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Published in The Strand magazine as additional episodes of The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, between December 1892 and November 1893.
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&odq;I am afraid, Watson that I shall have to go,&cdq; said
Holmes as we sat down together to our breakfast one morning.
&odq;Go! Where to?&cdq;
&odq;To Dartmoor;
to King's Pyland.&cdq;
I was not surprised. Indeed, my only wonder was that he
had not already been mixed up in this extraordinary case, which was
the one topic of conversation through the length and breadth of
England. For a whole day my companion had rambled about the
room with his chin upon his chest and his brows knitted, charging and
recharging his pipe with the strongest black tobacco, and absolutely
deaf to any of my questions or remarks. Fresh editions of
every paper had been sent up by our news agent, only to be glanced
over and tossed down into a corner. Yet, silent as he was, I
knew perfectly well what it was over which he was brooding.
There was but one problem before the public which could
challenge his powers of analysis, and that was the singular
disappearance of the favourite for the Wessex Cup, and the tragic
murder of its trainer. When, therefore, he suddenly announced
his intention of setting out for the scene of the drama, it was only
what I had both expected and hoped for.
&odq;I should be most happy to go down with you if I should not
be in the way,&cdq; said I.
&odq;My dear Watson, you would confer a great favour upon me by
coming. And I think that your time will not be misspent, for
there are points about the case which promise to make it an
absolutely unique one. We have, I think, just time to catch
our train at Paddington, and I will go further into the matter upon
our journey. You would oblige me by bringing with you your
very excellent field-glass.&cdq;
And so it happened that an hour or so later I found myself in
the corner of a first-class carriage flying along en route for
Exeter, while Sherlock Holmes, with his sharp, eager face framed in
his ear-flapped travelling-cap, dipped rapidly into the bundle of
fresh papers which he had procured at Paddington. We had left
Reading far behind us before he thrust the last one of them under the
seat and offered me his cigar-case.
&odq;We are going well,&cdq; said he, looking out of the window
and glancing at his watch. &odq;Our rate at present is
fifty-three and a half miles an hour.&cdq;
&odq;I have not observed the quarter-mile posts,&cdq; said I.
&odq;Nor have I. But the telegraph posts upon this line
are sixty yards apart, and the calculation is a simple one. I
presume that you have looked into this matter of the murder of John
Straker and the disappearance of Silver Blaze?&cdq;
&odq;I have seen what the Telegraph and the Chronicle have to
say.&cdq;
&odq;It is one of those cases where the art of the reasoner
should be used rather for the sifting of details than for the
acquiring of fresh evidence. The tragedy has been so uncommon,
so complete, and of such personal importance to so many people that
we are suffering from a plethora of surmise, conjecture, and
hypothesis. The difficulty is to detach the framework of fact
— of absolute undeniable fact — from the
embellishments of theorists and reporters. Then, having
established ourselves upon this sound basis, it is our duty to see
what inferences may be drawn and what are the special points upon
which the whole mystery turns. On Tuesday evening I received
telegrams from both Colonel Ross, the owner of the horse, and from
Inspector Gregory, who is looking after the case, inviting my
cooperation.&cdq;
&odq;Tuesday evening!&cdq; I exclaimed. &odq;And this is
Thursday morning. Why didn't you go down yesterday?&cdq;
&odq;Because I made a blunder, my dear Watson — which
is, I am afraid, a more common occurrence than anyone would think who
only knew me through your memoirs. The fact is that I could
not believe it possible that the most remarkable horse in England
could long remain concealed, especially in so sparsely inhabited a
place as the north of Dartmoor. From hour to hour yesterday I
expected to hear that he had been found, and that his abductor was
the murderer of John Straker. When, however, another morning
had come and I found that beyond the arrest of young Fitzroy Simpson
nothing had been done, I felt that it was time for me to take action.
Yet in some ways I feel that yesterday has not been
wasted.&cdq;
&odq;You have formed a theory, then?&cdq;
&odq;At
least I have got a grip of the essential facts of the case. I
shall enumerate them to you, for nothing clears up a case so much as
stating it to another person, and I can hardly expect your
cooperation if I do not show you the position from which we
start.&cdq;
I lay back against the cushions, puffing at my cigar, while
Holmes, leaning forward, with his long, thin forefinger checking off
the points upon the palm of his left hand, gave me a sketch of the
events which had led to our journey.
&odq;Silver Blaze,&cdq; said he, &odq;is from the Somomy stock
and holds as brilliant a record as his famous ancestor. He is
now in his fifth year and has brought in turn each of the prizes of
the turf to Colonel Ross, his fortunate owner. Up to the time
of the catastrophe he was the first favourite for the Wessex Cup, the
betting being three to one on him. He has always, however,
been a prime favourite with the racing public and has never yet
disappointed them, so that even at those odds enormous sums of money
have been laid upon him. It is obvious, therefore, that there
were many people who had the strongest interest in preventing Silver
Blaze from being there at the fall of the flag next Tuesday.
&odq;The fact was, of course, appreciated at King's Pyland,
where the colonel's training-stable is situated. Every
precaution was taken to guard the favourite. The trainer, John
Straker, is a retired jockey who rode in Colonel Ross's colours
before he became too heavy for the weighing-chair. He has
served the colonel for five years as jockey and for seven as trainer,
and has always shown himself to be a zealous and honest servant.
Under him were three lads, for the establishment was a small
one, containing only four horses in all. One of these lads sat
up each night in the stable, while the others slept in the loft.
All three bore excellent characters. John Straker, who
is a married man lived in a small villa about two hundred yards from
the stables. He has no children, keeps one maidservant, and is
comfortably off. The country round is very lonely, but about
half a mile to the north there is a small cluster of villas which
have been built by a Tavistock contractor for the use of invalids and
others who may wish to enjoy the pure Dartmoor air. Tavistock
itself lies two miles to the west, while across the moor, also about
two miles distant, is the larger training establishment of Mapleton,
which belongs to Lord Backwater and is managed by Silas Brown.
In every other direction the moor is a complete wilderness,
inhabited only by a few roaming gypsies. Such was the general
situation last Monday night when the catastrophe occurred.
&odq;On that evening the horses had been exercised and watered
as usual, and the stables were locked up at nine o'clock. Two
of the lads walked up to the trainer's house, where they had supper
in the kitchen, while the third, Ned Hunter, remained on guard.
At a few minutes after nine the maid, Edith Baxter, carried
down to the stables his supper, which consisted of a dish of curried
mutton. She took no liquid, as there was a water-tap in the
stables, and it was the rule that the lad on duty should drink
nothing else. The maid carried a lantern with her, as it was
very dark and the path ran across the open moor.
&odq;Edith Baxter was within thirty yards of the stables when a
man appeared out of the darkness and called to her to stop. As
she stepped into the circle of yellow light thrown by the lantern she
saw that he was a person of gentlemanly bearing, dressed in a gray
suit of tweeds, with a cloth cap. He wore gaiters and carried
a heavy stick with a knob to it. She was most impressed,
however, by the extreme pallor of his face and by the nervousness of
his manner. His age, she thought, would be rather over thirty
than under it.
&odq;&onq;Can you tell me where I am?&cnq; he asked.
&onq;I had almost made up my mind to sleep on the moor when I
saw the light of your lantern.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;You are close to the King's Pyland training
stables,&cnq; said she.
&odq;&onq;Oh, indeed! What a stroke of luck!&cnq; he
cried. &onq;I understand that a stable-boy sleeps there alone
every night. Perhaps that is his supper which you are carrying
to him. Now I am sure that you would not be too proud to earn
the price of a new dress, would you?&cnq; He took a piece of
white paper folded up out of his waistcoat pocket. &onq;See
that the boy has this to-night, and you shall have the prettiest
frock that money can buy.&cnq;
&odq;She was frightened by the earnestness of his manner and
ran past him to the window through which she was accustomed to hand
the meals. It was already opened, and Hunter was seated at the
small table inside. She had begun to tell him of what had
happened when the stranger came up again.
&odq;&onq;Good-evening,&cnq; said he, looking through the
window. &onq;I wanted to have a word with you.&cnq; The
girl has sworn that as he spoke she noticed the corner of the little
paper packet protruding from his closed hand.
&odq;&onq;What business have you here?&cnq; asked the lad.
&cdq; &onq;It's business that may put something into
your pocket,&cnq; said the other. &onq;You've two horses in
for the Wessex Cup — Silver Blaze and Bayard. Let me
have the straight tip and you won't be a loser. Is it a fact
that at the weights Bayard could give the other a hundred yards in
five furlongs, and that the stable have put their money on him?&cnq;
&odq;&onq;So, you're one of those damned touts!&cnq; cried the
lad. &onq;I'll show you how we serve them in King's
Pyland.&cnq; He sprang up and rushed across the stable to
unloose the dog. The girl fled away to the house, but as she
ran she looked back and saw that the stranger was leaning through the
window. A minute later, however, when Hunter rushed out with
the hound he was gone, and though he ran all round the buildings he
failed to find any trace of him.&cdq;
&odq;One moment,&cdq; I asked. &odq;Did the stable-boy,
when he ran out with the dog, leave the door unlocked behind
him?&cdq;
&odq;Excellent, Watson, excellent!&cdq; murmured my companion.
&odq;The importance of the point struck me so forcibly that I
sent a special wire to Dartmoor yesterday to clear the matter up.
The boy locked the door before he left it. The window,
I may add, was not large enough for a man to get through.
&odq;Hunter waited until his fellow-grooms had returned, when
he sent a message to the trainer and told him what had occurred.
Straker was excited at hearing the account, although he does
not seem to have quite realized its true significance. It left
him, however, vaguely uneasy, and Mrs. Straker, waking at one in the
morning, found that he was dressing. In reply to her
inquiries, he said that he could not sleep on account of his anxiety
about the horses, and that he intended to walk down to the stables to
see that all was well. She begged him to remain at home, as
she could hear the rain pattering against the window, but in spite of
her entreaties he pulled on his large mackintosh and left the house.
&odq;Mrs. Straker awoke at seven in the morning to find that
her husband had not yet returned. She dressed herself hastily,
called the maid, and set off for the stables. The door was
open; inside, huddled together upon a chair, Hunter was sunk in a
state of absolute stupor, the favourite's stall was empty, and there
were no signs of his trainer.
&odq;The two lads who slept in the chaff-cutting loft above the
harness-room were quickly aroused. They had heard nothing
during the night, for they are both sound sleepers. Hunter was
obviously under the influence of some powerful drug, and as no sense
could be got out of him, he was left to sleep it off while the two
lads and the two women ran out in search of the absentees.
They still had hopes that the trainer had for some reason
taken out the horse for early exercise, but on ascending the knoll
near the house, from which all the neighbouring moors were visible,
they not only could see no signs of the missing favourite, but they
perceived something which warned them that they were in the presence
of a tragedy.
&odq;About a quarter of a mile from the stables John Straker's
overcoat was flapping from a furze-bush. Immediately beyond
there was a bowl-shaped depression in the moor, and at the bottom of
this was found the dead body of the unfortunate trainer. His
head had been shattered by a savage blow from some heavy weapon, and
he was wounded on the thigh, where there was a long, clean cut,
inflicted evidently by some very sharp instrument. It was
clear, however, that Straker had defended himself vigorously against
his assailants, for in his right hand he held a small knife, which
was clotted with blood up to the handle, while in his left he clasped
a red and black silk cravat, which was recognized by the maid as
having been worn on the preceding evening by the stranger who had
visited the stables. Hunter, on recovering from his stupor,
was also quite positive as to the ownership of the cravat. He
was equally certain that the same stranger had, while standing at the
window, drugged his curried mutton, and so deprived the stables of
their watchman. As to the missing horse, there were abundant
proofs in the mud which lay at the bottom of the fatal hollow that he
had been there at the time of the struggle. But from that
morning he has disappeared, and although a large reward has been
offered, and all the gypsies of Dartmoor are on the alert, no news
has come of him. Finally, an analysis has shown that the
remains of his supper left by the stable-lad contained an appreciable
quantity of powdered opium, while the people at the house partook of
the same dish on the same night without any ill effect.
&odq;Those are the main facts of the case, stripped of all
surmise, and stated as baldly as possible. I shall now
recapitulate what the police have done in the matter.
&odq;Inspector Gregory, to whom the case has been committed, is
an extremely competent officer. Were he but gifted with
imagination he might rise to great heights in his profession.
On his arrival he promptly found and arrested the man upon
whom suspicion naturally rested. There was little difficulty
in finding him, for he inhabited one of those villas which I have
mentioned. His name, it appears, was Fitzroy Simpson.
He was a man of excellent birth and education, who had
squandered a fortune upon the turf, and who lived now by doing a
little quiet and genteel book-making in the sporting clubs of London.
An examination of his betting-book shows that bets to the
amount of five thousand pounds had been registered by him against the
favourite. On being arrested he volunteered the statement that
he had come down to Dartmoor in the hope of getting some information
about the King's Pyland horses, and also about Desborough, the second
favourite, which was in charge of Silas Brown at the Mapleton
stables. He did not attempt to deny that he had acted as
described upon the evening before, but declared that he had no
sinister designs and had simply wished to obtain first-hand
information. When confronted with his cravat he turned very
pale and was utterly unable to account for its presence in the hand
of the murdered man. His wet clothing showed that he had been
out in the storm of the night before, and his stick, which was a
penang-lawyer weighted with lead, was just such a weapon as might, by
repeated blows, have inflicted the terrible injuries to which the
trainer had succumbed. On the other hand, there was no wound
upon his person, while the state of Straker's knife would show that
one at least of his assailants must bear his mark upon him.
There you have it all in a nutshell, Watson, and if you can
give me any light I shall be infinitely obliged to you.&cdq;
I had listened with the greatest interest to the statement
which Holmes, with characteristic clearness, had laid before me.
Though most of the facts were familiar to me, I had not
sufficiently appreciated their relative importance, nor their
connection to each other.
&odq;Is it not possible,&cdq; I suggested, &odq;that the
incised wound upon Straker may have been caused by his own knife in
the convulsive struggles which follow any brain injury?&cdq;
&odq;It is more than possible; it is probable,&cdq; said
Holmes. &odq;In that case one of the main points in favour of
the accused disappears.&cdq;
&odq;And yet,&cdq; said I, &odq;even now I fail to understand
what the theory of the police can be.&cdq;
&odq;I am afraid that whatever theory we state has very grave
objections to it,&cdq; returned my companion. &odq;The police
imagine, I take it, that this Fitzroy Simpson, having drugged the
lad, and having in some way obtained a duplicate key, opened the
stable door and took out the horse, with the intention, apparently,
of kidnapping him altogether. His bridle is missing, so that
Simpson must have put this on. Then, having left the door open
behind him, he was leading the horse away over the moor when he was
either met or overtaken by the trainer. A row naturally
ensued. Simpson beat out the trainer's brains with his heavy
stick without receiving any injury from the small knife which Straker
used in self-defence, and then the thief either led the horse on to
some secret hiding-place, or else it may have bolted during the
struggle, and be now wandering out on the moors. That is the
case as it appears to the police, and improbable as it is, all other
explanations are more improbable still. However, I shall very
quickly test the matter when I am once upon the spot, and until then
I cannot really see how we can get much further than our present
position.&cdq;
It was evening before we reached the little town of Tavistock,
which lies, like the boss of a shield, in the middle of the huge
circle of Dartmoor. Two gentlemen were awaiting us in the
station — the one a tall, fair man with lion-like hair and
beard and curiously penetrating light blue eyes; the other a small,
alert person, very neat and dapper, in a frock-coat and gaiters, with
trim little side-whiskers and an eyeglass. The latter was
Colonel Ross, the well-known sportsman; the other, Inspector Gregory;
a man who was rapidly making his name in the English detective
service.
&odq;I am delighted that you have come down, Mr. Holmes,&cdq;
said the colonel. &odq;The inspector here has done all that
could possibly be suggested, but I wish to leave no stone unturned in
trying to avenge poor Straker and in recovering my horse.&cdq;
&odq;Have there been any fresh developments?&cdq; asked Holmes.
&odq;I am sorry to say that we have made very little
progress,&cdq; said the inspector. &odq;We have an open
carriage outside, and as you would no doubt like to see the place
before the light fails, we might talk it over as we drive.&cdq;
A minute later we were all seated in a comfortable landau and
were rattling through the quaint old Devonshire city.
Inspector Gregory was full of his case and poured out a stream
of remarks, while Holmes threw in an occasional question or
interjection. Colonel Ross leaned back with his arms folded
and his hat tilted over his eyes, while I listened with interest to
the dialogue of the two detectives. Gregory was formulating
his theory, which was almost exactly what Holmes had foretold in the
train.
&odq;The net is drawn pretty close round Fitzroy Simpson,&cdq;
he remarked, &odq;and I believe myself that he is our man. At
the same time I recognize that the evidence is purely circumstantial,
and that some new development may upset it.&cdq;
&odq;How about Straker's knife?&cdq;
&odq;We have
quite come to the conclusion that he wounded himself in his
fall.&cdq;
&odq;My friend Dr. Watson made that suggestion to me as we came
down. If so, it would tell against this man Simpson.&cdq;
&odq;Undoubtedly. He has neither a knife nor any sign of
a wound. The evidence against him is certainly very strong.
He had a great interest in the disappearance of the favourite.
He lies under suspicion of having poisoned the stable-boy; he
was undoubtedly out in the storm; he was armed with a heavy stick,
and his cravat was found in the dead man's hand. I really
think we have enough to go before a jury.&cdq;
Holmes shook his head. &odq;A clever counsel would tear
it all to rags,&cdq; said he. &odq;Why should he take the
horse out of the stable? If he wished to injure it, why could
he not do it there? Has a duplicate key been found in his
possession? What chemist sold him the powdered opium?
Above all, where could he, a stranger to the district, hide a
horse, and such a horse as this? What is his own explanation
as to the paper which he wished the maid to give to the
stable-boy?&cdq;
&odq;He says that it was a ten-pound note. One was found
in his purse. But your other difficulties are not so
formidable as they seem. He is not a stranger to the district.
He has twice lodged at Tavistock in the summer. The
opium was probably brought from London. The key, having served
its purpose, would be hurled away. The horse may be at the
bottom of one of the pits or old mines upon the moor.&cdq;
&odq;What does he say about the cravat?&cdq;
&odq;He acknowledges that it is his and declares that
he had lost it. But a new element has been introduced into the
case which may account for his leading the horse from the
stable.&cdq;
Holmes pricked up his ears.
&odq;We have found
traces which show that a party of gypsies encamped on Monday night
within a mile of the spot where the murder took place. On
Tuesday they were gone. Now, presuming that there was some
understanding between Simpson and these gypsies, might he not have
been leading the horse to them when he was overtaken, and may they
not have him now?&cdq;
&odq;It is certainly possible.&cdq;
&odq;The moor
is being scoured for these gypsies. I have also examined every
stable and outhouse in Tavistock, and for a radius of ten miles.&cdq;
&odq;There is another training-stable quite close, I
understand?&cdq;
&odq;Yes, and that is a factor which we must certainly not
neglect. As Desborough, their horse, was second in the
betting, they had an interest in the disappearance of the favourite.
Silas Brown, the trainer, is known to have had large bets upon
the event, and he was no friend to poor Straker. We have,
however, examined the stables, and there is nothing to connect him
with the affair.&cdq;
&odq;And nothing to connect this man Simpson with the interests
of the Mapleton stables?&cdq;
&odq;Nothing at all.&cdq;
Holmes leaned back in
the carriage, and the conversation ceased. A few minutes later
our driver pulled up at a neat little red-brick villa with
overhanging eaves which stood by the road. Some distance off,
across a paddock, lay a long gray-tiled outbuilding. In every
other direction the low curves of the moor, bronze-coloured from the
fading ferns, stretched away to the sky-line, broken only by the
steeples of Tavistock, and by a cluster of houses away to the
westward which marked the Mapleton stables. We all sprang out
with the exception of Holmes, who continued to lean back with his
eyes fixed upon the sky in front of him, entirely absorbed in his own
thoughts. It was only when I touched his arm that he roused
himself with a violent start and stepped out of the carriage.
&odq;Excuse me,&cdq; said he, turning to Colonel Ross, who had
looked at him in some surprise. &odq;I was day-dreaming.&cdq;
There was a gleam in his eyes and a suppressed excitement in
his manner which convinced me, used as I was to his ways, that his
hand was upon a clue, though I could not imagine where he had found
it.
&odq;Perhaps you would prefer at once to go on to the scene of
the crime, Mr. Holmes?&cdq; said Gregory.
&odq;I think that I should prefer to stay here a little and go
into one or two questions of detail. Straker was brought back
here, I presume?&cdq;
&odq;Yes, he lies upstairs. The inquest is
to-morrow.&cdq;
&odq;He has been in your service some years, Colonel Ross?&cdq;
&odq;I have always found him an excellent servant.&cdq;
&odq;I presume that you made an inventory of what he
had in his pockets at the time of his death, Inspector?&cdq;
&odq;I have the things themselves in the sitting-room if you
would care to see them.&cdq;
&odq;I should be very glad.&cdq; We all filed into the
front room and sat round the central table while the inspector
unlocked a square tin box and laid a small heap of things before us.
There was a box of vestas, two inches of tallow candle, an A D
P brier-root pipe, a pouch of sealskin with half an ounce of long-cut
Cavendish, a silver watch with a gold chain, five sovereigns in gold,
an aluminum pencil-case, a few papers, and an ivory-handled knife
with a very delicate, inflexible blade marked Weiss & Co., London.
&odq;This is a very singular knife,&cdq; said Holmes, lifting
it up and examining it minutely. &odq;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?&cdq;
&odq;It is what we call a cataract knife,&cdq; said I.
&odq;I thought so. A very delicate blade devised
for very delicate work. A strange thing for a man to carry
with him upon a rough expedition, especially as it would not shut in
his pocket.&cdq;
&odq;The tip was guarded by a disc of cork which we found
beside his body,&cdq; said the inspector. &odq;His wife tells
us that the knife had lain upon the dressing-table, and that he had
picked it up as he left the room. It was a poor weapon, but
perhaps the best that he could lay his hands on at the moment.&cdq;
&odq;Very possibly. How about these papers?&cdq;
&odq;Three of them are receipted hay-dealers' accounts.
One of them is a letter of instructions from Colonel Ross.
This other is a milliner's account for thirty-seven pounds
fifteen made out by Madame Lesurier, of Bond Street, to William
Derbyshire. Mrs. Straker tells us that Derbyshire was a friend
of her husband's and that occasionally his letters were addressed
here.&cdq;
&odq;Madame Derbyshire had somewhat expensive tastes,&cdq;
remarked Holmes, glancing down the account. &odq;Twenty-two
guineas is rather heavy for a single costume. However, there
appears to be nothing more to learn, and we may now go down to the
scene of the crime.&cdq;
As we emerged from the sitting-room a woman, who had been
waiting in the passage, took a step forward and laid her hand upon
the inspector's sleeve. Her face was haggard and thin and
eager, stamped with the print of a recent horror.
&odq;Have you got them? Have you found them?&cdq; she
panted.
&odq;No, Mrs. Straker. But Mr. Holmes here has come from
London to help us, and we shall do all that is possible.&cdq;
&odq;Surely I met you in Plymouth at a garden-party some little
time ago, Mrs. Straker?&cdq; said Holmes.
&odq;No, sir; you are mistaken.&cdq;
&odq;Dear
me! Why, I could have sworn to it. You wore a costume
of dove-coloured silk with ostrich-feather trimming.&cdq;
&odq;I never had such a dress, sir,&cdq; answered the lady.
&odq;Ah, that quite settles it,&cdq; said Holmes.
And with an apology he followed the inspector outside.
A short walk across the moor took us to the hollow in which
the body had been found. At the brink of it was the furze-bush
upon which the coat had been hung.
&odq;There was no wind that night, I understand,&cdq; said
Holmes.
&odq;None, but very heavy rain.&cdq;
&odq;In that
case the overcoat was not blown against the furze-bush, but placed
there.&cdq;
&odq;Yes, it was laid across the bush.&cdq;
&odq;You fill me with interest. I perceive that
the ground has been trampled up a good deal. No doubt many
feet have been here since Monday night.&cdq;
&odq;A piece of matting has been laid here at the side, and we
have all stood upon that.&cdq;
&odq;Excellent.&cdq;
&odq;In this bag I have one
of the boots which Straker wore, one of Fitzroy Simpson's shoes, and
a cast horseshoe of Silver Blaze.&cdq;
&odq;My dear Inspector, you surpass yourself!&cdq;
Holmes took the bag, and, descending into the hollow, he
pushed the matting into a more central position. Then
stretching himself upon his face and leaning his chin upon his hands,
he made a careful study of the trampled mud in front of him.
&odq;Hullo!&cdq; said he suddenly. &odq;What's
this?&cdq; It was a wax vesta, half burned, which was so
coated with mud that it looked at first like a little chip of wood.
&odq;I cannot think how I came to overlook it,&cdq; said the
inspector with an expression of annoyance.
&odq;It was invisible, buried in the mud. I only saw it
because I was looking for it.&cdq;
&odq;What! you expected to find it?&cdq;
&odq;I
thought it not unlikely.&cdq;
He took the boots from the bag and compared the impressions of
each of them with marks upon the ground. Then he clambered up
to the rim of the hollow and crawled about among the ferns and
bushes.
&odq;I am afraid that there are no more tracks,&cdq; said the
inspector. &odq;I have examined the ground very carefully for
a hundred yards in each direction.&cdq;
&odq;Indeed!&cdq; said Holmes, rising. &odq;I should not
have the impertinence to do it again after what you say. But I
should like to take a little walk over the moor before it grows dark
that I may know my ground to-morrow, and I think that I shall put
this horseshoe into my pocket for luck.&cdq;
Colonel Ross, who had shown some signs of impatience at my
companion's quiet and systematic method of work, glanced at his
watch. &odq;I wish you would come back with me,
Inspector,&cdq; said he. &odq;There are several points on
which I should like your advice, and especially as to whether we do
not owe it to the public to remove our horse's name from the entries
for the cup.&cdq;
&odq;Certainly not,&cdq; cried Holmes with decision.
&odq;I should let the name stand.&cdq;
The colonel bowed. &odq;I am very glad to have had your
opinion, sir,&cdq; said he. &odq;You will find us at poor
Straker's house when you have finished your walk, and we can drive
together into Tavistock.&cdq;
He turned back with the inspector, while Holmes and I walked
slowly across the moor. The sun was beginning to sink behind
the stable of Mapleton, and the long sloping plain in front of us was
tinged with gold, deepening into rich, ruddy browns where the faded
ferns and brambles caught the evening light. But the glories
of the landscape were all wasted upon my companion, who was sunk in
the deepest thought.
&odq;It's this way, Watson,&cdq; said he at last.
&odq;We may leave the question of who killed John Straker for
the instant and confine ourselves to finding out what has become of
the horse. Now, supposing that he broke away during or after
the tragedy, where could he have gone to? The horse is a very
gregarious creature. If left to himself his instincts would
have been either to return to King's Pyland or go over to Mapleton.
Why should he run wild upon the moor? He would surely
have been seen by now. And why should gypsies kidnap him?
These people always clear out when they hear of trouble, for
they do not wish to be pestered by the police. They could not
hope to sell such a horse. They would run a great risk and
gain nothing by taking him. Surely that is clear.&cdq;
&odq;Where is he, then?&cdq;
&odq;I have already
said that he must have gone to King's Pyland or to Mapleton.
He is not at King's Pyland. Therefore he is at
Mapleton. Let us take that as a working hypothesis and see
what it leads us to. This part of the moor, as the inspector
remarked, is very hard and dry. But it falls away towards
Mapleton, and you can see from here that there is a long hollow over
yonder, which must have been very wet on Monday night. If our
supposition is correct, then the horse must have crossed that, and
there is the point where we should look for his tracks.&cdq;
We had been walking briskly during this conversation, and a few
more minutes brought us to the hollow in question. At Holmes's
request I walked down the bank to the right, and he to the left, but
I had not taken fifty paces before I heard him give a shout and saw
him waving his hand to me. The track of a horse was plainly
outlined in the soft earth in front of him, and the shoe which he
took from his pocket exactly fitted the impression.
&odq;See the value of imagination,&cdq; said Holmes.
&odq;It is the one quality which Gregory lacks. We
imagined what might have happened, acted upon the supposition, and
find ourselves justified. Let us proceed.&cdq;
We crossed the marshy bottom and passed over a quarter of a
mile of dry, hard turf. Again the ground sloped, and again we
came on the tracks. Then we lost them for half a mile, but
only to pick them up once more quite close to Mapleton. It was
Holmes who saw them first, and he stood pointing with a look of
triumph upon his face. A man's track was visible beside the
horse's.
&odq;The horse was alone before,&cdq; I cried.
&odq;Quite so. It was alone before.
Hullo, what is this?&cdq;
The double track turned sharp off and took the direction of
King's Pyland. Holmes whistled, and we both followed along
after it. His eyes were on the trail, but I happened to look a
little to one side and saw to my surprise the same tracks coming back
again in the opposite direction.
&odq;One for you, Watson,&cdq; said Holmes when I pointed it
out. &odq;You have saved us a long walk, which would have
brought us back on our own traces. Let us follow the return
track.&cdq;
We had not to go far. It ended at the paving of asphalt
which led up to the gates of the Mapleton stables. As we
approached, a groom ran out from them.
&odq;We don't want any loiterers about here,&cdq; said he.
&odq;I only wished to ask a question,&cdq; said Holmes,
with his finger and thumb in his waistcoat pocket. &odq;Should
I be too early to see your master, Mr. Silas Brown, if I were to call
at five o'clock to-morrow morning?&cdq;
&odq;Bless you, sir, if anyone is about he will be, for he is
always the first stirring. But here he is, sir, to answer your
questions for himself. No, sir, no, it is as much as my place
is worth to let him see me touch your money. Afterwards, if
you like.&cdq;
As Sherlock Holmes replaced the half-crown which he had drawn
from his pocket, a fierce-looking elderly man strode out from the
gate with a hunting-crop swinging in his hand.
&odq;What's this, Dawson!&cdq; he cried. &odq;No
gossiping! Go about your business! And you, what the
devil do you want here?&cdq;
&odq;Ten minutes' talk with you, my good sir,&cdq; said Holmes
in the sweetest of voices.
&odq;I've no time to talk to every gadabout. We want no
strangers here. Be off, or you may find a dog at your
heels.&cdq;
Holmes leaned forward and whispered something in the trainer's
ear. He started violently and flushed to the temples.
&odq;It's a lie!&cdq; he shouted. &odq;An infernal
lie!&cdq;
&odq;Very good. Shall we argue about it here in public
or talk it over in your parlour?&cdq;
&odq;Oh, come in if you wish to.&cdq;
Holmes
smiled. &odq;I shall not keep you more than a few minutes,
Watson.&cdq; said he. &odq;Now. Mr. Brown. I am
quite at your disposal.&cdq;
It was twenty minutes, and the reds had all faded into grays
before Holmes and the trainer reappeared. Never have I seen
such a change as had been brought about in Silas Brown in that short
time. His face was ashy pale, beads of perspiration shone upon
his brow, and his hands shook until the hunting-crop wagged like a
branch in the wind. His bullying, overbearing manner was all
gone too, and he cringed along at my companion's side like a dog with
its master.
&odq;Your instructions will be done. It shall all be
done,&cdq; said he.
&odq;There must be no mistake,&cdq; said Holmes, looking round
at him. The other winced as he read the menace in his eyes.
&odq;Oh, no, there shall be no mistake. It shall be
there. Should I change it first or not?&cdq;
Holmes thought a little and then burst out laughing.
&odq;No, don't,&cdq; said he, &odq;I shall write to you about
it. No tricks, now, or — &cdq;
&odq;Oh, you can trust me, you can trust me!&cdq;
&odq;Yes, I think I can. Well, you shall hear
from me to-morrow.&cdq; He turned upon his heel, disregarding
the trembling hand which the other held out to him, and we set off
for King's Pyland.
&odq;A more perfect compound of the bully, coward, and sneak
than Master Silas Brown I have seldom met with,&cdq; remarked Holmes
as we trudged along together.
&odq;He has the horse, then?&cdq;
&odq;He tried
to bluster out of it, but I described to him so exactly what his
actions had been upon that morning that he is convinced that I was
watching him. Of course you observed the peculiarly square
toes in the impressions, and that his own boots exactly corresponded
to them. Again, of course no subordinate would have dared to
do such a thing. I described to him how, when according to his
custom he was the first down, he perceived a strange horse wandering
over the moor. How he went out to it, and his astonishment at
recognizing, from the white forehead which has given the favourite
its name, that chance had put in his power the only horse which could
beat the one upon which he had put his money. Then I described
how his first impulse had been to lead him back to King's Pyland, and
how the devil had shown him how he could hide the horse until the
race was over, and how he had led it back and concealed it at
Mapleton. When I told him every detail he gave it up and
thought only of saving his own skin.&cdq;
&odq;But his stables had been searched?&cdq;
&odq;Oh, an old horse-faker like him has many a
dodge.&cdq;
&odq;But are you not afraid to leave the horse in his power now
since he has every interest in injuring it?&cdq;
&odq;My dear fellow, he will guard it as the apple of his eye.
He knows that his only hope of mercy is to produce it
safe.&cdq;
&odq;Colonel Ross did not impress me as a man who would be
likely to show much mercy in any case.&cdq;
&odq;The matter does not rest with Colonel Ross. I
follow my own methods and tell as much or as little as I choose.
That is the advantage of being unofficial. I don't know
whether you observed it, Watson, but the colonel's manner has been
just a trifle cavalier to me. I am inclined now to have a
little amusement at his expense. Say nothing to him about the
horse.&cdq;
&odq;Certainly not without your permission.&cdq;
&odq;And of course this is all quite a minor point
compared to the question of who killed John Straker.&cdq;
&odq;And you will devote yourself to that?&cdq;
&odq;On the contrary, we both go back to London by the
night train.&cdq;
I was thunderstruck by my friend's words. We had only
been a few hours in Devonshire, and that he should give up an
investigation which he had begun so brilliantly was quite
incomprehensible to me. Not a word more could I draw from him
until we were back at the trainer's house. The colonel and the
inspector were awaiting us in the parlour.
&odq;My friend and I return to town by the night-express,&cdq;
said Holmes. &odq;We have had a charming little breath of your
beautiful Dartmoor air.&cdq;
The inspector opened his eyes, and the colonel's lip curled in
a sneer.
&odq;So you despair of arresting the murderer of poor
Straker,&cdq; said he.
Holmes shrugged his shoulders. &odq;There are certainly
grave difficulties in the way,&cdq; said he. &odq;I have every
hope, however, that your horse will start upon Tuesday, and I beg
that you will have your jockey in readiness. Might I ask for a
photograph of Mr. John Straker?&cdq;
The inspector took one from an envelope and handed it to him.
&odq;My dear Gregory, you anticipate all my wants. If I
might ask you to wait here for an instant, I have a question which I
should like to put to the maid.&cdq;
&odq;I must say that I am rather disappointed in our London
consultant,&cdq; said Colonel Ross bluntly as my friend left the
room. &odq;I do not see that we are any further than when he
came.&cdq;
&odq;At least you have his assurance that your horse will
run,&cdq; said I.
&odq;Yes, I have his assurance,&cdq; said the colonel with a
shrug of his shoulders. &odq;I should prefer to have the
horse.&cdq;
I was about to make some reply in defence of my friend when he
entered the room again.
&odq;Now, gentlemen,&cdq; said he, &odq;I am quite ready for
Tavistock.&cdq;
As we stepped into the carriage one of the stable-lads held the
door open for us. A sudden idea seemed to occur to Holmes, for
he leaned forward and touched the lad upon the sleeve.
&odq;You have a few sheep in the paddock,&cdq; he said.
&odq;Who attends to them?&cdq;
&odq;I do, sir.&cdq;
&odq;Have you noticed
anything amiss with them of late?&cdq;
&odq;Well, sir, not of much account, but three of them have
gone lame, sir.&cdq;
I could see that Holmes was extremely pleased, for he chuckled
and rubbed his hands together.
&odq;A long shot, Watson, a very long shot,&cdq; said he,
pinching my arm. &odq;Gregory, let me recommend to your
attention this singular epidemic among the sheep. Drive on,
coachman!&cdq;
Colonel Ross still wore an expression which showed the poor
opinion which he had formed of my companion's ability, but I saw by
the inspector's face that his attention had been keenly aroused.
&odq;You consider that to be important?&cdq; he asked.
&odq;Exceedingly so.&cdq;
&odq;Is there any point to which you would wish to draw my
attention?&cdq;
&odq;To the curious incident of the dog in the night-time.&cdq;
&odq;The dog did nothing in the night-time.&cdq;
&odq;That was the curious incident,&cdq; remarked
Sherlock Holmes.
Four days later Holmes and I were again in the train, bound for
Winchester to see the race for the Wessex Cup. Colonel Ross
met us by appointment outside the station, and we drove in his drag
to the course beyond the town. His face was grave, and his
manner was cold in the extreme.
&odq;I have seen nothing of my horse,&cdq; said he.
&odq;I suppose that you would know him when you saw
him?&cdq; asked Holmes.
The colonel was very angry. &odq;I have been on the turf
for twenty years and never was asked such a question as that
before,&cdq; said he. &odq;A child would know Silver Blaze
with his white forehead and his mottled off-foreleg.&cdq;
&odq;How is the betting?&cdq;
&odq;Well, that is
the curious part of it. You could have got fifteen to one
yesterday, but the price has become shorter and shorter, until you
can hardly get three to one now.&cdq;
&odq;Hum!&cdq; said Holmes. &odq;Somebody knows
something, that is clear.&cdq;
As the drag drew up in the enclosure near the grandstand I
glanced at the card to see the entries.
Wessex Plate [ it ran ] 50 sovs. each h ft with 1000 sovs. added, for four and five year olds.Second, 300 pounds.Third, 200 pounds.New course ( one mile and five furlongs ).1. Mr. Heath Newton's The Negro.Red cap.Cinnamon jacket.2. Colonel Wardlaw's Pugilist.Pink cap.Blue and black jacket.3. Lord Backwater's Desborough.Yellow cap and sleeves.4. Colonel Ross's Silver Blaze.Black cap.Red jacket.5. Duke of Balmoral's Iris.Yellow and black stripes.6. Lord Singleford's Rasper.Purple cap.Black sleeves.
&odq;We scratched our other one and put all hopes on your
word,&cdq; said the colonel. &odq;Why, what is that?
Silver Blaze favourite?&cdq;
&odq;Five to four against Silver Blaze!&cdq; roared the ring.
&odq;Five to four against Silver Blaze! Five to fifteen
against Desborough! Five to four on the field!&cdq;
&odq;There are the numbers up,&cdq; I cried. &odq;They
are all six there.&cdq;
&odq;All six there? Then my horse is running,&cdq; cried
the colonel in great agitation. &odq;But I don't see him.
My colours have not passed.&cdq;
&odq;Only five have passed. This must be he.&cdq;
As I spoke a powerful bay horse swept out from the
weighing enclosure and cantered past us, bearing on its back the
well-known black and red of the colonel.
&odq;That's not my horse,&cdq; cried the owner.
&odq;That beast has not a white hair upon its body.
What is this that you have done, Mr. Holmes?&cdq;
&odq;Well, well, let us see how he gets on,&cdq; said my friend
imperturbably. For a few minutes he gazed through my
field-glass. &odq;Capital! An excellent start!&cdq; he
cried suddenly. &odq;There they are, coming round the
curve!&cdq;
From our drag we had a superb view as they came up the
straight. The six horses were so close together that a carpet
could have covered them, but halfway up the yellow of the Mapleton
stable showed to the front. Before they reached us, however,
Desborough's bolt was shot, and the colonel's horse, coming away with
a rush, passed the post a good six lengths before its rival, the Duke
of Balmoral's Iris making a bad third.
&odq;It's my race, anyhow,&cdq; gasped the colonel, passing his
hand over his eyes. &odq;I confess that I can make neither
head nor tail of it. Don't you think that you have kept up
your mystery long enough, Mr. Holmes?&cdq;
&odq;Certainly, Colonel, you shall know everything. Let
us all go round and have a look at the horse together. Here he
is,&cdq; he continued as we made our way into the weighing enclosure,
where only owners and their friends find admittance. &odq;You
have only to wash his face and his leg in spirits of wine, and you
will find that he is the same old Silver Blaze as ever.&cdq;
&odq;You take my breath away!&cdq;
&odq;I found
him in the hands of a faker and took the liberty of running him just
as he was sent over.&cdq;
&odq;My dear sir, you have done wonders. The horse looks
very fit and well. It never went better in its life. I
owe you a thousand apologies for having doubted your ability.
You have done me a great service by recovering my horse.
You would do me a greater still if you could lay your hands on
the murderer of John Straker.&cdq;
&odq;I have done so,&cdq; said Holmes quietly.
The colonel and I stared at him in amazement.
&odq;You have got him! Where is he, then?&cdq;
&odq;He is here.&cdq;
&odq;Here!
Where?&cdq;
&odq;In my company at the present moment.&cdq;
The colonel flushed angrily. &odq;I quite
recognize that I am under obligations to you, Mr. Holmes,&cdq; said
he, &odq;but I must regard what you have just said as either a very
bad joke or an insult.&cdq;
Sherlock Holmes laughed. &odq;I assure you that I have
not associated you with the crime, Colonel,&cdq; said he.
&odq;The real murderer is standing immediately behind
you.&cdq; He stepped past and laid his hand upon the glossy
neck of the thoroughbred.
&odq;The horse!&cdq; cried both the colonel and myself.
&odq;Yes, the horse. And it may lessen his guilt
if I say that it was done in self-defence, and that John Straker was
a man who was entirely unworthy of your confidence. But there
goes the bell, and as I stand to win a little on this next race, I
shall defer a lengthy explanation until a more fitting time.&cdq;
We had the corner of a Pullman car to ourselves that evening as
we whirled back to London, and I fancy that the journey was a short
one to Colonel Ross as well as to myself as we listened to our
companion's narrative of the events which had occurred at the
Dartmoor training-stables upon that Monday night, and the means by
which he had unravelled them.
&odq;I confess,&cdq; said he, &odq;that any theories which I
had formed from the newspaper reports were entirely erroneous.
And yet there were indications there, had they not been
overlaid by other details which concealed their true import. I
went to Devonshire with the conviction that Fitzroy Simpson was the
true culprit, although, of course, I saw that the evidence against
him was by no means complete. It was while I was in the
carriage, just as we reached the trainer's house, that the immense
significance of the curried mutton occurred to me. You may
remember that I was distrait and remained sitting after you had all
alighted. I was marvelling in my own mind how I could possibly
have overlooked so obvious a clue.&cdq;
&odq;I confess,&cdq; said the colonel, &odq;that even now I
cannot see how it helps us.&cdq;
&odq;It was the first link in my chain of reasoning.
Powdered opium is by no means tasteless. The flavour is
not disagreeable, but it is perceptible. Were it mixed with
any ordinary dish the eater would undoubtedly detect it and would
probably eat no more. A curry was exactly the medium which
would disguise this taste. By no possible supposition could
this stranger, Fitzroy Simpson, have caused curry to be served in the
trainer's family that night, and it is surely too monstrous a
coincidence to suppose that he happened to come along with powdered
opium upon the very night when a dish happened to be served which
would disguise the flavour. That is unthinkable.
Therefore Simpson becomes eliminated from the case, and our
attention centres upon Straker and his wife, the only two people who
could have chosen curried mutton for supper that night. The
opium was added after the dish was set aside for the stable-boy, for
the others had the same for supper with no ill effects. Which
of them, then, had access to that dish without the maid seeing them?
&odq;Before deciding that question I had grasped the
significance of the silence of the dog, for one true inference
invariably suggests others. The Simpson incident had shown me
that a dog was kept in the stables, and yet, though someone had been
in and had fetched out a horse, he had not barked enough to arouse
the two lads in the loft. Obviously the midnight visitor was
someone whom the dog knew well.
&odq;I was already convinced, or almost convinced, that John
Straker went down to the stables in the dead of the night and took
out Silver Blaze. For what purpose? For a dishonest
one, obviously, or why should he drug his own stable-boy? And
yet I was at a loss to know why. There have been cases before
now where trainers have made sure of great sums of money by laying
against their own horses through agents and then preventing them from
winning by fraud. Sometimes it is a pulling jockey.
Sometimes it is some surer and subtler means. What was
it here? I hoped that the contents of his pockets might help
me to form a conclusion.
&odq;And they did so. You cannot have forgotten the
singular knife which was found in the dead man's hand, a knife which
certainly no sane man would choose for a weapon. It was, as
Dr. Watson told us, a form of knife which is used for the most
delicate operations known in surgery. And it was to be used
for a delicate operation that night. You must know, with your
wide experience of turf matters, Colonel Ross, that it is possible to
make a slight nick upon the tendons of a horse's ham, and to do it
subcutaneously, so as to leave absolutely no trace. A horse so
treated would develop a slight lameness, which would be put down to a
strain in exercise or a touch of rheumatism, but never to foul
play.&cdq;
&odq;Villain! Scoundrel!&cdq; cried the colonel.
&odq;We have here the explanation of why John Straker
wished to take the horse out on to the moor. So spirited a
creature would have certainly roused the soundest of sleepers when it
felt the prick of the knife. It was absolutely necessary to do
it in the open air.&cdq;
&odq;I have been blind!&cdq; cried the colonel. &odq;Of
course that was why he needed the candle and struck the match.&cdq;
&odq;Undoubtedly. But in examining his belongings I was
fortunate enough to discover not only the method of the crime but
even its motives. As a man of the world, Colonel, you know
that men do not carry other people's bills about in their pockets.
We have most of us quite enough to do to settle our own.
I at once concluded that Straker was leading a double life and
keeping a second establishment. The nature of the bill showed
that there was a lady in the case, and one who had expensive tastes.
Liberal as you are with your servants, one can hardly expect
that they can buy twenty-guinea walking dresses for their ladies.
I questioned Mrs. Straker as to the dress without her knowing
it, and, having satisfied myself that it had never reached her, I
made a note of the milliner's address and felt that by calling there
with Straker's photograph I could easily dispose of the mythical
Derbyshire.
&odq;From that time on all was plain. Straker had led
out the horse to a hollow where his light would be invisible.
Simpson in his flight had dropped his cravat, and Straker had
picked it up — with some idea, perhaps, that he might use it
in securing the horse's leg. Once in the hollow, he had got
behind the horse and had struck a light; but the creature, frightened
at the sudden glare, and with the strange instinct of animals feeling
that some mischief was intended, had lashed out, and the steel shoe
had struck Straker full on the forehead. He had already, in
spite of the rain, taken off his overcoat in order to do his delicate
task, and so, as he fell, his knife gashed his thigh. Do I
make it clear?&cdq;
&odq;Wonderful!&cdq; cried the colonel. &odq;Wonderful!
You might have been there!&cdq;
&odq;My final shot was, I confess, a very long one. It
struck me that so astute a man as Straker would not undertake this
delicate tendon-nicking without a little practise. What could
he practise on? My eyes fell upon the sheep, and I asked a
question which, rather to my surprise, showed that my surmise was
correct.
&odq;When I returned to London I called upon the milliner, who
had recognized Straker as an excellent customer of the name of
Derbyshire, who had a very dashing wife, with a strong partiality for
expensive dresses. I have no doubt that this woman had plunged
him over head and ears in debt, and so led him into this miserable
plot.&cdq;
&odq;You have explained all but one thing,&cdq; cried the
colonel. &odq;Where was the horse?&cdq;
&odq;Ah, it bolted, and was cared for by one of your
neighbours. We must have an amnesty in that direction, I
think. This is Clapham Junction, if I am not mistaken, and we
shall be in Victoria in less than ten minutes. If you care to
smoke a cigar in our rooms, Colonel, I shall be happy to give you any
other details which might interest you.&cdq;
In choosing a few typical cases which illustrate the remarkable
mental qualities of my friend, Sherlock Holmes, I have endeavoured,
as far as possible, to select those which presented the minimum of
sensationalism, while offering a fair field for his talents.
It is, however, unfortunately impossible entirely to separate
the sensational from the criminal, and a chronicler is left in the
dilemma that he must either sacrifice details which are essential to
his statement and so give a false impression of the problem, or he
must use matter which chance, and not choice, has provided him with.
With this short preface I shall turn to my notes of what
proved to be a strange, though a peculiarly terrible, chain of
events.
It was a blazing hot day in August. Baker Street was
like an oven, and the glare of the sunlight upon the yellow brickwork
of the house across the road was painful to the eye. It was
hard to believe that these were the same walls which loomed so
gloomily through the fogs of winter. Our blinds were
half-drawn, and Holmes lay curled upon the sofa, reading and
re-reading a letter which he had received by the morning post.
For myself, my term of service in India had trained me to
stand heat better than cold, and a thermometer at ninety was no
hardship. But the morning paper was uninteresting.
Parliament had risen. Everybody was out of town, and I
yearned for the glades of the New Forest or the shingle of Southsea.
A depleted bank account had caused me to postpone my holiday,
and as to my companion, neither the country nor the sea presented the
slightest attraction to him. He loved to lie in the very
centre of five millions of people, with his filaments stretching out
and running through them, responsive to every little rumour or
suspicion of unsolved crime. Appreciation of nature found no
place among his many gifts, and his only change was when he turned
his mind from the evil-doer of the town to track down his brother of
the country.
Finding that Holmes was too absorbed for conversation I had
tossed aside the barren paper, and leaning back in my chair I fell
into a brown study. Suddenly my companion's voice broke in
upon my thoughts:
&odq;You are right, Watson,&cdq; said he. &odq;It does
seem a most preposterous way of settling a dispute.&cdq;
&odq;Most preposterous!&cdq; I exclaimed, and then suddenly
realizing how he had echoed the inmost thought of my soul, I sat up
in my chair and stared at him in blank amazement.
&odq;What is this, Holmes?&cdq; I cried. &odq;This is
beyond anything which I could have imagined.&cdq;
He laughed heartily at my perplexity.
&odq;You
remember,&cdq; said he, &odq;that some little time ago when I read
you the passage in one of Poe's sketches in which a close reasoner
follows the unspoken thoughts of his companion, you were inclined to
treat the matter as a mere tour-de-force of the author. On my
remarking that I was constantly in the habit of doing the same thing
you expressed incredulity.&cdq;
&odq;Oh, no!&cdq;
&odq;Perhaps not with your
tongue, my dear Watson, but certainly with your eyebrows. So
when I saw you throw down your paper and enter upon a train of
thought, I was very happy to have the oportunity of reading it off,
and eventually of breaking into it, as a proof that I had been in
rapport with you.&cdq;
But I was still far from satisfied. &odq;In the example
which you read to me,&cdq; said I, &odq;the reasoner drew his
conclusions from the actions of the man whom he observed. If I
remember right, he stumbled 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 I have given you?&cdq;
&odq;You do yourself an injustice. The features are
given to man as the means by which he shall express his emotions, and
yours are faithful servants.&cdq;
&odq;Do you mean to say that you read my train of thoughts from
my features?&cdq;
&odq;Your features and especially your eyes. Perhaps you
cannot yourself recall how your reverie commenced?&cdq;
&odq;No, I cannot.&cdq;
&odq;Then I will tell
you. After throwing down your paper, which was the action
which drew my attention to you, you sat for half a minute with a
vacant expression. Then your eyes fixed themselves upon your
newly framed picture of General Gordon, and I saw by the alteration
in your face that a train of thought had been started. But it
did not lead very far. Your eyes flashed across to the
unframed portrait of Henry Ward Beecher which stands upon the top of
your books. Then you glanced up at the wall, and of course
your meaning was obvious. You were thinking that if the
portrait were framed it would just cover that bare space and
correspond with Gordon's picture over there.&cdq;
&odq;You have followed me wonderfully!&cdq; I exclaimed.
&odq;So far I could hardly have gone astray. But
now your thoughts went back to Beecher, and you looked hard across as
if you were studying the character in his features. Then your
eyes ceased to pucker, but you continued to look across, and your
face was thoughtful. You were recalling the incidents of
Beecher's career. I was well aware that you could not do this
without thinking of the mission which he undertook on behalf of the
North at the time of the Civil War, for I remember your expressing
your passionate indignation at the way in which he was received by
the more turbulent of our people. You felt so strongly about
it that I knew you could not think of Beecher without thinking of
that also. When a moment later I saw your eyes wander away
from the picture, I suspected that your mind had now turned to the
Civil War, and when I observed that your lips set, your eyes
sparkled, and your hands clenched I was positive that you were indeed
thinking of the gallantry which was shown by both sides in that
desperate struggle. But then, again, your face grew sadder;
you shook your head. You were dwelling upon the sadness and
horror and useless waste of life. Your hand stole towards your
own old wound and a smile quivered on your lips, which showed me that
the ridiculous side of this method of settling international
questions had forced itself upon your mind. At this point I
agreed with you that it was preposterous and was glad to find that
all my deductions had been correct.&cdq;
&odq;Absolutely!&cdq; said I. &odq;And now that you have
explained it, I confess that I am as amazed as before.&cdq;
&odq;It was very superficial, my dear Watson, I assure you.
I should not have intruded it upon your attention had you not
shown some incredulity the other day. But I have in my hands
here a little problem which may prove to be more difficult of
solution than my small essay in thought reading. Have you
observed in the paper a short paragraph referring to the remarkable
contents of a packet sent through the post to Miss Cushing, of Cross
Street, Croydon?&cdq;
&odq;No, I saw nothing.&cdq;
&odq;Ah! then you
must have overlooked it. Just toss it over to me. Here
it is, under the financial column. Perhaps you would be good
enough to read it aloud.&cdq;
I picked up the paper which he had thrown back to me and read
the paragraph indicated. It was headed &odq;A Gruesome
Packet.&cdq;
&odq;Miss Susan Cushing, living at Cross Street, Croydon, has been made the victim of what must be regarded as a peculiarly revolting practical joke unless some more sinister meaning should prove to be attached to the incident.At two o'clock yesterday afternoon a small packet, wrapped in brown paper, was handed in by the postman.A cardboard box was inside, which was filled with coarse salt.On emptying this, Miss Cushing was horrified to find two human ears, apparently quite freshly severed.The box had been sent by parcel post from Belfast upon the morning before.There is no indication as to the sender, and the matter is the more mysterious as Miss Cushing, who is a maiden lady of fifty, has led a most retired life, and has so few acquaintances or correspondents that it is a rare event for her to receive anything through the post.Some years ago, however, when she resided at Penge, she let apartments in her house to three young medical students, whom she was obliged to get rid of on account of their noisy and irregular habits.The police are of opinion that this outrage may have been perpetrated upon Miss Cushing by these youths, who owed her a grudge and who hoped to frighten her by sending her these relics of the dissecting-rooms.Some probability is lent to the theory by the fact that one of these students came from the north of Ireland, and, to the best of Miss Cushing's belief, from Belfast.In the meantime, the matter is being actively investigated, Mr. Lestrade, one of the very smartest of our detective officers, being in charge of the case.&cdq;
&odq;So much for the Daily Chronicle,&cdq; said Holmes as I
finished reading. &odq;Now for our friend Lestrade. I
had a note from him this morning, in which he says:
&odq;I think that this case is very much in your line.
We have every hope of clearing the matter up, but we find
a little difficulty in getting anything to work upon. We
have, of course, wired to the Belfast post-office, but a large
number of parcels were handed in upon that day, and they have no
means of identifying this particular one, or of remembering
the sender. The box is a half-pound box of honeydew
tobacco and does not help us in any way. The medical
student theory still appears to me to be the most feasible, but
if you should have a few hours to spare I should be very happy
to see you out here. I shall be either at the house or in
the police-station all day.
What say you, Watson? Can you rise superior to the heat
and run down to Croydon with me on the off chance of a case for your
annals? &odq;
&odq;I was longing for something to do.&cdq;
&odq;You shall have it then. Ring for our boots
and tell them to order a cab. I'll be back in a moment when I
have changed my dressing-gown and filled my cigar-case.&cdq;
A shower of rain fell while we were in the train, and the heat
was far less oppressive in Croydon than in town. Holmes had
sent on a wire, so that Lestrade, as wiry, as dapper, and as
ferret-like as ever, was waiting for us at the station. A walk
of five minutes took us to Cross Street, where Miss Cushing resided.
It was a very long street of two-story brick houses, neat and
prim, with whitened stone steps and little groups of aproned women
gossiping at the doors. Halfway down, Lestrade stopped and
tapped at a door, which was opened by a small servant girl.
Miss Cushing was sitting in the front room, into which we were
ushered. She was a placid-faced woman, with large, gentle
eyes, and grizzled hair curving down over her temples on each side.
A worked antimacassar lay upon her lap and a basket of
coloured silks stood upon a stool beside her.
&odq;They are in the outhouse, those dreadful things,&cdq; said
she as Lestrade entered. &odq;I wish that you would take them
away altogether.&cdq;
&odq;So I shall, Miss Cushing. I only kept them here
until my friend, Mr. Holmes, should have seen them in your
presence.&cdq;
&odq;Why in my presence, sir?&cdq;
&odq;In case
he wished to ask any questions.&cdq;
&odq;What is the use of asking me questions when I tell you I
know nothing whatever about it?&cdq;
&odq;Quite so, madam,&cdq; said Holmes in his soothing way.
&odq;I have no doubt that you have been annoyed more than
enough already over this business.&cdq;
&odq;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 find the police in my house. I won't have those
things in here, Mr. Lestrade. If you wish to see them you must
go to the outhouse.&cdq;
It was a small shed in the narrow garden which ran behind the
house. Lestrade went in and brought out a yellow cardboard
box, with a piece of brown paper and some string. There was a
bench at the end of the path, and we all sat down while Holmes
examined, one by one, the articles which Lestrade had handed to him.
&odq;The string is exceedingly interesting,&cdq; he remarked,
holding it up to the light and sniffing at it. &odq;What do
you make of this string, Lestrade?&cdq;
&odq;It has been tarred.&cdq;
&odq;Precisely.
It is a piece of tarred twine. You have also, no doubt,
remarked that Miss Cushing has cut the cord with a scissors, as can
be seen by the double fray on each side. This is of
importance.&cdq;
&odq;I cannot see the importance,&cdq; said Lestrade.
&odq;The importance lies in the fact that the knot is
left intact, and that this knot is of a peculiar character.&cdq;
&odq;It is very neatly tied. I had already made a note
to that effect,&cdq; said Lestrade complacently.
&odq;So much for the string, then,&cdq; said Holmes, smiling,
&odq;now for the 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: &onq;Miss S. Cushing, Cross Street,
Croydon.&cnq; Done with a broad-pointed pen, probably a J, and
with very inferior ink. The word &onq;Croydon&cnq; has been
originally spelled with an &onq;i,&cnq; which has been changed to
&onq;y.&cnq; The parcel was directed, then, by a man —
the printing is distinctly masculine — of limited education
and unacquainted with the town of Croydon. So far, so good!
The box is a yellow half-pound honeydew box, with nothing
distinctive save two thumb marks at the left bottom corner. It
is filled with rough salt of the quality used for preserving hides
and other of the coarser commercial purposes. And embedded in
it are these very singular enclosures.&cdq;
He took out the two ears as he spoke, and laying a board across
his knee he examined them minutely, while Lestrade and I, bending
forward on each side of him, glanced alternately at these dreadful
relics and at the thoughtful, eager face of our companion.
Finally he returned them to the box once more and sat for a
while in deep meditation.
&odq;You have observed, of course,&cdq; said he at last,
&odq;that the ears are not a pair.&cdq;
&odq;Yes, I have noticed that. But if this were the
practical joke of some students from the dissecting-rooms, it would
be as easy for them to send two odd ears as a pair.&cdq;
&odq;Precisely. But this is not a practical joke.&cdq;
&odq;You are sure of it?&cdq;
&odq;The
presumption is strongly against it. Bodies in the
dissecting-rooms are injected with preservative fluid. These
ears bear no signs of this. They are fresh, too. They
have been cut off with a blunt instrument, which would hardly happen
if a student had done it. Again, carbolic or rectified spirits
would be the preservatives which would suggest themselves to the
medical mind, certainly not rough salt. I repeat that there is
no practical joke here, but that we are investigating a serious
crime.&cdq;
A vague thrill ran through me as I listened to my companion's
words and saw the stern gravity which had hardened his features.
This brutal preliminary seemed to shadow forth some strange
and inexplicable horror in the background. Lestrade, however,
shook his head like a man who is only half convinced.
&odq;There are objections to the joke theory, no doubt,&cdq;
said he, &odq;but there are much stronger reasons against the other.
We know that this woman has led a most quiet and respectable
life at Penge and here for the last twenty years. She has
hardly been away from her home for a day during that time. Why
on earth, then, should any criminal send her the proofs of his guilt,
especially as, unless she is a most consummate actress, she
understands quite as little of the matter as we do?&cdq;
&odq;That is the problem which we have to solve,&cdq; Holmes
answered, &odq;and for my part I shall set about it by presuming that
my reasoning is correct, and that a double murder has been committed.
One of these ears is a woman's, small, finely formed, and
pierced for an earring. The other is a man's, sun-burned,
discoloured, and also 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 people were murdered, who but their
murderer would have sent this sign of his work to Miss Cushing?
We may take it that the sender of the packet is the man whom
we want. But he must have some strong reason for sending Miss
Cushing this packet. What reason then? It must have
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?
I doubt it. If she knew, why should she call the police
in? She might have buried the ears, and no one would have been
the wiser. That is what 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 out.&cdq; He had been talking in a high, quick
voice, staring blankly up over the garden fence, but now he sprang
briskly to his feet and walked towards the house.
&odq;I have a few questions to ask Miss Cushing,&cdq; said he.
&odq;In that case I may leave you here,&cdq; said Lestrade,
&odq;for I have another small business on hand. I think that I
have nothing further to learn from Miss Cushing. You will find
me at the police-station.&cdq;
&odq;We shall look in on our way to the train,&cdq; answered
Holmes. A moment later he and I were back in the front room,
where the impassive lady was still quietly working away at her
antimacassar. She put it down on her lap as we entered and
looked at us with her frank, searching blue eyes.
&odq;I am convinced, sir,&cdq; she said, &odq;that this matter
is a mistake, and that the parcel was never meant for me at all.
I have said this several times to the gentleman from Scotland
Yard, but he simply laughs at me. I have not an enemy in the
world, as far as I know, so why should anyone play me such a
trick?&cdq;
&odq;I am coming to be of the same opinion, Miss Cushing,&cdq;
said Holmes, taking a seat beside her. &odq;I think that it is
more than probable&cdq; he paused, and I was surprised, on glancing
round to see that he was staring with singular intentness at the
lady's profile. Surprise and satisfaction were both for an
instant to be read upon his eager face, though when she glanced round
to find out the cause of his silence he had become as demure as ever.
I stared hard myself at her flat, grizzled hair, her trim cap,
her little gilt earrings, her placid features; but I could see
nothing which could account for my companion's evident excitement.
&odq;There were one or two questions — &cdq;
&odq;Oh, I am weary of questions!&cdq; cried Miss
Cushing impatiently.
&odq;You have two sisters, I believe.&cdq;
&odq;How could you know that?&cdq;
&odq;I observed the very instant that I entered the room that
you have a portrait group of three ladies upon the mantelpiece, one
of whom is undoubtedly yourself, while the others are so exceedingly
like you that there could be no doubt of the relationship.&cdq;
&odq;Yes, you are quite right. Those are my sisters,
Sarah and Mary.&cdq;
&odq;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 a steward by his uniform. I observe that she was
unmarried at the time.&cdq;
&odq;You are very quick at observing.&cdq;
&odq;That is my trade.&cdq;
&odq;Well, you are quite right. But she was married to
Mr. Browner a few days afterwards. He was on the South
American line when that was taken, but he was so fond of her that he
couldn't abide to leave her for so long, and he got into the
Liverpool and London boats.&cdq;
&odq;Ah, the Conqueror, perhaps?&cdq;
&odq;No,
the May Day, when last I heard. Jim came down here to see me
once. That was before he broke the pledge; but afterwards he
would always take drink when he was ashore, and a little drink would
send him stark, staring mad. Ah! it was a bad day that ever he
took a glass in his hand again. First he dropped me, then he
quarrelled with Sarah, and now that Mary has stopped writing we don't
know how things are going with them.&cdq;
It was evident that Miss Cushing had come upon a subject on
which she felt very deeply. Like most people who lead a lonely
life, she was shy at first, but ended by becoming extremely
communicative. She told us many details about her
brother-in-law the steward, and then wandering off on the subject of
her former lodgers, the medical students, she gave us a long account
of their delinquencies, with their names and those of their
hospitals. Holmes listened attentively to everything, throwing
in a question from time to time.
&odq;About your second sister, Sarah,&cdq; said he.
&odq;I wonder, since you are both maiden ladies, that you do
not keep house together.&cdq;
&odq;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 two months ago, when we had to part. I don't want to say
a word against my own sister, but she was always meddlesome and hard
to please, was Sarah.&cdq;
&odq;You say that she quarrelled with your Liverpool
relations.&cdq;
&odq;Yes, and they were the best of friends at one time.
Why, she went up there to live in order to be near them.
And now she has no word hard enough for Jim Browner.
The last six months that she was here she would speak of
nothing but his drinking and his ways. He had caught her
meddling, I suspect, and given her a bit of his mind, and that was
the start of it.&cdq;
&odq;Thank you, Miss Cushing,&cdq; said Holmes, rising and
bowing. &odq;Your sister Sarah lives, I think you said, at New
Street Wallington? Good-bye, and I am very sorry that you
should have been troubled over a case with which, as you say, you
have nothing whatever to do.&cdq;
There was a cab passing as we came out, and Holmes hailed it.
&odq;How far to Wallington?&cdq; he asked.
&odq;Only about a mile, sir.&cdq;
&odq;Very good. Jump in, Watson. We must strike
while the iron is hot. Simple as the case is, there have been
one or two very instructive details in connection with it.
Just pull up at a telegraph office as you pass, cabby.&cdq;
Holmes sent off a short wire and for the rest of the drive lay
back in the cab, with his hat tilted over his nose to keep the sun
from his face. Our driver pulled up at a house which was not
unlike the one which we had just quitted. My companion ordered
him to wait, and had his hand upon the knocker, when the door opened
and a grave young gentleman in black, with a very shiny hat, appeared
on the step.
&odq;Is Miss Cushing at home?&cdq; asked Holmes.
&odq;Miss Sarah Cushing is extremely ill,&cdq; said he.
&odq;She has been suffering since yesterday from brain
symptoms of great severity. As her medical adviser, I cannot
possibly take the responsibility of allowing anyone to see her.
I should recommend you to call again in ten days.&cdq;
He drew on his gloves, closed the door, and marched off down
the street.
&odq;Well, if we can't we can't,&cdq; said Holmes, cheerfully.
&odq;Perhaps she could not or would not have told you
much.&cdq;
&odq;I did not wish her to tell me anything. I only
wanted to look at her. However, I think that I have got all
that I want. Drive us to some decent hotel, cabby, where we
may have some lunch, and afterwards we shall drop down upon friend
Lestrade at the police-station.&cdq;
We had a pleasant little meal together, during which Holmes
would talk about nothing but violins, narrating with great exultation
how he had purchased his own Stradivarius, which was worth at least
five hundred guineas, at a Jew broker's in Tottenham Court Road for
fifty-five shillings. This led him to Paganini, and we sat for
an hour over a bottle of claret while he told me anecdote after
anecdote of that extraordinary man. The afternoon was far
advanced and the hot glare had softened into a mellow glow before we
found ourselves at the police-station. Lestrade was waiting
for us at the door.
&odq;A telegram for you, Mr. Holmes,&cdq; said he.
&odq;Ha! It is the answer!&cdq; He tore
it open, glanced his eyes over it, and crumpled it into his pocket.
&odq;That's all right,&cdq; said he.
&odq;Have you found out anything?&cdq;
&odq;I
have found out everything!&cdq;
&odq;What!&cdq; Lestrade stared at him in amazement.
&odq;You are joking.&cdq;
&odq;I was never more serious in my life. A shocking
crime has been committed, and I think I have now laid bare every
detail of it.&cdq;
&odq;And the criminal?&cdq;
Holmes scribbled a
few words upon the back of one of his visiting cards and threw it
over to Lestrade.
&odq;That is the name,&cdq; he said. &odq;You cannot
effect an arrest until to-morrow night at the earliest. I
should prefer that you do not mention my name at all in connection
with the case, as I choose to be only associated with those crimes
which present some difficulty in their solution. Come on,
Watson.&cdq; We strode off together to the station, leaving
Lestrade still staring with a delighted face at the card which Holmes
had thrown him.
&odq;The case,&cdq; said Sherlock Holmes as we chatted over our
cigars that night in our rooms at Baker Street, &odq;is one where, as
in the investigations which you have chronicled under the names of
&onq;A Study in Scarlet&cnq; and of &onq;The Sign of Four,&cnq; we
have been compelled to reason backward from effects to causes.
I have written to Lestrade asking him to supply us with the
details which are now wanting, and which he will only get after he
has secured his man. That he may be safely trusted to do, for
although he is absolutely devoid of reason, he is as tenacious as a
bulldog when he once understands what he has to do, and, indeed, it
is just this tenacity which has brought him to the top at Scotland
Yard.&cdq;
&odq;Your case is not complete, then?&cdq; I asked.
&odq;It is fairly complete in essentials. We
know who the author of the revolting business is, although one of the
victims still escapes us. Of course, you have formed your own
conclusions.&cdq;
&odq;I presume that this Jim Browner, the steward of a
Liverpool boat, is the man whom you suspect?&cdq;
&odq;Oh! it is more than a suspicion.&cdq;
&odq;And yet I cannot see anything save very vague
indications.&cdq;
&odq;On the contrary, to my mind nothing could be more clear.
Let me run over the principal steps. We approached the
case, you remember, with an absolutely blank mind, which is always an
advantage. We had formed no theories. We were simply
there to observe and to draw inferences from our observations.
What did we see first? A very placid and respectable
lady, who seemed quite innocent of any secret, and a portrait which
showed me that she had two younger sisters. It instantly
flashed across my mind that the box might have been meant for one of
these. I set the idea aside as one which could be disproved or
confirmed at our leisure. Then we went to the garden, as you
remember, and we saw the very singular contents of the little yellow
box.
&odq;The string was of the quality which is used by sailmakers
aboard ship, and at once a whiff of the sea was perceptible in our
investigation. When I observed that the knot was one which is
popular with sailors, that the parcel had been posted at a port, and
that the male ear was pierced for an earring which is so much more
common among sailors than landsmen, I was quite certain that all the
actors in the tragedy were to be found among our seafaring classes.
&odq;When I came to examine the address of the packet I
observed that it was to Miss S. Cushing. Now, the oldest
sister would, of course, be Miss Cushing, and although her initial
was &onq;S&cnq; it might belong to one of the others as well.
In that case we should have to commence our investigation from
a fresh basis altogether. I therefore went into the house with
the intention of clearing up this point. I was about to assure
Miss Cushing that I was convinced that a mistake had been made when
you may remember that I came suddenly to a stop. The fact was
that I had just seen something which filled me with surprise and at
the same time narrowed the field of our inquiry immensely.
&odq;As a medical man, you are aware, Watson, that there is no
part of the body which varies so much as the human ear. Each
ear is as a rule quite distinctive and differs from all other ones.
In last year's Anthropological Journal you will find two short
monographs from my pen upon the subject. I had, therefore,
examined the ears in the box with the eyes of an expert and had
carefully noted their anatomical peculiarities. Imagine my
surprise, then, when on looking at Miss Cushing I perceived that her
ear corresponded exactly with the female ear which I had just
inspected. The matter was entirely beyond coincidence.
There was the same shortening of the pinna, the same broad
curve of the upper lobe, the same convolution of the inner cartilage.
In all essentials it was the same ear.
&odq;Of course I at once saw the enormous importance of the
observation. It was evident that the victim was a blood
relation and probably a very close one. I began to talk to her
about her family, and you remember that she at once gave us some
exceedingly valuable details
&odq;In the first place, her sister's name was Sarah, and her
address had until recently been the same, so that it was quite
obvious how the mistake had occurred and for whom the packet was
meant. Then we heard of this steward, married to the third
sister, and learned that he had at one time been so intimate with
Miss Sarah that she had actually gone up to Liverpool to be near the
Browners, but a quarrel had afterwards divided them. This
quarrel had put a stop to all communications for some months, so that
if Browner had occasion to address a packet to Miss Sarah, he would
undoubtedly have done so to her old address.
&odq;And now the matter had begun to straighten itself out
wonderfully. We had learned of the existence of this steward,
an impulsive man, of strong passions — you remember that he
threw up what must have been a very superior berth in order to be
nearer to his wife — subject, too, to occasional fits of hard
drinking. We had reason to believe that his wife had been
murdered, and that a man — presumably a seafaring man
— had been murdered at the same time. Jealousy, of
course, at once suggests itself as the motive for the crime.
And why should these proofs of the deed be sent to Miss Sarah
Cushing? Probably because during her residence in Liverpool
she had some hand in bringing about the events which led to the
tragedy. You will observe that this line of boats calls at
Belfast, Dublin, and Waterford; so that, presuming that Browner had
committed the deed and had embarked at once upon his steamer, the May
Day, Belfast would be the first place at which he could post his
terrible packet.
&odq;A second solution was at this stage obviously possible,
and although I thought it exceedingly unlikely, I was determined to
elucidate it before going further. An unsuccessful lover might
have killed Mr. and Mrs. Browner, and the male ear might have
belonged to the husband. There were many grave objections to
this theory, but it was conceivable. I therefore sent off a
telegram to my friend Algar, of the Liverpool force, and asked him to
find out if Mrs. Browner were at home, and if Browner had departed in
the May Day. Then we went on to Wallington to visit Miss
Sarah.
&odq;I was curious, in the first place, to see how far the
family ear had been reproduced in her. Then, of course, she
might give us very important information, but I was not sanguine that
she would. She must have heard of the business the day before,
since all Croydon was ringing with it, and she alone could have
understood for whom the packet was meant. If she had been
willing to help justice she would probably have communicated with the
police already. However, it was clearly our duty to see her,
so we went. We found that the news of the arrival of the
packet — for her illness dated from that time — had
such an effect upon her as to bring on brain fever. It was
clearer than ever that she understood its full significance, but
equally clear that we should have to wait some time for any
assistance from her.
&odq;However, we were really independent of her help.
Our answers were waiting for us at the police-station, where I
had directed Algar to send them. Nothing could be more
conclusive. Mrs. Browner's house had been closed for more than
three days, and the neighbours were of opinion that she had gone
south to see her relatives. It had been ascertained at the
shipping offices that Browner had left aboard of the May Day, and I
calculate that she is due in the Thames to-morrow night. When
he arrives he will be met by the obtuse but resolute Lestrade, and I
have no doubt that we shall have all our details filled in.&cdq;
Sherlock Holmes was not disappointed in his expectations.
Two days later he received a bulky envelope, which contained a
short note from the detective, and a typewritten document, which
covered several pages of foolscap.
&odq;Lestrade has got him all right,&cdq; said Holmes, glancing
up at me. &odq;Perhaps it would interest you to hear what he
says.
&odq;MY DEAR MR. HOLMES:&cdq;
In accordance with the scheme
which we had formed in order to test our theories &odq;[&cdq;
the &onq;we&cnq; is rather fine, Watson, is it not? &odq;]&cdq;
I went down to the Albert Dock yesterday at 6 P. M., and boarded
the S. S. May Day, belonging to the Liverpool, Dublin, and
London Steam Packet Company. On inquiry, I found that
there was a steward on board of the name of James Browner and
that he had acted during the voyage in such an extraordinary
manner that the captain had been compelled to relieve him of his
duties. On descending to his berth, I found him seated
upon a chest with his head sunk upon his hands, rocking himself
to and fro. He is a big, powerful chap, clean-shaven, and very
swarthy — something like Aldridge, who helped us in the
bogus laundry affair. He jumped up when he heard my
business, and I had my whistle to my lips to call a couple of
river police, who were round the corner, but he seemed to have
no heart in 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 we thought there might be something
incriminating; but, bar a big sharp knife such as most sailors
have, we got nothing for our trouble. However, we find
that we shall want no more evidence, for on being brought before
the inspector at the station he asked leave to make a statement,
which was, of course, taken down, just as he made it, by
our shorthand man. We had three copies typewritten, one of
which I enclose. The affair proves, as I always thought it
would, to be an extremely simple one, but I am obliged to you
for assisting me in my investigation. With kind regards,
&odq;Yours very truly,&cdq; G. LESTRADE
&odq;Hum! The investigation really was a very simple
one,&cdq; remarked Holmes, &odq;but I don't think it struck him in
that light when he first called us in. However, let us see
what Jim Browner has to say for himself. This is his statement
as made before Inspector Montgomery at the Shadwell Police Station,
and it has the advantage of being verbatim.&cdq;
&odq;' Have I anything to say? Yes, I have a deal to
say. I have to make a clean breast of it all. You can
hang me, or you can leave me alone. I don't care a plug which
you do. I tell you I've not shut an eye in sleep since I did
it, and I don't believe I ever will again until I get past all
waking. Sometimes it's his face, but most generally it's hers.
I'm never without one or the other before me. He looks
frowning and black-like, but she has a kind o' surprise upon her
face. Ay, the white lamb, she might well be surprised when she
read death on a face that had seldom looked anything but love upon
her before.
&odq;' But it was Sarah's fault, and may the curse of a broken
man put a blight on her and set the blood rotting in her veins!
It's not 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 would have stuck as close to me as a rope to a
block if that woman had never darkened our door. For Sarah
Cushing loved me — that's the root of the business —
she loved me until all her love turned to poisonous hate when she
knew that I thought more of my wife's footmark in the mud than I did
of her whole body and soul.
&odq;' There were three sisters altogether. The old one
was just a good woman, the second was a devil, and the third was an
angel. Sarah was thirty-three, and Mary was twenty-nine when I
married. We were just as happy as the day was long when we set
up house together, and in all Liverpool there was no better woman
than my Mary. And then we asked Sarah up for a week, and the
week grew into a month, and one thing led to another, until she was
just one of ourselves.
&odq;' I was blue ribbon at that time, and we were putting a
little money by, and all was as bright as a new dollar. My
God, whoever would have thought that it could have come to this?
Whoever would have dreamed it?
&odq;' I used to be home for the week-ends very often, and
sometimes if the ship were held back for cargo I would have a whole
week at a time, and in this way I saw a deal of my sister-in-law,
Sarah. She was a fine tall woman, black and quick and fierce,
with a proud way of carrying her head, and a glint from her eye like
a spark from a flint. But when little Mary was there I had
never a thought of her, and that I swear as I hope for God's mercy.
&odq;' It had seemed to me sometimes that she liked to be alone
with me, or to coax me out for a walk with her, but I had never
thought anything of that. But one evening my eyes were opened.
I had come up from the ship and found my wife out, but Sarah
at home. &cdq; Where's Mary? &odq;I asked. &cdq; Oh,
she has gone to pay some accounts. &odq;I was impatient and
paced up and down the room. &cdq; Can't you be happy for five
minutes without Mary, Jim? &odq;says she. &cdq; It's a bad
compliment to me that you can't be contented with my society for so
short a time. &odq;&cdq; That's all right, my lass, &odq;said
I, putting out my hand towards her in a kindly way, but she had it in
both hers in an instant, and they burned as if they were in a fever.
I looked into her eyes and I read it all there. There
was no need for her to speak, nor for me either. I frowned and
drew my hand away. Then she stood by my side in silence for a
bit, and then put up her hand and patted me on the shoulder.
&cdq; Steady old Jim! &odq;said she, and with a kind o'
mocking laugh, she ran out of the room.
&odq;' Well, from that time Sarah hated me with her whole heart
and soul, and she is a woman who can hate, too. I was a fool
to let her go on biding with us — a besotted fool —
but I never said a word to Mary, for I knew it would grieve her.
Things went on much as before, but after a time I began to
find that there was a bit of a change in Mary herself. She had
always been so trusting and so innocent, but now she became queer and
suspicious, wanting to know where I had been and what I had been
doing, and whom my letters were from, and what I had in my pockets,
and a thousand such follies. Day by day she grew queerer and
more irritable, and we had ceaseless rows about nothing. I was
fairly puzzled by it all. Sarah avoided me now, but she and
Mary were just inseparable. I can see now how she was plotting
and scheming and poisoning my wife's mind against me, but I was such
a blind beetle that I could not understand it at the time.
Then I broke my blue ribbon and began to drink again, but I
think I should not have done it if Mary had been the 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 this Alec
Fairbairn chipped in, and things became a thousand times blacker.
&odq;' It was to see Sarah that he came to my house first, but
soon it was to see us, for he was a man with winning ways, and he
made friends wherever he went. He was a dashing, swaggering
chap, smart and curled, who had seen half the world and could talk of
what he had seen. He was good company, I won't deny it, and he
had wonderful polite ways with him for a sailor man, so that I think
there must have been a time when he knew more of the poop than the
forecastle. For a month he was in and out of my house, and
never once did it cross my mind that harm might come of his soft,
tricky ways. And then at last something made me suspect, and
from that day my peace was gone forever.
&odq;' It was only a little thing, too. I had come into
the parlour unexpected, and as I walked in at the door I saw a light
of welcome on my wife's face. But as she saw who it was it
faded again, and she turned away with a look of disappointment.
That was enough for me. There was no one but Alec
Fairbairn whose step she could have mistaken for mine. If I
could have seen him then I should have killed him, for I have always
been like a madman when my temper gets loose. Mary saw the
devil's light in my eyes, and she ran forward with her hands on my
sleeve. &cdq; Don't, Jim, don't! &odq;says she. &cdq;
Where's Sarah? &odq;I asked. &cdq; In the kitchen, &odq;says
she. &cdq; Sarah, &odq;says I as I went in,&cdq; this man
Fairbairn is never to darken my door again. &odq;&cdq; Why
not? &odq;says she. &cdq; Because I order it.
&odq;&cdq; Oh! &odq;says she,&cdq; if my friends are not good
enough for this house, then I am not good enough for it either.
&odq;&cdq; You can do what you like, &odq;says I,&cdq; but if
Fairbairn shows his face here again I'll send you one of his ears for
a keepsake. &odq;She was frightened by my face, I think, for
she never answered a word, and the same evening she left my house.
&odq;' Well, I don't know now whether it was pure devilry on
the part of this woman, or whether she thought that she could turn me
against my wife by encouraging her to misbehave. Anyway, she
took a house just two streets off and let lodgings to sailors.
Fairbairn used to stay there, and Mary would go round to have
tea with her sister and him. How often she went I don't know,
but I followed her one day, and as I broke in at the door Fairbairn
got away over the back garden wall, like the cowardly skunk that he
was. I swore to my 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 as a 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 thought of it drove me to drink,
then she despised me as well.
&odq;' Well, Sarah found that she could not make a living in
Liverpool, so she went back, as I understand, to live with her sister
in Croydon, and things jogged on much the same as ever at home.
And then came this last week and all the misery and ruin.
&odq;' It was in this way. We had gone on the May Day
for a round voyage of seven days, but a hogshead got loose and
started one of our 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 be for my wife, and hoping that maybe she would be
glad to see me so soon. 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 by the side of Fairbairn, the two chatting and laughing,
with never a thought for me as I stood watching them from the
footpath.
&odq;' I tell you, and I give you my word for it, that from
that moment I was not my own master, and it is all like a dim dream
when I look back on it. I had been drinking hard of late, and
the two things together fairly turned my brain. There's
something throbbing in my head now, like a docker's hammer, but that
morning I seemed to have all Niagara whizzing and buzzing in my ears.
&odq;' Well, I took to my heels, and I ran after the cab.
I had a heavy oak stick in my hand, and I tell you I saw red
from the first; but as I ran I got cunning, too, and hung back a
little to see them without being seen. They pulled up soon at
the railway station. There was a good crowd round the
booking-office, so I got quite close to them without being seen.
They took tickets for New Brighton. So did I, but I got
in three carriages behind them. When we reached it they walked
along the Parade, and I was never more than a hundred yards from
them. At last I saw them hire a boat and start for a row, for
it was a very hot day, and they thought, no doubt, that it would be
cooler on the water.
&odq;' It was just as if they had been given into my hands.
There was a bit of a haze, and you could not see more than a
few hundred yards. I hired a boat for myself, and I pulled
after them. I could see the blur of their craft, but they were
going nearly as fast as I, and they must have been a long mile from
the shore before I caught them up. The haze was like a curtain
all round us, and there were we three in the middle of it. My
God, shall I ever forget their faces when they saw who was in the
boat that was closing in upon them? She screamed out.
He swore like a madman and jabbed at me with an oar, for he
must have seen death in my eyes. I got past it 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 threw her arms round
him, crying out to him, and calling him&cdq; Alec. &odq;I
struck again, and she lay stretched beside him. I was like a
wild beast then that had tasted blood. If Sarah had been
there, by the Lord, she should have joined them. I pulled out
my knife, and — well, there! I've said enough.
It gave me a kind of savage joy when I thought how Sarah would
feel when she had such signs as these of what her meddling had
brought about. Then I tied the bodies into the boat, stove a
plank, and stood by until they had sunk. I knew very well that
the owner would think that they had lost their bearings in the haze,
and had drifted off out to sea. I cleaned myself up, got back
to land, and joined my ship without a soul having a suspicion of what
had passed. That night I made up the packet for Sarah Cushing,
and next day I sent it from Belfast.
&odq;&onq;There you have the whole truth of it. You can
hang me, or do what you like with me, but you cannot punish me as I
have been punished already. I cannot shut my eyes but I see
those two faces staring at me — staring at me as they stared
when my boat broke through the haze. I killed them quick, but
they are killing me slow; and if I have another night of it I shall
be either mad or dead before morning. You won't put me alone
into a cell, sir? For pity's sake don't, and may you be
treated in your day of agony as you treat me now.&cnq;
&odq;What is the meaning of it, Watson?&cdq; said Holmes
solemnly as he laid down the paper. &odq;What object is served
by this circle of misery and violence and fear? It must tend
to some end, or else our universe is ruled by chance, which is
unthinkable. But what end? There is the great standing
perennial problem to which human reason is as far from an answer as
ever.&cdq;
[ In publishing these short sketches based upon the numerous
cases in which my companion's singular gifts have made us the
listeners to, and eventually the actors in, some strange drama, it is
only natural that I should dwell rather upon his successes than upon
his failures. And this not so much for the sake of his
reputation — for, indeed, it was when he was at his wit's end
that his energy and his versatility were most admirable — but
because where he failed it happened too often that no one else
succeeded, and that the tale was left forever without a conclusion.
Now and again, however, it chanced that even when he erred the
truth was still discovered. I have notes of some half-dozen
cases of the kind, the adventure of the Musgrave Ritual and that
which I am about to recount are the two which present the strongest
features of interest. ]
Sherlock Holmes was a man who seldom took exercise for
exercise's sake. Few men were capable of greater muscular
effort, and he was undoubtedly one of the finest boxers of his weight
that I have ever seen; but he looked upon aimless bodily exertion as
a waste of energy, and he seldom bestirred himself save where there
was some professional object to be served. Then he was
absolutely untiring and indefatigable. That he should have
kept himself in training under such circumstances is remarkable, but
his diet was usually of the sparest, and his habits were simple to
the verge of austerity. Save for the occasional use of
cocaine, he had no vices, and he only turned to the drug as a protest
against the monotony of existence when cases were scanty and the
papers uninteresting.
One day in early spring he had so far relaxed as to go for a
walk with me in the Park, where the first faint shoots of green were
breaking out upon the elms, and the sticky spear-heads of the
chestnuts were just beginning to burst into their five-fold leaves.
For two hours we rambled about together, in silence for the
most part, as befits two men who know each other intimately.
It was nearly five before we were back in Baker Street once
more.
&odq;Beg pardon, sir,&cdq; said our page-boy as he opened the
door. &odq;There's been a gentleman here asking for you,
sir.&cdq;
Holmes glanced reproachfully at me. &odq;So much for
afternoon walks!&cdq; said he. &odq;Has this gentleman gone,
then?&cdq;
&odq;Yes, sir.&cdq;
&odq;Didn't you ask him
in?&cdq;
&odq;Yes, sir, he came in.&cdq;
&odq;How long did
he wait?&cdq;
&odq;Half an hour, sir. He was a very restless
gentleman, sir a-walkin' and a-stampin' all the time he was here.
I was waitin' outside the door, sir, and I could hear him.
At last he outs into the passage, and he cries, &onq;Is that
man never goin' to come?&cnq; Those were his very words, sir.
&onq;You'll only need to wait a little longer,&cnq; says I.
&onq;Then I'll wait in the open air, for I feel half
choked,&cnq; says he. &onq;I'll be back before long.&cnq;
And with that he ups and he outs, and all I could say wouldn't
hold him back.&cdq;
&odq;Well, well, you did your best,&cdq; said Holmes as we
walked into our room. &odq;It's very annoying, though, Watson.
I was badly in need of a case, and this looks, from the man's
impatience, as if it were of importance. Hullo! that's not
your pipe on the table. He must have left his behind him.
A nice old brier with a good long stem of what the
tobacconists call amber. I wonder how many real amber
mouthpieces there are in London? Some people think that a fly
in it is a sign. Well, he must have been disturbed in his mind
to leave a pipe behind him which he evidently values highly.&cdq;
&odq;How do you know that he values it highly?&cdq; I asked.
&odq;Well, I should put the original cost of the pipe
at seven and sixpence. Now it has, you see, been twice mended,
once in the wooden stem and once in the amber. Each of these
mends, done, as you observe, with silver bands, must have cost more
than the pipe did originally. The man must value the pipe
highly when he prefers to patch it up rather than buy a new one with
the same money.&cdq; &odq;Anything else?&cdq; I asked, for
Holmes was turning the pipe about in his hand and staring at it in
his peculiar pensive way. He held it up and tapped on it with
his long, thin forefinger, as a professor might who was lecturing on
a bone.
&odq;Pipes are occasionally of extraordinary interest,&cdq;
said he. &odq;Nothing has more individuality, save perhaps
watches and bootlaces. The indications here, however, are
neither very marked nor very important. The owner is obviously
a muscular man, left-handed, with an excellent set of teeth, careless
in his habits, and with no need to practise economy.&cdq;
My friend threw out the information in a very offhand way, but
I saw that he cocked his eye at me to see if I had followed his
reasoning.
&odq;You think a man must be well-to-do if he smokes a
seven-shilling pipe?&cdq; said I.
&odq;This is Grosvenor mixture at eightpence an ounce,&cdq;
Holmes answered, knocking a little out on his palm. &odq;As he
might get an excellent smoke for half the price, he has no need to
practise economy.&cdq;
&odq;And the other points?&cdq;
&odq;He has been
in the habit of lighting his pipe at lamps and gasjets. You
can see that it is quite charred all down one side. Of course
a match could not have done that. Why should a man hold a
match to the side of his pipe? But you cannot light it at a
lamp without getting the bowl charred. And it is all on the
right side of the pipe. From that I gather that he is a
left-handed man. You hold your own pipe to the lamp and see
how naturally you, being right-handed, hold the left side to the
flame. You might do it once the other way, but not as a
constancy. This has always been held so. Then he has
bitten through his amber. It takes a muscular, energetic
fellow, and one with a good set of teeth, to do that. But if I
am not mistaken I hear him upon the stair, so we shall have something
more interesting than his pipe to study.&cdq;
An instant later our door opened, and a tall young man entered
the room. He was well but quietly dressed in a dark gray suit
and carried a brown wideawake in his hand. I should have put
him at about thirty, though he was really some years older.
&odq;I beg your pardon,&cdq; said he with some embarrassment,
&odq;I suppose I should have knocked. Yes, of course I should
have knocked. The fact is that I am a little upset, and you
must put it all down to that.&cdq; He passed his hand over his
forehead like a man who is half dazed, and then fell rather than sat
down upon a chair.
&odq;I can see that you have not slept for a night or two,&cdq;
said Holmes in his easy, genial way. &odq;That tries a man's
nerves more than work, and more even than pleasure. May I ask
how I can help you?&cdq;
&odq;I wanted your advice, sir. I don't know what to do,
and my whole life seems to have gone to pieces.&cdq;
&odq;You wish to employ me as a consulting detective?&cdq;
&odq;Not that only. I want your opinion as a
judicious man — as a man of the world. I want to know
what I ought to do next. I hope to God you'll be able to tell
me.&cdq;
He spoke in little, sharp, jerky outbursts, and it seemed to me
that to speak at all was very painful to him, and that his will all
through was overriding his inclinations.
&odq;It's a very delicate thing,&cdq; said he. &odq;One
does not like to speak of one's domestic affairs to strangers.
It seems dreadful to discuss the conduct of one's wife with
two men whom I have never seen before. It's horrible to have
to do it. But I've got to the end of my tether, and I must
have advice.&cdq;
&odq;My dear Mr. Grant Munro — &cdq; began Holmes.
Our visitor sprang from his chair.
&odq;What!&cdq; he cried, &odq;you know my name?&cdq;
&odq;If you wish to preserve your incognito,&cdq; said Holmes,
smiling, &odq;I would suggest that you cease to write your name upon
the lining of your hat, or else that you turn the crown towards the
person whom you are addressing. I was about to say that my
friend and I have listened to a good many strange secrets in this
room, and that we have had the good fortune to bring peace to many
troubled souls. I trust that we may do as much for you.
Might I beg you, as time may prove to be of importance, to
furnish me with the facts of your case without further delay?&cdq;
Our visitor again passed his hand over his forehead, as if he
found it bitterly hard. From every gesture and expression I
could see that he was a reserved, self-contained man, with a dash of
pride in his nature, more likely to hide his wounds than to expose
them. Then suddenly, with a fierce gesture of his closed hand,
like one who throws reserve to the winds, he began:
&odq;The facts are these, Mr. Holmes,&cdq; said he.
&odq;I am a married man and have been so for three years.
During that time my wife and I have loved each other as fondly
and lived as happily as any two that ever were joined. We have
not had a difference, not one, in thought or word or deed. And
now, since last Monday, there has suddenly sprung up a barrier
between us, and I find that there is something in her life and in her
thoughts of which I know as little as if she were the woman who
brushes by me in the street. We are estranged, and I want to
know why.
&odq;Now there is one thing that I want to impress upon you
before I go any further, Mr. Holmes. Effie loves me.
Don't let there be any mistake about that. She loves me
with her whole heart and soul, and never more than now. I know
it. I feel it. I don't want to argue about that.
A man can tell easily enough when a woman loves him.
But there's this secret between us, and we can never be the
same until it is cleared.&cdq;
&odq;Kindly let me have the facts, Mr. Munro,&cdq; said Holmes
with some impatience.
&odq;I'll tell you what I know about Effie's history.
She was a widow when I met her first, though quite young
— only twenty-five. Her name then was Mrs. Hebron.
She went out to America when she was young and lived in the
town of Atlanta, where she married this Hebron, who was a lawyer with
a good practice. They had one child, but the yellow fever
broke out badly in the place, and both husband and child died of it.
I have seen his death certificate. This sickened her of
America, and she came back to live with a maiden aunt at Pinner, in
Middlesex. I may mention that her husband had left her
comfortably off, and that she had a capital of about four thousand
five hundred pounds, which had been so well invested by him that it
returned an average of seven per cent. She had only been six
months at Pinner when I met her; we fell in love with each other, and
we married a few weeks afterwards.
&odq;I am a hop merchant myself, and as I have an income of
seven or eight hundred, we found ourselves comfortably off and took a
nice eighty-pound-a-year villa at Norbury. Our little place
was very countrified, considering that it is so close to town.
We had an inn and two houses a little above us, and a single
cottage at the other side of the field which faces us, and except
those there were no houses until you got halfway to the station.
My business took me into town at certain seasons, but in
summer I had less to do, and then in our country home my wife and I
were just as happy as could be wished. I tell you that there
never was a shadow between us until this accursed affair began.
&odq;There's one thing I ought to tell you before I go further.
When we married, my wife made over all her property to me
— rather against my will, for I saw how awkward it would be if
my business affairs went wrong. However, she would have it so,
and it was done. Well, about six weeks ago she came to me.
&odq;&onq;Jack,&cnq; said she, &onq;when you took my money you
said that if ever I wanted any I was to ask you for it.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;Certainly&cnq; said I. &onq;It's all your
own.&cnq;
&cdq; &onq;Well,&cnq; said she, &onq;I want a
hundred pounds.&cnq;
&odq;I was a bit staggered at this, for I had imagined it was
simply a new dress or something of the kind that she was after.
&odq;&onq;What on earth for?&cnq; I asked.
&cdq;
&onq;Oh,&cnq; said she in her playful way, &onq;you said that you
were only my banker, and bankers never ask questions, you know.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;If you really mean it, of course you shall have the
money,&cnq; said I.
&odq;&onq;Oh, yes, I really mean it.&cnq;
&cdq;
&onq;And you won't tell me what you want it for?&cnq;
&odq;&onq;Some day, perhaps, but not just at present,
Jack.&cnq;
&odq;So I had to be content with that, though it was the first
time that there had ever been any secret between us. I gave
her a check, and I never thought any more of the matter. It
may have nothing to do with what came afterwards, but I thought it
only right to mention it.
&odq;Well, I told you just now that there is a cottage not far
from our house. There is just a field between us, but to reach
it you have to go along the road and then turn down a lane.
Just beyond it is a nice little grove of Scotch firs, and I
used to be very fond of strolling down there, for trees are always a
neighbourly kind of thing. The cottage had been standing empty
this eight months, and it was a pity, for it was a pretty two-storied
place, with an old-fashioned porch and a honeysuckle about it.
I have stood many a time and thought what a neat little
homestead it would make.
&odq;Well, last Monday evening I was taking a stroll down that
way when I met an empty van coming up the lane and saw a pile of
carpets and things lying about on the grass-plot beside the porch.
It was clear that the cottage had at last been let. I
walked past it, and then stopping, as an idle man might, I ran my eye
over it and wondered what sort of folk they were who had come to live
so near us. And as I looked I suddenly became aware that a
face was watching me out of one of the upper windows.
&odq;I don't know what there was about that face, Mr. Holmes,
but it seemed to send a chill right down my back. I was some
little way off, so that I could not make out the features, but there
was something unnatural and inhuman about the face. That was
the impression that I had, and I moved quickly forward to get a
nearer view of the person who was watching me. But as I did so
the face suddenly disappeared, so suddenly that it seemed to have
been plucked away into the darkness of the room. I stood for
five minutes thinking the business over and trying to analyze my
impressions. I could not tell if the face was that of a man or
a woman. It had been too far from me for that. But its
colour was what had impressed me most. It was of a livid
chalky white, and with something set and rigid about it which was
shockingly unnatural. So disturbed was I that I determined to
see a little more of the new inmates of the cottage. I
approached and knocked at the door, which was instantly opened by a
tall, gaunt woman with a harsh, forbidding face.
&odq;&onq;What may you be wantin'?&cnq; she asked in a Northern
accent.
&odq;I am your neighbour over yonder, &onq;said I, nodding
towards my house. &cnq; I see that you have only just moved
in, so I thought that if I could be of any help to you in any
— '
&odq;&onq;Ay, We'll just ask ye when we want ye,&cnq; said she,
and shut the door in my face. Annoyed at the churlish rebuff,
I turned my back and walked home. All evening, though I tried
to think of other things, my mind would still turn to the apparition
at the window and the rudeness of the woman. I determined to
say nothing about the former to my wife, for she is a nervous, highly
strung woman, and I had no wish that she should share the unpleasant
impression which had been produced upon myself. I remarked to
her, however, before I fell asleep, that the cottage was now
occupied, to which she returned no reply.
&odq;I am usually an extremely sound sleeper. It has
been a standing jest in the family that nothing could ever wake me
during the night. And yet somehow on that particular night,
whether it may have been the slight excitement produced by my little
adventure or not I know not, but I slept much more lightly than
usual. Half in my dreams I was dimly conscious that something
was going on in the room, and gradually became aware that my wife had
dressed herself and was slipping on her mantle and her bonnet.
My lips were parted to murmur out some sleepy words of
surprise or remonstrance at this untimely preparation, when suddenly
my half-opened eyes fell upon her face, illuminated by the
candle-light, and astonishment held me dumb. She wore an
expression such as I had never seen before — such as I should
have thought her incapable of assuming. She was deadly pale
and breathing fast, glancing furtively towards the bed as she
fastened her mantle to see if she had disturbed me. Then
thinking that I was still asleep, she slipped noiselessly from the
room, and an instant later I heard a sharp creaking which could only
come from the hinges of the front door. I sat up in bed and
rapped my knuckles against the rail to make certain that I was truly
awake. Then I took my watch from under the pillow. It
was three in the morning. What on this earth could my wife be
doing out on the country road at three in the morning?
&odq;I had sat for about twenty minutes turning the thing over
in my mind and trying to find some possible explanation. The
more I thought, the more extraordinary and inexplicable did it
appear. I was still puzzling over it when I heard the door
gently close again, and her footsteps coming up the stairs.
&odq;&onq;Where in the world have you been, Effie?&cnq; I asked
as she entered.
&odq;She gave a violent start and a kind of gasping cry when I
spoke, and that cry and start troubled me more than all the rest, for
there was something indescribably guilty about them. My wife
had always been a woman of a frank, open nature, and it gave me a
chill to see her slinking into her own room and crying out and
wincing when her own husband spoke to her.
&odq;&onq;You awake, Jack!&cnq; she cried with a nervous laugh.
&onq;Why, I thought that nothing could awake you.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;Where have you been?&cnq; I asked, more sternly.
&cdq; &onq;I don't wonder that you are surprised,&cnq;
said she, and I could see that her fingers were trembling as she
undid the fastenings of her mantle. &onq;Why, I never remember
having done such a thing in my life before. The fact is that I
felt as though I were choking and had a perfect longing for a breath
of fresh air. I really think that I should have fainted if I
had not gone out. I stood at the door for a few minutes, and
now I am quite myself again.&cnq;
&odq;All the time that she was telling me this story she never
once looked in my direction, and her voice was quite unlike her usual
tones. It was evident to me that she was saying what was
false. I said nothing in reply, but turned my face to the
wall, sick at heart, with my mind filled with a thousand venomous
doubts and suspicions. What was it that my wife was concealing
from me? Where had she been during that strange expedition?
I felt that I should have no peace until I knew, and yet I
shrank from asking her again after once she had told me what was
false. All the rest of the night I tossed and tumbled, framing
theory after theory, each more unlikely than the last.
&odq;I should have gone to the City that day, but I was too
disturbed in my mind to be able to pay attention to business matters.
My wife seemed to be as upset as myself, and I could see from
the little questioning glances which she kept shooting at me that she
understood that I disbelieved her statement, and that she was at her
wit's end what to do. We hardly exchanged a word during
breakfast, and immediately afterwards I went out for a walk that I
might think the matter out in the fresh morning air.
&odq;I went as far as the Crystal Palace, spent an hour in the
grounds, and was back in Norbury by one o'clock. It happened
that my way took me past the cottage, and I stopped for an instant to
look at the windows and to see if I could catch a glimpse of the
strange face which had looked out at me on the day before. As
I stood there, imagine my surprise, Mr. Holmes, when the door
suddenly opened and my wife walked out.
&odq;I was struck dumb with astonishment at the sight of her,
but my emotions were nothing to those which showed themselves upon
her face when our eyes met. She seemed for an instant to wish
to shrink back inside the house again; and then, seeing how useless
all concealment must be, she came forward, with a very white face and
frightened eyes which belied the smile upon her lips.
&odq;&onq;Ah, Jack,&cnq; she said, &onq;I have just been in to
see if I can be of any assistance to our new neighbours. Why
do you look at me like that, Jack? You are not angry with
me?&cnq;
&odq;&onq;So,&cnq; said I, &onq;this is where you went during
the night.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;What do you mean?&cnq; she cried.
&cdq;
&onq;You came here. I am sure of it. Who are these
people that you should visit them at such an hour?&cnq;
&odq;&onq;I have not been here before.&cnq;
&cdq;
&onq;How can you tell me what you know is false?&cnq; I cried.
&onq;Your very voice changes as you speak. When have I
ever had a secret from you? I shall enter that cottage, and I
shall probe the matter to the bottom.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;No, no, Jack, for God's sake!&cnq; she gasped in
uncontrollable emotion. Then, as I approached the door, she
seized my sleeve and pulled me back with convulsive strength.
&odq;&onq;I implore you not to do this, Jack,&cnq; she cried.
&onq;I swear that I will tell you everything some day, but
nothing but misery can come of it if you enter that cottage.&cnq;
Then, as I tried to shake her off, she clung to me in a frenzy
of entreaty.
&odq;&onq;Trust me, Jack!&cnq; she cried. &onq;Trust me
only this once. You will never have cause to regret it.
You know that I would not have a secret from you if it were
not for your own sake. Our whole lives are at stake in this.
If you come home with me all will be well. If you force
your way into that cottage all is over between us.&cnq;
&odq;There was such earnestness, such despair, in her manner
that her words arrested me, and I stood irresolute before the door.
&odq;&onq;I will trust you on one condition, and on one
condition only,&cnq; said I at last. &onq;It is that this
mystery comes to an end from now. You are at liberty to
preserve your secret, but you must promise me that there shall be no
more nightly visits, no more doings which are kept from my knowledge.
I am willing to forget those which are past if you will
promise that there shall be no more in the future.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;I was sure that you would trust me,&cnq; she cried
with a great sigh of relief. &onq;It shall be just as you
wish. Come away — oh, come away up to the house.&cnq;
&odq;Still pulling at my sleeve, she led me away from the
cottage. As we went I glanced back, and there was that yellow
livid face watching us out of the upper window. What link
could there be between that creature and my wife? Or how could
the coarse, rough woman whom I had seen the day before be connected
with her? It was a strange puzzle, and yet I knew that my mind
could never know ease again until I had solved it.
&odq;For two days after this I stayed at home, and my wife
appeared to abide loyally by our engagement, for, as far as I know,
she never stirred out of the house. On the third day however,
I had ample evidence that her solemn promise was not enough to hold
her back from this secret influence which drew her away from her
husband and her duty.
&odq;I had gone into town on that day, but I returned by the
2:40 instead of the 3:36, which is my usual train. As I
entered the house the maid ran into the hall with a startled face.
&odq;&onq;Where is your mistress?&cnq; I asked.
&cdq; &onq;I think that she has gone out for a
walk,&cnq; she answered.
&odq;My mind was instantly filled with suspicion. I
rushed upstairs to make sure that she was not in the house. As
I did so I happened to glance out of one of the upper windows and saw
the maid with whom I had just been speaking running across the field
in the direction of the cottage. Then of course I saw exactly
what it all meant. My wife had gone over there and had asked
the servant to call her if I should return. Tingling with
anger, I rushed down and hurried across, determined to end the matter
once and forever. I saw my wife and the maid hurrying back
along the lane, but I did not stop to speak with them. In the
cottage lay the secret which was casting a shadow over my life.
I vowed that, come what might, it should be a secret no
longer. I did not even knock when I reached it, but turned the
handle and rushed into the passage.
&odq;It was all still and quiet upon the ground floor.
In the kitchen a kettle was singing on the fire, and a large
black cat lay coiled up in the basket; but there was no sign of the
woman whom I had seen before. I ran into the other room, but
it was equally deserted. Then I rushed up the stairs only to
find two other rooms empty and deserted at the top. There was
no one at all in the whole house. The furniture and pictures
were of the most common and vulgar description, save in the one
chamber at the window of which I had seen the strange face.
That was comfortable and elegant, and all my suspicions rose
into a fierce, bitter flame when I saw that on the mantelpiece stood
a copy of a full-length photograph of my wife, which had been taken
at my request only three months ago.
&odq;I stayed long enough to make certain that the house was
absolutely empty. Then I left it, feeling a weight at my heart
such as I had never had before. My wife came out into the hall
as I entered my house; but I was too hurt and angry to speak with
her, and, pushing past her, I made my way into my study. She
followed me, however, before I could close the door.
&odq;&onq;I am sorry that I broke my promise, Jack,&cnq; said
she, &onq;but if you knew all the circumstances I am sure that you
would forgive me.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;Tell me everything, then,&cnq; said I.
&cdq; &onq;I cannot, Jack, I cannot,&cnq; she cried.
&odq;&onq;Until you tell me who it is that has been living in
that cottage, and who it is to whom you have given that photograph,
there can never be any confidence between us,&cnq; said I, and
breaking away from her I left the house. That was yesterday,
Mr. Holmes, and I have not seen her since, nor do I know anything
more about this strange business. It is the first shadow that
has come between us, and it has so shaken me that I do not know what
I should do for the best. Suddenly this morning it occurred to
me that you were the man to advise me, so I have hurried to you now,
and I place myself unreservedly in your hands. If there is any
point which I have not made clear, pray question me about it.
But, above all, tell me quickly what I am to do, for this
misery is more than I can bear.&cdq;
Holmes and I had listened with the utmost interest to this
extraordinary statement, which had been delivered in the jerky,
broken fashion of a man who is under the influence of extreme
emotion. My companion sat silent now for some time, with his
chin upon his hand, lost in thought.
&odq;Tell me,&cdq; said he at last, &odq;could you swear that
this was a man's face which you saw at the window?&cdq;
&odq;Each time that I saw it I was some distance away from it
so that it is impossible for me to say.&cdq;
&odq;You appear, however, to have been disagreeably impressed
by it.&cdq;
&odq;It seemed to be of an unusual colour and to have a strange
rigidity about the features. When I approached it vanished
with a jerk.&cdq;
&odq;How long is it since your wife asked you for a hundred
pounds?&cdq;
&odq;Nearly two months.&cdq;
&odq;Have you ever
seen a photograph of her first husband?&cdq;
&odq;No, there was a great fire at Atlanta very shortly after
his death, and all her papers were destroyed.&cdq;
&odq;And yet she had a certificate of death. You say
that you saw it.&cdq;
&odq;Yes, she got a duplicate after the fire.&cdq;
&odq;Did you ever meet anyone who knew her in
America?&cdq;
&odq;No.&cdq;
&odq;Did she ever talk of
revisiting the place?&cdq;
&odq;No.&cdq;
&odq;Or get letters from it?&cdq;
&odq;No.&cdq;
&odq;Thank you. I should
like to think over the matter a little now. If the cottage is
now permanently deserted we may have some difficulty. If, on
the other hand, as I fancy is more likely the inmates were warned of
your coming and left before you entered yesterday, then they may be
back now, and we should clear it all up easily. Let me advise
you, then, to return to Norbury and to examine the windows of the
cottage again. If you have reason to believe that it is
inhabited, do not force your way in, but send a wire to my friend and
me. We shall be with you within an hour of receiving it, and
we shall then very soon get to the bottom of the business.&cdq;
&odq;And if it is still empty?&cdq;
&odq;In that
case I shall come out to-morrow and talk it over with you.
Good-bye, and, above all, do not fret until you know that you
really have a cause for it.&cdq;
&odq;I am afraid that this is a bad business, Watson,&cdq; said
my companion as he returned after accompanying Mr. Grant Munro to the
door. &odq;What do you make of it?&cdq;
&odq;It had an ugly sound,&cdq; I answered.
&odq;Yes. There's blackmail in it, or I am much
mistaken.&cdq;
&odq;And who is the blackmailer?&cdq;
&odq;Well,
it must be the creature who lives in the only comfortable room in the
place and has her photograph above his fireplace. Upon my
word, Watson, there is something very attractive about that livid
face at the window, and I would not have missed the case for
worlds.&cdq;
&odq;You have a theory?&cdq;
&odq;Yes, a
provisional one. But I shall be surprised if it does not turn
out to be correct. This woman's first husband is in that
cottage.&cdq;
&odq;Why do you think so?&cdq;
&odq;How else can
we explain her frenzied anxiety that her second one should not enter
it? The facts, as I read them, are something like this: This
woman was married in America. Her husband developed some
hateful qualities, or shall we say he contracted some loathsome
disease and became a leper or an imbecile? She flies from him
at last, returns to England, changes her name, and starts her life,
as she thinks, afresh. She has been married three years and
believes that her position is quite secure, having shown her husband
the death certificate of some man whose name she has assumed, when
suddenly her whereabouts is discovered by her first husband, or, we
may suppose, by some unscrupulous woman who has attached herself to
the invalid. They write to the wife and threaten to come and
expose her. She asks for a hundred pounds and endeavours to
buy them off. They come in spite of it, and when the husband
mentions casually to the wife that there are newcomers in the
cottage, she knows in some way that they are her pursuers. She
waits until her husband is asleep and then she rushes down to
endeavour to persuade them to leave her in peace. Having no
success, she goes again next morning, and her husband meets her, as
he has told us, as she comes out. She promises him then not to
go there again, but two days afterwards the hope of getting rid of
those dreadful neighbours was too strong for her, and she made
another attempt, taking down with her the photograph which had
probably been demanded from her. In the midst of this
interview the maid rushed in to say that the master had come home, on
which the wife, knowing that he would come straight down to the
cottage, hurried the inmates out at the back door, into the grove of
fir-trees, probably, which was mentioned as standing near. In
this way he found the place deserted. I shall be very much
surprised, however, if it is still so when he reconnoitres it this
evening. What do you think of my theory?&cdq;
&odq;It is all surmise.&cdq;
&odq;But at least it
covers all the facts. When new facts come to our knowledge
which cannot be covered by it, it will be time enough to reconsider
it. We can do nothing more until we have a message from our
friend at Norbury.&cdq;
But we had not a very long time to wait for that. It
came just as we had finished our tea.
The cottage is still tenanted [ it said ]. Have seen
the face again at the window. Will meet the seven-o'clock
train and will take no steps until you arrive.
He was waiting on the platform when we stepped out, and we
could see in the light of the station lamps that he was very pale,
and quivering with agitation.
&odq;They are still there, Mr. Holmes,&cdq; said he, laying his
hand hard upon my friend's sleeve. &odq;I saw lights in the
cottage as I came down. We shall settle it now once and for
all.&cdq;
&odq;What is your plan, then?&cdq; asked Holmes as he walked
down the dark tree-lined road.
&odq;I am going to force my way in and see for myself who is in
the house. I wish you both to be there as witnesses.&cdq;
&odq;You are quite determined to do this in spite of your
wife's warning that it is better that you should not solve the
mystery?&cdq;
&odq;Yes, I am determined.&cdq;
&odq;Well, I
think that you are in the right. Any truth is better than
indefinite doubt. We had better go up at once. Of
course, legally, we are putting ourselves hopelessly in the wrong;
but I think that it is worth it.&cdq;
It was a very dark night, and a thin rain began to fall as we
turned from the highroad into a narrow lane, deeply rutted, with
hedges on either side. Mr. Grant Munro pushed impatiently
forward, however, and we stumbled after him as best we could.
&odq;There are the lights of my house,&cdq; he murmured,
pointing to a glimmer among the trees. &odq;And here is the
cottage which I am going to enter.&cdq;
We turned a corner in the lane as he spoke, and there was the
building close beside us. A yellow bar falling across the
black foreground showed that the door was not quite closed, and one
window in the upper story was brightly illuminated. As we
looked, we saw a dark blur moving across the blind.
&odq;There is that creature!&cdq; cried Grant Munro.
&odq;You can see for yourselves that someone is there.
Now follow me, and we shall soon know all.&cdq;
We approached the door, but suddenly a woman appeared out of
the shadow and stood in the golden track of the lamplight. I
could not see her face in the darkness, but her arms were thrown out
in an attitude of entreaty.
&odq;For God's sake, don't, Jack!&cdq; she cried. &odq;I
had a presentiment that you would come this evening. Think
better of it, dear! Trust me again, and you will never have
cause to regret it.&cdq;
&odq;I have trusted you too long, Effie,&cdq; he cried sternly.
&odq;Leave go of me! I must pass you. My friends
and I are going to settle this matter once and forever!&cdq;
He pushed her to one side, and we followed closely after him.
As he threw the door open an old woman ran out in front of him
and tried to bar his passage, but he thrust her back, and an instant
afterwards we were all upon the stairs. Grant Munro rushed
into the lighted room at the top, and we entered at his heels.
It was a cosy, well-furnished apartment, with two candles
burning upon the table and two upon the mantelpiece. In the
corner, stooping over a desk, there sat what appeared to be a little
girl. Her face was turned away as we entered, but we could see
that she was dressed in a red frock, and that she had long white
gloves on. As she whisked round to us, I gave a cry of
surprise and horror. The face which she turned towards us was
of the strangest livid tint, and the features were absolutely devoid
of any expression. An instant later the mystery was explained.
Holmes, with a laugh, passed his hand behind the child's ear,
a mask peeled off from her countenance, and there was a little
coal-black negress, with all her white teeth flashing in amusement at
our amazed faces. I burst out laughing, out of sympathy with
her merriment; but Grant Munro stood staring, with his hand clutching
his throat.
&odq;My God!&cdq; he cried. &odq;What can be the meaning
of this?&cdq;
&odq;I will tell you the meaning of it,&cdq; cried the lady,
sweeping into the room with a proud, set face. &odq;You have
forced me, against my own judgment, to tell you, and now we must both
make the best of it. My husband died at Atlanta. My
child survived.&cdq;
&odq;Your child?&cdq;
She drew a large silver
locket from her bosom. &odq;You have never seen this
open.&cdq;
&odq;I understood that it did not open.&cdq;
She
touched a spring, and the front hinged back. There was a
portrait within of a man strikingly handsome and intelligent-looking,
but bearing unmistakable signs upon his features of his African
descent.
&odq;That is John Hebron, of Atlanta,&cdq; said the lady,
&odq;and a nobler man never walked the earth. I cut myself off
from my race in order to wed him, but never once while he lived did I
for an instant regret it. It was our misfortune that our only
child took after his people rather than mine. It is often so
in such matches, and little Lucy is darker far than ever her father
was. But dark or fair, she is my own dear little girlie, and
her mother's pet.&cdq; The little creature ran across at the
words and nestled up against the lady's dress. &odq;When I
left her in America,&cdq; she continued, &odq;it was only because her
health was weak, and the change might have done her harm. She
was given to the care of a faithful Scotch woman who had once been
our servant. Never for an instant did I dream of disowning her
as my child. But when chance threw you in my way, Jack, and I
learned to love you, I feared to tell you about my child. God
forgive me, I feared that I should lose you, and I had not the
courage to tell you. I had to choose between you, and in my
weakness I turned away from my own little girl. For three
years I have kept her existence a secret from you, but I heard from
the nurse, and I knew that all was well with her. At last,
however, there came an overwhelming desire to see the child once
more. I struggled against it, but in vain. Though I
knew the danger, I determined to have the child over, if it were but
for a few weeks. I sent a hundred pounds to the nurse, and I
gave her instructions about this cottage, so that she might come as a
neighbour, without my appearing to be in any way connected with her.
I pushed my precautions so far as to order her to keep the
child in the house during the daytime, and to cover up her little
face and hands so that even those who might see her at the window
should not gossip about there being a black child in the
neighbourhood. If I had been less cautious I might have been
more wise, but I was half crazy with fear that you should learn the
truth.
It was you who told me first that the cottage was occupied.
I should have waited for the morning, but I could not sleep
for excitement, and so at last I slipped out, knowing how difficult
it is to awake you. But you saw me go, and that was the
beginning of my troubles. Next day you had my secret at your
mercy, but you nobly refrained from pursuing your advantage.
Three days later, however, the nurse and child only just
escaped from the back door as you rushed in at the front one.
And now to-night you at last know all, and I ask you what is
to become of us, my child and me? &odq;She clasped her hands
and waited for an answer.
It was a long ten minutes before Grant Munro broke the silence,
and when his answer came it was one of which I love to think.
He lifted the little child, kissed her, and then, still
carrying her, he held his other hand out to his wife and turned
towards the door.
&odq;We can talk it over more comfortably at home,&cdq; said
he. &odq;I am not a very good man, Effie, but I think that I
am a better one than you have given me credit for being.&cdq;
Holmes and I followed them down the lane, and my friend plucked
at my sleeve as we came out.
&odq;I think,&cdq; said he, &odq;that we shall be of more use
in London than in Norbury.&cdq;
Not another word did he say of the case until late that night,
when he was turning away, with his lighted candle, for his bedroom.
&odq;Watson,&cdq; said he, &odq;if it should ever strike you
that I am getting a little overconfident in my powers, or giving less
pains to a case than it deserves, kindly whisper &onq;Norbury&cnq; in
my ear, and I shall be infinitely obliged to you.&cdq;
Shortly after my marriage I had bought a connection in the
Paddington district. Old Mr. Farquhar, from whom I purchased
it, had at one time an excellent general practice; but his age, and
an affliction of the nature of St. Vitus's dance from which he
suffered, had very much thinned it. The public not unnaturally
goes on the principle that he who would heal others must himself be
whole, and looks askance at the curative powers of the man whose own
case is beyond the reach of his drugs. Thus as my predecessor
weakened his practice declined, until when I purchased it from him it
had sunk from twelve hundred to little more than three hundred a
year. I had confidence, however, in my own youth and energy
and was convinced that in a very few years the concern would be as
flourishing as ever.
For three months after taking over the practice I was kept very
closely at work and saw little of my friend Sherlock Holmes, for I
was too busy to visit Baker Street, and he seldom went anywhere
himself save upon professional business. I was surprised,
therefore, when, one morning in June, as I sat reading the British
Medical Journal after breakfast, I heard a ring at the bell, followed
by the high, somewhat strident tones of my old companion's voice.
&odq;Ah, my dear Watson,&cdq; said he, striding into the room,
&odq;I am very delighted to see you! I trust that Mrs. Watson
has entirely recovered from all the little excitements connected with
our adventure of the Sign of Four.&cdq;
&odq;Thank you, we are both very well,&cdq; said I, shaking him
warmly by the hand.
&odq;And I hope, also,&cdq; he continued, sitting down in the
rocking-chair, &odq;that the cares of medical practice have not
entirely obliterated the interest which you used to take in our
little deductive problems.&cdq;
&odq;On the contrary,&cdq; I answered, &odq;it was only last
night that I was looking over my old notes, and classifying some of
our past results.&cdq;
&odq;I trust that you don't consider your collection
closed.&cdq;
&odq;Not at all. I should wish nothing better than to
have some more of such experiences.&cdq;
&odq;To-day, for example?&cdq;
&odq;Yes, to-day,
if you like.&cdq;
&odq;And as far off as Birmingham?&cdq;
&odq;Certainly, if you wish it.&cdq;
&odq;And the practice?&cdq;
&odq;I do my
neighbour's when he goes. He is always ready to work off the
debt.&cdq;
&odq;Ha! nothing could be better,&cdq; said Holmes, leaning
back in his chair and looking keenly at me from under his half-closed
lids. &odq;I perceive that you have been unwell lately.
Summer colds are always a little trying.&cdq;
&odq;I was confined to the house by a severe chill for three
days last week. I thought, however, that I had cast off every
trace of it.&cdq;
&odq;So you have. You look remarkably robust.&cdq;
&odq;How, then, did you know of it?&cdq;
&odq;My dear fellow, you know my methods.&cdq;
&odq;You deduced it, then?&cdq;
&odq;Certainly.&cdq;
&odq;And from what?&cdq;
&odq;From your slippers.&cdq;
I glanced down at
the new patent-leathers which I was wearing. &odq;How on earth
— &cdq; I began, but Holmes answered my question before it was
asked.
&odq;Your slippers are new,&cdq; he said. &odq;You could
not have had them more than a few weeks. The soles which you
are at this moment presenting to me are slightly scorched. For
a moment I thought they might have got wet and been burned in the
drying. But near the instep there is a small circular wafer of
paper with the shopman's hieroglyphics upon it. Damp would of
course have removed this. You had, then, been sitting with
your feet outstretched to the fire, which a man would hardly do even
in so wet a June as this if he were in his full health.&cdq;
Like all Holmes's reasoning the thing seemed simplicity itself
when it was once explained. He read the thought upon my
features, and his smile had a tinge of bitterness.
&odq;I am afraid that I rather give myself away when I
explain.&cdq; said he. &odq;Results without causes are much
more impressive. You are ready to come to Birmingham,
then?&cdq;
&odq;Certainly. What is the case?&cdq;
&odq;You shall hear it all in the train. My
client is outside in a four-wheeler. Can you come at
once?&cdq;
&odq;In an instant.&cdq; I scribbled a note to my
neighbour, rushed upstairs to explain the matter to my wife, and
joined Holmes upon the doorstep.
&odq;Your neighbour is a doctor.&cdq; said he, nodding at the
brass plate.
&odq;Yes, he bought a practice as I did.&cdq;
&odq;An old-established one?&cdq;
&odq;Just the same as mine. Both have been ever since
the houses were built.&cdq;
&odq;Ah! then you got hold of the best of the two.&cdq;
&odq;I think I did. But how do you know?&cdq;
&odq;By the steps, my boy. Yours are worn three inches
deeper than his. But this gentleman in the cab is my client,
Mr. Hall Pycroft. Allow me to introduce you to him.
Whip your horse up, cabby, for we have only just time to catch
our train.&cdq;
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 moustache. He wore a very shiny top-hat
and a neat suit of sober black, which made him look what he was
— a smart young City man, of the class who have been labelled
cockneys, but who give us our crack volunteer regiments, and who turn
out more fine athletes and sportsmen than any body of men in these
islands. His round, ruddy face was naturally full of
cheeriness, but the corners of his mouth seemed to me to be pulled
down in a half-comical distress. It was not, however, until we
were in a first-class carriage and well started upon our journey to
Birmingham that I was able to learn what the trouble was which had
driven him to Sherlock Holmes.
&odq;We have a clear run here of seventy minutes,&cdq; Holmes
remarked. &odq;I want you, Mr. Hall Pycroft, to tell my friend
your very interesting experience exactly as you have told it to me,
or with more detail if possible. It will be of use to me to
hear the succession of events again. It is a case, Watson,
which may prove to have something in it, or may prove to have
nothing, but which, at least, presents those unusual and outre
features which are as dear to you as they are to me. Now, Mr.
Pycroft. I shall not interrupt you again.&cdq;
Our young companion looked at me with a twinkle in his eye.
&odq;The worst of the story is,&cdq; said he, &odq;that I show
myself up as such a confounded fool. Of course it may work out
all right, and I don't see that I could have done otherwise; but if
I have lost my crib and get nothing in exchange I shall feel what a
soft Johnny I have been. I'm not very good at telling a story,
Dr. Watson, but it is like this with me:
&odq;I used to have a billet at Coxon & Woodhouse's, of Draper
Gardens, but they were let in early in the spring through the
Venezuelan loan, as no doubt you remember, and came a nasty cropper.
I have been with them five years, and old Coxon gave me a
ripping good testimonial when the smash came, but of course we clerks
were all turned adrift, the twenty-seven of us. I tried here
and tried there, but there were lots of other chaps on the same lay
as myself, and it was a perfect frost for a long time. I had
been taking three pounds a week at Coxon's, and I had saved about
seventy of them, but I soon worked my way through that and out at the
other end. I was fairly at the end of my tether at last, and
could hardly find the stamps to answer the advertisements or the
envelopes to stick them to. I had worn out my boots paddling
up office stairs, and I seemed just as far from getting a billet as
ever.
&odq;At last I saw a vacancy at Mawson & Williams's, the great
stock-broking firm in Lombard Street. I dare say E. C. is not
much in your line, but I can tell you that this is about the richest
house in London. The advertisement was to be answered by
letter only. I sent in my testimonial and application, but
without the least hope of getting it. Back came an answer by
return, saying that if I would appear next Monday I might take over
my new duties at once, provided that my appearance was satisfactory.
No one knows how these things are worked. Some people
say that the manager just plunges his hand into the heap and takes
the first that comes. Anyhow it was my innings that time, and
I don't ever wish to feel better pleased. The screw was a
pound a week rise, and the duties just about the same as at Coxon's.
&odq;And now I come to the queer part of the business. I
was in diggings out Hampstead way, 17 Potter's Terrace. Well,
I was sitting doing a smoke that very evening after I had been
promised the appointment, when up came my landlady with a card which
had &onq;Arthur Pinner, Financial Agent,&cnq; printed upon it.
I had never heard the name before and could not imagine what
he wanted with me, but of course I asked her to show him up.
In he walked, a middle-sized dark-haired, dark-eyed,
black-bearded man, with a touch of the sheeny about his nose.
He had a brisk kind of way with him and spoke sharply, like a
man who knew the value of time.
&odq;&onq;Mr. Hall Pycroft, I believe?&cnq; said he.
&cdq; &onq;Yes, sir,&cnq; I answered, pushing a chair
towards him.
&odq;&onq;Lately engaged at Coxon & Woodhouse's?&cnq;
&cdq; &onq;Yes, sir.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;And now on the staff of Mawson's.&cnq;
&cdq; &onq;Quite so.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;Well,&cnq; said he, &onq;the fact is that I have
heard some really extraordinary stories about your financial ability.
You remember Parker, who used to be Coxon's manager. He
can never say enough about it.&cnq;
&odq;Of course I was pleased to hear this. I had always
been pretty sharp in the office, but I had never dreamed that I was
talked about in the City in this fashion.
&odq;&onq;You have a good memory?&cnq; said he.
&cdq; &onq;Pretty fair,&cnq; I answered modestly.
&odq;&onq;Have you kept in touch with the market while you have
been out of work?&cnq; he asked.
&odq;&onq;Yes. I read the stock-exchange list every
morning.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;Now that shows real application!&cnq; he cried.
&onq;That is the way to prosper! You won't mind my
testing you, will you? Let me see. How are
Ayrshires?&cnq;
&odq;&onq;A hundred and six and a quarter to a hundred and five
and seven-eighths.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;And New Zealand consolidated?&cnq;
&cdq; &onq;A hundred and four.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;And British Broken Hills?&cnq;
&cdq;
&onq;Seven to seven-and-six.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;Wonderful!&cnq; he cried with his hands up.
&onq;This quite fits in with all that I had heard. My
boy, my boy, you are very much too good to be a clerk at
Mawson's!&cnq;
&odq;This outburst rather astonished me, as you can think.
&onq;Well,&cnq; said I, &onq;other people don't think quite so
much of me as you seem to do, Mr. Pinner. I had a hard enough
fight to get this berth, and I am very glad to have it.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;Pooh, man; you should soar above it. You are
not in your true sphere. Now, I'll tell you how it stands with
me. What I have to offer is little enough when measured by
your ability, but when compared with Mawson's it's light to dark.
Let me see. When do you go to Mawson's?&cnq;
&odq;&onq;On Monday.&cnq;
&cdq; &onq;Ha, ha!
I think I would risk a little sporting flutter that you don't
go there at all.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;Not go to Mawson's&cnq;?
&onq;
&cdq;&cnq; No, sir. By that day you will be
the business manager of the Franco-Midland Hardware Company, Limited,
with a hundred and thirty-four branches in the towns and villages of
France, not counting one in Brussels and one in San Remo. '
&odq;This took my breath away. &onq;I never heard of
it.&cnq; said I.
&odq;&onq;Very likely not. It has been kept very quiet,
for the capital was all privately subscribed, and it's too good a
thing to let the public into. My brother, Harry Pinner, is
promoter, and joins the board after allotment as managing director.
He knew I was in the swim down here and asked me to pick up a
good man cheap. A young, pushing man with plenty of snap about
him. Parker spoke of you, and that brought me here to-night.
We can only offer you a beggarly five hundred to start
with.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;Five hundred a year!&cnq; I shouted.
&cdq; &onq;Only that at the beginning; but you are to
have an overriding commission of one per cent on all business done by
your agents, and you may take my word for it that this will come to
more than your salary.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;But I know nothing about hardware.&cnq;
&cdq; &onq;Tut, my boy, you know about figures.&cnq;
&odq;My head buzzed, and I could hardly sit still in my chair.
But suddenly a little chill of doubt came upon me.
&odq;&onq;I must be frank with you,&cnq; said I.
&onq;Mawson only gives me two hundred, but Mawson is safe.
Now, really, I know so little about your company that —
&cnq;
&odq;&onq;Ah, smart, smart!&cnq; he cried in a kind of ecstasy
of delight. &onq;You are the very man for us. You are
not to be talked over, and quite right, too. Now, here's a
note for a hundred pounds, and if you think that we can do business
you may just slip it into your pocket as an advance upon your
salary.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;That is very handsome,&cnq; said I. &onq;When
should I take over my new duties?&cnq;
&odq;&onq;Be in Birmingham to-morrow at one,&cnq; said he.
&onq;I have a note in my pocket here which you will take to my
brother. You will find him at 126B Corporation Street, where
the temporary offices of the company are situated. Of course
he must confirm your engagement, but between ourselves it will be all
right.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;Really, I hardly know how to express my gratitude,
Mr. Pinner,&cnq; said I.
&odq;&onq;Not at all, my boy. You have only got your
deserts. There are one or two small things — mere
formalities — which I must arrange with you. You have
a bit of paper beside you there. Kindly write upon it&cdq; I
am perfectly willing to act as business manager to the Franco-Midland
Hardware Company, Limited, at a minimum salary of 500 pounds.
&odq;&cnq;
&odq;I did as he asked, and he put the paper in his pocket.
&odq;&onq;There is one other detail,&cnq; said he.
&onq;What do you intend to do about Mawson's?&cnq;
&odq;I had forgotten all about Mawson's in my joy.
&onq;I'll write and resign,&cnq; said I.
&odq;' Precisely what I don't want you to do. I had a
row over you with Mawson's manager. I had gone up to ask him
about you, and he was very offensive; accused me of coaxing you away
from the service of the firm, and that sort of thing. At last
I fairly lost my temper. &cdq; If you want good men you should
pay them a good price, &odq;said I.
&odq;'&cdq; He would rather have our small price than your big
one, &odq;said he.
&odq;'&cdq; I'll lay you a fiver, &odq;said I,&cdq; that when
he has my offer you'll never so much as hear from him again.
&odq;
&odq;'&cdq; Done! &odq;said he. &cdq; We picked him out
of the gutter, and he won't leave us so easily. &odq;Those
were his very words. '
&odq;&onq;The impudent scoundrel!&cnq; I cried.
&onq;I've never so much as seen him in my life. Why
should I consider him in any way? I shall certainly not write
if you would rather I didn't.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;Good! That's a promise,&cnq; said he, rising
from his chair. &onq;Well, I'm delighted to have got so good a
man for my brother. Here's your advance of a hundred pounds,
and here is the letter. Make a note of the address, 126B
Corporation Street, and remember that one o'clock to-morrow is your
appointment. Good-night, and may you have all the fortune that
you deserve!&cnq;
&odq;That's just about all that passed between us, as near as I
can remember. You can imagine, Dr. Watson, how pleased I was
at such an extraordinary bit of good fortune. I sat up half
the night hugging myself over it, and next day I was off to
Birmingham in a train that would take me in plenty time for my
appointment. I took my things to a hotel in New Street, and
then I made my way to the address which had been given me.
&odq;It was a quarter of an hour before my time, but I thought
that would make no difference, 126B was a passage between two large
shops, which led to a winding stone stair, from which there were many
flats, let as offices to companies or professional men. The
names of the occupants were painted at the bottom on the wall, but
there was no such name as the Franco-Midland Hardware Company,
Limited. I stood for a few minutes with my heart in my boots,
wondering whether the whole thing was an elaborate hoax or not, when
up came a man and addressed me. He was very like the chap I
had seen the night before, the same figure and voice, but he was
clean-shaven and his hair was lighter.
&odq;&onq;Are you Mr. Hall Pycroft?&cnq; he asked.
&cdq; &onq;Yes,&cnq; said I.
&odq;&onq;Oh! I was expecting you, but you are a trifle
before your time. I had a note from my brother this morning in
which he sang your praises very loudly.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;I was just looking for the offices when you
came.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;We have not got our name up yet, for we only secured
these temporary premises last week. Come up with me, and we
will talk the matter over.&cnq;
&odq;I followed him to the top of a very lofty stair, and
there, right under the slates, were a couple of empty, dusty little
rooms, uncarpeted and uncurtained, into which he led me. I had
thought of a great office with shining tables and rows of clerks,
such as I was used to, and I daresay I stared rather straight at the
two deal chairs and one little table, which with a ledger and a
waste-paper basket, made up the whole furniture.
&odq;&onq;Don't be disheartened, Mr. Pycroft,&cnq; said my new
acquaintance, seeing the length of my face. &onq;Rome was not
built in a day, and we have lots of money at our backs, though we
don't cut much dash yet in offices. Pray sit down, and let me
have your letter.&cnq;
&odq;I gave it to him, and he read it over very carefully.
&odq;&onq;You seem to have made a vast impression upon my
brother Arthur,&cnq; said he, &onq;and I know that he is a pretty
shrewd judge. He swears by London, you know; and I by
Birmingham; but this time I shall follow his advice. Pray
consider yourself definitely engaged.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;What are my duties?&cnq; I asked.
&cdq;
&onq;You will eventually manage the great depot in Paris, which will
pour a flood of English crockery into the shops of a hundred and
thirty-four agents in France. The purchase will be completed
in a week, and meanwhile you will remain in Birmingham and make
yourself useful.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;How?&cnq;
&cdq; For answer, he took a
big red book out of a drawer.
&odq;&onq;This is a directory of Paris,&cnq; said he, &onq;with
the trades after the names of the people. I want you to take
it home with you and to mark off all the hardware-sellers, with their
addresses. It would be of the greatest use to me to have
them.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;Surely, there are classified lists?&cnq; I suggested.
&cdq; &onq;Not reliable ones. Their system is
different from ours. Stick at it, and let me have the lists by
Monday, at twelve. Good-day, Mr. Pycroft. If you
continue to show zeal and intelligence you will find the company a
good master.&cnq;
&odq;I went back to the hotel with the big book under my arm,
and with very conflicting feelings in my breast. On the one
hand, I was definitely engaged and had a hundred pounds in my pocket;
on the other, the look of the offices, the absence of name on the
wall, and other of the points which would strike a business man had
left a bad impression as to the position of my employers.
However, come what might, I had my money, so I settled down to
my task. All Sunday I was kept hard at work, and yet by Monday
I had only got as far as H. I went round to my employer, found
him in the same dismantled kind of room, and was told to keep at it
until Wednesday, and then come again. On Wednesday it was
still unfinished, so I hammered away until Friday — that is,
yesterday. Then I brought it round to Mr. Harry Pinner.
&odq;&onq;Thank you very much,&cnq; said he, &onq;I fear that I
underrated the difficulty of the task. This list will be of
very material assistance to me.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;It took some time,&cnq; said I.
&cdq;
&onq;And now,&cnq; said he, &onq;I want you to make a list of the
furniture shops, for they all sell crockery.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;Very good.&cnq;
&cdq; &onq;And you can
come up to-morrow evening at seven and let me know how you are
getting on. Don't overwork yourself. A couple of hours
at Day's Music Hall in the evening would do you no harm after your
labours.&cnq; He laughed as he spoke, and I saw with a thrill
that his second tooth upon the left-hand side had been very badly
stuffed with gold. &odq;
Sherlock Holmes rubbed his hands with delight, and I stared
with astonishment at our client.
&odq;You may well look surprised, Dr. Watson, but it is this
way,&cdq; said he: &odq;When I was speaking to the other chap in
London, at the time that he laughed at my not going to Mawson's, I
happened to notice that his tooth was stuffed in this very identical
fashion. The glint of the gold in each case caught my eye, you
see. When I put that with the voice and figure being the same,
and only those things altered which might be changed by a razor or a
wig, I could not doubt that it was the same man. Of course you
expect two brothers to be alike, but not that they should have the
same tooth stuffed in the same way. He bowed me out, and I
found myself in the street, hardly knowing whether I was on my head
or my heels. Back I went to my hotel, put my head in a basin
of cold water, and tried to think it out. Why had he sent me
from London to Birmingham? Why had he got there before me?
And why had he written a letter from himself to himself?
It was altogether too much for me, and I could make no sense
of it. And then suddenly it struck me that what was dark to me
might be very light to Mr. Sherlock Holmes. I had just time to
get up to town by the night train to see him this morning, and to
bring you both back with me to Birmingham.&cdq;
There was a pause after the stock-broker's clerk had concluded
his surprising experience. Then Sherlock Holmes cocked his eye
at me, leaning back on the cushions with a pleased and yet critical
face, like a connoisseur who has just taken his first sip of a comet
vintage.
&odq;Rather fine, Watson, is it not?&cdq; said he.
&odq;There are points in it which please me. I think
that you will agree with me that an interview with Mr. Arthur Harry
Pinner in the temporary offices of the Franco-Midland Hardware
Company, Limited, would be a rather interesting experience for both
of us.&cdq;
&odq;But how can we do it?&cdq; I asked.
&odq;Oh,
easily enough,&cdq; said Hall Pycroft cheerily. &odq;You are
two friends of mine who are in want of a billet, and what could be
more natural than that I should bring you both round to the managing
director?&cdq;
&odq;Quite so, of course,&cdq; said Holmes. &odq;I
should like to have a look at the gentleman and see if I can make
anything of his little game. What qualities have you, my
friend, which would make your services so valuable? Or is it
possible that — &cdq; He began biting his nails and staring
blankly out of the window, and we hardly drew another word from him
until we were in New Street.
At seven o'clock that evening we were walking, the three of us,
down Corporation Street to the company's offices.
&odq;It is no use our being at all before our time,&cdq; said
our client. &odq;He only comes there to see me, apparently,
for the place is deserted up to the very hour he names.&cdq;
&odq;That is suggestive,&cdq; remarked Holmes.
&odq;By Jove, I told you so!&cdq; cried the clerk.
&odq;That's he walking ahead of us there.&cdq;
He pointed to a smallish, dark, well-dressed man who was
bustling along the other side of the road. As we watched him
he looked across at a boy who was bawling out the latest edition of
the evening paper, and, running over among the cabs and busses, he
bought one from him. Then, clutching it in his hand, he
vanished through a doorway.
&odq;There he goes!&cdq; cried Hall Pycroft. &odq;These
are the company's offices into which he has gone. Come with
me, and I'll fix it up as easily as possible.&cdq;
Following his lead, we ascended five stories, until we found
ourselves outside a half-opened door, at which our client tapped.
A voice within bade us enter, and we entered a bare,
unfurnished room such as Hall Pycroft had described. At the
single table sat the man whom we had seen in the street, with his
evening paper spread out in front of him, and as he looked up at us
it seemed to me that I had never looked upon a face which bore such
marks of grief, and of something beyond grief — of a horror
such as comes to few men in a lifetime. His brow glistened
with perspiration, his cheeks were of the dull, dead white of a
fish's belly, and his eyes were wild and staring. He looked at
his clerk as though he failed to recognize him, and I could see by
the astonishment depicted upon our conductor's face that this was by
no means the usual appearance of his employer.
&odq;You look ill, Mr. Pinner!&cdq; he exclaimed.
&odq;Yes, I am not very well,&cdq; answered the other,
making obvious efforts to pull himself together and licking his dry
lips before he spoke. &odq;Who are these gentlemen whom you
have brought with you?&cdq;
&odq;One is Mr. Harris, of Bermondsey, and the other is Mr.
Price, of this town,&cdq; said our clerk glibly. &odq;They are
friends of mine and gentlemen of experience, but they have been out
of a place for some little time, and they hoped that perhaps you
might find an opening for them in the company's employment.&cdq;
&odq;Very possibly! very possibly!&cdq; cried Mr. Pinner with a
ghastly smile. &odq;Yes, I have no doubt that we shall be able
to do something for you. What is your particular line, Mr.
Harris?&cdq;
&odq;I am an accountant,&cdq; said Holmes.
&odq;Ah, yes, we shall want something of the sort.
And you. Mr. Price?&cdq;
&odq;A clerk,&cdq; said I.
&odq;I have every hope
that the company may accommodate you. I will let you know
about it as soon as we come to any conclusion. And now I beg
that you will go. For God's sake leave me to myself!&cdq;
These last words were shot out of him, as though the constraint
which he was evidently setting upon himself had suddenly and utterly
burst asunder. Holmes and I glanced at each other, and Hall
Pycroft took a step towards the table.
&odq;You forget, Mr. Pinner, that I am here by appointment to
receive some directions from you,&cdq; said he.
&odq;Certainly, Mr. Pycroft, certainly,&cdq; the other resumed
in a calmer tone. &odq;You may wait here a moment and there is
no reason why your friends should not wait with you. I will be
entirely at your service in three minutes, if I might trespass upon
your patience so far.&cdq; He rose with a very courteous air,
and, bowing to us, he passed out through a door at the farther end of
the room, which he closed behind him.
&odq;What now?&cdq; whispered Holmes. &odq;Is he giving
us the slip?&cdq;
&odq;Impossible,&cdq; answered Pycroft.
&odq;Why
so?&cdq;
&odq;That door leads into an inner room.&cdq;
&odq;There is no exit?&cdq;
&odq;None.&cdq;
&odq;Is it furnished?&cdq;
&odq;It was empty yesterday.&cdq;
&odq;Then what
on earth can he be doing? There is something which I don't
understand in this matter. If ever a man was three parts mad
with terror, that man's name is Pinner. What can have put the
shivers on him?&cdq;
&odq;He suspects that we are detectives,&cdq; I suggested.
&odq;That's it,&cdq; cried Pycroft.
Holmes shook his head. &odq;He did not turn pale.
He was pale when we entered the room,&cdq; said he.
&odq;It is just possible that — &cdq;
His words were interrupted by a sharp rat-tat from the
direction of the inner door.
&odq;What the deuce is he knocking at his own door for?&cdq;
cried the clerk.
Again and much louder came the rat-tat-tat. We all gazed
expectantly at the closed door. Glancing at Holmes, I saw his
face turn rigid, and he leaned forward in intense excitement.
Then suddenly came a low guggling, gargling sound, and a brisk
drumming upon woodwork. Holmes sprang frantically across the
room and pushed at the door. It was fastened on the inner
side. Following his example, we threw ourselves upon it with
all our weight. One hinge snapped, then the other, and down
came the door with a crash. Rushing over it, we found
ourselves in the inner room. It was empty.
But it was only for a moment that we were at fault. At
one corner, the corner nearest the room which we had left, there was
a second door. Holmes sprang to it and pulled it open.
A coat and waistcoat were lying on the floor, and from a hook
behind the door, with his own braces round his neck, was hanging the
managing director of the Franco-Midland Hardware Company. His
knees were drawn up, his head hung at a dreadful angle to his body,
and the clatter of his heels against the door made the noise which
had broken in upon our conversation. In an instant I had
caught him round the waist, and held him up while Holmes and Pycroft
untied the elastic bands which had disappeared between the livid
creases of skin. Then we carried him into the other room,
where he lay with a clay-coloured face, puffing his purple lips in
and out with every breath — a dreadful wreck of all that he
had been but five minutes before.
&odq;What do you think of him, Watson?&cdq; asked Holmes.
I stooped over him and examined him. His pulse
was feeble and intermittent, but his breathing grew longer, and there
was a little shivering of his eyelids, which showed a thin white slit
of ball beneath.
&odq;It has been touch and go with him,&cdq; said I, &odq;but
he'll live now. Just open that window, and hand me the water
carafe.&cdq; I undid his collar, poured the cold water over
his face, and raised and sank his arms until he drew a long, natural
breath. &odq;It's only a question of time now,&cdq; said I as
I turned away from him.
Holmes stood by the table, with his hands deep in his trousers'
pockets and his chin upon his breast.
&odq;I suppose we ought to call the police in now,&cdq; said
he. &odq;And yet I confess that I'd like to give them a
complete case when they come.&cdq;
&odq;It's a blessed mystery to me,&cdq; cried Pycroft,
scratching his head. &odq;Whatever they wanted to bring me all
the way up here for, and then — &cdq;
&odq;Pooh! All that is clear enough,&cdq; said Holmes
impatiently. &odq;It is this last sudden move.&cdq;
&odq;You understand the rest, then?&cdq;
&odq;I
think that it is fairly obvious. What do you say, Watson?&cdq;
I shrugged my shoulders. &odq;I must confess that I am
out of my depths,&cdq; said I.
&odq;Oh, surely if you consider the events at first they can
only point to one conclusion.&cdq;
&odq;What do you make of them?&cdq;
&odq;Well,
the whole thing hinges upon two points. The first is the
making of Pycroft write a declaration by which he entered the service
of this preposterous company. Do you not see how very
suggestive that is?&cdq;
&odq;I am afraid I miss the point.&cdq;
&odq;Well, why did they want him to do it? Not
as a business matter, for these arrangements are usually verbal, and
there was no earthly business reason why this should be an exception.
Don't you see, my young friend, that they were very anxious to
obtain a specimen of your handwriting, and had no other way of doing
it?&cdq;
&odq;And why?&cdq;
&odq;Quite so. Why?
When we answer that we have made some progress with our little
problem. Why? There can be only one adequate reason.
Someone wanted to learn to imitate your writing and had to
procure a specimen of it first. And now if we pass on to the
second point we find that each throws light upon the other.
That point is the request made by Pinner that you should not
resign your place, but should leave the manager of this important
business in the full expectation that a Mr. Hall Pycroft, whom he had
never seen, was about to enter the office upon the Monday
morning.&cdq;
&odq;My God!&cdq; cried our client, &odq;what a blind beetle I
have been!&cdq;
&odq;Now you see the point about the handwriting.
Suppose that someone turned up in your place who wrote a
completely different hand from that in which you had applied for the
vacancy, of course the game would have been up. But in the
interval the rogue had learned to imitate you, and his position was
therefore secure, as I presume that nobody in the office had ever set
eyes upon you.
&odq;Not a soul,&cdq; groaned Hall Pycroft.
&odq;Very good. Of course it was of the utmost
importance to prevent you from thinking better of it, and also to
keep you from coming into contact with anyone who might tell you that
your double was at work in Mawson's office. Therefore they
gave you a handsome advance on your salary, and ran you off to the
Midlands, where they gave you enough work to do to prevent your going
to London, where you might have burst their little game up.
That is all plain enough.&cdq;
&odq;But why should this man pretend to be his own
brother?&cdq;
&odq;Well, that is pretty clear also. There are
evidently only two of them in it. The other is impersonating
you at the office. This one acted as your engager, and then
found that he could not find you an employer without admitting a
third person into his plot. That he was most unwilling to do.
He changed his appearance as far as he could, and trusted that
the likeness, which you could not fail to observe, would be put down
to a family resemblance. But for the happy chance of the gold
stuffing, your suspicions would probably never have been
aroused.&cdq;
Hall Pycroft shook his clenched hands in the air.
&odq;Good Lord!&cdq; he cried, &odq;while I have been fooled
in this way, what has this other Hall Pycroft been doing at Mawson's?
What should we do, Mr. Holmes? Tell me what to do.&cdq;
&odq;We must wire to Mawson's.&cdq;
&odq;They
shut at twelve on Saturdays.&cdq;
&odq;Never mind. There may be some door-keeper or
attendant — &cdq;
&odq;Ah, yes, they keep a permanent guard there on account of
the value of the securities that they hold. I remember hearing
it talked of in the City.&cdq;
&odq;Very good, we shall wire to him and see if all is well,
and if a clerk of your name is working there. That is clear
enough, but what is not so clear is why at sight of us one of the
rogues should instantly walk out of the room and hang himself.&cdq;
&odq;The paper!&cdq; croaked a voice behind us. The man
was sitting up, blanched and ghastly, with returning reason in his
eyes, and hands which rubbed nervously at the broad red band which
still encircled his throat.
&odq;The paper! Of course!&cdq; yelled Holmes in a
paroxysm of excitement. &odq;Idiot that I was! I
thought so much of our visit that the paper never entered my head for
an instant. To be sure, the secret must lie there.&cdq;
He flattened it out upon the table, and a cry of triumph burst
from his lips. &odq;Look at this, Watson,&cdq; he cried.
&odq;It is a London paper, an early edition of the Evening
Standard. Here is what we want. Look at the headlines:
&onq;Crime in the City. Murder at Mawson & Williams's.
Gigantic Attempted Robbery. Capture of the
Criminal.&cnq; Here, Watson, we are all equally anxious to
hear it, so kindly read it aloud to us.&cdq;
It appeared from its position in the paper to have been the one
event of importance in town, and the account of it ran in this way:
&odq;A desperate attempt at robbery, culminating in the death of one man and the capture of the criminal, occurred this afternoon in the City.For some time back Mawson & Williams, the famous financial house, have been the guardians of securities which amount in the aggregate to a sum of considerably over a million sterling.So conscious was the manager of the responsibility which devolved upon him in consequence of the great interests at stake that safes of the very latest construction have been employed, and an armed watchman has been left day and night in the building.It appears that last week a new clerk named Hall Pycroft was engaged by the firm.This person appears to have been none other than Beddington, the famous forger and cracksman, who, with his brother, has only recently emerged from a five years' spell of penal servitude.By some means, which are not yet clear, he succeeded in winning, under a false name, this official position in the office, which he utilized in order to obtain mouldings of various locks, and a thorough knowledge of the position of the strongroom and the safes.@&cdq; It is customary at Mawson's for the clerks to leave at midday on Saturday.Sergeant Tuson, of the City police, was somewhat surprised, therefore, to see a gentleman with a carpet-bag come down the steps at twenty minutes past one.His suspicions being aroused, the sergeant followed the man, and with the aid of Constable Pollock succeeded, after a most desperate resistance, in arresting him.It was at once clear that, a daring and gigantic robbery had been committed.Nearly a hundred thousand pounds' worth of American railway bonds, with a large amount of scrip in mines and other companies, was discovered in the bag.On examining the premises the body of the unfortunate watchman was found doubled up and thrust into the largest of the safes, where it would not have been discovered until Monday morning had it not been for the prompt action of Sergeant Tuson.The man's-skull had been shattered by a blow from a poker delivered from behind.There could be no doubt that Beddington had obtained entrance by pretending that he had left something behind him, and having murdered the watchman, rapidly rifled the large safe, and then made off with his booty.His brother, who usually works with him, has not appeared in this job as far as can at present be ascertained, although the police are making energetic inquiries as to his whereabouts. &odq;
&odq;Well, we may save the police some little trouble in that
direction,&cdq; said Holmes, glancing at the haggard figure huddled
up by the window. &odq;Human nature is a strange mixture,
Watson. You see that even a villain and murderer can inspire
such affection that his brother turns to suicide when he learns that
his neck is forfeited. However, we have no choice as to our
action. The doctor and I will remain on guard, Mr. Pycroft, if
you will have the kindness to step out for the police.&cdq;
&odq;I have some papers here,&cdq; said my friend Sherlock
Holmes as we sat one winter's night on either side of the fire,
&odq;which I really think, Watson, that it would be worth your while
to glance over. These are the documents in the extraordinary
case of the Gloria Scott, and this is the message which struck
Justice of the Peace Trevor dead with horror when he read it.&cdq;
He had picked from a drawer a little tarnished cylinder, and,
undoing the tape, he handed me a short note scrawled upon a
half-sheet of slate-gray paper.
The supply of game for London is going steadily up [ it
ran ]. Head-keeper Hudson, we believe, has been now told to
receive all orders for fly-paper and for preservation of your
hen-pheasant's life.
As I glanced up from reading this enigmatical message, I saw
Holmes chuckling at the expression upon my face.
&odq;You look a little bewildered,&cdq; said he.
&odq;I cannot see how such a message as this could
inspire horror. It seems to me to be rather grotesque than
otherwise.&cdq;
&odq;Very likely. Yet the fact remains that the reader,
who was a fine, robust old man, was knocked clean down by it as if it
had been the butt end of a pistol.&cdq;
&odq;You arouse my curiosity,&cdq; said I. &odq;But why
did you say just now that there were very particular reasons why I
should study this case?&cdq;
&odq;Because it was the first in which I was ever engaged.&cdq;
I had often endeavoured to elicit from my companion what had
first turned his mind in the direction of criminal research, but had
never caught him before in a communicative humour. Now he sat
forward in his armchair and spread out the documents upon his knees.
Then he lit his pipe and sat for some time smoking and turning
them over.
&odq;You never heard me talk of Victor Trevor?&cdq; he asked.
&odq;He was the only friend I made during the two years I was
at college. I was never a very sociable fellow, Watson, always
rather fond of moping in my rooms and working out my own little
methods of thought, so that I never mixed much with the men of my
year. Bar fencing and boxing I had few athletic tastes, and
then my line of study was quite distinct from that of the other
fellows, so that we had no points of contact at all. Trevor
was the only man I knew, and that only through the accident of his
bull terrier freezing on to my ankle one morning as I went down to
chapel.
&odq;It was a prosaic way of forming a friendship, but it was
effective. I was laid by the heels for ten days, and Trevor
used to come in to inquire after me. At first it was only a
minute's chat but soon his visits lengthened, and before the end of
the term we were close friends. He was a hearty, full-blooded
fellow, full of spirits and energy, the very opposite to me in most
respects, but we had some subjects in common, and it was a bond of
union when I found that he was as friendless as I. Finally he
invited me down to his father's place at Donnithorpe, in Norfolk, and
I accepted his hospitality for a month of the long vacation.
&odq;Old Trevor was evidently a man of some wealth and
consideration, a J. P., and a landed proprietor. Donnithorpe
is a little hamlet just to the north of Langmere, in the country of
the Broads. The house was an old-fashioned, widespread,
oak-beamed brick building, with a fine lime-lined avenue leading up
to it. There was excellent wild-duck shooting in the fens,
remarkably good fishing, a small but select library, taken over, as I
understood, from a former occupant, and a tolerable cook, so that he
would be a fastidious man who could not put in a pleasant month
there.
&odq;Trevor senior was a widower, and my friend his only son.
&odq;There had been a daughter, I heard, but she had died of
diphtheria while on a visit to Birmingham. The father
interested me extremely. He was a man of little culture, but
with a considerable amount of rude strength, both physically and
mentally. He knew hardly any books, but he had travelled far,
had seen much of the world, and had remembered all that he had
learned. In person he was a thick-set, burly man with a shock
of grizzled hair, a brown, weather-beaten face, and blue eyes which
were keen to the verge of fierceness. Yet he had a reputation
for kindness and charity on the countryside, and was noted for the
leniency of his sentences from the bench.
&odq;One evening, shortly after my arrival, we were sitting
over a glass of port after dinner, when young Trevor began to talk
about those habits of observation and inference which I had already
formed into a system, although I had not yet appreciated the part
which they were to play in my life. The old man evidently
thought that his son was exaggerating in his description of one or
two trivial feats which I had performed.
&odq;&onq;Come, now, Mr. Holmes,&cnq; said he, laughing
good-humouredly. &onq;I'm an excellent subject, if you can
deduce anything from me.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;I fear there is not very much,&cnq; I answered.
&onq;I might suggest that you have gone about in fear of some
personal attack within the last twelvemonth.&cnq;
&odq;The laugh faded from his lips, and he stared at me in
great surprise.
&odq;&onq;Well, that's true enough,&cnq; said he.
&onq;You know, Victor,&cnq; turning to his son, &onq;when we
broke up that poaching gang they swore to knife us, and Sir Edward
Holly has actually been attacked. I've always been on my guard
since then, though I have no idea how you know it.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;You have a very handsome stick,&cnq; I answered.
&onq;By the inscription I observed that you had not had it
more than a year. But you have taken some pains to bore the
head of it and pour melted lead into the hole so as to make it a
formidable weapon. I argued that you would not take such
precautions unless you had some danger to fear.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;Anything else?&cnq; he asked, smiling.
&cdq; &onq;You have boxed a good deal in your
youth.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;Right again. How did you know it? Is my
nose knocked a little out of the straight?&cnq;
&odq;&onq;No,&cnq; said I. &onq;It is your ears.
They have the peculiar flattening and thickening which marks
the boxing man.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;Anything else?&cnq;
&cdq; &onq;You have
done a good deal of digging by your callosities.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;Made all my money at the gold fields.&cnq;
&cdq; &onq;You have been in New Zealand.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;Right again.&cnq;
&cdq; &onq;You have
visited Japan.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;Quite true.&cnq;
&cdq; &onq;And you
have been most intimately associated with someone whose initials were
J. A., and whom you afterwards were eager to entirely forget.&cnq;
&odq;Mr. Trevor stood slowly up, fixed his large blue eyes upon
me with a strange wild stare, and then pitched forward, with his face
among the nutshells which strewed the cloth, in a dead faint.
&odq;You can imagine, Watson, how shocked both his son and I
were. His attack did not last long, however, — for
when we undid his collar and sprinkled the water from one of the
finger-glasses over his face, he gave a gasp or two and sat up.
&odq;&onq;Ah, boys,&cnq; said he, forcing a smile, &onq;I hope
I haven't frightened you. Strong as I look, there is a weak
place in my heart, and it does not take much to knock me over.
I don't know how you manage this, Mr. Holmes, but it seems to
me that all the detectives of fact and of fancy would be children in
your hands. That's your line of life, sir, and you may take
the word of a man who has seen something of the world.&cnq;
&odq;And that recommendation, with the exaggerated estimate of
my ability with which he prefaced it, was, if you will believe me,
Watson, the very first thing which ever made me feel that a
profession might be made out of what had up to that time been the
merest hobby. At the moment, however, I was too much concerned
at the sudden illness of my host to think of anything else.
&odq;&onq;I hope that I have said nothing to pain you?&cnq;
said I.
&odq;&onq;Well, you certainly touched upon rather a tender
point. Might I ask how you know, and how much you know?&cnq;
He spoke now in a half-jesting fashion, but a look of terror
still lurked at the back of his eyes.
&odq;&onq;It is simplicity itself,&cnq; said I.
&onq;When you bared your arm to draw that fish into the boat I
saw that J. A. had been tattooed in the bend of the elbow. The
letters were still legible, but it was perfectly clear from their
blurred appearance, and from the staining of the skin round them,
that efforts had been made to obliterate them. It was obvious,
then, that those initials had once been very familiar to you, and
that you had afterwards wished to forget them.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;What an eye you have!&cnq; he cried with a sigh of
relief. &onq;It is just as you say. But we won't talk
of it. Of all ghosts the ghosts of our old loves are the
worst. Come into the billiard-room and have a quiet
cigar.&cnq;
&odq;From that day, amid all his cordiality, there was always a
touch of suspicion in Mr. Trevor's manner towards me. Even his
son remarked it. &onq;You've given the governor such a
turn,&cnq; said he, &onq;that he'll never be sure again of what you
know and what you don't know.&cnq; He did not mean to show it,
I am sure, but it was so strongly in his mind that it peeped out at
every action. At last I became so convinced that I was causing
him uneasiness that I drew my visit to a close. On the very
day, however, before I left, an incident occurred which proved in the
sequel to be of importance.
&odq;We were sitting out upon the lawn on garden chairs, the
three of us, basking in the sun and admiring the view across the
Broads, when a maid came out to say that there was a man at the door
who wanted to see Mr. Trevor.
&odq;&onq;What is his name?&cnq; asked my host.
&cdq; &onq;He would not give any.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;What does he want, then?&cnq;
&cdq;
&onq;He says that you know him, and that he only wants a moment's
conversation.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;Show him round here.&cnq; An instant
afterwards there appeared a little wizened fellow with a cringing
manner and a shambling style of walking. He wore an open
jacket, with a splotch of tar on the sleeve, a red-and-black check
shirt, dungaree trousers, and heavy boots badly worn. His face
was thin and brown and crafty, with a perpetual smile upon it, which
showed an irregular line of yellow teeth, and his crinkled hands were
half closed in a way that is distinctive of sailors. As he
came slouching across the lawn I heard Mr. Trevor make a sort of
hiccoughing noise in his throat, and, jumping out of his chair, he
ran into the house. He was back in a moment, and I smelt a
strong reek of brandy as he passed me.
&odq;&onq;Well, my man,&cnq; said he. &onq;What can I do
for you?&cnq;
&odq;The sailor stood looking at him with puckered eyes, and
with the same loose-lipped smile upon his face.
&odq;&onq;You don't know me?&cnq; he asked.
&cdq;
&onq;Why, dear me, it is surely Hudson,&cnq; said Mr. Trevor in a
tone of surprise.
&odq;&onq;Hudson it is, sir,&cnq; said the seaman.
&onq;Why, it's thirty year and more since I saw you last.
Here you are in your house, and me still picking my salt meat
out of the harness cask.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;Tut, you will find that I have not forgotten old
times,&cnq; cried Mr. Trevor, and, walking towards the sailor, he
said something in a low voice. &onq;Go into the kitchen,&cnq;
he continued out loud, &onq;and you will get food and drink. I
have no doubt that I shall find you a situation.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;Thank you, sir,&cnq; said the seaman, touching his
forelock. &onq;I'm just off a two-yearer in an eight-knot
tramp, short-handed at that, and I wants a rest. I thought I'd
get it either with Mr. Beddoes or with you.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;Ah!&cnq; cried Mr. Trevor. &onq;You know where
Mr. Beddoes is?&cnq;
&odq;&onq;Bless you, sir, I know where all my old friends
are,&cnq; said the fellow with a sinister smile, and he slouched off
after the maid to the kitchen. Mr. Trevor mumbled something to
us about having been shipmate with the man when he was going back to
the diggings, and then, leaving us on the lawn, he went indoors.
An hour later, when we entered the house, we found him
stretched dead drunk upon the dining-room sofa. The whole
incident left a most ugly impression upon my mind, and I was not
sorry next day to leave Donnithorpe behind me, for I felt that my
presence must be a source of embarrassment to my friend.
&odq;All this occurred during the first month of the long
vacation. I went up to my London rooms, where I spent seven
weeks working out a few experiments in organic chemistry. One
day, however, when the autumn was far advanced and the vacation
drawing to a close, I received a telegram from my friend imploring me
to return to Donnithorpe, and saying that he was in great need of my
advice and assistance. Of course I dropped everything and set
out for the North once more.
&odq;He met me with the dog-cart at the station, and I saw at a
glance that the last two months had been very trying ones for him.
He had grown thin and careworn, and had lost the loud, cheery
manner for which he had been remarkable.
&odq;&onq;The governor is dying,&cnq; were the first words he
said.
&odq;&onq;Impossible!&cnq; I cried. &onq;What is the
matter?&cnq;
&odq;&onq;Apoplexy. Nervous shock. He's been on
the verge all day. I doubt if we shall find him alive.&cnq;
&odq;I was, as you may think, Watson, horrified at this
unexpected news.
&odq;&onq;What has caused it?&cnq; I asked.
&cdq;
&onq;Ah, that is the point. Jump in and we can talk it over
while we drive. You remember that fellow who came upon the
evening before you left us?&cnq;
&odq;&onq;Perfectly.&cnq;
&cdq; &onq;Do you know
who it was that we let into the house that day?&cnq;
&odq;&onq;I have no idea.&cnq;
&cdq; &onq;It was
the devil, Holmes,&cnq; he cried.
&odq;I stared at him in astonishment.
&cdq;
&onq;Yes, it was the devil himself. We have not had a peaceful
hour since — not one. The governor has never held up
his head from that evening, and now the life has been crushed out of
him and his heart broken, all through this accursed Hudson.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;What power had he, then?&cnq;
&cdq;
&onq;Ah, that is what I would give so much to know. The
kindly, charitable good old governor — how could he have
fallen into the clutches of such a ruffian! But I am so glad
that you have come, Holmes. I trust very much to your judgment
and discretion, and I know that you will advise me for the best.&cnq;
&odq;We were dashing along the smooth white country road, with
the long stretch of the Broads in front of us glimmering in the red
light of the setting sun. From a grove upon our left I could
already see the high chimneys and the flagstaff which marked the
squire's dwelling.
&odq;&onq;My father made the fellow gardener,&cnq; —
said my companion, ' and then, as that did not satisfy him, he was
promoted to be butler. The house seemed to be at his mercy,
and he wandered about and did what he chose in it. The maids
complained of his drunken habits and his vile language. The
dad raised their wages all round to recompense them for the
annoyance. The fellow would take the boat and my father's best
gun and treat himself to little shooting trips. And all this
with such a sneering, leering, insolent face that I would have
knocked him down twenty times over if he had been a man of my own
age. I tell you, Holmes, I have had to keep a tight hold upon
myself all this time and now I am asking myself whether, if I had let
myself go a little more, I might not have been a wiser man.
&odq;' Well, matters went from bad to worse with us, and this
animal Hudson became more and more intrusive, until at last, on his
making some insolent reply to my father in my presence one day, I
took him by the shoulders and turned him out of the room. He
slunk away with a livid face and two venomous eyes which uttered more
threats than his tongue could do. I don't know what passed
between the poor dad and him after that, but the dad came to me next
day and asked me whether I would mind apologizing to Hudson. I
refused, as you can imagine, and asked my father how he could allow
such a wretch to take such liberties with himself and his household.
&odq;'&cdq; Ah, my boy, &odq;said he,&cdq; it is all very well
to talk, but you don't know how I am placed. But you shall
know, Victor. I'll see that you shall know, come what may.
You wouldn't believe harm of your poor old father, would you,
lad? &odq;He was very much moved and shut himself up in the
study all day, where I could see through the window that he was
writing busily.
&odq;' That evening there came what seemed to me to be a grand
release, for Hudson told us that he was going to leave us. He
walked into the dining-room as we sat after dinner and announced his
intention in the thick voice of a half-drunken man.
&odq;'&cdq; I've had enough of Norfolk, &odq;said he.
&cdq; I'll run down to Mr. Beddoes in Hampshire. He'll
be as glad to see me as you were, I daresay. &odq;
&odq;'&cdq; You're not going away in an unkind spirit, Hudson,
I hope, &odq;said my father with a tameness which made my blood boil.
&odq;'&cdq; I've not had my 'pology, &odq;said he sulkily,
glancing in my direction.
&odq;'&cdq; Victor, you will acknowledge that you have used
this worthy fellow rather roughly, &odq;said the dad, turning to me.
&odq;'&cdq; On the contrary, I think that we have both shown
extraordinary patience towards him, &odq;I answered.
&odq;'&cdq; Oh, you do, do you? &odq;he snarled. &cdq;
Very good, mate. We'll see about that! &odq;
&odq;&onq;He slouched out of the room and half an hour
afterwards left the house, leaving my father in a state of pitiable
nervousness. Night after night I heard him pacing his room,
and it was just as he was recovering his confidence that the blow did
at last fall.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;And how?&cnq; I asked eagerly.
&cdq;
&onq;In a most extraordinary fashion. A letter arrived for my
father yesterday evening, bearing the Fordingham postmark. My
father read it, clapped both his hands to his head, and began running
round the room in little circles like a man who has been driven out
of his senses. When I at last drew him down on to the sofa,
his mouth and eyelids were all puckered on one side, and I saw that
he had a stroke. Dr. Fordham came over at once. We put
him to bed, but the paralysis has spread, he has shown no sign of
returning consciousness, and I think that we shall hardly find him
alive.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;You horrify me, Trevor!&cnq; I cried.
&onq;What then could have been in this letter to cause so
dreadful a result?&cnq;
&odq;&onq;Nothing. There lies the inexplicable part of
it. The message was absurd and trivial. Ah, my God, it
is as I feared!&cnq;
&odq;As he spoke we came round the curve of the avenue and saw
in the fading light that every blind in the house had been drawn
down. As we dashed up to the door, my friend's face convulsed
with grief, a gentleman in black emerged from it.
&odq;&onq;When did it happen, doctor?&cnq; asked Trevor.
&cdq; &onq;Almost immediately after you left.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;Did he recover consciousness?&cnq;
&cdq; &onq;For an instant before the end.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;Any message for me?&cnq;
&cdq;
&onq;Only that the papers were in the back drawer of the Japanese
cabinet.&cnq;
&odq;My friend ascended with the doctor to the chamber of death
while I remained in the study, turning the whole matter over and over
in my head, and feeling as sombre as ever I had done in my life.
What was the past of this Trevor, pugilist, traveller, and
gold-digger, and how had he placed himself in the power of this
acid-faced seaman? Why, too, should he faint at an allusion to
the half-effaced initials upon his arm and die of fright when he had
a letter from Fordingham? Then I remembered that Fordingham
was in Hampshire, and that this Mr. Beddoes, whom the seaman had gone
to visit and presumably to blackmail, had also been mentioned as
living in Hampshire. The letter, then, might either come from
Hudson, the seaman, saying that he had betrayed the guilty secret
which appeared to exist, or it might come from Beddoes, warning an
old confederate that such a betrayal was imminent. So far it
seemed clear enough. But then how could this letter be trivial
and grotesque, as described by the son? He must have misread
it. If so, it must have been one of those ingenious secret
codes which mean one thing while they seem to mean another. I
must see this letter. If there was a hidden meaning in it, I
was confident that I could pluck it forth. For an hour I sat
pondering over it in the gloom, until at last a weeping maid brought
in a lamp, and close at her heels came my friend Trevor, pale but
composed, with these very papers which lie upon my knee held in his
grasp. He sat down opposite to me, drew the lamp to the edge
of the table, and handed me a short note scribbled, as you see, upon
a single sheet of gray paper. &onq;The supply of game for
London is going steadily up,&cnq; it ran. &onq;Head-keeper
Hudson, we believe, has been now told to receive all orders for
fly-paper and for preservation of your hen-pheasant's life.&cnq;
&odq;I daresay my face looked as bewildered as yours did just
now when first I read this message. Then I reread it very
carefully. It was evidently as I had thought, and some secret
meaning must lie buried in this strange combination of words.
Or could it be that there was a prearranged significance to
such phrases as &onq;fly-paper&cnq; and &onq;hen-pheasant&cnq;?
Such a meaning would be arbitrary and could not be deduced in
any way. And yet I was loath to believe that this was the
case, and the presence of the word Hudson seemed to show that the
subject of the message was as I had guessed, and that it was from
Beddoes rather than the sailor. I tried it backward, but the
combination &onq;life pheasant's hen&cnq; was not encouraging.
Then I tried alternate words, but neither &onq;the of for&cnq;
nor &onq;supply game London&cnq; promised to throw any light upon it.
&odq;And then in an instant the key of the riddle was in my
hands, and I saw that every third word, beginning with the first,
would give a message which might well drive old Trevor to despair.
&odq;It was short and terse, the warning, as I now read it to
my companion:
&odq;&onq;The game is up. Hudson has told all.
Fly for your life.&cnq;
&odq;Victor Trevor sank his face into his shaking hands.
&onq;It must be that, I suppose,&cnq; said he.
&onq;This is worse than death, for it means disgrace as well.
But what is the meaning of these&cdq; headkeepers
&odq;and&cdq; hen-pheasants &odq;?&cnq;
&odq;&onq;It means nothing to the message, but it might mean a
good deal to us if we had no other means of discovering the sender.
You see that he has begun by writing&cdq; The... game... is,
&odq;and so on. Afterwards he had, to fulfil the prearranged
cipher, to fill in any two words in each space. He would
naturally use the first words which came to his mind, and if there
were so many which referred to sport among them, you may be tolerably
sure that he is either an ardent shot or interested in breeding.
Do you know anything of this Beddoes?&cnq;
&odq;&onq;Why, now that you mention it,&cnq; said he, &onq;I
remember that my poor father used to have an invitation from him to
shoot over his preserves every autumn.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;Then it is undoubtedly from him that the note
comes,&cnq; said I. &onq;It only remains for us to find out
what this secret was which the sailor Hudson seems to have held over
the heads of these two wealthy and respected men.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;Alas, Holmes, I fear that it is one of sin and
shame!&cnq; cried my friend. &onq;But from you I shall have no
secrets. Here is the statement which was drawn up by my father
when he knew that the danger from Hudson had become imminent.
I found it in the Japanese cabinet, as he told the doctor.
Take it and read it to me, for I have neither the strength nor
the courage to do it myself.&cnq;
&odq;These are the very papers, Watson, which he handed to me,
and I will read them to you, as I read them in the old study that
night to him. They are endorsed outside, as you see, &onq;Some
particulars of the voyage of the bark Gloria Scott, from her leaving
Falmouth on the 8th October, 1855, to her destruction in N. Lat. 15
degrees 20'. W. Long. 25 degrees 14', on Nov. 6th.&cnq; It is
in the form of a letter, and runs in this way.
&odq;' My dear, dear son, now that approaching disgrace begins
to darken the closing years of my life, I can write with all truth
and honesty that it is not the terror of the law, it is not the loss
of my position in the county, nor is it my fall in the eyes of all
who have known me, which cuts me to the heart; but it is the thought
that you should come to blush for me — you who love me and
who have seldom, I hope, had reason to do other than respect me.
But if the blow falls which is forever hanging over me, then I
should wish you to read this, that you may know straight from me how
far I have been to blame. On the other hand, if all should go
well ( which may kind God Almighty grant! ), then, if by any chance
this paper should be still undestroyed and should fall into your
hands, I conjure you, by all you hold sacred, by the memory of your
dear mother, and by the love which has been between us, to hurl it
into the fire and to never give one thought to it again.
&odq;' If then your eye goes on to read this line, I know that
I shall already have been exposed and dragged from my home, or, as is
more likely, for you know that my heart is weak, be lying with my
tongue sealed forever in death. In either case the time for
suppression is past, and every word which I tell you is the naked
truth, and this I swear as I hope for mercy.
&odq;&onq;My name, dear lad, is not Trevor. I was James
Armitage in my younger days, and you can understand now the shock
that it was to me a few weeks ago when your college friend addressed
me in words which seemed to imply that he had surprised my secret.
As Armitage it was that I entered a London banking-house, and
as Armitage I was convicted of breaking my country's laws, and was
sentenced to transportation. Do not think very harshly of me,
laddie. It was a debt of honour, so called, which I had to
pay, and I used money which was not my own to do it, in the certainty
that I could replace it before there could be any possibility of its
being missed. But the most dreadful ill-luck pursued me.
The money which I had reckoned upon never came to hand, and a
premature examination of accounts exposed my deficit. The case
might have been dealt leniently with, but the laws were more harshly
administered thirty years ago than now, and on my twenty-third
birthday I found myself chained as a felon with thirty-seven other
convicts in the&cnq;tween-decks of the bark Gloria Scott, bound for
Australia.
&odq;&onq;It was the year&cnq; 55, when the Crimean War was at
its height, and the old convict ships had been largely used as
transports in the Black Sea. The government was compelled,
therefore, to use smaller and less suitable vessels for sending out
their prisoners. The Gloria Scott had been in the Chinese
tea-trade, but she was an old-fashioned, heavy-bowed, broad-beamed
craft, and the new clippers had cut her out. She was a
five-hundred-ton boat; and besides her thirty-eight jail-birds, she
carried twenty-six of a crew, eighteen soldiers, a captain, three
mates, a doctor, a chaplain, and four warders. Nearly a
hundred souls were in her, all told, when we set sail from Faltnouth.
&odq;' The partitions between the cells of the convicts instead
of being of thick oak, as is usual in convict-ships, were quite thin
and frail. The man next to me, upon the aft side, was one whom
I had particularly noticed when we were led down the quay. He
was a young man with a clear, hairless face, a long, thin nose, and
rather nut-cracker jaws. He carried his head very jauntily in
the air, had a swaggering style of walking, and was above all else,
remarkable for his extraordinary height. I don't think any of
our heads would have come up to his shoulder, and I am sure that he
could not have measured less than six and a half feet. It was
strange among so many sad and weary faces to see one which was full
of energy and resolution. The sight of it was to me like a
fire in a snowstorm. I was glad, then, to find that he was my
neighbour, and gladder still when, in the dead of the night, I heard
a whisper close to my ear and found that he had managed to cut an
opening in the board which separated us.
&odq;'&cdq; Hullo, chummy! &odq;said he,&cdq; what's your name,
and what are you here for? &odq;
&odq;' I answered him, and asked in turn who I was talking
with.
&odq;'&cdq; I'm Jack Prendergast, &odq;said he,&cdq; and by
God! you'll learn to bless my name before you've done with me.
&odq;
&odq;' I remembered hearing of his case, for it was one which
had made an immense sensation throughout the country some time before
my own arrest. He was a man of good family and of great
ability, but of incurably vicious habits, who had by an ingenious
system of fraud obtained huge sums of money from the leading London
merchants.
&odq;'&cdq; Ha, ha! You remember my case! &odq;said he
proudly.
&odq;'&cdq; Very well &onq;, indeed.
&odq;
&cdq;&cnq; &odq;Then maybe you remember something
queer about it?&cdq;
&odq;'&cdq; What was that, then? &odq;
&cdq; '
&odq;I'd had nearly a quarter of a million, hadn't I?&cdq;
&odq;'&cdq; So it was said. &odq;
&cdq; ' &odq;But
none was recovered, eh?&cdq;
&odq;'&cdq; No. &odq;
&cdq; ' &odq;Well, where
d'ye suppose the balance is?&cdq; he asked.
&odq;'&cdq; I have no idea, &odq;said I.
&cdq; '
&odq;Right between my finger and thumb,&cdq; he cried. &odq;By
God! I've got mare pounds to my name than you've hairs on your
head. And if you've money, my son, and know how to handle it
and spread it, you can do anything. Now, you don't think it
likely that a man who could do anything is going to wear his breeches
out sitting in the stinking hold of a rat-gutted beetle-ridden,
mouldy old coffin of a Chin China coaster. No, sir, such a man
will look after himself and will look after his chums. You may
lay to that! You hold on to him, and you may kiss the Book
that he'll haul you through.&cdq;
&odq;' That was his style of talk, and at first I thought it
meant nothing; but after a while, when he had tested me and sworn me
in with all possible solemnity, he let me understand that there
really was a plot to gain command of the vessel. A dozen of
the prisoners had hatched it before they came aboard, Prendergast was
the leader, and his money was the motive power.
&odq;'&cdq; I'd a partner, &odq;said he,&cdq; a rare good man,
as true as a stock to a barrel. He's got the dibbs, he has,
and where do you think he is at this moment? Why, he's the
chaplain of this ship — the chaplain, no less! He came
aboard with a black coat, and his papers right, and money enough in
his box to buy the thing right up from keel to main-truck. The
crew are his, body and soul. He could buy ' em at so much a
gross with a cash discount, and he did it before ever they signed on.
He's got two of the warders and Mereer, the second mate, and
he'd get the captain himself, if he thought him worth it.
&odq;
&odq;'&cdq; What are we to do, then? &odq;I asked.
&cdq; ' &odq;What do you think?&cdq; said he.
&odq;We'll make the coats of some of these soldiers redder
than ever the tailor did.&cdq;
&odq;'&cdq; But they are armed, &odq;said I.
&cdq; ' &odq;And so shall we be, my boy. There's
a brace of pistols for every mother's son of us; and if we can't
carry this ship, with the crew at our back, it's time we were all
sent to a young misses' boarding-school. You speak to your
mate upon the left to-night, and see if he is to be trusted.&cdq;
&odq;' I did so and found my other neighbour to be a young
fellow in much the same position as myself, whose crime had been
forgery. His name was Evans, but he afterwards changed it,
like myself, and he is now a rich and prosperous man in the south of
England. He was ready enough to join the conspiracy, as the
only means of saving ourselves, and before we had crossed the bay
there were only two of the prisoners who were not in the secret.
One of these was of weak mind, and we did not dare to trust
him, and the other was suffering from jaundice and could not be of
any use to us.
&odq;' From the beginning there was really nothing to prevent
us from taking possession of the ship. The crew were a set of
ruffians, specially picked for the job. The sham chaplain came
into our cells to exhort us, carrying a black bag, supposed to be
full of tracts, and so often did he come that by the third day we had
each stowed away at the foot of our beds a file, a brace of pistols,
a pound of powder, and twenty slugs. Two of the warders were
agents of Prendergast, and the second mate was his right-hand man.
The captain, the two mates, two warders, Lieutenant Martin,
his eighteen soldiers, and the doctor were all that we had against
us. Yet, safe as it was, we determined to neglect no
precaution, and to make our attack suddenly by night. It came,
however, more quickly than we expected, and in this way.
&odq;' One evening, about the third week after our start, the
doctor had come down to see one of the prisoners who was ill, and
putting his hand down on the bottom of his bunk, he felt the outline
of the pistols. If he had been silent he might have blown the
whole thing, but he was a nervous little chap, so he gave a cry of
surprise and turned so pale that the man knew what was up in an
instant and seized him. He was gagged before he could give the
alarm and tied down upon the bed. He had unlocked the door
that led to the deck, and we were through it in a rush. The
two sentries were shot down, and so was a corporal who came running
to see what was the matter. There were two more soldiers at
the door of the stateroom, and their muskets seemed not to be loaded,
for they never fired upon us, and they were shot while trying to fix
their bayonets. Then we rushed on into the captain's cabin,
but as we pushed open the door there was an explosion from within,
and there he lay with his brains smeared over the chart of the
Atlantic which was pinned upon the table, while the chaplain stood
with a smoking pistol in his hand at his elbow. The two mates
had both been seized by the crew, and the whole business seemed to be
settled.
&odq;' The stateroom was next the cabin, and we flocked in
there and flopped down on the settees, all speaking together, for we
were just mad with the feeling that we were free once more.
There were lockers all round, and Wilson, the sham chaplain,
knocked one of them in, and pulled out a dozen of brown sherry.
We cracked off the necks of the bottles, poured the stuff out
into tumblers, and were just tossing them off when in an instant
without warning there came the roar of muskets in our ears, and the
saloon was so full of smoke that we could not see across the table.
When it cleared again the place was a shambles. Wilson
and eight others were wriggling on the top of each other on the
floor, and the blood and the brown sherry on that table turn me sick
now when I think of it. We were so cowed by the sight that I
think we should have given the job up if it had not been for
Prendergast. He bellowed like a bull and rushed for the door
with all that were left alive at his heels. Out we ran, and
there on the poop were the lieutenant and ten of his men. The
swing skylights above the saloon table had been a bit open, and they
had fired on us through the slit. We got on them before they
could load, and they stood to it like men; but we had the upper hand
of them, and in five minutes it was all over. My God! was
there ever a slaughter-house like that ship! Prendergast was
like a raging devil, and he picked the soldiers up as if they had
been children and threw them overboard alive or dead. There
was one sergeant that was horribly wounded and yet kept on swimming
for a surprising time until someone in mercy blew out his brains.
When the fighting was over there was no one left of our
enemies except just the warders, the mates, and the doctor.
&odq;' It was over them that the great quarrel arose.
There were many of us who were glad enough to win back our
freedom, and yet who had no wish to have murder on our souls.
It was one thing to knock the soldiers over with their muskets
in their hands, and it was another to stand by while men were being
killed in cold blood. Eight of us, five convicts and three
sailors, said that we would not see it done. But there was no
moving Prendergast and those who were with him. Our only
chance of safety lay in making a clean job of it, said he, and he
would not leave a tongue with power to wag in a witness-box.
It nearly came to our sharing the fate of the prisoners, but
at last he said that if we wished we might take a boat and go.
We jumped at the offer, for we were already sick of these
blood-thirsty doings, and we saw that there would be worse before it
was done. We were given a suit of sailor togs each, a barrel
of water, two casks, one of junk and one of biscuits, and a compass.
Prendergast threw us over a chart, told us that we were
shiprecked mariners whose ship had foundered in Lat. 15 degrees and
Long. 25 degrees west, and then cut the painter and let us go.
&odq;' And now I come to the most surprising part of my story,
my dear son. The seamen had hauled the fore-yard aback during
the rising, but now as we left them they brought it square again, and
as there was a light wind from the north and east the bark began to
draw slowly away from us. Our boat lay, rising and falling,
upon the long, smooth rollers, and Evans and I, who were the most
educated of the party, were sitting in the sheets working out our
position and planning what coast we should make for. It was a
nice question, for the Cape Verdes were about five hundred miles to
the north of us, and the African coast about seven hundred to the
east. On the whole, as the wind was coming round to the north,
we thought hat Sierra Leone might be best and turned our head in that
direction, the bark being at that time nearly hull down on our
starboard quarter. Suddenly as we looked at her we saw a dense
black cloud of smoke shoot up from her, which hung like a monstrous
tree upon the sky-line. A few seconds later a roar like
thunder burst upon our ears, and as the smoke thinned away there was
no sign left of the Gloria Scott. In an instant we swept the
boat's head round again and pulled with all our strength for the
place where the haze still trailing over the water marked the scene
of this catastrophe.
&odq;' It was a long hour before we reached it, and at first we
feared that we had come too late to save anyone. A splintered
boat and a number of crates and fragments of spars rising and falling
on the waves showed us where the vessel had foundered; but there was
no sign of life, and we had turned away in despair, when we heard a
cry for help and saw at some distance a piece of wreckage with a man
lying stretched across it. When we pulled him aboard the boat
he proved to be a young seaman of the name of Hudson, who was so
burned and exhausted that he could give us no account of what had
happened until the following morning.
&odq;&onq;It seemed that after we had left, Prendergast and his
gang had proceeded to put to death the five remaining prisoners.
The two warders had been shot and thrown overboard, and so
also had the third mate. Prendergast then descended into
the&cnq;tweendecks and with his own hands cut the throat of the
unfortunate surgeon. There only remained the first mate, who
was a bold and active man. When he saw the convict approaching
him with the bloody knife in his hand he kicked off his bonds, which
he had somehow contrived to loosen, and rushing down the deck he
plunged into the after-hold. A dozen convicts, who descended
with their pistols in search of him, found him with a match-box in
his hand seated beside an open powder-barrel, which was one of the
hundred carried on board, and swearing that he would blow all hands
up if he were in any way molested. An instant later the
explosion occurred, though Hudson thought it was caused by the
misdirected bullet of one of the convicts rather than the mate's
match. Be the cause what it may, it was the end of the Gloria
Scott and of the rabble who held command of her.
&odq;&onq;Such, in a few words, my dear boy, is the history of
this terrible business in which I was involved. Next day we
were picked up by the brig Hotspur, bound for Australia, whose
captain found no difficulty in believing that we were the survivors
of a passenger ship which had foundered. The transport ship
Gloria Scott was set down by the Admiralty as being lost at sea, and
no word has ever leaked out as to her true fate. After an
excellent voyage the Hotspur landed us at Sydney, where Evans and I
changed our names and made our way to the diggings, where, among the
crowds who were gathered from all nations, we had no difficulty in
losing our former identities. The rest I need not relate.
We prospered, we travelled, we came back as rich colonials to
England, and we bought country estates. For more than twenty
years we have led peaceful and useful lives, and we hoped that our
past was forever buried. Imagine, then, my feelings when in
the seaman who came to us I recognized instantly the man who had been
picked off the wreck. He had tracked us down somehow and had
set himself to live upon our fears. You will understand now
how it was that I strove to keep the peace with him, and you will in
some measure sympathize with me in the fears which fill me, now that
he has gone from me to his other victim with threats upon his
tongue.&cnq;
&odq;Underneath is written in a hand so shaky as to be hardly
legible, &onq;Beddoes writes in cipher to say H. has told all.
Sweet Lord, have mercy on our souls!&cnq;
&odq;That was the narrative which I read that night to young
Trevor, and I think, Watson, that under the circumstances it was a
dramatic one. The good fellow was heart-broken at it, and went
out to the Terai tea planting, where I hear that he is doing well.
As to the sailor and Beddoes, neither of them was ever heard
of again after that day on which the letter of warning was written.
They both disappeared utterly and completely. No
complaint had been lodged with the police, so that Beddoes had
mistaken a threat for a deed. Hudson had been seen lurking
about, and it was believed by the police that he had done away with
Beddoes and had fled. For myself I believe that the truth was
exactly the opposite. I think that it is most probable that
Beddoes, pushed to desperation and believing himself to have been
already betrayed, had revenged himself upon Hudson, and had fled from
the country with as much money as he could lay his hands on.
Those are the facts of the case, Doctor, and if they are of
any use to your collection, I am sure that they are very heartily at
your service.&cdq;
An anomaly which often struck me in the character of my friend
Sherlock Holmes was that, although in his methods of thought he was
the neatest and most methodical of mankind, and although also he
affected a certain quiet primness of dress, he was none the less in
his personal habits one of the most untidy men that ever drove a
fellow-lodger to distraction. Not that I am in the least
conventional in that respect myself. The rough-and-tumble work
in Afghanistan, coming on the top of natural Bohemianism of
disposition, has made me rather more lax than befits a medical man.
But with me there is a limit, and when I find a man who keeps
his cigars in the coal-scuttle, his tobacco in the toe end of a
Persian slipper, and his unanswered correspondence transfixed by a
jack-knife into the very centre of his wooden mantelpiece, then I
begin to give myself virtuous airs. I have always held, too,
that pistol practice should be distinctly an open-air pastime; and
when Holmes, in one of his queer humours, would sit in an armchair
with his hair-trigger and a hundred Boxer cartridges and proceed to
adorn the opposite wall with a patriotic V. R. done in bullet-pocks,
I felt strongly that neither the atmosphere nor the appearance of our
room was improved by it.
Our chambers were always full of chemicals and of criminal
relics which had a way of wandering into unlikely positions, and of
turning up in the butter-dish or in even less desirable places.
But his papers were my great crux. He had a horror of
destroying documents, especially those which were connected with his
past cases, and yet it was only once in every year or two that he
would muster energy to docket and arrange them; for, as I have
mentioned somewhere in these incoherent memoirs, the outbursts of
passionate energy when he performed the remarkable feats with which
his name is associated were followed by reactions of lethargy during
which he would lie about with his violin and his books, hardly moving
save from the sofa to the table. Thus month after month his
papers accumulated until every corner of the room was stacked with
bundles of manuscript which were on no account to be burned, and
which could not be put away save by their owner. One winter's
night, as we sat together by the fire, I ventured to suggest to him
that, as he had finished pasting extracts into his commonplace book,
he might employ the next two hours in making our room a little more
habitable. He could not deny the justice of my request, so
with a rather rueful face he went off to his bedroom, from which he
returned presently pulling a large tin box behind him. This he
placed in the middle of the floor, and, squatting down upon a stool
in front of it, he threw back the lid. I could see that it was
already a third full of bundles of paper tied up with red tape into
separate packages.
&odq;There are cases enough here, Watson,&cdq; said he, looking
at me with mischievous eyes. &odq;I think that if you knew all
that I had in this box you would ask me to pull some out instead of
putting others in.&cdq;
&odq;These are the records of your early work, then?&cdq; I
asked. &odq;I have often wished that I had notes of those
cases.&cdq;
&odq;Yes, my boy, these were all done prematurely before my
biographer had come to glorify me.&cdq; He lifted bundle after
bundle in a tender, caressing sort of way. &odq;They are not
all successes, Watson,&cdq; said he. &odq;But there are some
pretty little problems among them. Here's the record of the
Tarleton murders, and the case of Vamberry, the wine merchant, and
the adventure of the old Russian woman, and the singular affair of
the aluminum crutch, as well as a full account of Ricoletti of the
club-foot, and his abominable wife. And here — ah,
now, this really is something a little recherche.&cdq;
He dived his arm down to the bottom of the chest and brought up
a small wooden box with a sliding lid such as children's toys are
kept in. From within he produced a crumpled piece of paper, an
old-fashioned brass key, a peg of wood with a ball of string attached
to it, and three rusty old discs of metal.
&odq;Well, my boy, what do you make of this lot?&cdq; he asked,
smiling at my expression.
&odq;It is a curious collection.&cdq;
&odq;Very
curious, and the story that hangs round it will strike you as being
more curious still.&cdq;
&odq;These relics have a history, then?&cdq;
&odq;So much so that they are history.&cdq;
&odq;What do you mean by that?&cdq;
Sherlock
Holmes picked them up one by one and laid them along the edge of the
table. Then he reseated himself in his chair and looked them
over with a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes.
&odq;These,&cdq; said he, &odq;are all that I have left to
remind me of the adventure of the Musgrave Ritual.&cdq;
I had heard him mention the case more than once, though I had
never been able to gather the details. &odq;I should be so
glad,&cdq; said I, &odq;if you would give me an account of it.&cdq;
&odq;And leave the litter as it is?&cdq; he cried
mischievously. &odq;Your tidiness won't bear much strain,
after all, Watson. But I should be glad that you should add
this case to your annals, for there are points in it which make it
quite unique in the criminal records of this or, I believe, of any
other country. A collection of my trifling achievements would
certainly be incomplete which contained no account of this very
singular business.
&odq;You may remember how the affair of the Gloria Scott, and
my conversation with the unhappy man whose fate I told you of, first
turned my attention in the direction of the profession which has
become my life's work. You see me now when my name has become
known far and wide, and when I am generally recognized both by the
public and by the official force as being a final court of appeal in
doubtful cases. Even when you knew me first, at the time of
the affair which you have commemorated in &onq;A Study in
Scarlet,&cnq; I had already established a considerable, though not a
very lucrative, connection. You can hardly realize, then, how
difficult I found it at first, and how long I had to wait before I
succeeded in making any headway.
&odq;When I first came up to London I had rooms in Montague
Street, just round the corner from the British Museum, and there I
waited, filling in my too abundant leisure time by studying all those
branches of science which might make me more efficient. Now
and again cases came in my way, principally through the introduction
of old fellow-students, for during my last years at the university
there was a good deal of talk there about myself and my methods.
The third of these cases was that of the Musgrave Ritual, and
it is to the interest which was aroused by that singular chain of
events, and the large issues which proved to be at stake, that I
trace my first stride towards the position which I now hold.
&odq;Reginald Musgrave had been in the same college as myself,
and I had some slight acquaintance with him. He was not
generally popular among the undergraduates, though it always seemed
to me that what was set down as pride was really an attempt to cover
extreme natural diffidence. In appearance he was a man of an
exceedingly aristocratic type, thin, high-nosed, and large-eyed, with
languid and yet courtly manners. He was indeed a scion of one
of the very oldest families in the kingdom though his branch was a
cadet one which had separated from the northern Musgraves some time
in the sixteenth century and had established itself in western
Sussex, where the Manor House of Hurlstone is perhaps the oldest
inhabited building in the county. Something of his birth-place
seemed to cling to the man, and I never looked at his pale, keen face
or the poise of his head without associating him with gray archways
and mullioned windows and all the venerable wreckage of a feudal
keep. Once or twice we drifted into talk, and I can remember
that more than once he expressed a keen interest in my methods of
observation and inference.
&odq;For four years I had seen nothing of him until one morning
he walked into my room in Montague Street. He had changed
little, was dressed like a young man of fashion — he was
always a bit of a dandy — and preserved the same quiet, suave
manner which had formerly distinguished him.
&odq;&onq;How has all gone with you, Musgrave?&cnq; I asked
after we had cordially shaken hands.
&odq;&onq;You probably heard of my poor father's death,&cnq;
said he; &onq;he was carried off about two years ago. Since
then I have of course had the Hurlstone estate to manage, and as I am
member for my district as well, my life has been a busy one.
But I understand, Holmes, that you are turning to practical
ends those powers with which you used to amaze us?&cnq;
&odq;&onq;Yes,&cnq; said I, &onq;I have taken to living by my
wits.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;I am delighted to hear it, for your advice at present
would be exceedingly valuable to me. We have had some very
strange doings at Hurlstone, and the police have been able to throw
no light upon the matter. It is really the most extraordinary
and inexplicable business.&cnq;
&odq;You can imagine with what eagerness I listened to him,
Watson, for the very chance for which I had been panting during all
those months of inaction seemed to have come within my reach.
In my inmost heart I believed that I could succeed where
others failed, and now I had the opportunity to test myself.
&odq;&onq;Pray let me have the details,&cnq; I cried.
&cdq; Reginald Musgrave sat down opposite to me and lit
the cigarette which I had pushed towards him.
&odq;&onq;You must know,&cnq; said he, ' that though I am a
bachelor, I have to keep up a considerable staff of servants at
Hurlstone, for it is a rambling old place and takes a good deal of
looking after. I preserve, too, and in the pheasant months I
usually have a house-party, so that it would not do to be
short-handed. Altogether there are eight maids, the cook, the
butler, two footmen, and a boy. The garden and the stables of
course have a separate staff.
&odq;' Of these servants the one who had been longest in our
service was Brunton, the butler. He was a young schoolmaster
out of place when he was first taken up by my father, but he was a
man of great energy and character, and he soon became quite
invaluable in the household. He was a well-grown, handsome
man, with a splendid forehead, and though he has been with us for
twenty years he cannot be more than forty now. With his
personal advantages and his extraordinary gifts — for he can
speak several languages and play nearly every musical instrument
— it is wonderful that he should have been satisfied so long
in such a position, but I suppose that he was comfortable and lacked
energy to make any change. The butler of Hurlstone is always a
thing that is remembered by all who visit us.
&odq;' But this paragon has one fault. He is a bit of a
Don Juan, and you can imagine that for a man like him it is not a
very difficult part to play in a quiet country district. When
he was married it was all right, but since he has been a widower we
have had no end of trouble with him. A few months ago we were
in hopes that he was about to settle down again, for he became
engaged to Rachel Howells, our second housemaid; but he has thrown
her over since then and taken up with Janet Tregellis, the daughter
of the head game-keeper. Rachel — who is a very good
girl, but of an excitable Welsh temperament — had a sharp
touch of brain-fever and goes about the house now — or did
until yesterday — like a black-eyed shadow of her former
self. That was our first drama at Hurlstone; but a second one
came to drive it from our minds, and it was prefaced by the disgrace
and dismissal of butler Brunton.
&odq;' This was how it came about. I have said that the
man was intelligent, and this very intelligence has caused his ruin,
for it seems to have led to an insatiable curiosity about things
which did not in the least concern him. I had no idea of the
lengths to which this would carry him until the merest accident
opened my eyes to it.
&odq;&onq;I have said that the house is a rambling one.
One day last week — on Thursday night, to be more
exact — I found that I could not sleep, having foolishly
taken a cup of strong cafe&cnq; noir after my dinner. After
struggling against it until two in the morning, I felt that it was
quite hopeless, so I rose and lit the candle with the intention of
continuing a novel which I was reading. The book, however, had
been left in the billiard-room, so I pulled on my dressing-gown and
started off to get it.
&odq;' In order to reach the billiard-room I had to descend a
flight of stairs and then to cross the head of a passage which led to
the library and the gun-room. You can imagine my surprise
when, as I looked down this corridor. I saw a glimmer of light
coming from the open door of the library. I had myself
extinguished the lamp and closed the door before coming to bed.
Naturally my first thought was of burglar. The
corridors at Hurlstone have their walls largely decorated with
trophies of old weapons. From one of these I picked a
battle-axe, and then, leaving my candle behind me, I crept on tiptoe
down the passage and peeped in at the open door.
&odq;' Brunton, the butler, was in the library. He was
sitting fully dressed, in an easy-chair, with a slip of paper which
looked like a map upon his knee, and his forehead sunk forward upon
his hand in deep thought. I stood dumb with astonishment,
watching him from the darkness. A small taper on the edge of
the table shed a feeble light which sufficed to show me that he was
fully dressed. Suddenly, as I looked, he rose from his chair,
and, walking over to a bureau at the side, he unlocked it and drew
out one of the drawers. From this he took a paper, and,
returning to his seat, he flattened it out beside the taper on the
edge of the table and began to study it with minute attention.
My indignation at this calm examination of our family
documents overcame me so far that I took a step forward, and Brunton,
looking up, saw me standing in the doorway. He sprang to his
feet, his face turned livid with fear, and he thrust into his breast
the chart-like paper which he had been originally studying.
&odq;'&cdq; So! &odq;said I. &cdq; This is how you repay
the trust which we have reposed in you. You will leave my
service to-morrow. &odq;
&odq;&onq;He bowed with the look of a man who is utterly
crushed and slunk past me without a word. The taper was still
on the table, and by its light I glanced to see what the paper was
which Brunton had taken from the bureau. To my surprise it was
nothing of any importance at all, but simply a copy of the questions
and answers in the singular old observance called the Musgrave
Ritual. It is a sort of ceremony peculiar to our family, which
each Musgrave for centuries past has gone through on his coming of
age — a thing of private interest, and perhaps of some little
importance to the archaeologist, like our own blazonings and charges,
but of no practical use whatever.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;We had better come back to the paper afterwards,&cnq;
said I.
&odq;&onq;If you think it really necessary,&cnq; he answered
with some hesitation. ' To continue my statement, however: I
relocked the bureau, using the key which Brunton had left, and I had
turned to go when I was surprised to find that the butler had
returned, and was standing before me.
&odq;'&cdq; Mr. Musgrave, sir, &odq;he cried in a voice which
was hoarse with emotion,&cdq; I can't bear disgrace, sir. I've
always been proud above my station in life, and disgrace would kill
me. My blood will be on your head, sir — it will,
indeed — if you drive me to despair. If you cannot
keep me after what has passed, then for God's sake let me give you
notice and leave in a month, as if of my own free will. I
could stand that, Mr. Musgrave, but not to be cast out before all the
folk that I know so well. &odq;
&odq;'&cdq; You don't deserve much consideration, Brunton,
&odq;I answered. &cdq; Your conduct has been most infamous.
However, as you have been a long time in the family, I have no
wish to bring public disgrace upon you. A month, however, is
too long. Take yourself away in a week, and give what reason
you like for going. &odq;
&odq;'&cdq; Only a week, sir? &odq;he cried in a despairing
voice. &cdq; A fortnight — say at least a fortnight!
&odq;
&odq;'&cdq; A week, &odq;I repeated,&cdq; and you may consider
yourself to have been very leniently dealt with. &odq;
&odq;' He crept away, his face sunk upon his breast, like a
broken man, while I put out the light and returned to my room.
&odq;' For two days after this Brunton was most assiduous in
his attention to his duties. I made no allusion to what had
passed and waited with some curiosity to see how he would cover his
disgrace. On the third morning, however, he did not appear, as
was his custom, after breakfast to receive my instructions for the
day. As I left the dining-room I happened to meet Rachel
Howells, the maid. I have told you that she had only recently
recovered from an illness and was looking so wretchedly pale and wan
that I remonstrated with her for being at work.
&odq;'&cdq; You should be in bed, &odq;I said. &cdq;
Come back to your duties when you are stronger. &odq;
&odq;' She looked at me with so strange an expression that I
began to suspect that her brain was affected.
&odq;'&cdq; I am strong enough, Mr. Musgrave, &odq;said she.
&cdq; ' &odq;We will see what the doctor says,&cdq; I
answered. &odq;You must stop work now, and when you go
downstairs just say that I wish to see Brunton.&cdq;
&odq;'&cdq; The butler is gone, &odq;said she.
&cdq; ' &odq;Gone! Gone where?&cdq;
&odq;'&cdq; He is gone. No one has seen him. He
is not in his room. Oh, yes, he is gone, he is gone!
&odq;She fell back against the wall with shriek after shriek
of laughter, while I, horrified at this sudden hysterical attack,
rushed to the bell to summon help. The girl was taken to her
room, still screaming and sobbing, while I made inquiries about
Brunton. There was no doubt about it that he had disappeared.
His bed had not been slept in, he had been seen by no one
since he had retired to his room the night before, and yet it was
difficult to see how he could have left the house, as both windows
and doors were found to be fastened in the morning. His
clothes, his watch, and even his money were in his room, but the
black suit which he usually wore was missing. His slippers,
too, were gone, but his boots were left behind. Where then
could butler Brunton have gone in the night, and what could have
become of him now?
&odq;' Of course we searched the house from cellar to garret,
but there was no trace of him. It is, as I have said, a
labyrinth of an old house, especially the original wing, which is now
practically uninhabited; but we ransacked every room and cellar
without discovering the least sign of the missing man. It was
incredible to me that he could have gone away leaving all his
property behind him, and yet where could he be? I called in
the local police, but without success. Rain had fallen on the
night before, and we examined the lawn and the paths all round the
house, but in vain. Matters were in this state, when a new
development quite drew our attention away from the original mystery.
&odq;' For two days Rachel Howells had been so ill, sometimes
delirious, sometimes hysterical, that a nurse had been employed to
sit up with her at night. On the third night after Brunton's
disappearance, the nurse, finding her patient sleeping nicely, had
dropped into a nap in the armchair, when she woke in the early
morning to find the bed empty, the window open, and no signs of the
invalid. I was instantly aroused, and, with the two footmen,
started off at once in search of the missing girl. It was not
difficult to tell the direction which she had taken, for, starting
from under her window, we could follow her footmarks easily across
the lawn to the edge of the mere, where they vanished close to the
gravel path which leads out of the grounds. The lake there is
eight feet deep, and you can imagine our feelings when we saw that
the trail of the poor demented girl came to an end at the edge of it.
&odq;&onq;Of course, we had the drags at once and set to work
to recover the remains, but no trace of the body could we find.
On the other hand, we brought to the surface an object of a
most unexpected kind. It was a linen bag which contained
within it a mass of old rusted, and discoloured metal and several
dull-coloured pieces of pebble or glass. This strange find was
all that we could get from the mere, and, although we made every
possible search and inquiry yesterday, we know nothing of the fate
either of Rachel Howells or of Richard Brunton. The county
police are at their wit's end, and I have come up to you as a last
resource.&cnq;
&odq;You can imagine, Watson, with what eagerness I listened to
this extraordinary sequence of events, and endeavoured to piece them
together, and to devise some common thread upon which they might all
hang. The butler was gone. The maid was gone.
The maid had loved the butler, but had afterwards had cause to
hate him. She was of Welsh blood, fiery and passionate.
She had been terribly excited immediately after his
disappearance. She had flung into the lake a bag containing
some curious contents. These were all factors which had to be
taken into consideration, and yet none of them got quite to the heart
of the matter. What was the starting-point of this chain of
events? There lay the end of this tangled line.
&odq;&onq;I must see that paper, Musgrave,&cnq; said I,
&onq;which this butler of yours thought it worth his while to
consult, even at the risk of the loss of his place.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;It is rather an absurd business, this ritual of
ours,&cnq; he answered. &onq;But it has at least the saving
grace of antiquity to excuse it. I have a copy of the
questions and answers here if you care to run your eye over
them.&cnq;
&odq;He handed me the very paper which I have here, Watson, and
this is the strange catechism to which each Musgrave had to submit
when he came to man's estate. I will read you the questions
and answers as they stand.
&odq;&onq;Whose was it?&cnq;
&cdq; &onq;His who
is gone.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;Who shall have it?&cnq;
&cdq; &onq;He
who will come.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;Where was the sun?&cnq;
&cdq; &onq;Over
the oak.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;Where was the shadow?&cnq;
&cdq;
&onq;Under the elm.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;How was it stepped?&cnq;
&cdq;
&onq;North by ten and by ten, east by five and by five, south by two
and by two, west by one and by one, and so under.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;What shall we give for it?&cnq;
&cdq;
&onq;All that is ours.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;Why should we give it?&cnq;
&cdq;
&onq;For the sake of the trust.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;The original has no date, but is in the spelling of
the middle of the seventeenth century,&cnq; remarked Musgrave.
&onq;I am afraid, however, that it can be of little help to
you in solving this mystery.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;At least,&cnq; said I, &onq;it gives us another
mystery, and one which is even more interesting than the first.
It may be that the solution of the one may prove to be the
solution of the other. You will excuse me, Musgrave, if I say
that your butler appears to me to have been a very clever man, and to
have had a clearer insight than ten generations of his masters.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;I hardly follow you,&cnq; said Musgrave.
&onq;The paper seems to me to be of no practical
importance.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;But to me it seems immensely practical, and I fancy
that Brunton took the same view. He had probably seen it
before that night on which you caught him.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;It is very possible. We took no pains to hide
it.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;He simply wished, I should imagine, to refresh his
memory upon that last occasion. He had, as I understand, some
sort of map or chart which he was comparing with the manuscript, and
which he thrust into his pocket when you appeared.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;That is true. But what could he have to do
with this old family custom of ours, and what does this rigmarole
mean?&cnq;
&odq;&onq;I don't think that we should have much difficulty in
determining that,&cnq; said I; ' with your permission we will take
the first train down to Sussex and go a little more deeply into the
matter upon the spot.
&odq;The same afternoon saw us both at Hurlstone.
Possibly you have seen pictures and read descriptions of the
famous old building, so I will confine my account of it to saying
that it is built in the shape of an L, the long arm being the more
modern portion, and the shorter the ancient nucleus from which the
other has developed. Over the low, heavy-lintelled door, in
the centre of this old part, is chiselled the date, 1607, but experts
are agreed that the beams and stonework are really much older than
this. The enormously thick walls and tiny windows of this part
had in the last century driven the family into building the new wing,
and the old one was used now as a storehouse and a cellar, when it
was used at all. A splendid park with fine old timber
surrounds the house, and the lake, to which my client, had referred,
lay close to the avenue, about two hundred yards from the building.
&odq;I was already firmly convinced, Watson, that there were
not three separate mysteries here, but one only, and that if I could
read the Musgrave Ritual aright I should hold in my hand the clue
which would lead me to the truth concerning both the butler Brunton
and the maid Howells. To that then I turned all my energies.
Why should this servant be so anxious to master this old
formula? Evidently because he saw something in it which had
escaped all those generations of country squires, and from which he
expected some personal advantage. What was it then, and how
had it affected his fate?
&odq;It was perfectly obvious to me, on reading the Ritual,
that the measurements must refer to some spot to which the rest of
the document alluded, and that if we could find that spot we should
be in a fair way towards finding what the secret was which the old
Musgraves had thought it necessary to embalm in so curious a fashion.
There were two guides given us to start with, an oak and an
elm. As to the oak there could be no question at all.
Right in front of the house, upon the left-hand side of the
drive, there stood a patriarch among oaks, one of the most
magnificent trees that I have ever seen.
&odq;&onq;That was there when your Ritual was drawn up,&cnq;
said I as we drove past it.
&odq;&onq;It was there at the Norman Conquest in all
probability,&cnq; he answered. &onq;It has a girth of
twenty-three feet.&cnq;
&odq;Here was one of my fixed points secured.
&cdq; &onq;Have you any old elms?&cnq; I asked.
&odq;&onq;There used to be a very old one over yonder, but it
was struck by lightning ten years ago, and we cut down the
stump.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;You can see where it used to be?&cnq;
&cdq; &onq;Oh, yes.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;There are no other elms?&cnq;
&cdq;
&onq;No old ones, but plenty of beeches.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;I should like to see where it grew.&cnq;
&cdq; We had driven up in a dog-cart, and my client led
me away at once, without our entering the house, to the scar on the
lawn where the elm had stood. It was nearly midway between the
oak and the house. My investigation seemed to be progressing.
&odq;&onq;I suppose it is impossible to find out how high the
elm was?&cnq; I asked.
&odq;&onq;I can give you it at once. It was sixty-four
feet.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;How do you come to know it?&cnq; I asked in surprise.
&cdq; &onq;When my old tutor used to give me an
exercise in trigonometry, it always took the shape of measuring
heights. When I was a lad I worked out every tree and building
in the estate.&cnq;
&odq;This was an unexpected piece of luck. My data were
coming more quickly than I could have reasonably hoped.
&odq;&onq;Tell me,&cnq; I asked, &onq;did your butler ever ask
you such a question?&cnq;
&odq;Reginald Musgrave looked at me in astonishment.
&onq;Now that you call it to my mind,&cnq; he answered,
&onq;Brunton did ask me about the height of the tree some months ago
in connection with some little argument with the groom.&cnq;
&odq;This was excellent news, Watson, for it showed me that I
was on the right road. I looked up at the sun. It was
low in the heavens, and I calculated that in less than an hour it
would lie just above the topmost branches of the old oak. One
condition mentioned in the Ritual would then be fulfilled. And
the shadow of the elm must mean the farther end of the shadow,
otherwise the trunk would have been chosen as the guide. I
had, then, to find where the far end of the shadow would fall when
the sun was just clear of the oak.&cdq;
&odq;That must have been difficult, Holmes, when the elm was no
longer there.&cdq;
&odq;Well, at least I knew that if Brunton could do it, I could
also. Besides, there was no real difficulty. I went
with Musgrave to his study and whittled myself this peg, to which I
tied this long string with a knot at each yard. Then I took
two lengths of a fishing-rod, which came to just six feet, and I went
back with my client to where the elm had been. The sun was
just grazing the top of the oak. I fastened the rod on end,
marked out the direction of the shadow, and measured it. It
was nine feet in length.
&odq;Of course the calculation now was a simple one. If
a rod of six feet threw a shadow of nine, a tree of sixty-four feet
would throw one of ninety-six, and the line of the one would of
course be the line of the other. I measured out the distance,
which brought me almost to the wall of the house, and I thrust a peg
into the spot. You can imagine my exultation, Watson, when
within two inches of my peg I saw a conical depression in the ground.
I knew that it was the mark made by Brunton in his
measurements, and that I was still upon his trail.
&odq;From this starting-point I proceeded to step, having first
taken the cardinal points by my pocket-compass. Ten steps with
each foot took me along parallel with the wall of the house, and
again I marked my spot with a peg. Then I carefully paced off
five to the east and two to the south. It brought me to the
very threshold of the old door. Two steps to the west meant
now that I was to go two paces down the stone-flagged passage, and
this was the place indicated by the Ritual.
&odq;Never have I felt such a cold chill of disappointment,
Watson. For a moment it seemed to me that there must be some
radical mistake in my calculations. The setting sun shone full
upon the passage floor, and I could see that the old, foot-worn gray
stones with which it was paved were firmly cemented together, and had
certainly not been moved for many a long year. Brunton had not
been at work here. I tapped upon the floor, but it sounded the
same all over, and there was no sign of any crack or crevice.
But, fortunately, Musgrave, who had begun to appreciate the
meaning of my proceedings, and who was now as excited as myself, took
out his manuscript to check my calculations.
&odq;&onq;And under,&cnq; he cried. &onq;You have
omitted the&cdq; and under. &odq;&cnq;
&odq;I had thought that it meant that we were to dig, but now,
of course, I saw at once that I was wrong. &onq;There is a
cellar under this then?&cnq; I cried.
&odq;&onq;Yes, and as old as the house. Down here,
through this door.&cnq;
&odq;We went down a winding stone stair, and my companion,
striking a match, lit a large lantern which stood on a barrel in the
corner. In an instant it was obvious that we had at last come
upon the true place, and that we had not been the only people to
visit the spot recently.
&odq;It had been used for the storage of wood, but the billets,
which had evidently been littered over the floor, were now piled at
the sides, so as to leave a clear space in the middle. In this
space lay a large and heavy flagstone with a rusted iron ring in the
centre to which a thick shepherd's-check muffler was attached.
&odq;&onq;By Jove!&cnq; cried my client. &onq;That's
Brunton's muffler. I have seen it on him and could swear to
it. What has the villain been doing here?&cnq;
&odq;At my suggestion a couple of the county police were
summoned to be present, and I then endeavoured to raise the stone by
pulling on the cravat. I could only move it slightly, and it
was with the aid of one of the constables that I succeeded at last in
carrying it to one side. A black hole yawned beneath into
which we all peered, while Musgrave, kneeling at the side, pushed
down the lantern.
&odq;A small chamber about seven feet deep and four feet square
lay open to us. At one side of this was a squat, brass-bound
wooden box, the lid of which was hinged upward, with this curious
old-fashioned key projecting from the lock. It was furred
outside by a thick layer of dust, and damp and worms had eaten
through the wood, so that a crop of livid fungi was growing on the
inside of it. Several discs of metal, old coins apparently,
such as I hold here, were scattered over the bottom of the box, but
it contained nothing else.
&odq;At the moment, however, we had no thought for the old
chest, for our eyes were riveted upon that which crouched beside it.
It was the figure of a man, clad in a suit of black, who
squatted down upon his hams with his forehead sunk upon the edge of
the box and his two arms thrown out on each side of it. The
attitude had drawn all the stagnant blood to the face, and no man
could have recognized that distorted liver-coloured countenance; but
his height, his dress, and his hair were all sufficient to show my
client, when we had drawn the body up, that it was indeed his missing
butler. He had been dead some days, but there was no wound or
bruise upon his person to show how he had met his dreadful end.
When his body had been carried from the cellar we found
ourselves still confronted with a problem which was almost as
formidable as that with which we had started.
&odq;I confess that so far, Watson, I had been disappointed in
my investigation. I had reckoned upon solving the matter when
once I had found the place referred to in the Ritual; but now I was
there, and was apparently as far as ever from knowing what it was
which the family had concealed with such elaborate precautions.
It is true that I had thrown a light upon the fate of Brunton,
but now I had to ascertain how that fate had come upon him, and what
part had been played in the matter by the woman who had disappeared.
I sat down upon a keg in the corner and thought the whole
matter carefully over.
&odq;You know my methods in such cases, Watson. I put
myself in the man's place, and, having first gauged his intelligence,
I try to imagine how I should myself have proceeded under the same
circumstances. In this case the matter was simplified by
Brunton's intelligence being quite first-rate, so that it was
unnecessary to make any allowance for the personal equation, as the
astronomers have dubbed it. He knew that something valuable
was concealed. He had spotted the place. He found that
the stone which covered it was just too heavy for a man to move
unaided. What would he do next? He could not get help
from outside, even if he had someone whom he could trust, without the
unbarring of doors and considerable risk of detection. It was
better, if he could, to have his helpmate inside the house.
But whom could he ask? This girl had been devoted to
him. A man always finds it hard to realize that he may have
finally lost a woman's love, however badly he may have treated her.
He would try by a few attentions to make his peace with the
girl Howells, and then would engage her as his accomplice.
Together they would come at night to the cellar, and their
united force would suffice to raise the stone. So far I could
follow their actions as if I had actually seen them.
&odq;But for two of them, and one a woman, it must have been
heavy work, the raising of that stone. A burly Sussex
policeman and I had found it no light job. What would they do
to assist them? Probably what I should have done myself.
I rose and examined carefully the different billets of wood
which were scattered round the floor. Almost at once I came
upon what I expected. One piece, about three feet in length,
had a very marked indentation at one end, while several were
flattened at the sides as if they had been compressed by some
considerable weight. Evidently, as they had dragged the stone
up, they had thrust the chunks of wood into the chink until at last
when the opening was large enough to crawl through, they would hold
it open by a billet placed lengthwise, which might very well become
indented at the lower end, since the whole weight of the stone would
press it down on to the edge of this other slab. So far I was
still on safe ground.
&odq;And now how was I to proceed to reconstruct this midnight
drama? Clearly, only one could fit into the hole, and that one
was Brunton. The girl must have waited above. Brunton
then unlocked the box, handed up the contents presumably —
since they were not to be found — and then — and then
what happened?
&odq;What smouldering fire of vengeance had suddenly sprung
into flame in this passionate Celtic woman's soul when she saw the
man who had wronged her — wronged her, perhaps, far more than
we suspected — in her power? Was it a chance that the
wood had slipped and that the stone had shut Brunton into what had
become his sepulchre? Had she only been guilty of silence as
to his fate? Or had some sudden blow from her hand dashed the
support away and sent the slab crashing down into its place?
Be that as it might, I seemed to see that woman's figure still
clutching at her treasure trove and flying wildly up the winding
stair, with her ears ringing perhaps with the muffled screams from
behind her and with the drumming of frenzied hands against the slab
of stone which was choking her faithless lover's life out.
&odq;Here was the secret of her blanched face, her shaken
nerves, her peals of hysterical laughter on the next morning.
But what had been in the box? What had she done with
that? Of course, it must have been the old metal and pebbles
which my client had dragged from the mere. She had thrown them
in there at the first opportunity to remove the last trace of her
crime.
&odq;For twenty minutes I had sat motionless, thinking the
matter out. Musgrave still stood with a very pale face,
swinging his lantern and peering down into the hole.
&odq;&onq;These are coins of Charles the First,&cnq; said he,
holding out the few which had been in the box; &onq;you see we were
right in fixing our date for the Ritual.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;We may find something else of Charles the First,&cnq;
I cried, as the probable meaning of the first two questions of the
Ritual broke suddenly upon me. &onq;Let me see the contents of
the bag which you fished from the mere.&cnq;
&odq;We ascended to his study, and he laid the debris before
me. I could understand his regarding it as of small importance
when I looked at it, for the metal was almost black and the stones
lustreless and dull. I rubbed one of them on my sleeve,
however, and it glowed afterwards like a spark in the dark hollow of
my hand. The metal work was in the form of a double ring, but
it had been bent and twisted out of its original shape.
&odq;&onq;You must bear in mind,&cnq; said I, &onq;that the
royal party made head in England even after the death of the king,
and that when they at last fled they probably left many of their most
precious possessions buried behind them, with the intention of
returning for them in more peaceful times.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;My ancestor, Sir Ralph Musgrave, was a prominent
cavalier and the right-hand man of Charles the Second in his
wanderings,&cnq; said my friend.
&odq;&onq;Ah, indeed!&cnq; I answered. &onq;Well now, I
think that really should give us the last link that we wanted.
I must congratulate you on coming into the possession, though
in rather a tragic manner, of a relic which is of great intrinsic
value, but of even greater importance as a historical curiosity.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;What is it, then?&cnq; he gasped in astonishment.
&cdq; &onq;It is nothing less than the ancient crown of
the kings of England.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;The crown!&cnq;
&cdq; &onq;Precisely.
Consider what the Ritual says. How does it run?
&odq;Whose was it?&cdq; &odq;His who is gone.&cdq;
That was after the execution of Charles. Then, &odq;Who
shall have it?&cdq; &odq;He who will come.&cdq; That
was Charles the Second, whose advent was already foreseen.
There can, I think, be no doubt that this battered and
shapeless diadem once encircled the brows of the royal Stuarts.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;And how came it in the pond?&cnq;
&cdq;
&onq;Ah, that is a question that will take some time to answer.&cnq;
And with that I sketched out to him the whole long chain of
surmise and of proof which I had constructed. The twilight had
closed in and the moon was shining brightly in the sky before my
narrative was finished.
&odq;&onq;And how was it then that Charles did not get his
crown when he returned?&cnq; asked Musgrave, pushing back the relic
into its linen bag.
&odq;&onq;Ah, there you lay your finger upon the one point
which we shall probably never be able to clear up. It is
likely that the Musgrave who held the secret died in the interval,
and by some oversight left this guide to his descendant without
explaining the meaning of it. From that day to this it has
been handed down from father to son, until at last it came within
reach of a man who tore its secret out of it and lost his life in the
venture.&cnq;
&odq;And that's the story of the Musgrave Ritual, Watson.
They have the crown down at Hurlstone — though they
had some legal bother and a considerable sum to pay before they were
allowed to retain it. I am sure that if you mentioned my name
they would be happy to show it to you. Of the woman nothing
was ever heard, and the probability is that she got away out of
England and carried herself and the memory of her crime to some land
beyond the seas.&cdq;
It was some time before the health of my friend Mr. Sherlock
Holmes recovered from the strain caused by his immense exertions in
the spring of ' 87. The whole question of the
Netherland-Sumatra Company and of the colossal schemes of Baron
Maupertuis are too recent in the minds of the public, and are too
intimately concerned with politics and finance to be fitting subjects
for this series of sketches. They led, however, in an indirect
fashion to a singular and complex problem which gave my friend an
opportunity of demonstrating the value of a fresh weapon among the
many with which he waged his lifelong battle against crime.
On referring to my notes I see that it was upon the fourteenth
of April that I received a telegram from Lyons which informed me that
Holmes was lying ill in the Hotel Dulong. Within twenty-four
hours I was in his sick-room and was relieved to find that there was
nothing formidable in his symptoms. Even his iron
constitution, however, had broken down under the strain of an
investigation which had extended over two months, during which period
he had never worked less than fifteen hours a day and had more than
once, as he assured me, kept to his task for five days at a stretch.
Even the triumphant issue of his labours could not save him
from reaction after so terrible an exertion, and at a time when
Europe was ringing with his name and when his room was literally
ankle-deep with congratulatory telegrams I found him a prey to the
blackest depression. Even the knowledge that he had succeeded
where the police of three countries had failed, and that he had
outmanoeuvred at every point the most accomplished swindler in
Europe, was insufficient to rouse him from his nervous prostration.
Three days later we were back in Baker Street together; but it
was evident that my friend would be much the better for a change, and
the thought of a week of springtime in the country was full of
attractions to me also. My old friend, Colonel Hayter, who had
come under my professional care in Afghanistan, had now taken a house
near Reigate in Surrey and had frequently asked me to come down to
him upon a visit. On the last occasion he had remarked that if
my friend would only come with me he would be glad to extend his
hospitality to him also. A little diplomacy was needed, but
when Holmes understood that the establishment was a bachelor one, and
that he would be allowed the fullest freedom, he fell in with my
plans and a week after our return from Lyons we were under the
colonel's roof. Hayter was a fine old soldier who had seen
much of the world, and he soon found, as I had expected, that Holmes
and he had much in common.
On the evening of our arrival we were sitting in the colonel's
gun-room after dinner, Holmes stretched upon the sofa, while Hayter
and I looked over his little armory of Eastern weapons.
&odq;By the way,&cdq; said he suddenly, &odq;I think I'll take
one of these pistols upstairs with me in case we have an alarm.&cdq;
&odq;An alarm!&cdq; said I.
&odq;Yes, we've had a
scare in this part lately. Old Acton, who is one of our county
magnates, had his house broken into last Monday. No great
damage done, but the fellows are still at large.&cdq;
&odq;No clue?&cdq; asked Holmes, cocking his eye at the
colonel.
&odq;None as yet. But the affair is a petty one, one of
our little country crimes, which must seem too small for your
attention, Mr. Holmes, after this great international affair.&cdq;
Holmes waved away the compliment, though his smile showed that
it had pleased him.
&odq;Was there any feature of interest?&cdq;
&odq;I fancy not. The thieves ransacked he
library and got very little for their pains. The whole place
was turned upside down, drawers burst open, and presses ransacked,
with the result that an odd volume of Pope's Homer, two plated
candlesticks, an ivory letter-weight, a small oak barometer, and a
ball of twine are all that have vanished.&cdq;
&odq;What an extraordinary assortment!&cdq; I exclaimed.
&odq;Oh, the fellows evidently grabbed hold of
everything they could get.&cdq;
Holmes grunted from the sofa.
&odq;The county
police ought to make something of that,&cdq; said he; &odq;why, it is
surely obvious that — &cdq;
But I held up a warning finger.
&odq;You are here
for a rest, my dear fellow. For heaven's sake don't get
started on a new problem when your nerves are all in shreds.&cdq;
Holmes shrugged his shoulders with a glance of comic
resignation towards the colonel, and the talk drifted away into less
dangerous channels.
It was destined, however, that all my professional caution
should be wasted, for next morning the problem obtruded itself upon
us in such a way that it was impossible to ignore it, and our country
visit took a turn which neither of us could have anticipated.
We were at breakfast when the colonel's butler rushed in with
all his propriety shaken out of him.
&odq;Have you heard the news, sir?&cdq; he gasped.
&odq;At the Cunningham's, sir!&cdq;
&odq;Burglary!&cdq; cried the colonel, with his coffee-cup in
mid-air.
&odq;Murder!&cdq;
The colonel whistled.
&odq;By Jove!&cdq; said he. &odq;Who's killed, then?
The J. P. or his son?&cdq;
&odq;Neither, sir. It was William the coachman.
Shot through the heart, sir, and never spoke again.&cdq;
&odq;Who shot him, then?&cdq;
&odq;The burglar,
sir. He was off like a shot and got clean away. He'd
just broke in at the pantry window when William came on him and met
his end in saving his master's property.&cdq;
&odq;What time?&cdq;
&odq;It was last night, sir,
somewhere about twelve.&cdq;
&odq;Ah, then, we'll step over afterwards,&cdq; said the
colonel coolly settling down to his breakfast again. &odq;It's
a baddish business,&cdq; he added when the butler had gone; &odq;he's
our leading man about here, is old Cunningham, and a very decent
fellow too. He'll be cut up over this, for the man has been in
his service for years and was a good servant. It's evidently
the same villains who broke into Acton's.&cdq;
&odq;And stole that very singular collection,&cdq; said Holmes
thoughtfully.
&odq;Precisely.&cdq;
&odq;Hum! It may
prove the simplest matter in the world, but all the same at first
glance this is just a little curious, is it not? A gang of
burglars acting in the country might be expected to vary the scene of
their operations, and not to crack two cribs in the same district
within a few days. When you spoke last night of taking
precautions I remember that it passed through my mind that this was
probably the last parish in England to which the thief or thieves
would be likely to turn their attention — which shows that I
have still much to learn.&cdq;
&odq;I fancy it's some local practitioner,&cdq; said the
colonel. &odq;In that case, of course, Acton's and
Cunningham's are just the places he would go for, since they are far
the largest about here.&cdq;
&odq;And richest?&cdq;
&odq;Well, they ought to
be, but they've had a lawsuit for some years which has sucked the
blood out of both of them, I fancy. Old Acton has some claim
on half Cunningham's estate, and the lawyers have been at it with
both hands.&cdq;
&odq;If it's a local villain there should not be much
difficulty in running him down,&cdq; said Holmes with a yawn.
&odq;All right, Watson, I don't intend to meddle.&cdq;
&odq;Inspector Forrester, sir,&cdq; said the butler, throwing
open the door.
The official, a smart, keen-faced young fellow, stepped into
the room. &odq;Good-morning, Colonel,&cdq; said he.
&odq;I hope I don't intrude, but we hear that Mr. Holmes of
Baker Street is here.&cdq;
The colonel waved his hand towards my friend, and the inspector
bowed.
&odq;We thought that perhaps you would care to step across, Mr.
Holmes.&cdq;
&odq;The fates are against you, Watson,&cdq; said he, laughing.
&odq;We were chatting about the matter when you came in,
Inspector. Perhaps you can let us have a few details.&cdq;
As he leaned back in his chair in the familiar attitude I knew
that the case was hopeless.
&odq;We had no clue in the Acton affair. But here we
have plenty to go on, and there's no doubt it is the same party in
each case. The man was seen.&cdq;
&odq;Ah!&cdq;
&odq;Yes, sir. But he was
off like a deer after the shot that killed poor William Kirwan was
fired. Mr. Cunningham saw him from the bedroom window, and Mr.
Alec Cunningham saw him from the back passage. It was quarter
to twelve when the alarm broke out. Mr. Cunningham had just
got into bed, and Mr. Alec was smoking a pipe in his dressing-gown.
They both heard William, the coachman, calling for help, and
Mr. Alec ran down to see what was the matter. The back door
was open, and as he came to the foot of the stairs he saw two men
wrestling together outside. One of them fired a shot, the
other dropped, and the murderer rushed across the garden and over the
hedge. Mr. Cunningham, looking out of his bedroom, saw the
fellow as he gained the road, but lost sight of him at once.
Mr. Alec stopped to see if he could help the dying man, and so
the villain got clean away. Beyond the fact that he was a
middle-sized man and dressed in some dark stuff, we have no personal
clue; but we are making energetic inquiries, and if he is a stranger
we shall soon find him out.&cdq;
&odq;What was this William doing there? Did he say
anything before he died?&cdq;
&odq;Not a word. He lives at the lodge with his mother,
and as he was a very faithful fellow we imagine that he walked up to
the house with the intention of seeing that all was right there.
Of course this Acton business has put everyone on their guard.
The robber must have just burst open the door — the
lock has been forced — when William came upon him.&cdq;
&odq;Did William say anything to his mother before going
out?&cdq;
&odq;She is very old and deaf, and we can get no information
from her. The shock has made her half-witted, but I understand
that she was never very bright. There is one very important
circumstance, however. Look at this!&cdq;
He took a small piece of torn paper from a notebook and spread
it out upon his knee.
&odq;This was found between the finger and thumb of the dead
man. It appears to be a fragment torn from a larger sheet.
You will observe that the hour mentioned upon it is the very
time at which the poor fellow met his fate. You see that his
murderer might have torn the rest of the sheet from him or he might
have taken this fragment from the murderer. It reads almost as
though it were an appointment.&cdq;
Holmes took up the scrap of paper, a facsimile of which is here
reproduced.
AT QUARTER TO TWELVE LEARN WHAT MAY
&odq;Presuming that it is an appointment,&cdq; continued the
inspector, &odq;it is of course a conceivable theory that this
William Kirwan, though he had the reputation of being an honest man,
may have been in league with the thief. He may have met him
there, may even have helped him to break in the door, and then they
may have fallen out between themselves.&cdq;
&odq;This writing is of extraordinary interest,&cdq; said
Holmes, who had been examining it with intense concentration.
&odq;These are much deeper waters than I had thought.&cdq;
He sank his head upon his hands, while the inspector smiled at
the effect which his case had had upon the famous London specialist.
&odq;Your last remark,&cdq; said Holmes presently, &odq;as to
the possibility of there being an understanding between the burglar
and the servant, and this being a note of appointment from one to the
other, is an ingenious and not entirely impossible supposition.
But this writing opens up — &cdq; He sank his head into
his hands again and remained for some minutes in the deepest thought.
When he raised his face again I was surprised to see that his
cheek was tinged with colour, and his eyes as bright as before his
illness. He sprang to his feet with all his old energy.
&odq;I'll tell you what,&cdq; said he, &odq;I should like to
have a quiet little glance into the details of this case.
There is something in it which fascinates me extremely.
If you will permit me, Colonel, I will leave my friend Watson
and you, and I will step round with the inspector to test the truth
of one or two little fancies of mine. I will be with you again
in half an hour.&cdq;
An hour and a half had elapsed before the inspector returned
alone.
&odq;Mr. Holmes is walking up and down in the field outside,
said he. &cdq; He wants us all four to go up to the house
together. &odq;
&odq;To Mr. Cunningham's?&cdq;
&odq;Yes,
sir.&cdq;
&odq;What for?&cdq;
The inspector shrugged his
shoulders. &odq;I don't quite know sir. Between
ourselves, I think Mr. Holmes has not quite got over his illness yet.
He's been behaving very queerly, and he is very much
excited.&cdq;
&odq;I don't think you need alarm yourself,&cdq; said I.
&odq;I have usually found that there was method in his
madness.&cdq;
&odq;Some folk might say there was madness in his method,&cdq;
muttered the inspector. &odq;But he's all on fire to start,
Colonel, so we had best go out if you are ready.&cdq;
We found Holmes pacing up and down in the field, his chin sunk
upon his breast, and his hands thrust into his trousers pockets.
&odq;The matter grows in interest,&cdq; said he.
&odq;Watson, your country trip has been a distinct success.
I have had a charming morning.&cdq;
&odq;You have been up to the scene of the crime, I
understand,&cdq; said the colonel.
&odq;Yes, the inspector and I have made quite a little
reconnaissance together.&cdq;
&odq;Any success?&cdq;
&odq;Well, we have seen
some very interesting things. I'll tell you what we did as we
walk. First of all, we saw the body of this unfortunate man.
He certainly died from a revolver wound as reported.&cdq;
&odq;Had you doubted it, then?&cdq;
&odq;Oh, it
is as well to test everything. Our inspection was not wasted.
We then had an interview with Mr. Cunningham and his son, who
were able to point out the exact spot where the murderer had broken
through the garden-hedge in his flight. That was of great
interest.&cdq;
&odq;Naturally.&cdq;
&odq;Then we had a look at
this poor fellow's mother. We could get no information from
her, however, as she is very old and feeble.&cdq;
&odq;And what is the result of your investigations?&cdq;
&odq;The conviction that the crime is a very peculiar
one. Perhaps our visit now may do something to make it less
obscure. I think that we are both agreed, Inspector, that the
fragment of paper in the dead man's hand, bearing, as it does, the
very hour of his death written upon it, is of extreme
importance.&cdq;
&odq;It should give a clue, Mr. Holmes.&cdq;
&odq;It does give a clue. Whoever wrote that
note was the man who brought William Kirwan out of his bed at that
hour. But where is the rest of that sheet of paper?&cdq;
&odq;I examined the ground carefully in the hope of finding
it.&cdq; said the inspector.
&odq;It was torn out of the dead man's hand. Why was
someone so anxious to get possession of it? Because it
incriminated him. And what would he do with it? Thrust
it into his pocket, most likely, never noticing that a corner of it
had been left in the grip of the corpse. If we could get the
rest of that sheet it is obvious that we should have gone a long way
towards solving the mystery.&cdq;
&odq;Yes, but how can we get at the criminal's pocket before we
catch the criminal?&cdq;
&odq;Well, well, it was worth thinking over. Then there
is another obvious point. The note was sent to William.
The man who wrote it could not have taken it; otherwise, of
course, he might have delivered his own message by word of mouth.
Who brought the note, then? Or did it come through the
post?&cdq;
&odq;I have made inquiries,&cdq; said the inspector.
&odq;William received a letter by the afternoon post
yesterday. The envelope was destroyed by him.&cdq;
&odq;Excellent!&cdq; cried Holmes, clapping the inspector on
the back. &odq;You've seen the postman. It is a
pleasure to work with you. Well, here is the lodge, and if you
will come up, Colonel, I will show you the scene of the crime.&cdq;
We passed the pretty cottage where the murdered man had lived
and walked up an oak-lined avenue to the fine old Queen Anne house,
which bears the date of Malplaquet upon the lintel of the door.
Holmes and the inspector led us round it until we came to the
side gate, which is separated by a stretch of garden from the hedge
which lines the road. A constable was standing at the kitchen
door.
&odq;Throw the door open, officer,&cdq; said Holmes.
&odq;Now, it was on those stairs that young Mr. Cunningham
stood and saw the two men struggling just where we are. Old
Mr. Cunningham was at that window — the second on the left
— and he saw the fellow get away just to the left of that
bush. So did the son. They are both sure of it on
account of the bush. Then Mr. Alec ran out and knelt beside
the wounded man. The ground is very hard, you see, and there
are no marks to guide us.&cdq; As he spoke two men came down
the garden path, from round the angle of the house. The one
was an elderly man, with a strong, deep-lined, heavy-eyed face; the
other a dashing young fellow, whose bright, smiling expression and
showy dress were in strange contrast with the business which had
brought us there.
&odq;Still at it, then?&cdq; said he to Holmes. &odq;I
thought you Londoners were never at fault. You don't seem to
be so very quick, after all.&cdq;
&odq;Ah, you must give us a little time,&cdq; said Holmes
good-humouredly.
&odq;You'll want it,&cdq; said young Alec Cunningham.
&odq;Why, I don't see that we have any clue at all.&cdq;
&odq;There's only one,&cdq; answered the inspector.
&odq;We thought that if we could only find — Good
heavens. Mr. Holmes! what is the matter?&cdq;
My poor friend's face had suddenly assumed the most dreadful
expression. His eyes rolled upward, his features writhed in
agony, and with a suppressed groan he dropped on his face upon the
ground. Horrified at the suddenness and severity of the
attack, we carried him into the kitchen, where he lay back in a large
chair and breathed heavily for some minutes. Finally, with a
shamefaced apology for his weakness, he rose once more.
&odq;Watson would tell you that I have only just recovered from
a severe illness,&cdq; he explained. &odq;I am liable to these
sudden nervous attacks.&cdq;
&odq;Shall I send you home in my trap?&cdq; asked old
Cunningham.
&odq;Well, since I am here, there is one point on which I
should like to feel sure. We can very easily verify it.&cdq;
&odq;What is it?&cdq;
&odq;Well, it seems to me
that it is just possible that the arrival of this poor fellow William
was not before, but after, the entrance of the burglar into the
house. You appear to take it for granted that although the
door was forced the robber never got in.&cdq;
&odq;I fancy that is quite obvious,&cdq; said Mr. Cunningham
gravely. &odq;Why, my son Alec had not yet gone to bed, and he
would certainly have heard anyone moving about.&cdq;
&odq;Where was he sitting?&cdq;
&odq;I was
smoking in my dressing-room.&cdq;
&odq;Which window is that?&cdq;
&odq;The last on
the left, next my father's.&cdq;
&odq;Both of your lamps were lit, of course?&cdq;
&odq;Undoubtedly.&cdq;
&odq;There are some very singular points here,&cdq; said
Holmes, smiling. &odq;Is it not extraordinary that a burglar
— and a burglar who had some previous experience —
should deliberately break into a house at a time when he could see
from the lights that two of the family were still afoot?&cdq;
&odq;He must have been a cool hand.&cdq;
&odq;Well, of course, if the case were not an odd one
we should not have been driven to ask you for an explanation,&cdq;
said young Mr. Alec. &odq;But as to your ideas that the man
had robbed the house before William tackled him, I think it a most
absurd notion. Wouldn't we have found the place disarranged
and missed the things which he had taken?&cdq;
&odq;It depends on what the things were,&cdq; said Holmes.
&odq;You must remember that we are dealing with a burglar who
is a very peculiar fellow, and who appears to work on lines of his
own. Look, for example, at the queer lot of things which he
took from Acton's — what was it? — a ball of string,
a letter-weight, and I don't know what other odds and ends.&cdq;
&odq;Well, we are quite in your hands, Mr. Holmes,&cdq; said
old Cunningham. &odq;Anything which you or the inspector may
suggest will most certainly be done.&cdq;
&odq;In the first place,&cdq; said Holmes, &odq;I should like
you to offer a reward — coming from yourself, for the
officials may take a little time before they would agree upon the
sum, and these things cannot be done too promptly. I have
jotted down the form here, if you would not mind signing it.
Fifty pounds was quite enough, I thought.&cdq;
&odq;I would willingly give five hundred,&cdq; said the J. P.,
taking the slip of paper and the pencil which Holmes handed to him.
&odq;This is not quite correct, however,&cdq; he added,
glancing over the document.
&odq;I wrote it rather hurriedly.&cdq;
&odq;You
see you begin, &onq;Whereas, at about a quarter to one on Tuesday
morning an attempt was made,&cnq; and so on. It was at a
quarter to twelve, as a matter of fact.&cdq;
I was pained at the mistake, for I knew how keenly Holmes would
feel any slip of the kind. It was his specialty to be accurate
as to fact, but his recent illness had shaken him, and this one
little incident was enough to show me that he was still far from
being himself. He was obviously embarrassed for an instant,
while the inspector raised his eyebrows, and Alec Cunningham burst
into a laugh. The old gentleman corrected the mistake,
however, and handed the paper back to Holmes.
&odq;Get it printed as soon as possible,&cdq; he said; &odq;I
think your idea is an excellent one.&cdq;
Holmes put the slip of paper carefully away into his
pocketbook.
&odq;And now,&cdq; said he, &odq;it really would be a good
thing that we should all go over the house together and make certain
that this rather erratic burglar did not, after all, carry anything
away with him.&cdq;
Before entering, Holmes made an examination of the door which
had been forced. It was evident that a chisel or strong knife
had been thrust in, and the lock forced back with it. We could
see the marks in the wood where it had been pushed in.
&odq;You don't use bars, then?&cdq; he asked.
&odq;We have never found it necessary.&cdq;
&odq;You don't keep a dog?&cdq;
&odq;Yes, but he
is chained on the other side of the house.&cdq;
&odq;When do the servants go to bed?&cdq;
&odq;About ten.&cdq;
&odq;I understand that William was usually in bed also at that
hour?&cdq;
&odq;Yes.&cdq;
&odq;It is singular that on this
particular night he should have been up. Now, I should be very
glad if you would have the kindness to show us over the house, Mr.
Cunningham.&cdq;
A stone-flagged passage, with the kitchens branching away from
it, led by a wooden staircase directly to the first floor of the
house. It came out upon the landing opposite to a second more
ornamental stair which came up from the front hall. Out of
this landing opened the drawing-room and several bedrooms, including
those of Mr. Cunningham and his son. Holmes walked slowly,
taking keen note of the architecture of the house. I could
tell from his expression that he was on a hot scent, and yet I could
not in the least imagine in what direction his inferences were
leading him.
&odq;My good sir,&cdq; said Mr. Cunningham, with some
impatience, &odq;this is surely very unnecessary. That is my
room at the end of the stairs, and my son's is the one beyond it.
I leave it to your judgment whether it was possible for the
thief to have come up here without disturbing us.&cdq;
&odq;You must try round and get on a fresh scent, I fancy,&cdq;
said the son with a rather malicious smile.
&odq;Still, I must ask you to humour me a little further.
I should like, for example, to see how far the windows of the
bedrooms command the front. This, I understand, is your son's
room&cdq; — he pushed open the door — &odq;and that,
I presume is the dressing-room in which he sat smoking when the alarm
was given. Where does the window of that look out to?&cdq;
He stepped across the bedroom, pushed open the door, and
glanced round the other chamber.
&odq;I hope that you are satisfied now?&cdq; said Mr.
Cunningham tartly.
&odq;Thank you, I think I have seen all that I wished.&cdq;
&odq;Then if it is really necessary we can go into my
room.&cdq;
&odq;If it is not too much trouble.&cdq;
The J.
P. shrugged his shoulders and led the way into his own chamber, which
was a plainly furnished and commonplace room. As we moved
across it in the direction of the window, Holmes fell back until he
and I were the last of the group. Near the foot of the bed
stood a dish of oranges and a carafe of water. As we passed it
Holmes, to my unutterable astonishment, leaned over in front of me
and deliberately knocked the whole thing over. The glass
smashed into a thousand pieces and the fruit rolled about into every
corner of the room.
&odq;You've done it now, Watson,&cdq; said he coolly.
&odq;A pretty mess you've made of the carpet.&cdq;
I stooped in some confusion and began to pick up the fruit,
understanding for some reason my companion desired me to take the
blame upon myself. The others did the same and set the table
on its legs again.
&odq;Hullo!&cdq; cried the inspector, &odq;where's he got
to?&cdq;
Holmes had disappeared.
&odq;Wait here an instant,&cdq; said young Alec Cunningham.
&odq;The fellow is off his head, in my opinion. Come
with me, father, and see where he has got to!&cdq;
They rushed out of the room, leaving the inspector, the
colonel, and me staring at each other.
&odq;'Pon my word, I am inclined to agree with Master
Alec,&cdq; said the official. &odq;It may be the effect of
this illness, but it seems to me that — &cdq;
His words were cut short by a sudden scream of &odq;Help!
Help! Murder!&cdq; With a thrill I recognized
the voice as that of my friend. I rushed madly from the room
on to the landing. The cries which had sunk down into a
hoarse, inarticulate shouting, came from the room which we had first
visited. I dashed in, and on into the dressing-room beyond.
The two Cunninghams were bending over the prostrate figure of
Sherlock Holmes, the younger clutching his throat with both hands,
while the elder seemed to be twisting one of his wrists. In an
instant the three of us had torn them away from him, and Holmes
staggered to his feet, very pale and evidently greatly exhausted.
&odq;Arrest these men, Inspector,&cdq; he gasped.
&odq;On what charge?&cdq;
&odq;That of murdering their coachman, William Kirwan.&cdq;
The inspector stared about him in bewilderment.
&odq;Oh, come now, Mr. Holmes,&cdq; said he at last, &odq;I'm
sure you don't really mean to — &cdq;
&odq;Tut, man, look at their faces!&cdq; cried Holmes curtly.
Never certainly have I seen a plainer confession of guilt upon
human countenances. The older man seemed numbed and dazed,
with a heavy, sullen expression upon his strongly marked face.
The son, on the other hand, had dropped all that jaunty,
dashing style which had characterized him, and the ferocity of a
dangerous wild beast gleamed in his dark eyes and distorted his
handsome features. The inspector said nothing, but, stepping
to the door, he blew his whistle. Two of his constables came
at the call.
&odq;I have no alternative, Mr. Cunningham,&cdq; said he.
&odq;I trust that this may all prove to be an absurd mistake,
but you can see that Ah, would you? Drop it!&cdq; He
struck out with his hand, and a revolver which the younger man was in
the act of cocking clattered down upon the floor.
&odq;Keep that,&cdq; said Holmes, quietly putting his foot upon
it; &odq;you will find it useful at the trial. But this is
what we really wanted.&cdq; He held up a little crumpled piece
of paper.
&odq;The remainder of the sheet!&cdq; cried the inspector.
&odq;Precisely.&cdq;
&odq;And where was it?&cdq;
&odq;Where I was sure
it must be. I'll make the whole matter clear to you presently.
I think, Colonel, that you and Watson might return now, and I
will be with you again in an hour at the furthest. The
inspector and I must have a word with the prisoners, but you will
certainly see me back at luncheon time.&cdq;
Sherlock Holmes was as good as his word, for about one o'clock
he rejoined us in the colonel's smoking-room. He was
accompanied by a little elderly gentleman, who was introduced to me
as the Mr. Acton whose house had been the scene of the original
burglary.
&odq;I wished Mr. Acton to be present while I demonstrated this
small matter to you,&cdq; said Holmes, &odq;for it is natural that he
should take a keen interest in the details. I am afraid, my
dear Colonel, that you must regret the hour that you took in such a
stormy petrel as I am.&cdq;
&odq;On the contrary,&cdq; answered the colonel warmly, &odq;I
consider it the greatest privilege to have been permitted to study
your methods of working. I confess that they quite surpass my
expectations, and that I am utterly unable to account for your
result. I have not yet seen the vestige of a clue.&cdq;
&odq;I am afraid that my explanation may disillusion you, but
it has always been my habit to hide none of my methods, either from
my friend Watson or from anyone who might take an intelligent
interest in them. But, first, as I am rather shaken by the
knocking about which I had in the dressing-room. I think that
I shall help myself to a dash of your brandy, Colonel. My
strength has been rather tried of late.&cdq;
&odq;I trust you had no more of those nervous attacks.&cdq;
Sherlock Holmes laughed heartily. &odq;We will
come to that in its turn,&cdq; said he. &odq;I will lay an
account of the case before you in its due order, showing you the
various points which guided me in my decision. Pray interrupt
me if there is any inference which is not perfectly clear to you.
&odq;It is of the highest importance in the art of detection to
be able to recognize, out of a number of facts, which are incidental
and which vital. Otherwise your energy and attention must be
dissipated instead of being concentrated. Now, in this case
there was not the slightest doubt in my mind from the first that the
key of the whole matter must be looked for in the scrap of paper in
the dead man's hand.
&odq;Before going into this, I would draw your attention to the
fact that, if Alec Cunningham's narrative was correct, and if the
assailant, after shooting William Kirwan, had instantly fled, then it
obviously could not be he who tore the paper from the dead man's
hand. But if it was not he, it must have been Alec Cunningham
himself, for by the time that the old man had descended several
servants were upon the scene. The point is a simple one, but
the inspector had overlooked it because he had started with the
supposition that these county magnates had had nothing to do with the
matter. Now, I make a point of never having any prejudices,
and of following docilely wherever fact may lead me, and so, in the
very first stage of the investigation, I found myself looking a
little askance at the part which had been played by Mr. Alec
Cunningham.
&odq;And now I made a very careful examination of the corner of
paper which the inspector had submitted to us. It was at once
clear to me that it formed part of a very remarkable document.
Here it is. Do you not now observe something very
suggestive about it?&cdq;
&odq;It has a very irregular look,&cdq; said the colonel.
&odq;My dear sir,&cdq; cried Holmes, &odq;there cannot
be the least doubt in the world that it has been written by two
persons doing alternate words. When I draw your attention to
the strong t's of &onq;at&cnq; and &onq;to,&cnq; and ask you to
compare them with the weak ones of &onq;quarter&cnq; and
&onq;twelve,&cnq; you will instantly recognize the fact. A
very brief analysis of these four words would enable you to say with
the utmost confidence that the &onq;learn&cnq; and the
&onq;maybe&cnq; are written in the stronger hand, and the
&onq;what&cnq; in the weaker.&cdq;
&odq;By Jove, it's as clear as day!&cdq; cried the colonel.
&odq;Why on earth should two men write a letter in such a
fashion?&cdq;
&odq;Obviously the business was a bad one, and one of the men
who distrusted the other was determined that, whatever was done, each
should have an equal hand in it. Now, of the two men, it is
clear that the one who wrote the &onq;at&cnq; and &onq;to&cnq; was
the ringleader.&cdq;
&odq;How do you get at that?&cdq;
&odq;We might
deduce it from the mere character of the one hand as compared with
the other. But we have more assured reasons than that for
supposing it. If you examine this scrap with attention you
will come to the conclusion that the man with the stronger hand wrote
all his words first, leaving blanks for the other to fill up.
These blanks were not always sufficient, and you can see that
the second man had a squeeze to fit his &onq;quarter&cnq; in between
the &onq;at&cnq; and the &onq;to,&cnq; showing that the latter were
already written. The man who wrote all his words first is
undoubtedly the man who planned the affair.&cdq;
&odq;Excellent!&cdq; cried Mr. Acton.
&odq;But
very superficial,&cdq; said Holmes. &odq;We come now, however,
to a point which is of importance. You may not be aware that
the deduction of a man's age from his writing is one which has been
brought to considerable accuracy by experts. In normal cases
one can place a man in his true decade with tolerable confidence.
I say normal cases, because ill-health and physical weakness
reproduce the signs of old age, even when the invalid is a youth.
In this case, looking at the bold, strong hand of the one, and
the rather broken-backed appearance of the other, which still retains
its legibility although the t's have begun to lose their crossing, we
can say that the one was a young man and the other was advanced in
years without being positively decrepit.&cdq;
&odq;Excellent!&cdq; cried Mr. Acton again.
&odq;There is a further point, however, which is
subtler and of greater interest. There is something in common
between these hands. They belong to men who are
blood-relatives. It may be most obvious to you in the Greek
e's, but to me there are many small points which indicate the same
thing. I have no doubt at all that a family mannerism can be
traced in these two specimens of writing. I am only, of
course, giving you the leading results now of my examination of the
paper. There were twenty-three other deductions which would be
of more interest to experts than to you. They all tend to
deepen the impression upon my mind that the Cunninghams, father and
son, had written this letter.
&odq;Having got so far, my next step was, of course, to examine
into the details of the crime, and to see how far they would help us.
I went up to the house with the inspector and saw all that was
to be seen. The wound upon the dead man was, as I was able to
determine with absolute confidence, fired from a revolver at the
distance of something over four yards. There was no
powder-blackening on the clothes. Evidently, therefore, Alec
Cunningham had lied when he said that the two men were struggling
when the shot was fired. Again, both father and son agreed as
to the place where the man escaped into the road. At that
point, however, as it happens, there is a broadish ditch, moist at
the bottom. As there were no indications of boot-marks about
this ditch, I was absolutely sure not only that the Cunninghams had
again lied but that there had never been any unknown man upon the
scene at all.
&odq;And now I have to consider the motive of this singular
crime. To get at this, I endeavoured first of all to solve the
reason of the original burglary at Mr. Acton's. I understood,
from something which the colonel told us, that a lawsuit had been
going on between you, Mr. Acton, and the Cunninghams. Of
course, it instantly occurred to me that they had broken into your
library with the intention of getting at some document which might be
of importance in the case.&cdq;
&odq;Precisely so,&cdq; said Mr. Acton. &odq;There can
be no possible doubt as to their intentions. I have the
clearest claim upon half of their present estate, and if they could
have found a single paper — which, fortunately, was in the
strong-box of my solicitors — they would undoubtedly have
crippled our case.&cdq;
&odq;There you are,&cdq; said Holmes, smiling. &odq;It
was a dangerous, reckless attempt in which I seem to trace the
influence of young Alec. Having found nothing, they tried to
divert suspicion by making it appear to be an ordinary burglary, to
which end they carried off whatever they could lay their hands upon.
That is all clear enough, but there was much that was still
obscure. What I wanted, above all, was to get the missing part
of that note. I was certain that Alec had torn it out of the
dead man's hand, and almost certain that he must have thrust it into
the pocket of his dressing-gown. Where else could he have put
it? The only question was whether it was still there.
It was worth an effort to find out, and for that object we all
went up to the house.
&odq;The Cunninghams joined us, as you doubtless remember
outside the kitchen door. It was, of course, of the very first
importance that they should not be reminded of the existence of this
paper otherwise they would naturally destroy it without delay.
The inspector was about to tell them the importance which we
attached to it when, by the luckiest chance in the world, I tumbled
down in a sort of fit and so changed the conversation.&cdq;
&odq;Good heavens!&cdq; cried the colonel, laughing, &odq;do
you mean to say all our sympathy was wasted and your fit an
imposture?&cdq;
&odq;Speaking professionally, it was admirably done,&cdq; cried
I, looking in amazement at this man who was forever confounding me
with some new phase of his astuteness.
&odq;It is an art which is often useful,&cdq; said he.
&odq;When I recovered I managed, by a device which had perhaps
some little merit of ingenuity, to get old Cunningham to write the
word &onq;twelve,&cnq; so that I might compare it with the
&onq;twelve&cnq; upon the paper.&cdq;
&odq;Oh, what an ass I have been!&cdq; I exclaimed.
&odq;I could see that you were commiserating me over my
weakness,&cdq; said Holmes, laughing. &odq;I was sorry to
cause you the sympathetic pain which I know that you felt. We
then went upstairs together, and, having entered the room and seen
the dressing-gown hanging up behind the door, I contrived, by
upsetting a table, to engage their attention 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, I verily
believe, have murdered me then and there but for your prompt and
friendly aid. As it is, I feel that young man's grip on my
throat now, and the father has twisted my wrist round in the effort
to get the paper out of my hand. They saw that I must know all
about it, you see, and the sudden change from absolute security to
complete despair made them perfectly desperate.
&odq;I had a little talk with old Cunningham afterwards as to
the motive of the crime. He was tractable enough, though his
son was a perfect demon, ready to blow out his own or anybody else's
brains if he could have got to his revolver. When Cunningham
saw that the case against him was so strong he lost all heart and
made a clean breast of everything. It seems that William had
secretly followed his two masters on the night when they made their
raid upon Mr. Acton's and, having thus got them into his power,
proceeded, under threats of exposure, to levy blackmail upon them.
Mr. Alec, however, was a dangerous man to play games of that
sort with. It was a stroke of positive genius on his part to
see in the burglary scare which was convulsing the countryside an
opportunity of plausibly getting rid of the man whom he feared.
William was decoyed up and shot, and had they only got the
whole of the note and paid a little more attention to detail in their
accessories, it is very possible that suspicion might never have been
aroused.&cdq;
&odq;And the note?&cdq; 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.
&odq;It is very much the sort of thing that I expected,&cdq;
said he. &odq;Of course, we do not yet know what the relations
may have been between Alec Cunningham, William Kirwan, and Annie
Morrison. The result shows that the trap was skilfully baited.
I am sure that you cannot fail to be delighted with the traces
of heredity shown in the p's and in the tails of the g's. The
absence of the i-dots in the old man's writing is also most
characteristic. Watson, I think our quiet rest in the country
has been a distinct success, and I shall certainly return much
invigorated to Baker Street to-morrow.&cdq;
One summer night, a few months after my marriage, I was seated
by my own hearth smoking a last pipe and nodding over a novel, for my
day's work had been an exhausting one. My wife had already
gone upstairs, and the sound of the locking of the hall door some
time before told me that the servants had also retired. I had
risen from my seat and was knocking out the ashes of my pipe when I
suddenly heard the clang of the bell.
I looked at the clock. It was a quarter to twelve.
This could not be a visitor at so late an hour. A
patient evidently, and possibly an all-night sitting. With a
wry face I went out into the hall and opened the door. To my
astonishment it was Sherlock Holmes who stood upon my step.
&odq;Ah, Watson,&cdq; said he, &odq;I hoped that I might not be
too late to catch you.&cdq;
&odq;My dear fellow, pray come in.&cdq;
&odq;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 to tell that you have been accustomed to
wear a uniform, Watson. You'll never pass as a pure-bred
civilian as long as you keep that habit of carrying your handkerchief
in your sleeve. Could you put me up to-night?&cdq;
&odq;With pleasure.&cdq;
&odq;You told me that
you had bachelor quarters for one, and I see that you have no
gentleman visitor at present. Your hat-stand proclaims as
much.&cdq;
&odq;I shall be delighted if you will stay.&cdq;
&odq;Thank you. I'll fill the vacant peg then.
Sorry to see that you've had the British workman in the house.
He's a token of evil. Not the drains, I hope?&cdq;
&odq;No, the gas.&cdq;
&odq;Ah! He has
left two nail-marks from his boot upon your linoleum just where the
light strikes it. No, thank you, I had some supper at
Waterloo, but I'll smoke a pipe with you with pleasure.&cdq;
I handed him my pouch, and he seated himself opposite to me and
smoked for some time, in silence. I was well aware that
nothing but business of importance would have brought him to me at
such an hour, so I waited patiently until he should come round to it.
&odq;I see that you are professionally rather busy just
now,&cdq; said he, glancing very keenly across at me.
&odq;Yes, I've had a busy day,&cdq; I answered. &odq;It
may seem very foolish in your eyes,&cdq; I added, &odq;but really I
don't know how you deduced it.&cdq;
Holmes chuckled to himself.
&odq;I have the
advantage of knowing your habits, my dear Watson,&cdq; said he.
&odq;When your round is a short one you walk, and when it is a
long one you use a hansom. As I perceive that your boots,
although used, are by no means dirty, I cannot doubt that you are at
present busy enough to justify the hansom.&cdq;
&odq;Excellent!&cdq; I cried.
&odq;Elementary,&cdq; said he. &odq;It is one of
those instances where the reasoner can produce an effect which seems
remarkable to his neighbour, because the latter has missed the one
little point which is the basis of the deduction. The same may
be said, my dear fellow, for the effect of some of these little
sketches of yours, which is entirely meretricious, depending as it
does upon your retaining in your own hands some factors in the
problem which are never imparted to the reader. Now, at
present I am in the position of these same readers, for I hold in
this hand several threads of one of the strangest cases which ever
perplexed a man's brain, and yet I lack the one or two which are
needful to complete my theory. But I'll have them, Watson,
I'll have them!&cdq; His eyes kindled and a slight flush
sprang into his thin cheeks. For an instant the veil had
lifted upon his keen, intense nature, but for an instant only.
When I glanced again his face had resumed that red-Indian
composure which had made so many regard him as a machine rather than
a man.
&odq;The problem presents features of interest,&cdq; said he.
&odq;I may even say exceptional features of interest. I
have already looked into the matter, and have come, as I think,
within sight of my solution. If you could accompany me in that
last step you might be of considerable service to me.&cdq;
&odq;I should be delighted.&cdq;
&odq;Could you
go as far as Aldershot to-morrow?&cdq;
&odq;I have no doubt Jackson would take my practice.&cdq;
&odq;Very good. I want to start by the 11:10
from Waterloo.&cdq;
&odq;That would give me time.&cdq;
&odq;Then, if
you are not too sleepy, I will give you a sketch of what has
happened, and of what remains to be done.&cdq;
&odq;I was sleepy before you came. I am quite wakeful
now.&cdq;
&odq;I will compress the story as far as may be done without
omitting anything vital to the case. It is conceivable that
you may even have read some account of the matter. It is the
supposed murder of Colonel Barclay, of the Royal Munsters, at
Aldershot, which I am investigating.&cdq;
&odq;I have heard nothing of it.&cdq;
&odq;It has
not excited much attention yet, except locally. The facts are
only two days old. Briefly they are these:
&odq;The Royal Munsters is, as you know, one of the most famous
Irish regiments in the British Army. It did wonders both in
the Crimea and the Mutiny, and has since that time distinguished
itself upon every possible occasion. It was commanded up to
Monday night by James Barclay, a gallant veteran, who started as a
full private, was raised to commissioned rank for his bravery at the
time of the Mutiny, and so lived to command the regiment in which he
had once carried a musket.
&odq;Colonel Barclay had married at the time when he was a
sergeant, and his wife, whose maiden name was Miss Nancy Devoy, was
the daughter of a former colour-sergeant in the same corps.
There was, therefore, as can be imagined, some little social
friction when the young couple ( for they were still young ) found
themselves in their new surroundings. They appear, however, to
have quickly adapted themselves, and Mrs. Barclay has always, I
understand, been as popular with the ladies of the regiment as her
husband was with his brother officers. I may add that she was
a woman of great beauty, and that even now, when she has been married
for upward of thirty years, she is still of a striking and queenly
appearance.
&odq;Colonel Barclay's family life appears to have been a
uniformly happy one. Major Murphy, to whom I owe most of my
facts, assures me that he has never heard of any misunderstanding
between the pair. On the whole, he thinks that Barclay's
devotion to his wife was greater than his wife's to Barclay.
He was acutely uneasy if he were absent from her for a day.
She, on the other hand, though devoted and faithful, was less
obtrusively affectionate. But they were regarded in the
regiment as the very model of a middle-aged couple. There was
absolutely nothing in their mutual relations to prepare people for
the tragedy which was to follow.
&odq;Colonel Barclay himself seems to have had some singular
traits in his character. He was a dashing, jovial old soldier
in his usual mood, but there were occasions on which he seemed to
show himself capable of considerable violence and vindictiveness.
This side of his nature, however, appears never to have been
turned towards his wife. Another fact which had struck Major
Murphy and three out of five of the other officers with whom I
conversed was the singular sort of depression which came upon him at
times. As the major expressed it, the smile has often been
struck from his mouth, as if by some invisible hand, when he has been
joining in the gaieties and chaff of the mess-table. For days
on end, when the mood was on him, he has been sunk in the deepest
gloom. This and a certain tinge of superstition were the only
unusual traits in his character which his brother officers had
observed. The latter peculiarity took the form of a dislike to
being left alone, especially after dark. This puerile feature
in a nature which was conspicuously manly had often given rise to
comment and conjecture.
&odq;The first battalion of the Royal Munsters ( which is the
old One Hundred and Seventeenth ) has been stationed at Aldershot for
some years. The married officers live out of barracks, and the
colonel has during all this time occupied a villa called
&onq;Lachine,&cnq; about half a mile from the north camp. The
house stands in its own grounds, but the west side of it is not more
than thirty yards from the highroad. A coachman and two maids
form the staff of servants. These with their master and
mistress were the sole occupants of Lachine, for the Barclays had no
children, nor was it usual for them to have resident visitors.
&odq;Now for the events at Lachine between nine and ten on the
evening of last Monday.
&odq;Mrs. Barclay was, it appears, a member of the Roman
Catholic Church and had interested herself very much in the
establishment of the Guild of St. George, which was formed in
connection with the Watt Street Chapel for the purpose of supplying
the poor with cast-off clothing. A meeting of the Guild had
been held that evening at eight, and Mrs. Barclay had hurried over
her dinner in order to be present at it. When leaving the
house she was heard by the coachman to make some commonplace remark
to her husband, and to assure him that she would be back before very
long. She then called for Miss Morrison, a young lady who
lives in the next villa and the two went off together to their
meeting. It lasted forty minutes, and at a quarter-past nine
Mrs. Barclay returned home, having left Miss Morrison at her door as
she passed.
&odq;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 to the lawn. The lawn is thirty yards across
and is only divided from the highway by a low wall with an iron rail
above it. It was into this room that Mrs. Barclay went upon
her return. The blinds were not down, for the room was seldom
used in the evening, but Mrs. Barclay herself lit the lamp and then
rang the bell, asking Jane Stewart, the housemaid, to bring her a cup
of tea, which was quite contrary to her usual habits. The
colonel had been sitting in the dining-room, but, hearing that his
wife had returned, he joined her in the morning-room. The
coachman saw him cross the hall and enter it. He was never
seen again alive.
&odq;The tea which had been ordered was brought up at the end
of ten minutes; but the maid, as she approached the door, was
surprised to hear the voices of her master and mistress in furious
altercation. She knocked without receiving any answer, and
even turned the handle, but only to find that the door was locked
upon the inside. Naturally enough she ran down to tell the
cook, and the two women with the coachman came up into the hall and
listened to the dispute which was still raging. They all
agreed that only two voices were to be heard, those of Barclay and of
his wife. Barclay's remarks were subdued and abrupt so that
none of them were audible to the listeners. The lady's, on the
other hand, were most bitter, and when she raised her voice could be
plainly heard. &onq;You coward!&cnq; she repeated over and
over again. &onq;What can be done now? What can be done
now? Give me back my life. I will never so much as
breathe the same air with you again! You coward! You
coward!&cnq; Those were scraps of her conversation, ending in
a sudden dreadful cry in the man's voice, with a crash, and a
piercing scream from the woman. Convinced that some tragedy
had occurred, the coachman rushed to the door and strove to force it,
while scream after scream issued from within. He was unable,
however, to make his way in, and the maids were too distracted with
fear to be of any assistance to him. A sudden thought struck
him, however, and he ran through the hall door and round to the lawn
upon which the long French windows open. One side of the
window was open, which I understand was quite usual in the
summertime, and he passed without difficulty into the room.
His mistress had ceased to scream and was stretched insensible
upon a couch, while with his feet tilted over the side of an
armchair, and his head upon the ground near the corner of the fender,
was lying the unfortunate soldier stone dead in a pool of his own
blood.
&odq;Naturally, the coachman's first thought, on finding that
he could do nothing for his master, was to open the door. But
here an unexpected and singular difficulty presented itself.
The key was not in the inner side of the door, nor could he
find it anywhere in the room. He went out again, therefore,
through the window, and, having obtained the help of a policeman and
of a medical man, he returned. The lady, against whom
naturally the strongest suspicion rested, was removed to her room,
still in a state of insensibility. The colonel's body was then
placed upon the sofa and a careful examination made of the scene of
the tragedy.
&odq;The injury from which the unfortunate veteran was
suffering was found to be a jagged cut some two inches long at the
back part of his head, which had evidently been caused by a violent
blow from a blunt weapon. Nor was it difficult to guess what
that weapon may have been. Upon the floor, close to the body,
was lying a singular club of hard carved wood with a bone handle.
The colonel possessed a varied collection of weapons brought
from the different countries in which he had fought, and it is
conjectured by the police that this club was among his trophies.
The servants deny having seen it before, but among the
numerous curiosities in the house it is possible that it may have
been overlooked. Nothing else of importance was discovered in
the room by the police, save the inexplicable fact that neither upon
Mrs. Barclay's person nor upon that of the victim nor in any part of
the room was the missing key to be found. The door had
eventually to be opened by a locksmith from Aldershot.
&odq;That was the state of things, Watson, when upon the
Tuesday morning I, at the request of Major Murphy, went down to
Aldershot to supplement the efforts of the police. I think
that you will acknowledge that the problem was already one of
interest, but my observations soon made me realize that it was in
truth much more extraordinary than would at first sight appear.
&odq;Before examining the room I cross-questioned the servants,
but only succeeded in eliciting the facts which I have already
stated. One other detail of interest was remembered by Jane
Stewart, the housemaid. You will remember that on hearing the
sound of the quarrel she descended and returned with the other
servants. On that first occasion, when she was alone, she says
that the voices of her master and mistress were sunk so low that she
could hardly hear anything, and judged by their tones rather than
their words that they had fallen out. On my pressing her,
however, she remembered that she heard the word David uttered twice
by the lady. The point is of the utmost importance as guiding
us towards the reason of the sudden quarrel. The colonel's
name, you remember, was James.
&odq;There was one thing in the case which had made the deepest
impression both upon the servants and the police. This was the
contortion of the colonel's face. It had set, according to
their account, into the most dreadful expression of fear and horror
which a human countenance is capable of assuming. More than
one person fainted at the mere sight of him, so terrible was the
effect. It was quite certain that he had foreseen his fate,
and that it had caused him the utmost horror. This, of course,
fitted in well enough with the police theory, if the colonel could
have seen his wife making a murderous attack upon him. Nor was
the fact of the wound being on the back of his head a fatal objection
to this, as he might have turned to avoid the blow. No
information could be got from the lady herself, who was temporarily
insane from an acute attack of brain-fever.
&odq;From the police I learned that Miss Morrison, who you
remember went out that evening with Mrs. Barclay, denied having any
knowledge of what it was which had caused the ill-humour in which her
companion had returned.
&odq;Having gathered these facts, Watson, I smoked several
pipes over them, trying to separate those which were crucial from
others which were merely incidental. There could be no
question that the most distinctive and suggestive point in the case
was the singular disappearance of the door-key. A most careful
search had failed to discover it in the room. Therefore it
must have been taken from it. But neither the colonel nor the
colonel's wife could have taken it. That was perfectly clear.
Therefore a third person must have entered the room.
And that third person could only have come in through the
window. It seemed to me that a careful examination of the room
and the lawn might possibly reveal some traces of this mysterious
individual. You know my methods, Watson. There was not
one of them which I did not apply to the inquiry. And it ended
by my discovering traces, but very different ones from those which I
had expected. There had been a man in the room, and he had
crossed the lawn coming from the road. I was able to obtain
five very clear impressions of his footmarks: one in the roadway
itself, at the point where he had climbed the low wall, two on the
lawn, and two very faint ones upon the stained boards near the window
where he had entered. He had apparently rushed across the
lawn, for his toe-marks were much deeper than his heels. But
it was not the man who surprised me. It was his
companion.&cdq;
&odq;His companion!&cdq;
Holmes pulled a large
sheet of tissue-paper out of his pocket and carefully unfolded it
upon his knee.
&odq;What do you make of that?&cdq; he asked.
The
paper was covered with the tracings of the footmarks of some small
animal. It had five well-marked footpads, an indication of
long nails, and the whole print might be nearly as large as a
dessert-spoon.
&odq;It's a dog,&cdq; said I.
&odq;Did you ever
hear of a dog running up a curtain? I found distinct traces
that this creature had done so.&cdq;
&odq;A monkey, then?&cdq;
&odq;But it is not the
print of a monkey.&cdq;
&odq;What can it be, then?&cdq;
&odq;Neither dog
nor cat nor monkey nor any creature that we are familiar with.
I have tried to reconstruct it from the measurements.
Here are four prints where the beast has been standing
motionless. You see that it is no less than fifteen inches
from 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
— probably more 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 has not been
considerate enough to leave any of its hair behind it. But its
general shape must be what I have indicated, and it can run up a
curtain, and it is carnivorous.&cdq;
&odq;How do you deduce that?&cdq;
&odq;Because it
ran up the curtain. A canary's cage was hanging in the window,
and its aim seems to have been to get at the bird.&cdq;
&odq;Then what was the beast?&cdq;
&odq;Ah, if I
could give it a name it might go a long way towards solving the case.
On the whole, it was probably some creature of the weasel and
stoat tribe — and yet it is larger than any of these that I
have seen.&cdq;
&odq;But what had it to do with the crime?&cdq;
&odq;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 the quarrel between the Barclays — the
blinds were up and the room lighted. We know, also, that he
ran across the lawn, entered the room, accompanied by a strange
animal, and that he either struck the colonel or, as is equally
possible, that the colonel fell down from sheer fright at the sight
of him, and cut his head on the corner of the fender. Finally
we have the curious fact that the intruder carried away the key with
him when he left.&cdq;
&odq;Your discoveries seem to have left the business more
obscure than it was before,&cdq; said I.
&odq;Quite so. They undoubtedly showed that the affair
was much deeper than was at first conjectured. I thought the
matter over, and I came to the conclusion that I must approach the
case from another aspect. But really, Watson, I am keeping you
up, and I might just as well tell you all this on our way to
Aldershot to-morrow.&cdq;
&odq;Thank you, you have gone rather too far to stop.&cdq;
&odq;It is quite certain that when Mrs. Barclay left
the house at half-past seven she was on good terms with her husband.
She was never, as I think I have said, ostentatiously
affectionate, but she was heard by the coachman chatting with the
colonel in a friendly fashion. Now, it was equally certain
that, immediately on her return, she had gone to the room in which
she was least likely to see her husband, had flown to tea as an
agitated woman will, and finally, on his coming in to her, had broken
into violent recriminations. Therefore something had occurred
between seven-thirty and nine o'clock which had completely altered
her feelings towards him. But Miss Morrison had been with her
during the whole of that hour and a half. It was absolutely
certain, therefore, in spite of her denial, that she must know
something of the matter.
&odq;My first conjecture was that possibly there had been some
passages between this young lady and the old soldier, which the
former had now confessed to the wife. That would account for
the angry return, and also for the girl's denial that anything had
occurred. Nor would it be entirely incompatible with most of
the words overheard. But there was the reference to David, and
there was the known affection of the colonel for his wife to weigh
against it, to say nothing of the tragic intrusion of this other man,
which might, of course, be entirely disconnected with what had gone
before. It was not easy to pick one's steps, but, on the
whole, I was inclined to dismiss the idea that there had been
anything between the colonel and Miss Morrison, but more than ever
convinced that the young lady held the clue as to what it was which
had turned Mrs. Barclay to hatred of her husband. I took the
obvious course, therefore, of calling upon Miss M., of explaining to
her that I was perfectly certain that she held the facts in her
possession, and of assuring her that her friend, Mrs. Barclay, might
find herself in the dock upon a capital charge unless the matter were
cleared up.
&odq;Miss Morrison is a little ethereal slip of a girl, with
timid eyes and blond hair, but I found her by no means wanting in
shrewdness and common sense. She sat thinking for some time
after I had spoken, and then, turning to me with a brisk air of
resolution, she broke into a remarkable statement which I will
condense for your benefit.
&odq;&onq;I promised my friend that I would say nothing of the
matter, and a promise is a promise,&cnq; said she; ' but if I can
really help her when so serious a charge is laid against her, and
when her own mouth, poor darling, is closed by illness, then I think
I am absolved from my promise. I will tell you exactly what
happened upon Monday evening.
&odq;' We were returning from the Watt Street Mission about a
quarter to 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 man coming towards us with his back very bent, and
something like a box slung over one of his shoulders. He
appeared to be deformed, for he carried his head low and walked with
his knees bent. We were passing him when he raised his face to
look at us in the circle of light thrown by the lamp, and as he did
so he stopped and screamed out in a dreadful voice,&cdq; My God, it's
Nancy! &odq;Mrs. Barclay turned as white as death and would
have fallen down had the dreadful-looking creature not caught hold of
her. I was going to call for the police, but she, to my
surprise, spoke quite civilly to the fellow.
&odq;'&cdq; I thought you had been dead this thirty years,
Henry, &odq;said she in a shaking voice.
&odq;'&cdq; So I have, &odq;said he, and it was awful to hear
the tones that he said it in. He had a very dark, fearsome
face, and a gleam in his eyes that comes back to me in my dreams.
His hair and whiskers were shot with gray, and his face was
all crinkled and puckered like a withered apple.
&odq;'&cdq; Just walk on a little way, dear, &odq;said Mrs.
Barclay;&cdq; I want to have a word with this man. There is
nothing to be afraid of. &odq;She tried to speak boldly, but
she was still deadly pale and could hardly get her words out for the
trembling of her lips.
&odq;' I did as she asked me, and they talked together for a
few minutes. Then she came down the street with her eyes
blazing, and I saw the crippled wretch standing by the lamp-post and
shaking his clenched fists in the air as if he were mad with rage.
She never said a word until we were at the door here, when she
took me by the hand and begged me to tell no one what had happened.
&odq;'&cdq; It's an old acquaintance of mine who has come down
in the world, &odq;said she. When I promised her I would say
nothing she kissed me, and I have never seen her since. I have
told you now the whole truth, and if I withheld it from the police it
is because I did not realize then the danger in which my dear friend
stood. I know that it can only be to her advantage that
everything should be known. '
&odq;There was her statement, Watson, and to me, as you can
imagine, it was like a light on a dark night. Everything which
had been disconnected before began at once to assume its true place,
and I had a shadowy presentiment of the whole sequence of events.
My next step obviously was to find the man who had produced
such a remarkable impression upon Mrs. Barclay. If he were
still in Aldershot it should not be a very difficult matter.
There are not such a very great number of civilians, and a
deformed man was sure to have attracted attention. I spent a
day in the search, and by evening — this very evening, Watson
— I had run him down. The man's name is Henry Wood,
and he lives in lodgings in this same street in which the ladies met
him. He has only been five days in the place. In the
character of a registration-agent I had a most interesting gossip
with his landlady. The man is by trade a conjurer and
performer, going round the canteens after nightfall, and giving a
little entertainment at each. He carries some creature about
with him in that box, about which the landlady seemed to be in
considerable trepidation, for she had never seen an animal like it.
He uses it in some of his tricks according to her account.
So much the woman was able to tell me, and also that it was a
wonder the man lived, seeing how twisted he was, and that he spoke in
a strange tongue sometimes, and that for the last two nights she had
heard him groaning and weeping in his bedroom. He was all
right, as far as money went, but in his deposit he had given her what
looked like a bad florin. She showed it to me, Watson, and it
was an Indian rupee.
&odq;So now, my dear fellow, you see exactly how we stand and
why it is I want you. It is perfectly plain that after the
ladies parted from this man he followed them at a distance, that he
saw the quarrel between husband and wife through the window, that he
rushed in, 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 world who can tell us exactly what happened in that
room.&cdq;
&odq;And you intend to ask him?&cdq;
&odq;Most
certainly — but in the presence of a witness.&cdq;
&odq;And I am the witness?&cdq;
&odq;If you will
be so good. If he can clear the matter up, well and good.
If he refuses, we have no alternative but to apply for a
warrant.&cdq;
&odq;But how do you know he'll be there when we return?&cdq;
&odq;You may be sure that I took some precautions.
I have one of my Baker Street boys mounting guard over him who
would stick to him like a burr, go where he might. We shall
find him in Hudson Street to-morrow, Watson, and meanwhile I should
be the criminal myself if I kept you out of bed any longer.&cdq;
It was midday when we found ourselves at the scene of the
tragedy, and, under my companion's guidance, we made our way at once
to Hudson Street. In spite of his capacity for concealing his
emotions, I could easily see that Holmes was in a state of suppressed
excitement, while I was myself tingling with that half-sporting,
half-intellectual pleasure which I invariably experienced when I
associated myself with him in his investigations.
&odq;This is the street,&cdq; said he as we turned into a short
thoroughfare lined with plain two-storied brick houses.
&odq;Ah, here is Simpson to report.&cdq;
&odq;He's in all right, Mr. Holmes,&cdq; cried a small street
Arab, running up to us.
&odq;Good, Simpson!&cdq; said Holmes, patting him on the head.
&odq;Come along, Watson. This is the house.&cdq;
He sent in his card with a message that he had come on
important business, and a moment later we were face to face with the
man whom we had come to see. In spite of the warm weather he
was crouching over a fire, and the little room was like an oven.
The man sat all twisted and huddled in his chair in a way
which gave an indescribable 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 looked
suspiciously at us now out of yellow-shot, bilious eyes, and, without
speaking or rising, he waved towards two chairs.
&odq;Mr. Henry Wood, late of India, I believe,&cdq; said Holmes
affably. &odq;I've come over this little matter of Colonel
Barclay's death.&cdq;
&odq;What should I know about that?&cdq;
&odq;That's what I want to ascertain. You know,
I suppose, that unless the matter is cleared up, Mrs. Barclay, who is
an old friend of yours, will in all probability be tried for
murder.&cdq;
The man gave a violent start.
&odq;I don't know
who you are,&cdq; he cried, &odq;nor how you come to know what you do
know, but will you swear that this is true that you tell me?&cdq;
&odq;Why, they are only waiting for her to come to her senses
to arrest her.&cdq;
&odq;My God! Are you in the police yourself?&cdq;
&odq;No.&cdq;
&odq;What business is it of yours, then?&cdq;
&odq;It's every man's business to see justice
done.&cdq;
&odq;You can take my word that she is innocent.&cdq;
&odq;Then you are guilty.&cdq;
&odq;No, I am not.&cdq;
&odq;Who killed Colonel
James Barclay, then?&cdq;
&odq;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 own guilty conscience had not struck him down it is
likely enough that I might have had his blood upon my soul.
You want me to tell the story. Well, I don't know why I
shouldn't, for there's no cause for me to be ashamed of it.
&odq;It was in this way, sir. You see me now with my
back like a camel and my ribs all awry, but there was a time when
Corporal Henry Wood was the smartest man in the One Hundred and
Seventeenth foot. We were in India, then, in cantonments, at a
place we'll call Bhurtee. Barclay, who died the other day, was
sergeant in the same company as myself, and the belle of the
regiment, ay, and the finest girl that ever had the breath of life
between her lips, was Nancy Devoy, the daughter of the
colour-sergeant. There were two men that loved her, and one
that she loved, and you'll smile when you look at this poor thing
huddled before the fire and hear me say that it was for my good looks
that she loved me.
&odq;Well, though I had her heart, her father was set upon her
marrying Barclay. I was a harum-scarum, reckless lad, and he
had had an education and was already marked for the sword-belt.
But the girl held true to me, and it seemed that I would have
had her when the Mutiny broke out, and all hell was loose in the
country.
&odq;We were shut up in Bhurtee, the regiment of us with half a
battery of artillery, a company of Sikhs, and a lot of civilians and
women-folk. There were ten thousand rebels round us, and they
were as keen as a set of terriers round a rat-cage. About the
second week of it our water gave out, and it was a question whether
we could communicate with General Neill's column, which was moving
up-country. It was our only chance, for we could not hope to
fight our way out with all the women and children, so I volunteered
to go out and to warn General Neill of our danger. My offer
was accepted, and I talked it over with Sergeant Barclay, who was
supposed to know the ground better than any other man, and who drew
up a route by which I might get through the rebel lines. At
ten o'clock the same night I started off upon my journey.
There were a thousand lives to save, but it was of only one
that I was thinking when I dropped over the wall that night.
&odq;My way ran down a dried-up watercourse, which we hoped
would screen me from the enemy's sentries; but as I crept round the
corner of it I walked right into six of them, who were crouching down
in the dark waiting for me. In an instant I was stunned with a
blow and bound hand and foot. But the real blow was to my
heart and not to my head, for as I came to and listened to as much as
I could understand of their talk, I heard enough to tell me that my
comrade, the very man who had arranged the way I was to take, had
betrayed me by means of a native servant into the hands of the enemy.
&odq;Well, there's no need for me to dwell on that part of it.
You know now what James Barclay was capable of. Bhurtee
was relieved by Neill next day, but the rebels took me away with them
in their retreat, and it was many a long year before ever I saw a
white face again. I was tortured and tried to get away, and
was captured and tortured again. You can see for yourselves
the state in which I was left. Some of them that fled into
Nepal took me with them, and then afterwards I was up past
Darjeeling. The hill-folk up there murdered the rebels who had
me, and I became their slave for a time until I escaped; but instead
of going south I had to go north, until I found myself among the
Afghans. There I wandered about for many a year, and at last
came back to the Punjab, where I lived mostly among the natives and
picked up a living by the conjuring tricks that I had learned.
What use was it for me, a wretched cripple, to go back to
England or to make myself known to my old comrades? Even my
wish for revenge would not make me do that. I had rather that
Nancy and my old pals should think of Harry Wood as having died with
a straight back, than see him living and crawling with a stick like a
chimpanzee. They never doubted that I was dead, and I meant
that they never should. I heard that Barclay had married
Nancy, and that he was rising rapidly in the regiment, but even that
did not make me speak.
&odq;But when one gets old one has a longing for home.
For years I've been dreaming of the bright green fields and
the hedges of England. At last I determined to see them before
I died. I saved enough to bring me across, and then I came
here where the soldiers are, for I know their ways and how to amuse
them and so earn enough to keep me.&cdq;
&odq;Your narrative is most interesting,&cdq; said Sherlock
Holmes. &odq;I have already heard of your meeting with Mrs.
Barclay, and your mutual recognition. You then, as I
understand, followed her home and saw through the window an
altercation between her husband and her, in which she doubtless cast
his conduct to you in his teeth. Your own feelings overcame
you, and you ran across the lawn and broke in upon them.&cdq;
&odq;I did, sir, and at the sight of me he looked as I have
never seen a man look before, and over he went with his head on the
fender. But he was dead before he fell. I read death on
his face as plain as I can read that text over the fire. The
bare sight of me was like a bullet through his guilty heart.&cdq;
&odq;And then?&cdq;
&odq;Then Nancy fainted, and
I caught up the key of the door from her hand, intending to unlock it
and get help. But as I was doing it it seemed to me better to
leave it alone and get away, for the thing might look black against
me, and anyway my secret would be out 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 the curtain. When I got him
into his box, from which he had slipped, I was off as fast as I could
run.&cdq;
&odq;Who's Teddy?&cdq; asked Holmes.
The man
leaned over and pulled up the front of a kind of hutch in the corner.
In an instant out there slipped a beautiful reddish-brown
creature, thin and lithe, with the legs of a stoat, a long, thin
nose, and a pair of the finest red eyes that ever I saw in an
animal's head.
&odq;It's a mongoose,&cdq; I cried.
&odq;Well,
some call them that, and some call them ichneumon,&cdq; said the man.
&odq;Snake-catcher is what I call them, and Teddy is amazing
quick on cobras. I have one here without the fangs, and Teddy
catches it every night to please the folk in the canteen.
&odq;Any other point, sir?&cdq;
&odq;Well, we may
have to apply to you again if Mrs. Barclay should prove to be in
serious trouble.&cdq;
&odq;In that case, of course, I'd come forward.&cdq;
&odq;But if not, there is no object in raking up this
scandal against a dead man, foully as he has acted. You have
at least the satisfaction of knowing that for thirty years of his
life his conscience bitterly reproached him for his wicked deed.
Ah, there goes Major Murphy on the other side of the street.
Good-bye, Wood. I want to learn if anything has
happened since yesterday.&cdq;
We were in time to overtake the major before he reached the
corner.
&odq;Ah, Holmes,&cdq; he said, &odq;I suppose you have heard
that all this fuss has come to nothing?&cdq;
&odq;What then?&cdq;
&odq;The inquest is just
over. The medical evidence showed conclusively that death was
due to apoplexy. You see it was quite a simple case, after
all.&cdq;
&odq;Oh, remarkably superficial,&cdq; said Holmes, smiling.
&odq;Come, Watson, I don't think we shall be wanted in
Aldershot any more.&cdq;
&odq;There's one thing,&cdq; said I as we walked down to the
station. &odq;If the husband's name was James, and the other
was Henry, what was this talk about David?&cdq;
&odq;That one word, my dear Watson, should have told me the
whole story had I been the ideal reasoner which you are so fond of
depicting. It was evidently a term of reproach.&cdq;
&odq;Of reproach?&cdq;
&odq;Yes; David strayed a
little occasionally, you know, and on one occasion in the same
direction as Sergeant James Barclay. You remember the small
affair of Uriah and Bathsheba? My Biblical knowledge is a
trifle rusty, I fear, but you will find the story in the first or
second of Samuel.&cdq;
In glancing over the somewhat incoherent series of Memoirs with
which I have endeavoured to illustrate a few of the mental
peculiarities of my friend Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I have been struck by
the difficulty which I have experienced in picking out examples which
shall in every way answer my purpose. For in those cases in
which Holmes has performed some tour de force of analytical
reasoning, and has demonstrated the value of his peculiar methods of
investigation, the facts themselves have often been so slight or so
commonplace that I could not feel justified in laying them before the
public. On the other hand, it has frequently happened that he
has been concerned in some research where the facts have been of the
most remarkable and dramatic character, but where the share which he
has himself taken in determining their causes has been less
pronounced than I, as his biographer, could wish. The small
matter which I have chronicled under the heading of &odq;A Study in
Scarlet,&cdq; and that other later one connected with the loss of the
Gloria Scott, may serve as examples of this Scylla and Charybdis
which are forever threatening the historian. It may be that in
the business of which I am now about to write the part which my
friend played is not sufficiently accentuated; and yet the whole
train of circumstances is so remarkable that I cannot bring myself to
omit it entirely from this series.
It had been a close, rainy day in October. Our blinds
were half-drawn, and Holmes lay curled upon the sofa, reading and
re-reading a letter which he had received by the morning post.
For myself, my term of service in India had trained me to
stand heat better than cold, and a thermometer of ninety was no
hardship. But the paper was uninteresting. Parliament
had risen. Everybody was out of town, and I yearned for the
glades of the New Forest or the shingle of Southsea. A
depleted bank account had caused me to postpone my holiday, and as to
my companion, neither the country nor the sea presented the slightest
attraction to him. He loved to lie in the very centre of five
millions of people, with his filaments stretching out and running
through them, responsive to every little rumour or suspicion of
unsolved crime. Appreciation of nature found no place among
his many gifts, and his only change was when he turned his mind from
the evildoer of the town to track down his brother of the country.
Finding that Holmes was too absorbed for conversation, I had
tossed aside the barren paper, and, leaning back in my chair I fell
into a brown study. Suddenly my companion's voice broke in
upon my thoughts.
&odq;You are right, Watson,&cdq; said he. &odq;It does
seem a very preposterous way of settling a dispute.&cdq;
&odq;Most preposterous!&cdq; I exclaimed, and then, suddenly
realizing how he had echoed the inmost thought of my soul, I sat up
in my chair and stared at him in blank amazement.
&odq;What is this, Holmes?&cdq; I cried. &odq;This is
beyond anything which I could have imagined.&cdq;
He laughed heartily at my perplexity.
&odq;You
remember,&cdq; said he, &odq;that some little time ago, when I read
you the passage in one of Poe's sketches, in which a close reasoner
follows the unspoken thoughts of his companion, you were inclined to
treat the matter as a mere tour de force of the author. On my
remarking that I was constantly in the habit of doing the same thing
you expressed incredulity.&cdq;
&odq;Oh, no!&cdq;
&odq;Perhaps not with your
tongue, my dear Watson, but certainly with your eyebrows. So
when I saw you throw down your paper and enter upon a train of
thought, I was very happy to have the opportunity of reading it off,
and eventually of breaking into it, as a proof that I had been in
rapport with you.&cdq;
But I was still far from satisfied. &odq;In the example
which you read to me,&cdq; said I, &odq;the reasoner drew his
conclusions from the actions of the man whom he observed. If I
remember right, he stumbled 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 I have given you?&cdq;
&odq;You do yourself an injustice. The features are
given to man as the means by which he shall express his emotions, and
yours are faithful servants.&cdq;
&odq;Do you mean to say that you read my train of thoughts from
my features?&cdq;
&odq;Your features, and especially your eyes. Perhaps
you cannot yourself recall how your reverie commenced?&cdq;
&odq;No, I cannot.&cdq;
&odq;Then I will tell
you. After throwing down your paper, which was the action
which drew my attention to you, you sat for half a minute with a
vacant expression. Then your eyes fixed themselves upon your
newly framed picture of General Gordon, and I saw by the alteration
in your face that a train of thought had been started. But it
did not lead very far. Your eyes turned across to the unframed
portrait of Henry Ward Beecher, which stands upon the top of your
books. You then glanced up at the wall, and of course your
meaning was obvious. You were thinking that if the portrait
were framed it would just cover that bare space and correspond with
Gordon's picture over there.&cdq;
&odq;You have followed me wonderfully!&cdq; I exclaimed.
&odq;So far I could hardly have gone astray. But
now your thoughts went back to Beecher, and you looked hard across as
if you were studying the character in his features. Then your
eyes ceased to pucker, but you continued to look across, and your
face was thoughtful. You were recalling the incidents of
Beecher's career. I was well aware that you could not do this
without thinking of the mission which he undertook on behalf of the
North at the time of the Civil War, for I remember you expressing
your passionate indignation at the way in which he was received by
the more turbulent of our people. You felt so strongly about
it that I knew you could not think of Beecher without thinking of
that also. When a moment later I saw your eyes wander away
from the picture, I suspected that your mind had now turned to the
Civil War, and when I observed that your lips set, your eyes
sparkled, and your hands clinched, I was positive that you were
indeed thinking of the gallantry which was shown by both sides in
that desperate struggle. But then, again, your face grew
sadder; you shook your head. You were dwelling upon the
sadness and horror and useless waste of life. Your hand stole
towards your own old wound, and a smile quivered on your lips, which
showed me that the ridiculous side of this method of settling
international questions had forced itself upon your mind. At
this point I agreed with you that it was preposterous, and was glad
to find that all my deductions had been correct.
&odq;Absolutely!&cdq; said I. &odq;And now that you have
explained it, I confess that I am as amazed as before.&cdq;
&odq;It was very superficial, my dear Watson, I assure you.
I should not have intruded it upon your attention had you not
shown some incredulity the other day. But the evening has
brought a breeze with it. What do you say to a ramble through
London?&cdq;
I was weary of our little sitting-room and gladly acquiesced.
For three hours we strolled about together, watching the
everchanging kaleidoscope of life as it ebbs and flows through Fleet
Street and the Strand. His characteristic talk, with its keen
observance of detail and subtle power of inference, held me amused
and enthralled. It was ten o'clock before we reached Baker
Street again. A brougham was waiting at our door.
&odq;Hum! A doctor's — general practitioner, I
perceive,&cdq; said Holmes. &odq;Not been long in practice,
but has a good deal to do. Come to consult us, I fancy!
Lucky we came back!&cdq;
I was sufficiently conversant with Holmes's methods to be able
to follow his reasoning, and to see that the nature and state of the
various medical instruments in the wicker basket which hung in the
lamp-light inside the brougham had given him the data for his swift
deduction. The light in our window above showed that this late
visit was indeed intended for us. With some curiosity as to
what could have sent a brother medico to us at such an hour, I
followed Holmes into our sanctum.
A pale, taper-faced man with sandy whiskers rose up from a
chair by the fire as we entered. His age may not have been
more than three or four and thirty, but his haggard expression and
unhealthy hue told of a life which had sapped his strength and robbed
him of his youth. His manner was nervous and shy, like that of
a sensitive gentleman, and the thin white hand which he laid on the
mantelpiece as he rose was that of an artist rather than of a
surgeon. His dress was quiet and sombre — a black
frockcoat, dark trousers, and a touch of colour about his necktie.
&odq;Good-evening, Doctor,&cdq; said Holmes cheerily.
&odq;I am glad to see that you have only been waiting a very
few minutes.&cdq;
&odq;You spoke to my coachman, then?&cdq;
&odq;No, it was the candle on the side-table that told
me. Pray resume your seat and let me know how I can serve
you.&cdq;
&odq;My name is Dr. Percy Trevelyan,&cdq; said our visitor,
&odq;and I live at 403 Brook Street.&cdq;
&odq;Are you not the author of a monograph upon obscure nervous
lesions?&cdq; I asked.
His pale cheeks flushed with pleasure at hearing that his work
was known to me.
&odq;I so seldom hear of the work that I thought it was quite
dead,&cdq; said he. &odq;My publishers gave me a most
discouraging account of its sale. You are yourself, I presume,
a medical man.&cdq;
&odq;A retired army surgeon.&cdq;
&odq;My own
hobby has always been nervous disease. I should wish to make
it an absolute specialty, but of course a man must take what he 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 occurred
recently at my house in Brook Street, and to-night they came to such
a head that I felt it was quite impossible for me to wait another
hour before asking for your advice and assistance.&cdq;
Sherlock Holmes sat down and lit his pipe. &odq;You are
very welcome to both,&cdq; said he. &odq;Pray let me have a
detailed account of what the circumstances are which have disturbed
you.&cdq;
&odq;One or two of them are so trivial,&cdq; said Dr. Trevelyan
&odq;that really I am almost ashamed to mention them. But the
matter is so inexplicable, and the recent turn which it has taken is
so elaborate, that I shall lay it all before you, and you shall judge
what is essential and what is not.
&odq;I am compelled, to begin with, to say something of my own
college career. I am a London University man, you know, and I
am sure that you will not think that I am unduly singing my own
praises if I say that my student career was considered by my
professors to be a very promising one. After I had graduated I
continued to devote myself to research, occupying a minor position in
King's College Hospital, and I was fortunate enough to excite
considerable interest by my research into the pathology of catalepsy,
and finally to win the Bruce Pinkerton prize and medal by the
monograph on nervous lesions to which your friend has just alluded.
I should not go too far if I were to say that there was a
general impression at that time that a distinguished career lay
before me.
&odq;But the one great stumbling-block lay in my want of
capital. As you will readily understand, a specialist who aims
high is compelled to start in one of a dozen streets in the Cavendish
Square quarter, all of which entail enormous rents and furnishing
expenses. Besides this preliminary outlay, he must be prepared
to keep himself for some years, and to hire a presentable carriage
and horse. To do this was quite beyond my power, and I could
only hope that by economy I might in ten years' time save enough to
enable me to put up my plate. Suddenly, however, an unexpected
incident opened up quite a new prospect to me.
&odq;This was a visit from a gentleman of the name of
Blessington, who was a complete stranger to me. He came up
into my room one morning, and plunged into business in an instant.
&odq;&onq;You are the same Percy Trevelyan who has had so
distinguished a career and won a great prize lately?&cnq; said he.
&odq;I bowed.
&cdq; &onq;Answer me frankly,&cnq;
he continued, &onq;for you will find it to your interest to do so.
You have all the cleverness which makes a successful man.
Have you the tact?&cnq;
&odq;I could not help smiling at the abruptness of the
question.
&odq;&onq;I trust that I have my share,&cnq; I said.
&cdq; &onq;Any bad habits? Not drawn towards
drink, eh?&cnq;
&odq;&onq;Really, sir!&cnq; I cried.
&cdq;
&onq;Quite right! That's all right! But I was bound to
ask. With all these qualities, why are you not in
practice?&cnq;
&odq;I shrugged my shoulders.
&cdq; &onq;Come,
come!&cnq; said he in his bustling way. &onq;It's the old
story. More in your brains than in your pocket, eh?
What would you say if I were to start you in Brook
Street?&cnq;
&odq;I stared at him in astonishment.
&cdq;
&onq;Oh, it's for my sake, not for yours,&cnq; he cried.
&onq;I'll be perfectly frank with you, and if it suits you it
will suit me very well. I have a few thousands to invest, d'ye
see, and I think I'll sink them in you.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;But why?&cnq; I gasped.
&cdq;
&onq;Well, it's just like any other speculation, and safer than
most.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;What am I to do, then?&cnq;
&cdq;
&onq;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 out your chair in the consulting-room. I'll let you have
pocket-money and everything. Then you hand over to me three
quarters of what you earn, and you keep the other quarter for
yourself.&cnq;
&odq;This was the strange proposal, Mr. Holmes, with which the
man Blessington approached me. I won't weary you with the
account of how we bargained and negotiated. It ended in my
moving into the house next Lady Day, and starting in-practice on very
much the same conditions as he had suggested. He came himself
to live with me in the character of a resident patient. His
heart was weak, it appears, and he needed constant medical
supervision. He turned the two best rooms of the first floor
into a sitting-room and bedroom for himself. He was a man of
singular habits, shunning company and very seldom going out.
His life was irregular, but in one respect he was regularity
itself. Every evening, at the same hour, he walked into the
consulting-room, examined the books, put down five and three-pence
for every guinea that I had earned, and carried the rest off to the
strong-box in his own room.
&odq;I may say with confidence that he never had occasion to
regret his speculation. From the first it was a success.
A few good cases and the reputation which I had won in the
hospital brought me rapidly to the front, and during the last few
years I have made him a rich man.
&odq;So much, Mr. Holmes, for my past history and my relations
with Mr. Blessington. It only remains for me now to tell you
what has occurred to bring me here tonight.
&odq;Some weeks ago Mr. Blessington came down to me in, as it
seemed to me, a state of considerable agitation. He spoke of
some burglary which, he said, had been committed in the West End, and
he appeared, I remember, to be quite unnecessarily excited about it,
declaring that a day should not pass before we should add stronger
bolts to our windows and doors. For a week he continued to be
in a peculiar state of restlessness, peering continually out of the
windows, and ceasing to take the short walk which had usually been
the prelude to his dinner. From his manner it struck me that
he was in mortal dread of something or somebody, but when I
questioned him upon the point he became so offensive that I was
compelled to drop the subject. Gradually, as time passed, his
fears appeared to die away, and he renewed his former habits, when a
fresh event reduced him to the pitiable state of prostration in which
he now lies.
&odq;What happened was this. Two days ago I received the
letter which I now read to you. Neither address nor date is
attached to it.
&odq;A Russian nobleman who is now resident in England [ it
runs ], would be glad to avail himself of the professional
assistance of Dr. Percy Trevelyan. He has been for some
years a victim to cataleptic attacks, on which, as is well known,
Dr. Trevelyan is an authority. He proposes to call at
about a quarter-past six to-morrow evening, if Dr. Trevelyan will
make it convenient to be at home.
&odq;This letter interested me deeply, because the chief
difficulty in the study of catalepsy is the rareness of the disease.
You may believe, then, that I was in my consulting-room when,
at the appointed hour, the page showed in the patient.
&odq;He was an elderly man, thin, demure, and commonplace
— by no means the conception one forms of a Russian nobleman.
I was much more struck by the appearance of his companion.
This was a tall young man, surprisingly handsome, with a dark,
fierce face, and the limbs and chest of a Hercules. He had his
hand under the other's arm as they entered, and helped him to a chair
with a tenderness which one would hardly have expected from his
appearance.
&odq;&onq;You will excuse my coming in, Doctor,&cnq; said he to
me, speaking English with a slight lisp. &onq;This is my
father, and his health is a matter of the most overwhelming
importance to me.&cnq;
&odq;I was touched by this filial anxiety. &onq;You
would, perhaps, care to remain during the consultation?&cnq; said I.
&odq;&onq;Not for the world,&cnq; he cried with a gesture of
horror. &onq;It is more painful to me than I can express.
If I were to see my father in one of these dreadful seizures I
am convinced that I should never survive it. My own nervous
system is an exceptionally sensitive one. With your
permission, I will remain in the waiting-room while you go into my
father's case.&cnq;
&odq;To this, of course, I assented, and the young man
withdrew. The patient and I then plunged into a discussion of
his case, of which I took exhaustive notes. He was not
remarkable for intelligence, and his answers were frequently obscure,
which I attributed to his limited acquaintance with our language.
Suddenly, however, as I sat writing, he ceased to give any
answer at all to my inquiries, and on my turning towards him I was
shocked to see that he was sitting bolt upright in his chair, staring
at me with a perfectly blank and rigid face. He was again in
the grip of his mysterious malady.
&odq;My first feeling, as I have just said, was one of pity and
horror. My second, I fear, was rather one of professional
satisfaction. 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 good results in such cases by the inhalation of nitrite of
amyl, and the present seemed an admirable opportunity of testing its
virtues. The bottle was downstairs in my laboratory, so,
leaving my patient seated in his chair, I ran down to get it.
There was some little delay in finding it — five
minutes, let us say — and then I returned. Imagine my
amazement to find the room empty and the patient gone.
&odq;Of course, my first act was to run into the waiting-room.
The son had gone also. The hall door had been closed,
but not shut. My page who admits patients is a new boy and by
no means quick. He waits downstairs and runs up to show
patients out when I ring the consulting-room bell. He had
heard nothing, and the affair remained a complete mystery. Mr.
Blessington came in from his walk shortly afterwards, 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 as little communication with him as
possible.
&odq;Well, I never thought that I should see anything more of
the Russian and his son, so you can imagine my amazement when, at the
very same hour this evening, they both came marching into my
consulting-room, just as they had done before.
&odq;&onq;I feel that I owe you a great many apologies for my
abrupt departure yesterday, Doctor,&cnq; said my patient.
&odq;&onq;I confess that I was very much surprised at it,&cnq;
said I.
&odq;&onq;Well, the fact is,&cnq; he remarked, &onq;that when I
recover from these attacks my mind is always very clouded as to all
that has gone before. I woke up in a strange room, as it
seemed to me, and made my way out into the street in a sort of dazed
way when you were absent.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;And I,&cnq; said the son, &onq;seeing my father pass
the door of the waiting-room, naturally thought that the consultation
had come to an end. It was not until we had reached home that
I began to realize the true state of affairs.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;Well,&cnq; said I, laughing, &onq;there is no harm
done except that you puzzled me terribly; so if you, sir, would
kindly step into the waiting-room I shall be happy to continue our
consultation which was brought to so abrupt an ending.&cnq;
&odq;For half an hour or so I discussed the old gentleman's
symptoms with him, and then, having prescribed for him, I saw him go
off upon the arm of his son.
&odq;I have told you that Mr. Blessington generally chose this
hour of the day for his exercise. He came in shortly
afterwards and passed upstairs. An instant later I heard him
running down, and he burst into my consulting-room like a man who is
mad with panic.
&odq;&onq;Who has been in my room?&cnq; he cried.
&cdq; &onq;No one,&cnq; said I.
&odq;&onq;It's a lie!&cnq; he yelled. &onq;Come up and
look!&cnq;
&odq;I passed over the grossness of his language, as he seemed
half out of his mind with fear. When I went upstairs with him
he pointed to several footprints upon the light carpet.
&odq;&onq;Do you mean to say those are mine?&cnq; he cried.
&cdq; They were certainly very much larger than any
which he could have made, and were evidently quite fresh. It
rained hard this afternoon, as you know, and my patients were the
only people who called. It must have been the case, then, that
the man in the waiting-room had, for some unknown reason, while I was
busy with the other, ascended to the room of my resident patient.
Nothing had been touched or taken, but there were the
footprints to prove that the intrusion was an undoubted fact.
&odq;Mr. Blessington seemed more excited over the matter than I
should have thought possible, though of course it was enough to
disturb anybody's peace of mind. He actually sat crying in an
armchair, and I could hardly get him to speak coherently. It
was his suggestion that I should come round to you, and of course I
at once saw the propriety of it, for certainly the incident is a very
singular one, though he appears to completely overrate its
importance. If you would only come back with me in my
brougham, you would at least be able to soothe him, though I can
hardly hope that you will be able to explain this remarkable
occurrence.&cdq;
Sherlock Holmes had listened to this long narrative with an
intentness which showed me that his interest was keenly aroused.
His face was as impassive as ever, but his lids had drooped
more heavily over his eyes, and his smoke had curled up more thickly
from his pipe to emphasize each curious episode in the doctor's tale.
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 been
dropped at the door of the physician's residence in Brook Street, one
of those sombre, flat-faced houses which one associates with a West
End practice. A small page admitted us, and we began at once
to ascend the broad, well-carpeted stair.
But a singular interruption brought us to a standstill.
The light at the top was suddenly whisked out, and from the
darkness came a reedy, quavering voice.
&odq;I have a pistol,&cdq; it cried. &odq;I give you my
word that I'll fire if you come any nearer.&cdq;
&odq;This really grows outrageous, Mr. Blessington,&cdq; cried
Dr. Trevelyan.
&odq;Oh, then it is you, Doctor.&cdq; said the voice with a
great heave of relief. &odq;But those other gentlemen, are
they what they pretend to be?&cdq;
We were conscious of a long scrutiny out of the darkness.
&odq;Yes, yes, it's all right,&cdq; said the voice at last.
&odq;You can come up, and I am sorry if my precautions have
annoyed you.&cdq;
He relit the stair gas as he spoke, and we saw before us a
singular-looking man, whose appearance, as well as his voice,
testified to his jangled nerves. He was very fat, but had
apparently at some time been much fatter, so that the skin hung about
his face in loose pouches, like the cheeks of a bloodhound. He
was of a sickly colour, and his thin, sandy hair seemed to bristle up
with the intensity of his emotion. In his hand he held a
pistol, but he thrust it into his pocket as we advanced.
&odq;Good-evening, Mr. Holmes,&cdq; said he. &odq;I am
sure I am very much obliged to you for coming round. No one
ever needed your advice more than I do. I suppose that Dr.
Trevelyan has told you of this most unwarrantable intrusion into my
rooms.&cdq;
&odq;Quite so,&cdq; said Holmes. &odq;Who are these two
men, Mr. Blessington, and why do they wish to molest you?&cdq;
&odq;Well, well,&cdq; said the resident patient in a nervous
fashion, &odq;of course it is hard to say that. You can hardly
expect me to answer that, Mr. Holmes.&cdq;
&odq;Do you mean that you don't know?&cdq;
&odq;Come in here, if you please. Just have the
kindness to step in here.&cdq;
He led the way into his bedroom, which was large and
comfortably furnished.
&odq;You see that,&cdq; said he, pointing to a big black box at
the end of his bed. &odq;I have never been a very rich man,
Mr. Holmes — never made but one investment in my life, as Dr.
Trevelyan would tell you. 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 force themselves into my
rooms.&cdq;
Holmes looked at Blessington in his questioning way and shook
his head.
&odq;I cannot possibly advise you if you try to deceive
me,&cdq; said he.
&odq;But I have told you everything.&cdq;
Holmes
turned on his heel with a gesture of disgust. &odq;Good-night,
Dr. Trevelyan,&cdq; said he.
&odq;And no advice for me?&cdq; cried Blessington in a breaking
voice.
&odq;My advice to you, sir, is to speak the truth.&cdq;
A minute later we were in the street and walking for
home. We had crossed Oxford Street and were halfway down
Harley Street before I could get a word from my companion.
&odq;Sorry to bring you out on such a fool's errand,
Watson,&cdq; he said at last. &odq;It is an interesting case,
too, at the bottom of it.&cdq;
&odq;I can make little of it,&cdq; I confessed.
&odq;Well, it is quite evident that there are two men
— more perhaps, but at least two — who are determined
for some reason to get at this fellow Blessington. I have no
doubt in my mind that both on the first and on the second occasion
that young man penetrated to Blessington's room, while his
confederate, by an ingenious device, kept the doctor from
interfering.&cdq;
&odq;And the catalepsy?&cdq;
&odq;A fraudulent
imitation, Watson, though I should hardly dare to hint as much to our
specialist. It is a very easy complaint to imitate. I
have done it myself.&cdq;
&odq;And then?&cdq;
&odq;By the purest chance
Blessington was out on each occasion. Their reason for
choosing so unusual an hour for a consultation was obviously to
insure that there should be no other patient in the waiting-room.
It just happened, however, that this hour coincided with
Blessington's constitutional, which seems to show that they were not
very well acquainted with his daily routine. Of course, if
they had been merely after plunder they would at least have made some
attempt to search for it. Besides, I can read in a man's eye
when it is his own skin that he is frightened for. It is
inconceivable that this fellow could have made two such vindictive
enemies as these appear to be without knowing of it. I hold
it, therefore, to be certain that he does know who these men are, and
that for reasons of his own he suppresses it. It is just
possible that to-morrow may find him in a more communicative
mood.&cdq;
&odq;Is there not one alternative,&cdq; I suggested,
&odq;grotesquely improbable, no doubt, but still just conceivable?
Might the whole story of the cataleptic Russian and his son be
a concoction of Dr. Trevelyan's, who has, for his own purposes, been
in Blessington's rooms?&cdq;
I saw in the gas-light that Holmes wore an amused smile at this
brilliant departure of mine.
&odq;My dear fellow,&cdq; said he, &odq;it was one of the first
solutions which occurred to me, but I was soon able to corroborate
the doctor's tale. This young man has left prints upon the
stair-carpet which made it quite superfluous for me to ask to see
those which he had made in the room. When I tell you that his
shoes were square-toed instead of being pointed like Blessington's,
and were quite an inch and a third longer than the doctor's, you will
acknowledge that there can be no doubt as to his individuality.
But we may sleep on it now, for I shall be surprised if we do
not hear something further from Brook Street in the morning.&cdq;
Sherlock Holmes's prophecy was soon fulfilled, and in a
dramatic fashion. At half-past seven next morning, in the
first dim glimmer of daylight, I found him standing by my bedside in
his dressing-gown.
&odq;There's a brougham waiting for us, Watson,&cdq; said he.
&odq;What's the matter, then?&cdq;
&odq;The Brook
Street business.&cdq;
&odq;Any fresh news?&cdq;
&odq;Tragic, but
ambiguous,&cdq; said he, pulling up the blind. &odq;Look at
this — a sheet from a notebook, with &onq;For God's sake come
at once. P. T.,&cnq; 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.&cdq;
In a quarter of an hour or so we were back at the physician's
house. He came running out to meet us with a face of horror.
&odq;Oh, such a business!&cdq; he cried with his hands to his
temples.
&odq;What then?&cdq;
&odq;Blessington has
committed suicide!&cdq;
Holmes whistled.
&odq;Yes, he hanged himself
during the night.&cdq;
We had entered, and the doctor had preceded us into what was
evidently his waiting-room.
&odq;I really hardly know what I am doing,&cdq; he cried.
&odq;The police are already upstairs. It has shaken me
most dreadfully.&cdq;
&odq;When did you find it out?&cdq;
&odq;He has a
cup of tea taken in to him early every morning. When the maid
entered, about seven, there the unfortunate fellow was hanging in the
middle of the room. He had tied his cord to the hook on which
the heavy lamp used to hang, and he had jumped off from the top of
the very box that he showed us yesterday.&cdq;
Holmes stood for a moment in deep thought.
&odq;With your permission,&cdq; said he at last, &odq;I
should like to go upstairs and look into the matter.&cdq;
We both ascended, followed by the doctor.
It was
a dreadful sight which met us as we entered the bedroom door.
I have spoken of the impression of flabbiness which this man
Blessington conveyed. As he dangled from the hook it was
exaggerated and intensified until he was scarce human in his
appearance. The neck was drawn out like a plucked chicken's,
making the rest of him seem the more obese and unnatural by the
contrast. He was clad only in his long nightdress, and his
swollen ankles and ungainly feet protruded starkly from beneath it.
Beside him stood a smart-looking police-inspector, who was
taking notes in a pocketbook
&odq;Ah, Mr. Holmes,&cdq; said he heartily as my friend
entered, &odq;I am delighted to see you.&cdq;
&odq;Good-morning, Lanner,&cdq; answered Holmes, &odq;you won't
think me an intruder, I am sure. Have you heard of the events
which led up to this affair?&cdq;
&odq;Yes, I heard something of them.&cdq;
&odq;Have you formed any opinion?&cdq;
&odq;As far as I can see, the man has been driven out of his
senses by fright. The bed has been well slept in, you see.
There's his impression, deep enough. It's about five in
the morning, you know, that suicides are most common. That
would be about his time for hanging himself. It seems to have
been a very deliberate affair.&cdq;
&odq;I should say that he has been dead about three hours,
judging by the rigidity of the muscles,&cdq; said I.
&odq;Noticed anything peculiar about the room?&cdq; asked
Holmes.
&odq;Found a screw-driver and some screws on the wash-hand
stand. Seems to have smoked heavily during the night, too.
Here are four cigar-ends that I picked out of the
fireplace.&cdq;
&odq;Hum!&cdq; said Holmes, &odq;have you got his
cigar-holder?&cdq;
&odq;No, I have seen none.&cdq;
&odq;His cigar-case, then?&cdq;
&odq;Yes, it was
in his coat-pocket.&cdq;
Holmes opened it and smelled the single cigar which it
contained.
&odq;Oh, this is a Havana, and these others are cigars of the
peculiar sort which are imported by the Dutch from their East Indian
colonies. They are usually wrapped in straw, you know, and are
thinner for their length than any other brand.&cdq; He picked
up the four ends and examined them with his pocket-lens.
&odq;Two of these have been smoked from a holder and two
without,&cdq; said he. &odq;Two have been cut by a not very
sharp knife, and two have had the ends bitten off by a set of
excellent teeth. This is no suicide, Mr. Lanner. It is
a very deeply planned and cold-blooded murder.&cdq;
&odq;Impossible!&cdq; cried the inspector.
&odq;And why?&cdq;
&odq;Why should anyone murder a man in so clumsy a fashion as
by hanging him?&cdq;
&odq;That is what we have to find out.&cdq;
&odq;How could they get in?&cdq;
&odq;Through the front door.&cdq;
&odq;It was
barred in the morning.&cdq;
&odq;Then it was barred after them.&cdq;
&odq;How
do you know?&cdq;
&odq;I saw their traces. Excuse me a moment, and I may
be able to give you some further information about it.&cdq;
He went over to the door, and turning the lock he examined it
in his methodical way. Then he took out the key, which was on
the inside, and inspected that also. The bed, the carpet, the
chairs, the mantelpiece, the dead body, and the rope were each in
turn examined, until at last he professed himself satisfied, and with
my aid and that of the inspector cut down the wretched object and
laid it reverently under a sheet.
&odq;How about this rope?&cdq; he asked.
&odq;It
is cut off this,&cdq; said Dr. Trevelyan, drawing a large coil from
under the bed. &odq;He was morbidly nervous of fire, and
always kept this beside him, so that he might escape by the window in
case the stairs were burning.&cdq;
&odq;That must have saved them trouble,&cdq; said Holmes
thoughtfully. &odq;Yes, the actual facts are very plain, and I
shall be surprised if by the afternoon I cannot give you the reasons
for them as well. I will take this photograph of Blessington,
which I see upon the mantelpiece, as it may help me in my
inquiries.&cdq;
&odq;But you have told us nothing!&cdq; cried the doctor.
&odq;Oh, there can be no doubt as to the sequence of
events,&cdq; said Holmes. &odq;There were three of them in it:
the young man, the old man, and a third, to whose identity I have no
clue. The first two, I need hardly remark, are the same who
masqueraded as the Russian count and his son, so we can give a very
full description of them. They were admitted by a confederate
inside the house. If I might offer you a word of advice.
Inspector, it would be to arrest the page, who, as I
understand, has only recently come into your service, Doctor.&cdq;
&odq;The young imp cannot be found,&cdq; said Dr. Trevelyan;
&odq;the maid and the cook have just been searching for him.&cdq;
Holmes shrugged his shoulders.
&odq;He has played
a not unimportant part in this drama,&cdq; said he. &odq;The
three men having ascended the stairs, which they did on tiptoe, the
elder man first, the younger man second, and the unknown man in the
rear — &cdq;
&odq;My dear Holmes!&cdq; I ejaculated.
&odq;Oh,
there could be no question as to the superimposing of the footmarks.
I had the advantage of learning which was which last night.
They ascended, then, to Mr. Blessington's room, the door of
which 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.
&odq;On entering the room their first proceeding must have been
to gag Mr. Blessington. He may have been asleep, or he may
have been so paralyzed with terror as to have been unable to cry out.
These walls are thick, and it is conceivable that his shriek,
if he had time to utter one, was unheard.
&odq;Having secured him, it is evident to me that a
consultation of some sort was held. Probably it was something
in the nature of a judicial proceeding. It must have lasted
for some time, for it was then that these cigars were smoked.
The older man sat in that wicker chair; it was he who used the
cigar-holder. The younger man sat over yonder; he knocked his
ash off against the chest of drawers. The third follow paced
up and down. Blessington, I think, sat upright in the bed, but
of that I cannot be absolutely certain.
&odq;Well, it ended by their taking Blessington and hanging
him. The matter was so prearranged that it is my belief that
they brought with them some sort of block or pulley which might serve
as a gallows. That screw-driver and those screws were, as I
conceive, for fixing it up. Seeing the hook, however, they
naturally saved themselves the trouble. Having finished their
work they made off, and the door was barred behind them by their
confederate.&cdq;
We had all listened with the deepest interest to this sketch of
the night's doings, which Holmes had deduced from signs so subtle and
minute that, even when he had pointed them out to us, we could
scarcely follow him in his reasonings. The inspector hurried
away on the instant to make inquiries about the page, while Holmes
and I returned to Baker Street for breakfast.
&odq;I'll be back by three,&cdq; said he when we had finished
our meal. &odq;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 obscurity which the case may still present.&cdq;
Our visitors arrived at the appointed time, but it was a
quarter to four before my friend put in an appearance. From
his expression as he entered, however, I could see that all had gone
well with him.
&odq;Any news, Inspector?&cdq;
&odq;We have got
the boy, sir.&cdq;
&odq;Excellent, and I have got the men.&cdq;
&odq;You have got them!&cdq; we cried, all three.
&odq;Well, at least I have got their identity. This
so-called Blessington is, as I expected, well known at headquarters,
and so are his assailants. Their names are Biddle, Hayward,
and Moffat.&cdq;
&odq;The Worthingdon bank gang,&cdq; cried the inspector.
&odq;Precisely,&cdq; said Holmes.
&odq;Then Blessington must have been Sutton.&cdq;
&odq;Exactly,&cdq; said Holmes.
&odq;Why, that makes it as clear as crystal,&cdq; said the
inspector.
But Trevelyan and I looked at each other in bewilderment.
&odq;You must surely remember the great Worthingdon bank
business,&cdq; said Holmes. &odq;Five men were in it —
these four and a fifth called Cartwright. Tobin, the
caretaker, was murdered, and the thieves got away with seven thousand
pounds. This was in 1875. They were all five arrested,
but the evidence against them was by no means conclusive. This
Blessington or Sutton, who was the worst of the gang, turned
informer. On his evidence Cartwright was hanged and the other
three got fifteen years apiece. When they got out the other
day, which was some years before their full term, they set
themselves, as you perceive, to hunt down the traitor and to avenge
the death of their comrade upon him. Twice they tried to get
at him and failed; a third time you see, it came off. Is there
anything further which I can explain, Dr. Trevelyan?&cdq;
&odq;I think you have made it all remarkably clear,&cdq; said
the doctor. &odq;No doubt the day on which he was so perturbed
was the day when he had seen of their release in the newspapers.&cdq;
&odq;Quite so. His talk about a burglary was the merest
blind.&cdq;
&odq;But why could he not tell you this?&cdq;
&odq;Well, my dear sir, knowing the vindictive
character of his old associates, he was trying to hide his own
identity from everybody as long as he could. His secret was a
shameful one and he could not bring himself to divulge it.
However, wretch as he was, he was still living under the
shield of British law, and I have no doubt, Inspector, that you will
see that, though that shield may fail to guard, the sword of justice
is still there to avenge.&cdq;
Such were the singular circumstances in connection with the
Resident Patient and the Brook Street Doctor. From that night
nothing has been seen of the three murderers by the police, and it is
surmised at Scotland Yard that they were among the passengers of the
ill-fated steamer Norah Creina, which was lost some years ago with
all hands upon the Portuguese coast, some leagues to the north of
Oporto. The proceedings against the page broke down for want
of evidence, and the Brook Street Mystery, as it was called, has
never until now been fully dealt with in any public print.
During my long and intimate acquaintance with Mr. Sherlock
Holmes I had never heard him refer to his relations, and hardly ever
to his own early life. This reticence upon his part had
increased the somewhat inhuman effect which he produced upon me,
until sometimes I found myself regarding him as an isolated
phenomenon, a brain without a heart, as deficient in human sympathy
as he was preeminent in intelligence. His aversion to women
and his disinclination to form new friendships were both typical of
his unemotional character, but not more so than his complete
suppression of every reference to his own people. I had come
to believe that he was an orphan with no relatives living; but one
day, to my very great surprise, he began to talk to me about his
brother.
It was after tea on a summer evening, and the conversation,
which had roamed in a desultory, spasmodic fashion from golf clubs to
the causes of the change in the obliquity of the ecliptic, came round
at last to the question of atavism and hereditary aptitudes.
The point under discussion was, how far any singular gift in
an individual was due to his ancestry and how far to his own early
training.
&odq;In your own case,&cdq; said I, &odq;from all that you have
told me, it seems obvious that your faculty of observation and your
peculiar facility for deduction are due to your own systematic
training.&cdq;
&odq;To some extent,&cdq; he answered thoughtfully.
&odq;My ancestors were country squires, who appear to have led
much the same life as is natural to their class. But, none the
less, my turn that way is in my veins, and may have come with my
grandmother, who was the sister of Vernet, the French artist.
Art in the blood is liable to take the strangest forms.&cdq;
&odq;But how do you know that it is hereditary?&cdq;
&odq;Because my brother Mycroft possesses it in a
larger degree than I do.&cdq;
This was news to me indeed. If there were another man
with such singular powers in England, how was it that neither police
nor public had heard of him? I put the question, with a hint
that it was my companion's modesty which made him acknowledge his
brother as his superior. Holmes laughed at my suggestion.
&odq;My dear Watson,&cdq; said he, &odq;I cannot agree with
those who rank modesty among the virtues. To the logician all
things should be seen exactly as they are, and to underestimate one's
self is as much a departure from truth as to exaggerate one's own
powers. When I say, therefore, that Mycroft has better powers
of observation than I, you may take it that I am speaking the exact
and literal truth.&cdq;
&odq;Is he your junior?&cdq;
&odq;Seven years my
senior.&cdq;
&odq;How comes it that he is unknown?&cdq;
&odq;Oh, he is very well known in his own circle.&cdq;
&odq;Where, then?&cdq;
&odq;Well, in the Diogenes
Club, for example.&cdq;
I had never heard of the institution, and my face must have
proclaimed as much, for Sherlock Homes pulled out his watch.
&odq;The Diogenes Club is the queerest club in London, and
Mycroft one of the queerest men. He's always there from
quarter to five to twenty to eight. It's six now, so if you
care for a stroll this beautiful evening I shall be very happy to
introduce you to two curiosities.&cdq;
Five minutes later we were in the street, walking towards
Regent's Circus.
&odq;You wonder,&cdq; said my companion, &odq;why it is that
Mycroft does not use his powers for detective work. He is
incapable of it.&cdq;
&odq;But I thought you said — &cdq;
&odq;I
said that he was my superior in observation and deduction. If
the art of the detective began and ended in reasoning from an
armchair, my brother would be the greatest criminal agent that ever
lived. But he has no ambition and no energy. He will
not even go out of his way to verify his own solutions, and would
rather be considered wrong than take the trouble to prove himself
right. Again and again I have taken a problem to him, and have
received an explanation which has afterwards proved to be the correct
one. And yet he was absolutely incapable of working out the
practical points which must be gone into before a case could be laid
before a judge or jury.&cdq;
&odq;It is not his profession, then?&cdq;
&odq;By
no means. What is to me a means of livelihood is to him the
merest hobby of a dilettante. He has an extraordinary faculty
for figures, and audits the books in some of the government
departments. Mycroft lodges in Pall Mall, and he walks round
the corner into Whitehall every morning and back every evening.
From year's end to year's end he takes no other exercise, and
is seen nowhere else, except only in the Diogenes Club, which is just
opposite his rooms.&cdq;
&odq;I cannot recall the name.&cdq;
&odq;Very
likely not. There are many men in London, you know, who, some
from shyness, some from misanthropy, have no wish for the company of
their fellows. Yet they are not averse to comfortable chairs
and the latest periodicals. It is for the convenience of these
that the Diogenes Club was started, and it now contains the most
unsociable and unclubable men in town. No member is permitted
to take the least notice of any other one. Save in the
Stranger's Room, no talking is, under any circumstances, allowed, and
three offences, if brought to the notice of the committee, render the
talker liable to expulsion. My brother was one of the
founders, and I have myself found it a very soothing atmosphere.&cdq;
We had reached Pall Mall as we talked, and were walking down it
from the St. James's end. Sherlock Holmes stopped at a door
some little distance from the Carlton, and, cautioning me not to
speak, he led the way into the hall. Through the glass
panelling I caught a glimpse of a large and luxurious room, in which
a considerable number of men were sitting about and reading papers,
each in his own little nook. Holmes showed me into a small
chamber which looked out into Pall Mall, and then, leaving me for a
minute, he came back with 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 his face, though
massive, had preserved something of the sharpness of expression which
was so remarkable in that of his brother. His eyes, which were
of a peculiarly light, watery gray, seemed to always retain that
far-away, introspective look which I had only observed in Sherlock's
when he was exerting his full powers.
&odq;I am glad to meet you, sir,&cdq; said he, putting out a
broad, fat hand like the flipper of a seal. &odq;I hear of
Sherlock everywhere since you became his chronicler. By the
way, Sherlock, I expected to see you round last week to consult me
over that Manor House case. I thought you might be a little
out of your depth.&cdq;
&odq;No, I solved it,&cdq; said my friend, smiling.
&odq;It was Adams, of course.&cdq;
&odq;Yes, it was Adams.&cdq;
&odq;I was sure of
it from the first.&cdq; The two sat down together in the
bow-window of the club. &odq;To anyone who wishes to study
mankind this is the spot,&cdq; said Mycroft. &odq;Look at the
magnificent types! Look at these two men who are coming
towards us, for example.&cdq;
&odq;The billiard-marker and the other?&cdq;
&odq;Precisely. What do you make of the
other?&cdq;
The two men had stopped opposite the window. Some chalk
marks over the waistcoat pocket were the only signs of billiards
which I could see in one of them. The other was a very small,
dark fellow, with his hat pushed back and several packages under his
arm.
&odq;An old soldier, I perceive,&cdq; said Sherlock.
&odq;And very recently discharged,&cdq; remarked the
brother.
&odq;Served in India, I see.&cdq;
&odq;And a
non-commissioned officer.&cdq;
&odq;Royal Artillery, I fancy,&cdq; said Sherlock.
&odq;And a widower.&cdq;
&odq;But with a child.&cdq;
&odq;Children, my
dear boy, children.&cdq;
&odq;Come,&cdq; said I, laughing, &odq;this is a little too
much.&cdq;
&odq;Surely,&cdq; answered Holmes, &odq;it is not hard to say
that a man with that bearing, expression of authority, and sun-baked
skin, is a soldier, is more than a private, and is not long from
India.&cdq;
&odq;That he has not left the service long is shown by his
still wearing his ammunition boots, as they are called,&cdq; observed
Mycroft.
&odq;He had not the cavalry stride, yet he wore his hat on one
side, as is shown by the lighter skin on that side of his brow.
His weight is against his being a sapper. He is in the
artillery.&cdq;
&odq;Then, of course, his complete mourning shows that he has
lost someone very dear. The fact that he is doing his own
shopping looks as though it were his wife. He has been buying
things for children, you perceive. There is a rattle, which
shows that one of them is very young. The wife probably died
in childbed. The fact that he has a picture-book under his arm
shows that there is another child to be thought of.&cdq;
I began to understand what my friend meant when he said that
his brother possessed even keener faculties than he did himself.
He glanced across at me and smiled. Mycroft took snuff
from a tortoise-shell box and brushed away the wandering grains from
his coat front with a large, red silk handkerchief.
&odq;By the way, Sherlock,&cdq; said he, &odq;I have had
something quite after your own heart — a most singular
problem — submitted to my judgment. I really had not
the energy to follow it up save in a very incomplete fashion, but it
gave me a basis for some pleasing speculations. If you would
care to hear the facts — &cdq;
&odq;My dear Mycroft, I should be delighted.&cdq;
The brother scribbled a note upon a leaf of his
pocket-book, and, ringing the bell, he handed it to the waiter.
&odq;I have asked Mr. Melas to step across,&cdq; said he.
&odq;He lodges on the 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 Greek by extraction, as I understand, and he is
a remarkable linguist. He earns his living partly as
interpreter in the law courts and partly by acting as guide to any
wealthy Orientals who may visit the Northumberland Avenue hotels.
I think I will leave him to tell his very remarkable
experience in his own fashion.&cdq;
A few minutes later we were joined by a short, stout man whose
olive face and coal black hair proclaimed his Southern origin, though
his speech was that of an educated Englishman. He shook hands
eagerly with Sherlock Holmes, and his dark eyes sparkled with
pleasure when he understood that the specialist was anxious to hear
his story.
&odq;I do not believe that the police credit me — on my
word, I do not,&cdq; said he in a wailing voice. &odq;Just
because they have never heard of it before, they think that such a
thing cannot be. But I know that I shall never be easy in my
mind until I know what has become of my poor man with the
sticking-plaster upon his face.&cdq;
&odq;I am all attention,&cdq; said Sherlock Holmes.
&odq;This is Wednesday evening,&cdq; said Mr. Melas.
&odq;Well, then, it was Monday night — only two days
ago, you understand — that all this happened. I am an
interpreter, as perhaps my neighbour there has told you. I
interpret all languages — or nearly all — but as I am
a Greek by birth and with a Grecian name, it is with that particular
tongue that I am principally associated. For many years I have
been the chief Greek interpreter in London, and my name is very well
known in the hotels.
&odq;It happens not unfrequently that I am sent for at strange
hours by foreigners who get into difficulties, or by travellers who
arrive late and wish my services. I was not surprised,
therefore, on Monday night when a Mr. Latimer, a very fashionably
dressed young man, came up to my rooms and asked me to accompany him
in a cab which was waiting at the door. A Greek friend had
come to see him upon business, he said, and as he could speak nothing
but his own tongue, the services of an interpreter were
indispensable. He gave me to understand that his house was
some little distance off, in Kensington, and he seemed to be in a
great hurry, bustling me rapidly into the cab when we had descended
to the street.
&odq;I say into the cab, but I soon became doubtful as to
whether tt was not a carriage in which I found myself. It was
certainly more roomy than the ordinary four-wheeled disgrace to
London, and the fittings, though frayed, were of rich quality.
Mr. Latimer seated himself opposite to me and we started off
through Charing Cross and up the Shaftesbury Avenue. We had
come out upon Oxford Street and I had ventured some remark as to this
being a roundabout way to Kensington, when my words were arrested by
the extraordinary conduct of my companion.
&odq;He began by drawing a most formidable-looking bludgeon
loaded with lead from his pocket, and switching it backward and
forward several times, as if to test its weight and strength.
Then he placed it without a word upon the seat beside him.
Having done this, he drew up the windows on each side, and I
found to my astonishment that they were covered with paper so as to
prevent my seeing through them.
&odq;&onq;I am sorry to cut off your view, Mr. Melas,&cnq; said
he. &onq;The fact is that I have no intention that you should
see what the place is to which we are driving. It might
possibly be inconvenient to me if you could find your way there
again.&cnq;
&odq;As you can imagine, I was utterly taken aback by such an
address. My companion was a powerful, broad-shouldered young
fellow, and, apart from the weapon, I should not have had the
slightest chance in a struggle with him.
&odq;&onq;This is very extraordinary conduct, Mr. Latimer,&cnq;
I stammered. &onq;You must be aware that what you are doing is
quite illegal.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;It is somewhat of a liberty, no doubt,&cnq; said he,
&onq;but we'll make it up to you. I must warn you, however,
Mr. Melas, that if at any time to-night you attempt to raise an alarm
or do anything which is against my interest, you will find it a very
serious thing. I beg you to remember that no one knows where
you are, and that, whether you are in this carriage or in my house,
you are equally in my power.&cnq;
&odq;His words were quiet, but he had a rasping way of saying
them, which was very menacing. I sat in silence wondering what
on earth could be his reason for kidnapping me in this extraordinary
fashion. Whatever it might be, it was perfectly clear that
there was no possible use in my resisting, and that I could only wait
to see what might befall.
&odq;For nearly two hours we drove without my having the least
clue as to where we were going. Sometimes the rattle of the
stones told of a paved causeway, and at others our smooth, silent
course suggested asphalt; but, save by this variation in sound, there
was nothing at all which could in the remotest way help me to form a
guess as to where we were. The paper over each window was
impenetrable to light, and a blue curtain was drawn across the
glasswork in front. It was a quarter-past seven when we left
Pall Mall, and my watch showed me that it was ten minutes to nine
when we at last came to a standstill. My companion let down
the window, and I caught a glimpse of a low, arched doorway with a
lamp burning above it. As I was hurried from the carriage it
swung open, and I found myself inside the house, with a vague
impression of a lawn and trees on each side of me as I entered.
Whether these were private grounds, however, or bona-fide
country was more than I could possibly venture to say.
&odq;There was a coloured gas-lamp inside which was turned so
low that I could see little save that the hall was of some size and
hung with pictures. In the dim light I could make out that the
person who had opened the door was a small, mean-looking, middle-aged
man with rounded shoulders. As he turned towards us the glint
of the light showed me that he was wearing glasses.
&odq;&onq;Is this Mr. Melas, Harold?&cnq; said he.
&cdq; &onq;Yes.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;Well done, well done! No ill-will, Mr. Melas,
I hope, but we could not get on without you. If you deal fair
with us you'll not regret it, but if you try any tricks, God help
you!&cnq; He spoke in a nervous, jerky fashion, and with
little giggling laughs in between, but somehow he impressed me with
fear more than the other.
&odq;&onq;What do you want with me?&cnq; I asked.
&cdq; &onq;Only to ask a few questions of a Greek
gentleman who is visiting us, and to let us have the answers.
But say no more than you are told to say, or — &cnq;
here came the nervous giggle again — &onq;you had better
never have been born.&cnq;
&odq;As he spoke he opened a door and showed the way into a
room which appeared to be very richly furnished, but again the only
light was afforded by a single lamp half-turned down. The
chamber was certainly large, and the way in which my feet sank into
the carpet as I stepped across it told me of its richness. I
caught glimpses of velvet chairs, a high white marble mantelpiece,
and what seemed to be a suit of Japanese armour at one side of it.
There was a chair just under the lamp, and the elderly man
motioned that I should sit in it. The younger had left us, but
he suddenly returned through another door, leading with him a
gentleman clad in some sort of loose dressing-gown who moved slowly
towards us. As he came into the circle of dim light which
enabled me to see him more clearly I was thrilled with horror at his
appearance. He was deadly pale and terribly emaciated, with
the protruding, brilliant eyes of a man whose spirit was greater than
his strength. But what shocked me more than any signs of
physical weakness was that his face was grotesquely criss-crossed
with sticking-plaster, and that one large pad of it was fastened over
his mouth.
&odq;&onq;Have you the slate, Harold?&cnq; cried the older man,
as this strange being fell rather than sat down into a chair.
' Are his hands loose? Now, then, give him the pencil.
You are to ask the questions, Mr. Melas, and he will write the
answers. Ask him first of all whether he is prepared to sign
the papers?&cdq;
&odq;The man's eyes flashed fire.
&cdq;
&onq;Never!&cnq; he wrote in Greek upon the slate.
&odq;&onq;On no conditions?&cnq; I asked at the bidding of our
tyrant.
&odq;&onq;Only if I see her married in my presence by a Greek
priest whom I know.&cnq;
&odq;The man giggled in his venomous way.
&cdq;
&onq;You know what awaits you, then?&cnq;
&odq;&onq;I care nothing for myself.&cnq;
&cdq;
These are samples of the questions and answers which made up our
strange half-spoken, half-written conversation. Again and
again I 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 happy thought came to me. I took to adding
on little sentences of my own to each question, innocent ones at
first, to test whether either of our companions knew anything of the
matter, and then, as I found that they showed no sign I played a more
dangerous game. Our conversation ran something like this:
&odq;&onq;You can do no good by this obstinacy. Who are
you?&cnq;
&odq;&onq;I care not. I am a stranger in London.&cnq;
&cdq; &onq;Your fate will be on your own head.
How long have you been here?&cnq;
&odq;&onq;Let it be so. Three weeks.&cnq;
&cdq; &onq;The property can never be yours. What
ails you?&cnq;
&odq;&onq;It shall not go to villains. They are starving
me.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;You shall go free if you sign. What house is
this?&cnq;
&odq;&onq;I will never sign. I do not know.&cnq;
&cdq; &onq;You are not doing her any service.
What is your name?&cnq;
&odq;&onq;Let me hear her say so. Kratides.&cnq;
&cdq; &onq;You shall see her if you sign. Where
are you from?&cnq;
&odq;&onq;Then I shall never see her. Athens.&cnq;
&cdq; Another five minutes, Mr. Holmes, and I should
have wormed out the whole story under their very noses. My
very next question might have cleared the matter up, but at that
instant the door opened and a woman stepped into the room. I
could not see her clearly enough to know more than that she was tall
and graceful, with black hair, and clad in some sort of loose white
gown.
&odq;&onq;Harold,&cnq; said she, speaking English with a broken
accent. &onq;I could not stay away longer. It is so
lonely up there with only — Oh, my God, it is Paul!&cnq;
&odq;These last words were in Greek, and at the same instant
the man with a convulsive effort tore the plaster from his lips, and
screaming out &onq;Sophy! Sophy!&cnq; rushed into the woman's
arms. Their embrace was but for an instant, however, for the
younger man seized the woman and pushed her out of the room, while
the elder easily overpowered his emaciated victim and dragged him
away through the other door. For a moment I was left alone in
the room, and I sprang to my feet with some vague idea that I might
in some way get a clue to what this house was in which I found
myself. Fortunately, however, I took no steps, for looking up
I saw that the older man was standing in the doorway, with his eyes
fixed upon me.
&odq;&onq;That will do, Mr. Melas,&cnq; said he.
&onq;You perceive that we have taken you into our confidence
over some very private business. We should not have troubled
you, only that our friend who speaks Greek and who began these
negotiations has been forced to return to the East. It was
quite necessary for us to find someone to take his place, and we were
fortunate in hearing of your powers.&cnq;
&odq;I bowed.
&cdq; &onq;There are five
sovereigns here,&cnq; said he, walking up to me, &onq;which will, I
hope, be a sufficient fee. But remember,&cnq; he added,
tapping me lightly on the chest and giggling, &onq;if you speak to a
human soul about this — one human soul, mind — well,
may God have mercy upon your soul!&cnq;
&odq;I cannot tell you the loathing and horror with which this
insignificant-looking man inspired me. I could see him better
now as the lamp-light shone upon him. His features were peaky
and sallow, and his little pointed beard was thready and
ill-nourished. He pushed his face forward as he spoke and his
lips and eyelids were continually twitching like a man with St.
Vitus's dance. I could not help thinking that his strange,
catchy little laugh was also a symptom of some nervous malady.
The terror of his face lay in his eyes, however, steel gray,
and glistening coldly with a malignant, inexorable cruelty in their
depths.
&odq;&onq;We shall know if you speak of this,&cnq; said he.
&onq;We have our own means of information. Now you will
find the carriage waiting, and my friend will see you on your
way.&cnq;
&odq;I was hurried through the hall and into the vehicle, again
obtaining that momentary glimpse of trees and a garden. Mr.
Latimer followed closely at my heels and took his place opposite to
me without a word. In silence we again drove for an
interminable distance with the windows raised, until at last, just
after midnight, the carriage pulled up.
&odq;&onq;You will get down here, Mr. Melas,&cnq; said my
companion. &onq;I am sorry to leave you so far from your
house, but there is no alternative. Any attempt upon your part
to follow the carriage can only end in injury to yourself.&cnq;
&odq;He opened the door as he spoke, and I had hardly time to
spring out when the coachman lashed the horse and the carriage
rattled away. I looked around me in astonishment. I was
on some sort of a heathy common mottled over with dark clumps of
furze-bushes. Far away stretched a line of houses, with a
light here and there in the upper windows. On the other side I
saw the red signal-lamps of a railway.
&odq;The carriage which had brought me was already out of
sight. I stood gazing round and wondering where on earth I
might be, when I saw someone coming towards me in the darkness.
As he came up to me I made out that he was a railway porter.
&odq;&onq;Can you tell me what place this is?&cnq; I asked.
&cdq; &onq;Wandsworth Common,&cnq; said he.
&odq;&onq;Can I get a train into town?&cnq;
&cdq;
&onq;If you walk on a mile or so to Clapham Junction,&cnq; said he,
&onq;you'll just be in time for the last to Victoria.&cnq;
&odq;So that was the end of my adventure, Mr. Holmes. I
do not know where I was, nor whom I spoke with, nor anything save
what I have told you. But I know that there is foul play going
on, and I want to help that unhappy man if I can. I told the
whole story to Mr. Mycroft Holmes next morning, and subsequently to
the police.&cdq;
We all sat in silence for some little time after listening to
this extraordinary narrative. Then Sherlock looked across at
his brother.
&odq;Any steps?&cdq; he asked.
Mycroft picked up
the Daily News, which was lying on the side-table.
&odq;Anybody supplying any information as to the whereabouts of a Greek gentleman named Paul Kratides, from Athens, who is unable to speak English, will be rewarded.A similar reward paid to anyone giving information about a Greek lady whose first name is Sophy.X 2473.
&odq;That was in all the dailies. No answer.&cdq;
&odq;How about the Greek legation?&cdq;
&odq;I have inquired. They know nothing.&cdq;
&odq;A wire to the head of the Athens police,
then?&cdq;
&odq;Sherlock has all the energy of the family,&cdq; said
Mycroft, turning to me. &odq;Well, you take the case up by all
means and let me know if you do any good.&cdq;
&odq;Certainly,&cdq; answered my friend, rising from his chair.
&odq;I'll let you know, and Mr. Melas also. In the
meantime, Mr. Melas, I should certainly be on my guard if I were you,
for of course they must know through these advertisements that you
have betrayed them.&cdq;
As we walked home together, Holmes stopped at a telegraph
office and sent off several wires.
&odq;You see, Watson,&cdq; he remarked, &odq;our evening has
been by no means wasted. Some of my most interesting cases
have come to me in this way through Mycroft. The problem which
we have just listened to, although it can admit of but one
explanation, has still some distinguishing features.&cdq;
&odq;You have hopes of solving it?&cdq;
&odq;Well, knowing as much as we do, it will be
singular indeed if we fail to discover the rest. You must
yourself have formed some theory which will explain the facts to
which we have listened.&cdq;
&odq;In a vague way, yes.&cdq;
&odq;What was your
idea, then?&cdq;
&odq;It seemed to me to be obvious that this Greek girl had
been carried off by the young Englishman named Harold Latimer.&cdq;
&odq;Carried off from where?&cdq;
&odq;Athens,
perhaps.&cdq;
Sherlock Holmes shook his head. &odq;This young man
could not talk a word of Greek. The lady could talk English
fairly well. Inference — that she had been in England
some little time, but he had not been in Greece.&cdq;
&odq;Well, then, we will presume that she had once come on a
visit to England, and that this Harold had persuaded her to fly with
him.&cdq;
&odq;That is more probable.&cdq;
&odq;Then the
brother — for that, I fancy, must be the relationship
— comes over from Greece to interfere. He imprudently
puts himself into the power of the young man and his older associate.
They seize him and use violence towards him in order to make
him sign some papers to make over the girl's fortune of which he may
be trustee — to them. This he refuses to do. In
order to negotiate with him they have to get an interpreter, and they
pitch upon this Mr. Melas, having used some other one before.
The girl is not told of the arrival of her brother and finds
it out by the merest accident.&cdq;
&odq;Excellent, Watson!&cdq; cried Holmes. &odq;I really
fancy that you are not far from the truth. You see that we
hold all the cards, and we have only to fear some sudden act of
violence on their part. If they give us time we must have
them.&cdq;
&odq;But how can we find where this house lies?&cdq;
&odq;Well, if our conjecture is correct and the girl's
name is or was Sophy Kratides, we should have no difficulty in
tracing her. That must be our main hope, for the brother is,
of course, a complete stranger. It is clear that some time has
elapsed since this Harold established these relations with the girl
— some weeks at any rate — since the brother in Greece
has had time to hear of it and come across. If they have been
living in the same place during this time, it is probable that we
shall have some answer to Mycroft's advertisement.&cdq;
We had reached our house in Baker Street while we had been
talking. Holmes ascended the stair first, and as he opened the
door of our room he gave a start of surprise. Looking over his
shoulder, I was equally astonished. His brother Mycroft was
sitting smoking in the armchair.
&odq;Come in, Sherlock! Come in, sir,&cdq; said he
blandly, smiling at our surprised faces. &odq;You don't expect
such energy from me do you, Sherlock? But somehow this case
attracts me.&cdq;
&odq;How did you get here?&cdq;
&odq;I passed you
in a hansom.&cdq;
&odq;There has been some new development?&cdq;
&odq;I had an answer to my advertisement.&cdq;
&odq;Ah!&cdq;
&odq;Yes, it came within a few
minutes of your leaving.&cdq;
&odq;And to what effect?&cdq;
Mycroft Holmes took
out a sheet of paper.
&odq;Here it is,&cdq; said he, &odq;written with a J pen on
royal cream paper by a middle-aged man with a weak constitution.
&odq;Sir [ he says ]:&cdq;
In answer to your advertisement of to-day's date, I beg to inform you
that I know the young lady in question very well.
If you should care to call upon me I could give you
some particulars as to her painful history.
She is living at present at The Myrtles, Beckenham.
&odq;Yours faithfully,&cdq; J. DAVENPORT.
&odq;He writes from Lower Brixton,&cdq; said Mycroft Holmes.
&odq;Do you not think that we might drive to him now,
Sherlock, and learn these particulars?&cdq;
&odq;My dear Mycroft, the brother's life is more valuable than
the sister's story. I think we should call at Scotland Yard
for Inspector Gregson and go straight out to Beckenham. We
know that a man is being done to death, and every hour may be
vital.&cdq;
&odq;Better pick up Mr. Melas on our way,&cdq; I suggested.
&odq;We may need an interpreter.&cdq;
&odq;Excellent,&cdq; said Sherlock Holmes. &odq;Send the
boy for a four-wheeler, and we shall be off at once.&cdq; He
opened the table-drawer as he spoke, and I noticed that he slipped
his revolver into his pocket. &odq;Yes,&cdq; said he in answer
to my glance, &odq;I should say, from what we have heard, that we are
dealing with a particularly dangerous gang.&cdq;
It was almost dark before we found ourselves in Pall Mall, at
the rooms of Mr. Melas. A gentleman had just called for him,
and he was gone.
&odq;Can you tell me where?&cdq; asked Mycroft Holmes.
&odq;I don't know, sir,&cdq; answered the woman who had
opened the door; &odq;I only know that he drove away with the
gentleman in a carriage.&cdq;
&odq;Did the gentleman give a name?&cdq;
&odq;No,
sir.&cdq;
&odq;He wasn't a tall, handsome, dark young man?&cdq;
&odq;Oh, no, sir. He was a little gentleman,
with glasses, thin in the face, but very pleasant in his ways, for he
was laughing all the time that he was talking.&cdq;
&odq;Come along!&cdq; cried Sherlock Holmes abruptly.
&odq;This grows serious,&cdq; he observed as we drove to
Scotland Yard. &odq;These men have got hold of Melas again.
He is a man of no physical courage, as they are well aware
from their experience the other night. This villain was able
to terrorize him the instant that he got into his presence. No
doubt they want his professional services, but, having used him, they
may be inclined to punish him for what they will regard as his
treachery.&cdq;
Our hope was that, by taking train, we might get to Beckenham
as soon as or sooner than the carriage. On reaching Scotland
Yard, however, it was more than an hour before we could get Inspector
Gregson and comply with the legal formalities which would enable us
to enter the house. It was a quarter to ten before we reached
London Bridge, and half past before the four of us alighted on the
Beckenham platform. A drive of half a mile brought us to The
Myrtles — a large, dark house standing back from the road in
its own grounds. Here we dismissed our cab and made our way up
the drive together.
&odq;The windows are all dark,&cdq; remarked the inspector.
&odq;The house seems deserted.&cdq;
&odq;Our birds are flown and the nest empty,&cdq; said Holmes.
&odq;Why do you say so?&cdq;
&odq;A carriage
heavily loaded with luggage has passed out during the last hour.&cdq;
The inspector laughed. &odq;I saw the wheel-tracks in
the light of the gate-lamp, but where does the luggage come in?&cdq;
&odq;You may have observed the same wheel-tracks going the
other way. But the outward-bound ones were very much deeper
— so much so that we can say for a certainty that there was a
very considerable weight on the carriage.&cdq;
&odq;You get a trifle beyond me there,&cdq; said the inspector,
shrugging his shoulders. &odq;It will not be an easy door to
force, but we will try if we cannot make someone hear us.&cdq;
He hammered loudly at the knocker and pulled at the bell, but
without any success. Holmes had slipped away, but he came back
in a few minutes.
&odq;I have a window open,&cdq; said he.
&odq;It
is a mercy that you are on the side of the force, and not against it,
Mr. Holmes,&cdq; remarked the inspector as he noted the clever way in
which my friend had forced back the catch. &odq;Well, I think
that under the circumstances we may enter without an invitation.&cdq;
One after the other we made our way into a large apartment,
which was evidently that in which Mr. Melas had found himself.
The inspector had lit his lantern, and by its light we could
see the two doors, the curtain, the lamp, and the suit of Japanese
mail as he had described them. On the table lay two glasses,
an empty brandy-bottle, and the remains of a meal.
&odq;What is that?&cdq; asked Holmes suddenly.
We
all stood still and listened. A low moaning sound was coming
from somewhere over our heads. Holmes rushed to the door and
out into the hall. The dismal noise came from upstairs.
He dashed up, the inspector and I at his heels, while his
brother Mycroft followed as quickly as his great bulk would permit.
Three doors faced us upon the second floor, and it was from the
central of these that the sinister sounds were issuing, sinking
sometimes into a dull mumble and rising again into a shrill whine.
It was locked, but the key had been left on the outside.
Holmes flung open the door and rushed in, but he was out again
in an instant, with his hand to his throat.
&odq;It's charcoal,&cdq; he cried. &odq;Give it time.
It will clear.&cdq;
Peering in, we could see that the only light in the room came
from a dull blue flame which flickered from a small brass tripod in
the centre. It threw a livid unnatural circle upon the floor,
while in the shadows beyond we saw the vague loom of two figures
which crouched against the wall. From the open door there
reeked a horrible 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 hurled the brazen tripod out into the garden.
&odq;We can enter in a minute,&cdq; he gasped, darting out
again. &odq;Where is 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!&cdq;
With a rush we got to the poisoned men and dragged them out
into the well-lit hall. Both of them were blue-lipped and
insensible, with swollen, congested faces and protruding eyes.
Indeed, so distorted were their features that, save for his
black beard and stout figure, we might have failed to recognize in
one of them the Greek interpreter who had parted from us only a few
hours before at the Diogenes Club. His hands and feet were
securely strapped together, and he bore over one eye the marks of a
violent blow. The other, who was secured in a similar fashion
was a tall man in the last stage of emaciation, with several strips
of sticking-plaster arranged in a grotesque pattern over his face.
He had ceased to moan as we laid him down, and a glance showed
me that for him at least 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 had the satisfaction of seeing him open his
eyes, and of knowing that my hand had drawn him back from that dark
valley in which all paths meet.
It was a simple story which he had to tell, and one which did
but confirm our own deductions. His visitor, on entering his
rooms, had drawn a life-preserver from his sleeve, and had so
impressed him with the fear of instant and inevitable death that he
had kidnapped him for the second time. Indeed, it was almost
mesmeric, the effect which this giggling ruffian had produced upon
the unfortunate linguist, for he could not speak of him save with
trembling hands and a blanched cheek. He had been taken
swiftly to Beckenham, and had acted as interpreter in a second
interview, even more dramatic than the first, in which the two
Englishmen had menaced their prisoner with instant death if he did
not comply with their demands. Finally, finding him proof
against every threat, they had hurled him back into his prison and
after reproaching Melas with his treachery, which appeared from the
newspaper advertisement, they had stunned him with a blow from a
stick, and he remembered nothing more until he found us bending over
him.
And this was the singular case of the Grecian Interpreter, the
explanation of which is still involved in some mystery. We
were able to find out, by communicating with the gentleman who had
answered the advertisement, that the unfortunate young lady came of a
wealthy Grecian family, and that she had been on a visit to some
friends in England. While there she had met a young man named
Harold Latimer, who had acquired an ascendency over her and had
eventually persuaded her to fly with him. Her friends, shocked
at the event, had contented themselves with informing her brother at
Athens, and had then washed their hands of the matter. The
brother, on his arrival in England, had imprudently placed himself in
the power of Latimer and of his associate, whose name was Wilson Kemp
— a man of the foulest antecedents. These two, finding
that through his ignorance of the language he was helpless in their
hands, had kept him a prisoner, and had endeavoured by cruelty and
starvation to make him sign away his own and his sister's property.
They had kept him in the house without the girl's knowledge,
and the plaster over the face had been for the purpose of making
recognition difficult in case she should ever catch a glimpse of him.
Her feminine perceptions, however, had instantly seen through
the disguise when, on the occasion of the interpreter's visit, she
had seen him for the first time. The poor girl, however, was
herself a prisoner, for there was no one about the house except the
man who acted as coachman, and his wife, both of whom were tools of
the conspirators. Finding that their secret was out, and that
their prisoner was not to be coerced, the two villains with the girl
had fled away at a few hours' notice from the furnished house which
they had hired, having first, as they thought, taken vengeance both
upon the man who had defied and the one who had betrayed them.
Months afterwards a curious newspaper cutting reached us from
Buda-Pesth. It told how two Englishmen who had been travelling
with a woman had met with a tragic end. They had each been
stabbed, it seems, and the Hungarian police were of opinion that they
had quarrelled and had inflicted mortal injuries upon each other.
Holmes, however, is, I fancy, of a different way of thinking,
and he holds to this day that, if one could find the Grecian girl,
one might learn how the wrongs of herself and her brother came to be
avenged.
The July which immediately succeeded my marriage was made
memorable by three cases of interest, in which I had the privilege of
being associated with Sherlock Holmes and of studying his methods.
I find them recorded in my notes under the headings of
&odq;The Adventure of the Second Stain,&cdq; &odq;The Adventure of
the Naval Treaty,&cdq; and &odq;The Adventure of the Tired
Captain.&cdq; The first of these, however, deals with
interests of such importance and implicates so many of the first
families in the kingdom that for many years it will be impossible to
make it public. No case, however, in which Holmes was engaged
has ever illustrated the value of his analytical methods so clearly
or has impressed those who were associated with him so deeply.
I still retain an almost verbatim report of the interview in
which he demonstrated the true facts of the case to Monsieur Dubugue
of the Paris police, and Fritz von Waldbaum, the well-known
specialist of Dantzig, both of whom had wasted their energies upon
what proved to be side-issues. The new century will have come,
however, before the story can be safely told. Meanwhile I pass
on to the second on my list, which promised also at one time to be of
national importance and was marked by several incidents which give it
a quite unique character.
During my school-days I had been intimately associated with a
lad 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,
finishing his exploits by winning a scholarship which sent him on to
continue his triumphant career at Cambridge. He was, I
remember, extremely well connected, and even when we were all little
boys together we knew that his mother's brother was Lord Holdhurst,
the great conservative politician. This gaudy relationship did
him little good at school. On the contrary, it seemed rather a
piquant thing to us to chevy him about the playground and hit him
over the shins with a wicket. But it was another thing when he
came out into the world. I heard vaguely that his abilities
and the influences which he commanded had won him a good position at
the Foreign Office, and then he passed completely out of my mind
until the following letter recalled his existence:
Briarbrae, Woking. MY DEAR
WATSON:I have no
doubt that you can remember &odq;Tadpole&cdq; Phelps, who was
in the fifth form when you were in the third. It is
possible even that you may have heard that through my uncle's
influence I obtained a good appointment at the Foreign Office,
and that I was in a situation of trust and honour until a
horrible misfortune came suddenly to blast my career.
There is no use writing the details of that dreadful
event. In the event of your acceding to my request it is
probable that I shall have to narrate them to you. I
have only just recovered from nine weeks of brain-fever and am still
exceedingly weak. Do you think that you could bring your
friend Mr. Holmes down to see me? I should like to have
his opinion of the case, though the authorities assure 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 in this state of horrible suspense. Assure him that if
I have not asked his advice sooner it was not because I did
not appreciate his talents, but because I have been off my
head ever since the blow fell. Now I am clear again, though
I dare not think of it too much for fear of a relapse. I am
still so weak that I have to write, as you see, by dictating.
Do try to bring him. Your old school-fellow,
PERCY PHELPS.
There was something that touched me as I read this-letter,
something pitiable in the reiterated appeals to bring Holmes.
So moved was I that even had it been a difficult matter I
should have tried it, but of course I knew well that Holmes loved his
art, so that he was ever as ready to bring his aid as his client
could be to receive it. My wife agreed with me that not a
moment should be lost in laying the matter before him, and so within
an hour of breakfast-time I found myself back once more in the old
rooms in Baker Street.
Holmes was seated at his side-table clad in his dressing-gown
and working hard over a chemical investigation. A large curved
retort was boiling furiously in the bluish flame of a Bunsen burner,
and the distilled drops were condensing into a two-litre measure.
My friend hardly glanced up as I entered, and I, seeing that
his investigation must be of importance, seated myself in an armchair
and waited. He dipped into this bottle or that, drawing out a
few drops of each with his glass pipette, and finally brought a
test-tube containing a solution over to the table. In his
right hand he held a slip of litmus-paper.
&odq;You come at a crisis, Watson,&cdq; said he. &odq;If
this paper remains blue, all is well. If it turns red, it
means a man's life.&cdq; He dipped it into the test-tube and
it flushed at once into a dull, dirty crimson. &odq;Hum!
I thought as much!&cdq; he cried. &odq;I will be at
your service in an instant, Watson. You will find tobacco in
the Persian slipper.&cdq; He turned to his desk and scribbled
off several telegrams, which were handed over to the page-boy.
Then he threw himself down into the chair opposite and drew up
his knees until his fingers clasped round his long, thin shins.
&odq;A very commonplace little murder,&cdq; said he.
&odq;You've got something better, I fancy. You are the
stormy petrel of crime, Watson. What is it?&cdq;
I handed him the letter, which he read with the most
concentrated attention.
&odq;It does not tell us very much, does it?&cdq; he remarked
as he handed it back to me.
&odq;Hardly anything.&cdq;
&odq;And yet the
writing is of interest.&cdq;
&odq;But the writing is not his own.&cdq;
&odq;Precisely. It is a woman's.&cdq;
&odq;A man's surely,&cdq; I cried.
&odq;No, a
woman's, and a woman of rare character. You see, at the
commencement of an investigation it is something to know that your
client is in close contact with someone who, for good or evil, has an
exceptional nature. My interest is already awakened in the
case. If you are ready we will start at once for Woking and
see this diplomatist who is in such evil case and the lady to whom he
dictates his letters.&cdq;
We were fortunate enough to catch an early train at Waterloo,
and in a little under an hour we found ourselves among the fir-woods
and the heather of Woking. Briarbrae proved to be a large
detached house standing in extensive grounds within a few minutes'
walk of the station. On sending in our cards we were shown
into an elegantly appointed drawing-room, where we were joined in a
few minutes by a rather stout man who received us with much
hospitality. His age may have been nearer forty than thirty,
but his cheeks were so ruddy and his eyes so merry that he still
conveyed the impression of a plump and mischievous boy.
&odq;I am so glad that you have come,&cdq; said he, shaking our
hands with effusion. &odq;Percy has been inquiring for you all
morning. Ah, poor old chap, he clings to any straw! His
father and his mother asked me to see you, for the mere mention of
the subject is very painful to them.&cdq;
&odq;We have had no details yet,&cdq; observed Holmes.
&odq;I perceive that you are not yourself a member of the
family.&cdq;
Our acquaintance looked surprised, and then, glancing down, he
began to laugh.
&odq;Of course you saw the J H monogram on my locket,&cdq; said
he. &odq;For a moment I thought you had done something clever.
Joseph Harrison is my name, and as Percy is to marry my sister
Annie I shall at least be a relation by marriage. You will
find my sister in his room, 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 he is.&cdq;
The chamber into which we were shown was on the same floor as
the drawing-room It was furnished partly as a sitting and partly as a
bedroom, with flowers arranged daintily in every nook and corner.
A young man, very pale and worn, was lying upon a sofa near
the open window, through which came the rich scent of the garden and
the balmy summer air. A woman was sitting beside him, who rose
as we entered.
&odq;Shall I leave, Percy?&cdq; she asked.
He
clutched her hand to detain her. &odq;How are you,
Watson?&cdq; said he cordially. &odq;I should never have
known you under that moustache, and I daresay you would not be
prepared to swear to me. This I presume is your celebrated
friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes?&cdq;
I introduced him in a few words, and we both sat down.
The stout young man had left us, but his sister still remained
with her hand in that of the invalid. She was a
striking-looking woman, a little short and thick for symmetry, but
with a beautiful olive complexion, large, dark, Italian eyes, and a
wealth of deep black hair. Her rich tints made the white face
of her companion the more worn and haggard by the contrast.
&odq;I won't waste your time,&cdq; said he, raising himself
upon the sofa. &odq;I'll plunge into the matter without
further preamble. I was a happy and successful man, Mr.
Holmes, and on the eve of being married, when a sudden and dreadful
misfortune wrecked all my prospects in life.
&odq;I was, as Watson may have told you, in the Foreign Office,
and through the influence of my uncle, Lord Holdhurst, I rose rapidly
to a responsible position. When my uncle became foreign
minister in this administration he gave me several missions of trust,
and as I always brought them to a successful conclusion, he came at
last to have the utmost confidence in my ability and tact.
&odq;Nearly ten weeks ago — to be more accurate, on the
twenty-third of May — he called me into his private room,
and, after complimenting me on the good work which I had done, he
informed me that he had a new commission of trust for me to execute.
&odq;&onq;This,&cnq; said he, taking a gray roll of paper from
his bureau, &onq;is the original of that secret treaty between
England and Italy of which, I regret to say, some rumours have
already got into the public press. It is of enormous
importance that nothing further should leak out. The French or
the Russian embassy would pay an immense sum to learn the contents of
these papers. They should not leave my bureau were it not that
it is absolutely necessary to have them copied. You have a
desk in your office?&cnq;
&odq;&onq;Yes, sir.&cnq;
&cdq; &onq;Then take the
treaty and lock it up there. I shall give directions that you
may remain behind when the others go, so that you may copy it at your
leisure without fear of being overlooked. When you have
finished, relock both the original and the draft in the desk, and
hand them over to me personally to-morrow morning.&cnq;
&odq;I took the papers and — &cdq;
&odq;Excuse me an instant,&cdq; said Holmes.
&odq;Were you alone during this conversation?&cdq;
&odq;Absolutely.&cdq;
&odq;In a large room?&cdq;
&odq;Thirty feet each way.&cdq;
&odq;In the
centre?&cdq;
&odq;Yes, about it.&cdq;
&odq;And speaking
low?&cdq;
&odq;My uncle's voice is always remarkably low. I hardly
spoke at all.&cdq;
&odq;Thank you,&cdq; said Holmes, shutting his eyes; &odq;pray
go on.&cdq;
&odq;I did exactly what he indicated and waited until the other
clerks had departed. One of them in my room, Charles Gorot,
had some arrears of work to make up, so I left him there and went out
to dine. When I returned he was gone. I was anxious to
hurry my work, for I knew that Joseph — the Mr. Harrison whom
you saw just now — was in town, and that he would travel down
to Woking by the eleven-o'clock train, and I wanted if possible to
catch it.
&odq;When I came to examine the treaty I saw at once that it
was of such importance that my uncle had been guilty of no
exaggeration in what he said. Without going into details, I
may say that it defined the position of Great Britain towards the
Triple Alliance, and foreshadowed the policy which this country would
pursue in the event of the French fleet gaining a complete ascendency
over that of Italy in the Mediterranean. The questions treated
in it were purely naval. At the end were the signatures of the
high dignitaries who had signed it. I glanced my eyes over it,
and then settled down to my task of copying.
&odq;It was a long document, written in the French language,
and containing twenty-six separate articles. I copied as
quickly as I could, but at nine o'clock I had only done nine
articles, and it seemed hopeless for me to attempt to catch my train.
I was feeling drowsy and stupid, partly from my dinner and
also from the effects of a long day's work. A cup of coffee
would clear my brain. A commissionaire remains all night in a
little lodge at the foot of the stairs and is in the habit of making
coffee at his spirit-lamp for any of the officials who may be working
overtime. I rang the bell, therefore, to summon him.
&odq;To my surprise, it was a woman who answered the summons, a
large, coarse-faced, elderly woman, in an apron. She explained
that she was the commissionaire's wife, who did the charing, and I
gave her the order for the coffee.
&odq;I wrote two more articles, and then, feeling more drowsy
than ever, I rose and walked up and down the room to stretch my legs.
My coffee had not yet come, and I wondered what the cause of
the delay could be. Opening the door, I started down the
corridor to find out. There was a straight passage, dimly
lighted, which led from the room in which I had been working, and was
the only exit from it. It ended in a curving staircase, with
the commissionaire's lodge in the passage at the bottom.
Halfway down this staircase is a small landing, with another
passage running into it at right angles. This second one leads
by means of a second small stair to a side door, used by servants,
and also as a short cut by clerks when coming from Charles Street.
Here is a rough chart of the place.&cdq;
&odq;Thank you. I think that I quite follow you,&cdq;
said Sherlock Holmes.
&odq;It is of the utmost importance that you should notice this
point. I went down the stairs and into the hall, where I found
the commissionaire fast asleep in his box, with the kettle boiling
furiously upon the spirit-lamp. I took off the kettle and blew
out the lamp, for the water was spurting over the floor. Then
I put out my hand and was about to shake the man, who was still
sleeping soundly, when a bell over his head rang loudly, and he woke
with a start.
&odq;&onq;Mr. Phelps, sir!&cnq; said he, looking at me in
bewilderment.
&odq;&onq;I came down to see if my coffee was ready.&cnq;
&cdq; &onq;I was boiling the kettle when I fell asleep,
sir.&cnq; He looked at me and then up at the still quivering
bell with an ever-growing astonishment upon his face.
&odq;&onq;If you was here, sir, then who rang the bell?&cnq; he
asked.
&odq;&onq;The bell!&cnq; I cried. &onq;What bell is
it?&cnq;
&cdq; &onq;It's the bell of the room you were
working in.&cnq;
&odq;A cold hand seemed to close round my heart.
Someone, then, was in that room where my precious treaty lay
upon the table. I ran frantically up the stair and along the
passage. There was no one in the corridors, Mr. Holmes.
There was no one in the room. All was exactly as I left
it, save only that the papers which had been committed to my care had
been taken from the desk on which they lay. The copy was
there, and the original was gone.&cdq;
Holmes sat up in his chair and rubbed his hands. I could
see that the problem was entirely to his heart. &odq;Pray what
did you do then?&cdq; he murmured.
&odq;I recognized in an instant that the thief must have come
up the stairs from the side door. Of course I must have met
him if he had come the other way.&cdq;
&odq;You were satisfied that he could not have been concealed
in the room all the time, or in the corridor which you have just
described as dimly lighted?&cdq;
It is absolutely impossible. A rat could not conceal
himself either in the room or the corridor. There is no cover
at all. &odq;
&odq;Thank you. Pray proceed.&cdq;
&odq;The commissionaire, seeing by my pale face that
something was to be feared, had followed me upstairs. Now we
both rushed along the corridor and down the steep steps which led to
Charles Street. The door at the bottom was closed but
unlocked. We flung it open and rushed out. I can
distinctly remember that as we did so there came three chimes from a
neighbouring clock. It was a quarter to ten.&cdq;
&odq;That is of enormous importance,&cdq; said Holmes, making a
note upon his shirtcuff.
&odq;The night was very dark, and a thin, warm rain was
falling. There was no one in Charles Street, but a great
traffic was going on, as usual, in Whitehall, at the extremity.
We rushed along the pavement, bare-headed as we were, and at
the far corner we found a policeman standing.
&odq;&onq;A robbery has been committed,&cnq; I gasped.
&onq;A document of immense value has been stolen from the
Foreign Office. Has anyone passed this way?&cnq;
&odq;&onq;I have been standing here for a quarter of an hour,
sir,&cnq; said he, &onq;only one person has passed during that time a
woman, tall and elderly, with a Paisley shawl.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;Ah, that is only my wife,&cnq; cried the
commissionaire; &onq;has no one else passed?&cnq;
&odq;&onq;No one.&cnq;
&cdq; &onq;Then it must be
the other way that the thief took,&cnq; cried the fellow, tugging at
my sleeve.
&odq;But I was not satisfied, and the attempts which he made to
draw me away increased my suspicions.
&odq;&onq;Which way did the woman go?&cnq; I cried.
&cdq; &onq;I don't know, sir. I noticed her
pass, but I had no special reason for watching her. She seemed
to be in a hurry.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;How long ago was it?&cnq;
&cdq;
&onq;Oh, not very many minutes.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;Within the last five?&cnq;
&cdq;
&onq;Well, it could not be more than five.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;You're only wasting your time, sir, and every minute
now is of importance,&cnq; cried the commissionaire; &onq;take my
word for it that my old woman has nothing to do with it and come down
to the other end of the street. Well, if you won't, I
will.&cnq; And with that he rushed off in the other direction.
&odq;But I was after him in an instant and caught him by the
sleeve.
&odq;&onq;Where do you live?&cnq; said I.
&cdq;
&onq;16 Ivy Lane, Brixton,&cnq; he answered. &onq;But don't
let yourself be drawn away upon a false scent, Mr. Phelps.
Come to the other end of the street and let us see if we can
hear of anything.&cnq;
&odq;Nothing was to be lost by following his advice.
With the policeman we both hurried down, but only to find the
street full of traffic, many people coming and going, but all only
too eager to get to a place of safety upon so wet a night.
There was no lounger who could tell us who had passed.
&odq;Then we returned to the office and searched the stairs and
the passage without result. The corridor which led to the room
was laid down with a kind of creamy linoleum which shows an
impression very easily. We examined it very carefully, but
found no outline of any footmark.&cdq;
&odq;Had it been raining all evening?&cdq;
&odq;Since about seven.&cdq;
&odq;How is it, then, that the woman who came into the room
about nine left no traces with her muddy boots?&cdq;
&odq;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 the commissionaire's office, and putting on list
slippers.&cdq;
&odq;That is very clear. There were no marks, then,
though the night was a wet one? The chain of events is
certainly one of extraordinary interest. What did you do
next?&cdq;
&odq;We examined the room also. There is no possibility
of a secret door, and the windows are quite thirty feet from the
ground. Both of them were fastened on the inside. The
carpet prevents any possibility of a trapdoor, and the ceiling is of
the ordinary whitewashed kind. I will pledge my life that
whoever stole my papers could only have come through the door.&cdq;
&odq;How about the fireplace?&cdq;
&odq;They use
none. There is a stove. The bell-rope hangs from the
wire just to the right of my desk. Whoever rang it must have
come right up to the desk to do it. But why should any
criminal wish to ring the bell? It is a most insoluble
mystery.&cdq;
&odq;Certainly the incident was unusual. What were your
next steps? You examined the room, I presume, to see if the
intruder had left any traces — any cigar-end or dropped glove
or hairpin or other trifle?&cdq;
&odq;There was nothing of the sort.&cdq;
&odq;No
smell?&cdq;
&odq;Well, we never thought of that.&cdq;
&odq;Ah, a scent of tobacco would have been worth a
great deal to us in such an investigation.&cdq;
&odq;I never smoke myself, so I think I should have observed it
if there had been any smell of tobacco. There was absolutely
no clue of any kind. The only tangible fact was that the
commissionaire's wife — Mrs. Tangey was the name —
had hurried out of the place. He could give no explanation
save that it was about the time when the woman always went home.
The policeman and I agreed that our best plan would be to
seize the woman before she could get rid of the papers, presuming
that she had them.
&odq;The alarm had reached Scotland Yard by this time, and Mr.
Forbes, the detective, came round at once and took up the case with a
great deal of energy. We hired a hansom, and in half an hour
we were at the address which had been given to us. A young
woman opened the door, who proved to be Mrs. Tangey's eldest
daughter. Her mother had not come back yet, and we were shown
into the front room to wait.
&odq;About ten minutes later a knock came at the door, and here
we made the one serious mistake for which I blame myself.
Instead of opening the door ourselves, we allowed the girl to
do so. We heard her say, &onq;Mother, there are two men in the
house waiting to see you,&cnq; and an instant afterwards we heard the
patter of feet rushing down the passage. Forbes flung open the
door, and we both ran into the back room or kitchen, but the woman
had got there before us. She stared at us with defiant eyes,
and then, suddenly recognizing me, an expression of absolute
astonishment came over her face.
&odq;&onq;Why, if it isn't Mr. Phelps, of the office!&cnq; she
cried.
&odq;&onq;Come, come, who did you think we were when you ran
away from us?&cnq; asked my companion.
&odq;&onq;I thought you were the brokers,&cnq; said she,
&onq;we have had some trouble with a tradesman.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;That's not quite good enough.&cnq; answered Forbes.
&onq;We have reason to believe that you have taken a paper of
importance from the Foreign Office, and that you ran in here to
dispose of it. You must come back with us to Scotland Yard to
be searched.&cnq;
&odq;It was in vain that she protested and resisted. A
four-wheeler was brought, and we all three drove back in it.
We had first made an examination of the kitchen, and
especially of the kitchen fire, to see whether she might have made
away with the papers during the instant that she was alone.
There were no signs, however, of any ashes or scraps.
When we reached Scotland Yard she was handed over at once to
the female searcher. I waited in an agony of suspense until
she came back with her report. There were no signs of the
papers.
&odq;Then for the first time the horror of my situation came in
its full force. Hitherto I had been acting, and action had
numbed thought. I had been so confident of regaining the
treaty at once that I had not dared to think of what would be the
consequence if I failed to do so. But now there was nothing
more to be done, and I had leisure to realize my position. It
was horrible. Watson there would tell you that I was a
nervous, sensitive boy at school. It is my nature. I
thought of my uncle and of his colleagues in the Cabinet, of the
shame which I had brought upon him, upon myself, upon everyone
connected with me. What though I was the victim of an
extraordinary accident? No allowance is made for accidents
where diplomatic interests are at stake. I was ruined,
shamefully, hopelessly ruined. I don't know what I did.
I fancy I must have made a scene. I have a dim
recollection of a group of officials who crowded round me,
endeavouring to soothe me. One of them drove down with me to
Waterloo, and saw me into the Woking train. I believe that 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. The doctor
most kindly took charge of me, and it was well he did so, for I had a
fit in the station, and before we reached home I was practically a
raving maniac.
&odq;You can imagine the state of things here when they were
roused from their beds by the doctor's ringing and found me in this
condition. Poor Annie here and my mother were broken-hearted.
Dr. Ferrier had just heard enough from the detective at the
station to be able to give an idea of what had happened, and his
story did not mend matters. It was evident to all that I was
in for a long illness, so Joseph was bundled out of this cheery
bedroom, and it was turned into a sickroom for me. Here I have
lain, Mr. Holmes, for over nine weeks, unconscious, and raving with
brain-fever. If it had not been for Miss Harrison here and for
the doctor's care, I should not be speaking to you now. She
has nursed me by day and a hired nurse has looked after me by night,
for in my mad fits I was capable of anything. Slowly my reason
has cleared, but it is only during the last three days that my memory
has quite returned. Sometimes I wish that it never had.
The first thing that I did was to wire to Mr. Forbes, who had
the case in hand. He came out, and assures me that, though
everything has been done, no trace of a clue has been discovered.
The commissionaire and his wife have been examined in every
way without any light being thrown upon the matter. The
suspicions of the police then rested upon young Gorot, who, as you
may remember, stayed over-time in the office that night. His
remaining behind and his French name were really the only two points
which could suggest suspicion; but, as a matter of fact, I did not
begin work until he had gone, and his people are of Huguenot
extraction, but as English in sympathy and tradition as you and I
are. Nothing was found to implicate him in any way, and there
the matter dropped. I turn to you, Mr. Holmes, as absolutely
my last hope. If you fail me, then my honour as well as my
position are forever forfeited.&cdq;
The invalid sank back upon his cushions, tired out by this long
recital, while his nurse poured him out a glass of some stimulating
medicine. Holmes sat silently, with his head thrown back and
his eyes closed, in an attitude which might seem listless to a
stranger, but which I knew betokened the most intense
self-absorption.
&odq;Your statement has been so explicit,&cdq; said he at last,
&odq;that you have really left me very few questions to ask.
There is one of the very utmost importance, however.
Did you tell anyone that you had this special task to
perform?&cdq;
&odq;No one.&cdq;
&odq;Not Miss Harrison here,
for example?&cdq;
&odq;No. I had not been back to Woking between getting
the order and executing the commission.&cdq;
&odq;And none of your people had by chance been to see
you?&cdq;
&odq;None.&cdq;
&odq;Did any of them know their
way about in the office?&cdq;
&odq;Oh, yes, all of them had been shown over it.&cdq;
&odq;Still, of course, if you said nothing to anyone
about the treaty these inquiries are irrelevant.&cdq;
&odq;I said nothing.&cdq;
&odq;Do you know
anything of the commissionaire?&cdq;
&odq;Nothing except that he is an old soldier.&cdq;
&odq;What regiment?&cdq;
&odq;Oh, I have heard — Goldstream Guards.&cdq;
&odq;Thank you. I have no doubt I can get
details from Forbes. The authorities are excellent at amassing
facts, though they do not always use them to advantage. What a
lovely thing a rose is!&cdq;
He walked past the couch to the open window and held up the
drooping stalk of a moss-rose, looking down at the dainty blend of
crimson and green. It was a new phase of his character to me,
for I had never before seen him show any keen interest in natural
objects.
&odq;There is nothing in which deduction is so necessary as in
religion,&cdq; said he, leaning with his back against the shutters.
&odq;It can be built up as an exact science by the reasoner.
Our highest assurance of the goodness of Providence seems to
me to rest in the flowers. All other things, our powers, our
desires, our food, are all really necessary for our existence in the
first instance. But this rose is an extra. Its smell
and its colour are an embellishment of life, not a condition of it.
It is only goodness which gives extras, and so I say again
that we have much to hope from the flowers.&cdq;
Percy Phelps and his nurse looked at Holmes during this
demonstration with surprise and a good deal of disappointment written
upon their faces. He had fallen into a reverie, with the
moss-rose between his fingers. It had lasted some minutes
before the young lady broke in upon it.
&odq;Do you see any prospect of solving this mystery, Mr.
Holmes?&cdq; she asked with a touch of asperity in her voice.
&odq;Oh, the mystery!&cdq; he answered, coming back with a
start to the realities of life. &odq;Well, it would be absurd
to deny that the case is a very abstruse and complicated one, but I
can promise you that I will look into the matter and let you know any
points which may strike me.&cdq;
&odq;Do you see any clue?&cdq;
&odq;You have
furnished me with seven, but of course I must test them before I can
pronounce upon their value.&cdq;
&odq;You suspect someone?&cdq;
&odq;I suspect
myself.&cdq;
&odq;What!&cdq;
&odq;Of coming to conclusions too
rapidly.&cdq;
&odq;Then go to London and test your conclusions.&cdq;
&odq;Your advice is very excellent, Miss Harrison.&cdq;
said Holmes rising. &odq;I think, Watson, we cannot do better.
Do not allow yourself to indulge in false hopes, Mr. Phelps.
The affair is a very tangled one.&cdq;
&odq;I shall be in a fever until I see you again,&cdq; cried
the diplomatist.
&odq;Well, I'll come out by the same train to-morrow, though
it's more than likely that my report will be a negative one.&cdq;
&odq;God bless you for promising to come,&cdq; cried our
client. &odq;It gives me fresh life to know that something is
being done. By the way, I have had a letter from Lord
Holdhurst.&cdq;
&odq;Ha! what did he say?&cdq;
&odq;He was cold,
but not harsh, I dare say my severe illness prevented him from being
that. He repeated that the matter was of the utmost
importance, and added that no steps would be taken about my future
— by which he means, of course, my dismissal — until
my health was restored and I had an opportunity of repairing my
misfortune.&cdq;
&odq;Well, that was reasonable and considerate,&cdq; said
Holmes. &odq;Come, Watson, for we have a good day's work
before us in town.&cdq;
Mr. Joseph Harrison drove us down to the station, and we were
soon whirling up in a Portsmouth train. Holmes was sunk in
profound thought and hardly opened his mouth until we had passed
Clapham Junction.
&odq;It's a very cheery thing to come into London by any of
these lines which run high and allow you to look down upon the houses
like this.&cdq;
I thought he was joking, for the view was sordid enough, but he
soon explained himself.
&odq;Look at those big, isolated clumps of buildings rising up
above the slates, like brick islands in a lead-coloured sea.&cdq;
&odq;The board-schools.&cdq;
&odq;Light-houses,
my boy! Beacons of the future! Capsules with hundreds
of bright little seeds in each, out of which will spring the wiser,
better England of the future. I suppose that man Phelps does
not drink?&cdq;
&odq;I should not think so.&cdq;
&odq;Nor should
I, but we are bound to take every possibility into account.
The poor devil has certainly got himself into very deep water,
and it's a question whether we shall ever be able to get him ashore.
What do you think of Miss Harrison?&cdq;
&odq;A girl of strong character.&cdq;
&odq;Yes,
but she is a good sort, or I am mistaken. She and her brother
are the only children of an iron-master somewhere up Northumberland
way. He got engaged to her when travelling last winter, and
she came down to be introduced to his people, with her brother as
escort. Then came the smash, and she stayed on to nurse her
lover, while brother Joseph, finding himself pretty snug, stayed on,
too. I've been making a few independent inquiries, you see.
But to-day must be a day of inquiries.&cdq;
&odq;My practice — &cdq; I began.
&odq;Oh,
if you find your own cases more interesting than mine — &cdq;
said Holmes with some asperity.
&odq;I was going to say that my practice could get along very
well for a day or two, since it is the slackest time in the
year.&cdq;
&odq;Excellent,&cdq; said he, recovering his good-humour.
&odq;Then we'll look into this matter together. I think
that we should begin by seeing Forbes. He can probably tell us
all the details we want until we know from what side the case is to
be approached.&cdq;
&odq;You said you had a clue?&cdq;
&odq;Well, we
have several, but we can only test their value by further inquiry.
The most difficult crime to track is the one which is
purposeless. Now this is not purposeless. Who is it who
profits by it? There is the French ambassador, there is the
Russian, there is whoever might sell it to either of these, and there
is Lord Holdhurst.&cdq;
&odq;Lord Holdhurst!&cdq;
&odq;Well, it is just
conceivable that a statesman might find himself in a position where
he was not sorry to have such a document accidentally destroyed.&cdq;
&odq;Not a statesman with the honourable record of Lord
Holdhurst?&cdq;
&odq;It is a possibility and we cannot afford to disregard it.
We shall see the noble lord to-day and find out if he can tell
us anything. Meanwhile I have already set inquiries on
foot.&cdq;
&odq;Already?&cdq;
&odq;Yes, I sent wires from
Woking station to every evening paper in London. This
advertisement will appear in each of them.&cdq;
He handed over a sheet torn from a notebook. On it was
scribbled in pencil:
10 pounds reward.The number of the cab which dropped a fare at or about the door of the Foreign Office in Charles Street at quarter to ten in the evening of May 23d.Apply 22lB, Baker Street.
&odq;You are confident that the thief came in a cab?&cdq;
&odq;If not, there is no harm done. But if Mr.
Phelps is correct in stating that there is no hiding-place either in
the room or the corridors, then the person must have come from
outside. If he came from outside on so wet a night, and yet
left no trace of damp upon the linoleum, which was examined within a
few minutes of his passing, then it is exceedingly probable that he
came in a cab. Yes, I think that we may safely deduce a
cab.&cdq;
&odq;It sounds plausible.&cdq;
&odq;That is one
of the clues of which I spoke. It may lead us to something.
And then, of course, there is the bell — which is the
most distinctive feature of the case. Why should the bell
ring? Was it the thief who did it out of bravado? Or
was it someone who was with the thief who did it in order to prevent
the crime? Or was it an accident? Or was it —
?&cdq; He sank back into the state of intense and silent
thought from which he had emerged; but it seemed to me, accustomed as
I was to his every mood, that some new possibility had dawned
suddenly upon him.
It was twenty past three when we reached our terminus, and
after a hasty luncheon at the buffet we pushed on at once to Scotland
Yard. Holmes had already wired to Forbes, and we found him
waiting to receive us — a small, foxy man with a sharp but by
no means amiable expression. He was decidedly frigid in his
manner to us, especially when he heard the errand upon which we had
come.
&odq;I've heard of your methods before now, Mr. Holmes,&cdq;
said he tartly. &odq;You are ready enough to use all the
information that the police can lay at your disposal, and then you
try to finish the case yourself and bring discredit on them.&cdq;
&odq;On the contrary,&cdq; said Holmes, &odq;out of my last
fifty-three cases my name has only appeared in four, and the police
have had all the credit in forty-nine. I don't blame you for
not knowing this, for you are young and inexperienced, but if you
wish to get on in your new duties you will work with me and not
against me.&cdq;
&odq;I'd be very glad of a hint or two,&cdq; said the
detective, changing his manner. &odq;I've certainly had no
credit from the case so far.&cdq;
&odq;What steps have you taken?&cdq;
&odq;Tangey,
the commissionaire, has been shadowed. He left the Guards with
a good character, and we can find nothing against him. His
wife is a bad lot, though. I fancy she knows more about this
than appears.&cdq;
&odq;Have you shadowed her?&cdq;
&odq;We have set
one of our women on to her. Mrs. Tangey drinks, and our woman
has been with her twice when she was well on, but she could get
nothing out of her.&cdq;
&odq;I understand that they have had brokers in the house?&cdq;
&odq;Yes, but they were paid off.&cdq;
&odq;Where
did the money come from?&cdq;
&odq;That was all right. His pension was due.
They have not shown any sign of being in funds.&cdq;
&odq;What explanation did she give of having answered the bell
when Mr. Phelps rang for the coffee?&cdq;
&odq;She said that her husband was very tired and she wished to
relieve him.&cdq;
&odq;Well, certainly that would agree with his being found a
little later asleep in his chair. There is nothing against
them then but the woman's character. Did you ask her why she
hurried away that night? Her haste attracted the attention of
the police constable.&cdq;
&odq;She was later than usual and wanted to get home.&cdq;
&odq;Did you point out to her that you and Mr. Phelps,
who started at least twenty minutes after her, got home before
her?&cdq;
&odq;She explains that by the difference between a bus and a
hansom.&cdq;
&odq;Did she make it clear why, on reaching her house, she ran
into the back kitchen?&cdq;
&odq;Because she had the money there with which to pay off the
brokers.&cdq;
&odq;She has at least an answer for everything. Did you
ask her whether in leaving she met anyone or saw anyone loitering
about Charles Street?&cdq;
&odq;She saw no one but the constable.&cdq;
&odq;Well, you seem to have cross-examined her pretty
thoroughly. What else have you done?&cdq;
&odq;The clerk Gorot has been shadowed all these nine weeks,
but without result. We can show nothing against him.&cdq;
&odq;Anything else?&cdq;
&odq;Well, we have
nothing else to go upon — no evidence of any kind.&cdq;
&odq;Have you formed any theory about how that bell rang?&cdq;
&odq;Well, I must confess that it beats me. It was a
cool hand whoever it was, to go and give the alarm like that.&cdq;
&odq;Yes, it was a queer thing to do. Many thanks to you
for what you have told me. If I can put the man into your
hands you shall hear from me. Come along. Watson.&cdq;
&odq;Where are we going to now?&cdq; I asked as we left the
office.
&odq;We are now going to interview Lord Holdhurst, the cabinet
minister and future premier of England.&cdq;
We were fortunate in finding that Lord Holdhurst was still in
his chambers in Downing Street, and on Holmes sending in his card we
were instantly shown up. The statesman received us with that
old-fashioned courtesy for which he is remarkable and seated us on
the two luxuriant lounges on either side of the fireplace.
Standing on the rug between us, with his slight, tall figure,
his sharp features, thoughtful face, and curling hair prematurely
tinged with gray, he seemed to represent that not too common type, a
nobleman who is in truth noble
&odq;Your name is very familiar to me, Mr. Holmes,&cdq; said
he, smiling. &odq;And of course I cannot pretend to be
ignorant of the object of your visit. There has only been one
occurrence in these offices which could call for your attention.
In whose interest are you acting, may I ask?&cdq;
&odq;In that of Mr. Percy Phelps,&cdq; answered Holmes
&odq;Ah, my unfortunate nephew! You can
understand that our kinship makes it the more impossible for me to
screen him in any way. I fear that the incident must have a
very prejudicial effect upon his career.&cdq;
&odq;But if the document is found?&cdq;
&odq;Ah,
that, of course, would be different.&cdq;
&odq;I had one or two questions which I wished to ask you, Lord
Holdhurst.&cdq;
&odq;I shall be happy to give you any information in my
power.&cdq;
&odq;Was it in this room that you gave your instructions as to
the copying of the document?&cdq;
&odq;It was.&cdq;
&odq;Then you could hardly have
been overheard?&cdq;
&odq;It is out of the question.&cdq;
&odq;Did you
ever mention to anyone that it was your intention to give anyone the
treaty to be copied?&cdq;
&odq;Never.&cdq;
&odq;You are certain of
that?&cdq;
&odq;Absolutely.&cdq;
&odq;Well, since you never
said so, and Mr. Phelps never said so, and nobody else knew anything
of the matter, then the thief's presence in the room was purely
accidental. He saw his chance and he took it.&cdq;
The statesman smiled. &odq;You take me out of my
province there,&cdq; said he.
Holmes considered for a moment. &odq;There is another
very important point which I wish to discuss with you,&cdq; said he.
&odq;You feared, as I understand, that very grave results
might follow from the details of this treaty becoming known.&cdq;
A shadow passed over the expressive face of the statesman.
&odq;Very grave results indeed.&cdq;
&odq;And have they occurred?&cdq;
&odq;Not
yet.&cdq;
&odq;If the treaty had reached, let us say, the French or
Russian Foreign Office, you would expect to hear of it?&cdq;
&odq;I should,&cdq; said Lord Holdhurst with a wry face.
&odq;Since nearly ten weeks have elapsed, then, and
nothing has been heard, it is not unfair to suppose that for some
reason the treaty has not reached them.&cdq;
Lord Holdhurst shrugged his shoulders.
&odq;We
can hardly suppose, Mr. Holmes, that the thief took the treaty in
order to frame it and hang it up.&cdq;
&odq;Perhaps he is waiting for a better price.&cdq;
&odq;If he waits a little longer he will get no price
at all. The treaty will cease to be secret in a few
months.&cdq;
&odq;That is most important,&cdq; said Holmes. &odq;Of
course, it is a possible supposition that the thief has had a sudden
illness — &cdq;
&odq;An attack of brain-fever, for example?&cdq; asked the
statesman, flashing a swift glance at him.
&odq;I did not say so,&cdq; said Holmes imperturbably.
&odq;And now Lord Holdhurst, we have already taken up too much
of your valuable time, and we shall wish you good-day.&cdq;
&odq;Every success to your investigation, be the criminal who
it may,&cdq; answered the nobleman as he bowed us out at the door.
&odq;He's a fine fellow,&cdq; said Holmes as we came out into
Whitehall. &odq;But he has a struggle to keep up his position.
He is far from rich and has many calls. You noticed, of
course, that his boots had been resoled. Now, Watson, I won't
detain you from your legitimate work any longer. I shall do
nothing more to-day unless I have an answer to my cab advertisement.
But I should be extremely obliged to you if you would come
down with me to Woking to-morrow by the same train which we took
yesterday.&cdq;
I met him accordingly next morning and we travelled down to
Woking together. He had had no answer to his advertisement, he
said, and no fresh light had been thrown upon the case. He
had, when he so willed it, the utter immobility of countenance of a
red Indian, and I could not gather from his appearance whether he was
satisfied or not with the position of the case. His
conversation, I remember, was about the Bertillon system of
measurements, and he expressed 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 sofa and greeted us without difficulty when we entered.
&odq;Any news?&cdq; he asked eagerly.
&odq;My
report, as I expected, is a negative one,&cdq; said Holmes.
&odq;I have seen Forbes, and I have seen your uncle, and I
have set one or two trains of inquiry upon foot which may lead to
something.&cdq;
&odq;You have not lost heart, then?&cdq;
&odq;By
no means.&cdq;
&odq;God bless you for saying that!&cdq; cried Miss Harrison.
&odq;If we keep our courage and our patience the truth must
come out.&cdq;
&odq;We have more to tell you than you have for us,&cdq; said
Phelps, reseating himself upon the couch.
&odq;I hoped you might have something.&cdq;
&odq;Yes, we have had an adventure during the night,
and one which might have proved to be a serious one.&cdq; His
expression grew very grave as he spoke, and a look of something akin
to fear sprang up in his eyes. &odq;Do you know,&cdq; said he,
&odq;that I begin to believe that I am the unconscious centre of some
monstrous conspiracy, and that my life is aimed at as well as my
honour?&cdq;
&odq;Ah!&cdq; cried Holmes.
&odq;It sounds
incredible, for I have not, as far as I know, an enemy in the world.
Yet from last night's experience I can come to no other
conclusion.&cdq;
&odq;Pray let me hear it.&cdq;
&odq;You must know
that last night was the very first night that I have ever slept
without a nurse in the room. I was so much better that I
thought I could dispense with one. I had a night-light
burning, however. Well, about two in the morning I had sunk
into a light sleep when I was suddenly aroused by a slight noise.
It was like the sound which a mouse makes when it is gnawing a
plank, and I lay listening to it for some time under the impression
that it must come from that cause. Then it grew louder, and
suddenly there came from the window a sharp metallic snick. I
sat up in amazement. There could be no doubt what the sounds
were now. The first ones had been caused by someone forcing an
instrument through the slit between the sashes and the second by the
catch being pressed back.
&odq;There was a pause then for about ten minutes, as if the
person were waiting to see whether the noise had awakened me.
Then I heard a gentle creaking as the window was very slowly
opened. I could stand it no longer, for my nerves are not what
they used to be. I sprang out of bed and flung open the
shutters. A man was crouching at the window. I could
see little of him, for he was gone like a flash. He was
wrapped in some sort of cloak which came across the lower part of his
face. One thing only I am sure of, and that is that he had
some weapon in his hand. It looked to me like a long knife.
I distinctly saw the gleam of it as he turned to run.&cdq;
&odq;This is most interesting,&cdq; said Holmes.
&odq;Pray what did you do then?&cdq;
&odq;I should have followed him through the open window if I
had been stronger. As it was, I rang the bell and roused the
house. It took some little time, for the bell rings in the
kitchen and the servants all sleep upstairs. I shouted,
however, and that brought Joseph down, and he roused the others.
Joseph and the groom found marks on the bed outside the
window, but the weather has been so dry lately that they found it
hopeless to follow the trail across the grass. There's a
place, however, on the wooden fence which skirts the road which shows
signs, they tell me, as if someone had got over, and had snapped the
top of the rail in doing so. I have said nothing to the local
police yet, for I thought I had best have your opinion first.&cdq;
This tale of our client's appeared to have an extraordinary
effect upon Sherlock Holmes. He rose from his chair and paced
about the room in uncontrollable excitement.
&odq;Misfortunes never come single,&cdq; said Phelps, smiling,
though it was evident that his adventure had somewhat shaken him.
&odq;You have certainly had your share,&cdq; said Holmes.
&odq;Do you think you could walk round the house with me?&cdq;
&odq;Oh, yes, I should like a little sunshine. Joseph
will come, too.&cdq;
&odq;And I also,&cdq; said Miss Harrison.
&odq;I
am afraid not,&cdq; said Holmes, shaking his head. &odq;I
think I must ask you to remain sitting exactly where you are.&cdq;
The young lady resumed her seat with an air of displeasure.
Her brother, however, had joined us and we set off all four
together. We passed round the lawn to the outside of the young
diplomatist's window. There were, as he had said, marks upon
the bed, but they were hopelessly blurred and vague. Holmes
stooped over them for an instant, and then rose shrugging his
shoulders.
&odq;I don't think anyone could make much of this,&cdq; said
he. &odq;Let us go round the house and see why this particular
room was chosen by the burglar. I should have thought those
larger windows of the drawing-room and dining-room would have had
more attractions for him.&cdq;
&odq;They are more visible from the road,&cdq; suggested Mr.
Joseph Harrison.
&odq;Ah, yes, of course. There is a door here which he
might have attempted. What is it for?&cdq;
&odq;It is the side entrance for trades-people. Of
course it is locked at night.&cdq;
&odq;Have you ever had an alarm like this before?&cdq;
&odq;Never,&cdq; said our client.
&odq;Do you keep plate in the house, or anything to attract
burglars?&cdq;
&odq;Nothing of value.&cdq;
Holmes strolled round
the house with his hands in his pockets and a negligent air which was
unusual with him.
&odq;By the way,&cdq; said he to Joseph Harrison, &odq;you
found some place, I understand, where the fellow scaled the fence.
Let us have a look at that!&cdq;
The plump young man led us to a spot where the top of one of
the wooden rails had been cracked. A small fragment of the
wood was hanging down. Holmes pulled it off and examined it
critically.
&odq;Do you think that was done last night? It looks
rather old, does it not?&cdq;
&odq;Well, possibly so.&cdq;
&odq;There are no
marks of anyone jumping down upon the other side. No, I fancy
we shall get no help here. Let us go back to the bedroom and
talk the matter over.&cdq;
Percy Phelps was walking very slowly, leaning upon the arm of
his future brother-in-law. Holmes walked swiftly across the
lawn, and we were at the open window of the bedroom long before the
others came up.
&odq;Miss Harrison,&cdq; said Holmes, speaking with the utmost
intensity of manner, you must stay where you are all day. Let
nothing prevent you from staying where you are all day. It is
of the utmost importance. &odq;
&odq;Certainly, if you wish it, Mr. Holmes,&cdq; said the girl
in astonishment.
&odq;When you go to bed lock the door of this room on the
outside and keep the key. Promise to do this.&cdq;
&odq;But Percy?&cdq;
&odq;He will come to London
with us.&cdq;
&odq;And am I to remain here?&cdq;
&odq;It is for
his sake. You can serve him. Quick!
Promise!&cdq;
She gave a quick nod of assent just as the other two came up.
&odq;Why do you sit moping there, Annie?&cdq; cried her
brother. &odq;Come out into the sunshine!&cdq;
&odq;No, thank you, Joseph. I have a slight headache and
this room is deliciously cool and soothing.&cdq;
&odq;What do you propose now, Mr. Holmes?&cdq; asked our
client.
&odq;Well, in investigating this minor affair we must not lose
sight of our main inquiry. It would be a very great help to me
if you would come up to London with us.&cdq;
&odq;At once?&cdq;
&odq;Well, as soon as you
conveniently can. Say in an hour.&cdq;
&odq;I feel quite strong enough, if I can really be of any
help.&cdq;
&odq;The greatest possible.&cdq;
&odq;Perhaps you
would like me to stay there to-night?&cdq;
&odq;I was just going to propose it.&cdq;
&odq;Then, if my friend of the night comes to revisit
me, he will find the bird flown. We are all in your hands, Mr.
Holmes, and you must tell us exactly what you would like done.
Perhaps you would prefer that Joseph came with us so as to
look after me?&cdq;
&odq;Oh, no, my friend Watson is a medical man, you know, and
he'll look after you. We'll have our lunch here, if you will
permit us, and then we shall all three set off for town
together.&cdq;
It was arranged as he suggested, though Miss Harrison excused
herself from leaving the bedroom, in accordance with Holmes's
suggestion. What the object of my friend's manoeuvres was I
could not conceive, unless it were to keep the lady away from Phelps,
who, rejoiced by his returning health and by the prospect of action,
lunched with us in the dining-room. Holmes had a still more
startling surprise for us, however, for, after accompanying us down
to the station and seeing us into our carriage, he calmly announced
that he had no intention of leaving Woking.
&odq;There are one or two small points which I should desire to
clear up before I go,&cdq; said he. &odq;Your absence, Mr.
Phelps, will in some ways rather assist me. Watson, when you
reach London you would oblige me by driving at once to Baker Street
with our friend here, and remaining with him until I see you again.
It is fortunate that you 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 you in time for breakfast, for there is
a train which will take me into Waterloo at eight.&cdq;
&odq;But how about our investigation in London?&cdq; asked
Phelps ruefully.
&odq;We can do that to-morrow. I think that just at
present I can be of more immediate use here.&cdq;
&odq;You might tell them at Briarbrae that I hope to be back
to-morrow night,&cdq; cried Phelps, as we began to move from the
platform.
&odq;I hardly expect to go back to Briarbrae,&cdq; answered
Holmes, and waved his hand to us cheerily as we shot out from the
station.
Phelps and I talked it over on our journey, but neither of us
could devise a satisfactory reason for this new development.
&odq;I suppose he wants to find out some clues as to the
burglary last night, if a burglar it was. For myself, I don't
believe it was an ordinary thief.&cdq;
&odq;What is your own idea, then?&cdq;
&odq;Upon
my word, you may put it down to my weak nerves or not, but I believe
there is some deep political intrigue going on around me, and that
for some reason that passes my understanding my life is aimed at by
the conspirators. It sounds high-flown and absurd, but
consider the facts! Why should a thief try to break in at a
bedroom window where there could be no hope of any plunder, and why
should he come with a long knife in his hand?&cdq;
&odq;You are sure it was not a house-breaker's jimmy?&cdq;
&odq;Oh, no, it was a knife. I saw the flash of
the blade quite distinctly.&cdq;
&odq;But why on earth should you be pursued with such
animosity?&cdq;
&odq;Ah, that is the question.&cdq;
&odq;Well, if
Holmes takes the same view, that would account for his action, would
it not? Presuming that your theory is correct, if he can lay
his hands upon the man who threatened you last night he will have
gone a long way towards finding who took the naval treaty. It
is absurd to suppose that you have two enemies, one of whom robs you,
while the other threatens your life.&cdq;
&odq;But Holmes said that he was not going to Briarbrae.&cdq;
&odq;I have known him for some time,&cdq; said I, &odq;but I
never knew him do anything yet without a very good reason,&cdq; and
with that our conversation drifted off on to other topics.
But it was a weary day for me. Phelps was still weak
after his long illness, and his misfortunes made him querulous and
nervous. In vain I endeavoured to interest him in Afghanistan,
in India, in social questions, in anything which might take his mind
out of the groove. He would always come back to his lost
treaty, wondering, guessing, speculating as to what Holmes was doing,
what steps Lord Holdhurst was taking, what news we should have in the
morning. As the evening wore on his excitement became quite
painful.
&odq;You have implicit faith in Holmes?&cdq; he asked.
&odq;I have seen him do some remarkable things.&cdq;
&odq;But he never brought light into anything quite so dark as
this?&cdq;
&odq;Oh, yes, I have known him solve questions which presented
fewer clues than yours.&cdq;
&odq;But not where such large interests are at stake?&cdq;
&odq;I don't know that. To my certain knowledge
he has acted on behalf of three of the reigning houses of Europe in
very vital matters.&cdq;
&odq;But you know him well, Watson. He is such an
inscrutable fellow that I never quite know what to make of him.
Do you think he is hopeful? Do you think he expects to
make a success of it?&cdq;
&odq;He has said nothing.&cdq;
&odq;That is a bad
sign.&cdq;
&odq;On the contrary. I have noticed that when he is off
the trail he generally says so. It is when he is on a scent
and is not quite absolutely sure yet that it is the right one that he
is most taciturn. Now, my dear fellow, we can't help matters
by making ourselves nervous about them, so let me implore you to go
to bed and so be fresh for whatever may await us to-morrow.&cdq;
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 hope of
sleep for him. Indeed, his mood was infectious for I lay
tossing half the night myself, brooding over this strange problem and
inventing a hundred theories, each of which was more impossible than
the last. Why had Holmes remained at Woking? Why had he
asked Miss Harrison to remain in the sick-room all day? Why
had he been so careful not to inform the people at Briarbrae that he
intended to remain near them? I cudgelled my brains until I
fell asleep in the endeavour to find some explanation which would
cover all these facts.
It was seven o'clock when I awoke, and I set off at once for
Phelps's room to find him haggard and spent after a sleepless night.
His first question was whether Holmes had arrived yet.
&odq;He'll be here when he promised,&cdq; said I, &odq;and not
an instant sooner or later.&cdq;
And my words were true, for shortly after eight a hansom dashed
up to the door and our friend got out of it. Standing in the
window we saw that his left hand was swathed in a bandage and that
his face was very grim and pale. He entered the house, but it
was some little time before he came upstairs.
&odq;He looks like a beaten man,&cdq; cried Phelps.
I was forced to confess that he was right.
&odq;After all,&cdq; said I, &odq;the clue of the matter lies
probably here in town.&cdq;
Phelps gave a groan.
&odq;I don't know how it
is,&cdq; said he, &odq;but I had hoped for so much from his return.
But surely his hand was not tied up like that yesterday.
What can be the matter?&cdq;
&odq;You are not wounded, Holmes?&cdq; I asked as my friend
entered the room.
&odq;Tut, it is only a scratch through my own clumsiness,&cdq;
he answered, nodding his good-morning to us. &odq;This case of
yours, Mr. Phelps, is certainly one of the darkest which I have ever
investigated.&cdq;
&odq;I feared that you would find it beyond you.&cdq;
&odq;It has been a most remarkable experience.&cdq;
&odq;That bandage tells of adventures,&cdq; said I.
&odq;Won't you tell us what has happened?&cdq;
&odq;After breakfast, my dear Watson. Remember that I
have breathed thirty miles of Surrey air this morning. I
suppose that there has been no answer from my cabman advertisement?
Well, well, we cannot expect to score every time.&cdq;
The table was all laid, and just as I was about to ring Mrs.
Hudson entered with the tea and coffee. A few minutes later
she brought in three covers, and we all drew up to the table, Holmes
ravenous, I curious, and Phelps in the gloomiest state of depression.
&odq;Mrs. Hudson has risen to the occasion,&cdq; said Holmes,
uncovering a dish of curried chicken. &odq;Her cuisine is a
little limited, but she has as good an idea of breakfast as a
Scotchwoman. What have you there, Watson?&cdq;
&odq;Ham and eggs,&cdq; I answered.
&odq;Good!
What are you going to take, Mr. Phelps — curried fowl
or eggs, or will you help yourself?&cdq;
&odq;Thank you. I can eat nothing,&cdq; said Phelps.
&odq;Oh, come! Try the dish before you.&cdq;
&odq;Thank you, I would really rather not.&cdq;
&odq;Well, then,&cdq; said Holmes with a mischievous twinkle,
&odq;I suppose that you have no objection to helping me?&cdq;
Phelps raised the cover, and as he did so he uttered a scream
and sat there staring with a face as white as the plate upon which he
looked. Across the centre of it was lying a little cylinder of
blue-gray paper. He caught it up, devoured it with his eyes,
and then danced madly about the room, pressing it to his bosom and
shrieking out in his delight. Then he fell back into an
armchair, so limp and exhausted with his own emotions that we had to
pour brandy down his throat to keep him from fainting.
&odq;There! there!&cdq; said Holmes soothingly, patting him
upon the shoulder. &odq;It was too bad to spring it on you
like this, but Watson here will tell you that I never can resist a
touch of the dramatic.&cdq;
Phelps seized his hand and kissed it. &odq;God bless
you!&cdq; he cried. &odq;You have saved my honour.&cdq;
&odq;Well, my own was at stake, you know,&cdq; said Holmes.
&odq;I assure you it is just as hateful to me to fail in a
case as it can be to you to blunder over a commission.&cdq;
Phelps thrust away the precious document into the innermost
pocket of his coat.
&odq;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.&cdq;
Sherlock Holmes swallowed a cup of coffee and turned his
attention to the ham and eggs. Then he rose, lit his pipe, and
settled himself down into his chair.
&odq;I'll tell you what I did first, and how I came to do it
afterwards,&cdq; said he. &odq;After leaving you at the
station I went for a charming walk through some admirable Surrey
scenery to a pretty little village called Ripley, where I had my tea
at an inn and took the precaution of filling my flask and of putting
a paper of sandwiches in my pocket. There I remained until
evening, when I set off for Woking again and found myself in the
highroad outside Briarbrae just after sunset.
&odq;Well, I waited until the road was clear — it is
never a very frequented one at any time, I fancy — and then I
clambered over the fence into the grounds.&cdq;
&odq;Surely the gate was open!&cdq; ejaculated Phelps.
&odq;Yes, but I have a peculiar taste in these matters.
I chose the place where the three fir-trees stand, and behind
their screen I got over without the least chance of anyone in the
house being able to see me. I crouched down among the bushes
on the other side and crawled from one to the other — witness
the disreputable state of my trouser knees — until I had
reached the clump of rhododendrons just opposite to your bedroom
window. There I squatted down and awaited developments.
&odq;The blind was not down in your room, and I could see Miss
Harrison sitting there reading by the table. It was
quarter-past ten when she closed her book, fastened the shutters, and
retired.
&odq;I heard her shut the door and felt quite sure that she had
turned the key in the lock.&cdq;
&odq;The key!&cdq; ejaculated Phelps.
&odq;Yes, I
had given Miss Harrison instructions to lock the door on the outside
and take the key with her when she went to bed. She carried
out every one of my injunctions to the letter, and certainly without
her cooperation you would not have that paper in your coat-pocket.
She departed then and the lights went out and I was left
squatting in the rhododendron-bush.
&odq;The night was fine, but still it was a very weary vigil.
Of course it has the sort of excitement about it that the
sportsman feels when he lies beside the watercourse and waits for the
big game. It was very long, though — almost as long,
Watson, as when you and I waited in that deadly room when we looked
into the little problem of the Speckled Band. There was a
church-clock down at Woking which struck the quarters, and I thought
more than once that it had stopped. At last, however, about
two in the morning, I suddenly heard the gentle sound of a bolt being
pushed back and the creaking of a key. A moment later the
servants door was opened, and Mr. Joseph Harrison stepped out into
the moonlight.&cdq;
&odq;Joseph!&cdq; ejaculated Phelps.
&odq;He was
bare-headed, but he had a black cloak thrown over his shoulder, so
that he could conceal his face in an instant if there were any alarm.
He walked on tiptoe under the shadow of the wall, and when he
reached the window he worked a long-bladed knife through the sash and
pushed back the catch. Then he flung open the window, and
putting his knife through the crack in the shutters, he thrust the
bar up and swung them open.
&odq;From where I lay I had a perfect view of the inside of the
room and of every one of his movements. He lit the two candles
which stood upon the mantelpiece, and then he proceeded to turn back
the corner of the carpet in the neighbourhood of the door.
Presently he stooped and picked out a square piece of board,
such as is usually left to enable plumbers to get at the joints of
the gas-pipes. This one covered, as a matter of fact, the T
joint which gives off the pipe which supplies the kitchen underneath.
Out of this hiding-place he drew that little cylinder of
paper, pushed down the board, rearranged the carpet, blew out the
candles, and walked straight into my arms as I stood waiting for him
outside the window.
&odq;Well, he has rather more viciousness than I gave him
credit for, has Master Joseph. He flew at me with his knife,
and I had to grasp him twice, and got a cut over the knuckles, before
I had the upper hand of him. He looked murder out of the only
eye he could see with when we had finished, but he listened to reason
and gave up the papers. Having got them I let my man go, but I
wired full particulars to Forbes this morning. If he is quick
enough to catch his bird, well and good. But if, as I shrewdly
suspect, he finds the nest empty before he gets there, why, all the
better for the government. I fancy that Lord Holdhurst, for
one, and Mr. Percy Phelps for another, would very much rather that
the affair never got as far as a police-court.&cdq;
&odq;My God!&cdq; gasped our client. &odq;Do you tell me
that during these long ten weeks of agony the stolen papers were
within the very room with me all the time?&cdq;
&odq;So it was.&cdq;
&odq;And Joseph!
Joseph a villain and a thief!&cdq;
&odq;Hum! I am afraid Joseph's character is a rather
deeper and more dangerous one than one might judge from his
appearance. From what I have heard from him this morning, I
gather that he has lost heavily in dabbling with stocks, and that he
is ready to do anything on earth to better his fortunes. Being
an absolutely selfish man, when a chance presents itself he did not
allow either his sister's happiness or your reputation to hold his
hand.&cdq;
Percy Phelps sank back in his chair. &odq;My head
whirls,&cdq; said he. &odq;Your words have dazed me.&cdq;
&odq;The principal difficulty in your case,&cdq; remarked
Holmes in his didactic fashion, &odq;lay in the fact of there being
too much evidence. What was vital was overlaid and hidden by
what was irrelevant. Of all the facts which were presented to
us we had to pick just those which we deemed to be essential, and
then piece them together in their order, so as to reconstruct this
very remarkable chain of events. I had already begun to
suspect Joseph from the fact that you had intended to travel home
with him that night, and that therefore it was a likely enough thing
that he should call for you, knowing the Foreign Office well, upon
his way. When I heard that someone had been so anxious to get
into the bedroom, in which no one but Joseph could have concealed
anything — you told us in your narrative how you had turned
Joseph out when you arrived with the doctor — my suspicions
all changed to certainties, especially as the attempt was made on the
first night upon which the nurse was absent, showing that the
intruder was well acquainted with the ways of the house.&cdq;
&odq;How blind I have been!&cdq;
&odq;The facts
of the case, as far as I have worked them out, are these: This Joseph
Harrison entered the office through the Charles Street door, and
knowing his way he walked straight into your room the instant after
you left it. Finding no one there he promptly rang the bell,
and at the instant that he did so his eyes caught the paper upon the
table. A glance showed him that chance had put in his way a
State document of immense value, and in an instant he had thrust it
into his pocket and was gone. A few minutes elapsed, as you
remember, before the sleepy commissionaire drew your attention to the
bell, and those were just enough to give the thief time to make his
escape.
&odq;He made his way to Woking by the first train, and, having
examined his booty and assured himself that it really was of immense
value, he had concealed it in what he thought was a very safe place,
with the intention of taking it out again in a day or two, and
carrying it to the French embassy, or wherever he thought that 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 from
that time onward there were always at least two of you there to
prevent him from regaining his treasure. The situation to him
must have been a maddening one. But at last he thought he saw
his chance. He tried to steal in, but was baffled by your
wakefulness. You may remember that you did not take your usual
draught that night.&cdq;
&odq;I remember.&cdq;
&odq;I fancy that he had
taken steps to make that draught efficacious, and that he quite
relied upon your being unconscious. Of course, I understood
that he would repeat the attempt whenever it could be done with
safety. Your leaving the room gave him the chance he wanted.
I kept Miss Harrison in it all day so that he might not
anticipate us. Then, having given him the idea that the coast
was clear, I kept guard as I have described. I already knew
that the papers were probably in the room, but I had no desire to rip
up all the planking and skirting in search of them. I let him
take them, therefore, from the hiding-place, and so saved myself an
infinity of trouble. Is there any other point which I can make
clear?&cdq;
&odq;Why did he try the window on the first occasion,&cdq; I
asked, &odq;when he might have entered by the door?&cdq;
&odq;In reaching the door he would have to pass seven bedrooms.
On the other hand, he could get out on to the lawn, with ease,
Anything else?&cdq;
&odq;You do not think,&cdq; asked Phelps, &odq;that he had any
murderous intention? The knife was only meant as a tool.&cdq;
&odq;It may be so,&cdq; answered Holmes, shrugging his
shoulders. &odq;I can only say for certain that Mr. Joseph
Harrison is a gentleman to whose mercy I should be extremely
unwilling to trust.&cdq;
It is with a heavy heart that I take up my pen to write these
the last words in which I shall ever record the singular gifts by
which my friend Mr. Sherlock Holmes was distinguished. In an
incoherent and, as I deeply feel, an entirely inadequate fashion, I
have endeavoured to give some account of my strange experiences in
his company from the chance which first brought us together at the
period of the &odq;Study in Scarlet,&cdq; up to the time of his
interference in the matter of the &odq;Naval Treaty&cdq; — an
interference which had the unquestionable effect of preventing a
serious international complication. It was my intention to
have stopped there, and to have said nothing of that event which has
created a void in my life which the lapse of two years has done
little to fill. My hand has been forced, however, by the
recent letters in which Colonel James Moriarty defends the memory of
his brother, and I have no choice but to lay the facts before the
public exactly as they occurred. I alone know the absolute
truth of the matter, and I am satisfied that the time has come when
no good purpose is to be served by its suppression. As far as
I know, there have been only three accounts in the public press: that
in the Journal de Geneve on May 6th, 1891, the Reuter's dispatch in
the English papers on May 7th, and finally the recent letters to
which I have alluded. Of these the first and second were
extremely condensed, while the last is, as I shall now show, an
absolute perversion of the facts. It lies with me to tell for
the first time what really took place between Professor Moriarty and
Mr. Sherlock Holmes.
It may be remembered that after my marriage, and my subsequent
start in private practice, the very intimate relations which had
existed between Holmes and myself became to some extent modified.
He still came to me from time to time when he desired a
companion in his investigations, but these occasions grew more and
more seldom, until I find that in the year 1890 there were only three
cases of which I retain any record. During the winter of that
year and the early spring of 1891, I saw in the papers that he had
been engaged by the French government upon a matter of supreme
importance, and I received two notes from Holmes, dated from Narbonne
and from Nimes, from which I gathered that his stay in France was
likely to be a long one. It was with some surprise, therefore,
that I saw him walk into my consulting-room upon the evening of April
24th. It struck me that he was looking even paler and thinner
than usual.
&odq;Yes, I have been using myself up rather too freely,&cdq;
he remarked, in answer to my look rather than to my words; &odq;I
have been a little pressed of late. Have you any objection to
my closing your shutters?&cdq;
The only light in the room came from the lamp upon the table at
which I had been reading. Holmes edged his way round the wall,
and, flinging the shutters together, he bolted them securely.
&odq;You are afraid of something?&cdq; I asked.
&odq;Well, I am.&cdq;
&odq;Of what?&cdq;
&odq;Of air-guns.&cdq;
&odq;My dear Holmes, what do you mean?&cdq;
&odq;I think that you know me well enough, Watson, to
understand that I am by no means a nervous man. At the same
time, it is stupidity rather than courage to refuse to recognize
danger when it is close upon you. Might I trouble you for a
match?&cdq; He drew in the smoke of his cigarette as if the
soothing influence was grateful to him.
&odq;I must apologize for calling so late,&cdq; said he,
&odq;and I must further beg you to be so unconventional as to allow
me to leave your house presently by scrambling over your back garden
wall.&cdq;
&odq;But what does it all mean?&cdq; I asked.
He
held out his hand, and I saw in the light of the lamp that two of his
knuckles were burst and bleeding.
&odq;It's not an airy nothing, you see,&cdq; said he, smiling.
&odq;On the contrary, it is solid enough for a man to break
his hand over. Is Mrs. Watson in?&cdq;
&odq;She is away upon a visit.&cdq;
&odq;Indeed!
You are alone?&cdq;
&odq;Quite.&cdq;
&odq;Then it makes it the easier
for me to propose that you should come away with me for a week to the
Continent.&cdq;
&odq;Where?&cdq;
&odq;Oh, anywhere. It's
all the same to me.&cdq;
There was something very strange in all this. It was not
Holmes's nature to take an aimless holiday, and something about his
pale, worn face told me that his nerves were at their highest
tension. He saw the question in my eyes, and, putting his
finger-tips together and his elbows upon his knees, he explained the
situation.
&odq;You have probably never heard of Professor Moriarty?&cdq;
said he.
&odq;Never.&cdq;
&odq;Ay, there's the genius and
the wonder of the thing!&cdq; he cried. &odq;The man pervades
London, and no one has heard of him. That's what puts 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 free society
of him, I should feel that my own career had reached its summit, and
I should be prepared to turn to some more placid line in life.
Between ourselves, the recent cases in which I have been of
assistance to the royal family of Scandinavia, and to the French
republic, have left me in such a position that I could continue to
live in the quiet fashion which is most congenial to me, and to
concentrate my attention upon my chemical researches. But I
could not rest. Watson, I could not sit quiet in my chair, if
I thought that such a man as Professor Moriarty were walking the
streets of London unchallenged.&cdq;
&odq;What has he done, then?&cdq;
&odq;His career
has been an extraordinary one. He is a man of good birth and
excellent education, endowed by nature with a phenomenal mathematical
faculty. At the age of twenty-one he wrote a treatise upon the
binomial theorem, which has had a European vogue. On the
strength of it he won the mathematical chair at one of our smaller
universities, and had, to all appearances, a most brilliant career
before him. But the man had hereditary tendencies of the most
diabolical kind. A criminal strain ran in his blood, which,
instead of being modified, was increased and rendered infinitely more
dangerous by his extraordinary mental powers. Dark rumours
gathered round him in the university town, and eventually he was
compelled to resign his chair and to come down to London, where he
set up as an army coach. So much is known to the world, but
what I am telling you now is what I have myself discovered.
&odq;As you are aware, Watson, there is no one who knows the
higher criminal world of London so well as I do. For years
past I have continually been conscious of some power behind the
malefactor, some deep organizing power which forever stands in the
way of the law, and throws its shield over the wrong-doer.
Again and again in cases of the most varying sorts —
forgery cases, robberies, murders — I have felt the presence
of this force, and I have deduced its action in many of those
undiscovered crimes in which I have not been personally consulted.
For years I have endeavoured to break through the veil which
shrouded it, and at last the time came when I seized my thread and
followed it, until it led me, after a thousand cunning windings, to
ex-Professor Moriarty, of mathematical celebrity.
&odq;He is the Napoleon of crime, Watson. He is the
organizer of half that is evil and of nearly all that is undetected
in this great city. He is a genius, a philosopher, an abstract
thinker. He has a brain of the first order. He sits
motionless, like a spider in the centre of its web, but that web has
a thousand radiations, and he knows well every quiver of each of
them. He does little himself. He only 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 to the
professor, the matter is organized and carried out. The agent
may be caught. In that case money is found for his bail or his
detence. But the central power which uses the agent is never
caught — never so much as suspected. This was the
organization which I deduced, Watson, and which I devoted my whole
energy to exposing and breaking up.
&odq;But the professor was fenced round with safeguards so
cunningly devised that, do what I would, it seemed impossible to get
evidence which would convict in a court of law. You know my
powers, my dear Watson, and yet at the end of three months I was
forced to confess that I had at last met an antagonist who was my
intellectual equal. My horror at his crimes was lost in my
admiration at his skill. But at last he made a trip —
only a little, little trip but it was more than 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 until now it is all ready
to close. In three days — that is to say, on Monday
next — matters will be ripe, and the professor, with all the
principal members of his gang, will be in the hands of the police.
Then will come the greatest criminal trial of the century, the
clearing up of over forty mysteries, and the rope for all of them;
but if we move at all prematurely, you understand, they may slip out
of our hands even at the last moment.
&odq;Now, if I could have done this without the knowledge of
Professor Moriarty, all would have been well. But he was too
wily for that. He saw every step which I took to draw my toils
round him. Again and again he strove to break away, but I as
often headed him off. I tell you, my friend, that if a
detailed account of that silent contest could be written, it would
take its place as the most brilliant bit of thrust-and-parry work in
the history of detection. Never have I risen to such a height,
and never have I been so hard pressed by an opponent. He cut
deep, and yet I just undercut him. This morning the last steps
were taken, and three days only were wanted to complete the business.
I was sitting in my room thinking the matter over when the
door opened and Professor Moriarty stood before me.
&odq;My nerves are fairly proof, Watson, but I must confess to
a start when I saw the very man who had been so much in my thoughts
standing there on my threshold. His appearance was quite
familiar to me. He is extremely tall and thin, his forehead
domes out in a white curve, and his two eyes are deeply sunken in his
head. He is clean-shaven, pale, and ascetic-looking, retaining
something of the professor in his features. His shoulders are
rounded from much study, and his face protrudes forward and is
forever slowly oscillating from side to side in a curiously reptilian
fashion. He peered at me with great curiosity in his puckered
eyes.
&odq;&onq;You have less frontal development than I should have
expected,&cnq; said he at last. &onq;It is a dangerous habit
to finger loaded firearms in the pocket of one's dressing-gown.&cnq;
&odq;The fact is that upon his entrance I had instantly
recognized the extreme personal danger in which I lay. The
only conceivable escape for him lay in silencing my tongue. In
an instant I had slipped the revolver from the drawer into my pocket
and was covering him through the cloth. At his remark I drew
the weapon out and laid it cocked upon the table. He still
smiled and blinked, but there was something about his eyes which made
me feel very glad that I had it there.
&odq;&onq;You evidently don't know me,&cnq; said he.
&cdq; &onq;On the contrary,&cnq; I answered, &onq;I
think it is fairly evident that I do. Pray take a chair.
I can spare you five minutes if you have anything to say.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;All that I have to say has already crossed your
mind,&cnq; said he.
&odq;&onq;Then possibly my answer has crossed yours,&cnq; I
replied.
&odq;&onq;You stand fast?&cnq;
&cdq;
&onq;Absolutely.&cnq;
&odq;He clapped his hand into his pocket, and I raised the
pistol from the table. But he merely drew out a
memorandum-book in which he had scribbled some dates.
&odq;&onq;You crossed my path on the fourth of January,&cnq;
said he. &onq;On the twenty-third you incommoded me; by the
middle of February I was seriously inconvenienced by you; at the end
of March I was absolutely hampered in my plans; and now, at the close
of April, I find myself placed in such a position through your
continual persecution that I am in positive danger of losing my
liberty. The situation is becoming an impossible one.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;Have you any suggestion to make?&cnq; I asked.
&cdq; &onq;You must drop it, Mr. Holmes,&cnq; said he,
swaying his face about. &onq;You really must, you know.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;After Monday,&cnq; said I.
&cdq;
&onq;Tut, tut!&cnq; said he. ' I am quite sure that a man of
your intelligence will see that there can be but one outcome to this
affair. It is necessary that you should withdraw. You
have worked things in such a fashion that we have only one resource
left. It has been an intellectual treat to me to see the way
in which you have grappled with this affair, and I say, unaffectedly,
that it would be a grief to me to be forced to take any extreme
measure. You smile, sir, but I assure you that it really
would.
&odq;&onq;Danger is part of my trade,&cnq; I remarked.
&cdq; &onq;This is not danger,&cnq; said he.
&onq;It is inevitable destruction. You stand in the way
not merely of an individual but of a mighty organization, the full
extent of which you, with all your cleverness, have been unable to
realize. You must stand clear, Mr. Holmes, or be trodden under
foot.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;I am afraid,&cnq; said I, rising, &onq;that in the
pleasure of this conversation I am neglecting business of importance
which awaits me elsewhere.&cnq;
&odq;He rose also and looked at me in silence, shaking his head
sadly.
&odq;&onq;Well, well,&cnq; said he at last. &onq;It
seems a pity, but I have done what I could. I know every move
of your game. You can do nothing 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 will never stand in the
dock. You hope to beat me. I tell you that you will
never beat me. If you are clever enough to bring destruction
upon me, rest assured that I shall do as much to you.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;You have paid me several compliments, Mr.
Moriarty,&cnq; said I. &onq;Let me pay you one in return when
I say that if I were assured of the former eventuality I would, in
the interests of the public, cheerfully accept the latter.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;I can promise you the one, but not the other,&cnq; he
snarled, and so turned his rounded back upon me and went peering and
blinking out of the room.
&odq;That was my singular interview with Professor Moriarty.
I confess that it left an unpleasant effect upon my mind.
His soft, precise fashion of speech leaves a conviction of
sincerity which a mere bully could not produce. Of course, you
will say: &onq;Why not take police precautions against him?&cnq;
The reason is that I am well convinced that it is from his
agents the blow would fall. I have the best of proofs that it
would be so.&cdq;
&odq;You have already been assaulted?&cdq;
&odq;My dear Watson, Professor Moriarty is not a man
who lets the grass grow under his feet. I went out about
midday to transact some business in Oxford Street. As I passed
the corner which leads from Bentinck Street on to the Welbeck Street
crossing a two-horse van furiously driven whizzed round and was on me
like a flash. I sprang for the foot-path and saved myself by
the fraction of a second. The van dashed round by Marylebone
Lane and was gone in an instant. I kept to the pavement after
that, Watson, but as I walked down Vere Street a brick came down from
the roof of one of the houses and was shattered to fragments at my
feet. I called the police and had the place examined.
There were slates and bricks piled up on the roof preparatory
to some repairs, and they would have me believe that the wind had
toppled over one of these. Of course I knew better, but I
could prove nothing. I took a cab after that and reached my
brother's rooms in Pall Mall, where I spent the day. Now I
have come round to you, and on my way I was attacked by a rough with
a bludgeon. I knocked him down, and the police have him in
custody; but I can tell you with the most absolute confidence that no
possible connection will ever be traced between the gentleman upon
whose front teeth I have barked my knuckles and the retiring
mathematical coach, who is, I daresay, working out problems upon a
black-board ten miles away. You will not wonder, Watson, that
my first act on entering your rooms was to close your shutters, and
that I have been compelled to ask your permission to leave the house
by some less conspicuous exit than the front door.&cdq;
I had often admired my friend's courage, but never more than
now, as he sat quietly checking off a series of incidents which must
have combined to make up a day of horror.
&odq;You will spend the night here?&cdq; I said.
&odq;No, my friend, you might find me a dangerous
guest. I have my plans laid, and all will be well.
Matters have gone so far now that they can move without my
help as far as the arrest goes, though my presence is necessary for a
conviction. It is obvious, therefore, that I cannot do better
than get away for the few days which remain before the police are at
liberty to act. It would be a great pleasure to me, therefore,
if you could come on to the Continent with me.&cdq;
&odq;The practice is quiet,&cdq; said I, &odq;and I have an
accommodating neighbour. I should be glad to come.&cdq;
&odq;And to start to-morrow morning?&cdq;
&odq;If
necessary.&cdq;
&odq;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 the cleverest rogue and the most powerful syndicate of
criminals in Europe. Now listen! You will dispatch
whatever luggage you intend to take by a trusty messenger unaddressed
to Victoria to-night. In the morning you will send for a
hansom, desiring your man to take neither the first nor the second
which may present itself. Into this hansom you will jump, and
you will drive to the Strand end of the Lowther Arcade, handing the
address to the cabman upon a slip of paper, with a request that he
will not throw it away. Have your fare ready, and the instant
that your cab stops, dash through the Arcade, timing yourself to
reach the other side at a quarter-past nine. You will find a
small brougham waiting close to the curb, driven by a fellow with a
heavy black cloak tipped at the collar with red. Into this you
will step, and you will reach Victoria in time for the Continental
express.&cdq;
&odq;Where shall I meet you?&cdq;
&odq;At the
station. The second first-class carriage from the front will
be reserved for us.&cdq;
&odq;The carriage is our rendezvous, then?&cdq;
&odq;Yes.&cdq;
It was in vain that I asked Holmes to remain for the evening.
It was evident to me that he thought he might bring trouble to
the roof he was under, and that that was the motive which impelled
him to go. With a few hurried words as to our plans for the
morrow he rose and came out with me into the garden, clambering over
the wall which leads into Mortimer Street, and immediately whistling
for a hansom, in which I heard him drive away.
In the morning I obeyed Holmes's injunctions to the letter.
A hansom was procured with such precautions as would prevent
its being one which was placed ready for us, and I drove immediately
after breakfast to the Lowther Arcade, through which I hurried at the
top of my speed. A brougham was waiting with a very massive
driver wrapped in a dark cloak, who, the instant that I had stepped
in, whipped up the horse and rattled off to Victoria Station.
On my alighting there he turned the carrage, and dashed away
again without 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
had indicated, the less so as it was the only one in the train which
was marked &odq;Engaged.&cdq; My only source of anxiety now
was the non-appearance of Holmes. The station clock marked
only seven minutes from the time when we were due to start. In
vain I searched among the groups of travellers and leave-takers for
the lithe figure of my friend. There was no sign of him.
I spent a few minutes in assisting a venerable Italian priest,
who was endeavouring to make a porter understand, in his broken
English, that his luggage was to be booked through to Paris.
Then, having taken another look round, I returned to my
carriage, where I found that the porter, in spite of the ticket, had
given me my decrepit Italian friend as a travelling companion.
It was useless for me to explain to him that his presence was
an intrusion, for my Italian was even more limited than his English,
so I shrugged my shoulders resignedly, and continued to look out
anxiously for my friend. A chill of fear had come over me, as
I thought that his absence might mean that some blow had fallen
during the night. Already the doors had all been shut and the
whistle blown, when —
&odq;My dear Watson,&cdq; said a voice, &odq;you have not even
condescended to say good-morning.&cdq;
I turned in uncontrollable astonishment. The aged
ecclesiastic had turned his face towards me. For an instant
the wrinkles were smoothed away, the nose drew away from the chin,
the lower lip ceased to protrude and the mouth to mumble, the dull
eyes regained their fire, the drooping figure expanded. The
next the whole frame collapsed again, and Holmes had gone as quickly
as he had come.
&odq;Good heavens!&cdq; I cried, &odq;how you startled me!&cdq;
&odq;Every precaution is still necessary,&cdq; he
whispered. &odq;I have reason to think that they are hot upon
our trail. Ah, there is Moriarty himself.&cdq;
The train had already begun to move as Holmes spoke.
Glancing back, I saw a tall man pushing his way furiously
through the crowd, and waving his hand as if he desired to have the
train stopped. It was too late, however, for we were rapidly
gathering momentum, and an instant later had shot clear of the
station.
&odq;With all our precautions, you see that we have cut it
rather fine,&cdq; said Holmes, laughing. He rose, and throwing
off the black cassock and hat which had formed his disguise, he
packed them away in a hand-bag.
&odq;Have you seen the morning paper, Watson?&cdq;
&odq;No.&cdq;
&odq;You haven't seen about Baker Street, then?&cdq;
&odq;Baker Street?&cdq;
&odq;They set fire to our rooms last night. No great
harm was done.&cdq;
&odq;Good heavens, Holmes, this is intolerable!&cdq;
&odq;They must have lost my track completely after
their bludgeonman was arrested. Otherwise they could not have
imagined that I had returned to my rooms. They have evidently
taken the precaution of watching you, however, and that is what has
brought Moriarty to Victoria. You could not have made any slip
in coming?&cdq;
&odq;I did exactly what you advised.&cdq;
&odq;Did you find your brougham?&cdq;
&odq;Yes, it was waiting.&cdq;
&odq;Did you
recognize your coachman?&cdq;
&odq;No.&cdq;
&odq;It was my brother Mycroft.
It is an advantage to get about in such a case without taking
a mercenary into your confidence. But we must plan what we are
to do about Moriarty now.&cdq;
&odq;As this is an express, and as the boat runs in connection
with it, I should think we have shaken him off very effectively.&cdq;
&odq;My dear Watson, you evidently did not realize my meaning
when I said that this man may be taken as being quite on the same
intellectual plane as myself. You do not imagine that if I
were the pursuer I should allow myself to be baffled by so slight an
obstacle. Why, then, should you think so meanly of him?&cdq;
&odq;What will he do?&cdq;
&odq;What I should
do.&cdq;
&odq;What would you do, then?&cdq;
&odq;Engage a
special.&cdq;
&odq;But it must be late.&cdq;
&odq;By no means.
This train stops at Canterbury; and there is always at least a
quarter of an hour's delay at the boat. He will catch us
there.&cdq;
&odq;One would think that we were the criminals. Let us
have him arrested on his arrival.&cdq;
&odq;It would be to ruin the work of three months. We
should get the big fish, but the smaller would dart right and left
out of the net. On Monday we should have them all. No,
an arrest is inadmissible.&cdq;
&odq;What then?&cdq;
&odq;We shall get out at
Canterbury.&cdq;
&odq;And then?&cdq;
&odq;Well, then we must make
a cross-country journey to Newhaven, and so over to Dieppe.
Moriarty will again do what I should do. He will get on
to Paris, mark down our luggage, and wait for two days at the depot.
In the meantime we shall treat ourselves to a couple of
carpet-bags, encourage the manufactures of the countries through
which we travel, and make our way at our leisure into Switzerland,
via Luxembourg and Basle.&cdq;
At Canterbury, therefore, we alighted, only to find that we
should have to wait an hour before we could get a train to Newhaven.
I was still looking rather ruefully after the rapidly
disappearing luggage-van which contained my wardrobe, when Holmes
pulled my sleeve and pointed up the line.
&odq;Already, you see,&cdq; said he.
Far away,
from among the Kentish woods there rose a thin spray of smoke.
A minute later a carriage and engine could be seen flying
along the open curve which leads to the station. We had hardly
time to take our place behind a pile of luggage when it passed with a
rattle and a roar, beating a blast of hot air into our faces.
&odq;There he goes,&cdq; said Holmes, as we watched the
carriage swing and rock over the points. &odq;There are
limits, you see, to our friend's intelligence. It would have
been a coup-de-maitre had he deduced what I would deduce and acted
accordingly.&cdq;
&odq;And what would he have done had he overtaken us?&cdq;
&odq;There cannot be the least doubt that he would have
made a murderous attack upon me. It is, however, a game at
which two may play. The question now is whether we should take
a premature lunch here, or run our chance of starving before we reach
the buffet at Newhaven.&cdq;
We made our way to Brussels that night and spent two days
there, moving on upon the third day as far as Strasbourg. On
the Monday morning Holmes had telegraphed to the London police, and
in the evening we found a reply waiting for us at our hotel.
Holmes tore it open, and then with a bitter curse hurled it
into the grate.
&odq;I might have known it!&cdq; he groaned. &odq;He has
escaped!&cdq;
&odq;Moriarty?&cdq;
&odq;They have secured the
whole gang with the exception of him. He has given them the
slip. Of course, when I had left the country there was no one
to cope with him. But I did think that I had put the game in
their hands. I think that you had better return to England,
Watson.&cdq;
&odq;Why?&cdq;
&odq;Because you will find me a
dangerous companion now. This man's occupation is gone.
He is lost if he returns to London. If I read his
character right he will devote his whole energies to revenging
himself upon me. He said as much in our short interview, and I
fancy that he meant it. I should certainly recommend you to
return to your practice.&cdq;
It was hardly an appeal to be successful with one who was an
old campaigner as well as an old friend. We sat in the
Strasbourg salle-a-manger arguing the question for half an hour, but
the same night we had resumed our journey and were well on our way to
Geneva.
For a charming week we wandered up the valley of the Rhone, and
then, branching off at Leuk, we made our way over the Gemmi Pass,
still deep in snow, and so, by way of Interlaken, to Meiringen.
It was a lovely trip, the dainty green of the spring below,
the virgin white of the winter above; but it was clear to me that
never for one instant did Holmes forget the shadow which lay across
him. In the homely Alpine villages or in the lonely mountain
passes, I could still tell by his quick glancing eyes and his sharp
scrutiny of every face that passed us, that he was well convinced
that, walk where we would, we could not walk ourselves clear of the
danger which was dogging our footsteps
Once, i remember, as we passed over the Gemmi, and walked along
the border of the melancholy Daubensee, a large rock which had been
dislodged from the ridge upon our right clattered down and roared
into the lake behind us. In an instant Holmes had raced up on
to the ridge, and, standing upon a lofty pinnacle, craned his neck in
every direction. It was in vain that our guide assured him
that a fall of stones was a common chance in the springtime at that
spot. He said nothing, but he smiled at me with the air of a
man who sees the fulfilment of that which he had expected.
And yet for all his watchfulness he was never depressed.
On the contrary, I can never recollect having seen him in such
exuberant spirits. Again and again he recurred to the fact
that if he could be assured that society was freed from Professor
Moriarty he would cheerfully bring his own career to a conclusion.
&odq;I think that I may go so far as to say, Watson, that I
have not lived wholly in vain,&cdq; he remarked. &odq;If my
record were closed to-night I could still survey it with equanimity.
The air of London is the sweeter for my presence. In
over a thousand cases I am not aware that I have ever used my powers
upon the wrong side. Of late I have been tempted to look into
the problems furnished by nature rather than those more superficial
ones tor which our artificial state of society is responsible.
Your memoirs will draw to an end, Watson, upon the day that I
crown my career by the capture or extinction of the most dangerous
and capable criminal in Europe.&cdq;
I shall be brief, and yet exact, in the little which remains
for me to tell. It is not a subject on which I would willingly
dwell, and yet I am conscious that a duty devolves upon me to omit no
detail.
It was on the third of May that we reached the little village
of Meiringen, where we put up at the Englischer Hof, then kept by
Peter Steiler the elder. Our landlord was an intelligent man
and spoke excellent English, having served for three years as waiter
at the Grosvenor Hotel in London. At his advice, on the
afternoon of the fourth we set off together, with the intention of
crossing the hills and spending the night at the hamlet of Rosenlaui.
We had strict injunctions, however, on no account to pass the
falls of Reichenbach, which are about halfway up the hills, without
making a small detour to see them.
It is, indeed, a fearful place. The torrent, swollen by
the melting snow, plunges into a tremendous abyss, from which the
spray rolls up like the smoke from a burning house. The shaft
into which the river hurls itself is an immense chasm, lined by
glistening coal-black rock, and narrowing into a creaming, boiling
pit of incalculable depth, which brims over and shoots the stream
onward over its jagged lip. The long sweep of green water
roaring forever down, and the thick flickering curtain of spray
hissing forever upward, turn a man giddy with their constant whirl
and clamour. We stood near the edge peering down at the gleam
of the breaking water far below us against the black rocks, and
listening to the half-human shout which came booming up with the
spray out of the abyss.
The path has been cut halfway round the fall to afford a
complete view, but it ends abruptly, and the traveller has to return
as he came. We had turned to do so, when we saw a Swiss lad
come running along it with a letter in his hand. It bore the
mark of the hotel which we had just left and was addressed to me by
the landlord. It appeared that within a very few minutes of
our leaving, an English lady had arrived who was in the last stage of
consumption. She had wintered at Davos Platz and was
journeying now to join her friends at Lucerne, when a sudden
hemorrhage had overtaken her. It was thought that she could
hardly live a few hours, but it would be a great consolation to her
to see an English doctor, and, if I would only return, etc.
The good Steiler assured me in a postscript that he would
himself look upon my compliance as a very great favour, since the
lady absolutely refused to see a Swiss physician, and he could not
but feel that he was incurring a great responsibility.
The appeal was one which could not be ignored. It was
impossible to refuse the request of a fellow-countrywoman dying in a
strange land. Yet I had my scruples about leaving Holmes.
It was finally agreed, however, that he should retain the
young Swiss messenger with him as guide and companion while I
returned to Meiringen. My friend would stay some little time
at the fall, he said, and would then walk slowly over the hill to
Rosenlaui, where I was to rejoin him in the evening. As I
turned away I saw Holmes, with his back against a rock and his arms
folded, gazing down at the rush of the waters. It was the last
that I was ever destined to see of him in this world.
When I was near the bottom of the descent I looked back.
It was impossible, from that position, to see the fall, but I
could see the curving path which winds over the shoulder of the hills
and leads to it. Along this a man was, I remember, walking
very rapidly.
I could see his black figure clearly outlined against the green
behind him. I noted him, and the energy with which he walked,
but he passed from my mind again as I hurried on upon my errand.
It may have been a little over an hour before I reached
Meiringen. Old Steiler was standing at the porch of his hotel.
&odq;Well,&cdq; said I, as I came hurrying up, &odq;I trust
that she is no worse?&cdq;
A look of surprise passed over his face, and at the first
quiver of his eyebrows my heart turned to lead in my breast.
&odq;You did not write this?&cdq; I said, pulling the letter
from my pocket. &odq;There is no sick Englishwoman in the
hotel?&cdq;
&odq;Certainly not!&cdq; he cried. &odq;But it has the
hotel mark upon it! Ha, it must have been written by that tall
Englishman who came in after you had gone. He said —
&cdq;
But I waited for none of the landlord's explanation. In
a tingle of fear I was already running down the village street, and
making for the path which I had so lately descended. It had
taken me an hour to come down. For all my efforts two more had
passed before I found myself at the fall of Reichenbach once more.
There was Holmes's Alpine-stock still leaning against the rock
by which I had left him. But there was no sign of him, and it
was in vain that I shouted. My only answer was my own voice
reverberating in a rolling echo from the cliffs around me.
It was the sight of that Alpine-stock which turned me cold and
sick. He had not gone to Rosenlaui, then. He had
remained on that three-foot path, with sheer wall on one side and
sheer drop on the other, until his enemy had overtaken him.
The young Swiss had gone too. He had probably been in
the pay of Moriarty and had left the two men together. And
then what had happened? Who was to tell us what had happened
then?
I stood for a minute or two to collect myself, for I was dazed
with the horror of the thing. Then I began to think of
Holmes's own methods and to try to practise them in reading this
tragedy. It was, alas, only too easy to do. During our
conversation we had not gone to the end of the path, and the
Alpine-stock marked the place where we had stood. The blackish
soil is kept forever soft by the incessant drift of spray, and a bird
would leave its tread upon it. Two lines of footmarks were
clearly marked along the farther end of the path, both leading away
from me. There were none returning. A few yards from
the end the soil was all ploughed up into a patch of mud, and the
brambles and ferns which fringed the chasm were torn and bedraggled.
I lay upon my face and peered over with the spray spouting up
all around me. It had darkened since I left, and now I could
only see here and there the glistening of moisture upon the black
walls, and far away down at the end of the shaft the gleam of the
broken water. I shouted; but only that same half-human cry of
the fall was borne back to my ears.
But it was destined that I should, after all, have a last word
of greeting from my friend and comrade. I have said that his
Alpine-stock had been left leaning against a rock which jutted on to
the path. From the top of this boulder the gleam of something
bright caught my eye, and raising my hand I found that it came from
the silver cigarette-case which he used to carry. As I took it
up a small square of paper upon which it had lain fluttered down on
to the ground. Unfolding it, I found that it consisted of
three pages torn from his notebook and addressed to me. It was
characteristic of the man that the direction was as precise, and the
writing as firm and clear, as though it had been written in his
study.
MY DEAR WATSON [ it said ]:I write these few lines
through the courtesy of Mr. Moriarty, who awaits my convenience
for the final discussion of those questions which lie between
us. He has been giving me a sketch of the methods by
which he avoided the English police and kept himself informed of
our movements. They certainly confirm 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 any further
effects of his presence, though I fear that it is at a cost
which will give pain to my friends, and especially, my dear
Watson, to you. I have already explained to you, however, that
my career had in any case reached its crisis, and that no
possible conclusion to it could be more congenial to me than
this. Indeed, if I may make a full confession to you, I was
quite convinced that the letter from Meiringen was a hoax, and I
allowed you to depart on that errand under the persuasion
that some development of this sort would follow. Tell
Inspector Patterson that the papers which he needs to convict
the gang are in pigeonhole M., done up in a blue envelope and
inscribed &odq;Moriarty.&cdq; I made every disposition of my
property before leaving England and handed it to my brother
Mycroft. Pray give my greetings to Mrs. Watson, and
believe me to be, my dear fellow Very sincerely yours,
SHERLOCK HOLMES.
A few words may suffice to tell the little that remains.
An examination by experts leaves little doubt that a personal
contest between the two men ended, as it could hardly fail to end in
such a situation, in their reeling over, locked in each other's arms.
Any attempt at recovering the bodies was absolutely hopeless,
and there, deep down in that dreadful cauldron of swirling water and
seething foam, will lie for all time the most dangerous criminal and
the foremost champion of the law of their generation. The
Swiss youth was never found again, and there can be no doubt that he
was one of the numerous agents whom Moriarty kept in his employ.
As to the gang, it will be within the memory of the public how
completely the evidence which Holmes had accumulated exposed their
organization, and how heavily the hand of the dead man weighed upon
them. Of their terrible chief few details came out during the
proceedings, and if I have now been compelled to make a clear
statement of his career, it is due to those injudicious champions who
have endeavoured to clear his memory by attacks upon him whom I shall
ever regard as the best and the wisest man whom I have ever known.