "Mrs. Merrilow does not object to tobacco,Watson, if you wish to indulge your filthy habits. Mrs. Merrilowhas an interesting story to tell which may well lead to furtherdevelopments in which your presence may be useful."
"Anything I can do--"
"You will understand, Mrs. Merrilow, that if I come to Mrs.Ronder I should prefer to have a witness. You will make herunderstand that before we arrive."
"Lord bless you, Mr. Holmes," said our visitor, "she is thatanxious to see you that you might bring the whole parish at yourheels!"
"Then we shall come early in the afternoon. Let us see that wehave our facts correct before we start. If we go over them it willhelp Dr. Watson to understand the situation. You say that Mrs.Ronder has been your lodger for seven years and that you have onlyonce 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.That's how it looked. Our milkman got a glimpse of her once peepingout of the upper window, and he dropped his tin and the milk allover the front garden. That is the kind of face it is. When I sawher--I happened on her unawares--she covered up quick, and then shesaid, 'Now, Mrs. Merrilow, you know at last why it is that I neverraise 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 quarter'srent right down on the table in advance and no arguing about terms.In these times a poor woman like me can't afford to turn down achance like that."
"Did she give any reason for choosing your house?"
"Mine stands well back from the road and is more private thanmost. Then, again, I only take the one, and I have no family of myown. I reckon she had tried others and found that mine suited herbest. It's privacy she is after, and she is ready to pay forit."
"You say that she never showed her face from first to last saveon the one accidental occasion. Well, it is a very remarkablestory, most remarkable, and I don't wonder that you want itexamined."
"I don't, Mr. Holmes. I am quite satisfied so long as I get myrent. You could not have a quieter lodger, or one who gives lesstrouble."
"Then what has brought matters to a head?"
"Her health, Mr. Holmes. She seems to be wasting away. Andthere's something terrible on her mind. 'Murder!' she cries.'Murder!' And once I heard her: 'You cruel beast! You monster!' shecried. It was in the night, and it fair rang through the house andsent the shivers through me. So I went to her in the morning. 'Mrs.Ronder,' I says, 'if you have anything that is troubling your soul,there's the clergy,' I says, 'and there's the police. Between themyou should get some help.' 'For God's sake, not the police!' saysshe, 'and the clergy can't change what is past. And yet,' she says,'it would ease my mind if someone knew the truth before I died.''Well,' says I, 'if you won't have the regulars, there is thisdetective man what we read about'--beggin' your pardon, Mr. Holmes.And she, she fair jumped at it. 'That's the man,' says she. 'Iwonder I never thought of it before. Bring him here, Mrs. Merrilow,and if he won't come, tell him I am the wife of Ronder's wild beastshow. Say that, and give him the name Abbas Parva. Here it is asshe wrote it, Abbas Parva. 'That will bring him if he's the man Ithink he is.'"
"And it will, too," remarked Holmes. "Very good, Mrs. Merrilow.I should like to have a little chat with Dr. Watson. That willcarry us till lunch-time. About three o'clock you may expect to seeus at your house in Brixton."
Our visitor had no sooner waddled out of the room--no other verbcan describe Mrs. Merrilow's method of progression--than SherlockHolmes threw himself with fierce energy upon the pile ofcommonplace books in the corner. For a few minutes there was aconstant swish of the leaves, and then with a grunt of satisfactionhe came upon what he sought. So excited was he that he did notrise, but sat upon the floor like some strange Buddha, with crossedlegs, the huge books all round him, and one open upon hisknees.
"The case worried me at the time, Watson. Here are my marginalnotes to prove it. I confess that I could make nothing of it. Andyet I was convinced that the coroner was wrong. Have you norecollection of the Abbas Parva tragedy?"
"None, Holmes."
"And yet you were with me then. But certainly my own impressionwas very superficial. For there was nothing to go by, and none ofthe parties had engaged my services. Perhaps you would care to readthe papers?"
"Could you not give me the points?"
"That is very easily done. It will probably come back to yourmemory as I talk. Ronder, of course, was a household word. He wasthe rival of Wombwell, and of Sanger, one of the greatest showmenof his day. There is evidence, however, that he took to drink, andthat both he and his show were on the down grade at the time of thegreat tragedy. The caravan had halted 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 theywere simply camping and not exhibiting, as the place is so small aone that it would not have paid them to open.
"They had among their exhibits a very fine North African lion.Sahara King was its name, and it was the habit, both of Ronder andhis wife, to give exhibitions inside its cage. Here, you see, is aphotograph of the performance by which you will perceive thatRonder was a huge porcine person and that his wife was a verymagnificent woman. It was deposed at the inquest that there hadbeen 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 atnight. Sometimes one went, sometimes both, but they never allowedanyone else to do it, for they believed that so long as they werethe food-carriers he would regard them as benefactors and wouldnever molest them. On this particular night, seven years ago, theyboth went, and a very terrible happening followed, the details ofwhich have never been made clear.
"It seems that the whole camp was roused near midnight by theroars of the animal and the screams of the woman. The differentgrooms and employees rushed from their tents, carrying lanterns,and by their light an awful sight was revealed. Ronder lay, withthe back of his head crushed in and deep claw-marks across hisscalp, some ten yards from the cage, which was open. Close to thedoor of the cage lay Mrs. Ronder upon her back, with the creaturesquatting and snarling above her. It had torn her face in such afashion that it was never thought that she could live. Several ofthe circus men, headed by Leonardo, the strong man, and Griggs, theclown, drove the creature off with poles, upon which it sprang backinto the cage and was at once locked in. How it had got loose was amystery. It was conjectured that the pair intended to enter thecage, but that when the door was loosed the creature bounded outupon them. There was no other point of interest in the evidencesave that the woman in a delirium of agony kept screaming, 'Coward!Coward!' as she was carried back to the van in which they lived. Itwas six months before she was fit to give evidence, but the inquestwas duly held, with the obvious verdict of death frommisadventure."
"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 ladthat! He was sent later to Allahabad. That was how I came into thematter, for he 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 toreconstruct the affair. Look at it from the lion's point of view.He is liberated. What does he do? He takes half a dozen boundsforward, which brings him to Ronder. Ronder turns to fly--theclaw-marks were on the back of his head--but the lion strikes himdown. Then, instead of bounding on and escaping, he returns to thewoman, who was close to the cage, and he knocks her over and chewsher face up. Then, again, those cries of hers would seem to implythat her husband had in some way failed her. What could the poordevil have done to help her? You see the difficulty?"
"Quite."
"And then there was another thing. It comes back to me now as Ithink it over. There was some evidence that just at the time thelion roared and the woman screamed, a man began shouting interror."
"This man Ronder, no doubt."
"Well, if his skull was smashed in you would hardly expect tohear from him again. There were at least two witnesses who spoke ofthe cries of a man being mingled with those of a woman."
"I should think the whole camp was crying out by then. As to theother points, 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 liongot loose. The man turned and was struck down. The woman conceivedthe idea of getting into the cage and shutting the door. It was heronly refuge. She made for it, and just as she reached it the beastbounded after her and knocked her over. She was angry with herhusband for having encouraged the beast's rage by turning. If theyhad 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 beastto get loose?"
"Is it possible that they had some enemy who loosed it?"
"And why should it attack them savagely when it was in the habitof playing with them, and doing tricks with them inside thecage?"
"Possibly the same enemy had done something to enrage it."
Holmes looked thoughtful and remained in silence for somemoments.
"Well, Watson, there is this to be said for your theory. Ronderwas a man of many enemies. Edmunds told me that in his cups he washorrible. A huge bully of a man, he cursed and slashed at everyonewho came in his way. I expect those cries about a monster, of whichour visitor has spoken, were nocturnal reminiscences of the deardeparted. However, our speculations are futile until we have allthe facts. There is a cold partridge on the sideboard, Watson, anda bottle of Montrachet. Let us renew our energies before we make afresh call upon them."
When our hansom deposited us at the house of Mrs. Merrilow, wefound that plump lady blocking up the open door of her humble butretired abode. It was very clear that her chief preoccupation waslest she should lose a valuable lodger, and she implored us, beforeshowing us up, to say and do nothing which could lead to soundesirable an end. Then, having reassured her, we followed her upthe straight, badly carpeted staircase and were shown into the roomof the mysterious lodger.
It was a close, musty, ill-ventilated place, as might beexpected, since its inmate seldom left it. From keeping beasts in acage, the woman seemed, by some retribution of fate, to have becomeherself a beast in a cage. She sat now in a broken armchair in theshadowy corner of the room. Long years of inaction had coarsenedthe lines of her figure, but at some period it must have beenbeautiful, and was still full and voluptuous. A thick dark veilcovered her face, but it was cut off close at her upper lip anddisclosed a perfectly shaped mouth and a delicately rounded chin. Icould well conceive that she had indeed been a very remarkablewoman. Her voice, too, was well modulated and pleasing.
"My name is not unfamiliar to you, Mr. Holmes," said she. "Ithought that it would bring you."
"That is so, madam, though I do not know how you are aware thatI was interested in your case."
"I learned it when I had recovered my health and was examined byMr. Edmunds, the county detective. I fear I lied to him. Perhaps itwould have been wiser had I told the truth."
"It is usually wiser to tell the truth. But why did you lie tohim?"
"Because the fate of someone else depended upon it. I know thathe was a very worthless being, and yet I would not have hisdestruction upon my conscience. We had been so close--soclose!"
"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 youknow?"
"Because there is another person to be considered. That otherperson is myself. I could not stand the scandal and publicity whichwould come from a police examination. I have not long to live, butI wish to die undisturbed. And yet I wanted to find one man ofjudgment to whom I could tell my terrible story, so that when I amgone all might be understood."
"You compliment me, madam. At the same time, I am a responsibleperson. I do not promise you that when you have spoken I may notmyself think it my duty to refer the case to the police."
"I think not, Mr. Holmes. I know your character and methods toowell, for I have followed your work for some years. Reading is theonly pleasure which fate has left me, and I miss little whichpasses in the world. But in any case, I will take my chance of theuse which you may make of my tragedy. It will ease my mind to tellit."
"My friend and I would be glad to hear it."
The woman rose and took from a drawer the photograph of a man.He was clearly a professional acrobat, a man of magnificentphysique, taken with his huge arms folded across his swollen chestand a smile breaking from under his heavy moustache--theself-satisfied smile of the man of many conquests.
"That is Leonardo," she said.
"Leonardo, the strong man, who gave evidence?"
"The same. And this--this is my husband."
It was a dreadful face--a human pig, or rather a human wildboar, for it was formidable in its bestiality. One could imaginethat vile mouth champing and foaming in its rage, and one couldconceive those small, vicious eyes darting pure malignancy as theylooked forth upon the world. Ruffian, bully, beast--it was allwritten on that heavy-jowled face.
"Those two pictures will help you, gentlemen, to understand thestory. I was a poor circus girl brought up on the sawdust, anddoing springs through the hoop before I was ten. When I became awoman this man loved me, if such lust as his can be called love,and in an evil moment I became his wife. From that day I was inhell, and he the devil who tormented me. There was no one in theshow who did not know of his treatment. He deserted me for others.He tied me down and lashed me with his ridingwhip when Icomplained. They all pitied me and they all loathed him, but whatcould they do? They feared him, one and all. For he was terrible atall times, and murderous when he was drunk. Again and again he washad up for assault, and for cruelty to the beasts, but he hadplenty of money and the fines were nothing to him. The best men allleft us, and the show began to go downhill. It was only Leonardoand I who kept it up--with little Jimmy Griggs, the clown. Poordevil, he had not much to be funny about, but he did what he couldto 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 thatsplendid body, but compared to my husband he seemed like the angelGabriel. He pitied me and helped me, till at last our intimacyturned to love--deep, deep, passionate love, such love as I haddreamed of but never hoped to feel. My husband suspected it, but Ithink that he was a coward as well as a bully, and that Leonardowas the one man that he was afraid of. He took revenge in his ownway by torturing me more than ever. One night my cries broughtLeonardo to the door of our van. We were near tragedy that night,and soon my lover and I understood that it could not be avoided. Myhusband was not fit to live. We planned that he should die.
"Leonardo had a clever, scheming brain. It was he who plannedit. I do not say that to blame him, for I was ready to go with himevery inch of the way. But I should never have had the wit to thinkof such a plan. We made a club--Leonardo made it--and in the leadenhead he fastened five long steel nails, the points outward, withjust such a spread as the lion's paw. This was to give my husbandhis death-blow, and yet to leave the evidence that it was the lionwhich we would loose who had done the deed.
"It was a pitch-dark night when my husband and I went down, aswas our custom, to feed the beast. We carried with us the raw meatin a zinc pail. Leonardo was waiting at the corner of the big vanwhich we should have to pass before we reached the cage. He was tooslow, and we walked past him before he could strike, but hefollowed us on tiptoe and I heard the crash as the club smashed myhusband's skull. My heart leaped with joy at the sound. I sprangforward, and I undid the catch which held the door of the greatlion's cage.
"And then the terrible thing happened. You may have heard howquick these creatures are to scent human blood, and how it excitesthem. Some strange instinct had told the creature in one instantthat a human being had been slain. As I slipped the bars it boundedout and was on me in an instant. Leonardo could have saved me. Ifhe had rushed forward and struck the beast with his club he mighthave cowed it. But the man lost his nerve. I heard him shout in histerror, and then I saw him turn and fly. At the same instant theteeth of the lion met in my face. Its hot, filthy breath hadalready poisoned me and I was hardly conscious of pain. With thepalms of my hands I tried to push the great steaming, blood-stainedjaws away from me, and I screamed for help. I was conscious thatthe camp was stirring, and then dimly I remembered a group of men.Leonardo, Griggs, and others, dragging me from under the creature'spaws. 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 thatlion--oh, how I cursed him!--not because he had torn away my beautybut because 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 shouldcover myself so that my poor face should be seen by none, and thatI should dwell where none whom I had ever known should find me.That was all that was left to me to do--and that is what I havedone. A poor wounded beast that has crawled into its hole todie--that is the end of Eugenia Ronder."
We sat in silence for some time after the unhappy woman had toldher story. Then Holmes stretched out his long arm and patted herhand with such a show of sympathy as I had seldom known him toexhibit.
"Poor girl!" he said. "Poor girl! The ways of fate are indeedhard to understand. If there is not some compensation hereafter,then the world is a cruel jest. But what of this man Leonardo?"
"I never saw him or heard from him again. Perhaps I have beenwrong to feel so bitterly against him. He might as soon have lovedone of the freaks whom we carried round the country as the thingwhich the lion had left. But a woman's love is not so easily setaside. He had left me under the beast's claws, he had deserted mein my need, and yet I could not bring myself to give him to thegallows. For myself, I cared nothing what became of me. What couldbe more dreadful than my actual life? But I stood between Leonardoand 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 themost singular and ingenious part of all your story?"
"I cannot tell, Mr. Holmes. There is a chalk-pit by the camp,with a deep green pool at the base of it. Perhaps in the depths ofthat pool --"
"Well, well, it is of little consequence now. The case isclosed."
"Yes," said the woman, "the case is closed."
We had risen to go, but there was something in the woman's voicewhich arrested Holmes's attention. He turned swiftly upon her.
"Your life is not your own," he said. "Keep your hands offit."
"What use is it to anyone?"
"How can you tell? The example of patient suffering is in itselfthe most precious of all lessons to an impatient world."
The woman's answer was a terrible one. She raised her veil andstepped forward into the light.
"I wonder if you would bear it," she said.
It was horrible. No words can describe the framework of a facewhen the face itself is gone. Two living and beautiful brown eyeslooking sadly out from that grisly ruin did but make the view moreawful. Holmes held up his hand in a gesture of pity and protest,and together we left the room.
Two days later, when I called upon my friend, he pointed withsome pride to a small blue bottle upon his mantelpiece. I picked itup. There was a red poison label. A pleasant almondy odour rosewhen I opened it.
"Prussic acid?" said I.
"Exactly. It came by post. 'I send you my temptation. I willfollow your advice.' That was the message. I think, Watson, we canguess the name of the brave woman who sent it."
ADVENTURE XII. THE ADVENTURE OF SHOSCOMBE OLDPLACE
Sherlock Holmes had been bending for a long time over alow-power microscope. Now he straightened himself up and lookedround at me in triumph.
"It is glue, Watson," said he. "Unquestionably it is glue. Havea look at these 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 graymasses are dust. There are epithelial scales on the left. Thosebrown blobs in the centre are undoubtedly glue."
"Well," I said, laughing, "I am prepared to take your word forit. Does anything depend upon it?"
"It is a very fine demonstration," he answered. "In the St.Pancras case you may remember that a cap was found beside the deadpoliceman. The accused man denies that it is his. But he is apicture-frame maker who habitually handles glue."
"Is it one of your cases?"
"No; my friend, Merivale, of the Yard, asked me to look into thecase. Since I ran down that coiner by the zinc and copper filingsin the seam of his cuff they have begun to realize the importanceof the microscope." He looked impatiently at his watch. "I had anew client calling, but he is overdue. By the way, Watson, you knowsomething of racing?"
"I ought to. I pay for it with about half my wound pension."
"Then I'll 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 Iknow it well, for my summer quarters were down there once.Norberton nearly came 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 theman."
"Ah, he sounds interesting! Does he often indulge in thatway?"
"Well, he has the name of being a dangerous man. He is about themost daredevil rider in England--second in the Grand National a fewyears back. He is one of those men who have overshot their truegeneration. He should have been a buck in the days of theRegency--a boxer, an athlete, a plunger on the turf, a lover offair ladies, and, by all account, so far down Queer Street that hemay 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 thefamous Shoscombe stud and training quarters are to be foundthere."
"And the head trainer," said Holmes, "is John Mason. You neednot look surprised at my knowledge, Watson, for this is a letterfrom him which I am unfolding. But let us have some more aboutShoscombe. I seem to have struck a rich vein."
"There are the Shoscombe spaniels," said I. "You hear of them atevery dog show. The most exclusive breed in England. They are thespecial pride of the lady of Shoscombe Old Place."
"Sir Robert Norberton's wife, I presume!"
"Sir Robert has never married. Just as well, I think,considering his prospects. He lives with his widowed sister, LadyBeatrice Falder."
"You mean that she lives with him?"
"No, no. The place belonged to her late husband, Sir James.Norberton has no claim on it at all. It is only a life interest andreverts to her husband's brother. Meantime, she draws the rentsevery year."
"And brother Robert, I suppose, spends the said rents?"
"That is about the size of it. He is a devil of a fellow andmust lead her a most uneasy life. Yet I have heard that she isdevoted to him. But what is amiss at Shoscombe?"
"Ah, that is just what I want to know. And here, I expect, isthe man who can tell us."
The door had opened and the page had shown in a tall,clean-shaven man with the firm, austere expression which is onlyseen upon those who have to control horses or boys. Mr. John Masonhad many of both under his sway, and he looked equal to the task.He bowed with cold self-possession and seated himself upon thechair to which Holmes had waved him.
"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 too complicated. 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,has gone mad."
Holmes raised his eyebrows. "This is Baker Street, not HarleyStreet," said he. "But why do you say so?"
"Well, sir, when a man does one queer thing, or two queerthings, there may be a meaning to it, but when everything he doesis queer, then you begin to wonder. I believe Shoscombe Prince andthe Derby have turned his brain."
"That is a colt you are running?"
"The best in England, Mr. Holmes. I should know, if anyone does.Now, I'll be plain with you, for I know you are gentlemen of honourand that it won't go beyond the room. Sir Robert has got to winthis Derby. He's up to the neck, and it's his last chance.Everything he could raise or borrow is on the horse--and at fineodds, too! You can get forties now, but it was nearer the hundredwhen he began to back him."
"But how is that if the horse is so good?"
"The public don't know how good he is. Sir Robert has been tooclever for the touts. He has the Prince's half-brother out forspins. You can't tell 'em apart. But there are two lengths in afurlong between them when it comes to a gallop. He thinks ofnothing but the horse and the race. His whole life is on it. He'sholding off the Jews till then. If the Prince fails him he isdone."
"It seems a rather desperate gamble, but where does the madnesscome in?"
"Well, first of all, you have only to look at him. I don'tbelieve he sleeps at night. He is down at the stables at all hours.His eyes are wild. It has all been too much for his nerves. Thenthere is his conduct to Lady Beatrice!"
"Ah! What is that?"
"They have always been the best of friends. They had the sametastes, the two of them, and she loved the horses as much as hedid. Every day at the same hour she would drive down to seethem--and, above all, she loved the Prince. He would prick up hisears when he heard the wheels on the gravel, and he would trot outeach morning to the carriage to get his lump of sugar. But that'sall over now."
"Why?"
"Well, she seems to have lost all interest in the horses. For aweek now she has driven past the stables with never so much as'Good-morning'!"
"You think there has been a quarrel?"
"And a bitter, savage, spitelful quarrel at that. Why else wouldhe give away her pet spaniel that she loved as if he were herchild? He gave it a few days ago to old Barnes, what keeps theGreen Dragon, three miles off, at Crendall."
"That certainly did seem strange."
"Of course, with her weak heart and dropsy one couldn't expectthat she could get about with him, but he spent two hours everyevening in her room. He might well do what he could, for she hasbeen a rare good friend to him. But that's all over, too. He nevergoes near her. And she takes it to heart. She is brooding and sulkyand drinking, Mr. Holmes--drinking like a fish."
"Did she drink before this estrangement?"
"Well, she took her glass, but now it is often a whole bottle ofan evening. So Stephens, the butler, told me. It's all changed, Mr.Holmes, and there is something damned rotten about it. But then,again, what is master doing down at the old church crypt at night?And who is the man that 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 o'clock at night andraining hard. So next night I was up at the house and, sure enough,master was off again. Stephens and I went after him, but it wasjumpy work, for it would have been a bad job if he had seen us.He's a terrible man with his fists if he gets started, and norespecter of persons. So we were shy of getting too near, but wemarked him down all light. It was the haunted crypt that he wasmaking for, and there was a man waiting for him there."
"What is this haunted cryp?"
"Well, sir, there is an old ruined chapel in the park. It is soold that nobody could fix its date. And under it there's a cryptwhich has a bad name among us. It's a dark, damp, lonely place byday, but there are few in that county that would have the nerve togo near it at night. But master's not afraid. He never fearedanything in his life. But what is he doing there in thenight-time?"
"Wait a bit!" said Holmes. "You say there is another man there.It must be one of your own stablemen, or someone from the house!Surely you have only to spot who it is and question him?"
"It's no one I know."
"How can you say that?"
"Because I have seen him, Mr. Holmes. It was on that secondnight. Sir Robert turned and passed us--me and Stephens, quaking inthe bushes like two bunny-rabbits, for there was a bit of moon thatnight. But we could hear the other moving about behind. We were notafraid of him. So we up when Sir Robert was gone and pretended wewere just having a walk like in the moonlight, and so we came righton him as casual and innocent as you please. 'Hullo, mate! who mayyou be?' says I. I guess he had not heard us coming, so he lookedover his shoulder with a face as if he had seen the devil comingout of hell. He let out a yell, and away he went as hard as hecould lick it in the darkness. He could run! --I'll give him that.In a minute he was out of sight and hearing, and who he was, orwhat he was, we never found."
"But you saw him clearly in the moonlight?"
"Yes, I would swear to his yellow face--a mean dog, I shouldsay. What could 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 thisfive years."
"And is, no doubt, devoted?"
Mr. Mason shuffled uncomfortably.
"She's devoted enough," he answered at last. "But I won't say towhom."
"Ah!" said Holmes.
"I can't tell tales out of school."
"I quite understand, Mr. Mason. Of course, the situation isclear enough. From Dr. Watson's description of Sir Robert I canrealize that no woman is safe from him. Don't you think the quarrelbetween brother and sister 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 shehas suddenly found it out. She wants to get rid of the woman. Herbrother will not permit it. The invalid, with her weak heart andinability to get about, has no means of enforcing her will. Thehated maid is still tied to her. The lady refuses to speak, sulks,takes to drink. Sir Robert in his anger takes her pet spaniel awayfrom her. Does not all this hang together?"
"Well, it might do--so far as it goes."
"Exactly! As far as it goes. How would all that bear upon thevisits by night to the old crypt? We can't fit that into ourplot."
"No, sir, and there is something more that I can't fit in. Whyshould Sir Robert want to dig up a dead body?"
Holmes sat up abruptly.
"We only found it out yesterday--after I had written to you.Yesterday Sir Robert had gone to London, so Stephens and I wentdown to the crypt. It was all in order, sir, except that in onecorner was a bit of a human body."
"You informed the police, I suppose?"
Our visitor smiled grimly.
"Well, sir, I think it would hardly interest them. It was justthe head and a few bones of a mummy. It may have been a thousandyears old. But it wasn't there before. That I'll swear, and so willStephens. It had been stowed away in a corner and covered over witha board, but that corner had 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 sister's dog?"
"It was just a week ago to-day. The creature was howling outsidethe old wellhouse, and Sir Robert was in one of his tantrums thatmorning. He caught it up, and I thought he would have killed it.Then he gave it to Sandy Bain, the jockey, and told him to take thedog to old Barnes at the Green Dragon, for he never wished to seeit again."
Holmes sat for some time in silent thought. He had lit theoldest and foulest of his pipes.
"I am not clear yet what you want me to do in this matter, Mr.Mason," he said at last. "Can't you make it more definite?"
"Perhaps this will make it more definite, Mr. Holmes," said ourvisltor.
He took a paper from his pocket, and, unwrapping it carefully,he exposed 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 LadyBeatrice's room. It's been off for some time, but Sir Robertcomplained of cold and had it on again.
"Harvey runs it--he's one of my lads. This very morning he cameto me with this which he found raking out the cinders. He didn'tlike 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 questionas to its anatomical significance.
"It's the upper condyle of a human femur," said I.
"Exactly!" Holmes had become very serious. "When does this ladtend to 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 upby a stair to the passage in which Lady Beatrice's room issituated."
"These are deep waters, Mr. Mason; deep and rather dirty. Yousay that Sir Robert was not at home last night?"
"No, sir."
"Then, whoever was burning bones, it was not he."
"That's 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 honesttrainer showed very clearly upon his face that he was convincedthat yet another lunatic had come into his harassed life.
"Well, sir, I've heard there are trout in the mill-stream andpike in the Hall lake."
"That's good enough. Watson and I are famous fishermen--are wenot, Watson? You may address us in future at the Green Dragon. Weshould reach it to-night. I need not say that we don't want to seeyou, Mr. Mason, but a note will reach us, and no doubt I could findyou if I want you. When we have gone a little farther into thematter I will let you have a considered opinion."
Thus it was that on a bright May evening Holmes and I foundourselves alone in a first-class carriage and bound for the little"halt-on-demand" station of Shoscombe. The rack above us wascovered with a formidable litter of rods, reels, and baskets. Onreaching our destination a short drive took us to an old-fashionedtavern, where a sporting host, Josiah Barnes, entered eagerly intoour plans for the extirpation of the fish of the neighbourhood.
"What about the Hall lake and the chance of a pike?" saidHolmes.
The face of the innkeeper clouded.
"That wouldn't do, sir. You might chance to find yourself in thelake before you were through."
"How's that, then?"
"It's Sir Robert, sir. He's terrible jealous of touts. If youtwo strangers were as near his training quarters as that he'd beafter you as sure as fate. He ain't taking no chances, Sir Robertain't."
"I've heard he has a horse entered for the Derby."
"Yes, and a good colt, too. He carries all our money for therace, and all Sir Robert's into the bargain. By the way"--he lookedat us with thoughtful eyes--"I suppose you ain't on the turfyourselves?"
"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 ofit lying about. But mind what I have told you about Sir Robert.He's the sort that strikes first and speaks afterwards. Keep clearof the park."
"Surely, Mr. Barnes! We certainly shall. By the way, that was amost beautiful spaniel that was whining in the hall."
"I should say it was. That was the real Shoscombe breed. Thereain't a better in England."
"I am a dog-fancier myself," said Holmes. "Now, if it is a fairquestion, what would a prize dog like that cost?"
"More than I could pay, sir. It was Sir Robert himself who gaveme this one. That's why I have to keep it on a lead. It would beoff to the Hall in a jiffy if I gave it its head."
"We are getting some cards in our hand, Watson," said Holmeswhen the landlord had left us. "It's not an easy one to play, butwe may see our way in a day or two. By the way, Sir Robert is stillin London, I hear. We might, perhaps, enter the sacred domainto-night without fear of bodily assault. There are one or twopoints on which I should like reassurance."
"Have you any theory, Holmes?"
"Only this, Watson, that something happened a week or so agowhich has cut deep into the life of the Shoscombe household. Whatis that something? We can only guess at it from its effects. Theyseem to be of a curiously mixed character. But that should surelyhelp us. It is only the colourless, uneventful case which ishopeless.
"Let us consider our data. The brother no longer visits thebeloved invalid sister. He gives away her favourite dog. Her dog,Watson! Does that suggest nothing to you?"
"Nothing but the brother's spite."
"Well, it might be so. Or--well, there is an alternative. Now tocontinue our review of the situation from the time that thequarrel, if there is a quarrel, began. The lady keeps her room,alters her habits, is not seen save when she drives out with hermaid, refuses to stop at the stables to greet her favourite horseand apparently takes to drink. That covers the case, does itnot?"
"Save for the business in the crypt."
"That is another line of thought. There are two, and I beg youwill not tangle them. Line A, which concerns Lady Beatrice, has avaguely sinister flavour, has it not?"
"I can make nothing of it."
"Well, now, let us take up line B, which concerns Sir Robert. Heis mad keen upon winning the Derby. He is in the hands of the Jews,and may at any moment be sold up and his racing stables seized byhis creditors. He is a daring and desperate man. He derives hisincome from his sister. His sister's maid is his willing tool. Sofar we seem to be on fairly safe ground, do we not?"
"But the crypt?"
"Ah, yes, the crypt! Let us suppose, Watson--it is merely ascandalous supposition, a hypothesis put forward for argument'ssake-- that Sir Robert has done away with his sister."
"My dear Holmes, it is out of the question."
"Very possibly, Watson. Sir Robert is a man of an honourablestock. But you do occasionally find a carrion crow among theeagles. Let us for a moment argue upon this supposition. He couldnot fly the country until he had realized his fortune, and thatfortune could only be realized by bringing off this coup withShoscombe Prince. Therefore, he has still to stand his ground. Todo this he would have to dispose of the body of his victim, and hewould also have to find a substitute who would impersonate her.With the maid as his confidante that would not be impossible. Thewoman's body might be conveyed to the crypt, which is a place soseldom visited, and it might be secretly destroyed at night in thefurnace, 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 monstroussupposition."
"I think that there is a small experiment which we may tryto-morrow, Watson, in order to throw some light on the matter.Meanwhile, if we mean to keep up our characters, I suggest that wehave our host in for a glass of his own wine and hold some highconverse upon eels and dace, which seems to be the straight road tohis affections. We may chance to come upon some useful local gossipin the process."
In the morning Holmes discovered that we had come without ourspoon-bait for jack, which absolved us from fishing for the day.About eleven o'clock we started for a walk, and he obtained leaveto take the black spaniel with us.
"This is the place," said he as we came to two high park gateswith heraldic griffins towering above them. "About midday, MrBarnes informs me, the old lady takes a drive, and the carriagemust slow down while the gates are opened. When it comes through,and before it gathers speed, I want you, Watson, to stop thecoachman with some question. Never mind me. I shall stand behindthis holly-bush and see what I can see."
It was not a long vigil. Within a quarter of an hour we saw thebig open yellow barouche coming down the long avenue, with twosplendid, high-stepping gray carriage horses in the shafts. Holmescrouched behind his bush with the dog. I stood unconcemedlyswinging a cane in the roadway. A keeper ran out and the gatesswung open.
The carriage had slowed to a walk, and I was able to get a goodlook at the occupants. A highly coloured young woman with flaxenhair and impudent eyes sat on the left. At her right was an elderlyperson with rounded back and a huddle of shawls about her face andshoulders which proclaimed the invalid. When the horses reached thehighroad I held up my hand with an authoritative gesture, and asthe coachman pulled up I inquired if Sir Robert was at ShoscombeOld Place.
At the same moment Holmes stepped out and released the spaniel.With a joyous cry it dashed forward to the carriage and sprang uponthe step. Then in a moment its eager greeting changed to furiousrage, and it snapped at the black skirt above it.
"Drive on! Drive on!" shrieked a harsh voice. The coachmanlashed the horses, and we were left standing in the roadway.
"Well, Watson, that's done it," said Holmes as he fastened thelead to the neck of the excited spaniel. "He thought it was hismistress, and he found it was a stranger. Dogs don't makemistakes."
"But it was the voice of a man!" I cried.
"Exactly! We have added one card to our hand, Watson, but itneeds careful playing, all the same."
My companion seemed to have no further plans for the day, and wedid actually use our fishing tackle in the mill-stream with theresult that we had a dish of trout for our supper. It was onlyafter that meal that Holmes showed signs of renewed activity. Oncemore we found ourselves upon the same road as in the morning, whichled us to the park gates. A tall, dark figure was awaiting usthere, who proved to be our London acquaintance, Mr. John Mason,the trainer.
"Good-evening, gentlemen," said he. "I got your note, Mr.Holmes. Sir Robert has not returned yet, but I hear that he isexpected 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 can't afford to do that, Mr. Holmes. The moment he arrives hewill want to see me to get the last news of Shoscombe Prince."
"I see! In that case we must work without you, Mr. Mason. Youcan show us the crypt and then leave us."
It was pitch-dark and without a moon, but Mason led us over thegrass-lands until a dark mass loomed up in front of us which provedto be the ancient chapel. We entered the broken gap which was oncethe porch, and our guide, stumbling among heaps of loose masonry,picked his way to the corner of the building, where a steep stairled down into the crypt. Striking a match, he illuminated themelancholy place --dismal and evil-smelling, with ancient crumblingwalls of rough-hewn stone, and piles of coffins, some of lead andsome of stone, extending upon one side right up to the arched andgroined roof which lost itself in the shadows above our heads.Holmes had lit his lantern, which shot a tiny tunnel of vividyellow light upon the mournful scene. Its rays were reflected backfrom the coffin-plates, many of them adorned with the griffin andcoronet of this old family which carried its honours even to thegate 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 andthen stood in silent surprise as our light was turned upon theplace. "They are gone," said he.
"So I expected," said Holmes, chuckling. "I fancy the ashes ofthem might even now be found in that oven which had alreadyconsumed a part."
"But why in the world would anyone want to burn the bones of aman who has been dead a thousand years?" asked John Mason.
"That is what we are here to find out," said Holmes. "It maymean a long search, and we need not detain you. I fancy that weshall get our solution 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,which appeared to be Saxon, in the centre, through a long line ofNorman Hugos and Odos, until we reached the Sir William and SirDenis Falder of the eighteenth century. It was an hour or morebefore Holmes came to a leaden coffin standing on end before theentrance to the vault. I heard his little cry of satisfaction andwas aware from his hurried but purposeful movements that he hadreached a goal. With his lens he was eagerly examining the edges ofthe heavy lid. Then he drew from his pocket a short jemmy, abox-opener, which he thrust into a chink, levering back the wholefront, which seemed to be secured by only a couple of clamps. Therewas a rending, tearing sound as it gave way, but it had hardlyhinged back and partly revealed the contents before we had anunforeseen interruption.
Someone was walking in the chapel above. It was the firm, rapidstep of one who came with a definite purpose and knew well theground upon which he walked. A light streamed down the stairs, andan instant later the man who bore it was framed in the Gothicarchway. He was a terrible figure, huge in stature and fierce inmanner. A large stable-lantern which he held in front of him shoneupward upon a strong, heavily moustached face and angry eyes, whichglared round him into every recess of the vault, finally fixingthemselves with a deadly stare upon my companion and myself.
"Who the devil are you?" he thundered. "And what are you doingupon my property?" Then, as Holmes returned no answer he took acouple of steps forward and raised a heavy stick which he carried."Do you hear me?" he cried. "Who are you? What are you doing here?"His cudgel quivered 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 hissternest tone. "Who is this? And what is it doing here?"
He turned and tore open the coffin-lid behind him. In the glareof the lantern I saw a body swathed in a sheet from head to footwith dreadful, witch-like features, all nose and chin, projectingat one end, the dim, glazed eyes staring from a discoloured andcrumbling 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 somereturn of his truculent manner: "What business is it of yours?"
"My name is Sherlock Holmes," said my companion. "Possibly it isfamiliar to you. In any case, my business is that of every othergood citizen--to uphold the law. It seems to me that you have muchto answer for."
Sir Robert glared for a moment, but Holmes's quiet voice andcool, assured manner had their effect.
"'Fore God, Mr. Holmes, it's all right," said he. "Appearancesare against me, I'll admit, but I could act no otherwise."
"I should be happy to think so, but I fear your explanationsmust be before the police."
Sir Robert shrugged his broad shoulders.
"Well, if it must be, it must. Come up to the house and you canjudge for yourself how the matter stands."
A quarter of an hour later we found ourselves in what I judge,from the lines of polished barrels behind glass covers, to be thegun-room of the old house. It was comfortably furnished, and hereSir Robert left us for a few moments. When he returned he had twocompanions with him; the one, the florid young woman whom we hadseen in the carriage; the other, a small rat-faced man with adisagreeably furtive manner. These two wore an appearance of utterbewilderment, which showed that the baronet had not yet had time toexplain to them the turn events had taken.
"There," said Sir Robert with a wave of his hand, "are Mr. andMrs. Norlett. Mrs. Norlett, under her maiden name of Evans, has forsome years been my sister's confidential maid. I have brought themhere because I feel that my best course is to explain the trueposition to you, and they are the two people upon earth who cansubstantiate what I say."
"Is this necessary, Sir Robert? Have you thought what you aredoing?" cried the woman.
"As to me, I entirely disclaim all responsibility," said herhusband.
Sir Robert gave him a glance of contempt. "I will take allresponsibility," said he. "Now, Mr. Holmes, listen to a plainstatement of the facts.
"You have clearly gone pretty deeply into my affairs or I shouldnot have 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 Ilose-- well, I dare not think of that!"
"I understand the position," said Holmes.
"I am dependent upon my sister, Lady Beatrice, for everything.But it is well known that her interest in the estate is for her ownlife only. For myself, I am deeply in the hands of the Jews. I havealways known that if my sister were to die my creditors would be onto my estate like a flock of vultures. Everything would beseized--my stables, my horses--everything. Well, Mr. Holmes, mysister did die just a week ago."
"And you told no one!"
"What could I do? Absolute ruin faced me. If I could stavethings off for three weeks all would be well. Her maid'shusband--this man here --is an actor. It came into our heads--itcame into my head--that he could for that short period personate mysister. It was but a case of appearing daily in the carriage, forno one need enter her room save the maid. It was not difficult toarrange. My sister died of the dropsy which had long afflictedher."
"That will be for a coroner to decide."
"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 andI carried it out to the old well-house, which is now never used. Wewere followed, however, by her pet spaniel, which yappedcontinually at the door, so I felt some safer place was needed. Igot rid of the spaniel, and we carried the body to the crypt of thechurch. There was no indignity or irreverence, Mr. Holmes. I do notfeel 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 beenin my position. One cannot see all one's hopes and all one's plansshattered at the last moment and make no effort to save them. Itseemed to me that it would be no unworthy resting-place if we puther for the time in one of the coffins of her husband's ancestorslying in what is still consecrated ground. We opened such a coffin,removed the contents, and placed her as you have seen her. As tothe old relics which we took out, we could not leave them on thefloor of the crypt. Norlett and I removed them, and he descended atnight and burned them in the central furnace. There is my story,Mr. Holmes, though how you forced my hand so that I have to tell itis more than I can say."
Holmes sat for some time lost in thought.
"There is one flaw in your narrative, Sir Robert," he said atlast. "Your bets on the race, and therefore your hopes for thefuture, would hold good even if your creditors seized yourestate."
"The horse would be part of the estate. What do they care for mybets? As likely as not they would not run him at all. My chiefcreditor is, unhappily, my most bitter enemy--a rascally fellow,Sam Brewer, whom I was once compelled to horsewhip on NewmarketHeath. Do you suppose that he would try to save me?"
"Well, Sir Robert," said Holmes, rising, "this matter must, ofcourse, be referred to the police. It was my duty to bring thefacts to light, and there I must leave it. As to the morality ordecency of your conduct, it is not for me to express an opinion. Itis nearly midnight, Watson, and I think we may make our way back toour humble abode."
It is generally known now that this singular episode ended upona happier note than Sir Robert's actions deserved. Shoscombe Princedid win the Derby, the sporting owner did net eighty thousandpounds in bets, and the creditors did hold their hand until therace was over, when they were paid in full, and enough was left toreestablish Sir Robert in a fair position in life. Both police andcoroner took a lenient view of the transaction, and beyond a mildcensure for the delay in registering the lady's decease, the luckyowner got away scatheless from this strange incident in a careerwhich has now outlived its shadows and promises to end in anhonoured old age.
APPENDIX A. ABOUT THIS EDITION
This omnibus edition collects Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's fournovels and five short-story collections featuring his most famouscharacter, Sherlock Holmes. My name is Edward Livingston-Blade(sbcs@bigfoot.com), and I'm no one of consequence. Arthur ConanDoyle thought these stories up and put them on paper, a variety ofother people (see Appendix B) took the trouble of turning the inkand paper into plain-text bits and bytes for Project Gutenberg, andall I've done is reformatted their work in XHTML 1.0 Transitionaland compiled it all together into one file with a table of contentsand these appendices. I intend my caretaking of this edition to beongoing, so please mail me any textual errors you spot (there areplenty) and any thought about content or formatting that you mayhave.
I've added publication (or copyright?) dates for the stories tothe table of contents and Appendix B. The sources for the dates area pair of Sherlock Holmes fan sites at http://www.calibercomics.com/SHERLOCK /SH221B-online.htm (the four novels and 56 short stories)and http://hawkmail.monmouth.edu /~s0419521 /holmes.html (the fiveshort-story collections). The dates aren't authoritative... thesites apparently contradict each other and I really don't know whoto believe.
Throughout the appendices I follow the convention of underliningtitles of novels and short-story collections, and double-quotingtitles of short stories and parts of stories, such as chaptertitles. I don't know if this is according to any particulareditorial standard, but it felt right.
There are errors in this edition that I'm aware of... thehyphenation errors I discuss in Appendix D, typographical errors,and some others. But fixing them all is going to eat up some time,so I'm saving that for a second edition.
If you want to learn more about Sherlock Holmes, you may findthe alt.fan.holmes FAQ an excellent starting point. As of thiswriting, it's at http://www.waxwing.westhost.com /thedoge/. Thecalibercomics site mentioned above has substantial content torecommend it, as well.
APPENDIX B. TEXTUAL SOURCES
The Project Gutenberg plain-text digitization of the body of SirArthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes stories is made up of a totalof 16 files. Eight of the nine books are contained each in aseparate file, butHis Last Bow (1917) is made up of eightfiles, one for each of the eight short stories in that collection.Those eight books and eight short stories, in order of publication(treating the short stories according to the publication ofHisLast Bow), and the file names of the Project Gutenbergdigitizations I used, are:
Accreditation for the work of converting the original ink andpaper editions into the Project Gutenberg plain-text editions Icollected to create this XHTML edition is as follows (wording istaken verbatim from the PG source texts; if credit is not givenhere then credit was not given in the source text):
A Study in Scarlet is prepared directly from an 1887edition, and care has been taken to duplicate the original exactly,including typographical and punctuation vagaries. Additions to thetext include adding the underscore character (_) to indicateitalics, and textual end-notes in curly braces ({}). Thanks toRandolph Cox for providing the book for etexting. Etext prepared byRoger Squires rsquires@unm.edu
The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes was created by
Angela M. Cable
3370 Roosevelt #E
Rock Springs, WY 82901
(307) 382-9098
dispatch@rock-springs.dowell.slb.com
The Hound of the Baskervilles was produced by P. K.Pehtla<ppehtla@nfld.com>
The Return of Sherlock Holmes rholm10a.txt [sic] is basedon the PG etext rholm10.txt (prepared by Charles Kellerkeller@ra.msstate.edu from a 1905 Doubleday-Collier edition) andproof-read so as to duplicate the original publication of thesestories (using facsimiles) in The Strand Magazine by Joanne Brownbrownjm@admin1.unbsj.ca, Frank Sadowski fsdw@db1.cc.rochester.edu,& Roger Squires rsquires@unm.edu. Thanks also to The Hounds ofthe Internet (blocka@beloit.edu for more info) for their assistanceand encouragement.
The Valley of Fear was produced by Toby F. Charkin(t_charkin@yahoo.com)
His Last Bow was prepared by David Brannan of Woodbridge,Virginia.
The Casebook of Sherlock Holmes was produced by: ColChoat colc@gutenberg.net.au
A handful of the stories have variant titles. For lack ofauthoritative titles, in such cases I've picked the variant thatseems most likely to me and used it throughout this document.Variants I chose not to use are listed here.
WhileThe Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes seems to be thepresently accepted title of the second of the Sherlock Holmesshort-story collections, the title given in the Gutenberg sourcetext is justMemoirs of Sherlock Holmes, minus thearticle.
"The Red-headed League" appears in another PG text,ClassicMystery and Detective Stories, edited by Julian Hawthorne, as"The Red-Headed League" (capitalization variant). It appears thesame way in the PG "card catalog" entry for that text.
"The Adventure of the Lion's Mane" appears in the table ofcontents of the PG source text as "The Adventure of the Lions Mane"(missing possessive apostrophe). The title as it appears in thebody of the text does include the possessive apostrophe.
APPENDIX C. TEXTUAL CORRECTIONS
After combining the source documents (see Appendix B) into thiscollected edition, I made the following editorial changes to thetext (thanks goes to my wife Leah for most of the work on "GloriaScott").
A Study in Scarlet from study10.zip:
Part I, Chapter II
- some bungling villany --> some bungling villainy
Part I, Chapter V
- Sawyer -- her's is --> Sawyer -- hers is
Part II, Chapter II
- Ferrier having recovered --> Ferrier, having recovered
"A Scandal in Bohemia" from advsh11.zip:
part I
- the trained teasoner --> the trained reasoner
part II
- point. and it --> point, and it
- window. and you --> window, and you
"The Speckled Band" from advsh11.zip:
- came from perhaps --> came from, perhaps
- over the meadows --> over the meadows.
- technical character an --> technical character, an
- you for if --> you, for if
"The 'Gloria Scott' " from memho10.zip:
- first turned is --> first turned his
- forward in this arm --> forward in his arm
- no pints of --> no points of
- and old-fashioned, wide-spread --> an old-fashioned,wide-spread
- chemistry. On day --> chemistry. One day
- mad my blood boil. --> made my blood boil.
- as your did --> as yours did
- convict sips had --> convict ships had
- set said from --> set sail from
- up if had --> up if it had
- raging deveil, and --> raging devil, and
- the warders the --> the warders, the
- who descended wit --> who descended with
- what I may, it --> what it may, it
- lodged with he --> lodged with the
"The Resident Patient" from memho10.zip:
- power of inference --> power of inference,
- sure that your will not --> sure that you will not
- and own a --> and won a
- Answer my frankly --> Answer me frankly
- I to do , then --> I to do, then
- He cam himself --> He came himself
- bring me her --> bring me here
- letter interest me --> letter interested me
- cased to give --> ceased to give
- Blessington cam in --> Blessington came in
- "'For half an --> "For half an
- lie! He yelled --> lie!' he yelled
- had been dripped --> had been dropped
- these tow men Mr. --> these two men, Mr.
- your, sir, is --> you, sir, is
- grotesquely improbably, no --> grotesquely improbable,no
- fellow was hanging --> fellow was, hanging
- entered, "I am --> entered. "I am
- is an Havana --> is a Havana
- the chairs the --> the chairs, the
- were smoke. The --> were smoked. The
- hook, however they --> hook, however, they
- all remarkable clear --> all remarkably clear
Hound o/t Baskervilles from bskrv10a.zip:
Chapter VIII
- >From this point onward --> From this point onward
- >From the first moment --> From the first moment
"Bruce-Partington Plans" from bplan10.zip:
- work form the --> work from the
"The Creeping Man" from 0100291.zip:
- shelves."'Langur,'" he --> shelves. "'Langur,'" he
- he read "'the --> he read, "'the
"The Sussex Vampire" from 0100291.zip:
- lady the daughter --> lady, the daughter
"The Three Garridebs" from 0100291.zip:
- OF ACRICULTURAL MACHINERY --> OF AGRICULTURAL MACHINERY
- the Americn, "and --> the American, "and
"The Illustrious Client" from 0100291.zip:
- paper. of the --> paper, of the
"The Three Gables" from 0100291.zip:
- receivingstation as well --> receiving-station as well
APPENDIX D. TECHNICAL MATTERS
This file is formatted to import nicely into my RCA REB1100portable eBook device. The REB1100 evidently uses a closed nativefile format based on the old HTML 3.2, so some of the spacing isgoing to be a little funny if you're reading it on a modern webbrowser. I apologize, but the only reason I'm editing this projectat all is so I have something nice to look at on my eBook.
One place where the decision to format primarily for my eBookhas had an effect is in the table of contents and appendices C andE, where all titles have been shortened to fit on one line of theeBook's smallish screen. To that end I've reflexively changed allof the titles beginning with "The Adventure of the ..." (that's afull 32 of the 56 short stories) to simply "The ...", as in, forexample, "The Adventure of the Cardboard Box" becoming "TheCardboard Box." This has only been done in these three places, andonly to make the display more friendly on the eBook... titles inthe body of the text and in Appendix B or this appendix are intheir correct form.
I've shortened "The Adventure of Charles Augustus Milverton" to"Charles Augustus Milverton." I've shortened "The Disappearance ofLady Frances Carfax" to "Lady Frances Carfax." And I've shortened"The Adventure of Shoscombe Old Place" to "Shoscombe OldPlace."
The sixparts of stories (e.g. chapter titles) that weretoo long were simply truncated with an ellipsis. These includeAStudy in Scarlet Part I, Part I Chapter VI and Part II ChapterVI;The Sign of the Four Chapter VI and Chapter XII and "TheAdventure of Wisteria Lodge" Chapter I.
The program I used for the initial text-to-HTML conversion isSeth Golub's txt2html v1.28. It's a perl script, it converts toHTML 3.2 Final, and you can get it at http://www.aigeek.com/txt2html/. From there I used vi, grep, khexedit, sed and a littleemacs to edit the document and further convert it to XHTML 1.0Transitional.
I had two problems with txt2html... its overzealous use of<STRONG> wherever it finds a line in allcaps, and itsoverzealous collapsing of end-of-line hyphenation. That is to say,wherever it finds a group of characters terminated with a hyphen atthe end of a line, it removes the hyphen and catenates that groupof characters with the first group of characters on the followingline. Text has to be unhyphenated during conversion into HTML, butthis method overdoes it in assuming that end-of-line hyphenation isalways mid-word rather than compound word. For instance, it turnsBruce- and Partington into BrucePartington instead ofBruce-Partington (of course, you'd have to incorporate a dictionarysearch to do it right).
It's entirely possible that both of these issues can be fixedwith command line options, but for this project I was using theprogram in its "out of the box" configuration (and was in too deepto backtrack by the time I realized what it'd done ;-).
More sophisticated document readers (I checked MicrosoftInternet Explorer 5.5) can find a searched-for phrase that's brokenwith a CR/LF, but my eBook and my favorite Un*x text editor can't.Since Project Gutenberg files characteristically have the linesbroken after a certain number of columns, this created a problemfor me, so I removed all the intra-paragraph CR/LF in this edition.If you're not using a high-powered reader, you'll find that yoursearch function is more reliable with this document than withtraditionally-formatted Gutenberg texts.
By the way, if you're "rolling your own" for your eBook, beaware that under certain circumstances the unit will drop the lastcharacter on each line if the lines end with just an LF. Sincethat's standard for Un*x, it's liable to come up. If you change allthe LF to CR/LF, everything will come out fine.
APPENDIX E. HOLMES' CHRONOLOGY
This is an attempt at establishing the internal chronology ofDoyle's Sherlock Holmes stories. That is to say, the order thatSherlock Holmes would've experienced them in, rather than the orderthat they were published in. It's impossible to arrive at aconclusive order for the stories on the grounds that Doyle didn'tseem to have one in mind himself. This chronology is the work ofWilliam S. Baring-Gould. My sources werehttp://www.calibercomics.com /SHERLOCK /sherlock_holmes Chronology.htm and http://www.waxwing.westhost.com /thedoge /afhfaq3.html.Basically, I'm including this for people who want to read thestories in internal order rather than in order of publication (me,for instance).
'74 Fall "The 'Gloria Scott' "
'79 Oct "The Musgrave Ritual"
'81 Mar A Study in Scarlet
'83 Apr "The Speckled Band"
'86 Oct "The Resident Patient"
'86 Oct "The Noble Bachelor"
'86 Oct "The Second Stain"
'87 Apr "The Reigate Puzzle"
'87 May "A Scandal in Bohemia"
'87 Jun "The Man with the TwistedLip"
'87 Sep "The Five Orange Pips"
'87 Oct "A Case of Identity"
'87 Oct "The Red-headed League"
'87 Nov "The Dying Detective"
'87 Dec "The Blue Carbuncle"
'88 Jan The Valley of Fear
'88 Apr "The Yellow Face"
'88 Sep "The Greek Interpreter"
'88 Sep The Sign of the Four
'88 Sep The Hound of theBaskervilles
'89 Apr "The Copper Beeches"
'89 Jun "The Boscombe ValleyMystery"
'89 Jun "The Stock-Broker's Clerk"
'89 July "The Naval Treaty"
'89 Aug "The Cardboard Box"
'89 Sep "The Engineer's Thumb"
'89 Sep "The Crooked Man"
'90 Mar "The Adventure of WisteriaLodge"
'90 Sep "Silver Blaze"
'90 Dec "The Beryl Coronet"
'91 Apr "The Final Problem"
'94 Apr "The Empty House"
'94 Nov "The Golden Pince-Nez"
'95 Apr "The Three Students"
'95 Apr "The Solitary Cyclist"
'95 July "The Adventure of BlackPeter"
'95 Aug "The Norwood Builder"
'95 Nov "The Bruce-PartingtonPlans"
'96 Oct "The Veiled Lodger"
'96 Nov "The Sussex Vampire"
'96 Dec "The Missing Three-Quarter"
'97 Jan "The Abbey Grange"
'97 Mar "The Devil's Foot"
'98 July "The Dancing Men"
'98 July "The Retired Colourman"
'99 Jan "Charles AugustusMilverton"
'00 Jun "The Six Napoleons"
'00 Oct "The Problem of ThorBridge"
'01 May "The Priory School"
'02 May "Shoscombe Old Place"
'02 Jun "The Three Garridebs"
'02 July "Lady Frances Carfax"
'02 Sep "The Illustrious Client"
'02 Sep "The Red Circle"
'03 Jan "The Blanched Soldier"
'03 May "The Three Gables"
'03 Sum "The Mazarin Stone"
'03 Sep "The Creeping Man"
'09 July "The Lion's Mane"
'14 Aug "His Last Bow"
APPENDIX F. PROJECT GUTENBERG
A Project Gutenberg of Australia eBook
Title: A Sherlock Holmes Omnibus
Author: Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, 1859-1930
eBook No.: 0200441h.html
Language: English
Date first posted: July 2002
Date most recently updated: July 2002
This eBook was produced by: Edward Livingston-Blade(sbcs@bigfoot.com)
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