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Sherlock Holmes took his bottle from the corner of the
mantelpiece, and his hypodermic syringe from its neat morocco case.
With his long, white, nervous fingers he adjusted the delicate
needle and rolled back his left shirtcuff. For some little
time his eyes rested thoughtfully upon the sinewy forearm and wrist,
all dotted and scarred with innumerable puncture-marks.
Finally, he thrust the sharp point home, pressed down the tiny
piston, and sank back into the velvet-lined armchair with a long sigh
of satisfaction.
Three times a day for many months I had witnessed this
performance, but custom had not reconciled my mind to it. On
the contrary, from day to day I had become more irritable at the
sight, and my conscience swelled nightly within me at the thought
that I had lacked the courage to protest. Again and again I
had registered a vow that I should deliver my soul upon the subject;
but there was that in the cool, nonchalant air of my companion which
made him the last man with whom one would care to take anything
approaching to a liberty. His great powers, his masterly
manner, and the experience which I had had of his many extraordinary
qualities, all made me diffident and backward in crossing him.
Yet upon that afternoon, whether it was the Beaune which I had
taken with my lunch or the additional exasperation produced by the
extreme deliberation of his manner, I suddenly felt that I could hold
out no longer.
&odq;Which is it to-day,&cdq; I asked, &odq;morphine or
cocaine?&cdq;
He raised his eyes languidly from the old black-letter volume
which he had opened.
&odq;It is cocaine,&cdq; he said, &odq;a seven-per-cent
solution. Would you care to try it?&cdq;
&odq;No, indeed,&cdq; I answered brusquely. &odq;My
constitution has not got over the Afghan campaign yet. I
cannot afford to throw any extra strain upon it.&cdq;
He smiled at my vehemence. &odq;Perhaps you are right,
Watson,&cdq; he said. &odq;I suppose that its influence is
physically a bad one. I find it, however, so transcendently
stimulating and clarifying to the mind that its secondary action is a
matter of small moment.&cdq;
&odq;But consider!&cdq; I said earnestly. &odq;Count the
cost! Your brain may, as you say, be roused and excited, but
it is a pathological and morbid process which involves increased
tissue-change and may at least leave a permanent weakness. You
know, too, what a black reaction comes upon you. Surely the
game is hardly worth the candle. Why should you, for a mere
passing pleasure, risk the loss of those great powers with which you
have been endowed? Remember that I speak not only as one
comrade to another but as a medical man to one for whose constitution
he is to some extent answerable.&cdq;
He did not seem offended. On the contrary, he put his
fingertips together, and leaned his elbows on the arms of his chair,
like one who has a relish for conversation.
&odq;My mind,&cdq; he said, &odq;rebels at stagnation.
Give me problems, give me work, give me the most abstruse
cryptogram, or the most intricate analysis, and I am in my own proper
atmosphere. I can dispense then with artificial stimulants.
But I abhor the dull routine of existence. I crave for
mental exaltation. That is why I have chosen my own particular
profession, or rather created it, for I am the only one in the
world.&cdq;
&odq;The only unofficial detective?&cdq; I said, raising my
eyebrows.
&odq;The only unofficial consulting detective,&cdq; he
answered. &odq;I am the last and highest court of appeal in
detection. When Gregson, or Lestrade, or Athelney Jones are
out of their depths — which, by the way, is their normal
state — the matter is laid before me. I examine the
data, as an expert, and pronounce a specialist's opinion. I
claim no credit in such cases. My name figures in no
newspaper. The work itself, the pleasure of finding a field
for my peculiar powers, is my highest reward. But you have
yourself had some experience of my methods of work in the Jefferson
Hope case.&cdq;
&odq;Yes, indeed,&cdq; said I cordially. &odq;I was
never so struck by anything in my life. I even embodied it in
a small brochure, with the somewhat fantastic title of &onq;A Study
in Scarlet.&cnq;&cdq;
He shook his head sadly.
&odq;I glanced over
it,&cdq; said he. &odq;Honestly, I cannot congratulate you
upon it. Detection is, or ought to be, an exact science and
should be treated in the same cold and unemotional manner. You
have attempted to tinge it with romanticism, which produces much the
same effect as if you worked a love-story or an elopement into the
fifth proposition of Euclid.&cdq;
&odq;But the romance was there,&cdq; I remonstrated.
&odq;I could not tamper with the facts.&cdq;
&odq;Some facts should be suppressed, or, at least, a just
sense of proportion should be observed in treating them. The
only point in the case which deserved mention was the curious
analytical reasoning from effects to causes, by which I succeeded in
unravelling it.&cdq;
I was annoyed at this criticism of a work which had been
specially designed to please him. I confess, too, that I was
irritated by the egotism which seemed to demand that every line of my
pamphlet should be devoted to his own special doings. More
than once during the years that I had lived with him in Baker Street
I had observed that a small vanity underlay my companion's quiet and
didactic manner. I made no remark however, but sat nursing my
wounded leg. I had had a Jezaii bullet through it some time
before, and though it did not prevent me from walking it ached
wearily at every change of the weather.
&odq;My practice has extended recently to the Continent,&cdq;
said Holmes after a while, filling up his old brier-root pipe.
&odq;I was consulted last week by Francois le Villard, who, as
you probably know, has come rather to the front lately in the French
detective service. He has all the Celtic power of quick
intuition but he is deficient in the wide range of exact knowledge
which is essential to the higher developments of his art. The
case was concerned with a will and possessed some features of
interest. I was able to refer him to two parallel cases, the
one at Riga in 1857, and the other at St. Louis in 1871, which have
suggested to him the true solution. Here is the letter which I
had this morning acknowledging my assistance.&cdq;
He tossed over, as he spoke, a crumpled sheet of foreign
notepaper. I glanced my eyes down it, catching a profusion of
notes of admiration, with stray magnifiques, coup-de-maitres and
tours-de-force, all testifying to the ardent admiration of the
Frenchman.
&odq;He speaks as a pupil to his master,&cdq; said I.
&odq;Oh, he rates my assistance too highly,&cdq; said
Sherlock Holmes lightly. &odq;He has considerable gifts
himself. He possesses two out of the three qualities necessary
for the ideal detective. He has the power of observation and
that of deduction. He is only wanting in knowledge, and that
may come in time. He is now translating my small works into
French.&cdq;
&odq;Your works?&cdq;
&odq;Oh, didn't you
know?&cdq; he cried, laughing. &odq;Yes, I have been guilty of
several monographs. They are all upon technical subjects.
Here, for example, is one &onq;Upon the Distinction between
the Ashes of the Various Tobaccos.&cnq; In it I enumerate a
hundred and forty forms of cigar, cigarette, and pipe tobacco, with
coloured plates illustrating the difference in the ash. It is
a point which is continually turning up in criminal trials, and which
is sometimes of supreme importance as a clue. If you can say
definitely, for example, that some murder had been done by a man who
was smoking an Indian lunkah, it obviously narrows your field of
search. To the trained eye there is as much difference between
the black ash of a Trichinopoly and the white fluff of bird's-eye as
there is between a cabbage and a potato.&cdq;
&odq;You have an extraordinary genius for minutiae,&cdq; I
remarked.
&odq;I appreciate their importance. Here is my monograph
upon the tracing of footsteps, with some remarks upon the uses of
plaster of Paris as a preserver of impresses. Here, too, is a
curious little work upon the influence of a trade upon the form of
the hand, with lithotypes of the hands of slaters, sailors,
cork-cutters, compositors, weavers, and diamond-polishers.
That is a matter of great practical interest to the scientific
detective — especially in cases of unclaimed bodies, or in
discovering the antecedents of criminals. But I weary you with
my hobby.&cdq;
&odq;Not at all,&cdq; I answered earnestly. &odq;It is
of the greatest interest to me, especially since I have had the
opportunity of observing your practical application of it. But
you spoke just now of observation and deduction. Surely the
one to some extent implies the other.&cdq;
&odq;Why, hardly,&cdq; he answered, leaning back luxuriously in
his armchair and sending up thick blue wreaths from his pipe.
&odq;For example, observation shows me that you have been to
the Wigmore Street Post-Office this morning, but deduction lets me
know that when there you dispatched a telegram.&cdq;
&odq;Right!&cdq; said I. &odq;Right on both points!
But I confess that I don't see how you arrived at it.
It was a sudden impulse upon my part, and I have mentioned it
to no one.&cdq;
&odq;It is simplicity itself,&cdq; he remarked, chuckling at my
surprise — &odq;so absurdly simple that an explanation is
superfluous; and yet it may serve to define the limits of observation
and of deduction. Observation tells me that you have a little
reddish mould adhering to your instep. Just opposite the
Wigmore Street Office they have taken up the pavement and thrown up
some earth, which lies in such a way that it is difficult to avoid
treading in it in entering. The earth is of this peculiar
reddish tint which is found, as far as I know, nowhere else in the
neighbourhood. So much is observation. The rest is
deduction.&cdq;
&odq;How, then, did you deduce the telegram?&cdq;
&odq;Why, of course I knew that you had not written a
letter, since I sat opposite to you all morning. I see also in
your open desk there that you have a sheet of stamps and a thick
bundle of postcards. What could you go into the post-office
for, then, but to send a wire? Eliminate all other factors,
and the one which remains must be the truth.&cdq;
&odq;In this case it certainly is so,&cdq; I replied after a
little thought. &odq;The thing, however, is, as you say, of
the simplest. Would you think me impertinent if I were to put
your theories to a more severe test?&cdq;
&odq;On the contrary,&cdq; he answered, &odq;it would prevent
me from taking a second dose of cocaine. I should be delighted
to look into any problem which you might submit to me.&cdq;
&odq;I have heard you say it is difficult for a man to have any
object in daily use without leaving the impress of his individuality
upon it in such a way that a trained observer might read it.
Now, I have here a watch which has recently come into my
possession. Would you have the kindness to let me have an
opinion upon the character or habits of the late owner?&cdq;
I handed him over the watch with some slight feeling of
amusement in my heart, for the test was, as I thought, an impossible
one, and I intended it as a lesson against the somewhat dogmatic tone
which he occasionally assumed. He balanced the watch in his
hand, gazed hard at the dial, opened the back, and examined the
works, first with his naked eyes and then with a powerful convex
lens. I could hardly keep from smiling at his crestfallen face
when he finally snapped the case to and handed it back.
&odq;There are hardly any data,&cdq; he remarked.
&odq;The watch has been recently cleaned, which robs me of my
most suggestive facts.&cdq;
&odq;You are right,&cdq; I answered. &odq;It was cleaned
before being sent to me.&cdq;
In my heart I accused my companion of putting forward a most
lame and impotent excuse to cover his failure. What data could
he expect from an uncleaned watch?
&odq;Though unsatisfactory, my research has not been entirely
barren,&cdq; he observed, staring up at the ceiling with dreamy,
lack-lustre eyes. &odq;Subject to your correction, I should
judge that the watch belonged to your elder brother, who inherited it
from your father.&cdq;
&odq;That you gather, no doubt, from the H. W. upon the
back?&cdq;
&odq;Quite so. The W. suggests your own name. The
date of the watch is nearly fifty years back, and the initials are as
old as the watch: so it was made for the last generation.
Jewellery usually descends to the eldest son, and he is most
likely to have the same name as the father. Your father has,
if I remember right, been dead many years. It has, therefore,
been in the hands of your eldest brother.&cdq;
&odq;Right, so far,&cdq; said I. &odq;Anything
else?&cdq;
&odq;He was a man of untidy habits —
very untidy and careless. He was left with good prospects, but
he threw away his chances, lived for some time in poverty with
occasional short intervals of prosperity, and finally, taking to
drink, he died. That is all I can gather.&cdq;
I sprang from my chair and limped impatiently about the room
with considerable bitterness in my heart.
&odq;This is unworthy of you, Holmes,&cdq; I said.
&odq;I could not have believed that you would have descended
to this. You have made inquiries into the history of my
unhappy brother, and you now pretend to deduce this knowledge in some
fanciful way. You cannot expect me to believe that you have
read all this from his old watch! It is unkind and, to speak
plainly, has a touch of charlatanism in it.&cdq;
&odq;My dear doctor,&cdq; said he kindly, &odq;pray accept my
apologies. Viewing the matter as an abstract problem, I had
forgotten how personal and painful a thing it might be to you.
I assure you, however, that I never even knew that you had a
brother until you handed me the watch.&cdq;
&odq;Then how in the name of all that is wonderful did you get
these facts? They are absolutely correct in every
particular.&cdq;
&odq;Ah, that is good luck. I could only say what was
the balance of probability. I did not at all expect to be so
accurate.&cdq;
&odq;But it was not mere guesswork?&cdq;
&odq;No,
no: I never guess. It is a shocking habit —
destructive to the logical faculty. What seems strange to you
is only so because you do not follow my train of thought or observe
the small facts upon which large inferences may depend. For
example, I began by stating that your brother was careless.
When you observe the lower part of that watch-case you notice
that it is not only dinted in two places but it is cut and marked all
over from the habit of keeping other hard objects, such as coins or
keys, in the same pocket. Surely it is no great feat to assume
that a man who treats a fifty-guinea watch so cavalierly must be a
careless man. Neither is it a very far-fetched inference that
a man who inherits one article of such value is pretty well provided
for in other respects.&cdq;
I nodded to show that I followed his reasoning.
&odq;It is very customary for pawnbrokers in England,
when they take a watch, to scratch the numbers of the ticket with a
pinpoint upon the inside of the case. It is more handy than a
label as there is no risk of the number being lost or transposed.
There are no less than four such numbers visible to my lens on
the inside of this case. Inference — that your brother
was often at low water. Secondary inference — that he
had occasional bursts of prosperity, or he could not have redeemed
the pledge. Finally, I ask you to look at the inner plate,
which contains the keyhole. Look at the thousands of scratches
all round the hole — marks where the key has slipped.
What sober man's key could have scored those grooves?
But you will never see a drunkard's watch without them.
He winds it at night, and he leaves these traces of his
unsteady hand. Where is the mystery in all this?&cdq;
&odq;It is as clear as daylight,&cdq; I answered. &odq;I
regret the injustice which I did you. I should have had more
faith in your marvellous faculty. May I ask whether you have
any professional inquiry on foot at present?&cdq;
&odq;None. Hence the cocaine. I cannot live
without brainwork. What else is there to live for?
Stand at the window here. Was ever such a dreary,
dismal, unprofitable world? See how the yellow fog swirls down
the street and drifts across the dun-coloured houses. What
could be more hopelessly prosaic and material? What is the use
of having powers, Doctor, when one has no field upon which to exert
them? Crime is commonplace, existence is commonplace, and no
qualities save those which are commonplace have any function upon
earth.&cdq;
I had opened my mouth to reply to this tirade when, with a
crisp knock, our landlady entered, bearing a card upon the brass
salver.
&odq;A young lady for you, sir,&cdq; she said, addressing my
companion.
&odq;Miss Mary Morstan,&cdq; he read. &odq;Hum! I
have no recollection of the name. Ask the young lady to step
up, Mrs. Hudson. Don't go, Doctor. I should prefer that
you remain.&cdq;
Miss Morstan entered the room with a firm step and an outward
composure of manner. She was a blonde young lady, small,
dainty, well gloved, and dressed in the most perfect taste.
There was, however, a plainness and simplicity about her
costume which bore with it a suggestion of limited means. The
dress was a sombre grayish beige, untrimmed and unbraided, and she
wore a small turban of the same dull hue, relieved only by a
suspicion of white feather in the side. Her face had neither
regularity of feature nor beauty of complexion, but her expression
was sweet and amiable, and her large blue eyes were singularly
spiritual and sympathetic. In an experience of women which
extends over many nations and three separate continents, I have never
looked upon a face which gave a clearer promise of a refined and
sensitive nature. I could not but observe that as she took the
seat which Sherlock Holmes placed for her, her lip trembled, her hand
quivered, and she showed every sign of intense inward agitation.
&odq;I have come to you, Mr. Holmes,&cdq; she said,
&odq;because you once enabled my employer, Mrs. Cecil Forrester, to
unravel a little domestic complication. She was much impressed
by your kindness and skill.&cdq;
&odq;Mrs. Cecil Forrester,&cdq; he repeated thoughtfully.
&odq;I believe that I was of some slight service to her.
The case, however, as I remember it, was a very simple
one.&cdq;
&odq;She did not think so. But at least you cannot say
the same of mine. I can hardly imagine anything more strange,
more utterly inexplicable, than the situation in which I find
myself.&cdq;
Holmes rubbed his hands, and his eyes glistened. He
leaned forward in his chair with an expression of extraordinary
concentration upon his clear-cut, hawklike features.
&odq;State your case,&cdq; said he in brisk business tones.
I felt that my position was an embarrassing one.
&odq;You will, I am sure, excuse me,&cdq; I said, rising from
my chair.
To my surprise, the young lady held up her gloved hand to
detain me.
&odq;If your friend,&cdq; she said, &odq;would be good enough
to stop, he might be of inestimable service to me.&cdq;
I relapsed into my chair.
&odq;Briefly,&cdq; she
continued, &odq;the facts are these. My father was an officer
in an Indian regiment, who sent me home when I was quite a child.
My mother was dead, and I had no relative in England. I
was placed, however, in a comfortable boarding establishment at
Edinburgh, and there I remained until I was seventeen years of age.
In the year 1878 my father, who was senior captain of his
regiment, obtained twelve months' leave and came home. He
telegraphed to me from London that he had arrived all safe and
directed me to come down at once, giving the Langham Hotel as his
address. His message, as I remember, was full of kindness and
love. On reaching London I drove to the Langham and was
informed that Captain Morstan was staying there, but that he had gone
out the night before and had not returned. I waited all day
without news of him. That night, on the advice of the manager
of the hotel, I communicated with the police, and next morning we
advertised in all the papers. Our inquiries led to no result;
and from that day to this no word has ever been heard of my
unfortunate father. He came home with his heart full of hope
to find some peace, some comfort, and instead — &cdq;
She put her hand to her throat, and a choking sob cut short the
sentence.
&odq;The date?&cdq; asked Holmes, opening his notebook.
&odq;He disappeared upon the third of December, 1878
— nearly ten years ago.&cdq;
&odq;His luggage?&cdq;
&odq;Remained at the
hotel. There was nothing in it to suggest a clue —
some clothes, some books, and a considerable number of curiosities
from the Andaman Islands. He had been one of the officers in
charge of the convict-guard there.&cdq;
&odq;Had he any friends in town?&cdq;
&odq;Only
one that we know of — Major Sholto, of his own regiment, the
Thirty-fourth Bombay Infantry. The major had retired some
little time before and lived at Upper Norwood. We communicated
with him, of course, but he did not even know that his brother
officer was in England.&cdq;
&odq;A singular case,&cdq; remarked Holmes.
&odq;I have not yet described to you the most singular
part. About six years ago — to be exact, upon the
fourth of May, 1882 — an advertisement appeared in the Times
asking for the address of Miss Mary Morstan, and stating that it
would be to her advantage to come forward. There was no name
or address appended. I had at that time just entered the
family of Mrs. Cecil Forrester in the capacity of governess.
By her advice I published my address in the advertisement
column. The same day there arrived through the post a small
cardboard box addressed to me, which I found to contain a very large
and lustrous pearl. No word of writing was enclosed.
Since then every year upon the same date there has always
appeared a similar box, containing a similar pearl, without any clue
as to the sender. They have been pronounced by an expert to be
of a rare variety and of considerable value. You can see for
yourself that they are very handsome.&cdq;
She opened a flat box as she spoke and showed me six of the
finest pearls that I had ever seen.
&odq;Your statement is most interesting,&cdq; said Sherlock
Holmes. &odq;Has anything else occurred to you?&cdq;
&odq;Yes, and no later than to-day. That is why I have
come to you. This morning I received this letter, which you
will perhaps read for yourself.&cdq;
&odq;Thank you,&cdq; said Holmes. &odq;The envelope,
too, please. Post-mark, London, S. W. Date, July 7.
Hum! Man's thumbmark on corner — probably
postman. Best quality paper. Envelopes at sixpence a
packet. Particular man in his stationery. No address.
&odq;Be at the third pillar from the left outside the Lyceum
Theatre to-night at seven o'clock. If you are distrustful
bring two friends. You are a wronged woman and shall have
justice. Do not bring police. If you do, all will be in
vain. Your unknown friend.
Well, really, this is a very pretty little mystery! What
do you intend to do, Miss Morstan? &odq;
That is exactly what I want to ask you.
&odq;
&cdq; Then we shall most certainly go —
you and I and — yes, why Dr. Watson is the very man.
Your correspondent says two friends. He and I have
worked together before. &odq;
&odq;But would he come?&cdq; she asked with something appealing
in her voice and expression.
&odq;I shall be proud and happy,&cdq; said I fervently, &odq;if
I can be of any service.&cdq;
&odq;You are both very kind,&cdq; she answered. &odq;I
have led a retired life and have no friends whom I could appeal to.
If I am here at six it will do, I suppose?&cdq;
&odq;You must not be later,&cdq; said Holmes. &odq;There
is one other point, however. Is this handwriting the same as
that upon the pearl-box addresses?&cdq;
&odq;I have them here,&cdq; she answered, producing half a
dozen pieces of paper.
&odq;You are certainly a model client. You have the
correct intuition. Let us see, now.&cdq; He spread out
the papers upon the table and gave little darting glances from one to
the other. &odq;They are disguised hands, except the
letter,&cdq; he said presently; &odq;but there can be no question as
to the authorship. See how the irrepressible Greek e will
break out, and see the twirl of the final s. They are
undoubtedly by the same person. I should not like to suggest
false hopes, Miss Morstan, but is there any resemblance between this
hand and that of your father?&cdq;
&odq;Nothing could be more unlike.&cdq;
&odq;I
expected to hear you say so. We shall look out for you, then,
at six. Pray allow me to keep the papers. I may look
into the matter before then. It is only half-past three.
Au revoir then.&cdq;
&odq;Au revoir,&cdq; said our visitor; and with a bright,
kindly glance from one to the other of us, she replaced her pearl-box
in her bosom and hurried away.
Standing at the window, I watched her walking briskly down the
street until the gray turban and white feather were but a speck in
the sombre crowd.
&odq;What a very attractive woman!&cdq; I exclaimed, turning to
my companion.
He had lit his pipe again and was leaning back with drooping
eyelids. &odq;Is she?&cdq; he said languidly; &odq;I did not
observe.&cdq;
&odq;You really are an automaton — a calculating
machine,&cdq; I cried. &odq;There is something positively
inhuman in you at times.&cdq;
He smiled gently.
&odq;It is of the first
importance,&cdq; he cried, &odq;not to allow your judgment to be
biased by personal qualities. A client is to me a mere unit, a
factor in a problem. The emotional qualities are antagonistic
to clear reasoning. I assure you that the most winning woman I
ever knew was hanged for poisoning three little children for their
insurance-money, and the most repellent man of my acquaintance is a
philanthropist who has spent nearly a quarter of a million upon the
London poor.&cdq;
&odq;In this case, however — &cdq;
&odq;I
never make exceptions. An exception disproves the rule.
Have you ever had occasion to study character in handwriting?
What do you make of this fellow's scribble?&cdq;
&odq;It is legible and regular,&cdq; I answered. &odq;A
man of business habits and some force of character.&cdq;
Holmes shook his head.
&odq;Look at his long
letters,&cdq; he said. &odq;They hardly rise above the common
herd. That d might be an a, and that I an e. Men of
character always differentiate their long letters, however illegibly
they may write. There is vacillation in his k's and
self-esteem in his capitals. I am going out now. I have
some few references to make. Let me recommend this book
— one of the most remarkable ever penned. It is Winwood
Reade's Martyrdom of Man. I shall be back in an hour.&cdq;
I sat in the window with the volume in my hand, but my thoughts
were far from the daring speculations of the writer. My mind
ran upon our late visitor — her smiles, the deep rich tones
of her voice, the strange mystery which overhung her life. If
she were seventeen at the time of her father's disappearance she must
be seven-and-twenty now — a sweet age, when youth has lost
its self-consciousness and become a little sobered by experience.
So I sat and mused until such dangerous thoughts came into my
head that I hurried away to my desk and plunged furiously into the
latest treatise upon pathology. What was I, an army surgeon
with a weak leg and a weaker banking account, that I should dare to
think of such things? She was a unit, a factor —
nothing more. If my future were black, it was better surely to
face it like a man than to attempt to brighten it by mere
will-o'-the-wisps of the imagination.
It was half-past five before Holmes returned. He was
bright, eager, and in excellent spirits, a mood which in his case
alternated with fits of the blackest depression.
&odq;There is no great mystery in this matter,&cdq; he said,
taking the cup of tea which I had poured out for him; &odq;the facts
appear to admit of only one explanation.&cdq;
&odq;What! you have solved it already?&cdq;
&odq;Well, that would be too much to say. I have
discovered a suggestive fact, that is all. It is, however,
very suggestive. The details are still to be added. I
have just found, on consulting the back files of the Times, that
Major Sholto, of Upper Norwood, late of the Thirty-fourth Bombay
Infantry, died upon the twenty-eighth of April, 1882.&cdq;
&odq;I may be very obtuse, Holmes, but I fail to see what this
suggests.&cdq;
&odq;No? You surprise me. Look at it in this way,
then. Captain Morstan disappears. The only person in
London whom he could have visited is Major Sholto. Major
Sholto denies having heard that he was in London. Four years
later Sholto dies. Within a week of his death Captain
Morstan's daughter receives a valuable present, which is repeated
from year to year and now culminates in a letter which describes her
as a wronged woman. What wrong can it refer to except this
deprivation of her father? And why should the presents begin
immediately after Sholto's death unless it is that Sholto's heir
knows something of the mystery and desires to make compensation?
Have you any alternative theory which will meet the
facts?&cdq;
&odq;But what a strange compensation! And how strangely
made! Why, too, should he write a letter now, rather than six
years ago? Again, the letter speaks of giving her justice.
What justice can she have? It is too much to suppose
that her father is still alive. There is no other injustice in
her case that you know of.&cdq;
&odq;There are difficulties; there are certainly
difficulties,&cdq; said Sherlock Holmes pensively; &odq;but our
expedition of to-night will solve them all. Ah, here is a
four-wheeler, and Miss Morstan is inside. Are you all ready?
Then we had better go down, for it is a little past the
hour.&cdq;
I picked up my hat and my heaviest stick, but I observed that
Holmes took his revolver from his drawer and slipped it into his
pocket. It was clear that he thought that our night's work
might be a serious one.
Miss Morstan was muffled in a dark cloak, and her sensitive
face was composed but pale. She must have been more than woman
if she did not feel some uneasiness at the strange enterprise upon
which we were embarking, yet her self-control was perfect, and she
readily answered the few additional questions which Sherlock Holmes
put to her.
&odq;Major Sholto was a very particular friend of Papa's,&cdq;
she said. &odq;His letters were full of allusions to the
major. He and Papa were in command of the troops at the
Andaman Islands, so they were thrown a great deal together. By
the way, a curious paper was found in Papa's desk which no one could
understand. I don't suppose that it is of the slightest
importance, but I thought you might care to see it, so I brought it
with me. It is here.&cdq;
Holmes unfolded the paper carefully and smoothed it out upon
his knee. He then very methodically examined it all over with
his double lens.
&odq;It is paper of native Indian manufacture,&cdq; he
remarked. &odq;It has at some time been pinned to a board.
The diagram upon it appears to be a plan of part of a large
building with numerous halls, corridors, and passages. At one
point is a small cross done in red ink, and above it is &onq;3.37
from left,&cnq; in faded pencil-writing. In the left-hand
corner is a curious hieroglyphic like four crosses in a line with
their arms touching. Beside it is written, in very rough and
coarse characters, &onq;The sign of the four — Jonathan
Small, Mahomet Singh, Abdullah Khan, Dost Akbar.&cnq; No, I
confess that I do not see how this bears upon the matter. Yet
it is evidently a document of importance. It has been kept
carefully in a pocketbook, for the one side is as clean as the
other.&cdq;
&odq;It was in his pocketbook that we found it.&cdq;
&odq;Preserve it carefully, then, Miss Morstan, for it
may prove to be of use to us. I begin to suspect that this
matter may turn out to be much deeper and more subtle than I at first
supposed. I must reconsider my ideas.&cdq;
He leaned back in the cab, and I could see by his drawn brow
and his vacant eye that he was thinking intently. Miss Morstan
and I chatted in an undertone about our present expedition and its
possible outcome, but our companion maintained his impenetrable
reserve until the end of our journey.
It was a September evening and not yet seven o'clock, but the
day had been a dreary one, and a dense drizzly fog lay low upon the
great city. Mud-coloured clouds drooped sadly over the muddy
streets. Down the Strand the lamps were but misty splotches of
diffused light which threw a feeble circular glimmer upon the slimy
pavement. The yellow glare from the shop-windows streamed out
into the steamy, vaporous air and threw a murky, shifting radiance
across the crowded thoroughfare. There was, to my mind,
something eerie and ghostlike in the endless procession of faces
which flitted across these narrow bars of light — sad faces
and glad, haggard and merry. Like all humankind, they flitted
from the gloom into the light and so back into the gloom once more.
I am not subject to impressions, but the dull, heavy evening,
with the strange business upon which we were engaged, combined to
make me nervous and depressed. I could see from Miss Morstan's
manner that she was suffering from the same feeling. Holmes
alone could rise superior to petty influences. He held his
open notebook upon his knee, and from time to time he jotted down
figures and memoranda in the light of his pocketlantern.
At the Lyceum Theatre the crowds were already thick at the
side-entrances. In front a continuous stream of hansoms and
four-wheelers were rattling up, discharging their cargoes of
shirt-fronted men and beshawled, bediamonded women. We had
hardly reached the third pillar, which was our rendezvous, before a
small, dark, brisk man in the dress of a coachman accosted us.
&odq;Are you the parties who come with Miss Morstan?&cdq; he
asked.
&odq;I am Miss Morstan, and these two gentlemen are my
friends,&cdq; said she.
He bent a pair of wonderfully penetrating and questioning eyes
upon us.
&odq;You will excuse me, miss,&cdq; he said with a certain
dogged manner, &odq;but I was to ask you to give me your word that
neither of your companions is a police-officer.&cdq;
&odq;I give you my word on that,&cdq; she answered.
He gave a shrill whistle, on which a street Arab led
across a four-wheeler and opened the door. The man who had
addressed us mounted to the box, while we took our places inside.
We had hardly done so before the driver whipped up his horse,
and we plunged away at a furious pace through the foggy streets.
The situation was a curious one. We were driving to an
unknown place, on an unknown errand. Yet our invitation was
either a complete hoax — which was an inconceivable
hypothesis — or else we had good reason to think that
important issues might hang upon our journey. Miss Morstan's
demeanour was as resolute and collected as ever. I endeavoured
to cheer and amuse her by reminiscences of my adventures in
Afghanistan; but, to tell the truth, I was myself so excited at our
situation and so curious as to our destination that my stories were
slightly involved. To this day she declares that I told her
one moving anecdote as to how a musket looked into my tent at the
dead of night, and how I fired a double-barrelled tiger cub at it.
At first I had some idea as to the direction in which we were
driving; but soon, what with our pace, the fog, and my own limited
knowledge of London, I lost my bearings and knew nothing save that we
seemed to be going a very long way. Sherlock Holmes was never
at fault, however, and he muttered the names as the cab rattled
through squares and in and out by tortuous by-streets.
&odq;Rochester Row,&cdq; said he. &odq;Now Vincent
Square. Now we come out on the Vauxhall Bridge Road. We
are making for the Surrey side apparently. Yes, I thought so.
Now we are on the bridge. You can catch glimpses of the
river.&cdq;
We did indeed get a fleeting view of a stretch of the Thames,
with the lamps shining upon the broad, silent water; but our cab
dashed on and was soon involved in a labyrinth of streets upon the
other side.
&odq;Wordsworth Road,&cdq; said my companion.
&odq;Priory Road. Lark Hall Lane. Stockwell
Place. Robert Street. Cold Harbour Lane. Our
quest does not appear to take us to very fashionable regions.&cdq;
We had indeed reached a questionable and forbidding
neighbourhood. Long lines of dull brick houses were only
relieved by the coarse glare and tawdry brilliancy of public-houses
at the corner. Then came rows of two-storied villas, each with
a fronting of miniature garden, and then again interminable lines of
new, staring brick buildings — the monster tentacles which
the giant city was throwing out into the country. At last the
cab drew up at the third house in a new terrace. None of the
other houses were inhabited, and that at which we stopped was as dark
as its neighbours, save for a single glimmer in the kitchen-window.
On our knocking, however, the door was instantly thrown open
by a Hindoo servant, clad in a yellow turban, white loose-fitting
clothes, and a yellow sash. There was something strangely
incongruous in this Oriental figure framed in the commonplace doorway
of a third-rate suburban dwelling-house.
&odq;The sahib awaits you,&cdq; said he, and even as he spoke,
there came a high, piping voice from some inner room.
&odq;Show them in to-me, khitmutgar,&cdq; it said.
&odq;Show them straight in to me.&cdq;
We followed the Indian down a sordid and common passage,
ill-lit and worse furnished, until he came to a door upon the right,
which he threw open. A blaze of yellow light streamed out upon
us, and in the centre of the glare there stood a small man with a
very high head, a bristle of red hair all round the fringe of it, and
a bald, shining scalp which shot out from among it like a
mountain-peak from fir-trees. He writhed his hands together as
he stood, and his features were in a perpetual jerk — now
smiling, now scowling, but never for an instant in repose.
Nature had given him a pendulous lip, and a too visible line
of yellow and irregular teeth, which he strove feebly to conceal by
constantly passing his hand over the lower part of his face.
In spite of his obtrusive baldness he gave the impression of
youth. In point of fact, he had just turned his thirtieth
year.
&odq;Your servant, Miss Morstan,&cdq; he kept repeating in a
thin, high voice. &odq;Your servant, gentlemen. Pray
step into my little sanctum. A small place, miss, but
furnished to my own liking. An oasis of art in the howling
desert of South London.&cdq;
We were all astonished by the appearance of the apartment into
which he invited us. In that sorry house it looked as out of
place as a diamond of the first water in a setting of brass.
The richest and glossiest of curtains and tapestries draped
the walls, looped back here and there to expose some richly mounted
painting or Oriental vase. The carpet was of amber and black,
so soft and so thick that the foot sank pleasantly into it, as into a
bed of moss. Two great tiger-skins thrown athwart it increased
the suggestion of Eastern luxury, as did a huge hookah which stood
upon a mat in the corner. A lamp in the fashion of a silver
dove was hung from an almost invisible golden wire in the centre of
the room. As it burned it filled the air with a subtle and
aromatic odour.
&odq;Mr. Thaddeus Sholto,&cdq; said the little man, still
jerking and smiling. &odq;That is my name. You are Miss
Morstan, of course. And these gentlemen — &cdq;
&odq;This is Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and this Dr. Watson.&cdq;
&odq;A doctor, eh?&cdq; cried he, much excited.
&odq;Have you your stethoscope? Might I ask you
— would you have the kindness? I have grave doubts as
to my mitral valve, if you would be so very good. The aortic I
may rely upon, but I should value your opinion upon the mitral.&cdq;
I listened to his heart, as requested, but was unable to find
anything amiss, save, indeed, that he was in an ecstasy of fear, for
he shivered from head to foot.
&odq;It appears to be normal,&cdq; I said. &odq;You have
no cause for uneasiness.&cdq;
&odq;You will excuse my anxiety, Miss Morstan,&cdq; he remarked
airily. &odq;I am a great sufferer, and I have long had
suspicions as to that valve. I am delighted to hear that they
are unwarranted. Had your father, Miss Morstan, refrained from
throwing a strain upon his heart, he might have been alive now.&cdq;
I could have struck the man across the face, so hot was I at
this callous and offhand reference to so delicate a matter.
Miss Morstan sat down, and her face grew white to the lips.
&odq;I knew in my heart that he was dead,&cdq; said she.
&odq;I can give you every information,&cdq; said he;
&odq;and, what is more, I can do you justice; and I will, too,
whatever Brother Bartholomew may say. I am so glad to have
your friends here not only as an escort to you but also as witnesses
to what I am about to do and say. The three of us can show a
bold front to Brother Bartholomew. But let us have no
outsiders — no police or officials. We can settle
everything satisfactorily among ourselves without any interference.
Nothing would annoy Brother Bartholomew more than any
publicity.&cdq;
He sat down upon a low settee and blinked at us inquiringly
with his weak, watery blue eyes.
&odq;For my part,&cdq; said Holmes, &odq;whatever you may
choose to say will go no further.&cdq;
I nodded to show my agreement.
&odq;That is well!
That is well&cdq; said he. &odq;May I offer you a glass
of Chianti, Miss Morstan? Or of Tokay? I keep no other
wines. Shall I open a flask? No? Well, then, I
trust that you have no objection to tobacco-smoke, to the balsamic
odour of the Eastern tobacco. I am a little nervous, and I
find my hookah an invaluable sedative.&cdq;
He applied a taper to the great bowl, and the smoke bubbled
merrily through the rose-water. We sat all three in a
semicircle, with our heads advanced and our chins upon our hands,
while the strange, jerky little fellow, with his high, shining head,
puffed uneasily in the centre.
&odq;When I first determined to make this communication to
you,&cdq; said he, &odq;I might have given you my address; but I
feared that you might disregard my request and bring unpleasant
people with you. I took the liberty, therefore, of making an
appointment in such a way that my man Williams might be able to see
you first. I have complete confidence in his discretion, and
he had orders, if he were dissatisfied, to proceed no further in the
matter. You will excuse these precautions, but I am a man of
somewhat retiring, and I might even say refined, tastes, and there is
nothing more unaesthetic than a policeman. I have a natural
shrinking from all forms of rough materialism. I seldom come
in contact with the rough crowd. I live, as you see, with some
little atmosphere of elegance around me. I may call myself a
patron of the arts. It is my weakness. The landscape is
a genuine Corot, and though a connoisseur might perhaps throw a doubt
upon that Salvator Rosa, there cannot be the least question about the
Bouguereau. I am partial to the modern French school.&cdq;
&odq;You will excuse me, Mr. Sholto,&cdq; said Miss Morstan,
&odq;but I am here at your request to learn something which you
desire to tell me. It is very late, and I should desire the
interview to be as short as possible.&cdq;
&odq;At the best it must take some time,&cdq; he answered;
&odq;for we shall certainly have to go to Norwood and see Brother
Bartholomew. We shall all go and try if we can get the better
of Brother Bartholomew. He is very angry with me for taking
the course which has seemed right to me. I had quite high
words with him last night. You cannot imagine what a terrible
fellow he is when he is angry.&cdq;
&odq;If we are to go to Norwood, it would perhaps be as well to
start at once,&cdq; I ventured to remark.
He laughed until his ears were quite red.
&odq;That would hardly do,&cdq; he cried. &odq;I
don't know what he would say if I brought you in that sudden way.
No, I must prepare you by showing you how we all stand to each
other. In the first place, I must tell you that there are
several points in the story of which I am myself ignorant. I
can only lay the facts before you as far as I know them myself.
&odq;My father was, as you may have guessed, Major John Sholto,
once of the Indian Army. He retired some eleven years ago and
came to live at Pondicherry Lodge in Upper Norwood. He had
prospered in India and brought back with him a considerable sum of
money, a large collection of valuable curiosities, and a staff of
native servants. With these advantages he bought himself a
house, and lived in great luxury. My twin-brother Bartholomew
and I were the only children.
&odq;I very well remember the sensation which was caused by the
disappearance of Captain Morstan. We read the details in the
papers, and knowing that he had been a friend of our father's we
discussed the case freely in his presence. He used to join in
our speculations as to what could have happened. Never for an
instant did we suspect that he had the whole secret hidden in his own
breast, that of all men he alone knew the fate of Arthur Morstan.
&odq;We did know, however, that some mystery, some positive
danger, overhung our father. He was very fearful of going out
alone, and he always employed two prize-fighters to act as porters at
Pondicherry Lodge. Williams, who drove you tonight, was one of
them. He was once lightweight champion of England. Our
father would never tell us what it was he feared, but he had a most
marked aversion to men with wooden legs. On one occasion he
actually fired his revolver at a wooden-legged man, who proved to be
a harmless tradesman canvassing for orders. We had to pay a
large sum to hush the matter up. My brother and I used to
think this a mere whim of my father's, but events have since led us
to change our opinion.
&odq;Early in 1882 my father received a letter from India which
was a great shock to him. He nearly fainted at the
breakfast-table when he opened it, and from that day he sickened to
his death. What was in the letter we could never discover, but
I could see as he held it that it was short and written in a
scrawling hand. He had suffered for years from an enlarged
spleen, but he now became rapidly worse, and towards the end of April
we were informed that he was beyond all hope, and that he wished to
make a last communication to us.
&odq;When we entered his room he was propped up with pillows
and breathing heavily. He besought us to lock the door and to
come upon either side of the bed. Then grasping our hands he
made a remarkable statement to us in a voice which was broken as much
by emotion as by pain. I shall try and give it to you in his
own very words.
&odq;&onq;I have only one thing,&cnq; he said, ' which weighs
upon my mind at this supreme moment. It is my treatment of
poor Morstan's orphan. The cursed greed which has been my
besetting sin through life has withheld from her the treasure, half
at least of which should have been hers. And yet I have made
no use of it myself, so blind and foolish a thing is avarice.
The mere feeling of possession has been so dear to me that I
could not bear to share it with another. See that chaplet
tipped with pearls beside the quinine-bottle. Even that I
could not bear to part with, although I had got it out with the
design of sending it to her. You, my sons, will give her a
fair share of the Agra treasure. But send her nothing —
not even the chaplet — until I am gone. After all,
men have been as bad as this and have recovered.
&odq;&onq;I will tell you how Morstan died,&cnq; he continued.
' He had suffered for years from a weak heart, but he
concealed it from every one. I alone knew it. When in
India, he and I, through a remarkable chain of circumstances, came
into possession of a considerable treasure. I brought it over
to England, and on the night of Morstan's arrival he came straight
over here to claim his share. He walked over from the station
and was admitted by my faithful old Lal Chowdar, who is now dead.
Morstan and I had a difference of opinion as to the division
of the treasure, and we came to heated words. Morstan had
sprung out of his chair in a paroxysm of anger, when he suddenly
pressed his hand to his side, his face turned a dusky hue, and he
fell backward, cutting his head against the corner of the
treasure-chest. When I stooped over him I found, to my horror,
that he was dead.
&odq;' For a long time I sat half distracted, wondering what I
should do. My first impulse was, of course, to call for
assistance; but I could not but recognize that there was every chance
that I would be accused of his murder. His death at the moment
of a quarrel, and the gash in his head, would be black against me.
Again, an official inquiry could not be made without bringing
out some facts about the treasure, which I was particularly anxious
to keep secret. He had told me that no soul upon earth knew
where he had gone. There seemed to be no necessity why any
soul ever should know.
&odq;&onq;I was still pondering over the matter, when, looking
up, I saw my servant, Lal Chowdar, in the doorway. He stole in
and bolted the door behind him. &cdq; Do not fear, sahib,
&odq;he said;&cdq; no one need know that you have killed him.
Let us hide him away, and who is the wiser? &odq;&cdq;
I did not kill him, &odq;said I. Lal Chowdar shook his head
and smiled. &cdq; I heard it all, sahib, &odq;said he;&cdq; I
heard you quarrel, and I heard the blow. But my lips are
sealed. All are asleep in the house. Let us put him
away together. &odq;That was enough to decide me. If my
own servant could not believe my innocence, how could I hope to make
it good before twelve foolish tradesmen in a jury-box? Lal
Chowdar and I disposed of the body that night, and within a few days
the London papers were full of the mysterious disappearance of
Captain Morstan. You will see from what I say that I can
hardly be blamed in the matter. My fault lies in the fact that
we concealed not only the body but also the treasure and that I have
clung to Morstan's share as well as to my own. I wish you,
therefore, to make restitution. Put your ears down to my
mouth. The treasure is hidden in — &cnq;
&odq;At this instant a horrible change came over his
expression; his eyes stared wildly, his jaw dropped, and he yelled in
a voice which I can never forget, &onq;Keep him out! For
Christ's sake keep him out!&cnq; We both stared round at the
window behind us upon which his gaze was fixed. A face was
looking in at us out of the darkness. We could see the
whitening of the nose where it was pressed against the glass.
It was a bearded, hairy face, with wild cruel eyes and an
expression of concentrated malevolence. My brother and I
rushed towards the window, but the man was gone. When we
returned to my father his head had dropped and his pulse had ceased
to beat.
&odq;We searched the garden that night but found no sign of the
intruder save that just under the window a single footmark was
visible in the flower-bed. But for that one trace, we might
have thought that our imaginations had conjured up that wild, fierce
face. We soon, however, had another and a more striking proof
that there were secret agencies at work all round us. The
window of my father's room was found open in the morning, his
cupboards and boxes had been rifled, and upon his chest was fixed a
torn piece of paper with the words &onq;The sign of the four&cnq;
scrawled across it. What the phrase meant or who our secret
visitor may have been, we never knew. As far as we can judge,
none of my father's property had been actually stolen, though
everything had been turned out. My brother and I naturally
associated this peculiar incident with the fear which haunted my
father during his life, but it is still a complete mystery to
us.&cdq;
The little man stopped to relight his hookah and puffed
thoughtfully for a few moments. We had all sat absorbed,
listening to his extraordinary narrative. At the short account
of her father's death Miss Morstan had turned deadly white, and for a
moment I feared that she was about to faint. She rallied,
however, on drinking a glass of water which I quietly poured out for
her from a Venetian carafe upon the side-table. Sherlock
Holmes leaned back in his chair with an abstracted expression and the
lids drawn low over his glittering eyes. As I glanced at him I
could not but think how on that very day he had complained bitterly
of the commonplaceness of life. Here at least was a problem
which would tax his sagacity to the utmost. Mr. Thaddeus
Sholto looked from one to the other of us with an obvious pride at
the effect which his story had produced and then continued between
the puffs of his overgrown pipe.
&odq;My brother and I,&cdq; said he, &odq;were, as you may
imagine, much excited as to the treasure which my father had spoken
of. For weeks and for months we dug and delved in every part
of the garden without discovering its whereabouts. It was
maddening to think that the hiding-place was on his very lips at the
moment that he died. We could judge the splendour of the
missing riches by the chaplet which he had taken out. Over
this chaplet my brother Bartholomew and I had some little discussion.
The pearls were evidently of great value, and he was averse to
part with them, for, between friends, my brother was himself a little
inclined to my father's fault. He thought, too, that if we
parted with the chaplet it might give rise to gossip and finally
bring us into trouble. It was all that I could do to persuade
him to let me find out Miss Morstan's address and send her a detached
pearl at fixed intervals so that at least she might never feel
destitute.&cdq;
&odq;It was a kindly thought,&cdq; said our companion
earnestly; &odq;it was extremely good of you.&cdq;
The little man waved his hand deprecatingly.
&odq;We were your trustees,&cdq; he said; &odq;that was
the view which I took of it, though Brother Bartholomew could not
altogether see it in that light. We had plenty of money
ourselves. I desired no more. Besides, it would have
been such bad taste to have treated a young lady in so scurvy a
fashion. &onq;Le mauvais gout mene au crime.&cnq; The
French have a very neat way of putting these things. Our
difference of opinion on this subject went so far that I thought it
best to set up rooms for myself; so I left Pondicherry Lodge, taking
the old khitmutgar and Williams with me. Yesterday, however, I
learned that an event of extreme importance has occurred. The
treasure has been discovered. I instantly communicated with
Miss Morstan, and it only remains for us to drive out to Norwood and
demand our share. I explained my views last night to Brother
Bartholomew, so we shall be expected, if not welcome, visitors.&cdq;
Mr. Thaddeus Sholto ceased and sat twitching on his luxurious
settee. We all remained silent, with our thoughts upon the new
development which the mysterious business had taken. Holmes
was the first to spring to his feet.
&odq;You have done well, sir, from first to last,&cdq; said he.
&odq;It is possible that we may be able to make you some small
return by throwing some light upon that which is still dark to you.
But, as Miss Morstan remarked just now, it is late, and we had
best put the matter through without delay.&cdq;
Our new acquaintance very deliberately coiled up the tube of
his hookah and produced from behind a curtain a very long befrogged
topcoat with astrakhan collar and cuffs. This he buttoned
tightly up in spite of the extreme closeness of the night and
finished his attire by putting on a rabbit-skin cap with hanging
lappets which covered the ears, so that no part of him was visible
save his mobile and peaky face.
&odq;My health is somewhat fragile,&cdq; he remarked as he led
the way down the passage. &odq;I am compelled to be a
valetudinarian.&cdq;
Our cab was awaiting us outside, and our programme was
evidently prearranged, for the driver started off at once at a rapid
pace. Thaddeus Sholto talked incessantly in a voice which rose
high above the rattle of the wheels.
&odq;Bartholomew is a clever fellow,&cdq; said he.
&odq;How do you think he found out where the treasure was?
He had come to the conclusion that it was somewhere indoors,
so he worked out all the cubic space of the house and made
measurements everywhere so that not one inch should be unaccounted
for. Among other things, he found that the height of the
building was seventy-four feet, but on adding together the heights of
all the separate rooms and making every allowance for the space
between, which he ascertained by borings, he could not bring the
total to more than seventy feet. There were four feet
unaccounted for. These could only be at the top of the
building. He knocked a hole, therefore, in the lath and
plaster ceiling of the highest room, and there, sure enough, he came
upon another little garret above it, which had been sealed up and was
known to no one. In the centre stood the treasure-chest
resting upon two rafters. He lowered it through the hole, and
there it lies. He computes the value of the jewels at not less
than half a million sterling.&cdq;
At the mention of this gigantic sum we all stared at one
another open-eyed. Miss Morstan, could we secure her rights,
would change from a needy governess to the richest heiress in
England. Surely it was the place of a loyal friend to rejoice
at such news, yet I am ashamed to say that selfishness took me by the
soul and that my heart turned as heavy as lead within me. I
stammered out some few halting words of congratulation and then sat
downcast, with my head drooped, deaf to the babble of our new
acquaintance. He was clearly a confirmed hypochondriac, and I
was dreamily conscious that he was pouring forth interminable trains
of symptoms, and imploring information as to the composition and
action of innumerable quack nostrums, some of which he bore about in
a leather case in his pocket. I trust that he may not remember
any of the answers which I gave him that night. Holmes
declares that he overheard me caution him against the great danger of
taking more than two drops of castor-oil, while I recommended
strychnine in large doses as a sedative. However that may be,
I was certainly relieved when our cab pulled up with a jerk and the
coachman sprang down to open the door.
&odq;This, Miss Morstan, is Pondicherry Lodge,&cdq; said Mr.
Thaddeus Sholto as he handed her out.
It was nearly eleven o'clock when we reached this final stage
of our night's adventures. We had left the damp fog of the
great city behind us, and the night was fairly fine. A warm
wind blew from the westward, and heavy clouds moved slowly across the
sky, with half a moon peeping occasionally through the rifts.
It was clear enough to see for some distance, but Thaddeus
Sholto took down one of the sidelamps from the carriage to give us a
better light upon our way.
Pondicherry Lodge stood in its own grounds and was girt round
with a very high stone wall topped with broken glass. A single
narrow iron-clamped door formed the only means of entrance. On
this our guide knocked with a peculiar postman-like rat-tat.
&odq;Who is there?&cdq; cried a gruff voice from within.
&odq;It is I, McMurdo. You surely know my knock
by this time.&cdq;
There was a grumbling sound and a clanking and jarring of keys.
The door swung heavily back, and a short, deep-chested man
stood in the opening, with the yellow light of the lantern shining
upon his protruded face and twinkling, distrustful eyes.
&odq;That you, Mr. Thaddeus? But who are the others?
I had no orders about them from the master.&cdq;
&odq;No, McMurdo? You surprise me! I told my
brother last night that I should bring some friends.&cdq;
&odq;He hain't been out o' his rooms to-day, Mr. Thaddeus, and
I have no orders. You know very well that I must stick to
regulations. I can let you in, but your friends they must just
stop where they are.&cdq;
This was an unexpected obstacle. Thaddeus Sholto looked
about him in a perplexed and helpless manner.
&odq;This is too bad of you, McMurdo!&cdq; he said.
&odq;If I guarantee them, that is enough for you. There
is the young lady, too. She cannot wait on the public road at
this hour.&cdq;
&odq;Very sorry, Mr. Thaddeus,&cdq; said the porter inexorably.
&odq;Folk may be friends o' yours, and yet no friend o' the
master's. He pays me well to do my duty, and my duty I'll do.
I don't know none o' your friends.&cdq;
&odq;Oh, yes you do, McMurdo,&cdq; cried Sherlock Holmes
genially. &odq;I don't think you can have forgotten me.
Don't you remember that amateur who fought three rounds with
you at Alison's rooms on the night of your benefit four years
back?&cdq;
&odq;Not Mr. Sherlock Holmes!&cdq; roared the prize-fighter.
&odq;God's truth! how could I have mistook you? If
instead o' standin' there so quiet you had just stepped up and given
me that cross-hit of yours under the jaw, I'd ha' known you without a
question. Ah, you're one that has wasted your gifts, you have!
You might have aimed high, if you had joined the fancy.&cdq;
&odq;You see, Watson, if all else fails me, I have still one of
the scientific professions open to me,&cdq; said Holmes, laughing.
&odq;Our friend won't keep us out in the cold now, I am
sure.&cdq;
&odq;In you come, sir, in you come — you and your
friends,&cdq; he answered. &odq;Very sorry, Mr. Thaddeus, but
orders are very strict. Had to be certain of your friends
before I let them in.&cdq;
Inside, a gravel path wound through desolate grounds to a huge
clump of a house, square and prosaic, all plunged in shadow save
where a moonbeam struck one corner and glimmered in a garret window.
The vast size of the building, with its gloom and its deathly
silence, struck a chill to the heart. Even Thaddeus Sholto
seemed ill at ease, and the lantern quivered and rattled in his hand.
&odq;I cannot understand it,&cdq; he said. &odq;There
must be some mistake. I distinctly told Bartholomew that we
should be here, and yet there is no light in his window. I do
not know what to make of it.&cdq;
&odq;Does he always guard the premises in this way?&cdq; asked
Holmes.
&odq;Yes; he has followed my father's custom. He was the
favourite son you know, and I sometimes think that my father may have
told him more than he ever told me. That is Bartholomew's
window up there where the moonshine strikes. It is quite
bright, but there is no light from within, I think.&cdq;
&odq;None,&cdq; said Holmes. &odq;But I see the glint of
a light in that little window beside the door.&cdq;
&odq;Ah, that is the housekeeper's room. That is where
old Mrs. Bernstone sits. She can tell us all about it.
But perhaps you would not mind waiting here for a minute or
two, for if we all go in together, and she has had no word of our
coming, she may be alarmed. But, hush! what is that?&cdq;
He held up the lantern, and his hand shook until the circles of
light flickered and wavered all round us. Miss Morstan seized
my wrist, and we all stood, with thumping hearts, straining our ears.
From the great black house there sounded through the silent
night the saddest and most pitiful of sounds — the shrill,
broken whimpering of a frightened woman.
&odq;It is Mrs. Bernstone,&cdq; said Sholto. &odq;She is
the only woman in the house. Wait here. I shall be back
in a moment.&cdq;
He hurried, for the door and knocked in his peculiar way.
We could see a tall old woman admit him and sway with pleasure
at the very sight of him.
&odq;Oh, Mr. Thaddeus, sir, I am so glad you have come!
I am so glad you have come, Mr. Thaddeus, sir!&cdq;
We heard her reiterated rejoicings until the door was closed
and her voice died away into a muffled monotone.
Our guide had left us the lantern. Holmes swung it
slowly round and peered keenly at the house and at the great
rubbish-heaps which cumbered the grounds. Miss Morstan and I
stood together, and her hand was in mine. A wondrous subtle
thing is love, for here were we two, who had never seen each other
before that day, between whom no word or even look of affection had
ever passed, and yet now in an hour of trouble our hands
instinctively sought for each other. I have marvelled at it
since, but at the time it seemed the most natural thing that I should
go out to her so, and, as she has often told me, there was in her
also the instinct to turn to me for comfort and protection. So
we stood hand in hand like two children, and there was peace in our
hearts for all the dark things that surrounded us.
&odq;What a strange place!&cdq; she said, looking round.
&odq;It looks as though all the moles in England had
been let loose in it. I have seen something of the sort on the
side of a hill near Ballarat, where the prospectors had been at
work.&cdq;
&odq;And from the same cause,&cdq; said Holmes.
&odq;These are the traces of the treasure-seekers. You
must remember that they were six years looking for it. No
wonder that the grounds look like a gravel-pit.&cdq;
At that moment the door of the house burst open, and Thaddeus
Sholto came running out, with his hands thrown forward and terror in
his eyes.
&odq;There is something amiss with Bartholomew!&cdq; he cried.
&odq;I am frightened! My nerves cannot stand it.&cdq;
He was, indeed, half blubbering with fear, and his twitching,
feeble face peeping out from the great astrakhan collar had the
helpless, appealing expression of a terrified child.
&odq;Come into the house,&cdq; said Holmes in his crisp, firm
way.
&odq;Yes, do!&cdq; pleaded Thaddeus Sholto. &odq;I
really do not feel equal to giving directions.&cdq;
We all followed him into the housekeeper's room, which stood
upon the lefthand side of the passage. The old woman was
pacing up and down with a scared look and restless, picking fingers,
but the sight of Miss Morstan appeared to have a soothing effect upon
her.
&odq;God bless your sweet, calm face!&cdq; she cried with a
hysterical sob. &odq;It does me good to see you. Oh,
but I have been sorely tried this day!&cdq;
Our companion patted her thin, work-worn hand and murmured some
few words of kindly, womanly comfort which brought the colour back
into the other's bloodless cheeks.
&odq;Master has locked himself in and will not answer me,&cdq;
she explained. &odq;All day I have waited to hear from him,
for he often likes to be alone- but an hour ago I feared that
something was amiss, so I went up and peeped through the keyhole.
You must go up, Mr. Thaddeus — you must go up and look
for yourself. I have seen Mr. Bartholomew Sholto in joy and in
sorrow for ten long years, but I never saw him with such a face on
him as that.&cdq;
Sherlock Holmes took the lamp and led the way, for Thaddeus
Sholto's teeth were chattering in his head. So shaken was he
that I had to pass my hand under his arm as we went up the stairs,
for his knees were trembling under him. Twice as we ascended,
Holmes whipped his lens out of his pocket and carefully examined
marks which appeared to me to be mere shapeless smudges of dust upon
the cocoanut-matting which served as a stair-carpet. He walked
slowly from step to step, holding the lamp low, and shooting keen
glances to right and left. Miss Morstan had remained behind
with the frightened housekeeper.
The third flight of stairs ended in a straight passage of some
length, with a great picture in Indian tapestry upon the right of it
and three doors upon the left. Holmes advanced along it in the
same slow and methodical way, while we kept close at his heels, with
our long black shadows streaming backward down the corridor.
The third door was that which we were seeking. Holmes
knocked without receiving any answer, and then tried to turn the
handle and force it open. It was locked on the inside,
however, and by a broad and powerful bolt, as we could see when we
set our lamp up against it. The key being turned, however, the
hole was not entirely closed. Sherlock Holmes bent down to it
and instantly rose again with a sharp intaking of the breath.
&odq;There is something devilish in this, Watson,&cdq; said he,
more moved than I had ever before seen him. &odq;What do you
make of it?&cdq;
I stooped to the hole and recoiled in horror. Moonlight
was streaming into the room, and it was bright with a vague and
shifty radiance. Looking straight at me and suspended, as it
were, in the air, for all beneath was in shadow, there hung a face
— the very face of our companion Thaddeus. There was
the same high, shining head, the same circular bristle of red hair,
the same bloodless countenance. The features were set,
however, in a horrible smile, a fixed and unnatural grin, which in
that still and moonlit room was more jarring to the nerves than any
scowl or contortion. So like was the face to that of our
little friend that I looked round at him to make sure that he was
indeed with us. Then I recalled to mind that he had mentioned
to us that his brother and he were twins.
&odq;This is terrible!&cdq; I said to Holmes. &odq;What
is to be done?&cdq;
&odq;The door must come down,&cdq; he answered, and springing
against it, he put all his weight upon the lock.
It creaked and groaned but did not yield. Together we
flung ourselves upon it once more, and this time it gave way with a
sudden snap, and we found ourselves within Bartholomew Sholto's
chamber.
It appeared to have been fitted up as a chemical laboratory.
A double line of glass-stoppered bottles was drawn up upon the
wall opposite the door, and the table was littered over with Bunsen
burners, test-tubes, and retorts. In the corners stood carboys
of acid in wicker baskets. One of these appeared to leak or to
have been broken, for a stream of dark-coloured liquid had trickled
out from it, and the air was heavy with a peculiarly pungent, tarlike
odour. A set of steps stood at one side of the room in the
midst of a litter of lath and plaster, and above them there was an
opening in the ceiling large enough for a man to pass through.
At the foot of the steps a long coil of rope was thrown
carelessly together.
By the table in a wooden armchair the master of the house was
seated all in a heap, with his head sunk upon his left shoulder and
that ghastly, inscrutable smile upon his face. He was stiff
and cold and had clearly been dead many hours. It seemed to me
that not only his features but all his limbs were twisted and turned
in the most fantastic fashion. By his hand upon the table
there lay a peculiar instrument — a brown, close-grained
stick, with a stone head like a hammer, rudely lashed on with coarse
twine. Beside it was a torn sheet of note-paper with some
words scrawled upon it. Holmes glanced at it and then handed
it to me.
&odq;You see,&cdq; he said with a significant raising of the
eyebrows.
In the light of the lantern I read with a thrill of horror,
&odq;The sign of the four.&cdq;
&odq;In God's name, what does it all mean?&cdq; I asked.
&odq;It means murder,&cdq; said he, stooping over the
dead man. &odq;Ah! I expected it. Look here!&cdq;
He pointed to what looked like a long dark thorn stuck in the
skin just above the ear.
&odq;It looks like a thorn,&cdq; said I.
&odq;It
is a thorn. You may pick it out. But be careful, for it
is poisoned.&cdq;
I took it up between my finger and thumb. It came away
from the skin so readily that hardly any mark was left behind.
One tiny speck of blood showed where the puncture had been.
&odq;This is all an insoluble mystery to me,&cdq; said I.
&odq;It grows darker instead of clearer.&cdq;
&odq;On the contrary,&cdq; he answered, &odq;it clears every
instant. I only require a few missing links to have an
entirely connected case.&cdq;
We had almost forgotten our companion's presence since we
entered the chamber. He was still standing in the doorway, the
very picture of terror, wringing his hands and moaning to himself.
Suddenly, however, he broke out into a sharp, querulous cry.
&odq;The treasure is gone!&cdq; he said. &odq;They have
robbed him of the treasure! There is the hole through which we
lowered it. I helped him to do it! I was the last
person who saw him! I left him here last night, and I heard
him lock the door as I came downstairs.&cdq;
&odq;What time was that?&cdq;
&odq;It was ten
o'clock. And now he is dead, and the police will be called in,
and I shall be suspected of having had a hand in it. Oh, yes,
I am sure I shall. But you don't think so, gentlemen?
Surely you don't think that it was I? Is it likely that
I would have brought you here if it were I? Oh, dear! oh,
dear! I know that I shall go mad!&cdq;
He jerked his arms and stamped his feet in a kind of convulsive
frenzy.
&odq;You have no reason for fear, Mr. Sholto,&cdq; said Holmes
kindly, putting his hand upon his shoulder; &odq;take my advice and
drive down to the station to report the matter to the police.
Offer to assist them in every way. We shall wait here
until your return.&cdq;
The little man obeyed in a half-stupefied fashion, and we heard
him stumbling down the stairs in the dark.
&odq;Now, Watson,&cdq; said Holmes, rubbing his hands, &odq;we
have half an hour to ourselves. Let us make good use of it.
My case is, as I have told you, almost complete; but we must
not err on the side of overconfidence. Simple as the case
seems now, there may be something deeper underlying it.&cdq;
&odq;Simple!&cdq; I ejaculated.
&odq;Surely,&cdq;
said he with something of the air of a clinical professor expounding
to his class. &odq;Just sit in the corner there, that your
footprints may not complicate matters. Now to work! In
the first place, how did these folk come and how did they go?
The door has not been opened since last night. How of
the window?&cdq; He carried the lamp across to it, muttering
his observations aloud the while but addressing them to himself
rather than to me. &odq;Window is snibbed on the inner side.
Frame-work is solid. No hinges at the side. Let
us open it. No water-pipe near. Roof quite out of
reach. Yet a man has mounted by the window. It rained a
little last night. Here is the print of a foot in mould upon
the sill. And here is a circular muddy mark, and here again
upon the floor, and here again by the table. See here, Watson!
This is really a very pretty demonstration.&cdq;
I looked at the round, well-defined muddy discs.
&odq;That is not a foot-mark,&cdq; said I.
&odq;It is something much more valuable to us. It is the
impression of a wooden stump. You see here on the sill is the
bootmark, a heavy boot with a broad metal heel, and beside it is the
mark of the timber-toe.&cdq;
&odq;It is the wooden-legged man.&cdq;
&odq;Quite
so. But there has been someone else — a very able and
efficient ally. Could you scale that wall, Doctor?&cdq;
I looked out of the open window. The moon still shone
brightiy on that angle of the house. We were a good sixty feet
from the ground, and, look where I would, I could see no foothold,
nor as much as a crevice in the brickwork.
&odq;It is absolutely impossible,&cdq; I answered.
&odq;Without aid it is so. But suppose you had a
friend up here who lowered you this good stout rope which I see in
the corner, securing one end of it to this great hook in the wall.
Then, I think, if you were an active man, you might swarm up,
wooden leg and all. You would depart, of course, in the same
fashion, and your ally would draw up the rope, untie it from the
hook, shut the window, snib it on the inside, and get away in the way
that he originally came. As a minor point, it may be
noted,&cdq; he continued, fingering the rope, &odq;that our
wooden-legged friend, though a fair climber, was not a professional
sailor. His hands were far from horny. My lens
discloses more than one bloodmark, especially towards the end of the
rope, from which I gather that he slipped down with such velocity
that he took the skin off his hands.&cdq;
&odq;This is all very well,&cdq; said I; &odq;but the thing
becomes more unintelligible than ever. How about this
mysterious ally? How came he into the room?&cdq;
&odq;Yes, the ally!&cdq; repeated Holmes pensively.
&odq;There are features of interest about this ally. He
lifts the case from the regions of the commonplace. I fancy
that this ally breaks fresh ground in the annals of crime in this
country — though parallel cases suggest themselves from India
and, if my memory serves me, from Senegambia.&cdq;
&odq;How came he, then?&cdq; I reiterated. &odq;The door
is locked; the window is inaccessible. Was it through the
chimney?&cdq;
&odq;The grate is much too small,&cdq; he answered.
&odq;I had already considered that possibility.&cdq;
&odq;How, then?&cdq; I persisted.
&odq;You will
not apply my precept,&cdq; he said, shaking his head. &odq;How
often have I said to you that when you have eliminated the
impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth?
We know that he did not come through the door, the window, or
the chimney. We also know that he could not have been
concealed in the room, as there is no concealment possible.
When, then, did he come?&cdq;
&odq;He came through the hole in the roof!&cdq; I cried.
&odq;Of course he did. He must have done so.
If you will have the kindness to hold the lamp for me, we
shall now extend our researches to the room above — the
secret room in which the treasure was found.&cdq;
He mounted the steps, and, seizing a rafter with either hand,
he swung himself up into the garret. Then, lying on his face,
he reached down for the lamp and held it while I followed him.
The chamber in which we found ourselves was about ten feet one
way and six the other. The floor was formed by the rafters,
with thin lath and plaster between, so that in walking one had to
step from beam to beam. The roof ran up to an apex and was
evidently the inner shell of the true roof of the house. There
was no furniture of any sort, and the accumulated dust of years lay
thick upon the floor.
&odq;Here you are, you see,&cdq; said Sherlock Holmes, putting
his hand against the sloping wall. &odq;This is a trapdoor
which leads out on to the roof. I can press it back, and here
is the roof itself, sloping at a gentle angle. This, then, is
the way by which Number One entered. Let us see if we can find
some other traces of his individuality?&cdq;
He held down the lamp to the floor, and as he did so I saw for
the second time that night a startled, surprised look come over his
face. For myself, as I followed his gaze, my skin was cold
under my clothes. The floor was covered thickly with the
prints of a naked foot — clear, well-defined, perfectly
formed, but scarce half the size of those of an ordinary man.
&odq;Holmes,&cdq; I said in a whisper, &odq;a child has done
this horrid thing.&cdq;
He had recovered his self-possession in an instant.
&odq;I was staggered for the moment,&cdq; he said,
&odq;but the thing is quite natural. My memory failed me, or I
should have been able to foretell it. There is nothing more to
be learned here. Let us go down.&cdq;
&odq;What is your theory, then, as to those footmarks?&cdq; I
asked eagerly when we had regained the lower room once more.
&odq;My dear Watson, try a little analysis yourself,&cdq; said
he with a touch of impatience. &odq;You know my methods.
Apply them, and it will be instructive to compare
results.&cdq;
&odq;I cannot conceive anything which will cover the
facts,&cdq; I answered.
&odq;It will be clear enough to you soon,&cdq; he said, in an
offhand way. &odq;I think that there is nothing else of
importance here, but I will look.&cdq;
He whipped out his lens and a tape measure and hurried about
the room on his knees, measuring, comparing, examining, with his long
thin nose only a few inches from the planks and his beady eyes
gleaming and deep-set like those of a bird. So swift, silent,
and furtive were his movements, like those of a trained bloodhound
picking out a scent, that I could not but think what a terrible
criminal he would have made had he turned his energy and sagacity
against the law instead of exerting them in its defence. As he
hunted about, he kept muttering to himself, and finally he broke out
into a loud crow of delight.
&odq;We are certainly in luck,&cdq; said he. &odq;We
ought to have very little trouble now. Number One has had the
misfortune to tread in the creosote. You can see the outline
of the edge of his small foot here at the side of this evil-smelling
mess. The carboy has been cracked, you see, and the stuff has
leaked out.&cdq;
&odq;What then?&cdq; I asked.
&odq;Why, we have
got him, that's all,&cdq; said he.
&odq;I know a dog that would follow that scent to the world's
end. If a pack can track a trailed herring across a shire, how
far can a specially trained hound follow so pungent a smell as this?
It sounds like a sum in the rule of three. The answer
should give us the — But hallo! here are the accredited
representatives of the law.&cdq;
Heavy steps and the clamour of loud voices were audible from
below, and the hall door shut with a loud crash.
&odq;Before they come,&cdq; said Holmes, &odq;just put your
hand here on this poor fellow's arm, and here on his leg. What
do you feel?&cdq;
The muscles are as hard as a board, &odq;I answered.
&cdq; Quite so. They are in a state of extreme
contraction, far exceeding the usual rigor mortis. Coupled
with this distortion of the face, this Hippocratic smile, or
&onq;risus sardonicus,&cnq; as the old writers called it, what
conclusion would it suggest to your mind? &odq;
&odq;Death from some powerful vegetable alkaloid,&cdq; I
answered, &odq;some strychnine-like substance which would produce
tetanus.&cdq;
&odq;That was the idea which occurred to me the instant I saw
the drawn muscles of the face. On getting into the room I at
once looked for the means by which the poison had entered the system.
As you saw, I discovered a thorn which had been driven or shot
with no great force into the scalp. You observe that the part
struck was that which would be turned towards the hole in the ceiling
if the man were erect in his chair. Now examine this
thorn.&cdq;
I took it up gingerly and held it in the light of the lantern.
It was long, sharp, and black, with a glazed look near the
point as though some gummy substance had dried upon it. The
blunt end had been trimmed and rounded off with a knife.
&odq;Is that an English thorn?&cdq; he asked.
&odq;No, it certainly is not.&cdq;
&odq;With all these data you should be able to draw some just
inference. But here are the regulars, so the auxiliary forces
may beat a retreat.&cdq;
As he spoke, the steps which had been coming nearer sounded
loudly on the passage, and a very stout, portly man in a gray suit
strode heavily into the room. He was red-faced, burly, and
plethoric, with a pair of very small twinkling eyes which looked
keenly out from between swollen and puffy pouches. He was
closely followed by an inspector in uniform and by the still
palpitating Thaddeus Sholto.
&odq;Here's a business!&cdq; he cried in a muffled, husky
voice. &odq;Here's a pretty business! But who are all
these? Why, the house seems to be as full as a
rabbit-warren!&cdq;
&odq;I think you must recollect me, Mr. Athelney Jones,&cdq;
said Holmes quietly.
&odq;Why, of course I do!&cdq; he wheezed. &odq;It's Mr.
Sherlock Holmes, the theorist. Remember you! I'll never
forget how you lectured us all on causes and inferences and effects
in the Bishopgate jewel case. It's true you set us on the
right track; but you'll own now that it was more by good luck than
good guidance.&cdq;
&odq;It was a piece of very simple reasoning.&cdq;
&odq;Oh, come, now, come! Never be ashamed to
own up. But what is all this? Bad business! Bad
business! Stern facts here — no room for theories.
How lucky that I happened to be out at Norwood over another
case! I was at the station when the message arrived.
What d'you think the man died of?&cdq;
&odq;Oh, this is hardly a case for me to theorize over,&cdq;
said Holmes dryly.
&odq;No, no. Still, we can't deny that you hit the nail
on the head sometimes. Dear me! Door locked, I
understand. Jewels worth half a million missing. How
was the window?&cdq;
&odq;Fastened; but there are steps on the sill.&cdq;
&odq;Well, well, if it was fastened the steps could
have nothing to do with the matter. That's common sense.
Man might have died in a fit; but then the jewels are missing.
Ha! I have a theory. These flashes come upon me
at times. — Just step outside, Sergeant, and you, Mr.
Sholto. Your friend can remain. — What do you
think of this, Holmes? Sholto was, on his own confession, with
his brother last night. The brother died in a fit, on which
Sholto walked off with the treasure? How's that?&cdq;
&odq;On which the dead man very considerately got up and locked
the door on the inside.&cdq;
&odq;Hum! There's a flaw there. Let us apply
common sense to the matter. This Thaddeus Sholto was with his
brother; there was a quarrel: so much we know. The brother is
dead and the jewels are gone. So much also we know. No
one saw the brother from the time Thaddeus left him. His bed
had not been slept in. Thaddeus is evidently in a most
disturbed state of mind. His appearance is — well, not
attractive. You see that I am weaving my web round Thaddeus.
The net begins to close upon him.&cdq;
&odq;You are not quite in possession of the facts yet,&cdq;
said Holmes. &odq;This splinter of wood, which I have every
reason to believe to be poisoned, was in the man's scalp where you
still see the mark; this card, inscribed as you see it, was on the
table, and beside it lay this rather curious stone-headed instrument.
How does all that fit into your theory?&cdq;
&odq;Confirms it in every respect,&cdq; said the fat detective
pompously. &odq;House is full of Indian curiosities.
Thaddeus brought this up, and if this splinter be poisonous
Thaddeus may as well have made murderous use of it as any other man.
The card is some hocus-pocus — a blind, as like as
not. The only question is, how did he depart? Ah, of
course, here is a hole in the roof.&cdq;
With great activity, considering his bulk, he sprang up the
steps and squeezed through into the garret, and immediately
afterwards we heard his exulting voice proclaiming that he had found
the trapdoor.
&odq;He can find something,&cdq; remarked Holmes, shrugging his
shoulders; &odq;he has occasional glimmerings of reason. Il
n'y a pas des sots si incommodes que ceux qui ont de l'esprit!&cdq;
&odq;You see!&cdq; said Athelney Jones, reappearing down the
steps again; &odq;facts are better than theories, after all.
My view of the case is confirmed. There is a trapdoor
communicating with the roof, and it is partly open.&cdq;
&odq;It was I who opened it.&cdq;
&odq;Oh,
indeed! You did notice it, then?&cdq; He seemed a
little crestfallen at the discovery. &odq;Well, whoever
noticed it, it shows how our gentleman got away.
Inspector!&cdq;
&odq;Yes, sir,&cdq; from the passage.
&odq;Ask
Mr. Sholto to step this way. — Mr. Sholto, it is my
duty to inform you that anything which you may say will be used
against you. I arrest you in the Queen's name as being
concerned in the death of your brother.&cdq;
&odq;There, now! Didn't I tell you!&cdq; cried the poor
little man throwing out his hands and looking from one to the other
of us.
&odq;Don't trouble yourself about it, Mr. Sholto,&cdq; said
Holmes; &odq;I think that I can engage to clear you of the
charge.&cdq;
&odq;Don't promise too much, Mr. Theorist, don't promise too
much!&cdq; snapped the detective. &odq;You may find it a
harder matter than you think.&cdq;
&odq;Not only will I clear him, Mr. Jones, but I will make you
a free present of the name and description of one of the two people
who were in this room last night. His name, I have every
reason to believe, is Jonathan Small. He is a poorly educated
man, small, active, with his right leg off, and wearing a wooden
stump which is worn away upon the inner side. His left boot
has a coarse, square-toed sole, with an iron band round the heel.
He is a middle-aged man, much sunburned, and has been a
convict. These few indications may be of some assistance to
you, coupled with the fact that there is a good deal of skin missing
from the palm of his hand. The other man — &cdq;
&odq;Ah! the other man?&cdq; asked Athelney Jones in a sneering
voice, but impressed none the less, as I could easily see, by the
precision of the other's manner.
&odq;Is a rather curious person,&cdq; said Sherlock Holmes,
turning upon his heel. &odq;I hope before very long to be able
to introduce you to the pair of them. A word with you,
Watson.&cdq;
He led me out to the head of the stair.
&odq;This
unexpected occurrence,&cdq; he said, &odq;has caused us rather to
lose sight of the original purpose of our journey.&cdq;
&odq;I have just been thinking so,&cdq; I answered; &odq;it is
not right that Miss Morstan should remain in this stricken
house.&cdq;
&odq;No. You must escort her home. She lives with
Mrs. Cecil Forrester in Lower Camberwell, so it is not very far.
I will wait for you here if you will drive out again.
Or perhaps you are too tired?&cdq;
&odq;By no means. I don't think I could rest until I
know more of this fantastic business. I have seen something of
the rough side of life, but I give you my word that this quick
succession of strange surprises to-night has shaken my nerve
completely. I should like, however, to see the matter through
with you, now that I have got so far.&cdq;
&odq;Your presence will be of great service to me,&cdq; he
answered. &odq;We shall work the case out independently and
leave this fellow Jones to exult over any mare's-nest which he may
choose to construct. When you have dropped Miss Morstan, I
wish you to go on to No. 3 Pinchin Lane, down near the water's edge
at Lambeth. The third house on the right-hand side is a
bird-stuffer's; Sherman is the name. You will see a weasel
holding a young rabbit in the window. Knock old Sherman up and
tell him, with my compliments, that I want Toby at once. You
will bring Toby back in the cab with you.&cdq;
&odq;A dog, I suppose.&cdq;
&odq;Yes, a queer
mongrel with a most amazing power of scent. I would rather
have Toby's help than that of the whole detective force of
London.&cdq;
&odq;I shall bring him then,&cdq; said I. &odq;It is one
now. I ought to be back before three if I can get a fresh
horse.&cdq;
&odq;And I,&cdq; said Holmes, &odq;shall see what I can learn
from Mrs. Bernstone and from the Indian servant, who, Mr. Thaddeus
tells me, sleeps in the next garret. Then I shall study the
great Jones's methods and listen to his not too delicate sarcasms.
&odq;&onq;Wir sind gewohnt dass die Menschen verhohnen was sie nicht verstehen.&cnq;
&odq;Goethe is always pithy.&cdq;
The police had
brought a cab with them, and in this I escorted Miss Morstan back to
her home. After the angelic fashion of women, she had borne
trouble with a calm face as long as there was someone weaker than
herself to support, and I had found her bright and placid by the side
of the frightened housekeeper. In the cab, however, she first
turned faint and then burst into a passion of weeping — so
sorely had she been tried by the adventures of the night. She
has told me since that she thought me cold and distant upon that
journey. She little guessed the struggle within my breast, or
the effort of self-restraint which held me back. My sympathies
and my love went out to her, even as my hand had in the garden.
I felt that years of the conventionalities of life could not
teach me to know her sweet, brave nature as had this one day of
strange experiences. Yet there were two thoughts which sealed
the words of affection upon my lips. She was weak and
helpless, shaken in mind and nerve. It was to take her at a
disadvantage to obtrude love upon her at such a time. Worse
still, she was rich. If Holmes's researches were successful,
she would be an heiress. Was it fair, was it honourable, that
a half-pay surgeon should take such advantage of an intimacy which
chance had brought about? Might she not look upon me as a mere
vulgar fortune-seeker? I could not bear to risk that such a
thought should cross her mind. This Agra treasure intervened
like an impassable barrier between us.
It was nearly two o'clock when we reached Mrs. Cecil
Forrester's. The servants had retired hours ago, but Mrs.
Forrester had been so interested by the strange message which Miss
Morstan had received that she had sat up in the hope of her return.
She opened the door herself, a middle-aged, graceful woman,
and it gave me joy to see how tenderly her arm stole round the
other's waist and how motherly was the voice in which she greeted
her. She was clearly no mere paid dependant but an honoured
friend. I was introduced, and Mrs. Forrester earnestly begged
me to step in and tell her our adventures. I explained,
however, the importance of my errand and promised faithfully to call
and report any progress which we might make with the case. As
we drove away I stole a glance back, and I still seem to see that
little group on the step — the two graceful, clinging
figures, the half-opened door, the hall-light shining through stained
glass, the barometer, and the bright stair-rods. It was
soothing to catch even that passing glimpse of a tranquil English
home in the midst of the wild, dark business which had absorbed us.
And the more I thought of what had happened, the wilder and
darker it grew. I reviewed the whole extraordinary sequence of
events as I rattled on through the silent, gas-lit streets.
There was the original problem: that at least was pretty clear
now. The death of Captain Morstan, the sending of the pearls,
the advertisement, the letter — we had had light upon all
those events. They had only led us, however, to a deeper and
far more tragic mystery. The Indian treasure, the curious plan
found among Morstan's baggage, the strange scene at Major Sholto's
death, the rediscovery of the treasure immediately followed by the
murder of the discoverer, the very singular accompaniments to the
crime, the footsteps, the remarkable weapons, the words upon the
card, corresponding with those upon Captain Morstan's chart —
here was indeed a labyrinth in which a man less singularly endowed
than my fellow-lodger might well despair of ever finding the clue.
Pinchin Lane was a row of shabby, two-storied brick houses in
the lower quarter of Lambeth. I had to knock for some time at
No. 3 before I could make any impression. At last, however,
there was the glint of a candle behind the blind, and a face looked
out at the upper window.
&odq;Go on, you drunken vagabond,&cdq; said the face.
&odq;If you kick up any more row, I'll open the kennels and
let out forty-three dogs upon you.&cdq;
&odq;If you'll let one out, it's just what I have come
for,&cdq; said I.
&odq;Go on!&cdq; yelled the voice. &odq;So help me
gracious, I have a wiper in this bag, and I'll drop it on your 'ead
if you don't hook it!&cdq;
&odq;But I want a dog,&cdq; I cried.
&odq;I won't
be argued with!&cdq; shouted Mr. Sherman. &odq;Now stand
clear, for when I say &onq;three,&cnq; down goes the wiper.&cdq;
&odq;Mr. Sherlock Holmes&cdq; I began; but the words had a most
magical effect, for the window instantly slammed down, and within a
minute the door was unbarred and open. Mr. Sherman was a
lanky, lean old man, with stooping shoulders, a stringy neck, and
blue-tinted glasses.
&odq;A friend of Mr. Sherlock is always welcome,&cdq; said he.
&odq;Step in, sir. Keep clear of the badger, for he
bites. Ah, naughty, naughty; would you take a nip at the
gentleman?&cdq; This to a stoat which thrust its wicked head
and red eyes between the bars of its cage. &odq;Don't mind
that, sir; it's only a slowworm. It hain't got no fangs, so I
gives it the run o' the room, for it keeps the beetles down.
You must not mind my bein' just a little short wi' you at
first, for I'm guyed at by the children, and there's many a one just
comes down this lane to knock me up. What was it that Mr.
Sherlock Holmes wanted, sir?&cdq;
&odq;He wanted a dog of yours.&cdq;
&odq;Ah! that
would be Toby.&cdq;
&odq;Yes, Toby was the name.&cdq;
&odq;Toby lives
at No. 7 on the left here.&cdq;
He moved slowly forward with his candle among the queer animal
family which he had gathered round him. In the uncertain,
shadowy light I could see dimly that there were glancing, glimmering
eyes peeping down at us from every cranny and corner. Even the
rafters above our heads were lined by solemn fowls, who lazily
shifted their weight from one leg to the other as our voices
disturbed their slumbers.
Toby proved to be an ugly, long-haired, lop-eared creature,
half spaniel and half lurcher, brown and white in colour, with a very
clumsy, waddling gait. It accepted, after some hesitation, a
lump of sugar which the old naturalist handed to me, and, having thus
sealed an alliance, it followed me to the cab and made no
difficulties about accompanying me. It had just struck three
on the Palace clock when I found myself back once more at Pondicherry
Lodge. The ex-prize-fighter McMurdo had, I found, been
arrested as an accessory, and both he and Mr. Sholto had been marched
off to the station. Two constables guarded the narrow gate,
but they allowed me to pass with the dog on my mentioning the
detective's name.
Holmes was standing on the doorstep with his hands in his
pockets, smoking his pipe.
&odq;Ah, you have him there!&cdq; said he. &odq;Good
dog, then! Athelney Jones has gone. We have had an
immense display of energy since you left. He has arrested not
only friend Thaddeus but the gatekeeper, the housekeeper, and the
Indian servant. We have the place to ourselves but for a
sergeant upstairs. Leave the dog here and come up.&cdq;
We tied Toby to the hall table and reascended the stairs.
The room was as we had left it, save that a sheet had been
draped over the central figure. A weary-looking
police-sergeant reclined in the corner.
&odq;Lend me your bull's eye, Sergeant,&cdq; said my companion.
&odq;Now tie this bit of card round my neck, so as to hang it
in front of me. Thank you. Now I must kick off my boots
and stockings. Just you carry them down with you, Watson.
I am going to do a little climbing. And dip my
handkerchief into the creosote. That will do. Now come
up into the garret with me for a moment.&cdq;
We clambered up through the hole. Holmes turned his
light once more upon the footsteps in the dust.
&odq;I wish you particularly to notice these footmarks,&cdq; he
said. &odq;Do you observe anything noteworthy about them?&cdq;
&odq;They belong,&cdq; I said, &odq;to a child or a small
woman.&cdq;
&odq;Apart from their size, though. Is there nothing
else?&cdq;
&odq;They appear to be much as other footmarks.&cdq;
&odq;Not at all. Look here! This is the
print of a right foot in the dust. Now I make one with my
naked foot beside it. What is the chief difference?&cdq;
&odq;Your toes are all cramped together. The other print
has each toe distinctly divided.&cdq;
&odq;Quite so. That is the point. Bear that in
mind. Now, would you kindly step over to that flap-window and
smell the edge of the woodwork? I shall stay over here, as I
have this handkerchief in my hand.&cdq;
I did as he directed and was instantly conscious of a strong
tarry smell.
&odq;That is where he put his foot in getting out. If
you can trace him, I should think that Toby will have no difficulty.
Now run downstairs, loose the dog, and look out for
Blondin.&cdq;
By the time that I got out into the grounds Sherlock Holmes was
on the roof, and I could see him like an enormous glow-worm crawling
very slowly along the ridge. I lost sight of him behind a
stack of chimneys, but he presently reappeared and then vanished once
more upon the opposite side. When I made my way round there I
found him seated at one of the corner eaves.
&odq;That you, Watson?&cdq; he cried.
&odq;Yes.&cdq;
&odq;This is the place. What is that black thing down
there?&cdq;
&odq;A water-barrel.&cdq;
&odq;Top on it?&cdq;
&odq;Yes.&cdq;
&odq;No sign of a ladder?&cdq;
&odq;No.&cdq;
&odq;Confound the fellow!
It's a most breakneck place. I ought to be able to come
down where he could climb up. The water-pipe feels pretty
firm. Here goes, anyhow.&cdq;
There was a scuffling of feet, and the lantern began to come
steadily down the side of the wall. Then with a light spring
he came on to the barrel, and from there to the earth.
&odq;It was easy to follow him,&cdq; he said, drawing on his
stockings and boots. &odq;Tiles were loosened the whole way
along, and in his hurry he had dropped this. It confirms my
diagnosis, as you doctors express it.&cdq;
The object which he held up to me was a small pocket or pouch
woven out of coloured grasses and with a few tawdry beads strung
round it. In shape and size it was not unlike a
cigarette-case. Inside were half a dozen spines of dark wood,
sharp at one end and rounded at the other, like that which had struck
Bartholomew Sholto.
&odq;They are hellish things,&cdq; said he. &odq;Look
out that you don't prick yourself. I'm delighted to have them,
for the chances are that they are all he has. There is the
less fear of you or me finding one in our skin before long. I
would sooner face a Martini bullet, myself. Are you game for a
six-mile trudge, Watson?&cdq;
&odq;Certainly,&cdq; I answered.
&odq;Your leg
will stand it?&cdq;
&odq;Oh, yes.&cdq;
&odq;Here you are, doggy!
Good old Toby! Smell it, Toby, smell it!&cdq; He
pushed the creosote handkerchief under the dog's nose, while the
creature stood with its fluffy legs separated, and with a most
comical cock to its head, like a connoisseur sniffing the bouquet of
a famous vintage. Holmes then threw the handkerchief to a
distance, fastened a stout cord to the mongrel's collar, and led him
to the foot of the water-barrel. The creature instantly broke
into a succession of high, tremulous yelps and, with his nose on the
ground and his tail in the air, pattered off upon the trail at a pace
which strained his leash and kept us at the top of our speed.
The east had been gradually whitening, and we could now see
some distance in the cold gray light. The square, massive
house, with its black, empty windows and high, bare walls, towered
up, sad and forlorn, behind us. Our course led right across
the grounds, in and out among the trenches and pits with which they
were scarred and intersected. The whole place, with its
scattered dirt-heaps and ill-grown shrubs, had a blighted, ill-omened
look which harmonized with the black tragedy which hung over it.
On reaching the boundary wall Toby ran along, whining eagerly,
underneath its shadow, and stopped finally in a corner screened by a
young beech. Where the two walls joined, several bricks had
been loosened, and the crevices left were worn down and rounded upon
the lower side, as though they had frequently been used as a ladder.
Holmes clambered up, and taking the dog from me he dropped it
over upon the other side.
&odq;There's the print of Wooden-leg's hand,&cdq; he remarked
as I mounted up beside him. &odq;You see the slight smudge of
blood upon the white plaster. What a lucky thing it is that we
have had no very heavy rain since yesterday! The scent will
lie upon the road in spite of their eight-and-twenty hours'
start.&cdq;
I confess that I had my doubts myself when I reflected upon the
great traffic which had passed along the London road in the interval.
My fears were soon appeased, however. Toby never
hesitated or swerved but waddled on in his peculiar rolling fashion.
Clearly the pungent smell of the creosote rose high above all
other contending scents.
&odq;Do not imagine,&cdq; said Holmes, &odq;that I depend for
my success in this case upon the mere chance of one of these fellows
having put his foot in the chemical. I have knowledge now
which would enable me to trace them in many different ways.
This, however, is the readiest, and, since fortune has put it
into our hands, I should be culpable if I neglected it. It
has, however prevented the case from becoming the pretty little
intellectual problem which it at one time promised to be.
There might have been some credit to be gained out of it but
for this too palpable clue.&cdq;
&odq;There is credit, and to spare,&cdq; said I. &odq;I
assure you, Holmes, that I marvel at the means by which you obtain
your results in this case even more than I did in the Jefferson Hope
murder. The thing seems to me to be deeper and more
inexplicable. How, for example, could you describe with such
confidence the wooden-legged man?&cdq;
&odq;Pshaw, my dear boy! it was simplicity itself. I
don't wish to be theatrical. It is all patent and above-board.
Two officers who are in command of a convict-guard learn an
important secret as to buried treasure. A map is drawn for
them by an Englishman named Jonathan Small. You remember that
we saw the name upon the chart in Captain Morstan's possession.
He had signed it in behalf of himself and his associates
— the sign of the four, as he somewhat dramatically called it.
Aided by this chart, the officers — or one of them
— gets the treasure and brings it to England, leaving, we will
suppose, some condition under which he received it unfulfilled.
Now, then, why did not Jonathan Small get the treasure
himself? The answer is obvious. The chart is dated at a
time when Morstan was brought into close association with convicts.
Jonathan Small did not get the treasure because he and his
associates were themselves convicts and could not get away.&cdq;
&odq;But this is mere speculation,&cdq; said I.
&odq;It is more than that. It is the only
hypothesis which covers the facts. Let us see how it fits in
with the sequel. Major Sholto remains at peace for some years,
happy in the possession of his treasure. Then he receives a
letter from India which gives him a great fright. What was
that?&cdq;
&odq;A letter to say that the men whom he had wronged had been
set free.&cdq;
&odq;Or had escaped. That is much more likely, for he
would have known what their term of imprisonment was. It would
not have been a surprise to him. What does he do then?
He guards himself against a wooden-legged man — a
white man, mark you, for he mistakes a white tradesman for him and
actually fires a pistol at him. Now, only one white man's name
is on the chart. The others are Hindoos or Mohammedans.
There is no other white man. Therefore we may say with
confidence that the wooden-legged man is identical with Jonathan
Small. Does the reasoning strike you as being faulty?&cdq;
&odq;No: it is clear and concise.&cdq;
&odq;Well,
now, let us put ourselves in the place of Jonathan Small. Let
us look at it from his point of view. He comes to England with
the double idea of regaining what he would consider to be his rights
and of having his revenge upon the man who had wronged him. He
found out where Sholto lived, and very possibly he established
communications with someone inside the house. There is this
butler, Lal Rao, whom we have not seen. Mrs. Bernstone gives
him far from a good character. Small could not find out,
however, where the treasure was hid, for no one ever knew save the
major and one faithful servant who had died. Suddenly Small
learns that the major is on his deathbed. In a frenzy lest the
secret of the treasure die with him, he runs the gauntlet of the
guards, makes his way to the dying man's window, and is only deterred
from entering by the presence of his two sons. Mad with hate,
however, against the dead man, he enters the room that night,
searches his private papers in the hope of discovering some
memorandum relating to the treasure, and finally leaves a memento of
his visit in the short inscription upon the card. He had
doubtless planned beforehand that, should he slay the major, he would
leave some such record upon the body as a sign that it was not a
common murder but, from the point of view of the four associates,
something in the nature of an act of justice. Whimsical and
bizarre conceits of this kind are common enough in the annals of
crime and usually afford valuable indications as to the criminal.
Do you follow all this?&cdq;
&odq;Very clearly.&cdq;
&odq;Now what could
Jonathan Small do? He could only continue to keep a secret
watch upon the efforts made to find the treasure. Possibly he
leaves England and only comes back at intervals. Then comes
the discovery of the garret, and he is instantly informed of it.
We again trace the presence of some confederate in the
household. Jonathan, with his wooden leg, is utterly unable to
reach the lofty room of Bartholomew Sholto. He takes with him,
however, a rather curious associate, who gets over this difficulty
but dips his naked foot into creosote, whence come Toby, and a
six-mile limp for a half-pay officer with a damaged tendo
Achillis.&cdq;
&odq;But it was the associate and not Jonathan who committed
the crime.&cdq;
&odq;Quite so. And rather to Jonathan's disgust, to
judge by the way he stamped about when he got into the room.
He bore no grudge against Bartholomew Sholto and would have
preferred if he could have been simply bound and gagged. He
did not wish to put his head in a halter. There was no help
for it, however: the savage instincts of his companion had broken
out, and the poison had done its work: so Jonathan Small left his
record, lowered the treasure-box to the ground, and followed it
himself. That was the train of events as far as I can decipher
them. Of course, as to his personal appearance, he must be
middle-aged and must be sunburned after serving his time in such an
oven as the Andamans. His height is readily calculated from
the length of his stride, and we know that he was bearded. His
hairiness was the one point which impressed itself upon Thaddeus
Sholto when he saw him at the window. I don't know that there
is anything else.&cdq;
&odq;The associate?&cdq;
&odq;Ah, well, there is
no great mystery in that. But you will know all about it soon
enough. How sweet the morning air is! See how that one
little cloud floats like a pink feather from some gigantic flamingo.
Now the red rim of the sun pushes itself over the London
cloud-bank. It shines on a good many folk, but on none, I dare
bet, who are on a stranger errand than you and I. How small we
feel with our petty ambitions and strivings in the presence of the
great elemental forces of Nature! Are you well up in your Jean
Paul?&cdq;
&odq;Fairly so. I worked back to him through
Carlyle.&cdq;
&odq;That was like following the brook to the parent lake.
He makes one curious but profound remark. It is that
the chief proof of man's real greatness lies in his perception of his
own smallness. It argues, you see, a power of comparison and
of appreciation which is in itself a proof of nobility. There
is much food for thought in Richter. You have not a pistol,
have you?&cdq;
&odq;I have my stick.&cdq;
&odq;It is just
possible that we may need something of the sort if we get to their
lair. Jonathan I shall leave to you, but if the other turns
nasty I shall shoot him dead.&cdq;
He took out his revolver as he spoke, and, having loaded two of
the chambers, he put it back into the right-hand pocket of his
jacket.
We had during this time been following the guidance of Toby
down the half-rural villa-lined roads which lead to the metropolis.
Now, however, we were beginning to come among continuous
streets, where labourers and dockmen were already astir, and
slatternly women were taking down shutters and brushing doorsteps.
At the square-topped corner public-houses business was just
beginning, and rough-looking men were emerging, rubbing their sleeves
across their beards after their morning wet. Strange dogs
sauntered up and stared wonderingly at us as we passed, but our
inimitable Toby looked neither to the right nor to the left but
trotted onward with his nose to the ground and an occasional eager
whine which spoke of a hot scent.
We had traversed Streatham, Brixton, Camberwell, and now found
ourselves in Kennington Lane, having borne away through the side
streets to the east of the Oval. The men whom we pursued
seemed to have taken a curiously zigzag road, with the idea probably
of escaping observation. They had never kept to the main road
if a parallel side street would serve their turn. At the foot
of Kennington Lane they had edged away to the left through Bond
Street and Miles Street. Where the latter street turns into
Knight's Place, Toby ceased to advance but began to run backward and
forward with one ear cocked and the other drooping, the very picture
of canine indecision. Then he waddled round in circles,
looking up to us from time to time, as if to ask for sympathy in his
embarrassment.
&odq;What the deuce is the matter with the dog?&cdq; growled
Holmes. &odq;They surely would not take a cab or go off in a
balloon.&cdq;
&odq;Perhaps they stood here for some time,&cdq; I suggested.
&odq;Ah! it's all right. He's off again,&cdq; said my
companion in a tone of relief.
He was indeed off, for after sniffing round again he suddenly
made up his mind and darted away with an energy and determination
such as he had not yet shown. The scent appeared to be much
hotter than before, for he had not even to put his nose on the ground
but tugged at his leash and tried to break into a run. I could
see by the gleam in Holmes's eyes that he thought we were nearing the
end of our journey.
Our course now ran down Nine Elms until we came to Broderick
and Nelson's large timber-yard just past the White Eagle tavern.
Here the dog, frantic with excitement, turned down through the
side gate into the enclosure, where the sawyers were already at work.
On the dog raced through sawdust and shavings, down an alley,
round a passage, between two wood-piles, and finally, with a
triumphant yelp, sprang upon a large barrel which still stood upon
the hand-trolley on which it had been brought. With lolling
tongue and blinking eyes Toby stood upon the cask, looking from one
to the other of us for some sign of appreciation. The staves
of the barrel and the wheels of the trolley were smeared with a dark
liquid, and the whole air was heavy with the smell of creosote.
Sherlock Holmes and I looked blankly at each other and then
burst simultaneously into an uncontrollable fit of laughter.
&odq;What now?&cdq; I asked. &odq;Toby has lost his
character for infallibility.&cdq;
&odq;He acted according to his lights,&cdq; said Holmes,
lifting him down from the barrel and walking him out of the
timber-yard. &odq;If you consider how much creosote is carted
about London in one day, it is no great wonder that our trail should
have been crossed. It is much used now, especially for the
seasoning of wood. Poor Toby is not to blame.&cdq;
&odq;We must get on the main scent again, I suppose.&cdq;
&odq;Yes. And, fortunately, we have no distance
to go. Evidently what puzzled the dog at the corner of
Knight's Place was that there were two different trails running in
opposite directions. We took the wrong one. It only
remains to follow the other.&cdq;
There was no difficulty about this. On leading Toby to
the place where he had committed his fault, he cast about in a wide
circle and finally dashed off in a fresh direction.
&odq;We must take care that he does not now bring us to the
place where the creosote-barrel came from,&cdq; I observed.
&odq;I had thought of that. But you notice that he keeps
on the pavement, whereas the barrel passed down the roadway.
No, we are on the true scent now.&cdq;
It tended down towards the riverside, running through Belmont
Place and Prince's Street. At the end of Broad Street it ran
right down to the water's edge, where there was a small wooden wharf.
Toby led us to the very edge of this and there stood whining,
looking out on the dark current beyond.
&odq;We are out of luck,&cdq; said Holmes. &odq;They
have taken to a boat here.&cdq;
Several small punts and skiffs were lying about in the water
and on the edge of the wharf. We took Toby round to each in
turn, but though he sniffed earnestly he made no sign.
Close to the rude landing-stage was a small brick house, with a
wooden placard slung out through the second window.
&odq;Mordecai Smith&cdq; was printed across it in large
letters, and, underneath, &odq;Boats to hire by the hour or day.&cdq;
A second inscription above the door informed us that a steam
launch was kept — a statement which was confirmed by a great
pile of coke upon the jetty. Sherlock Holmes looked slowly
round, and his face assumed an ominous expression.
&odq;This looks bad,&cdq; said he. &odq;These fellows
are sharper than I expected. They seem to have covered their
tracks. There has, I fear, been preconcerted management
here.&cdq;
He was approaching the door of the house, when it opened, and a
little curly-headed lad of six came running out, followed by a
stoutish, red-faced woman with a large sponge in her hand.
&odq;You come back and be washed, Jack,&cdq; she shouted.
&odq;Come back, you young imp; for if your father comes home
and finds you like that he'll let us hear of it.&cdq;
&odq;Dear little chap!&cdq; said Holmes strategically.
&odq;What a rosy-cheeked young rascal! Now, Jack, is
there anything you would like?&cdq;
The youth pondered for a moment.
&odq;I'd like a
shillin',&cdq; said he.
&odq;Nothing you would like better?&cdq;
&odq;I'd
like two shillin' better,&cdq; the prodigy answered after some
thought.
&odq;Here you are, then! Catch! — A fine child,
Mrs. Smith!&cdq;
&odq;Lor' bless you, sir, he is that, and forward. He
gets a'most too much for me to manage, ' specially when my man is
away days at a time.&cdq;
&odq;Away, is he?&cdq; said Holmes in a disappointed voice.
&odq;I am sorry for that, for I wanted to speak to Mr.
Smith.&cdq;
&odq;He's been away since yesterday mornin', sir, and, truth to
tell, I am beginnin' to feel frightened about him. But if it
was about a boat, sir, maybe I could serve as well.&cdq;
&odq;I wanted to hire his steam launch.&cdq;
&odq;Why, bless you, sir, it is in the steam launch
that he has gone. That's what puzzles me, for I know there
ain't more coals in her than would take her to about Woolwich and
back. If he's been away in the barge I'd ha' thought nothin';
for many a time a job has taken him as far as Gravesend, and then if
there was much doin' there he might ha' stayed over. But what
good is a steam launch without coals?&cdq;
&odq;He might have bought some at a wharf down the river.&cdq;
&odq;He might, sir, but it weren't his way. Many a time
I've heard him call out at the prices they charge for a few odd bags.
Besides, I don't like that wooden-legged man, wi' his ugly
face and outlandish talk. What did he want always knockin'
about here for?&cdq;
&odq;A wooden-legged man?&cdq; said Holmes with bland surprise.
&odq;Yes, sir, a brown, monkey-faced chap that's called more'n
once for my old man. It was him that roused him up yesternight
and, what's more, my man knew he was comin', for he had steam up in
the launch. I tell you straight, sir, I don't feel easy in my
mind about it.&cdq;
&odq;But, my dear Mrs. Smith,&cdq; said Holmes, shrugging his
shoulders, &odq;you are frightening yourself about nothing.
How could you possibly tell that it was the wooden-legged man
who came in the night? I don't quite understand how you can be
so sure.&cdq;
&odq;His voice, sir. I knew his voice, which is kind o'
thick and foggy. He tapped at the winder — about three
it would be. &onq;Show a leg, matey,&cnq; says he: &onq;time
to turn out guard.&cnq; My old man woke up Jim —
that's my eldest — and away they went without so much as a
word to me. I could hear the wooden leg clackin' on the
stones.&cdq;
&odq;And was this wooden-legged man alone?&cdq;
&odq;Couldn't say, I am sure, sir. I didn't hear
no one else.&cdq;
&odq;I am sorry, Mrs. Smith, for I wanted a steam launch, and I
have heard good reports of the — Let me see, what is her
name?&cdq;
&odq;The Aurora, sir.&cdq;
&odq;Ah! She's
not that old green launch with a yellow line, very broad in the
beam?&cdq;
&odq;No, indeed. She's as trim a little thing as any on
the river. She's been fresh painted, black with two red
streaks.&cdq;
&odq;Thanks. I hope that you will hear soon from Mr.
Smith. I am going down the river, and if I should see anything
of the Aurora I shall let him know that you are uneasy. A
black funnel, you say?&cdq;
&odq;No, sir. Black with a white band.&cdq;
&odq;Ah, of course. It was the sides which were
black. Good-morning, Mrs. Smith. There is a boatman
here with a wherry, Watson. We shall take it and cross the
river.&cdq;
&odq;The main thing with people of that sort,&cdq; said Holmes
as we sat in the sheets of the wherry, &odq;is never to let them
think that their information can be of the slightest importance to
you. If you do they will instantly shut up like an oyster.
If you listen to them under protest, as it were, you are very
likely to get what you want.&cdq;
&odq;Our course now seems pretty clear,&cdq; said I.
&odq;What would you do, then?&cdq;
&odq;I would engage a launch and go down the river on the track
of the Aurora.&cdq;
&odq;My dear fellow, it would be a colossal task. She
may have touched at any wharf on either side of the stream between
here and Greenwich. Below the bridge there is a perfect
labyrinth of landing-places for miles. It would take you days
and days to exhaust them if you set about it alone.&cdq;
&odq;Employ the police, then.&cdq;
&odq;No.
I shall probably call Athelney Jones in at the last moment.
He is not a bad fellow, and I should not like to do anything
which would injure him professionally. But I have a fancy for
working it out myself, now that we have gone so far.&cdq;
&odq;Could we advertise, then, asking for information from
wharfingers?
&odq;Worse and worse! Our men would know that the chase
was hot at their heels, and they would be off out of the country.
As it is, they are likely enough to leave, but as long as they
think they are perfectly safe they will be in no hurry.
Jones's energy will be of use to us there, for his view of the
case is sure to push itself into the daily press, and the runaways
will think that everyone is off on the wrong scent.&cdq;
&odq;What are we to do, then?&cdq; I asked as we landed
near Millbank Penitentiary.
&odq;Take this hansom, drive home, have some breakfast, and get
an hour's sleep. It is quite on the cards that we may be afoot
to-night again. Stop at a telegraph office, cabby! We
will keep Toby, for he may be of use to us yet.&cdq;
We pulled up at the Great Peter Street Post-Office, and Holmes
dispatched his wire.
&odq;Whom do you think that is to?&cdq; he asked as we resumed
our journey.
&odq;I am sure I don't know.&cdq;
&odq;You
remember the Baker Street division of the detective police force whom
I employed in the Jefferson Hope case?&cdq;
&odq;Well,&cdq; said I, laughing.
&odq;This is
just the case where they might be invaluable. If they fail I
have other resources, but I shall try them first. That wire
was to my dirty little lieutenant, Wiggins, and I expect that he and
his gang will be with us before we have finished our breakfast.&cdq;
It was between eight and nine o'clock now, and I was conscious
of a strong reaction after the successive excitements of the night.
I was limp and weary, befogged in mind and fatigued in body.
I had not the professional enthusiasm which carried my
companion on, nor could I look at the matter as a mere abstract
intellectual problem. As far as the death of Bartholomew
Sholto went, I had heard little good of him and could feel no intense
antipathy to his murderers. The treasure, however, was a
different matter. That, or part of it, belonged rightfully to
Miss Morstan. While there was a chance of recovering it I was
ready to devote my life to the one object. True, if I found
it, it would probably put her forever beyond my reach. Yet it
would be a petty and selfish love which would be influenced by such a
thought as that. If Holmes could work to find the criminals, I
had a tenfold stronger reason to urge me on to find the treasure.
A bath at Baker Street and a complete change freshened me up
wonderfully. When I came down to our room I found the
breakfast laid and Holmes pouring out the coffee.
&odq;Here it is,&cdq; said he, laughing and pointing to an open
newspaper. &odq;The energetic Jones and the ubiquitous
reporter have fixed it up between them. But you have had
enough of the case. Better have your ham and eggs first.&cdq;
I took the paper from him and read the short notice, Which was
headed &odq;Mysterious Business at Upper Norwood.&cdq;
About twelve o'clock last night [ said the Standard ] Mr. Bartholomew Sholto, of Pondicherry Lodge, Upper Norwood, was found dead in his room under circumstances which point to foul play.As far as we can learn, no actual traces of violence were found upon Mr. Sholto's person, but a valuable collection of Indian gems which the deceased gentleman had inherited from his father has been carried off.The discovery was first made by Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson, who had called at the house with Mr. Thaddeus Sholto, brother of the deceased.By a singular piece of good fortune, Mr. Athelney Jones, the well-known member of the detective police force, happened to be at the Norwood police station and was on the ground within half an hour of the first alarm.His trained and experienced faculties were at once directed towards the detection of the criminals, with the gratifying result that the brother, Thaddeus Sholto, has already been arrested, together with the housekeeper, Mrs. Bernstone, an Indian butler named Lal Rao, and a porter, or gatekeeper, named McMurdo.It is quite certain that the thief or thieves were well acquainted with the house, for Mr. Jones's well-known technical knowledge and his powers of minute observation have enabled him to prove conclusively that the miscreants could not have entered by the door or by the window but must have made their way across the roof of the building, and so through a trapdoor into a room which communicated with that in which the body was found.This fact, which has been very clearly made out, proves conclusively that it was no mere haphazard burglary.The prompt and energetic action of the officers of the law shows the great advantage of the presence on such occasions of a single vigorous and masterful mind.We cannot but think that it supplies an argument to those who would wish to see our detectives more decentralized, and so brought into closer and more effective touch with the cases which it is their duty to investigate.
&odq;Isn't it gorgeous!&cdq; said Holmes, grinning over his
coffee cup. &odq;What do you think of it?&cdq;
&odq;I think that we have had a close shave ourselves of being
arrested for the crime.&cdq;
&odq;So do I. I wouldn't answer for our safety now if he
should happen to have another of his attacks of energy.&cdq;
At this moment there was a loud ring at the bell, and I could
hear Mrs. Hudson, our landlady, raising her voice in a wail of
expostulation and dismay.
&odq;By heavens, Holmes,&cdq; I said, half rising, &odq;I
believe that they are really after us.&cdq;
&odq;No, it's not quite so bad as that. It is the
unofficial force — the Baker Street irregulars.&cdq;
As he spoke, there came a swift pattering of naked feet upon
the stairs, a clatter of high voices, and in rushed a dozen dirty and
ragged little street Arabs. There was some show of discipline
among them, despite their tumultuous entry, for they instantly drew
up in line and stood facing us with expectant faces. One of
their number, taller and older than the others, stood forward with an
air of lounging superiority which was very funny in such a
disreputable little scarecrow.
&odq;Got your message, sir,&cdq; said he, &odq;and brought 'em
on sharp. Three bob and a tanner for tickets.&cdq;
&odq;Here you are,&cdq; said Holmes, producing some silver.
&odq;In future they can report to you, Wiggins, and you to me.
I cannot have the house invaded in this way. However,
it is just as well that you should all hear the instructions.
I want to find the whereabouts of a steam launch called the
Aurora, owner Mordecai Smith, black with two red streaks, funnel
black with a white band. She is down the river somewhere.
I want one boy to be at Mordecai Smith's landing-stage
opposite Millbank to say if the boat comes back. You must
divide it out among yourselves and do both banks thoroughly.
Let me know the moment you have news. Is that all
clear?&cdq;
&odq;Yes, guv'nor,&cdq; said Wiggins.
&odq;The
old scale of pay, and a guinea to the boy who finds the boat.
Here's a day in advance. Now off you go!&cdq;
He handed them a shilling each, and away they buzzed down the
stairs, and I saw them a moment later streaming down the street.
&odq;If the launch is above water they will find her,&cdq; said
Holmes as he rose from the table and lit his pipe. &odq;They
can go everywhere, see everything, overhear everyone. I expect
to hear before evening that they have spotted her. In the
meanwhile, we can do nothing but await results. We cannot pick
up the broken trail until we find either the Aurora or Mr. Mordecai
Smith.&cdq;
&odq;Toby could eat these scraps, I dare say. Are you
going to bed, Holmes?&cdq;
&odq;No: I am not tired. I have a curious constitution.
I never remember feeling tired by work, though idleness
exhausts me completely. I am going to smoke and to think over
this queer business to which my fair client has introduced us.
If ever man had an easy task, this of ours ought to be.
Wooden-legged men are not so common, but the other man must, I
should think, be absolutely unique.&cdq;
&odq;That other man again!&cdq;
&odq;I have no
wish to make a mystery of him to you, anyway. But you must
have formed your own opinion. Now, do consider the data.
Diminutive footmarks, toes never fettered by boots, naked
feet, stone-headed wooden mace, great agility, small poisoned darts.
What do you make of all this?&cdq;
&odq;A savage!&cdq; I exclaimed. &odq;Perhaps one of
those Indians who were the associates of Jonathan Small.&cdq;
&odq;Hardly that,&cdq; said he. &odq;When first I saw
signs of strange weapons I was inclined to think so, but the
remarkable character of the footmarks caused me to reconsider my
views. Some of the inhabitants of the Indian Peninsula are
small men, but none could have left such marks as that. The
Hindoo proper has long and thin feet. The sandal-wearing
Mohammedan has the great toe well separated from the others because
the thong is commonly passed between. These little darts, too,
could only be shot in one way. They are from a blow-pipe.
Now, then, where are we to find our savage?&cdq;
&odq;South America,&cdq; I hazarded.
He stretched
his hand up and took down a bulky volume from the shelf.
&odq;This is the first volume of a gazetteer which is now being
published. It may be looked upon as the very latest authority.
What have we here?
&odq;Andaman Islands, situated 340 miles to the north of Sumatra, in the Bay of Bengal.
Hum! hum! What's all this? Moist climate, coral
reefs, sharks, Port Blair, convict barracks, Rutland Island,
cottonwoods — Ah here we are!
&odq;The aborigines of the Andaman Islands may perhaps claim the distinction of being the smallest race upon this earth, though some anthropologists prefer the Bushmen of Africa, the Digger Indians of America, and the Terra del Fuegians.The average height is rather below four feet, although many full-grown adults may be found who are very much smaller than this.They are a fierce, morose, and intractable people, though capable of forming most devoted friendships when their confidence has once been gained.
Mark that, Watson. Now, then listen to this.
&odq;They are naturally hideous, having large, misshapen heads, small fierce eyes, and distorted features.Their feet and hands, however, are remarkably small.So intractable and fierce are they, that all the efforts of the British officials have failed to win them over in any degree.They have always been a terror to shipwrecked crews, braining the survivors with their stone-headed clubs or shooting them with their poisoned arrows.These massacres are invariably concluded by a cannibal feast.
Nice, amiable people, Watson! If this fellow had been
left to his own unaided devices, this affair might have taken an even
more ghastly turn. I fancy that, even as it is, Jonathan Small
would give a good deal not to have employed him. &odq;
&odq;But how came he to have so singular a companion?&cdq;
&odq;Ah, that is more than I can tell. Since,
however, we had already determined that Small had come from the
Andamans, it is not so very wonderful that this islander should be
with him. No doubt we shall know all about it in time.
Look here, Watson; you look regularly done. Lie down
there on the sofa and see if I can put you to sleep.&cdq;
He took up his violin from the corner, and as I stretched
myself out he began to play some low, dreamy, melodious air —
his own, no doubt, for he had a remarkable gift for improvisation.
I have a vague remembrance of his gaunt limbs, his earnest
face and the rise and fall of his bow. Then I seemed to be
floated peacefully away upon a soft sea of sound until I found myself
in dreamland, with the sweet face of Mary Morstan looking down upon
me.
It was late in the afternoon before I woke, strengthened and
refreshed. Sherlock Holmes still sat exactly as I had left him
save that he had laid aside his violin and was deep in a book.
He looked across at me as I stirred, and I noticed that his
face was dark and troubled.
&odq;You have slept soundly,&cdq; he said. &odq;I feared
that our talk would wake you.&cdq;
&odq;I heard nothing,&cdq; I answered. &odq;Have you had
fresh news, then?&cdq;
&odq;Unfortunately, no. I confess that I am surprised
and disappointed. I expected something definite by this time.
Wiggins has just been up to report. He says that no
trace can be found of the launch. It is a provoking check, for
every hour is of importance.&cdq;
&odq;Can I do anything? I am perfectly fresh now, and
quite ready for another night's outing.&cdq;
&odq;No; we can do nothing. We can only wait. If
we go ourselves the message might come in our absence and delay be
caused. You can do what you will, but I must remain on
guard.&cdq;
&odq;Then I shall run over to Camberwell and call upon Mrs.
Cecil Forrester. She asked me to, yesterday.&cdq;
&odq;On Mrs. Cecil Forrester?&cdq; asked Holmes with the
twinkle of a smile in his eyes.
&odq;Well, of course on Miss Morstan, too. They were
anxious to hear what happened.&cdq;
&odq;I would not tell them too much,&cdq; said Holmes.
&odq;Women are never to be entirely trusted — not the
best of them.&cdq;
I did not pause to argue over this atrocious sentiment.
&odq;I shall be back in an hour or two,&cdq; I remarked.
&odq;All right! Good luck! But, I say, if
you are crossing the river you may as well return Toby, for I don't
think it is at all likely that we shall have any use for him
now.&cdq;
I took our mongrel accordingly and left him, together with a
half-sovereign, at the old naturalist's in Pinchin Lane. At
Camberwell I found Miss Morstan a little weary after her night's
adventures but very eager to hear the news. Mrs. Forrester,
too, was full of curiosity. I told them all that we had done,
suppressing, however, the more dreadful parts of the tragedy.
Thus although I spoke of Mr. Sholto's death, I said nothing of
the exact manner and method of it. With all my omissions,
however, there was enough to startle and amaze them.
&odq;It is a romance!&cdq; cried Mrs. Forrester. &odq;An
injured lady, half a million in treasure, a black cannibal, and a
wooden-legged ruffian. They take the place of the conventional
dragon or wicked earl.&cdq;
&odq;And two knight-errants to the rescue,&cdq; added Miss
Morstan with a bright glance at me.
&odq;Why, Mary, your fortune depends upon the issue of this
search. I don't think that you are nearly excited enough.
Just imagine what it must be to be so rich and to have the
world at your feet!&cdq;
It sent a little thrill of joy to my heart to notice that she
showed no sign of elation at the prospect. On the contrary,
she gave a toss of her proud head, as though the matter were one in
which she took small interest.
&odq;It is for Mr. Thaddeus Sholto that I am anxious,&cdq; she
said. &odq;Nothing else is of any consequence; but I think
that he has behaved most kindly and honourably throughout. It
is our duty to clear him of this dreadful and unfounded charge.&cdq;
It was evening before I left Camberwell, and quite dark by the
time I reached home. My companion's book and pipe lay by his
chair, but he had disappeared. I looked about in the hope of
seeing a note, but there was none.
&odq;I suppose that Mr. Sherlock Holmes has gone out,&cdq; I
said to Mrs. Hudson as she came up to lower the blinds.
&odq;No, sir. He has gone to his room, sir. Do
you know, sir,&cdq; sinking her voice into an impressive whisper,
&odq;I am afraid for his health.&cdq;
&odq;Why so, Mrs. Hudson?&cdq;
&odq;Well, he's
that strange, sir. After you was gone he walked and he walked,
up and down, and up and down, until I was weary of the sound of his
footstep. Then I heard him talking to himself and muttering,
and every time the bell rang out he came on the stairhead, with
&onq;What is that, Mrs. Hudson?&cnq; And now he has slammed
off to his room, but I can hear him walking away the same as ever.
I hope he's not going to be ill, sir. I ventured to say
something to him about cooling medicine, but he turned on me, sir,
with such a look that I don't know how ever I got out of the
room.&cdq;
&odq;I don't think that you have any cause to be uneasy, Mrs.
Hudson,&cdq; I answered. &odq;I have seen him like this
before. He has some small matter upon his mind which makes him
restless.&cdq;
I tried to speak lightly to our worthy landlady, but I was
myself somewhat uneasy when through the long night I still from time
to time heard the dull sound of his tread, and knew how his keen
spirit was chafing against this involuntary inaction.
At breakfast-time he looked worn and haggard, with a little
fleck of feverish colour upon either cheek.
&odq;You are knocking yourself up, old man,&cdq; I remarked.
&odq;I heard you marching about in the night.&cdq;
&odq;No, I could not sleep,&cdq; he answered. &odq;This
infernal problem is consuming me. It is too much to be balked
by so petty an obstacle, when all else had been overcome. I
know the men, the launch, everything; and yet I can get no news.
I have set other agencies at work and used every means at my
disposal. The whole river has been searched on either side,
but there is no news, nor has Mrs. Smith heard of her husband.
I shall come to the conclusion soon that they have scuttled
the craft. But there are objections to that.&cdq;
&odq;Or that Mrs. Smith has put us on a wrong scent.&cdq;
&odq;No, I think that may be dismissed. I had
inquiries made, and there is a launch of that description.&cdq;
&odq;Could it have gone up the river?&cdq;
&odq;I
have considered that possibility, too, and there is a search-party
who will work up as far as Richmond. If no news comes to-day I
shall start off myself tomorrow and go for the men rather than the
boat. But surely, surely, we shall hear something.&cdq;
We did not, however. Not a word came to us either from
Wiggins or from the other agencies. There were articles in
most of the papers upon the Norwood tragedy. They all appeared
to be rather hostile to the unfortunate Thaddeus Sholto. No
fresh details were to be found, however, in any of them, save that an
inquest was to be held upon the following day. I walked over
to Camberwell in the evening to report our ill-success to the ladies,
and on my return I found Holmes dejected and somewhat morose.
He would hardly reply to my questions and busied himself all
the evening in an abstruse chemical analysis which involved much
heating of retorts and distilling of vapours, ending at last in a
smell which fairly drove me out of the apartment. Up to the
small hours of the morning I could hear the clinking of his
test-tubes which told me that he was still engaged in his malodorous
experiment.
In the early dawn I woke with a start and was surprised to find
him standing by my bedside, clad in a rude sailor dress with a
peajacket and a coarse red scarf round his neck.
&odq;I am off down the river, Watson,&cdq; said he.
&odq;I have been turning it over in my mind, and I can see
only one way out of it. It is worth trying, at all
events.&cdq;
&odq;Surely I can come with you, then?&cdq; said I.
&odq;No; you can be much more useful if you will remain
here as my representative. I am loath to go, for it is quite
on the cards that some message may come during the day, though
Wiggins was despondent about it last night. I want you to open
all notes and telegrams, and to act on your own judgment if any news
should come. Can I rely upon you?&cdq;
&odq;Most certainly.&cdq;
&odq;I am afraid that
you will not be able to wire to me, for I can hardly tell yet where I
may find myself. If I am in luck, however, I may not be gone
so very long. I shall have news of some sort or other before I
get back.&cdq;
I had heard nothing of him by breakfast time. On opening
the Standard, however, I found that there was a fresh allusion to the
business.
With reference to the Upper Norwood tragedy [ it remarked ] we have reason to believe that the matter promises to be even more complex and mysterious than was originally supposed.Fresh evidence has shown that it is quite impossible that Mr. Thaddeus Sholto could have been in any way concerned in the matter.He and the housekeeper, Mrs. Bernstone, were both released yesterday evening.It is believed, however, that the police have a clue as to the real culprits, and that it is being prosecuted by Mr. Athelney Jones, of Scotland Yard, with all his well-known energy and sagacity.Further arrests may be expected at any moment.
&odq;That is satisfactory so far as it goes,&cdq; thought I.
&odq;Friend Sholto is safe, at any rate. I wonder what
the fresh clue may be though it seems to be a stereotyped form
whenever the police have made a blunder.&cdq;
I tossed the paper down upon the table, but at that moment my
eye caught an advertisement in the agony column. It ran in
this way:
LOST — Whereas Mordecai Smith, boatman, and his son Jim left Smith's Wharf at or about three o'clock last Tuesday morning in the steam launch Aurora, black with two red stripes, funnel black with a white band, the sum of five pounds will be paid to anyone who can give information to Mrs. Smith, at Smith's Wharf, or at 22lB, Baker Street, as to the whereabouts of the said Mordecai Smith and the launch Aurora.
This was clearly Holmes's doing. The Baker Street
address was enough to prove that. It struck me as rather
ingenious because it might be read by the fugitives without their
seeing in it more than the natural anxiety of a wife for her missing
husband.
It was a long day. Every time that a knock came to the
door or a sharp step passed in the street, I imagined that it was
either Holmes returning or an answer to his advertisement. I
tried to read, but my thoughts would wander off to our strange quest
and to the ill-assorted and villainous pair whom we were pursuing.
Could there be, I wondered, some radical flaw in my
companion's reasoning? Might he not be suffering from some
huge self-deception? Was it not possible that his nimble and
speculative mind had built up this wild theory upon faulty premises?
I had never known him to be wrong, and yet the keenest
reasoner may occasionally be deceived. He was likely, I
thought, to fall into error through the over-refinement of his logic
— his preference for a subtle and bizarre explanation when a
plainer and more commonplace one lay ready to his hand. Yet,
on the other hand, I had myself seen the evidence, and I had heard
the reasons for his deductions. When I looked back on the long
chain of curious circumstances, many of them trivial in themselves
but all tending in the same direction, I could not disguise from
myself that even if Holmes's explanation were incorrect the true
theory must be equally outre and startling.
At three o'clock on the afternoon there was a loud peal at the
bell, an authoritative voice in the hall, and, to my surprise, no
less a person than Mr. Athelney Jones was shown up to me. Very
different was he, however, from the brusque and masterful professor
of common sense who had taken over the case so confidently at Upper
Norwood. His expression was downcast, and his bearing meek and
even apologetic.
&odq;Good-day, sir; good-day,&cdq; said he. &odq;Mr.
Sherlock Holmes is out, I understand.&cdq;
&odq;Yes, and I cannot be sure when he will be back. But
perhaps you would care to wait. Take that chair and try one of
these cigars.&cdq;
&odq;Thank you; I don't mind if I do,&cdq; said he, mopping his
face with a red bandanna handkerchief.
&odq;And a whisky and soda?&cdq;
&odq;Well, half
a glass. It is very hot for the time of year, and I have had a
good deal to worry and try me. You know my theory about this
Norwood case?&cdq;
&odq;I remember that you expressed one.&cdq;
&odq;Well, I have been obliged to reconsider it.
I had my net drawn tightly round Mr. Sholto, sir, when pop he
went through a hole in the middle of it. He was able to prove
an alibi which could not be shaken. From the time that he left
his brother's room he was never out of sight of someone or other.
So it could not be he who climbed over roofs and through
trapdoors. It's a very dark case, and my professional credit
is at stake. I should be very glad of a little
assistance.&cdq;
&odq;We all need help sometimes,&cdq; said I.
&odq;Your friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, is a wonderful
man, sir,&cdq; said he in a husky and confidential voice.
&odq;He's a man who is not to be beat. I have known
that young man go into a good many cases, but I never saw the case
yet that he could not throw a light upon. He is irregular in
his methods and a little quick perhaps in jumping at theories, but,
on the whole, I think he would have made a most promising officer,
and I don't care who knows it. I have had a wire from him this
morning, by which I understand that he has got some clue to this
Sholto business. Here is his message.&cdq;
He took the telegram out of his pocket and handed it to me.
It was dated from Poplar at twelve o'clock.
Go to Baker Street at once [ it said ]. If I have not
returned, wait for me. I am close on the track of the Sholto
gang. You can come with us to-night if you want to be in at
the finish.
&odq;This sounds well. He has evidently picked up the
scent again,&cdq; said I.
&odq;Ah, then he has been at fault too,&cdq; exclaimed Jones
with evident satisfaction. &odq;Even the best of us are thrown
off sometimes. Of course this may prove to be a false alarm
but it is my duty as an officer of the law to allow no chance to
slip. But there is someone at the door. Perhaps this is
he.&cdq;
A heavy step was heard ascending the stair, with a great
wheezing and rattling as from a man who was sorely put to it for
breath. Once or twice he stopped, as though the climb were too
much for him, but at last he made his way to our door and entered.
His appearance corresponded to the sounds which we had heard.
He was an aged man, clad in seafaring garb, with an old
pea-jacket buttoned up to his throat. His back was bowed his
knees were shaky, and his breathing was painfully asthmatic.
As he leaned upon a thick oaken cudgel his shoulders heaved in
the effort to draw the air into his lungs. He had a coloured
scarf round his chin, and I could see little of his face save a pair
of keen dark eyes, overhung by bushy white brows and long gray
side-whiskers. Altogether he gave me the impression of a
respectable master mariner who had fallen into years and poverty.
&odq;What is it, my man?&cdq; I asked.
He looked
about him in the slow methodical fashion of old age.
&odq;Is Mr. Sherlock Holmes here?&cdq; said he.
&odq;No; but I am acting for him. You can tell
me any message you have for him.&cdq;
&odq;It was to him himself I was to tell it,&cdq; said he.
&odq;But I tell you that I am acting for him.
Was it about Mordecai Smith's boat?&cdq;
&odq;Yes. I knows well where it is. An &onq;I
knows where the men he is after are. An&cnq; I knows where the
treasure is. I knows all about it.&cdq;
&odq;Then tell me, and I shall let him know.&cdq;
&odq;It was to him I was to tell it,&cdq; he repeated
with the petulant obstinacy of a very old man.
&odq;Well, you must wait for him.&cdq;
&odq;No,
no; I ain't goin' to lose a whole day to please no one. If Mr.
Holmes ain't here, then Mr. Holmes must find it all out for himself.
I don't care about the look of either of you, and I won't tell
a word.&cdq;
He shuffled towards the door, but Athelney Jones got in front
of him.
&odq;Wait a bit, my friend,&cdq; said he. &odq;You have
important information, and you must not walk off. We shall
keep you, whether you like or not, until our friend returns.&cdq;
The old man made a little run towards the door, but, as
Athelney Jones put his broad back up against it, he recognized the
uselessness of resistance.
&odq;Pretty sort o' treatment this!&cdq; he cried, stamping his
stick. &odq;I come here to see a gentleman, and you two, who I
never saw in my life, seize me and treat me in this fashion!&cdq;
&odq;You will be none the worse,&cdq; I said. &odq;We
shall recompense you for the loss of your time. Sit over here
on the sofa, and you will not have long to wait.&cdq;
He came across sullenly enough and seated himself with his face
resting on his hands. Jones and I resumed our cigars and our
talk. Suddenly, however, Holmes's voice broke in upon us.
&odq;I think that you might offer me a cigar too,&cdq; he said.
We both started in our chairs. There was Holmes sitting
close to us with an air of quiet amusement.
&odq;Holmes!&cdq; I exclaimed. &odq;You here! But
where is the old man?&cdq;
&odq;Here is the old man,&cdq; said he, holding out a heap of
white hair. &odq;Here he is — wig, whiskers, eyebrows,
and all. I thought my disguise was pretty good, but I hardly
expected that it would stand that test.&cdq;
&odq;Ah, you rogue!&cdq; cried Jones, highly delighted.
&odq;You would have made an actor and a rare one. You
had the proper workhouse cough, and those weak legs of yours are
worth ten pound a week. I thought I knew the glint of your
eye, though. You didn't get away from us so easily, you
see.&cdq;
&odq;I have been working in that get-up all day,&cdq; said he,
lighting his cigar. &odq;You see, a good many of the criminal
classes begin to know me — especially since our friend here
took to publishing some of my cases: so I can only go on the war-path
under some simple disguise like this. You got my wire?&cdq;
&odq;Yes; that was what brought me here.&cdq;
&odq;How has your case prospered?&cdq;
&odq;It has all come to nothing. I have had to release
two of my prisoners, and there is no evidence against the other
two.&cdq;
&odq;Never mind. We shall give you two others in the
place of them. But you must put yourself under my orders.
You are welcome to all the official credit, but you must act
on the lines that I point out. Is that agreed?&cdq;
&odq;Entirely, if you will help me to the men.&cdq;
&odq;Well, then, in the first place I shall want, a
fast policeboat — a steam launch — to be at the
Westminster Stairs at seven o'clock.&cdq;
&odq;That is easily managed. There is always one about
there, but I can step across the road and telephone to make
sure.&cdq;
&odq;Then I shall want two staunch men in case of
resistance.&cdq;
&odq;There will be two or three in the boat. What
else?&cdq;
&odq;When we secure the men we shall get the treasure. I
think that it would be a pleasure to my friend here to take the box
round to the young lady to whom half of it rightfully belongs.
Let her be the first to open it. Eh, Watson?&cdq;
&odq;It would be a great pleasure to me.&cdq;
&odq;Rather an irregular proceeding,&cdq; said Jones,
shaking his head. &odq;However, the whole thing is irregular,
and I suppose we must wink at it. The treasure must afterwards
be handed over to the authorities until after the official
investigation.&cdq;
&odq;Certainly. That is easily managed. One other
point. I should much like to have a few details about this
matter from the lips of Jonathan Small himself. You know I
like to work the details of my cases out. There is no
objection to my having an unofficial interview with him, either here
in my rooms or elsewhere, as long as he is efficiently guarded?&cdq;
&odq;Well, you are master of the situation. I have had
no proof yet of the existence of this Jonathan Small. However,
if you can catch him, I don't see how I can refuse you an interview
with him.&cdq;
&odq;That is understood, then?&cdq;
&odq;Perfectly. Is there anything else?&cdq;
&odq;Only that I insist upon your dining with us. It
will be ready in half an hour. I have oysters and a brace of
grouse, with something a little choice in white wines. —
Watson, you have never yet recognized my merits as a
housekeeper.&cdq;
Our meal was a merry one. Holmes could talk exceedingly
well when he chose, and that night he did choose. He appeared
to be in a state of nervous exaltation. I have never known him
so brilliant. He spoke on a quick succession of subjects
— on miracle plays, on medieval pottery, on Stradivarius
violins, on the Buddhism of Ceylon, and on the warships of the future
— handling each as though he had made a special study of it.
His bright humour marked the reaction from his black
depression of the preceding days. Athelney Jones proved to be
a sociable soul in his hours of relaxation and faced his dinner with
the air of a bon vivant. For myself, I felt elated at the
thought that we were nearing the end of our task, and I caught
something of Holmes's gaiety. None of us alluded during dinner
to the cause which had brought us together.
When the cloth was cleared Holmes glanced at his watch and
filled up three glasses with port.
&odq;One bumper,&cdq; said he, &odq;to the success of our
little expedition. And now it is high time we were off.
Have you a pistol Watson?&cdq;
&odq;I have my old service-revolver in my desk.&cdq;
&odq;You had best take it, then. It is well to
be prepared. I see that the cab is at the door. I
ordered it for half-past six.&cdq;
It was a little past seven before we reached the Westminster
wharf and found our launch awaiting us. Holmes eyed it
critically.
&odq;Is there anything to mark it as a police-boat?&cdq;
&odq;Yes, that green lamp at the side.&cdq;
&odq;Then take it off.&cdq;
The small change was
made, we stepped on board, and the ropes were cast off. Jones,
Holmes, and I sat in the stern. There was one man at the
rudder, one to tend the engines, and two burly police-inspectors
forward.
&odq;Where to?&cdq; asked Jones.
&odq;To the
Tower. Tell them to stop opposite to Jacobson's Yard.&cdq;
Our craft was evidently a very fast one. We shot past
the long lines of loaded barges as though they were stationary.
Holmes smiled with satisfaction as we overhauled a river
steamer and left her behind us.
&odq;We ought to be able to catch anything on the river,&cdq;
he said.
&odq;Well, hardly that. But there are not many launches
to beat us.&cdq;
&odq;We shall have to catch the Aurora, and she has a name for
being a clipper. I will tell you how the land lies, Watson.
You recollect how annoyed I was at being baulked by so small a
thing?&cdq;
&odq;Yes.&cdq;
&odq;Well, I gave my mind a
thorough rest by plunging into a chemical analysis. One of our
greatest statesmen has said that a change of work is the best rest.
So it is. When I had succeeded in dissolving the
hydrocarbon which I was at work at, I came back to our problem of the
Sholtos, and thought the whole matter out again. My boys had
been up the river and down the river without result. The
launch was not at any landing-stage or wharf, nor had it returned.
Yet it could hardly have been scuttled to hide their traces,
though that always remained as a possible hypothesis if all else
failed. I knew that this man Small had a certain degree of low
cunning, but I did not think him capable of anything in the nature of
delicate finesse. That is usually a product of higher
education. I then reflected that since he had certainly been
in London some time — as we had evidence that he maintained a
continual watch over Pondicherry Lodge — he could hardly
leave at a moment's notice, but would need some little time, if it
were only a day, to arrange his affairs. That was the balance
of probability, at any rate.&cdq;
&odq;It seems to me to be a little weak,&cdq; said I; &odq;it
is more probable that he had arranged his affairs before ever he set
out upon his expedition.&cdq;
&odq;No, I hardly think so. This lair of his would be
too valuable a retreat in case of need for him to give it up until he
was sure that he could do without it. But a second
consideration struck me. Jonathan Small must have felt that
the peculiar appearance of his companion, however much he may have
top-coated him, would give rise to gossip, and possibly be associated
with this Norwood tragedy. He was quite sharp enough to see
that. They had started from their headquarters under cover of
darkness, and he would wish to get back before it was broad light.
Now, it was past three o'clock, according to Mrs. Smith, when
they got the boat. It would be quite bright, and people would
be about in an hour or so. Therefore, I argued, they did not
go very far. They paid Smith well to hold his tongue, reserved
his launch for the final escape, and hurried to their lodgings with
the treasure-box. In a couple of nights, when they had time to
see what view the papers took, and whether there was any suspicion,
they would make their way under cover of darkness to some ship at
Gravesend or in the Downs, where no doubt they had already arranged
for passages to America or the Colonies.&cdq;
&odq;But the launch? They could not have taken that to
their lodgings.&cdq;
&odq;Quite so. I argued that the launch must be no great
way off, in spite of its invisibility. I then put myself in
the place of Small and looked at it as a man of his capacity would.
He would probably consider that to send back the launch or to
keep it at a wharf would make pursuit easy if the police did happen
to get on his track. How, then, could he conceal the launch
and yet have her at hand when wanted? I wondered what I should
do myself if I were in his shoes. I could only think of one
way of doing it. I might hand the launch over to some
boat-builder or repairer, with directions to make a trifling change
in her. She would then be removed to his shed or yard, and so
be effectually concealed, while at the same time I could have her at
a few hours' notice.&cdq;
&odq;That seems simple enough.&cdq;
&odq;It is
just these very simple things which are extremely liable to be
overlooked. However, I determined to act on the idea. I
started at once in this harmless seaman's rig and inquired at all the
yards down the river. I drew blank at fifteen, but at the
sixteenth — Jacobson's — I learned that the Aurora
had been handed over to them two days ago by a wooden-legged man,
with some trivial directions as to her rudder. &onq;There
ain't naught amiss with her rudder,&cnq; said the foreman.
&onq;There she lies, with the red streaks.&cnq; At that
moment who should come down but Mordecai Smith, the missing owner.
He was rather the worse for liquor. I should not, of
course, have known him, but he bellowed out his name and the name of
his launch. &onq;I want her to-night at eight o'clock,&cnq;
said he — &onq;eight o'clock sharp, mind, for I have two
gentlemen who won't be kept waiting.&cnq; They had evidently
paid him well, for he was very flush of money, chucking shillings
about to the men. I followed him some distance, but he
subsided into an alehouse; so I went back to the yard, and, happening
to pick up one of my boys on the way, I stationed him as a sentry
over the launch. He is to stand at the water's edge and wave
his handkerchief to us when they start. We shall be lying off
in the stream, and it will be a strange thing if we do not take men,
treasure, and all.&cdq;
&odq;You have planned it all very neatly, whether they are the
right men or not,&cdq; said Jones; &odq;but if the affair were in my
hands I should have had a body of police in Jacobson's Yard and
arrested them when they came down.&cdq;
&odq;Which would have been never. This man Small is a
pretty shrewd fellow. He would send a scout on ahead, and if
anything made him suspicious he would lie snug for another week.&cdq;
&odq;But you might have stuck to Mordecai Smith, and so been
led to their hiding-place,&cdq; said I.
&odq;In that case I should have wasted my day. I think
that it is a hundred to one against Smith knowing where they live.
As long as he has liquor and good pay, why should he ask
questions? They send him messages what to do. No, I
thought over every possible course, and this is the best.&cdq;
While this conversation had been proceeding, we had been
shooting the long series of bridges which span the Thames. As
we passed the City the last rays of the sun were gilding the cross
upon the summit of St. Paul's. It was twilight before we
reached the Tower.
&odq;That is Jacobson's Yard,&cdq; said Holmes, pointing to a
bristle of masts and rigging on the Surrey side. &odq;Cruise
gently up and down here under cover of this string of lighters.&cdq;
He took a pair of night-glasses from his pocket and gazed some
time at the shore. &odq;I see my sentry at his post,&cdq; he
remarked, &odq;but no sign of a handkerchief.&cdq;
&odq;Suppose we go downstream a short way and lie in wait for
them,&cdq; said Jones eagerly.
We were all eager by this time, even the policemen and stokers,
who had a very vague idea of what was going forward.
&odq;We have no right to take anything for granted,&cdq; Holmes
answered. &odq;It is certainly ten to one that they go
downstream, but we cannot be certain. From this point we can
see the entrance of the yard, and they can hardly see us. It
will be a clear night and plenty of light. We must stay where
we are. See how the folk swarm over yonder in the
gaslight.&cdq;
&odq;They are coming from work in the yard.&cdq;
&odq;Dirty-looking rascals, but I suppose every one has
some little immortal spark concealed about him. You would not
think it, to look at them. There is no a priori probability
about it. A strange enigma is man!&cdq;
&odq;Someone calls him a soul concealed in an animal,&cdq; I
suggested.
&odq;Winwood Reade is good upon the subject,&cdq; said Holmes.
&odq;He remarks that, while the individual man is an insoluble
puzzle, in the aggregate he becomes a mathematical certainty.
You can, for example, never foretell what any one man will do,
but you can say with precision what an average number will be up to.
Individuals vary, but percentages remain constant. So
says the statistician. But do I see a handkerchief?
Surely there is a white flutter over yonder.&cdq;
&odq;Yes, it is your boy,&cdq; I cried. &odq;I can see
him plainly.&cdq;
&odq;And there is the Aurora,&cdq; exclaimed Holmes, &odq;and
going like the devil! Full speed ahead, engineer. Make
after that launch with the yellow light. By heaven, I shall
never forgive myself if she proves to have the heels of us!&cdq;
She had slipped unseen through the yard-entrance and passed
between two or three small craft, so that she had fairly got her
speed up before we saw her. Now she was flying down the
stream, near in to the shore, going at a tremendous rate.
Jones looked gravely at her and shook his head.
&odq;She is very fast,&cdq; he said. &odq;I doubt if we
shall catch her.&cdq;
&odq;We must catch her!&cdq; cried Holmes between his teeth.
&odq;Heap it on, stokers! Make her do all she can!
If we burn the boat we must have them!&cdq;
We were fairly after her now. The furnaces roared, and
the powerful engines whizzed and clanked like a great metallic heart.
Her sharp, steep prow cut through the still river-water and
sent two rolling waves to right and to left of us. With every
throb of the engines we sprang and quivered like a living thing.
One great yellow lantern in our bows threw a long, flickering
funnel of light in front of us. Right ahead a dark blur upon
the water showed where the Aurora lay, and the swirl of white foam
behind her spoke of the pace at which she was going. We
flashed past barges, steamers, merchant-vessels, in and out, behind
this one and round the other. Voices hailed us out of the
darkness, but still the Aurora thundered on, and still we followed
close upon her track.
&odq;Pile it on, men, pile it on!&cdq; cried Holmes, looking
down into the engine-room, while the fierce glow from below beat upon
his eager, aquiline face. &odq;Get every pound of steam you
can.&cdq;
&odq;I think we gain a little,&cdq; said Jones with his eyes on
the Aurora.
&odq;I am sure of it,&cdq; said I. &odq;We shall be up
with her in a very few minutes.&cdq;
At that moment, however, as our evil fate would have it, a tug
with three barges in tow blundered in between us. It was only
by putting our helm hard down that we avoided a collision, and before
we could round them and recover our way the Aurora had gained a good
two hundred yards. She was still, however, well in view, and
the murky, uncertain twilight was settling into a clear, starlit
night. Our boilers were strained to their utmost, and the
frail shell vibrated and creaked with the fierce energy which was
driving us along. We had shot through the pool, past the West
India Docks, down the long Deptford Reach, and up again after
rounding the Isle of Dogs. The dull blur in front of us
resolved itself now clearly into the dainty Aurora. Jones
turned our searchlight upon her, so that we could plainly see the
figures upon her deck. One man sat by the stern, with
something black between his knees, over which he stooped.
Beside him lay a dark mass, which looked like a Newfoundland
dog. The boy held the tiller, while against the red glare of
the furnace I could see old Smith, stripped to the waist, and
shovelling coals for dear life. They may have had some doubt
at first as to whether we were really pursuing them, but now as we
followed every winding and turning which they took there could no
longer be any question about it. At Greenwich we were about
three hundred paces behind them. At Blackwall we could not
have been more than two hundred and fifty. I have coursed many
creatures in many countries during my checkered career, but never did
sport give me such a wild thrill as this mad, flying man-hunt down
the Thames. Steadily we drew in upon them, yard by yard.
In the silence of the night we could hear the panting and
clanking of their machinery. The man in the stern still
crouched upon the deck, and his arms were moving as though he were
busy, while every now and then he would look up and measure with a
glance the distance which still separated us. Nearer we came
and nearer. Jones yelled to them to stop. We were not
more than four boat's-lengths behind them, both boats flying at a
tremendous pace. It was a clear reach of the river, with
Barking Level upon one side and the melancholy Plumstead Marshes upon
the other. At our hail the man in the stern sprang up from the
deck and shook his two clenched fists at us, cursing the while in a
high, cracked voice. He was a good-sized, powerful man, and as
he stood poising himself with legs astride I could see that from the
thigh downward there was but a wooden stump upon the right side.
At the sound of his strident, angry cries, there was movement
in the huddled bundle upon the deck. It straightened itself
into a little black man — the smallest I have ever seen
— with a great, misshapen head and a shock of tangled,
dishevelled hair. Holmes had already drawn his revolver, and I
whipped out mine at the sight of this savage, distorted creature.
He was wrapped in some sort of dark ulster or blanket, which
left only his face exposed, but that face was enough to give a man a
sleepless night. Never have I seen features so deeply marked
with all bestiality and cruelty. His small eyes glowed and
burned with a sombre light, and his thick lips were writhed back from
his teeth, Which grinned and chattered at us with half animal fury.
&odq;Fire if he raises his hand,&cdq; said Holmes quietly.
We were within a boat's-length by this time, and almost
within touch of our quarry. I can see the two of them now as
they stood, the white man with his legs far apart, shrieking out
curses, and the unhallowed dwarf with his hideous face, and his
strong yellow teeth gnashing at us in the light of our lantern.
It was well that we had so clear a view of him. Even as
we looked he plucked out from under his covering a short, round piece
of wood, like a school-ruler, and clapped it to his lips. Our
pistols rang out together. He whirled round, threw up his arms
and, with a kind of choking cough, fell sideways into the stream.
I caught one glimpse of his venomous, menacing eyes amid the
white swirl of the waters. At the same moment the
wooden-legged man threw himself upon the rudder and put it hard down
so that his boat made straight in for the southern bank, while we
shot past her stern, only clearing her by a few feet. We were
round after her in an instant, but she was already nearly at the
bank. It was a wild and desolate place, where the moon
glimmered upon a wide expanse of marsh-land, with pools of stagnant
water and beds of decaying vegetation. The launch, with a dull
thud, ran up upon the mud-bank, with her bow in the air and her stern
flush with the water. The fugitive sprang out, but his stump
instantly sank its whole length into the sodden soil. In vain
he struggled and writhed. Not one step could he possibly take
either forward or backward. He yelled in impotent rage and
kicked frantically into the mud with his other foot, but his
struggles only bored his wooden pin the deeper into the sticky bank.
When we brought our launch alongside he was so firmly anchored
that it was only by throwing the end of a rope over his shoulders
that we were able to haul him out and to drag him, like some evil
fish, over our side. The two Smiths, father and son, sat
sullenly in their launch but came aboard meekly enough when
commanded. The Aurora herself we hauled off and made fast to
our stern. A solid iron chest of Indian workmanship stood upon
the deck. This, there could be no question, was the same that
had contained the ill-omened treasure of the Sholtos. There
was no key, but it was of considerable weight, so we transferred it
carefully to our own little cabin. As we steamed slowly
upstream again, we flashed our searchlight in every direction, but
there was no sign of the Islander. Somewhere in the dark ooze
at the bottom of the Thames lie the bones of that strange visitor to
our shores.
&odq;See here,&cdq; said Holmes, pointing to the wooden
hatchway. &odq;We were hardly quick enough with our
pistols;&cdq; There, sure enough, just behind where we had been
standing, stuck one of those murderous darts which we knew so well.
It must have whizzed between us at the instant we fired.
Holmes smiled at it and shrugged his shoulders in his easy
fashion, but I confess that it turned me sick to think of the
horrible death which had passed so close to us that night.
Our captive sat in the cabin opposite to the iron box which he
had done so much and waited so long to gain. He was a
sunburned reckless-eyed fellow, with a network of lines and wrinkles
all over his mahogany features, which told of a hard, open-air life.
There was a singular prominence about his bearded chin which
marked a man who was not to be easily turned from his purpose.
His age may have been fifty or thereabouts, for his black,
curly hair was thickly shot with gray. His face in repose was
not an unpleasing one, though his heavy brows and aggressive chin
gave him, as I had lately seen, a terrible expression when moved to
anger. He sat now with his handcuffed hands upon his lap, and
his head sunk upon his breast, while he looked with his keen,
twinkling eyes at the box which had been the cause of his ill-doings.
It seemed to me that there was more sorrow than anger in his
rigid and contained countenance. Once he looked up at me with
a gleam of something like humour in his eyes.
&odq;Well, Jonathan Small,&cdq; said Holmes, lighting a cigar,
&odq;I am sorry that it has come to this.&cdq;
&odq;And so am I, sir,&cdq; he answered frankly. &odq;I
don't believe that I can swing over the job. I give you my
word on the book that I never raised hand against Mr. Sholto.
It was that little hell-hound; Tonga, who shot one of his
cursed darts into him. I had no part in it, sir. I was
as grieved as if it had been my blood-relation. I welted the
little devil with the slack end of the rope for it, but it was done,
and I could not undo it again.&cdq;
&odq;Have a cigar,&cdq; said Holmes; &odq;and you had best take
a pull out of my flask, for you are very wet. How could you
expect so small and weak a man as this black fellow to overpower Mr.
Sholto and hold him while you were climbing the rope?&cdq;
&odq;You seem to know as much about it as if you were there,
sir. The truth is that I hoped to find the room clear.
I knew the habits of the house pretty well, and it was the
time when Mr. Sholto usually went down to his supper. I shall
make no secret of the business. The best defence that I can
make is just the simple truth. Now, if it had been the old
major I would have swung for him with a light heart. I would
have thought no more of knifing him than of smoking this cigar.
But it's cursed hard that I should be lagged over this young
Sholto, with whom I had no quarrel whatever.&cdq;
&odq;You are under the charge of Mr. Athelney Jones, of
Scotland Yard. He is going to bring you up to my rooms, and I
shall ask you for a true account of the matter. You must make
a clean breast of it, for if you do I hope that I may be of use to
you. I think I can prove that the poison acts so quickly that
the man was dead before ever you reached the room.&cdq;
&odq;That he was, sir. I never got such a turn in my
life as when I saw him grinning at me with his head on his shoulder
as I climbed through the window. It fairly shook me, sir.
I'd have half killed Tonga for it if he had not scrambled off.
That was how he came to leave his club, and some of his darts
too, as he tells me, which I dare say helped to put you on our track;
though how you kept on it is more than I can tell. I don't
feel no malice against you for it. But it does seem a queer
thing,&cdq; he added with a bitter smile, &odq;that I, who have a
fair claim to half a million of money, should spend the first half of
my life building a breakwater in the Andamans, and am like to spend
the other half digging drains at Dartmoor. It was an evil day
for me when first I clapped eyes upon the merchant Achmet and had to
do with the Agra treasure, which never brought anything but a curse
yet upon the man who owned it. To him it brought murder, to
Major Sholto it brought fear and guilt, to me it has meant slavery
for life.&cdq;
At this moment Athelney Jones thrust his broad face and heavy
shoulders into the tiny cabin.
&odq;Quite a family party,&cdq; he remarked. &odq;I
think I shall have a pull at that flask, Holmes. Well, I think
we may all congratulate each other. Pity we didn't take the
other alive, but there was no choice. I say, Holmes, you must
confess that you cut it rather fine. It was all we could do to
overhaul her.&cdq;
&odq;All is well that ends well,&cdq; said Holmes.
&odq;But I certainly did not know that the Aurora was such a
clipper.&cdq;
&odq;Smith says she is one of the fastest launches on the
river, and that if he had had another man to help him with the
engines we should never have caught her. He swears he knew
nothing of this Norwood business.&cdq;
&odq;Neither he did,&cdq; cried our prisoner — &odq;not
a word. I chose his launch because I heard that she was a
flier. We told him nothing; but we paid him well, and he was
to get something handsome if we reached our vessel, the Esmeralda, at
Gravesend, outward bound for the Brazils.&cdq;
&odq;Well, if he has done no wrong we shall see that no wrong
comes to him. If we are pretty quick in catching our men, we
are not so quick in condemning them.&cdq; It was amusing to
notice how the consequential Jones was already beginning to give
himself airs on the strength of the capture. From the slight
smile which played over Sherlock Holmes's face, I could see that the
speech had not been lost upon him.
&odq;'We will be at Vauxhall Bridge presently,&cdq; said Jones,
&odq;and shall land you, Dr. Watson, with the treasure-box. I
need hardly tell you that I am taking a very grave responsibility
upon myself in doing this. It is most irregular, but of course
an agreement is an agreement. I must, however, as a matter of
duty, send an inspector with you, since you have so valuable a
charge. You will drive, no doubt?&cdq;
&odq;Yes, I shall drive.&cdq;
&odq;It is a pity
there is no key, that we may make an inventory first. You will
have to break it open. Where is the key, my man?&cdq;
&odq;At the bottom of the river,&cdq; said Small shortly.
&odq;Hum! There was no use your giving this
unnecessary trouble. We have had work enough already through
you. However, Doctor, I need not warn you to be careful.
Bring the box back with you to the Baker Street rooms.
You will find us there, on our way to the station.&cdq;
They landed me at Vauxhall, with my heavy iron box, and with a
bluff, genial inspector as my companion. A quarter of an
hour's drive brought us to Mrs. Cecil Forrester's. The servant
seemed surprised at so late a visitor. Mrs. Cecil Forrester
was out for the evening, she explained, and likely to be very late.
Miss Morstan, however, was in the drawing-room, so to the
drawing-room I went, box in hand, leaving the obliging inspector in
the cab.
She was seated by the open window, dressed in some sort of
white diaphanous material, with a little touch of scarlet at the neck
and waist. The soft light of a shaded lamp fell upon her as
she leaned back in the basket chair, playing over her sweet grave
face, and tinting with a dull, metallic sparkle the rich coils of her
luxuriant hair. One white arm and hand drooped over the side
of the chair, and her whole pose and figure spoke of an absorbing
melancholy. At the sound of my footfall she sprang to her
feet, however, and a bright flush of surprise and of pleasure
coloured her pale cheeks.
&odq;I heard a cab drive up,&cdq; she said. &odq;I
thought that Mrs. Forrester had come back very early, but I never
dreamed that it might be you. What news have you brought
me?&cdq;
&odq;I have brought something better than news,&cdq; said I,
putting down the box upon the table and speaking jovially and
boisterously, though my heart was heavy within me. &odq;I have
brought you something which is worth all the news in the world.
I have brought you a fortune.&cdq;
She glanced at the iron box.
&odq;Is that the
treasure then?&cdq; she asked, coolly enough.
&odq;Yes, this is the great Agra treasure. Half of it is
yours and half is Thaddeus Sholto's. You will have a couple of
hundred thousand each. Think of that! An annuity of ten
thousand pounds. There will be few richer young ladies in
England. Is it not glorious?&cdq;
I think I must have been rather over-acting my delight, and
that she defected a hollow ring in my congratulations, for I saw her
eyebrows rise a little, and she glanced at me curiously.
&odq;If I have it,&cdq; said she, &odq;I owe it to you.&cdq;
&odq;No, no,&cdq; I answered, &odq;not to me but to my
friend Sherlock Holmes. With all the will in the world, I
could never have followed up-a clue which has taxed even his
analytical genius. As it was, we very nearly lost it at the
last moment.&cdq;
&odq;Pray sit down and tell me all about it, Dr. Watson,&cdq;
said she.
I narrated briefly what had occurred since I had seen her last.
Holmes's new method of search, the discovery of the Aurora,
the appearance of Athelney Jones, our expedition in the evening, and
the wild chase down the Thames. She listened with parted lips
and shining eyes to my recital of our adventures. When I spoke
of the dart which had so narrowly missed us, she turned so white that
I feared that she was about to faint.
&odq;It is nothing,&cdq; she said as I hastened to pour her out
some water. &odq;I am all right again. It was a shock
to me to hear that I had placed my friends in such horrible
peril.&cdq;
&odq;That is all over,&cdq; I answered. &odq;It was
nothing. I will tell you no more gloomy details. Let us
turn to something brighter. There is the treasure. What
could be brighter than that? I got leave to bring it with me,
thinking that it would interest you to be the first to see it.&cdq;
&odq;It would be of the greatest interest to me,&cdq; she said.
There was no eagerness in her voice, however. It had
struck her, doubtless, that it might seem ungracious upon her part to
be indifferent to a prize which had cost so much to win.
&odq;What a pretty box!&cdq; she said, stooping over it.
&odq;This is Indian work, I suppose?&cdq;
&odq;Yes; it is Benares metal-work.&cdq;
&odq;And
so heavy!&cdq; she exclaimed, trying to raise it. &odq;The box
alone must be of some value. Where is the key?&cdq;
&odq;Small threw it into the Thames,&cdq; I answered.
&odq;I must borrow Mrs. Forrester's poker.&cdq;
There was in the front a thick and broad hasp, wrought in the
image of a sitting Buddha. Under this I thrust the end of the
poker and twisted it outward as a lever. The hasp sprang open
with a loud snap. With trembling fingers I flung back the lid.
We both stood gazing in astonishment. The box was
empty!
No wonder that it was heavy. The ironwork was two-thirds
of an inch thick all round. It was massive, well made, and
solid, like a chest constructed to carry things of great price, but
not one shred or crumb of metal or jewellery lay within it. It
was absolutely and completely empty.
&odq;The treasure is lost,&cdq; said Miss Morstan calmly.
As I listened to the words and realized what they
meant, a great shadow seemed to pass from my soul. I did not
know how this Agra treasure had weighed me down until now that it was
finally removed. It was selfish, no doubt, disloyal, wrong,
but I could realize nothing save that the golden barrier was gone
from between us.
&odq;Thank God!&cdq; I ejaculated from my very heart.
She looked at me with a quick, questioning smile.
&odq;Why do you say that?&cdq; she asked.
&odq;Because you are within my reach again,&cdq; I
said, taking her hand. She did not withdraw it.
&odq;Because I love you, Mary, as truly as ever a man loved a
woman. Because this treasure, these riches, sealed my lips.
Now that they are gone I can tell you how I love you.
That is why I said, &onq;Thank God.&cnq;&cdq;
&odq;Then I say &onq;Thank God,&cnq; too,&cdq; she whispered as
I drew her to my side.
Whoever had lost a treasure, I knew that night that I had
gained one.
A very patient man was that inspector in the cab, for it was a
weary time before I rejoined him. His face clouded over when I
showed him the empty box.
&odq;There goes the reward!&cdq; said he gloomily.
&odq;Where there is no money there is no pay. This
night's work would have been worth a tenner each to Sam Brown and me
if the treasure had been there.&cdq;
&odq;Mr. Thaddeus Sholto is a rich man,&cdq; I said; &odq;he
will see that you are rewarded, treasure or no.&cdq;
The inspector shook his head despondently, however.
&odq;It's a bad job,&cdq; he repeated; &odq;and so Mr.
Athelney Jones will think.&cdq;
His forecast proved to be correct, for the detective looked
blank enough when I got to Baker Street and showed him the empty box.
They had only just arrived, Holmes, the prisoner, and he, for
they had changed their plans so far as to report themselves at a
station upon the way. My companion lounged in his armchair
with his usual listless expression, while Small sat stolidly opposite
to him with his wooden leg cocked over his sound one. As I
exhibited the empty box he leaned back in his chair and laughed
aloud.
&odq;This is your doing, Small,&cdq; said Athelney Jones
angrily.
&odq;Yes, I have put it away where you shall never lay hand
upon it,&cdq; he cried exultantly. &odq;It is my treasure, and
if I can't have the loot I'll take darned good care that no one else
does. I tell you that no living man has any right to it,
unless it is three men who are in the Andaman convict-barracks and
myself. I know now that I cannot have the use of it, and I
know that they cannot. I have acted all through for them as
much as for myself. It's been the sign of four with us always.
Well, I know that they would have had me do just what I have
done, and throw the treasure into the Thames rather than let it go to
kith or kin of Sholto or Morstan. It was not to make them rich
that we did for Achmet. You'll find the treasure where the key
is and where little Tonga is. When I saw that your launch must
catch us, I put the loot away in a safe place. There are no
rupees for you this journey.&cdq;
&odq;You are deceiving us, Small,&cdq; said Athelney Jones
sternly; &odq;if you had wished to throw the treasure into the
Thames, it would have been easier for you to have thrown box and
all.&cdq;
&odq;Easier for me to throw and easier for you to recover,&cdq;
he answered with a shrewd, side-long look. &odq;The man that
was clever enough to hunt me down is clever enough to pick an iron
box from the bottom of a river. Now that they are scattered
over five miles or so, it may be a harder job. It went to my
heart to do it though. I was half mad when you came up with
us. However, there's no good grieving over it. I've had
ups in my life, and I've had downs, but I've learned not to cry over
spilled milk.&cdq;
&odq;This is a very serious matter, Small,&cdq; said the
detective. &odq;If you had helped justice, instead of
thwarting it in this way, you would have had a better chance at your
trial.&cdq;
&odq;Justice!&cdq; snarled the ex-convict. &odq;A pretty
justice! Whose loot is this, if it is not ours? Where
is the justice that I should give it up to those who have never
earned it? Look how I have earned it! Twenty long years
in that fever-ridden swamp, all day at work under the mangrove-tree,
all night chained up in the filthy convict-huts, bitten by
mosquitoes, racked with ague, bullied by every cursed black-faced
policeman who loved to take it out of a white man. That was
how I earned the Agra treasure, and you talk to me of justice because
I cannot bear to feel that I have paid this price only that another
may enjoy it! I would rather swing a score of times, or have
one of Tonga's darts in my hide, than live in a convict's cell and
feel that another man is at his ease in a palace with the money that
should be mine.&cdq;
Small had dropped his mask of stoicism, and all this came out
in a wild whirl of words, while his eyes blazed, and the handcuffs
clanked together with the impassioned movement of his hands. I
could understand, as I saw the fury and the passion of the man, that
it was no groundless or unnatural terror which had possessed Major
Sholto when he first learned that the injured convict was upon his
track.
&odq;You forget that we know nothing of all this,&cdq; said
Holmes quietly. &odq;We have not heard your story, and we
cannot tell how far justice may originally have been on your
side.&cdq;
&odq;Well, sir, you have been very fair-spoken to me, though I
can see that I have you to thank that I have these bracelets upon my
wrists. Still, I bear no grudge for that. It is all
fair and above-board. If you want to hear my story, I have no
wish to hold it back. What I say to you is God's truth, every
word of it. Thank you, you can put the glass beside me here,
and I'll put my lips to it if I am dry.
&odq;I am a Worcestershire man myself, born near Pershore.
I dare say you would find a heap of Smalls living there now if
you were to look. I have often thought of taking a look round
there, but the truth is that I was never much of a credit to the
family, and I doubt if they would be so very glad to see me.
They were all steady, chapel-going folk, small farmers, well
known and respected over the countryside, while I was always a bit of
a rover. At last, however, when I was about eighteen, I gave
them no more trouble, for I got into a mess over a girl and could
only get out of it again by taking the Queen's shilling and joining
the Third Buffs, which was just starting for India.
&odq;I wasn't destined to do much soldiering, however. I
had just got past the goose-step and learned to handle my musket,
when I was fool enough to go swimming in the Ganges. Luckily
for me, my company sergeant, John Holder, was in the water at the
same time, and he was one of the finest swimmers in the service.
A crocodile took me just as I was halfway across and nipped
off my right leg as clean as a surgeon could have done it, just above
the knee. What with the shock and the loss of blood, I
fainted, and should have been drowned if Holder had not caught hold
of me and paddled for the bank. I was five months in hospital
over it, and when at last I was able to limp out of it with this
timber toe strapped to my stump, I found myself invalided out of the
Army and unfitted for any active occupation.
&odq;I was, as you can imagine, pretty down on my luck at this
time, for I was a useless cripple, though not yet in my twentieth
year. However, my misfortune soon proved to be a blessing in
disguise. A man named Abel White, who had come out there as an
indigo-planter, wanted an overseer to look after his coolies and keep
them up to their work. He happened to be a friend of our
colonel's, who had taken an interest in me since the accident.
To make a long story short, the colonel recommended me
strongly for the post, and, as the work was mostly to be done on
horseback, my leg was no great obstacle, for I had enough thigh left
to keep a good grip on the saddle. What I had to do was to
ride over the plantation, to keep an eye on the men as they worked,
and to report the idlers. The pay was fair, I had comfortable
quarters, and altogether I was content to spend the remainder of my
life in indigo-planting. Mr. Abel White was a kind man, and he
would often drop into my little shanty and smoke a pipe with me, for
white folk out there feel their hearts warm to each other as they
never do here at home.
&odq;Well, I was never in luck's way long. Suddenly,
without a note of warning, the great mutiny broke upon us. One
month India lay as still and peaceful, to all appearance, as Surrey
or Kent; the next there were two hundred thousand black devils let
loose, and the country was a perfect hell. Of course you know
all about it, gentlemen — a deal more than I do, very like,
since reading is not in my line. I only know what I saw with
my own eyes. Our plantation was at a place called Muttra, near
the border of the Northwest Provinces. Night after night the
whole sky was alight with the burning bungalows, and day after day we
had small companies of Europeans passing through our estate with
their wives and children, on their way to Agra, where were the
nearest troops. Mr. Abel White was an obstinate man. He
had it in his head that the affair had been exaggerated, and that it
would blow over as suddenly as it had sprung up. There he sat
on his veranda, drinking whisky-pegs and smoking cheroots, while the
country was in a blaze about him. Of course we stuck by him, I
and Dawson, who, with his wife, used to do the book-work and the
managing. Well, one fine day the crash came. I had been
away on a distant plantation and was riding slowly home in the
evening, when my eye fell upon something all huddled together at the
bottom of a steep nullah. I rode down to see what it was, and
the cold struck through my heart when I found it was Dawson's wife,
all cut into ribbons, and half eaten by jackals and native dogs.
A little further up the road Dawson himself was lying on his
face, quite dead, with an empty revolver in his hand, and four sepoys
lying across each other in front of him. I reined up my horse,
wondering which way I should turn; but at that moment I saw thick
smoke curling up from Abel White's bungalow and the flames beginning
to burst through the roof. I knew then that I could do my
employer no good, but would only throw my own life away if I meddled
in the matter. From where I stood I could see hundreds of the
black fiends, with their red coats still on their backs, dancing and
howling round the burning house. Some of them pointed at me,
and a couple of bullets sang past my head: so I broke away across the
paddy-fields, and found myself late at night safe within the walls at
Agra.
&odq;As it proved, however, there was no great safety there,
either. The whole country was up like a swarm of bees.
Wherever the English could collect in little bands they held
just the ground that their guns commanded. Everywhere else
they were helpless fugitives. It was a fight of the millions
against the hundreds; and the cruellest part of it was that these men
that we fought against, foot, horse, and gunners, were our own picked
troops, whom we had taught and trained, handling our own weapons and
blowing our own bugle-calls. At Agra there were the Third
Bengal Fusiliers, some Sikhs, two troops of horse, and a battery of
artillery. A volunteer corps of clerks and merchants had been
formed, and this I joined, wooden leg and all. We went out to
meet the rebels at Shahgunge early in July, and we beat them back for
a time, but our powder gave out, and we had to fall back upon the
city.
&odq;Nothing but the worst news came to us from every side
— which is not to be wondered at, for if you look at the map
you will see that we were right in the heart of it. Lucknow is
rather better than a hundred miles to the east, and Cawnpore about as
far to the south. From every point on the compass there was
nothing but torture and murder and outrage.
&odq;The city of Agra is a great place, swarming with fanatics
and fierce devil-worshippers of all sorts. Our handful of men
were lost among the narrow, winding streets. Our leader moved
across the river, therefore, and took up his position in the old fort
of Agra. I don't know if any of you gentlemen have ever read
or heard anything of that old fort. It is a very queer place
— the queerest that ever I was in, and I have been in some rum
corners, too. First of all it is enormous in size. I
should think that the enclosure must be acres and acres. There
is a modern part, which took all our garrison, women, children,
stores, and everything else, with plenty of room over. But the
modern part is nothing like the size of the old quarter, where nobody
goes, and which is given over to the scorpions and the centipedes.
It is all full of great deserted halls, and winding passages,
and long corridors twisting in and out, so that it is easy enough for
folk to get lost in it. For this reason it was seldom that
anyone went into it, though now and again a party with torches might
go exploring.
&odq;The river washes along the front of the old fort, and so
protects it, but on the sides and behind there are many doors, and
these had to be guarded, of course, in the old quarter as well as in
that which was actually held by our troops. We were
shorthanded, with hardly men enough to man the angles of the building
and to serve the guns. It was impossible for us, therefore, to
station a strong guard at every one of the innumerable gates.
What we did was to organize a central guardhouse in the middle
of the fort, and to leave each gate under the charge of one white man
and two or three natives. I was selected to take charge during
certain hours of the night of a small isolated door upon the
south-west side of the building. Two Sikh troopers were placed
under my command, and I was instructed if anything went wrong to fire
my musket, when I might rely upon help coming at once from the
central guard. As the guard was a good two hundred paces away,
however, and as the space between was cut up into a labyrinth of
passages and corridors, I had great doubts as to whether they could
arrive in time to be of any use in case of an actual attack.
&odq;Well, I was pretty proud at having this small command
given me, since I was a raw recruit, and a game-legged one at that.
For two nights I kept the watch with my Punjabees. They
were tall, fierce-looking chaps, Mahomet Singh and Abdullah Khan by
name, both old fighting men, who had borne arms against us at Chilian
Wallah. They could talk English pretty well, but I could get
little out of them. They preferred to stand together, and
jabber all night in their queer Sikh lingo. For myself, I used
to stand outside the gateway, looking down on the broad, winding
river and on the twinkling lights of the great city. The
beating of drums, the rattle of tomtoms, and the yells and howls of
the rebels, drunk with opium and with bang, were enough to remind us
all night of our dangerous neighbours across the stream. Every
two hours the officer of the night used to come round to all the
posts to make sure that all was well.
&odq;The third night of my watch was dark and dirty, with a
small driving rain. It was dreary work standing in the gateway
hour after hour in such weather. I tried again and again to
make my Sikhs talk, but without much success. At two in the
morning the rounds passed and broke for a moment the weariness of the
night. Finding that my companions would not be led into
conversation, I took out my pipe and laid down my musket to strike
the match. In an instant the two Sikhs were upon me.
One of them snatched my firelock up and levelled it at my
head, while the other held a great knife to my throat and swore
between his teeth that he would plunge it into me if I moved a step.
&odq;My first thought was that these fellows were in league
with the rebels, and that this was the beginning of an assault.
If our door were in the hands of the sepoys the place must
fall, and the women and children be treated as they were in Cawnpore.
Maybe you gentlemen think that I am just making out a case for
myself, but I give you my word that when I thought of that, though I
felt the point of the knife at my throat, I opened my mouth with the
intention of giving a scream, if it was my last one, which might
alarm the main guard. The man who held me seemed to know my
thoughts; for, even as I braced myself to it, he whispered:
&onq;Don't make a noise. The fort is safe enough. There
are no rebel dogs on this side of the river.&cnq; There was
the ring of truth in what he said, and I knew that if I raised my
voice I was a dead man. I could read it in the fellow's brown
eyes. I waited, therefore, in silence, to see what it was that
they wanted from me.
&odq;&onq;Listen to me, sahib,&cnq; said the taller and fiercer
of the pair, the one whom they called Abdullah Khan. &onq;You
must either be with us now, or you must be silenced forever.
The thing is too great a one for us to hesitate. Either
you are heart and soul with us on your oath on the cross of the
Christians, or your body this night shall be thrown into the ditch,
and we shall pass over to our brothers in the rebel army.
There is no middle way. Which is it to be —
death or life? We can only give you three minutes to decide,
for the time is passing, and all must be done before the rounds come
again.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;How can I decide?&cnq; said I. &onq;You have
not told me what you want of me. But I tell you now that if it
is anything against the safety of the fort I will have no truck with
it, so you can drive home your knife and welcome.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;It is nothing against the fort,&cnq; said he.
&onq;We only ask you to do that which your countrymen come to
this land for. We ask you to be rich. If you will be
one of us this night, we will swear to you upon the naked knife, and
by the threefold oath which no Sikh was ever known to break, that you
shall have your fair share of the loot. A quarter of the
treasure shall be yours. We can say no fairer.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;But what is the treasure then?&cnq; I asked.
&onq;I am as ready to be rich as you can be if you will but
show me how it can be done.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;You will swear, then,&cnq; said he, &onq;by the bones
of your father, by the honour of your mother, by the cross of your
faith, to raise no hand and speak no word against us, either now or
afterwards?&cnq;
&odq;&onq;I will swear it,&cnq; I answered, &onq;provided that
the fort is not endangered.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;Then my comrade and I will swear that you shall have
a quarter of the treasure which shall be equally divided among the
four of us.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;There are but three,&cnq; said I.
&cdq;
' No; Dost Akbar must have his share. We can tell the tale to
you while we wait them. Do you stand at the gate, Mahomet
Singh, and give notice of their coming. The thing stands thus,
sahib, and I tell it to you because I know that an oath is binding
upon a Feringhee, and that we may trust you. Had you been a
lying Hindoo, though you had sworn by all the gods in their false
temples, your blood would have been upon the knife and your body in
the water. But the Sikh knows the Englishman, and the
Englishman knows the Sikh. Hearken, then, to what I have to
say.
&odq;' There is a rajah in the northern provinces who has much
wealth, though his lands are small. Much has come to him from
his father, and more still he has set by himself, for he is of a low
nature and hoards his gold rather than spend it. When the
troubles broke out he would be friends both with the lion and the
tiger — with the sepoy and with the Company's raj.
Soon, however, it seemed to him that the white men's day was
come, for through all the land he could hear of nothing but of their
death and their overthrow. Yet, being a careful man, he made
such plans that, come what might, half at least of his treasure
should be left to him. That which was in gold and silver he
kept by him in the vaults of his palace, but the most precious stones
and the choicest pearls that he had he put in an iron box and sent it
by a trusty servant, who, under the guise of a merchant, should take
it to the fort at Agra, there to lie until the land is at peace.
Thus, if the rebels won he would have his money, but if the
Company conquered, his jewels would be saved to him. Having
thus divided his hoard, he threw himself into the cause of the
sepoys, since they were strong upon his borders. By his doing
this, mark you, sahib, his property becomes the due of those who have
been true to their salt.
&odq;&onq;This pretended merchant, who travels under the name
of Achmet, is now in the city of Agra and desires to gain his way
into the fort. He has with him as travelling-companion my
foster-brother Dost Akbar, who knows his secret. Dost Akbar
has promised this night to lead him to a side-postern of the fort,
and has chosen this one for his purpose. Here he will come
presently, and here he will find Mahomet Singh and myself awaiting
him. The place is lonely, and none shall know of his coming.
The world shall know the merchant Achmet no more, but the
great treasure of the rajah shall be divided among us. What
say you to it, sahib?&cnq;
&odq;In Worcestershire the life of a man seems a great and a
sacred thing; but it is very different when there is fire and blood
all round you, and you have been used to meeting death at every turn.
Whether Achmet the merchant lived or died was a thing as light
as air to me, but at the talk about the treasure my heart turned to
it, and I thought of what I might do in the old country with it, and
how my folk would stare when they saw their ne'er-do-well coming back
with his pockets full of gold moidores. I had, therefore,
already made up my mind. Abdullah Khan, however, thinking that
I hesitated, pressed the matter more closely.
&odq;&onq;Consider, sahib,&cnq; said he, &onq;that if this man
is taken by the commandant he will be hung or shot, and his jewels
taken by the government, so that no man will be a rupee the better
for them. Now, since we do the taking of him, why should we
not do the rest as well? The jewels will be as well with us as
in the Company's coffers. There will be enough to make every
one of us rich men and great chiefs. No one can know about the
matter, for here we are cut off from all men. What could be
better for the purpose? Say again, then, sahib, whether you
are with us, or if we must look upon you as an enemy.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;I am with you heart and soul,&cnq; said I.
&cdq; &onq;It is well,&cnq; he answered, handing me
back my firelock. &onq;You see that we trust you, for your
word, like ours, is not to be broken. We have now only to wait
for my brother and the merchant.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;Does your brother know, then, of what you will
do?&cnq; I asked.
&odq;&onq;The plan is his. He has devised it. We
will go to the gate and share the watch with Mahomet Singh.&cnq;
&odq;The rain was still falling steadily, for it was just the
beginning of the wet season. Brown, heavy clouds were drifting
across the sky, and it was hard to see more than a stonecast.
A deep moat lay in front of our door, but the water was in
places nearly dried up, and it could easily be crossed. It was
strange to me to be standing there with those two wild Punjabees
waiting for the man who was coming to his death.
&odq;Suddenly my eye caught the glint of a shaded lantern at
the other side of the moat. It vanished among the mound-heaps,
and then appeared again coming slowly in our direction.
&odq;&onq;Here they are!&cnq; I exclaimed.
&cdq;
&onq;You will challenge him, sahib, as usual,&cnq; whispered
Abdullah. &onq;Give him no cause for fear. Send us in
with him, and we shall do the rest while you stay here on guard.
Have the lantern ready to uncover, that we may be sure that it
is indeed the man.&cnq;
&odq;The light had flickered onward, now stopping and now
advancing, until I could see two dark figures upon the other side of
the moat. I let them scramble down the sloping bank, splash
through the mire, and climb halfway up to the gate before I
challenged them.
&odq;&onq;Who goes there?&cnq; said I in a subdued voice.
&cdq; &onq;Friends,&cnq; came the answer. I
uncovered my lantern and threw a flood of light upon them. The
first was an enormous Sikh with a black beard which swept nearly down
to his cummerbund. Outside of a show I have never seen so tall
a man. The other was a little fat, round fellow with a great
yellow turban and a bundle in his hand, done up in a shawl. He
seemed to be all in a quiver with fear, for his hands twitched as if
he had the ague, and his head kept turning to left and right with two
bright little twinkling eyes, like a mouse when he ventures out from
his hole. It gave me the chills to think of killing him, but I
thought of the treasure, and my heart set as hard as a flint within
me. When he saw my white face he gave a little chirrup of joy
and came running up towards me.
&odq;&onq;Your protection, sahib,&cnq; he panted, &onq;your
protection for the unhappy merchant Achmet. I have travelled
across Rajpootana, that I might seek the shelter of the fort at Agra.
I have been robbed and beaten and abused because I have been
the friend of the Company. It is a blessed night this when I
am once more in safety — I and my poor possessions.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;What have you in the bundle?&cnq; I asked.
&cdq; &onq;An iron box,&cnq; he answered, &onq;which
contains one or two little family matters which are of no value to
others but which I should be sorry to lose. Yet I am not a
beggar; and I shall reward you, young sahib, and your governor also
if he will give me the shelter I ask.&cnq;
&odq;I could not trust myself to speak longer with the man.
The more I looked at his fat, frightened face, the harder did
it seem that we should slay him in cold blood. It was best to
get it over.
&odq;&onq;Take him to the main guard,&cnq; said I. The
two Sikhs closed in upon him on each side, and the giant walked
behind, while they marched in through the dark gateway. Never
was a man so compassed round with death. I remained at the
gateway with the lantern.
&odq;I could hear the measured tramp of their footsteps
sounding through the lonely corridors. Suddenly it ceased, and
I heard voices and a scuffle, with the sound of blows. A
moment later there came, to my horror, a rush of footsteps coming in
my direction, with a loud breathing of a running man. I turned
my lantern down the long straight passage, and there was the fat man,
running like the wind, with a smear of blood across his face, and
close at his heels, bounding like a tiger, the great black-bearded
Sikh, with a knife flashing in his hand. I have never seen a
man run so fast as that little merchant. He was gaining on the
Sikh, and I could see that if he once passed me and got to the open
air he would save himself yet. My heart softened to him, but
again the thought of his treasure turned me hard and bitter. I
cast my firelock between his legs as he raced past, and he rolled
twice over like a shot rabbit. Ere he could stagger to his
feet the Sikh was upon him and buried his knife twice in his side.
The man never uttered moan nor moved muscle but lay where he
had fallen. I think myself that he may have broken his neck
with the fall. You see, gentlemen, that I am keeping my
promise. I am telling you every word of the business just
exactly as it happened, whether it is in my favour or not.&cdq;
He stopped and held out his manacled hands for the whisky and
water which Holmes had brewed for him. For myself, I confess
that I had now conceived the utmost horror of the man not only for
this cold-blooded business in which he had been concerned but even
more for the somewhat flippant and careless way in which he narrated
it. Whatever punishment was in store for him, I felt that he
might expect no sympathy from me. Sherlock Holmes and Jones
sat with their hands upon their knees, deeply interested in the story
but with the same disgust written upon their faces. He may
have observed it, for there was a touch of defiance in his voice and
manner as he proceeded.
&odq;It was all very bad, no doubt,&cdq; said he. &odq;I
should like to know how many fellows in my shoes would have refused a
share of this loot when they knew that they would have their throats
cut for their pains. Besides, it was my life or his when once
he was in the fort. If he had got out, the whole business
would come to light, and I should have been court-martialled and shot
as likely as not; for people were not very lenient at a time like
that.&cdq;
&odq;Go on with your story,&cdq; said Holmes shortly.
&odq;Well, we carried him in, Abdullah, Akbar, and I.
A fine weight he was, too, for all that he was so short.
Mahomet Singh was left to guard the door. We took him
to a place which the Sikhs had already prepared. It was some
distance off, where a winding passage leads to a great empty hall,
the brick walls of which were all crumbling to pieces. The
earth floor had sunk in at one place, making a natural grave, so we
left Achmet the merchant there, having first covered him over with
loose bricks. This done, we all went back to the treasure.
&odq;It lay where he had dropped it when he was first attacked.
The box was the same which now lies open upon your table.
A key was hung by a silken cord to that carved handle upon the
top. We opened it, and the light of the lantern gleamed upon a
collection of gems such as I have read of and thought about when I
was a little lad at Pershore. It was blinding to look upon
them. When we had feasted our eyes we took them all out and
made a list of them. There were one hundred and forty-three
diamonds of the first water, including one which has been called, I
believe, &onq;the Great Mogul,&cnq; and is said to be the second
largest stone in existence. Then there were ninety-seven very
fine emeralds, and one hundred and seventy rubies, some of which,
however, were small. There were forty carbuncles, two hundred
and ten sapphires, sixty-one agates, and a great quantity of beryls,
onyxes, cats'-eyes, turquoises, and other stones, the very names of
which I did not know at the time, though I have become more familiar
with them since. Besides this, there were nearly three hundred
very fine pearls, twelve of which were set in a gold coronet.
By the way, these last had been taken out of the chest, and
were not there when I recovered it.
&odq;After we had counted our treasures we put them back into
the chest and carried them to the gateway to show them to Mahomet
Singh. Then we solemnly renewed our oath to stand by each
other and be true to our secret. We agreed to conceal our loot
in a safe place until the country should be at peace again, and then
to divide it equally among ourselves. There was no use
dividing it at present, for if gems of such value were found upon us
it would cause suspicion, and there was no privacy in the fort nor
any place where we could keep them. We carried the box,
therefore, into the same hall where we had buried the body, and
there, under certain bricks in the best-preserved wall, we made a
hollow and put our treasure. We made careful note of the
place, and next day I drew four plans, one for each of us, and put
the sign of the four of us at the bottom, for we had sworn that we
should each always act for all, so that none might take advantage.
That is an oath that I can put my hand to my heart and swear
that I have never broken.
&odq;Well, there's no use my telling you gentlemen what came of
the Indian mutiny. After Wilson took Delhi and Sir Colin
relieved Lucknow the back of the business was broken. Fresh
troops came pouring in, and Nana Sahib made himself scarce over the
frontier. A flying column under Colonel Greathed came round to
Agra and cleared the Pandies away from it. Peace seemed to be
settling upon the country, and we four were beginning to hope that
the time was at hand when we might safely go off with our shares of
the plunder. In a moment, however, our hopes were shattered by
our being arrested as the murderers of Achmet.
&odq;It came about in this way. When the rajah put his
jewels into the hands of Achmet he did it because he knew that he was
a trusty man. They are suspicious folk in the East, however:
so what does this rajah do but take a second even more trusty servant
and set him to play the spy upon the first. This second man
was ordered never to let Achmet out of his sight, and he followed him
like his shadow. He went after him that night and saw him pass
through the doorway. Of course he thought he had taken refuge
in the fort and applied for admission there himself next day, but
could find no trace of Achmet. This seemed to him so strange
that he spoke about it to a sergeant of guides, who brought it to the
ears of the commandant. A thorough search was quickly made,
and the body was discovered. Thus at the very moment that we
thought that all was safe we were all four seized and brought to
trial on a charge of murder — three of us because we had held
the gate that night, and the fourth because he was known to have been
in the company of the murdered man. Not a word about the
jewels came out at the trial, for the rajah had been deposed and
driven out of India: so no one had any particular interest in them.
The murder, however, was clearly made out, and it was certain
that we must all have been concerned in it. The three Sikhs
got penal servitude for life, and I was condemned to death, though my
sentence was afterwards commuted to the same as the others.
&odq;It was rather a queer position that we found ourselves in
then. There we were all four tied by the leg and with precious
little chance of ever getting out again, while we each held a secret
which might have put each of us in a palace if we could only have
made use of it. It was enough to make a man eat his heart out
to have to stand the kick and the cuff of every petty jack-in-office,
to have rice to eat and water to drink, when that gorgeous fortune
was ready for him outside, just waiting to be picked up. It
might have driven me mad; but I was always a pretty stubborn one, so
I just held on and bided my time.
&odq;At last it seemed to me to have come. I was changed
from Agra to Madras, and from there to Blair Island in the Andamans.
There are very few white convicts at this settlement, and, as
I had behaved well from the first, I soon found myself a son of
privileged person. I was given a hut in Hope Town, which is a
small place on the slopes of Mount Harriet, and I was left pretty
much to myself. It is a dreary, fever-stricken place, and all
beyond our little clearings was infested with wild cannibal natives,
who were ready enough to blow a poisoned dart at us if they saw a
chance. There was digging and ditching and yam-planting, and a
dozen other things to be done, so we were busy enough all day; though
in the evening we had a little time to ourselves. Among other
things, I, learned to dispense drugs for the surgeon, and picked up a
smattering of his knowledge. All the time I was on the lookout
for a chance to escape; but it is hundreds of miles from any other
land, and there is little or no wind in those seas: so it was a
terribly difficult job to get away.
&odq;The surgeon, Dr. Somerton, was a fast, sporting young
chap, and the other young officers would meet in his rooms of an
evening and play cards. The surgery, where I used to make up
my drugs, was next to his sitting-room, with a small window between
us. Often, if I felt lonesome, I used to turn out the lamp in
the surgery, and then, standing there, I could hear their talk and
watch their play. I am fond of a hand at cards myself, and it
was almost as good as having one to watch the others. There
was Major Sholto, Captain Morstan, and Lieutenant Bromley Brown, who
were in command of the native troops, and there was the surgeon
himself, and two or three prison-officials, crafty old hands who
played a nice sly safe game. A very snug little party they
used to make.
&odq;Well, there was one thing which very soon struck me, and
that was that the soldiers used always to lose and the civilians to
win. Mind, I don't say there was anything unfair, but so it
was. These prison-chaps had done little else than play cards
ever since they had been at the Andamans, and they knew each other's
game to a point, while the others just played to pass the time and
threw their cards down anyhow. Night after night the soldiers
got up poorer men, and the poorer they got the more keen they were to
play. Major Sholto was the hardest hit. He used to pay
in notes and gold at first, but soon it came to notes of hand and for
big sums. He sometimes would win for a few deals just to give
him heart, and then the luck would set in against him worse than
ever. All day he would wander about as black as thunder, and
he took to drinking a deal more than was good for him.
&odq;One night he lost even more heavily than usual. I
was sitting in my hut when he and Captain Morstan came stumbling
along on the way to their quarters. They were bosom friends,
those two, and never far apart. The major was raving about his
losses.
&odq;&onq;It's all up, Morstan,&cnq; he was saying as they
passed my hut. &onq;I shall have to send in my papers.
I am a ruined man.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;Nonsense, old chap!&cnq; said the other, slapping him
upon the shoulder. I've had a nasty facer myself, but —
' That was all I could hear, but it was enough to set me
thinking.
&odq;A couple of days later Major Sholto was strolling on the
beach: so I took the chance of speaking to him.
&odq;&onq;I wish to have your advice, Major,&cnq; said I.
&cdq; &onq;Well, Small, what is it?&cnq; he asked,
taking his cheroot from his lips.
&odq;&onq;I wanted to ask you, sir,&cnq; said I, &onq;who is
the proper person to whom hidden treasure should be handed over.
I know where half a million worth lies, and, as I cannot use
it myself, I thought perhaps the best thing that I could do would be
to hand it over to the proper authorities, and then perhaps they
would get my sentence shortened for me.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;Half a million, Small?&cnq; he gasped, looking hard
at me to see if I was in earnest.
&odq;&onq;Quite that, sir — in jewels and pearls.
It lies there ready for anyone. And the queer thing
about it is that the real owner is outlawed and cannot hold property,
so that it belongs to the first comer.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;To government, Small,&cnq; he stammered, &onq;to
government.&cnq; But he said it in a halting fashion, and I
knew in my heart that I had got him.
&odq;&onq;You think, then, sir, that I should give the
information to the governor-general?&cnq; said I quietly.
&odq;&onq;Well, well, you must not do anything rash, or that
you might repent. Let me hear all about it, Small. Give
me the facts.&cnq;
&odq;I told him the whole story, with small changes, so that he
could not identify the places. When I had finished he stood
stock still and full of thought. I could see by the twitch of
his lip that there was a struggle going on within him.
&odq;&onq;This is a very important matter, Small,&cnq; he said
at last. &onq;You must not say a word to anyone about it, and
I shall see you again soon.&cnq;
&odq;Two nights later he and his friend, Captain Morstan, came
to my hut in the dead of the night with a lantern.
&odq;&onq;I want you just to let Captain Morstan hear that
story from your own lips, Small,&cnq; said he.
&odq;I repeated it as I had told it before.
&cdq;
&onq;It rings true, eh?&cnq; said he. &onq;It's good enough to
act upon?&cnq;
&odq;Captain Morstan nodded.
&cdq; &onq;Look
here, Small,&cnq; said the major. &onq;We have been talking it
over, my friend here and I, and we have come to the conclusion that
this secret of yours is hardly a government matter, after all, but is
a private concern of your own, which of course you have the power of
disposing of as you think best. Now the question is, What
price would you ask for it? We might be inclined to take it
up, and at least look into it, if we could agree as to terms.&cnq;
He tried to speak in a cool, careless way, but his eyes were
shining with excitement and greed.
&odq;&onq;Why, as to that, gentlemen,&cnq; I answered, trying
also to be cool but feeling as excited as he did, &onq;there is only
one bargain which a man in my position can make. I shall want
you to help me to my freedom, and to help my three companions to
theirs. We shall then take you into partnership and give you a
fifth share to divide between you.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;Hum!&cnq; said he. &onq;A fifth share!
That is not very tempting.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;It would come to fifty thousand apiece,&cnq; said I.
&cdq; &onq;But how can we gain your freedom? You
know very well that you ask an impossibility.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;Nothing of the sort,&cnq; I answered. &onq;I
have thought it all out to the last detail. The only bar to
our escape is that we can get no boat fit for the voyage, and no
provisions to last us for so long a time. There are plenty of
little yachts and yawls at Calcutta or Madras which would serve our
turn well. Do you bring one over. We shall engage to
get aboard her by night, and if you will drop us on any part of the
Indian coast you will have done your part of the bargain.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;If there were only one,&cnq; he said.
&cdq; &onq;None or all,&cnq; I answered. &onq;We
have sworn it. The four of us must always act together.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;You see, Morstan,&cnq; said he, &onq;Small is a man
of his word. He does not flinch from his friends. I
think we may very well trust him.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;It's a dirty business,&cnq; the other answered.
&onq;Yet, as you say, the money will save our commissions
handsomely.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;Well, Small,&cnq; said the major, &onq;we must, I
suppose, try and meet you. We must first, of course, test the
truth of your story. Tell me where the box is hid, and I shall
get leave of absence and go back to India in the monthly relief-boat
to inquire into the affair.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;Not so fast,&cnq; said I, growing colder as he got
hot. &onq;I must have the consent of my three comrades.
I tell you that it is four or none with us.&cnq;
&odq;&onq;Nonsense!&cnq; he broke in. &onq;What have
three black fellows to do with our agreement?&cnq;
&odq;&onq;Black or blue,&cnq; said I, &onq;they are in with me,
and we all go together.&cnq;
&odq;Well, the matter ended by a second meeting, at which
Mahomet Singh, Abdullah Khan, and Dost Akbar were all present.
We talked the matter over again, and at last we came to an
arrangement. We were to provide both the officers with charts
of the part of the Agra fort, and mark the place in the wall where
the treasure was hid. Major Sholto was to go to India to test
our story. If he found the box he was to leave it there, to
send out a small yacht provisioned for a voyage, which was to lie off
Rutland Island, and to which we were to make our way, and finally to
return to his duties. Captain Morstan was then to apply for
leave of absence, to meet us at Agra, and there we were to have a
final division of the treasure, he taking the major's share as well
as his own. All this we sealed by the most solemn oaths that
the mind could think or the lips utter. I sat up all night
with paper and ink, and by the morning I had the two charts all
ready, signed with the sign of four — that is, of Abdullah,
Akbar, Mahomet, and myself.
&odq;Well, gentlemen, I weary you with my long story, and I
know that my friend Mr. Jones is impatient to get me safely stowed in
chokey. I'll make it as short as I can. The villain
Sholto went off to India, but he never came back again.
Captain Morstan showed me his name among a list of passengers
in one of the mail-boats very shortly afterwards. His uncle
had died, leaving him a fortune, and he had left the Army; yet he
could stoop to treat five men as he had treated us. Morstan
went over to Agra shortly afterwards and found, as we expected, that
the treasure was indeed gone. The scoundrel had stolen it all
without carrying out one of the conditions on which we had sold him
the secret. From that I lived only for vengeance. I
thought of it by day and I nursed it by night. It became an
overpowering, absorbing passion with me. I cared nothing for
the law — nothing for the gallows. To escape, to track
down Sholto, to have my hand upon his throat — that was my
one thought. Even the Agra treasure had come to be a smaller
thing in my mind than the slaying of Sholto.
&odq;Well, I have set my mind on many things in this life, and
never one which I did not carry out. But it was weary years
before my time came. I have told you that I had picked up
something of medicine. One day when Dr. Somerton was down with
a fever a little Andaman Islander was picked up by a convict-gang in
the woods. He was sick to death and had gone to a lonely place
to die. I took him in hand, though he was as venomous as a
young snake, and after a couple of months I got him all right and
able to walk. He took a kind of fancy to me then, and would
hardly go back to his woods, but was always hanging about my hut.
I learned a little of his lingo from him, and this made him
all the fonder of me.
&odq;Tonga — for that was his name — was a fine
boatman and owned a big, roomy canoe of his own. When I found
that he was devoted to me and would do anything to serve me, I saw my
chance of escape. I talked it over with him. He was to
bring his boat round on a certain night to an old wharf which was
never guarded, and there he was to pick me up. I gave him
directions to have several gourds of water and a lot of yams,
cocoanuts, and sweet potatoes.
&odq;He was staunch and true, was little Tonga. No man
ever had a more faithful mate. At the night named he had his
boat at the wharf. As it chanced, however, there was one of
the convict-guard down there — a vile Pathan who had never
missed a chance of insulting and injuring me. I had always
vowed vengeance, and now I had my chance. It was as if fate
had placed him in my way that I might pay my debt before I left the
island. He stood on the bank with his back to me, and his
carbine on his shoulder. I looked about for a stone to beat
out his brains with, but none could I see.
&odq;Then a queer thought came into my head and showed me where
I could lay my hand on a weapon. I sat down in the darkness
and unstrapped my wooden leg. With three long hops I was on
him. He put his carbine to his shoulder, but I struck him
full, and knocked the whole front of his skull in. You can see
the split in the wood now where I hit him. We both went down
together, for I could not keep my balance; but when I got up I found
him still lying quiet enough. I made for the boat, and in an
hour we were well out at sea. Tonga had brought all his
earthly possessions with him, his arms and his gods. Among
other things, he had a long bamboo spear, and some Andaman cocoa-nut
matting, with which I made a sort of a sail. For ten days we
were beating about, trusting to luck, and on the eleventh we were
picked up by a trader which was going from Singapore to Jiddah with a
cargo of Malay pilgrims. They were a rum crowd, and Tonga and
I soon managed to settle down among them. They had one very
good quality: they let you alone and asked no questions.
&odq;Well, if I were to tell you all the adventures that my
little chum and I went through, you would not thank me, for I would
have you here until the sun was shining. Here and there we
drifted about the world, something always turning up to keep us from
London. All the time, however, I never lost sight of my
purpose. I would dream of Sholto at night. A hundred
times I have killed him in my sleep. At last, however, some
three or four years ago, we found ourselves in England. I had
no great difficulty in finding where Sholto lived, and I set to work
to discover whether he had realized on the treasure, or if he still
had it. I made friends with someone who could help me —
I name no names, for I don't want to get anyone else in a hole
— and I soon found that he still had the jewels. Then I
tried to get at him in many ways; but he was pretty sly and had
always two prizefighters, besides his sons and his khitmutgar, on
guard over him.
&odq;One day, however, I got word that he was dying. I
hurried at once to the garden, mad that he should slip out of my
clutches like that, and, looking through the window, I saw him lying
in his bed, with his sons on each side of him. I'd have come
through and taken my chance with the three of them, only even as I
looked at him his jaw dropped, and I knew that he was gone. I
got into his room that same night, though, and I searched his papers
to see if there was any record of where he had hidden our jewels.
There was not a line, however, so I came away, bitter and
savage as a man could be. Before I left I bethought me that if
I ever met my Sikh friends again it would be a satisfaction to know
that I had left some mark of our hatred; so I scrawled down the sign
of the four of us, as it had been on the chart, and I pinned it on
his bosom. It was too much that he should be taken to the
grave without some token from the men whom he had robbed and
befooled.
&odq;We earned a living at this time by my exhibiting poor
Tonga at fairs and other such places as the black cannibal. He
would eat raw meat and dance his war-dance: so we always had a hatful
of pennies after a day's work. I still heard all the news from
Pondicherry Lodge, and for some years there was no news to hear,
except that they were hunting for the treasure. At last,
however, came what we had waited for so long. The treasure had
been found. It was up at the top of the house in Mr.
Bartholomew Sholto's chemical laboratory. I came at once and
had a look at the place, but I could not see how, with my wooden leg,
I was to make my way up to it. I learned, however, about a
trapdoor in the roof, and also about Mr. Sholto's supper-hour.
It seemed to me that I could manage the thing easily through
Tonga. I brought him out with me with a long rope wound round
his waist. He could climb like a cat, and he soon made his way
through the roof, but, as ill luck would have it, Bartholomew Sholto
was still in the room, to his cost. Tonga thought he had done
something very clever in killing him, for when I came up by the rope
I found him strutting about as proud as a peacock. Very much
surprised was he when I made at him with the rope's end and cursed
him for a little bloodthirsty imp. I took the treasure box and
let it down, and then slid down myself, having first left the sign of
the four upon the table to show that the jewels had come back at last
to those who had most right to them. Tonga then pulled up the
rope, closed the window, and made off the way that he had come
&odq;I don't know that I have anything else to tell you.
I had heard a waterman speak of the speed of Smith's launch,
the Aurora, so I thought she would be a handy craft for our escape
with old Smith, and was to give him a big sum if he got us safe to
our ship. He knew, no doubt, that there was some screw loose,
but he was not in our secrets. All this is the truth, and if I
tell it to you, gentlemen, it is not to amuse you — for you
have not done me a very good turn — but it is because I
believe the best defence I can make is just to hold back nothing, but
let all the world know how badly I have myself been served by Major
Sholto, and how innocent I am of the death of his son.&cdq;
&odq;A very remarkable account,&cdq; said Sherlock Holmes.
&odq;A fitting windup to an extremely interesting case.
There is nothing at all new to me in the latter part of your
narrative except that you brought your own rope. That I did
not know. By the way, I had hoped that Tonga had lost all his
darts; yet he managed to shoot one at us in the boat.&cdq;
&odq;He had lost them all, sir, except the one which was in his
blow-pipe at the time.&cdq;
&odq;Ah, of course,&cdq; said Holmes. &odq;I had not
thought of that.&cdq;
&odq;Is there any other point which you would like to ask
about?&cdq; asked the convict affably.
&odq;I think not, thank you,&cdq; my companion answered.
&odq;Well, Holmes,&cdq; said Athelney Jones, &odq;you
are a man to be humoured, and we all know that you are a connoisseur
of crime; but duty is duty, and I have gone rather far in doing what
you and your friend asked me. I shall feel more at ease when
we have our story-teller here safe under lock and key. The cab
still waits, and there are two inspectors downstairs. I am
much obliged to you both for your assistance. Of course you
will be wanted at the trial. Good-night to you.&cdq;
&odq;Good-night, gentlemen both,&cdq; said Jonathan Small.
&odq;You first, Small,&cdq; remarked the wary, Jones as
they left the room. &odq;I'll take particular care that you
don't club me with your wooden leg, whatever you may have done to the
gentleman at the Andaman Isles.&cdq;
&odq;Well, and there is the end of our little drama,&cdq; I
remarked after we had sat some time smoking in silence. &odq;I
fear that it may be the last investigation in which I shall have the
chance of studying your methods. Miss Morstan has done me the
honour to accept me as a husband in prospective.&cdq;
He gave a most dismal groan.
&odq;I feared as
much,&cdq; said he. &odq;I really cannot congratulate
you.&cdq;
I was a little hurt.
&odq;Have you any reason to
be dissatisfied with my choice?&cdq; I asked.
&odq;Not at all. I think she is one of the most charming
young ladies I ever met and might have been most useful in such work
as we have been doing. She had a decided genius that way
witness the way in which she preserved that Agra plan from all the
other papers of her father. But love is an emotional thing,
and whatever is emotional is opposed to that true cold reason which I
place above all things. I should never marry myself, lest I
bias my judgment.&cdq;
&odq;I trust,&cdq; said I, laughing, &odq;that my judgment may
survive the ordeal. But you look weary.&cdq;
&odq;Yes, the reaction is already upon me. I shall be as
limp as a rag for a week.&cdq;
&odq;Strange,&cdq; said I, &odq;how terms of what in another
man I should call laziness alternate with your fits of splendid
energy and vigour.&cdq;
&odq;Yes,&cdq; he answered, &odq;there are in me the makings of
a very fine loafer, and also of a pretty spry, sort of a fellow.
I often think of those lines of old Goethe:
&odq;Schade dass die Natur nur einen Mensch aus dir schuf, Denn zum wurdigen Mann war und zum Schelmen der Stoff.
By the way, apropos of this Norwood business, you see that they
had, as I surmised, a confederate in the house, who could be none
other than Lal Rao, the butler: so Jones actually has the undivided
honour of having caught one fish in his great haul. &odq;
&odq;The division seems rather unfair,&cdq; I remarked.
&odq;You have done all the work in this business. I get
a wife out of it, Jones gets the credit, pray what remains for
you?&cdq;
&odq;For me,&cdq; said Sherlock Holmes, &odq;there still
remains the cocaine-bottle.&cdq; And he stretched his long
white hand up for it.