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Project Gutenberg's The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, by Arthur Conan Doyle↩

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re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included↩

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Title: The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes↩

↩

Author: Arthur Conan Doyle↩

↩

Posting Date: April 18, 2011 [EBook #1661]↩

First Posted: November 29, 2002↩

↩

Language: English↩

↩

↩

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ADVENTURES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES ***↩

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Produced by an anonymous Project Gutenberg volunteer and Jose Menendez↩

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↩

THE ADVENTURES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES↩

↩

by↩

↩

SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE↩

↩

↩

↩

   I. A Scandal in Bohemia↩

  II. The Red-headed League↩

 III. A Case of Identity↩

  IV. The Boscombe Valley Mystery↩

   V. The Five Orange Pips↩

  VI. The Man with the Twisted Lip↩

 VII. The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle↩

VIII. The Adventure of the Speckled Band↩

  IX. The Adventure of the Engineer's Thumb↩

   X. The Adventure of the Noble Bachelor↩

  XI. The Adventure of the Beryl Coronet↩

 XII. The Adventure of the Copper Beeches↩

↩

↩

↩

↩

ADVENTURE I. A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA↩

↩

I.↩

↩

To Sherlock Holmes she is always THE woman. I have seldom heard↩

him mention her under any other name. In his eyes she eclipses↩

and predominates the whole of her sex. It was not that he felt↩

any emotion akin to love for Irene Adler. All emotions, and that↩

one particularly, were abhorrent to his cold, precise but↩

admirably balanced mind. He was, I take it, the most perfect↩

reasoning and observing machine that the world has seen, but as a↩

lover he would have placed himself in a false position. He never↩

spoke of the softer passions, save with a gibe and a sneer. They↩

were admirable things for the observer--excellent for drawing the↩

veil from men's motives and actions. But for the trained reasoner↩

to admit such intrusions into his own delicate and finely↩

adjusted temperament was to introduce a distracting factor which↩

might throw a doubt upon all his mental results. Grit in a↩

sensitive instrument, or a crack in one of his own high-power↩

lenses, would not be more disturbing than a strong emotion in a↩

nature such as his. And yet there was but one woman to him, and↩

that woman was the late Irene Adler, of dubious and questionable↩

memory.↩

↩

I had seen little of Holmes lately. My marriage had drifted us↩

away from each other. My own complete happiness, and the↩

home-centred interests which rise up around the man who first↩

finds himself master of his own establishment, were sufficient to↩

absorb all my attention, while Holmes, who loathed every form of↩

society with his whole Bohemian soul, remained in our lodgings in↩

Baker Street, buried among his old books, and alternating from↩

week to week between cocaine and ambition, the drowsiness of the↩

drug, and the fierce energy of his own keen nature. He was still,↩

as ever, deeply attracted by the study of crime, and occupied his↩

immense faculties and extraordinary powers of observation in↩

following out those clues, and clearing up those mysteries which↩

had been abandoned as hopeless by the official police. From time↩

to time I heard some vague account of his doings: of his summons↩

to Odessa in the case of the Trepoff murder, of his clearing up↩

of the singular tragedy of the Atkinson brothers at Trincomalee,↩

and finally of the mission which he had accomplished so↩

delicately and successfully for the reigning family of Holland.↩

Beyond these signs of his activity, however, which I merely↩

shared with all the readers of the daily press, I knew little of↩

my former friend and companion.↩

↩

One night--it was on the twentieth of March, 1888--I was↩

returning from a journey to a patient (for I had now returned to↩

civil practice), when my way led me through Baker Street. As I↩

passed the well-remembered door, which must always be associated↩

in my mind with my wooing, and with the dark incidents of the↩

Study in Scarlet, I was seized with a keen desire to see Holmes↩

again, and to know how he was employing his extraordinary powers.↩

His rooms were brilliantly lit, and, even as I looked up, I saw↩

his tall, spare figure pass twice in a dark silhouette against↩

the blind. He was pacing the room swiftly, eagerly, with his head↩

sunk upon his chest and his hands clasped behind him. To me, who↩

knew his every mood and habit, his attitude and manner told their↩

own story. He was at work again. He had risen out of his↩

drug-created dreams and was hot upon the scent of some new↩

problem. I rang the bell and was shown up to the chamber which↩

had formerly been in part my own.↩

↩

His manner was not effusive. It seldom was; but he was glad, I↩

think, to see me. With hardly a word spoken, but with a kindly↩

eye, he waved me to an armchair, threw across his case of cigars,↩

and indicated a spirit case and a gasogene in the corner. Then he↩

stood before the fire and looked me over in his singular↩

introspective fashion.↩

↩

"Wedlock suits you," he remarked. "I think, Watson, that you have↩

put on seven and a half pounds since I saw you."↩

↩

"Seven!" I answered.↩

↩

"Indeed, I should have thought a little more. Just a trifle more,↩

I fancy, Watson. And in practice again, I observe. You did not↩

tell me that you intended to go into harness."↩

↩

"Then, how do you know?"↩

↩

"I see it, I deduce it. How do I know that you have been getting↩

yourself very wet lately, and that you have a most clumsy and↩

careless servant girl?"↩

↩

"My dear Holmes," said I, "this is too much. You would certainly↩

have been burned, had you lived a few centuries ago. It is true↩

that I had a country walk on Thursday and came home in a dreadful↩

mess, but as I have changed my clothes I can't imagine how you↩

deduce it. As to Mary Jane, she is incorrigible, and my wife has↩

given her notice, but there, again, I fail to see how you work it↩

out."↩

↩

He chuckled to himself and rubbed his long, nervous hands↩

together.↩

↩

"It is simplicity itself," said he; "my eyes tell me that on the↩

inside of your left shoe, just where the firelight strikes it,↩

the leather is scored by six almost parallel cuts. Obviously they↩

have been caused by someone who has very carelessly scraped round↩

the edges of the sole in order to remove crusted mud from it.↩

Hence, you see, my double deduction that you had been out in vile↩

weather, and that you had a particularly malignant boot-slitting↩

specimen of the London slavey. As to your practice, if a↩

gentleman walks into my rooms smelling of iodoform, with a black↩

mark of nitrate of silver upon his right forefinger, and a bulge↩

on the right side of his top-hat to show where he has secreted↩

his stethoscope, I must be dull, indeed, if I do not pronounce↩

him to be an active member of the medical profession."↩

↩

I could not help laughing at the ease with which he explained his↩

process of deduction. "When I hear you give your reasons," I↩

remarked, "the thing always appears to me to be so ridiculously↩

simple that I could easily do it myself, though at each↩

successive instance of your reasoning I am baffled until you↩

explain your process. And yet I believe that my eyes are as good↩

as yours."↩

↩

"Quite so," he answered, lighting a cigarette, and throwing↩

himself down into an armchair. "You see, but you do not observe.↩

The distinction is clear. For example, you have frequently seen↩

the steps which lead up from the hall to this room."↩

↩

"Frequently."↩

↩

"How often?"↩

↩

"Well, some hundreds of times."↩

↩

"Then how many are there?"↩

↩

"How many? I don't know."↩

↩

"Quite so! You have not observed. And yet you have seen. That is↩

just my point. Now, I know that there are seventeen steps,↩

because I have both seen and observed. By-the-way, since you are↩

interested in these little problems, and since you are good↩

enough to chronicle one or two of my trifling experiences, you↩

may be interested in this." He threw over a sheet of thick,↩

pink-tinted note-paper which had been lying open upon the table.↩

"It came by the last post," said he. "Read it aloud."↩

↩

The note was undated, and without either signature or address.↩

↩

"There will call upon you to-night, at a quarter to eight↩

o'clock," it said, "a gentleman who desires to consult you upon a↩

matter of the very deepest moment. Your recent services to one of↩

the royal houses of Europe have shown that you are one who may↩

safely be trusted with matters which are of an importance which↩

can hardly be exaggerated. This account of you we have from all↩

quarters received. Be in your chamber then at that hour, and do↩

not take it amiss if your visitor wear a mask."↩

↩

"This is indeed a mystery," I remarked. "What do you imagine that↩

it means?"↩

↩

"I have no data yet. It is a capital mistake to theorize before↩

one has data. Insensibly one begins to twist facts to suit↩

theories, instead of theories to suit facts. But the note itself.↩

What do you deduce from it?"↩

↩

I carefully examined the writing, and the paper upon which it was↩

written.↩

↩

"The man who wrote it was presumably well to do," I remarked,↩

endeavouring to imitate my companion's processes. "Such paper↩

could not be bought under half a crown a packet. It is peculiarly↩

strong and stiff."↩

↩

"Peculiar--that is the very word," said Holmes. "It is not an↩

English paper at all. Hold it up to the light."↩

↩

I did so, and saw a large "E" with a small "g," a "P," and a↩

large "G" with a small "t" woven into the texture of the paper.↩

↩

"What do you make of that?" asked Holmes.↩

↩

"The name of the maker, no doubt; or his monogram, rather."↩

↩

"Not at all. The 'G' with the small 't' stands for↩

'Gesellschaft,' which is the German for 'Company.' It is a↩

customary contraction like our 'Co.' 'P,' of course, stands for↩

'Papier.' Now for the 'Eg.' Let us glance at our Continental↩

Gazetteer." He took down a heavy brown volume from his shelves.↩

"Eglow, Eglonitz--here we are, Egria. It is in a German-speaking↩

country--in Bohemia, not far from Carlsbad. 'Remarkable as being↩

the scene of the death of Wallenstein, and for its numerous↩

glass-factories and paper-mills.' Ha, ha, my boy, what do you↩

make of that?" His eyes sparkled, and he sent up a great blue↩

triumphant cloud from his cigarette.↩

↩

"The paper was made in Bohemia," I said.↩

↩

"Precisely. And the man who wrote the note is a German. Do you↩

note the peculiar construction of the sentence--'This account of↩

you we have from all quarters received.' A Frenchman or Russian↩

could not have written that. It is the German who is so↩

uncourteous to his verbs. It only remains, therefore, to discover↩

what is wanted by this German who writes upon Bohemian paper and↩

prefers wearing a mask to showing his face. And here he comes, if↩

I am not mistaken, to resolve all our doubts."↩

↩

As he spoke there was the sharp sound of horses' hoofs and↩

grating wheels against the curb, followed by a sharp pull at the↩

bell. Holmes whistled.↩

↩

"A pair, by the sound," said he. "Yes," he continued, glancing↩

out of the window. "A nice little brougham and a pair of↩

beauties. A hundred and fifty guineas apiece. There's money in↩

this case, Watson, if there is nothing else."↩

↩

"I think that I had better go, Holmes."↩

↩

"Not a bit, Doctor. Stay where you are. I am lost without my↩

Boswell. And this promises to be interesting. It would be a pity↩

to miss it."↩

↩

"But your client--"↩

↩

"Never mind him. I may want your help, and so may he. Here he↩

comes. Sit down in that armchair, Doctor, and give us your best↩

attention."↩

↩

A slow and heavy step, which had been heard upon the stairs and↩

in the passage, paused immediately outside the door. Then there↩

was a loud and authoritative tap.↩

↩

"Come in!" said Holmes.↩

↩

A man entered who could hardly have been less than six feet six↩

inches in height, with the chest and limbs of a Hercules. His↩

dress was rich with a richness which would, in England, be looked↩

upon as akin to bad taste. Heavy bands of astrakhan were slashed↩

across the sleeves and fronts of his double-breasted coat, while↩

the deep blue cloak which was thrown over his shoulders was lined↩

with flame-coloured silk and secured at the neck with a brooch↩

which consisted of a single flaming beryl. Boots which extended↩

halfway up his calves, and which were trimmed at the tops with↩

rich brown fur, completed the impression of barbaric opulence↩

which was suggested by his whole appearance. He carried a↩

broad-brimmed hat in his hand, while he wore across the upper↩

part of his face, extending down past the cheekbones, a black↩

vizard mask, which he had apparently adjusted that very moment,↩

for his hand was still raised to it as he entered. From the lower↩

part of the face he appeared to be a man of strong character,↩

with a thick, hanging lip, and a long, straight chin suggestive↩

of resolution pushed to the length of obstinacy.↩

↩

"You had my note?" he asked with a deep harsh voice and a↩

strongly marked German accent. "I told you that I would call." He↩

looked from one to the other of us, as if uncertain which to↩

address.↩

↩

"Pray take a seat," said Holmes. "This is my friend and↩

colleague, Dr. Watson, who is occasionally good enough to help me↩

in my cases. Whom have I the honour to address?"↩

↩

"You may address me as the Count Von Kramm, a Bohemian nobleman.↩

I understand that this gentleman, your friend, is a man of honour↩

and discretion, whom I may trust with a matter of the most↩

extreme importance. If not, I should much prefer to communicate↩

with you alone."↩

↩

I rose to go, but Holmes caught me by the wrist and pushed me↩

back into my chair. "It is both, or none," said he. "You may say↩

before this gentleman anything which you may say to me."↩

↩

The Count shrugged his broad shoulders. "Then I must begin," said↩

he, "by binding you both to absolute secrecy for two years; at↩

the end of that time the matter will be of no importance. At↩

present it is not too much to say that it is of such weight it↩

may have an influence upon European history."↩

↩

"I promise," said Holmes.↩

↩

"And I."↩

↩

"You will excuse this mask," continued our strange visitor. "The↩

august person who employs me wishes his agent to be unknown to↩

you, and I may confess at once that the title by which I have↩

just called myself is not exactly my own."↩

↩

"I was aware of it," said Holmes dryly.↩

↩

"The circumstances are of great delicacy, and every precaution↩

has to be taken to quench what might grow to be an immense↩

scandal and seriously compromise one of the reigning families of↩

Europe. To speak plainly, the matter implicates the great House↩

of Ormstein, hereditary kings of Bohemia."↩

↩

"I was also aware of that," murmured Holmes, settling himself↩

down in his armchair and closing his eyes.↩

↩

Our visitor glanced with some apparent surprise at the languid,↩

lounging figure of the man who had been no doubt depicted to him↩

as the most incisive reasoner and most energetic agent in Europe.↩

Holmes slowly reopened his eyes and looked impatiently at his↩

gigantic client.↩

↩

"If your Majesty would condescend to state your case," he↩

remarked, "I should be better able to advise you."↩

↩

The man sprang from his chair and paced up and down the room in↩

uncontrollable agitation. Then, with a gesture of desperation, he↩

tore the mask from his face and hurled it upon the ground. "You↩

are right," he cried; "I am the King. Why should I attempt to↩

conceal it?"↩

↩

"Why, indeed?" murmured Holmes. "Your Majesty had not spoken↩

before I was aware that I was addressing Wilhelm Gottsreich↩

Sigismond von Ormstein, Grand Duke of Cassel-Felstein, and↩

hereditary King of Bohemia."↩

↩

"But you can understand," said our strange visitor, sitting down↩

once more and passing his hand over his high white forehead, "you↩

can understand that I am not accustomed to doing such business in↩

my own person. Yet the matter was so delicate that I could not↩

confide it to an agent without putting myself in his power. I↩

have come incognito from Prague for the purpose of consulting↩

you."↩

↩

"Then, pray consult," said Holmes, shutting his eyes once more.↩

↩

"The facts are briefly these: Some five years ago, during a↩

lengthy visit to Warsaw, I made the acquaintance of the well-known↩

adventuress, Irene Adler. The name is no doubt familiar to you."↩

↩

"Kindly look her up in my index, Doctor," murmured Holmes without↩

opening his eyes. For many years he had adopted a system of↩

docketing all paragraphs concerning men and things, so that it↩

was difficult to name a subject or a person on which he could not↩

at once furnish information. In this case I found her biography↩

sandwiched in between that of a Hebrew rabbi and that of a↩

staff-commander who had written a monograph upon the deep-sea↩

fishes.↩

↩

"Let me see!" said Holmes. "Hum! Born in New Jersey in the year↩

1858. Contralto--hum! La Scala, hum! Prima donna Imperial Opera↩

of Warsaw--yes! Retired from operatic stage--ha! Living in↩

London--quite so! Your Majesty, as I understand, became entangled↩

with this young person, wrote her some compromising letters, and↩

is now desirous of getting those letters back."↩

↩

"Precisely so. But how--"↩

↩

"Was there a secret marriage?"↩

↩

"None."↩

↩

"No legal papers or certificates?"↩

↩

"None."↩

↩

"Then I fail to follow your Majesty. If this young person should↩

produce her letters for blackmailing or other purposes, how is↩

she to prove their authenticity?"↩

↩

"There is the writing."↩

↩

"Pooh, pooh! Forgery."↩

↩

"My private note-paper."↩

↩

"Stolen."↩

↩

"My own seal."↩

↩

"Imitated."↩

↩

"My photograph."↩

↩

"Bought."↩

↩

"We were both in the photograph."↩

↩

"Oh, dear! That is very bad! Your Majesty has indeed committed an↩

indiscretion."↩

↩

"I was mad--insane."↩

↩

"You have compromised yourself seriously."↩

↩

"I was only Crown Prince then. I was young. I am but thirty now."↩

↩

"It must be recovered."↩

↩

"We have tried and failed."↩

↩

"Your Majesty must pay. It must be bought."↩

↩

"She will not sell."↩

↩

"Stolen, then."↩

↩

"Five attempts have been made. Twice burglars in my pay ransacked↩

her house. Once we diverted her luggage when she travelled. Twice↩

she has been waylaid. There has been no result."↩

↩

"No sign of it?"↩

↩

"Absolutely none."↩

↩

Holmes laughed. "It is quite a pretty little problem," said he.↩

↩

"But a very serious one to me," returned the King reproachfully.↩

↩

"Very, indeed. And what does she propose to do with the↩

photograph?"↩

↩

"To ruin me."↩

↩

"But how?"↩

↩

"I am about to be married."↩

↩

"So I have heard."↩

↩

"To Clotilde Lothman von Saxe-Meningen, second daughter of the↩

King of Scandinavia. You may know the strict principles of her↩

family. She is herself the very soul of delicacy. A shadow of a↩

doubt as to my conduct would bring the matter to an end."↩

↩

"And Irene Adler?"↩

↩

"Threatens to send them the photograph. And she will do it. I↩

know that she will do it. You do not know her, but she has a soul↩

of steel. She has the face of the most beautiful of women, and↩

the mind of the most resolute of men. Rather than I should marry↩

another woman, there are no lengths to which she would not↩

go--none."↩

↩

"You are sure that she has not sent it yet?"↩

↩

"I am sure."↩

↩

"And why?"↩

↩

"Because she has said that she would send it on the day when the↩

betrothal was publicly proclaimed. That will be next Monday."↩

↩

"Oh, then we have three days yet," said Holmes with a yawn. "That↩

is very fortunate, as I have one or two matters of importance to↩

look into just at present. Your Majesty will, of course, stay in↩

London for the present?"↩

↩

"Certainly. You will find me at the Langham under the name of the↩

Count Von Kramm."↩

↩

"Then I shall drop you a line to let you know how we progress."↩

↩

"Pray do so. I shall be all anxiety."↩

↩

"Then, as to money?"↩

↩

"You have carte blanche."↩

↩

"Absolutely?"↩

↩

"I tell you that I would give one of the provinces of my kingdom↩

to have that photograph."↩

↩

"And for present expenses?"↩

↩

The King took a heavy chamois leather bag from under his cloak↩

and laid it on the table.↩

↩

"There are three hundred pounds in gold and seven hundred in↩

notes," he said.↩

↩

Holmes scribbled a receipt upon a sheet of his note-book and↩

handed it to him.↩

↩

"And Mademoiselle's address?" he asked.↩

↩

"Is Briony Lodge, Serpentine Avenue, St. John's Wood."↩

↩

Holmes took a note of it. "One other question," said he. "Was the↩

photograph a cabinet?"↩

↩

"It was."↩

↩

"Then, good-night, your Majesty, and I trust that we shall soon↩

have some good news for you. And good-night, Watson," he added,↩

as the wheels of the royal brougham rolled down the street. "If↩

you will be good enough to call to-morrow afternoon at three↩

o'clock I should like to chat this little matter over with you."↩

↩

↩

II.↩

↩

At three o'clock precisely I was at Baker Street, but Holmes had↩

not yet returned. The landlady informed me that he had left the↩

house shortly after eight o'clock in the morning. I sat down↩

beside the fire, however, with the intention of awaiting him,↩

however long he might be. I was already deeply interested in his↩

inquiry, for, though it was surrounded by none of the grim and↩

strange features which were associated with the two crimes which↩

I have already recorded, still, the nature of the case and the↩

exalted station of his client gave it a character of its own.↩

Indeed, apart from the nature of the investigation which my↩

friend had on hand, there was something in his masterly grasp of↩

a situation, and his keen, incisive reasoning, which made it a↩

pleasure to me to study his system of work, and to follow the↩

quick, subtle methods by which he disentangled the most↩

inextricable mysteries. So accustomed was I to his invariable↩

success that the very possibility of his failing had ceased to↩

enter into my head.↩

↩

It was close upon four before the door opened, and a↩

drunken-looking groom, ill-kempt and side-whiskered, with an↩

inflamed face and disreputable clothes, walked into the room.↩

Accustomed as I was to my friend's amazing powers in the use of↩

disguises, I had to look three times before I was certain that it↩

was indeed he. With a nod he vanished into the bedroom, whence he↩

emerged in five minutes tweed-suited and respectable, as of old.↩

Putting his hands into his pockets, he stretched out his legs in↩

front of the fire and laughed heartily for some minutes.↩

↩

"Well, really!" he cried, and then he choked and laughed again↩

until he was obliged to lie back, limp and helpless, in the↩

chair.↩

↩

"What is it?"↩

↩

"It's quite too funny. I am sure you could never guess how I↩

employed my morning, or what I ended by doing."↩

↩

"I can't imagine. I suppose that you have been watching the↩

habits, and perhaps the house, of Miss Irene Adler."↩

↩

"Quite so; but the sequel was rather unusual. I will tell you,↩

however. I left the house a little after eight o'clock this↩

morning in the character of a groom out of work. There is a↩

wonderful sympathy and freemasonry among horsey men. Be one of↩

them, and you will know all that there is to know. I soon found↩

Briony Lodge. It is a bijou villa, with a garden at the back, but↩

built out in front right up to the road, two stories. Chubb lock↩

to the door. Large sitting-room on the right side, well↩

furnished, with long windows almost to the floor, and those↩

preposterous English window fasteners which a child could open.↩

Behind there was nothing remarkable, save that the passage window↩

could be reached from the top of the coach-house. I walked round↩

it and examined it closely from every point of view, but without↩

noting anything else of interest.↩

↩

"I then lounged down the street and found, as I expected, that↩

there was a mews in a lane which runs down by one wall of the↩

garden. I lent the ostlers a hand in rubbing down their horses,↩

and received in exchange twopence, a glass of half and half, two↩

fills of shag tobacco, and as much information as I could desire↩

about Miss Adler, to say nothing of half a dozen other people in↩

the neighbourhood in whom I was not in the least interested, but↩

whose biographies I was compelled to listen to."↩

↩

"And what of Irene Adler?" I asked.↩

↩

"Oh, she has turned all the men's heads down in that part. She is↩

the daintiest thing under a bonnet on this planet. So say the↩

Serpentine-mews, to a man. She lives quietly, sings at concerts,↩

drives out at five every day, and returns at seven sharp for↩

dinner. Seldom goes out at other times, except when she sings.↩

Has only one male visitor, but a good deal of him. He is dark,↩

handsome, and dashing, never calls less than once a day, and↩

often twice. He is a Mr. Godfrey Norton, of the Inner Temple. See↩

the advantages of a cabman as a confidant. They had driven him↩

home a dozen times from Serpentine-mews, and knew all about him.↩

When I had listened to all they had to tell, I began to walk up↩

and down near Briony Lodge once more, and to think over my plan↩

of campaign.↩

↩

"This Godfrey Norton was evidently an important factor in the↩

matter. He was a lawyer. That sounded ominous. What was the↩

relation between them, and what the object of his repeated↩

visits? Was she his client, his friend, or his mistress? If the↩

former, she had probably transferred the photograph to his↩

keeping. If the latter, it was less likely. On the issue of this↩

question depended whether I should continue my work at Briony↩

Lodge, or turn my attention to the gentleman's chambers in the↩

Temple. It was a delicate point, and it widened the field of my↩

inquiry. I fear that I bore you with these details, but I have to↩

let you see my little difficulties, if you are to understand the↩

situation."↩

↩

"I am following you closely," I answered.↩

↩

"I was still balancing the matter in my mind when a hansom cab↩

drove up to Briony Lodge, and a gentleman sprang out. He was a↩

remarkably handsome man, dark, aquiline, and moustached--evidently↩

the man of whom I had heard. He appeared to be in a↩

great hurry, shouted to the cabman to wait, and brushed past the↩

maid who opened the door with the air of a man who was thoroughly↩

at home.↩

↩

"He was in the house about half an hour, and I could catch↩

glimpses of him in the windows of the sitting-room, pacing up and↩

down, talking excitedly, and waving his arms. Of her I could see↩

nothing. Presently he emerged, looking even more flurried than↩

before. As he stepped up to the cab, he pulled a gold watch from↩

his pocket and looked at it earnestly, 'Drive like the devil,' he↩

shouted, 'first to Gross & Hankey's in Regent Street, and then to↩

the Church of St. Monica in the Edgeware Road. Half a guinea if↩

you do it in twenty minutes!'↩

↩

"Away they went, and I was just wondering whether I should not do↩

well to follow them when up the lane came a neat little landau,↩

the coachman with his coat only half-buttoned, and his tie under↩

his ear, while all the tags of his harness were sticking out of↩

the buckles. It hadn't pulled up before she shot out of the hall↩

door and into it. I only caught a glimpse of her at the moment,↩

but she was a lovely woman, with a face that a man might die for.↩

↩

"'The Church of St. Monica, John,' she cried, 'and half a↩

sovereign if you reach it in twenty minutes.'↩

↩

"This was quite too good to lose, Watson. I was just balancing↩

whether I should run for it, or whether I should perch behind her↩

landau when a cab came through the street. The driver looked↩

twice at such a shabby fare, but I jumped in before he could↩

object. 'The Church of St. Monica,' said I, 'and half a sovereign↩

if you reach it in twenty minutes.' It was twenty-five minutes to↩

twelve, and of course it was clear enough what was in the wind.↩

↩

"My cabby drove fast. I don't think I ever drove faster, but the↩

others were there before us. The cab and the landau with their↩

steaming horses were in front of the door when I arrived. I paid↩

the man and hurried into the church. There was not a soul there↩

save the two whom I had followed and a surpliced clergyman, who↩

seemed to be expostulating with them. They were all three↩

standing in a knot in front of the altar. I lounged up the side↩

aisle like any other idler who has dropped into a church.↩

Suddenly, to my surprise, the three at the altar faced round to↩

me, and Godfrey Norton came running as hard as he could towards↩

me.↩

↩

"'Thank God,' he cried. 'You'll do. Come! Come!'↩

↩

"'What then?' I asked.↩

↩

"'Come, man, come, only three minutes, or it won't be legal.'↩

↩

"I was half-dragged up to the altar, and before I knew where I was↩

I found myself mumbling responses which were whispered in my ear,↩

and vouching for things of which I knew nothing, and generally↩

assisting in the secure tying up of Irene Adler, spinster, to↩

Godfrey Norton, bachelor. It was all done in an instant, and↩

there was the gentleman thanking me on the one side and the lady↩

on the other, while the clergyman beamed on me in front. It was↩

the most preposterous position in which I ever found myself in my↩

life, and it was the thought of it that started me laughing just↩

now. It seems that there had been some informality about their↩

license, that the clergyman absolutely refused to marry them↩

without a witness of some sort, and that my lucky appearance↩

saved the bridegroom from having to sally out into the streets in↩

search of a best man. The bride gave me a sovereign, and I mean↩

to wear it on my watch-chain in memory of the occasion."↩

↩

"This is a very unexpected turn of affairs," said I; "and what↩

then?"↩

↩

"Well, I found my plans very seriously menaced. It looked as if↩

the pair might take an immediate departure, and so necessitate↩

very prompt and energetic measures on my part. At the church↩

door, however, they separated, he driving back to the Temple, and↩

she to her own house. 'I shall drive out in the park at five as↩

usual,' she said as she left him. I heard no more. They drove↩

away in different directions, and I went off to make my own↩

arrangements."↩

↩

"Which are?"↩

↩

"Some cold beef and a glass of beer," he answered, ringing the↩

bell. "I have been too busy to think of food, and I am likely to↩

be busier still this evening. By the way, Doctor, I shall want↩

your co-operation."↩

↩

"I shall be delighted."↩

↩

"You don't mind breaking the law?"↩

↩

"Not in the least."↩

↩

"Nor running a chance of arrest?"↩

↩

"Not in a good cause."↩

↩

"Oh, the cause is excellent!"↩

↩

"Then I am your man."↩

↩

"I was sure that I might rely on you."↩

↩

"But what is it you wish?"↩

↩

"When Mrs. Turner has brought in the tray I will make it clear to↩

you. Now," he said as he turned hungrily on the simple fare that↩

our landlady had provided, "I must discuss it while I eat, for I↩

have not much time. It is nearly five now. In two hours we must↩

be on the scene of action. Miss Irene, or Madame, rather, returns↩

from her drive at seven. We must be at Briony Lodge to meet her."↩

↩

"And what then?"↩

↩

"You must leave that to me. I have already arranged what is to↩

occur. There is only one point on which I must insist. You must↩

not interfere, come what may. You understand?"↩

↩

"I am to be neutral?"↩

↩

"To do nothing whatever. There will probably be some small↩

unpleasantness. Do not join in it. It will end in my being↩

conveyed into the house. Four or five minutes afterwards the↩

sitting-room window will open. You are to station yourself close↩

to that open window."↩

↩

"Yes."↩

↩

"You are to watch me, for I will be visible to you."↩

↩

"Yes."↩

↩

"And when I raise my hand--so--you will throw into the room what↩

I give you to throw, and will, at the same time, raise the cry of↩

fire. You quite follow me?"↩

↩

"Entirely."↩

↩

"It is nothing very formidable," he said, taking a long cigar-shaped↩

roll from his pocket. "It is an ordinary plumber's smoke-rocket,↩

fitted with a cap at either end to make it self-lighting.↩

Your task is confined to that. When you raise your cry of fire,↩

it will be taken up by quite a number of people. You may then↩

walk to the end of the street, and I will rejoin you in ten↩

minutes. I hope that I have made myself clear?"↩

↩

"I am to remain neutral, to get near the window, to watch you,↩

and at the signal to throw in this object, then to raise the cry↩

of fire, and to wait you at the corner of the street."↩

↩

"Precisely."↩

↩

"Then you may entirely rely on me."↩

↩

"That is excellent. I think, perhaps, it is almost time that I↩

prepare for the new role I have to play."↩

↩

He disappeared into his bedroom and returned in a few minutes in↩

the character of an amiable and simple-minded Nonconformist↩

clergyman. His broad black hat, his baggy trousers, his white↩

tie, his sympathetic smile, and general look of peering and↩

benevolent curiosity were such as Mr. John Hare alone could have↩

equalled. It was not merely that Holmes changed his costume. His↩

expression, his manner, his very soul seemed to vary with every↩

fresh part that he assumed. The stage lost a fine actor, even as↩

science lost an acute reasoner, when he became a specialist in↩

crime.↩

↩

It was a quarter past six when we left Baker Street, and it still↩

wanted ten minutes to the hour when we found ourselves in↩

Serpentine Avenue. It was already dusk, and the lamps were just↩

being lighted as we paced up and down in front of Briony Lodge,↩

waiting for the coming of its occupant. The house was just such↩

as I had pictured it from Sherlock Holmes' succinct description,↩

but the locality appeared to be less private than I expected. On↩

the contrary, for a small street in a quiet neighbourhood, it was↩

remarkably animated. There was a group of shabbily dressed men↩

smoking and laughing in a corner, a scissors-grinder with his↩

wheel, two guardsmen who were flirting with a nurse-girl, and↩

several well-dressed young men who were lounging up and down with↩

cigars in their mouths.↩

↩

"You see," remarked Holmes, as we paced to and fro in front of↩

the house, "this marriage rather simplifies matters. The↩

photograph becomes a double-edged weapon now. The chances are↩

that she would be as averse to its being seen by Mr. Godfrey↩

Norton, as our client is to its coming to the eyes of his↩

princess. Now the question is, Where are we to find the↩

photograph?"↩

↩

"Where, indeed?"↩

↩

"It is most unlikely that she carries it about with her. It is↩

cabinet size. Too large for easy concealment about a woman's↩

dress. She knows that the King is capable of having her waylaid↩

and searched. Two attempts of the sort have already been made. We↩

may take it, then, that she does not carry it about with her."↩

↩

"Where, then?"↩

↩

"Her banker or her lawyer. There is that double possibility. But↩

I am inclined to think neither. Women are naturally secretive,↩

and they like to do their own secreting. Why should she hand it↩

over to anyone else? She could trust her own guardianship, but↩

she could not tell what indirect or political influence might be↩

brought to bear upon a business man. Besides, remember that she↩

had resolved to use it within a few days. It must be where she↩

can lay her hands upon it. It must be in her own house."↩

↩

"But it has twice been burgled."↩

↩

"Pshaw! They did not know how to look."↩

↩

"But how will you look?"↩

↩

"I will not look."↩

↩

"What then?"↩

↩

"I will get her to show me."↩

↩

"But she will refuse."↩

↩

"She will not be able to. But I hear the rumble of wheels. It is↩

her carriage. Now carry out my orders to the letter."↩

↩

As he spoke the gleam of the side-lights of a carriage came round↩

the curve of the avenue. It was a smart little landau which↩

rattled up to the door of Briony Lodge. As it pulled up, one of↩

the loafing men at the corner dashed forward to open the door in↩

the hope of earning a copper, but was elbowed away by another↩

loafer, who had rushed up with the same intention. A fierce↩

quarrel broke out, which was increased by the two guardsmen, who↩

took sides with one of the loungers, and by the scissors-grinder,↩

who was equally hot upon the other side. A blow was struck, and↩

in an instant the lady, who had stepped from her carriage, was↩

the centre of a little knot of flushed and struggling men, who↩

struck savagely at each other with their fists and sticks. Holmes↩

dashed into the crowd to protect the lady; but just as he reached↩

her he gave a cry and dropped to the ground, with the blood↩

running freely down his face. At his fall the guardsmen took to↩

their heels in one direction and the loungers in the other, while↩

a number of better-dressed people, who had watched the scuffle↩

without taking part in it, crowded in to help the lady and to↩

attend to the injured man. Irene Adler, as I will still call her,↩

had hurried up the steps; but she stood at the top with her↩

superb figure outlined against the lights of the hall, looking↩

back into the street.↩

↩

"Is the poor gentleman much hurt?" she asked.↩

↩

"He is dead," cried several voices.↩

↩

"No, no, there's life in him!" shouted another. "But he'll be↩

gone before you can get him to hospital."↩

↩

"He's a brave fellow," said a woman. "They would have had the↩

lady's purse and watch if it hadn't been for him. They were a↩

gang, and a rough one, too. Ah, he's breathing now."↩

↩

"He can't lie in the street. May we bring him in, marm?"↩

↩

"Surely. Bring him into the sitting-room. There is a comfortable↩

sofa. This way, please!"↩

↩

Slowly and solemnly he was borne into Briony Lodge and laid out↩

in the principal room, while I still observed the proceedings↩

from my post by the window. The lamps had been lit, but the↩

blinds had not been drawn, so that I could see Holmes as he lay↩

upon the couch. I do not know whether he was seized with↩

compunction at that moment for the part he was playing, but I↩

know that I never felt more heartily ashamed of myself in my life↩

than when I saw the beautiful creature against whom I was↩

conspiring, or the grace and kindliness with which she waited↩

upon the injured man. And yet it would be the blackest treachery↩

to Holmes to draw back now from the part which he had intrusted↩

to me. I hardened my heart, and took the smoke-rocket from under↩

my ulster. After all, I thought, we are not injuring her. We are↩

but preventing her from injuring another.↩

↩

Holmes had sat up upon the couch, and I saw him motion like a man↩

who is in need of air. A maid rushed across and threw open the↩

window. At the same instant I saw him raise his hand and at the↩

signal I tossed my rocket into the room with a cry of "Fire!" The↩

word was no sooner out of my mouth than the whole crowd of↩

spectators, well dressed and ill--gentlemen, ostlers, and↩

servant-maids--joined in a general shriek of "Fire!" Thick clouds↩

of smoke curled through the room and out at the open window. I↩

caught a glimpse of rushing figures, and a moment later the voice↩

of Holmes from within assuring them that it was a false alarm.↩

Slipping through the shouting crowd I made my way to the corner↩

of the street, and in ten minutes was rejoiced to find my↩

friend's arm in mine, and to get away from the scene of uproar.↩

He walked swiftly and in silence for some few minutes until we↩

had turned down one of the quiet streets which lead towards the↩

Edgeware Road.↩

↩

"You did it very nicely, Doctor," he remarked. "Nothing could↩

have been better. It is all right."↩

↩

"You have the photograph?"↩

↩

"I know where it is."↩

↩

"And how did you find out?"↩

↩

"She showed me, as I told you she would."↩

↩

"I am still in the dark."↩

↩

"I do not wish to make a mystery," said he, laughing. "The matter↩

was perfectly simple. You, of course, saw that everyone in the↩

street was an accomplice. They were all engaged for the evening."↩

↩

"I guessed as much."↩

↩

"Then, when the row broke out, I had a little moist red paint in↩

the palm of my hand. I rushed forward, fell down, clapped my hand↩

to my face, and became a piteous spectacle. It is an old trick."↩

↩

"That also I could fathom."↩

↩

"Then they carried me in. She was bound to have me in. What else↩

could she do? And into her sitting-room, which was the very room↩

which I suspected. It lay between that and her bedroom, and I was↩

determined to see which. They laid me on a couch, I motioned for↩

air, they were compelled to open the window, and you had your↩

chance."↩

↩

"How did that help you?"↩

↩

"It was all-important. When a woman thinks that her house is on↩

fire, her instinct is at once to rush to the thing which she↩

values most. It is a perfectly overpowering impulse, and I have↩

more than once taken advantage of it. In the case of the↩

Darlington substitution scandal it was of use to me, and also in↩

the Arnsworth Castle business. A married woman grabs at her baby;↩

an unmarried one reaches for her jewel-box. Now it was clear to↩

me that our lady of to-day had nothing in the house more precious↩

to her than what we are in quest of. She would rush to secure it.↩

The alarm of fire was admirably done. The smoke and shouting were↩

enough to shake nerves of steel. She responded beautifully. The↩

photograph is in a recess behind a sliding panel just above the↩

right bell-pull. She was there in an instant, and I caught a↩

glimpse of it as she half-drew it out. When I cried out that it↩

was a false alarm, she replaced it, glanced at the rocket, rushed↩

from the room, and I have not seen her since. I rose, and, making↩

my excuses, escaped from the house. I hesitated whether to↩

attempt to secure the photograph at once; but the coachman had↩

come in, and as he was watching me narrowly it seemed safer to↩

wait. A little over-precipitance may ruin all."↩

↩

"And now?" I asked.↩

↩

"Our quest is practically finished. I shall call with the King↩

to-morrow, and with you, if you care to come with us. We will be↩

shown into the sitting-room to wait for the lady, but it is↩

probable that when she comes she may find neither us nor the↩

photograph. It might be a satisfaction to his Majesty to regain↩

it with his own hands."↩

↩

"And when will you call?"↩

↩

"At eight in the morning. She will not be up, so that we shall↩

have a clear field. Besides, we must be prompt, for this marriage↩

may mean a complete change in her life and habits. I must wire to↩

the King without delay."↩

↩

We had reached Baker Street and had stopped at the door. He was↩

searching his pockets for the key when someone passing said:↩

↩

"Good-night, Mister Sherlock Holmes."↩

↩

There were several people on the pavement at the time, but the↩

greeting appeared to come from a slim youth in an ulster who had↩

hurried by.↩

↩

"I've heard that voice before," said Holmes, staring down the↩

dimly lit street. "Now, I wonder who the deuce that could have↩

been."↩

↩

↩

III.↩

↩

I slept at Baker Street that night, and we were engaged upon our↩

toast and coffee in the morning when the King of Bohemia rushed↩

into the room.↩

↩

"You have really got it!" he cried, grasping Sherlock Holmes by↩

either shoulder and looking eagerly into his face.↩

↩

"Not yet."↩

↩

"But you have hopes?"↩

↩

"I have hopes."↩

↩

"Then, come. I am all impatience to be gone."↩

↩

"We must have a cab."↩

↩

"No, my brougham is waiting."↩

↩

"Then that will simplify matters." We descended and started off↩

once more for Briony Lodge.↩

↩

"Irene Adler is married," remarked Holmes.↩

↩

"Married! When?"↩

↩

"Yesterday."↩

↩

"But to whom?"↩

↩

"To an English lawyer named Norton."↩

↩

"But she could not love him."↩

↩

"I am in hopes that she does."↩

↩

"And why in hopes?"↩

↩

"Because it would spare your Majesty all fear of future↩

annoyance. If the lady loves her husband, she does not love your↩

Majesty. If she does not love your Majesty, there is no reason↩

why she should interfere with your Majesty's plan."↩

↩

"It is true. And yet--Well! I wish she had been of my own↩

station! What a queen she would have made!" He relapsed into a↩

moody silence, which was not broken until we drew up in↩

Serpentine Avenue.↩

↩

The door of Briony Lodge was open, and an elderly woman stood↩

upon the steps. She watched us with a sardonic eye as we stepped↩

from the brougham.↩

↩

"Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I believe?" said she.↩

↩

"I am Mr. Holmes," answered my companion, looking at her with a↩

questioning and rather startled gaze.↩

↩

"Indeed! My mistress told me that you were likely to call. She↩

left this morning with her husband by the 5:15 train from Charing↩

Cross for the Continent."↩

↩

"What!" Sherlock Holmes staggered back, white with chagrin and↩

surprise. "Do you mean that she has left England?"↩

↩

"Never to return."↩

↩

"And the papers?" asked the King hoarsely. "All is lost."↩

↩

"We shall see." He pushed past the servant and rushed into the↩

drawing-room, followed by the King and myself. The furniture was↩

scattered about in every direction, with dismantled shelves and↩

open drawers, as if the lady had hurriedly ransacked them before↩

her flight. Holmes rushed at the bell-pull, tore back a small↩

sliding shutter, and, plunging in his hand, pulled out a↩

photograph and a letter. The photograph was of Irene Adler↩

herself in evening dress, the letter was superscribed to↩

"Sherlock Holmes, Esq. To be left till called for." My friend↩

tore it open and we all three read it together. It was dated at↩

midnight of the preceding night and ran in this way:↩

↩

"MY DEAR MR. SHERLOCK HOLMES,--You really did it very well. You↩

took me in completely. Until after the alarm of fire, I had not a↩

suspicion. But then, when I found how I had betrayed myself, I↩

began to think. I had been warned against you months ago. I had↩

been told that if the King employed an agent it would certainly↩

be you. And your address had been given me. Yet, with all this,↩

you made me reveal what you wanted to know. Even after I became↩

suspicious, I found it hard to think evil of such a dear, kind↩

old clergyman. But, you know, I have been trained as an actress↩

myself. Male costume is nothing new to me. I often take advantage↩

of the freedom which it gives. I sent John, the coachman, to↩

watch you, ran up stairs, got into my walking-clothes, as I call↩

them, and came down just as you departed.↩

↩

"Well, I followed you to your door, and so made sure that I was↩

really an object of interest to the celebrated Mr. Sherlock↩

Holmes. Then I, rather imprudently, wished you good-night, and↩

started for the Temple to see my husband.↩

↩

"We both thought the best resource was flight, when pursued by↩

so formidable an antagonist; so you will find the nest empty when↩

you call to-morrow. As to the photograph, your client may rest in↩

peace. I love and am loved by a better man than he. The King may↩

do what he will without hindrance from one whom he has cruelly↩

wronged. I keep it only to safeguard myself, and to preserve a↩

weapon which will always secure me from any steps which he might↩

take in the future. I leave a photograph which he might care to↩

possess; and I remain, dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes,↩

↩

                                      "Very truly yours,↩

                                   "IRENE NORTON, née ADLER."↩

↩

"What a woman--oh, what a woman!" cried the King of Bohemia, when↩

we had all three read this epistle. "Did I not tell you how quick↩

and resolute she was? Would she not have made an admirable queen?↩

Is it not a pity that she was not on my level?"↩

↩

"From what I have seen of the lady she seems indeed to be on a↩

very different level to your Majesty," said Holmes coldly. "I am↩

sorry that I have not been able to bring your Majesty's business↩

to a more successful conclusion."↩

↩

"On the contrary, my dear sir," cried the King; "nothing could be↩

more successful. I know that her word is inviolate. The↩

photograph is now as safe as if it were in the fire."↩

↩

"I am glad to hear your Majesty say so."↩

↩

"I am immensely indebted to you. Pray tell me in what way I can↩

reward you. This ring--" He slipped an emerald snake ring from↩

his finger and held it out upon the palm of his hand.↩

↩

"Your Majesty has something which I should value even more↩

highly," said Holmes.↩

↩

"You have but to name it."↩

↩

"This photograph!"↩

↩

The King stared at him in amazement.↩

↩

"Irene's photograph!" he cried. "Certainly, if you wish it."↩

↩

"I thank your Majesty. Then there is no more to be done in the↩

matter. I have the honour to wish you a very good-morning." He↩

bowed, and, turning away without observing the hand which the↩

King had stretched out to him, he set off in my company for his↩

chambers.↩

↩

And that was how a great scandal threatened to affect the kingdom↩

of Bohemia, and how the best plans of Mr. Sherlock Holmes were↩

beaten by a woman's wit. He used to make merry over the↩

cleverness of women, but I have not heard him do it of late. And↩

when he speaks of Irene Adler, or when he refers to her↩

photograph, it is always under the honourable title of the woman.↩

↩

↩

↩

ADVENTURE II. THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE↩

↩

I had called upon my friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, one day in the↩

autumn of last year and found him in deep conversation with a↩

very stout, florid-faced, elderly gentleman with fiery red hair.↩

With an apology for my intrusion, I was about to withdraw when↩

Holmes pulled me abruptly into the room and closed the door↩

behind me.↩

↩

"You could not possibly have come at a better time, my dear↩

Watson," he said cordially.↩

↩

"I was afraid that you were engaged."↩

↩

"So I am. Very much so."↩

↩

"Then I can wait in the next room."↩

↩

"Not at all. This gentleman, Mr. Wilson, has been my partner and↩

helper in many of my most successful cases, and I have no↩

doubt that he will be of the utmost use to me in yours also."↩

↩

The stout gentleman half rose from his chair and gave a bob of↩

greeting, with a quick little questioning glance from his small↩

fat-encircled eyes.↩

↩

"Try the settee," said Holmes, relapsing into his armchair and↩

putting his fingertips together, as was his custom when in↩

judicial moods. "I know, my dear Watson, that you share my love↩

of all that is bizarre and outside the conventions and humdrum↩

routine of everyday life. You have shown your relish for it by↩

the enthusiasm which has prompted you to chronicle, and, if you↩

will excuse my saying so, somewhat to embellish so many of my own↩

little adventures."↩

↩

"Your cases have indeed been of the greatest interest to me," I↩

observed.↩

↩

"You will remember that I remarked the other day, just before we↩

went into the very simple problem presented by Miss Mary↩

Sutherland, that for strange effects and extraordinary↩

combinations we must go to life itself, which is always far more↩

daring than any effort of the imagination."↩

↩

"A proposition which I took the liberty of doubting."↩

↩

"You did, Doctor, but none the less you must come round to my↩

view, for otherwise I shall keep on piling fact upon fact on you↩

until your reason breaks down under them and acknowledges me to↩

be right. Now, Mr. Jabez Wilson here has been good enough to call↩

upon me this morning, and to begin a narrative which promises to↩

be one of the most singular which I have listened to for some↩

time. You have heard me remark that the strangest and most unique↩

things are very often connected not with the larger but with the↩

smaller crimes, and occasionally, indeed, where there is room for↩

doubt whether any positive crime has been committed. As far as I↩

have heard it is impossible for me to say whether the present↩

case is an instance of crime or not, but the course of events is↩

certainly among the most singular that I have ever listened to.↩

Perhaps, Mr. Wilson, you would have the great kindness to↩

recommence your narrative. I ask you not merely because my friend↩

Dr. Watson has not heard the opening part but also because the↩

peculiar nature of the story makes me anxious to have every↩

possible detail from your lips. As a rule, when I have heard some↩

slight indication of the course of events, I am able to guide↩

myself by the thousands of other similar cases which occur to my↩

memory. In the present instance I am forced to admit that the↩

facts are, to the best of my belief, unique."↩

↩

The portly client puffed out his chest with an appearance of some↩

little pride and pulled a dirty and wrinkled newspaper from the↩

inside pocket of his greatcoat. As he glanced down the↩

advertisement column, with his head thrust forward and the paper↩

flattened out upon his knee, I took a good look at the man and↩

endeavoured, after the fashion of my companion, to read the↩

indications which might be presented by his dress or appearance.↩

↩

I did not gain very much, however, by my inspection. Our visitor↩

bore every mark of being an average commonplace British↩

tradesman, obese, pompous, and slow. He wore rather baggy grey↩

shepherd's check trousers, a not over-clean black frock-coat,↩

unbuttoned in the front, and a drab waistcoat with a heavy brassy↩

Albert chain, and a square pierced bit of metal dangling down as↩

an ornament. A frayed top-hat and a faded brown overcoat with a↩

wrinkled velvet collar lay upon a chair beside him. Altogether,↩

look as I would, there was nothing remarkable about the man save↩

his blazing red head, and the expression of extreme chagrin and↩

discontent upon his features.↩

↩

Sherlock Holmes' quick eye took in my occupation, and he shook↩

his head with a smile as he noticed my questioning glances.↩

"Beyond the obvious facts that he has at some time done manual↩

labour, that he takes snuff, that he is a Freemason, that he has↩

been in China, and that he has done a considerable amount of↩

writing lately, I can deduce nothing else."↩

↩

Mr. Jabez Wilson started up in his chair, with his forefinger↩

upon the paper, but his eyes upon my companion.↩

↩

"How, in the name of good-fortune, did you know all that, Mr.↩

Holmes?" he asked. "How did you know, for example, that I did↩

manual labour. It's as true as gospel, for I began as a ship's↩

carpenter."↩

↩

"Your hands, my dear sir. Your right hand is quite a size larger↩

than your left. You have worked with it, and the muscles are more↩

developed."↩

↩

"Well, the snuff, then, and the Freemasonry?"↩

↩

"I won't insult your intelligence by telling you how I read that,↩

especially as, rather against the strict rules of your order, you↩

use an arc-and-compass breastpin."↩

↩

"Ah, of course, I forgot that. But the writing?"↩

↩

"What else can be indicated by that right cuff so very shiny for↩

five inches, and the left one with the smooth patch near the↩

elbow where you rest it upon the desk?"↩

↩

"Well, but China?"↩

↩

"The fish that you have tattooed immediately above your right↩

wrist could only have been done in China. I have made a small↩

study of tattoo marks and have even contributed to the literature↩

of the subject. That trick of staining the fishes' scales of a↩

delicate pink is quite peculiar to China. When, in addition, I↩

see a Chinese coin hanging from your watch-chain, the matter↩

becomes even more simple."↩

↩

Mr. Jabez Wilson laughed heavily. "Well, I never!" said he. "I↩

thought at first that you had done something clever, but I see↩

that there was nothing in it, after all."↩

↩

"I begin to think, Watson," said Holmes, "that I make a mistake↩

in explaining. 'Omne ignotum pro magnifico,' you know, and my↩

poor little reputation, such as it is, will suffer shipwreck if I↩

am so candid. Can you not find the advertisement, Mr. Wilson?"↩

↩

"Yes, I have got it now," he answered with his thick red finger↩

planted halfway down the column. "Here it is. This is what began↩

it all. You just read it for yourself, sir."↩

↩

I took the paper from him and read as follows:↩

↩

"TO THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE: On account of the bequest of the late↩

Ezekiah Hopkins, of Lebanon, Pennsylvania, U. S. A., there is now↩

another vacancy open which entitles a member of the League to a↩

salary of 4 pounds a week for purely nominal services. All↩

red-headed men who are sound in body and mind and above the age↩

of twenty-one years, are eligible. Apply in person on Monday, at↩

eleven o'clock, to Duncan Ross, at the offices of the League, 7↩

Pope's Court, Fleet Street."↩

↩

"What on earth does this mean?" I ejaculated after I had twice↩

read over the extraordinary announcement.↩

↩

Holmes chuckled and wriggled in his chair, as was his habit when↩

in high spirits. "It is a little off the beaten track, isn't it?"↩

said he. "And now, Mr. Wilson, off you go at scratch and tell us↩

all about yourself, your household, and the effect which this↩

advertisement had upon your fortunes. You will first make a note,↩

Doctor, of the paper and the date."↩

↩

"It is The Morning Chronicle of April 27, 1890. Just two months↩

ago."↩

↩

"Very good. Now, Mr. Wilson?"↩

↩

"Well, it is just as I have been telling you, Mr. Sherlock↩

Holmes," said Jabez Wilson, mopping his forehead; "I have a small↩

pawnbroker's business at Coburg Square, near the City. It's not a↩

very large affair, and of late years it has not done more than↩

just give me a living. I used to be able to keep two assistants,↩

but now I only keep one; and I would have a job to pay him but↩

that he is willing to come for half wages so as to learn the↩

business."↩

↩

"What is the name of this obliging youth?" asked Sherlock Holmes.↩

↩

"His name is Vincent Spaulding, and he's not such a youth,↩

either. It's hard to say his age. I should not wish a smarter↩

assistant, Mr. Holmes; and I know very well that he could better↩

himself and earn twice what I am able to give him. But, after↩

all, if he is satisfied, why should I put ideas in his head?"↩

↩

"Why, indeed? You seem most fortunate in having an employé who↩

comes under the full market price. It is not a common experience↩

among employers in this age. I don't know that your assistant is↩

not as remarkable as your advertisement."↩

↩

"Oh, he has his faults, too," said Mr. Wilson. "Never was such a↩

fellow for photography. Snapping away with a camera when he ought↩

to be improving his mind, and then diving down into the cellar↩

like a rabbit into its hole to develop his pictures. That is his↩

main fault, but on the whole he's a good worker. There's no vice↩

in him."↩

↩

"He is still with you, I presume?"↩

↩

"Yes, sir. He and a girl of fourteen, who does a bit of simple↩

cooking and keeps the place clean--that's all I have in the↩

house, for I am a widower and never had any family. We live very↩

quietly, sir, the three of us; and we keep a roof over our heads↩

and pay our debts, if we do nothing more.↩

↩

"The first thing that put us out was that advertisement.↩

Spaulding, he came down into the office just this day eight↩

weeks, with this very paper in his hand, and he says:↩

↩

"'I wish to the Lord, Mr. Wilson, that I was a red-headed man.'↩

↩

"'Why that?' I asks.↩

↩

"'Why,' says he, 'here's another vacancy on the League of the↩

Red-headed Men. It's worth quite a little fortune to any man who↩

gets it, and I understand that there are more vacancies than↩

there are men, so that the trustees are at their wits' end what↩

to do with the money. If my hair would only change colour, here's↩

a nice little crib all ready for me to step into.'↩

↩

"'Why, what is it, then?' I asked. You see, Mr. Holmes, I am a↩

very stay-at-home man, and as my business came to me instead of↩

my having to go to it, I was often weeks on end without putting↩

my foot over the door-mat. In that way I didn't know much of what↩

was going on outside, and I was always glad of a bit of news.↩

↩

"'Have you never heard of the League of the Red-headed Men?' he↩

asked with his eyes open.↩

↩

"'Never.'↩

↩

"'Why, I wonder at that, for you are eligible yourself for one↩

of the vacancies.'↩

↩

"'And what are they worth?' I asked.↩

↩

"'Oh, merely a couple of hundred a year, but the work is slight,↩

and it need not interfere very much with one's other↩

occupations.'↩

↩

"Well, you can easily think that that made me prick up my ears,↩

for the business has not been over-good for some years, and an↩

extra couple of hundred would have been very handy.↩

↩

"'Tell me all about it,' said I.↩

↩

"'Well,' said he, showing me the advertisement, 'you can see for↩

yourself that the League has a vacancy, and there is the address↩

where you should apply for particulars. As far as I can make out,↩

the League was founded by an American millionaire, Ezekiah↩

Hopkins, who was very peculiar in his ways. He was himself↩

red-headed, and he had a great sympathy for all red-headed men;↩

so when he died it was found that he had left his enormous↩

fortune in the hands of trustees, with instructions to apply the↩

interest to the providing of easy berths to men whose hair is of↩

that colour. From all I hear it is splendid pay and very little to↩

do.'↩

↩

"'But,' said I, 'there would be millions of red-headed men who↩

would apply.'↩

↩

"'Not so many as you might think,' he answered. 'You see it is↩

really confined to Londoners, and to grown men. This American had↩

started from London when he was young, and he wanted to do the↩

old town a good turn. Then, again, I have heard it is no use your↩

applying if your hair is light red, or dark red, or anything but↩

real bright, blazing, fiery red. Now, if you cared to apply, Mr.↩

Wilson, you would just walk in; but perhaps it would hardly be↩

worth your while to put yourself out of the way for the sake of a↩

few hundred pounds.'↩

↩

"Now, it is a fact, gentlemen, as you may see for yourselves,↩

that my hair is of a very full and rich tint, so that it seemed↩

to me that if there was to be any competition in the matter I↩

stood as good a chance as any man that I had ever met. Vincent↩

Spaulding seemed to know so much about it that I thought he might↩

prove useful, so I just ordered him to put up the shutters for↩

the day and to come right away with me. He was very willing to↩

have a holiday, so we shut the business up and started off for↩

the address that was given us in the advertisement.↩

↩

"I never hope to see such a sight as that again, Mr. Holmes. From↩

north, south, east, and west every man who had a shade of red in↩

his hair had tramped into the city to answer the advertisement.↩

Fleet Street was choked with red-headed folk, and Pope's Court↩

looked like a coster's orange barrow. I should not have thought↩

there were so many in the whole country as were brought together↩

by that single advertisement. Every shade of colour they↩

were--straw, lemon, orange, brick, Irish-setter, liver, clay;↩

but, as Spaulding said, there were not many who had the real↩

vivid flame-coloured tint. When I saw how many were waiting, I↩

would have given it up in despair; but Spaulding would not hear↩

of it. How he did it I could not imagine, but he pushed and↩

pulled and butted until he got me through the crowd, and right up↩

to the steps which led to the office. There was a double stream↩

upon the stair, some going up in hope, and some coming back↩

dejected; but we wedged in as well as we could and soon found↩

ourselves in the office."↩

↩

"Your experience has been a most entertaining one," remarked↩

Holmes as his client paused and refreshed his memory with a huge↩

pinch of snuff. "Pray continue your very interesting statement."↩

↩

"There was nothing in the office but a couple of wooden chairs↩

and a deal table, behind which sat a small man with a head that↩

was even redder than mine. He said a few words to each candidate↩

as he came up, and then he always managed to find some fault in↩

them which would disqualify them. Getting a vacancy did not seem↩

to be such a very easy matter, after all. However, when our turn↩

came the little man was much more favourable to me than to any of↩

the others, and he closed the door as we entered, so that he↩

might have a private word with us.↩

↩

"'This is Mr. Jabez Wilson,' said my assistant, 'and he is↩

willing to fill a vacancy in the League.'↩

↩

"'And he is admirably suited for it,' the other answered. 'He has↩

every requirement. I cannot recall when I have seen anything so↩

fine.' He took a step backward, cocked his head on one side, and↩

gazed at my hair until I felt quite bashful. Then suddenly he↩

plunged forward, wrung my hand, and congratulated me warmly on my↩

success.↩

↩

"'It would be injustice to hesitate,' said he. 'You will,↩

however, I am sure, excuse me for taking an obvious precaution.'↩

With that he seized my hair in both his hands, and tugged until I↩

yelled with the pain. 'There is water in your eyes,' said he as↩

he released me. 'I perceive that all is as it should be. But we↩

have to be careful, for we have twice been deceived by wigs and↩

once by paint. I could tell you tales of cobbler's wax which↩

would disgust you with human nature.' He stepped over to the↩

window and shouted through it at the top of his voice that the↩

vacancy was filled. A groan of disappointment came up from below,↩

and the folk all trooped away in different directions until there↩

was not a red-head to be seen except my own and that of the↩

manager.↩

↩

"'My name,' said he, 'is Mr. Duncan Ross, and I am myself one of↩

the pensioners upon the fund left by our noble benefactor. Are↩

you a married man, Mr. Wilson? Have you a family?'↩

↩

"I answered that I had not.↩

↩

"His face fell immediately.↩

↩

"'Dear me!' he said gravely, 'that is very serious indeed! I am↩

sorry to hear you say that. The fund was, of course, for the↩

propagation and spread of the red-heads as well as for their↩

maintenance. It is exceedingly unfortunate that you should be a↩

bachelor.'↩

↩

"My face lengthened at this, Mr. Holmes, for I thought that I was↩

not to have the vacancy after all; but after thinking it over for↩

a few minutes he said that it would be all right.↩

↩

"'In the case of another,' said he, 'the objection might be↩

fatal, but we must stretch a point in favour of a man with such a↩

head of hair as yours. When shall you be able to enter upon your↩

new duties?'↩

↩

"'Well, it is a little awkward, for I have a business already,'↩

said I.↩

↩

"'Oh, never mind about that, Mr. Wilson!' said Vincent Spaulding.↩

'I should be able to look after that for you.'↩

↩

"'What would be the hours?' I asked.↩

↩

"'Ten to two.'↩

↩

"Now a pawnbroker's business is mostly done of an evening, Mr.↩

Holmes, especially Thursday and Friday evening, which is just↩

before pay-day; so it would suit me very well to earn a little in↩

the mornings. Besides, I knew that my assistant was a good man,↩

and that he would see to anything that turned up.↩

↩

"'That would suit me very well,' said I. 'And the pay?'↩

↩

"'Is 4 pounds a week.'↩

↩

"'And the work?'↩

↩

"'Is purely nominal.'↩

↩

"'What do you call purely nominal?'↩

↩

"'Well, you have to be in the office, or at least in the↩

building, the whole time. If you leave, you forfeit your whole↩

position forever. The will is very clear upon that point. You↩

don't comply with the conditions if you budge from the office↩

during that time.'↩

↩

"'It's only four hours a day, and I should not think of leaving,'↩

said I.↩

↩

"'No excuse will avail,' said Mr. Duncan Ross; 'neither sickness↩

nor business nor anything else. There you must stay, or you lose↩

your billet.'↩

↩

"'And the work?'↩

↩

"'Is to copy out the "Encyclopaedia Britannica." There is the first↩

volume of it in that press. You must find your own ink, pens, and↩

blotting-paper, but we provide this table and chair. Will you be↩

ready to-morrow?'↩

↩

"'Certainly,' I answered.↩

↩

"'Then, good-bye, Mr. Jabez Wilson, and let me congratulate you↩

once more on the important position which you have been fortunate↩

enough to gain.' He bowed me out of the room and I went home with↩

my assistant, hardly knowing what to say or do, I was so pleased↩

at my own good fortune.↩

↩

"Well, I thought over the matter all day, and by evening I was in↩

low spirits again; for I had quite persuaded myself that the↩

whole affair must be some great hoax or fraud, though what its↩

object might be I could not imagine. It seemed altogether past↩

belief that anyone could make such a will, or that they would pay↩

such a sum for doing anything so simple as copying out the↩

'Encyclopaedia Britannica.' Vincent Spaulding did what he could to↩

cheer me up, but by bedtime I had reasoned myself out of the↩

whole thing. However, in the morning I determined to have a look↩

at it anyhow, so I bought a penny bottle of ink, and with a↩

quill-pen, and seven sheets of foolscap paper, I started off for↩

Pope's Court.↩

↩

"Well, to my surprise and delight, everything was as right as↩

possible. The table was set out ready for me, and Mr. Duncan Ross↩

was there to see that I got fairly to work. He started me off↩

upon the letter A, and then he left me; but he would drop in from↩

time to time to see that all was right with me. At two o'clock he↩

bade me good-day, complimented me upon the amount that I had↩

written, and locked the door of the office after me.↩

↩

"This went on day after day, Mr. Holmes, and on Saturday the↩

manager came in and planked down four golden sovereigns for my↩

week's work. It was the same next week, and the same the week↩

after. Every morning I was there at ten, and every afternoon I↩

left at two. By degrees Mr. Duncan Ross took to coming in only↩

once of a morning, and then, after a time, he did not come in at↩

all. Still, of course, I never dared to leave the room for an↩

instant, for I was not sure when he might come, and the billet↩

was such a good one, and suited me so well, that I would not risk↩

the loss of it.↩

↩

"Eight weeks passed away like this, and I had written about↩

Abbots and Archery and Armour and Architecture and Attica, and↩

hoped with diligence that I might get on to the B's before very↩

long. It cost me something in foolscap, and I had pretty nearly↩

filled a shelf with my writings. And then suddenly the whole↩

business came to an end."↩

↩

"To an end?"↩

↩

"Yes, sir. And no later than this morning. I went to my work as↩

usual at ten o'clock, but the door was shut and locked, with a↩

little square of cardboard hammered on to the middle of the↩

panel with a tack. Here it is, and you can read for yourself."↩

↩

He held up a piece of white cardboard about the size of a sheet↩

of note-paper. It read in this fashion:↩

↩

                  THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE↩

↩

                           IS↩

↩

                        DISSOLVED.↩

↩

                     October 9, 1890.↩

↩

Sherlock Holmes and I surveyed this curt announcement and the↩

rueful face behind it, until the comical side of the affair so↩

completely overtopped every other consideration that we both↩

burst out into a roar of laughter.↩

↩

"I cannot see that there is anything very funny," cried our↩

client, flushing up to the roots of his flaming head. "If you can↩

do nothing better than laugh at me, I can go elsewhere."↩

↩

"No, no," cried Holmes, shoving him back into the chair from↩

which he had half risen. "I really wouldn't miss your case for↩

the world. It is most refreshingly unusual. But there is, if you↩

will excuse my saying so, something just a little funny about it.↩

Pray what steps did you take when you found the card upon the↩

door?"↩

↩

"I was staggered, sir. I did not know what to do. Then I called↩

at the offices round, but none of them seemed to know anything↩

about it. Finally, I went to the landlord, who is an accountant↩

living on the ground-floor, and I asked him if he could tell me↩

what had become of the Red-headed League. He said that he had↩

never heard of any such body. Then I asked him who Mr. Duncan↩

Ross was. He answered that the name was new to him.↩

↩

"'Well,' said I, 'the gentleman at No. 4.'↩

↩

"'What, the red-headed man?'↩

↩

"'Yes.'↩

↩

"'Oh,' said he, 'his name was William Morris. He was a solicitor↩

and was using my room as a temporary convenience until his new↩

premises were ready. He moved out yesterday.'↩

↩

"'Where could I find him?'↩

↩

"'Oh, at his new offices. He did tell me the address. Yes, 17↩

King Edward Street, near St. Paul's.'↩

↩

"I started off, Mr. Holmes, but when I got to that address it was↩

a manufactory of artificial knee-caps, and no one in it had ever↩

heard of either Mr. William Morris or Mr. Duncan Ross."↩

↩

"And what did you do then?" asked Holmes.↩

↩

"I went home to Saxe-Coburg Square, and I took the advice of my↩

assistant. But he could not help me in any way. He could only say↩

that if I waited I should hear by post. But that was not quite↩

good enough, Mr. Holmes. I did not wish to lose such a place↩

without a struggle, so, as I had heard that you were good enough↩

to give advice to poor folk who were in need of it, I came right↩

away to you."↩

↩

"And you did very wisely," said Holmes. "Your case is an↩

exceedingly remarkable one, and I shall be happy to look into it.↩

From what you have told me I think that it is possible that↩

graver issues hang from it than might at first sight appear."↩

↩

"Grave enough!" said Mr. Jabez Wilson. "Why, I have lost four↩

pound a week."↩

↩

"As far as you are personally concerned," remarked Holmes, "I do↩

not see that you have any grievance against this extraordinary↩

league. On the contrary, you are, as I understand, richer by some↩

30 pounds, to say nothing of the minute knowledge which you have↩

gained on every subject which comes under the letter A. You have↩

lost nothing by them."↩

↩

"No, sir. But I want to find out about them, and who they are,↩

and what their object was in playing this prank--if it was a↩

prank--upon me. It was a pretty expensive joke for them, for it↩

cost them two and thirty pounds."↩

↩

"We shall endeavour to clear up these points for you. And, first,↩

one or two questions, Mr. Wilson. This assistant of yours who↩

first called your attention to the advertisement--how long had he↩

been with you?"↩

↩

"About a month then."↩

↩

"How did he come?"↩

↩

"In answer to an advertisement."↩

↩

"Was he the only applicant?"↩

↩

"No, I had a dozen."↩

↩

"Why did you pick him?"↩

↩

"Because he was handy and would come cheap."↩

↩

"At half-wages, in fact."↩

↩

"Yes."↩

↩

"What is he like, this Vincent Spaulding?"↩

↩

"Small, stout-built, very quick in his ways, no hair on his face,↩

though he's not short of thirty. Has a white splash of acid upon↩

his forehead."↩

↩

Holmes sat up in his chair in considerable excitement. "I thought↩

as much," said he. "Have you ever observed that his ears are↩

pierced for earrings?"↩

↩

"Yes, sir. He told me that a gipsy had done it for him when he↩

was a lad."↩

↩

"Hum!" said Holmes, sinking back in deep thought. "He is still↩

with you?"↩

↩

"Oh, yes, sir; I have only just left him."↩

↩

"And has your business been attended to in your absence?"↩

↩

"Nothing to complain of, sir. There's never very much to do of a↩

morning."↩

↩

"That will do, Mr. Wilson. I shall be happy to give you an↩

opinion upon the subject in the course of a day or two. To-day is↩

Saturday, and I hope that by Monday we may come to a conclusion."↩

↩

"Well, Watson," said Holmes when our visitor had left us, "what↩

do you make of it all?"↩

↩

"I make nothing of it," I answered frankly. "It is a most↩

mysterious business."↩

↩

"As a rule," said Holmes, "the more bizarre a thing is the less↩

mysterious it proves to be. It is your commonplace, featureless↩

crimes which are really puzzling, just as a commonplace face is↩

the most difficult to identify. But I must be prompt over this↩

matter."↩

↩

"What are you going to do, then?" I asked.↩

↩

"To smoke," he answered. "It is quite a three pipe problem, and I↩

beg that you won't speak to me for fifty minutes." He curled↩

himself up in his chair, with his thin knees drawn up to his↩

hawk-like nose, and there he sat with his eyes closed and his↩

black clay pipe thrusting out like the bill of some strange bird.↩

I had come to the conclusion that he had dropped asleep, and↩

indeed was nodding myself, when he suddenly sprang out of his↩

chair with the gesture of a man who has made up his mind and put↩

his pipe down upon the mantelpiece.↩

↩

"Sarasate plays at the St. James's Hall this afternoon," he↩

remarked. "What do you think, Watson? Could your patients spare↩

you for a few hours?"↩

↩

"I have nothing to do to-day. My practice is never very↩

absorbing."↩

↩

"Then put on your hat and come. I am going through the City↩

first, and we can have some lunch on the way. I observe that↩

there is a good deal of German music on the programme, which is↩

rather more to my taste than Italian or French. It is↩

introspective, and I want to introspect. Come along!"↩

↩

We travelled by the Underground as far as Aldersgate; and a short↩

walk took us to Saxe-Coburg Square, the scene of the singular↩

story which we had listened to in the morning. It was a poky,↩

little, shabby-genteel place, where four lines of dingy↩

two-storied brick houses looked out into a small railed-in↩

enclosure, where a lawn of weedy grass and a few clumps of faded↩

laurel-bushes made a hard fight against a smoke-laden and↩

uncongenial atmosphere. Three gilt balls and a brown board with↩

"JABEZ WILSON" in white letters, upon a corner house, announced↩

the place where our red-headed client carried on his business.↩

Sherlock Holmes stopped in front of it with his head on one side↩

and looked it all over, with his eyes shining brightly between↩

puckered lids. Then he walked slowly up the street, and then down↩

again to the corner, still looking keenly at the houses. Finally↩

he returned to the pawnbroker's, and, having thumped vigorously↩

upon the pavement with his stick two or three times, he went up↩

to the door and knocked. It was instantly opened by a↩

bright-looking, clean-shaven young fellow, who asked him to step↩

in.↩

↩

"Thank you," said Holmes, "I only wished to ask you how you would↩

go from here to the Strand."↩

↩

"Third right, fourth left," answered the assistant promptly,↩

closing the door.↩

↩

"Smart fellow, that," observed Holmes as we walked away. "He is,↩

in my judgment, the fourth smartest man in London, and for daring↩

I am not sure that he has not a claim to be third. I have known↩

something of him before."↩

↩

"Evidently," said I, "Mr. Wilson's assistant counts for a good↩

deal in this mystery of the Red-headed League. I am sure that you↩

inquired your way merely in order that you might see him."↩

↩

"Not him."↩

↩

"What then?"↩

↩

"The knees of his trousers."↩

↩

"And what did you see?"↩

↩

"What I expected to see."↩

↩

"Why did you beat the pavement?"↩

↩

"My dear doctor, this is a time for observation, not for talk. We↩

are spies in an enemy's country. We know something of Saxe-Coburg↩

Square. Let us now explore the parts which lie behind it."↩

↩

The road in which we found ourselves as we turned round the↩

corner from the retired Saxe-Coburg Square presented as great a↩

contrast to it as the front of a picture does to the back. It was↩

one of the main arteries which conveyed the traffic of the City↩

to the north and west. The roadway was blocked with the immense↩

stream of commerce flowing in a double tide inward and outward,↩

while the footpaths were black with the hurrying swarm of↩

pedestrians. It was difficult to realise as we looked at the line↩

of fine shops and stately business premises that they really↩

abutted on the other side upon the faded and stagnant square↩

which we had just quitted.↩

↩

"Let me see," said Holmes, standing at the corner and glancing↩

along the line, "I should like just to remember the order of the↩

houses here. It is a hobby of mine to have an exact knowledge of↩

London. There is Mortimer's, the tobacconist, the little↩

newspaper shop, the Coburg branch of the City and Suburban Bank,↩

the Vegetarian Restaurant, and McFarlane's carriage-building↩

depot. That carries us right on to the other block. And now,↩

Doctor, we've done our work, so it's time we had some play. A↩

sandwich and a cup of coffee, and then off to violin-land, where↩

all is sweetness and delicacy and harmony, and there are no↩

red-headed clients to vex us with their conundrums."↩

↩

My friend was an enthusiastic musician, being himself not only a↩

very capable performer but a composer of no ordinary merit. All↩

the afternoon he sat in the stalls wrapped in the most perfect↩

happiness, gently waving his long, thin fingers in time to the↩

music, while his gently smiling face and his languid, dreamy eyes↩

were as unlike those of Holmes the sleuth-hound, Holmes the↩

relentless, keen-witted, ready-handed criminal agent, as it was↩

possible to conceive. In his singular character the dual nature↩

alternately asserted itself, and his extreme exactness and↩

astuteness represented, as I have often thought, the reaction↩

against the poetic and contemplative mood which occasionally↩

predominated in him. The swing of his nature took him from↩

extreme languor to devouring energy; and, as I knew well, he was↩

never so truly formidable as when, for days on end, he had been↩

lounging in his armchair amid his improvisations and his↩

black-letter editions. Then it was that the lust of the chase↩

would suddenly come upon him, and that his brilliant reasoning↩

power would rise to the level of intuition, until those who were↩

unacquainted with his methods would look askance at him as on a↩

man whose knowledge was not that of other mortals. When I saw him↩

that afternoon so enwrapped in the music at St. James's Hall I↩

felt that an evil time might be coming upon those whom he had set↩

himself to hunt down.↩

↩

"You want to go home, no doubt, Doctor," he remarked as we↩

emerged.↩

↩

"Yes, it would be as well."↩

↩

"And I have some business to do which will take some hours. This↩

business at Coburg Square is serious."↩

↩

"Why serious?"↩

↩

"A considerable crime is in contemplation. I have every reason to↩

believe that we shall be in time to stop it. But to-day being↩

Saturday rather complicates matters. I shall want your help↩

to-night."↩

↩

"At what time?"↩

↩

"Ten will be early enough."↩

↩

"I shall be at Baker Street at ten."↩

↩

"Very well. And, I say, Doctor, there may be some little danger,↩

so kindly put your army revolver in your pocket." He waved his↩

hand, turned on his heel, and disappeared in an instant among the↩

crowd.↩

↩

I trust that I am not more dense than my neighbours, but I was↩

always oppressed with a sense of my own stupidity in my dealings↩

with Sherlock Holmes. Here I had heard what he had heard, I had↩

seen what he had seen, and yet from his words it was evident that↩

he saw clearly not only what had happened but what was about to↩

happen, while to me the whole business was still confused and↩

grotesque. As I drove home to my house in Kensington I thought↩

over it all, from the extraordinary story of the red-headed↩

copier of the "Encyclopaedia" down to the visit to Saxe-Coburg↩

Square, and the ominous words with which he had parted from me.↩

What was this nocturnal expedition, and why should I go armed?↩

Where were we going, and what were we to do? I had the hint from↩

Holmes that this smooth-faced pawnbroker's assistant was a↩

formidable man--a man who might play a deep game. I tried to↩

puzzle it out, but gave it up in despair and set the matter aside↩

until night should bring an explanation.↩

↩

It was a quarter-past nine when I started from home and made my↩

way across the Park, and so through Oxford Street to Baker↩

Street. Two hansoms were standing at the door, and as I entered↩

the passage I heard the sound of voices from above. On entering↩

his room I found Holmes in animated conversation with two men,↩

one of whom I recognised as Peter Jones, the official police↩

agent, while the other was a long, thin, sad-faced man, with a↩

very shiny hat and oppressively respectable frock-coat.↩

↩

"Ha! Our party is complete," said Holmes, buttoning up his↩

pea-jacket and taking his heavy hunting crop from the rack.↩

"Watson, I think you know Mr. Jones, of Scotland Yard? Let me↩

introduce you to Mr. Merryweather, who is to be our companion in↩

to-night's adventure."↩

↩

"We're hunting in couples again, Doctor, you see," said Jones in↩

his consequential way. "Our friend here is a wonderful man for↩

starting a chase. All he wants is an old dog to help him to do↩

the running down."↩

↩

"I hope a wild goose may not prove to be the end of our chase,"↩

observed Mr. Merryweather gloomily.↩

↩

"You may place considerable confidence in Mr. Holmes, sir," said↩

the police agent loftily. "He has his own little methods, which↩

are, if he won't mind my saying so, just a little too theoretical↩

and fantastic, but he has the makings of a detective in him. It↩

is not too much to say that once or twice, as in that business of↩

the Sholto murder and the Agra treasure, he has been more nearly↩

correct than the official force."↩

↩

"Oh, if you say so, Mr. Jones, it is all right," said the↩

stranger with deference. "Still, I confess that I miss my rubber.↩

It is the first Saturday night for seven-and-twenty years that I↩

have not had my rubber."↩

↩

"I think you will find," said Sherlock Holmes, "that you will↩

play for a higher stake to-night than you have ever done yet, and↩

that the play will be more exciting. For you, Mr. Merryweather,↩

the stake will be some 30,000 pounds; and for you, Jones, it will↩

be the man upon whom you wish to lay your hands."↩

↩

"John Clay, the murderer, thief, smasher, and forger. He's a↩

young man, Mr. Merryweather, but he is at the head of his↩

profession, and I would rather have my bracelets on him than on↩

any criminal in London. He's a remarkable man, is young John↩

Clay. His grandfather was a royal duke, and he himself has been↩

to Eton and Oxford. His brain is as cunning as his fingers, and↩

though we meet signs of him at every turn, we never know where to↩

find the man himself. He'll crack a crib in Scotland one week,↩

and be raising money to build an orphanage in Cornwall the next.↩

I've been on his track for years and have never set eyes on him↩

yet."↩

↩

"I hope that I may have the pleasure of introducing you to-night.↩

I've had one or two little turns also with Mr. John Clay, and I↩

agree with you that he is at the head of his profession. It is↩

past ten, however, and quite time that we started. If you two↩

will take the first hansom, Watson and I will follow in the↩

second."↩

↩

Sherlock Holmes was not very communicative during the long drive↩

and lay back in the cab humming the tunes which he had heard in↩

the afternoon. We rattled through an endless labyrinth of gas-lit↩

streets until we emerged into Farrington Street.↩

↩

"We are close there now," my friend remarked. "This fellow↩

Merryweather is a bank director, and personally interested in the↩

matter. I thought it as well to have Jones with us also. He is↩

not a bad fellow, though an absolute imbecile in his profession.↩

He has one positive virtue. He is as brave as a bulldog and as↩

tenacious as a lobster if he gets his claws upon anyone. Here we↩

are, and they are waiting for us."↩

↩

We had reached the same crowded thoroughfare in which we had↩

found ourselves in the morning. Our cabs were dismissed, and,↩

following the guidance of Mr. Merryweather, we passed down a↩

narrow passage and through a side door, which he opened for us.↩

Within there was a small corridor, which ended in a very massive↩

iron gate. This also was opened, and led down a flight of winding↩

stone steps, which terminated at another formidable gate. Mr.↩

Merryweather stopped to light a lantern, and then conducted us↩

down a dark, earth-smelling passage, and so, after opening a↩

third door, into a huge vault or cellar, which was piled all↩

round with crates and massive boxes.↩

↩

"You are not very vulnerable from above," Holmes remarked as he↩

held up the lantern and gazed about him.↩

↩

"Nor from below," said Mr. Merryweather, striking his stick upon↩

the flags which lined the floor. "Why, dear me, it sounds quite↩

hollow!" he remarked, looking up in surprise.↩

↩

"I must really ask you to be a little more quiet!" said Holmes↩

severely. "You have already imperilled the whole success of our↩

expedition. Might I beg that you would have the goodness to sit↩

down upon one of those boxes, and not to interfere?"↩

↩

The solemn Mr. Merryweather perched himself upon a crate, with a↩

very injured expression upon his face, while Holmes fell upon his↩

knees upon the floor and, with the lantern and a magnifying lens,↩

began to examine minutely the cracks between the stones. A few↩

seconds sufficed to satisfy him, for he sprang to his feet again↩

and put his glass in his pocket.↩

↩

"We have at least an hour before us," he remarked, "for they can↩

hardly take any steps until the good pawnbroker is safely in bed.↩

Then they will not lose a minute, for the sooner they do their↩

work the longer time they will have for their escape. We are at↩

present, Doctor--as no doubt you have divined--in the cellar of↩

the City branch of one of the principal London banks. Mr.↩

Merryweather is the chairman of directors, and he will explain to↩

you that there are reasons why the more daring criminals of↩

London should take a considerable interest in this cellar at↩

present."↩

↩

"It is our French gold," whispered the director. "We have had↩

several warnings that an attempt might be made upon it."↩

↩

"Your French gold?"↩

↩

"Yes. We had occasion some months ago to strengthen our resources↩

and borrowed for that purpose 30,000 napoleons from the Bank of↩

France. It has become known that we have never had occasion to↩

unpack the money, and that it is still lying in our cellar. The↩

crate upon which I sit contains 2,000 napoleons packed between↩

layers of lead foil. Our reserve of bullion is much larger at↩

present than is usually kept in a single branch office, and the↩

directors have had misgivings upon the subject."↩

↩

"Which were very well justified," observed Holmes. "And now it is↩

time that we arranged our little plans. I expect that within an↩

hour matters will come to a head. In the meantime Mr.↩

Merryweather, we must put the screen over that dark lantern."↩

↩

"And sit in the dark?"↩

↩

"I am afraid so. I had brought a pack of cards in my pocket, and↩

I thought that, as we were a partie carrée, you might have your↩

rubber after all. But I see that the enemy's preparations have↩

gone so far that we cannot risk the presence of a light. And,↩

first of all, we must choose our positions. These are daring men,↩

and though we shall take them at a disadvantage, they may do us↩

some harm unless we are careful. I shall stand behind this crate,↩

and do you conceal yourselves behind those. Then, when I flash a↩

light upon them, close in swiftly. If they fire, Watson, have no↩

compunction about shooting them down."↩

↩

I placed my revolver, cocked, upon the top of the wooden case↩

behind which I crouched. Holmes shot the slide across the front↩

of his lantern and left us in pitch darkness--such an absolute↩

darkness as I have never before experienced. The smell of hot↩

metal remained to assure us that the light was still there, ready↩

to flash out at a moment's notice. To me, with my nerves worked↩

up to a pitch of expectancy, there was something depressing and↩

subduing in the sudden gloom, and in the cold dank air of the↩

vault.↩

↩

"They have but one retreat," whispered Holmes. "That is back↩

through the house into Saxe-Coburg Square. I hope that you have↩

done what I asked you, Jones?"↩

↩

"I have an inspector and two officers waiting at the front door."↩

↩

"Then we have stopped all the holes. And now we must be silent↩

and wait."↩

↩

What a time it seemed! From comparing notes afterwards it was but↩

an hour and a quarter, yet it appeared to me that the night must↩

have almost gone and the dawn be breaking above us. My limbs↩

were weary and stiff, for I feared to change my position; yet my↩

nerves were worked up to the highest pitch of tension, and my↩

hearing was so acute that I could not only hear the gentle↩

breathing of my companions, but I could distinguish the deeper,↩

heavier in-breath of the bulky Jones from the thin, sighing note↩

of the bank director. From my position I could look over the case↩

in the direction of the floor. Suddenly my eyes caught the glint↩

of a light.↩

↩

At first it was but a lurid spark upon the stone pavement. Then↩

it lengthened out until it became a yellow line, and then,↩

without any warning or sound, a gash seemed to open and a hand↩

appeared, a white, almost womanly hand, which felt about in the↩

centre of the little area of light. For a minute or more the↩

hand, with its writhing fingers, protruded out of the floor. Then↩

it was withdrawn as suddenly as it appeared, and all was dark↩

again save the single lurid spark which marked a chink between↩

the stones.↩

↩

Its disappearance, however, was but momentary. With a rending,↩

tearing sound, one of the broad, white stones turned over upon↩

its side and left a square, gaping hole, through which streamed↩

the light of a lantern. Over the edge there peeped a clean-cut,↩

boyish face, which looked keenly about it, and then, with a hand↩

on either side of the aperture, drew itself shoulder-high and↩

waist-high, until one knee rested upon the edge. In another↩

instant he stood at the side of the hole and was hauling after↩

him a companion, lithe and small like himself, with a pale face↩

and a shock of very red hair.↩

↩

"It's all clear," he whispered. "Have you the chisel and the↩

bags? Great Scott! Jump, Archie, jump, and I'll swing for it!"↩

↩

Sherlock Holmes had sprung out and seized the intruder by the↩

collar. The other dived down the hole, and I heard the sound of↩

rending cloth as Jones clutched at his skirts. The light flashed↩

upon the barrel of a revolver, but Holmes' hunting crop came↩

down on the man's wrist, and the pistol clinked upon the stone↩

floor.↩

↩

"It's no use, John Clay," said Holmes blandly. "You have no↩

chance at all."↩

↩

"So I see," the other answered with the utmost coolness. "I fancy↩

that my pal is all right, though I see you have got his↩

coat-tails."↩

↩

"There are three men waiting for him at the door," said Holmes.↩

↩

"Oh, indeed! You seem to have done the thing very completely. I↩

must compliment you."↩

↩

"And I you," Holmes answered. "Your red-headed idea was very new↩

and effective."↩

↩

"You'll see your pal again presently," said Jones. "He's quicker↩

at climbing down holes than I am. Just hold out while I fix the↩

derbies."↩

↩

"I beg that you will not touch me with your filthy hands,"↩

remarked our prisoner as the handcuffs clattered upon his wrists.↩

"You may not be aware that I have royal blood in my veins. Have↩

the goodness, also, when you address me always to say 'sir' and↩

'please.'"↩

↩

"All right," said Jones with a stare and a snigger. "Well, would↩

you please, sir, march upstairs, where we can get a cab to carry↩

your Highness to the police-station?"↩

↩

"That is better," said John Clay serenely. He made a sweeping bow↩

to the three of us and walked quietly off in the custody of the↩

detective.↩

↩

"Really, Mr. Holmes," said Mr. Merryweather as we followed them↩

from the cellar, "I do not know how the bank can thank you or↩

repay you. There is no doubt that you have detected and defeated↩

in the most complete manner one of the most determined attempts↩

at bank robbery that have ever come within my experience."↩

↩

"I have had one or two little scores of my own to settle with Mr.↩

John Clay," said Holmes. "I have been at some small expense over↩

this matter, which I shall expect the bank to refund, but beyond↩

that I am amply repaid by having had an experience which is in↩

many ways unique, and by hearing the very remarkable narrative of↩

the Red-headed League."↩

↩

↩

"You see, Watson," he explained in the early hours of the morning↩

as we sat over a glass of whisky and soda in Baker Street, "it↩

was perfectly obvious from the first that the only possible↩

object of this rather fantastic business of the advertisement of↩

the League, and the copying of the 'Encyclopaedia,' must be to get↩

this not over-bright pawnbroker out of the way for a number of↩

hours every day. It was a curious way of managing it, but,↩

really, it would be difficult to suggest a better. The method was↩

no doubt suggested to Clay's ingenious mind by the colour of his↩

accomplice's hair. The 4 pounds a week was a lure which must draw↩

him, and what was it to them, who were playing for thousands?↩

They put in the advertisement, one rogue has the temporary↩

office, the other rogue incites the man to apply for it, and↩

together they manage to secure his absence every morning in the↩

week. From the time that I heard of the assistant having come for↩

half wages, it was obvious to me that he had some strong motive↩

for securing the situation."↩

↩

"But how could you guess what the motive was?"↩

↩

"Had there been women in the house, I should have suspected a↩

mere vulgar intrigue. That, however, was out of the question. The↩

man's business was a small one, and there was nothing in his↩

house which could account for such elaborate preparations, and↩

such an expenditure as they were at. It must, then, be something↩

out of the house. What could it be? I thought of the assistant's↩

fondness for photography, and his trick of vanishing into the↩

cellar. The cellar! There was the end of this tangled clue. Then↩

I made inquiries as to this mysterious assistant and found that I↩

had to deal with one of the coolest and most daring criminals in↩

London. He was doing something in the cellar--something which↩

took many hours a day for months on end. What could it be, once↩

more? I could think of nothing save that he was running a tunnel↩

to some other building.↩

↩

"So far I had got when we went to visit the scene of action. I↩

surprised you by beating upon the pavement with my stick. I was↩

ascertaining whether the cellar stretched out in front or behind.↩

It was not in front. Then I rang the bell, and, as I hoped, the↩

assistant answered it. We have had some skirmishes, but we had↩

never set eyes upon each other before. I hardly looked at his↩

face. His knees were what I wished to see. You must yourself have↩

remarked how worn, wrinkled, and stained they were. They spoke of↩

those hours of burrowing. The only remaining point was what they↩

were burrowing for. I walked round the corner, saw the City and↩

Suburban Bank abutted on our friend's premises, and felt that I↩

had solved my problem. When you drove home after the concert I↩

called upon Scotland Yard and upon the chairman of the bank↩

directors, with the result that you have seen."↩

↩

"And how could you tell that they would make their attempt↩

to-night?" I asked.↩

↩

"Well, when they closed their League offices that was a sign that↩

they cared no longer about Mr. Jabez Wilson's presence--in other↩

words, that they had completed their tunnel. But it was essential↩

that they should use it soon, as it might be discovered, or the↩

bullion might be removed. Saturday would suit them better than↩

any other day, as it would give them two days for their escape.↩

For all these reasons I expected them to come to-night."↩

↩

"You reasoned it out beautifully," I exclaimed in unfeigned↩

admiration. "It is so long a chain, and yet every link rings↩

true."↩

↩

"It saved me from ennui," he answered, yawning. "Alas! I already↩

feel it closing in upon me. My life is spent in one long effort↩

to escape from the commonplaces of existence. These little↩

problems help me to do so."↩

↩

"And you are a benefactor of the race," said I.↩

↩

He shrugged his shoulders. "Well, perhaps, after all, it is of↩

some little use," he remarked. "'L'homme c'est rien--l'oeuvre↩

c'est tout,' as Gustave Flaubert wrote to George Sand."↩

↩

↩

↩

ADVENTURE III. A CASE OF IDENTITY↩

↩

"My dear fellow," said Sherlock Holmes as we sat on either side↩

of the fire in his lodgings at Baker Street, "life is infinitely↩

stranger than anything which the mind of man could invent. We↩

would not dare to conceive the things which are really mere↩

commonplaces of existence. If we could fly out of that window↩

hand in hand, hover over this great city, gently remove the↩

roofs, and peep in at the queer things which are going on, the↩

strange coincidences, the plannings, the cross-purposes, the↩

wonderful chains of events, working through generations, and↩

leading to the most outré results, it would make all fiction with↩

its conventionalities and foreseen conclusions most stale and↩

unprofitable."↩

↩

"And yet I am not convinced of it," I answered. "The cases which↩

come to light in the papers are, as a rule, bald enough, and↩

vulgar enough. We have in our police reports realism pushed to↩

its extreme limits, and yet the result is, it must be confessed,↩

neither fascinating nor artistic."↩

↩

"A certain selection and discretion must be used in producing a↩

realistic effect," remarked Holmes. "This is wanting in the↩

police report, where more stress is laid, perhaps, upon the↩

platitudes of the magistrate than upon the details, which to an↩

observer contain the vital essence of the whole matter. Depend↩

upon it, there is nothing so unnatural as the commonplace."↩

↩

I smiled and shook my head. "I can quite understand your thinking↩

so," I said. "Of course, in your position of unofficial adviser↩

and helper to everybody who is absolutely puzzled, throughout↩

three continents, you are brought in contact with all that is↩

strange and bizarre. But here"--I picked up the morning paper↩

from the ground--"let us put it to a practical test. Here is the↩

first heading upon which I come. 'A husband's cruelty to his↩

wife.' There is half a column of print, but I know without↩

reading it that it is all perfectly familiar to me. There is, of↩

course, the other woman, the drink, the push, the blow, the↩

bruise, the sympathetic sister or landlady. The crudest of↩

writers could invent nothing more crude."↩

↩

"Indeed, your example is an unfortunate one for your argument,"↩

said Holmes, taking the paper and glancing his eye down it. "This↩

is the Dundas separation case, and, as it happens, I was engaged↩

in clearing up some small points in connection with it. The↩

husband was a teetotaler, there was no other woman, and the↩

conduct complained of was that he had drifted into the habit of↩

winding up every meal by taking out his false teeth and hurling↩

them at his wife, which, you will allow, is not an action likely↩

to occur to the imagination of the average story-teller. Take a↩

pinch of snuff, Doctor, and acknowledge that I have scored over↩

you in your example."↩

↩

He held out his snuffbox of old gold, with a great amethyst in↩

the centre of the lid. Its splendour was in such contrast to his↩

homely ways and simple life that I could not help commenting upon↩

it.↩

↩

"Ah," said he, "I forgot that I had not seen you for some weeks.↩

It is a little souvenir from the King of Bohemia in return for my↩

assistance in the case of the Irene Adler papers."↩

↩

"And the ring?" I asked, glancing at a remarkable brilliant which↩

sparkled upon his finger.↩

↩

"It was from the reigning family of Holland, though the matter in↩

which I served them was of such delicacy that I cannot confide it↩

even to you, who have been good enough to chronicle one or two of↩

my little problems."↩

↩

"And have you any on hand just now?" I asked with interest.↩

↩

"Some ten or twelve, but none which present any feature of↩

interest. They are important, you understand, without being↩

interesting. Indeed, I have found that it is usually in↩

unimportant matters that there is a field for the observation,↩

and for the quick analysis of cause and effect which gives the↩

charm to an investigation. The larger crimes are apt to be the↩

simpler, for the bigger the crime the more obvious, as a rule, is↩

the motive. In these cases, save for one rather intricate matter↩

which has been referred to me from Marseilles, there is nothing↩

which presents any features of interest. It is possible, however,↩

that I may have something better before very many minutes are↩

over, for this is one of my clients, or I am much mistaken."↩

↩

He had risen from his chair and was standing between the parted↩

blinds gazing down into the dull neutral-tinted London street.↩

Looking over his shoulder, I saw that on the pavement opposite↩

there stood a large woman with a heavy fur boa round her neck,↩

and a large curling red feather in a broad-brimmed hat which was↩

tilted in a coquettish Duchess of Devonshire fashion over her↩

ear. From under this great panoply she peeped up in a nervous,↩

hesitating fashion at our windows, while her body oscillated↩

backward and forward, and her fingers fidgeted with her glove↩

buttons. Suddenly, with a plunge, as of the swimmer who leaves↩

the bank, she hurried across the road, and we heard the sharp↩

clang of the bell.↩

↩

"I have seen those symptoms before," said Holmes, throwing his↩

cigarette into the fire. "Oscillation upon the pavement always↩

means an affaire de coeur. She would like advice, but is not sure↩

that the matter is not too delicate for communication. And yet↩

even here we may discriminate. When a woman has been seriously↩

wronged by a man she no longer oscillates, and the usual symptom↩

is a broken bell wire. Here we may take it that there is a love↩

matter, but that the maiden is not so much angry as perplexed, or↩

grieved. But here she comes in person to resolve our doubts."↩

↩

As he spoke there was a tap at the door, and the boy in buttons↩

entered to announce Miss Mary Sutherland, while the lady herself↩

loomed behind his small black figure like a full-sailed↩

merchant-man behind a tiny pilot boat. Sherlock Holmes welcomed↩

her with the easy courtesy for which he was remarkable, and,↩

having closed the door and bowed her into an armchair, he looked↩

her over in the minute and yet abstracted fashion which was↩

peculiar to him.↩

↩

"Do you not find," he said, "that with your short sight it is a↩

little trying to do so much typewriting?"↩

↩

"I did at first," she answered, "but now I know where the letters↩

are without looking." Then, suddenly realising the full purport↩

of his words, she gave a violent start and looked up, with fear↩

and astonishment upon her broad, good-humoured face. "You've↩

heard about me, Mr. Holmes," she cried, "else how could you know↩

all that?"↩

↩

"Never mind," said Holmes, laughing; "it is my business to know↩

things. Perhaps I have trained myself to see what others↩

overlook. If not, why should you come to consult me?"↩

↩

"I came to you, sir, because I heard of you from Mrs. Etherege,↩

whose husband you found so easy when the police and everyone had↩

given him up for dead. Oh, Mr. Holmes, I wish you would do as↩

much for me. I'm not rich, but still I have a hundred a year in↩

my own right, besides the little that I make by the machine, and↩

I would give it all to know what has become of Mr. Hosmer Angel."↩

↩

"Why did you come away to consult me in such a hurry?" asked↩

Sherlock Holmes, with his finger-tips together and his eyes to↩

the ceiling.↩

↩

Again a startled look came over the somewhat vacuous face of Miss↩

Mary Sutherland. "Yes, I did bang out of the house," she said,↩

"for it made me angry to see the easy way in which Mr.↩

Windibank--that is, my father--took it all. He would not go to↩

the police, and he would not go to you, and so at last, as he↩

would do nothing and kept on saying that there was no harm done,↩

it made me mad, and I just on with my things and came right away↩

to you."↩

↩

"Your father," said Holmes, "your stepfather, surely, since the↩

name is different."↩

↩

"Yes, my stepfather. I call him father, though it sounds funny,↩

too, for he is only five years and two months older than myself."↩

↩

"And your mother is alive?"↩

↩

"Oh, yes, mother is alive and well. I wasn't best pleased, Mr.↩

Holmes, when she married again so soon after father's death, and↩

a man who was nearly fifteen years younger than herself. Father↩

was a plumber in the Tottenham Court Road, and he left a tidy↩

business behind him, which mother carried on with Mr. Hardy, the↩

foreman; but when Mr. Windibank came he made her sell the↩

business, for he was very superior, being a traveller in wines.↩

They got 4700 pounds for the goodwill and interest, which wasn't↩

near as much as father could have got if he had been alive."↩

↩

I had expected to see Sherlock Holmes impatient under this↩

rambling and inconsequential narrative, but, on the contrary, he↩

had listened with the greatest concentration of attention.↩

↩

"Your own little income," he asked, "does it come out of the↩

business?"↩

↩

"Oh, no, sir. It is quite separate and was left me by my uncle↩

Ned in Auckland. It is in New Zealand stock, paying 4 1/2 per↩

cent. Two thousand five hundred pounds was the amount, but I can↩

only touch the interest."↩

↩

"You interest me extremely," said Holmes. "And since you draw so↩

large a sum as a hundred a year, with what you earn into the↩

bargain, you no doubt travel a little and indulge yourself in↩

every way. I believe that a single lady can get on very nicely↩

upon an income of about 60 pounds."↩

↩

"I could do with much less than that, Mr. Holmes, but you↩

understand that as long as I live at home I don't wish to be a↩

burden to them, and so they have the use of the money just while↩

I am staying with them. Of course, that is only just for the↩

time. Mr. Windibank draws my interest every quarter and pays it↩

over to mother, and I find that I can do pretty well with what I↩

earn at typewriting. It brings me twopence a sheet, and I can↩

often do from fifteen to twenty sheets in a day."↩

↩

"You have made your position very clear to me," said Holmes.↩

"This is my friend, Dr. Watson, before whom you can speak as↩

freely as before myself. Kindly tell us now all about your↩

connection with Mr. Hosmer Angel."↩

↩

A flush stole over Miss Sutherland's face, and she picked↩

nervously at the fringe of her jacket. "I met him first at the↩

gasfitters' ball," she said. "They used to send father tickets↩

when he was alive, and then afterwards they remembered us, and↩

sent them to mother. Mr. Windibank did not wish us to go. He↩

never did wish us to go anywhere. He would get quite mad if I↩

wanted so much as to join a Sunday-school treat. But this time I↩

was set on going, and I would go; for what right had he to↩

prevent? He said the folk were not fit for us to know, when all↩

father's friends were to be there. And he said that I had nothing↩

fit to wear, when I had my purple plush that I had never so much↩

as taken out of the drawer. At last, when nothing else would do,↩

he went off to France upon the business of the firm, but we went,↩

mother and I, with Mr. Hardy, who used to be our foreman, and it↩

was there I met Mr. Hosmer Angel."↩

↩

"I suppose," said Holmes, "that when Mr. Windibank came back from↩

France he was very annoyed at your having gone to the ball."↩

↩

"Oh, well, he was very good about it. He laughed, I remember, and↩

shrugged his shoulders, and said there was no use denying↩

anything to a woman, for she would have her way."↩

↩

"I see. Then at the gasfitters' ball you met, as I understand, a↩

gentleman called Mr. Hosmer Angel."↩

↩

"Yes, sir. I met him that night, and he called next day to ask if↩

we had got home all safe, and after that we met him--that is to↩

say, Mr. Holmes, I met him twice for walks, but after that father↩

came back again, and Mr. Hosmer Angel could not come to the house↩

any more."↩

↩

"No?"↩

↩

"Well, you know father didn't like anything of the sort. He↩

wouldn't have any visitors if he could help it, and he used to↩

say that a woman should be happy in her own family circle. But↩

then, as I used to say to mother, a woman wants her own circle to↩

begin with, and I had not got mine yet."↩

↩

"But how about Mr. Hosmer Angel? Did he make no attempt to see↩

you?"↩

↩

"Well, father was going off to France again in a week, and Hosmer↩

wrote and said that it would be safer and better not to see each↩

other until he had gone. We could write in the meantime, and he↩

used to write every day. I took the letters in in the morning, so↩

there was no need for father to know."↩

↩

"Were you engaged to the gentleman at this time?"↩

↩

"Oh, yes, Mr. Holmes. We were engaged after the first walk that↩

we took. Hosmer--Mr. Angel--was a cashier in an office in↩

Leadenhall Street--and--"↩

↩

"What office?"↩

↩

"That's the worst of it, Mr. Holmes, I don't know."↩

↩

"Where did he live, then?"↩

↩

"He slept on the premises."↩

↩

"And you don't know his address?"↩

↩

"No--except that it was Leadenhall Street."↩

↩

"Where did you address your letters, then?"↩

↩

"To the Leadenhall Street Post Office, to be left till called↩

for. He said that if they were sent to the office he would be↩

chaffed by all the other clerks about having letters from a lady,↩

so I offered to typewrite them, like he did his, but he wouldn't↩

have that, for he said that when I wrote them they seemed to come↩

from me, but when they were typewritten he always felt that the↩

machine had come between us. That will just show you how fond he↩

was of me, Mr. Holmes, and the little things that he would think↩

of."↩

↩

"It was most suggestive," said Holmes. "It has long been an axiom↩

of mine that the little things are infinitely the most important.↩

Can you remember any other little things about Mr. Hosmer Angel?"↩

↩

"He was a very shy man, Mr. Holmes. He would rather walk with me↩

in the evening than in the daylight, for he said that he hated to↩

be conspicuous. Very retiring and gentlemanly he was. Even his↩

voice was gentle. He'd had the quinsy and swollen glands when he↩

was young, he told me, and it had left him with a weak throat,↩

and a hesitating, whispering fashion of speech. He was always↩

well dressed, very neat and plain, but his eyes were weak, just↩

as mine are, and he wore tinted glasses against the glare."↩

↩

"Well, and what happened when Mr. Windibank, your stepfather,↩

returned to France?"↩

↩

"Mr. Hosmer Angel came to the house again and proposed that we↩

should marry before father came back. He was in dreadful earnest↩

and made me swear, with my hands on the Testament, that whatever↩

happened I would always be true to him. Mother said he was quite↩

right to make me swear, and that it was a sign of his passion.↩

Mother was all in his favour from the first and was even fonder↩

of him than I was. Then, when they talked of marrying within the↩

week, I began to ask about father; but they both said never to↩

mind about father, but just to tell him afterwards, and mother↩

said she would make it all right with him. I didn't quite like↩

that, Mr. Holmes. It seemed funny that I should ask his leave, as↩

he was only a few years older than me; but I didn't want to do↩

anything on the sly, so I wrote to father at Bordeaux, where the↩

company has its French offices, but the letter came back to me on↩

the very morning of the wedding."↩

↩

"It missed him, then?"↩

↩

"Yes, sir; for he had started to England just before it arrived."↩

↩

"Ha! that was unfortunate. Your wedding was arranged, then, for↩

the Friday. Was it to be in church?"↩

↩

"Yes, sir, but very quietly. It was to be at St. Saviour's, near↩

King's Cross, and we were to have breakfast afterwards at the St.↩

Pancras Hotel. Hosmer came for us in a hansom, but as there were↩

two of us he put us both into it and stepped himself into a↩

four-wheeler, which happened to be the only other cab in the↩

street. We got to the church first, and when the four-wheeler↩

drove up we waited for him to step out, but he never did, and↩

when the cabman got down from the box and looked there was no one↩

there! The cabman said that he could not imagine what had become↩

of him, for he had seen him get in with his own eyes. That was↩

last Friday, Mr. Holmes, and I have never seen or heard anything↩

since then to throw any light upon what became of him."↩

↩

"It seems to me that you have been very shamefully treated," said↩

Holmes.↩

↩

"Oh, no, sir! He was too good and kind to leave me so. Why, all↩

the morning he was saying to me that, whatever happened, I was to↩

be true; and that even if something quite unforeseen occurred to↩

separate us, I was always to remember that I was pledged to him,↩

and that he would claim his pledge sooner or later. It seemed↩

strange talk for a wedding-morning, but what has happened since↩

gives a meaning to it."↩

↩

"Most certainly it does. Your own opinion is, then, that some↩

unforeseen catastrophe has occurred to him?"↩

↩

"Yes, sir. I believe that he foresaw some danger, or else he↩

would not have talked so. And then I think that what he foresaw↩

happened."↩

↩

"But you have no notion as to what it could have been?"↩

↩

"None."↩

↩

"One more question. How did your mother take the matter?"↩

↩

"She was angry, and said that I was never to speak of the matter↩

again."↩

↩

"And your father? Did you tell him?"↩

↩

"Yes; and he seemed to think, with me, that something had↩

happened, and that I should hear of Hosmer again. As he said,↩

what interest could anyone have in bringing me to the doors of↩

the church, and then leaving me? Now, if he had borrowed my↩

money, or if he had married me and got my money settled on him,↩

there might be some reason, but Hosmer was very independent about↩

money and never would look at a shilling of mine. And yet, what↩

could have happened? And why could he not write? Oh, it drives me↩

half-mad to think of it, and I can't sleep a wink at night." She↩

pulled a little handkerchief out of her muff and began to sob↩

heavily into it.↩

↩

"I shall glance into the case for you," said Holmes, rising, "and↩

I have no doubt that we shall reach some definite result. Let the↩

weight of the matter rest upon me now, and do not let your mind↩

dwell upon it further. Above all, try to let Mr. Hosmer Angel↩

vanish from your memory, as he has done from your life."↩

↩

"Then you don't think I'll see him again?"↩

↩

"I fear not."↩

↩

"Then what has happened to him?"↩

↩

"You will leave that question in my hands. I should like an↩

accurate description of him and any letters of his which you can↩

spare."↩

↩

"I advertised for him in last Saturday's Chronicle," said she.↩

"Here is the slip and here are four letters from him."↩

↩

"Thank you. And your address?"↩

↩

"No. 31 Lyon Place, Camberwell."↩

↩

"Mr. Angel's address you never had, I understand. Where is your↩

father's place of business?"↩

↩

"He travels for Westhouse & Marbank, the great claret importers↩

of Fenchurch Street."↩

↩

"Thank you. You have made your statement very clearly. You will↩

leave the papers here, and remember the advice which I have given↩

you. Let the whole incident be a sealed book, and do not allow it↩

to affect your life."↩

↩

"You are very kind, Mr. Holmes, but I cannot do that. I shall be↩

true to Hosmer. He shall find me ready when he comes back."↩

↩

For all the preposterous hat and the vacuous face, there was↩

something noble in the simple faith of our visitor which↩

compelled our respect. She laid her little bundle of papers upon↩

the table and went her way, with a promise to come again whenever↩

she might be summoned.↩

↩

Sherlock Holmes sat silent for a few minutes with his fingertips↩

still pressed together, his legs stretched out in front of him,↩

and his gaze directed upward to the ceiling. Then he took down↩

from the rack the old and oily clay pipe, which was to him as a↩

counsellor, and, having lit it, he leaned back in his chair, with↩

the thick blue cloud-wreaths spinning up from him, and a look of↩

infinite languor in his face.↩

↩

"Quite an interesting study, that maiden," he observed. "I found↩

her more interesting than her little problem, which, by the way,↩

is rather a trite one. You will find parallel cases, if you↩

consult my index, in Andover in '77, and there was something of↩

the sort at The Hague last year. Old as is the idea, however,↩

there were one or two details which were new to me. But the↩

maiden herself was most instructive."↩

↩

"You appeared to read a good deal upon her which was quite↩

invisible to me," I remarked.↩

↩

"Not invisible but unnoticed, Watson. You did not know where to↩

look, and so you missed all that was important. I can never bring↩

you to realise the importance of sleeves, the suggestiveness of↩

thumb-nails, or the great issues that may hang from a boot-lace.↩

Now, what did you gather from that woman's appearance? Describe↩

it."↩

↩

"Well, she had a slate-coloured, broad-brimmed straw hat, with a↩

feather of a brickish red. Her jacket was black, with black beads↩

sewn upon it, and a fringe of little black jet ornaments. Her↩

dress was brown, rather darker than coffee colour, with a little↩

purple plush at the neck and sleeves. Her gloves were greyish and↩

were worn through at the right forefinger. Her boots I didn't↩

observe. She had small round, hanging gold earrings, and a↩

general air of being fairly well-to-do in a vulgar, comfortable,↩

easy-going way."↩

↩

Sherlock Holmes clapped his hands softly together and chuckled.↩

↩

"'Pon my word, Watson, you are coming along wonderfully. You have↩

really done very well indeed. It is true that you have missed↩

everything of importance, but you have hit upon the method, and↩

you have a quick eye for colour. Never trust to general↩

impressions, my boy, but concentrate yourself upon details. My↩

first glance is always at a woman's sleeve. In a man it is↩

perhaps better first to take the knee of the trouser. As you↩

observe, this woman had plush upon her sleeves, which is a most↩

useful material for showing traces. The double line a little↩

above the wrist, where the typewritist presses against the table,↩

was beautifully defined. The sewing-machine, of the hand type,↩

leaves a similar mark, but only on the left arm, and on the side↩

of it farthest from the thumb, instead of being right across the↩

broadest part, as this was. I then glanced at her face, and,↩

observing the dint of a pince-nez at either side of her nose, I↩

ventured a remark upon short sight and typewriting, which seemed↩

to surprise her."↩

↩

"It surprised me."↩

↩

"But, surely, it was obvious. I was then much surprised and↩

interested on glancing down to observe that, though the boots↩

which she was wearing were not unlike each other, they were↩

really odd ones; the one having a slightly decorated toe-cap, and↩

the other a plain one. One was buttoned only in the two lower↩

buttons out of five, and the other at the first, third, and↩

fifth. Now, when you see that a young lady, otherwise neatly↩

dressed, has come away from home with odd boots, half-buttoned,↩

it is no great deduction to say that she came away in a hurry."↩

↩

"And what else?" I asked, keenly interested, as I always was, by↩

my friend's incisive reasoning.↩

↩

"I noted, in passing, that she had written a note before leaving↩

home but after being fully dressed. You observed that her right↩

glove was torn at the forefinger, but you did not apparently see↩

that both glove and finger were stained with violet ink. She had↩

written in a hurry and dipped her pen too deep. It must have been↩

this morning, or the mark would not remain clear upon the finger.↩

All this is amusing, though rather elementary, but I must go back↩

to business, Watson. Would you mind reading me the advertised↩

description of Mr. Hosmer Angel?"↩

↩

I held the little printed slip to the light.↩

↩

"Missing," it said, "on the morning of the fourteenth, a gentleman↩

named Hosmer Angel. About five ft. seven in. in height;↩

strongly built, sallow complexion, black hair, a little bald in↩

the centre, bushy, black side-whiskers and moustache; tinted↩

glasses, slight infirmity of speech. Was dressed, when last seen,↩

in black frock-coat faced with silk, black waistcoat, gold Albert↩

chain, and grey Harris tweed trousers, with brown gaiters over↩

elastic-sided boots. Known to have been employed in an office in↩

Leadenhall Street. Anybody bringing--"↩

↩

"That will do," said Holmes. "As to the letters," he continued,↩

glancing over them, "they are very commonplace. Absolutely no↩

clue in them to Mr. Angel, save that he quotes Balzac once. There↩

is one remarkable point, however, which will no doubt strike↩

you."↩

↩

"They are typewritten," I remarked.↩

↩

"Not only that, but the signature is typewritten. Look at the↩

neat little 'Hosmer Angel' at the bottom. There is a date, you↩

see, but no superscription except Leadenhall Street, which is↩

rather vague. The point about the signature is very suggestive--in↩

fact, we may call it conclusive."↩

↩

"Of what?"↩

↩

"My dear fellow, is it possible you do not see how strongly it↩

bears upon the case?"↩

↩

"I cannot say that I do unless it were that he wished to be able↩

to deny his signature if an action for breach of promise were↩

instituted."↩

↩

"No, that was not the point. However, I shall write two letters,↩

which should settle the matter. One is to a firm in the City, the↩

other is to the young lady's stepfather, Mr. Windibank, asking↩

him whether he could meet us here at six o'clock tomorrow↩

evening. It is just as well that we should do business with the↩

male relatives. And now, Doctor, we can do nothing until the↩

answers to those letters come, so we may put our little problem↩

upon the shelf for the interim."↩

↩

I had had so many reasons to believe in my friend's subtle powers↩

of reasoning and extraordinary energy in action that I felt that↩

he must have some solid grounds for the assured and easy↩

demeanour with which he treated the singular mystery which he had↩

been called upon to fathom. Once only had I known him to fail, in↩

the case of the King of Bohemia and of the Irene Adler↩

photograph; but when I looked back to the weird business of the↩

Sign of Four, and the extraordinary circumstances connected with↩

the Study in Scarlet, I felt that it would be a strange tangle↩

indeed which he could not unravel.↩

↩

I left him then, still puffing at his black clay pipe, with the↩

conviction that when I came again on the next evening I would↩

find that he held in his hands all the clues which would lead up↩

to the identity of the disappearing bridegroom of Miss Mary↩

Sutherland.↩

↩

A professional case of great gravity was engaging my own↩

attention at the time, and the whole of next day I was busy at↩

the bedside of the sufferer. It was not until close upon six↩

o'clock that I found myself free and was able to spring into a↩

hansom and drive to Baker Street, half afraid that I might be too↩

late to assist at the dénouement of the little mystery. I found↩

Sherlock Holmes alone, however, half asleep, with his long, thin↩

form curled up in the recesses of his armchair. A formidable↩

array of bottles and test-tubes, with the pungent cleanly smell↩

of hydrochloric acid, told me that he had spent his day in the↩

chemical work which was so dear to him.↩

↩

"Well, have you solved it?" I asked as I entered.↩

↩

"Yes. It was the bisulphate of baryta."↩

↩

"No, no, the mystery!" I cried.↩

↩

"Oh, that! I thought of the salt that I have been working upon.↩

There was never any mystery in the matter, though, as I said↩

yesterday, some of the details are of interest. The only drawback↩

is that there is no law, I fear, that can touch the scoundrel."↩

↩

"Who was he, then, and what was his object in deserting Miss↩

Sutherland?"↩

↩

The question was hardly out of my mouth, and Holmes had not yet↩

opened his lips to reply, when we heard a heavy footfall in the↩

passage and a tap at the door.↩

↩

"This is the girl's stepfather, Mr. James Windibank," said↩

Holmes. "He has written to me to say that he would be here at↩

six. Come in!"↩

↩

The man who entered was a sturdy, middle-sized fellow, some↩

thirty years of age, clean-shaven, and sallow-skinned, with a↩

bland, insinuating manner, and a pair of wonderfully sharp and↩

penetrating grey eyes. He shot a questioning glance at each of↩

us, placed his shiny top-hat upon the sideboard, and with a↩

slight bow sidled down into the nearest chair.↩

↩

"Good-evening, Mr. James Windibank," said Holmes. "I think that↩

this typewritten letter is from you, in which you made an↩

appointment with me for six o'clock?"↩

↩

"Yes, sir. I am afraid that I am a little late, but I am not↩

quite my own master, you know. I am sorry that Miss Sutherland↩

has troubled you about this little matter, for I think it is far↩

better not to wash linen of the sort in public. It was quite↩

against my wishes that she came, but she is a very excitable,↩

impulsive girl, as you may have noticed, and she is not easily↩

controlled when she has made up her mind on a point. Of course, I↩

did not mind you so much, as you are not connected with the↩

official police, but it is not pleasant to have a family↩

misfortune like this noised abroad. Besides, it is a useless↩

expense, for how could you possibly find this Hosmer Angel?"↩

↩

"On the contrary," said Holmes quietly; "I have every reason to↩

believe that I will succeed in discovering Mr. Hosmer Angel."↩

↩

Mr. Windibank gave a violent start and dropped his gloves. "I am↩

delighted to hear it," he said.↩

↩

"It is a curious thing," remarked Holmes, "that a typewriter has↩

really quite as much individuality as a man's handwriting. Unless↩

they are quite new, no two of them write exactly alike. Some↩

letters get more worn than others, and some wear only on one↩

side. Now, you remark in this note of yours, Mr. Windibank, that↩

in every case there is some little slurring over of the 'e,' and↩

a slight defect in the tail of the 'r.' There are fourteen other↩

characteristics, but those are the more obvious."↩

↩

"We do all our correspondence with this machine at the office,↩

and no doubt it is a little worn," our visitor answered, glancing↩

keenly at Holmes with his bright little eyes.↩

↩

"And now I will show you what is really a very interesting study,↩

Mr. Windibank," Holmes continued. "I think of writing another↩

little monograph some of these days on the typewriter and its↩

relation to crime. It is a subject to which I have devoted some↩

little attention. I have here four letters which purport to come↩

from the missing man. They are all typewritten. In each case, not↩

only are the 'e's' slurred and the 'r's' tailless, but you will↩

observe, if you care to use my magnifying lens, that the fourteen↩

other characteristics to which I have alluded are there as well."↩

↩

Mr. Windibank sprang out of his chair and picked up his hat. "I↩

cannot waste time over this sort of fantastic talk, Mr. Holmes,"↩

he said. "If you can catch the man, catch him, and let me know↩

when you have done it."↩

↩

"Certainly," said Holmes, stepping over and turning the key in↩

the door. "I let you know, then, that I have caught him!"↩

↩

"What! where?" shouted Mr. Windibank, turning white to his lips↩

and glancing about him like a rat in a trap.↩

↩

"Oh, it won't do--really it won't," said Holmes suavely. "There↩

is no possible getting out of it, Mr. Windibank. It is quite too↩

transparent, and it was a very bad compliment when you said that↩

it was impossible for me to solve so simple a question. That's↩

right! Sit down and let us talk it over."↩

↩

Our visitor collapsed into a chair, with a ghastly face and a↩

glitter of moisture on his brow. "It--it's not actionable," he↩

stammered.↩

↩

"I am very much afraid that it is not. But between ourselves,↩

Windibank, it was as cruel and selfish and heartless a trick in a↩

petty way as ever came before me. Now, let me just run over the↩

course of events, and you will contradict me if I go wrong."↩

↩

The man sat huddled up in his chair, with his head sunk upon his↩

breast, like one who is utterly crushed. Holmes stuck his feet up↩

on the corner of the mantelpiece and, leaning back with his hands↩

in his pockets, began talking, rather to himself, as it seemed,↩

than to us.↩

↩

"The man married a woman very much older than himself for her↩

money," said he, "and he enjoyed the use of the money of the↩

daughter as long as she lived with them. It was a considerable↩

sum, for people in their position, and the loss of it would have↩

made a serious difference. It was worth an effort to preserve it.↩

The daughter was of a good, amiable disposition, but affectionate↩

and warm-hearted in her ways, so that it was evident that with↩

her fair personal advantages, and her little income, she would↩

not be allowed to remain single long. Now her marriage would↩

mean, of course, the loss of a hundred a year, so what does her↩

stepfather do to prevent it? He takes the obvious course of↩

keeping her at home and forbidding her to seek the company of↩

people of her own age. But soon he found that that would not↩

answer forever. She became restive, insisted upon her rights, and↩

finally announced her positive intention of going to a certain↩

ball. What does her clever stepfather do then? He conceives an↩

idea more creditable to his head than to his heart. With the↩

connivance and assistance of his wife he disguised himself,↩

covered those keen eyes with tinted glasses, masked the face with↩

a moustache and a pair of bushy whiskers, sunk that clear voice↩

into an insinuating whisper, and doubly secure on account of the↩

girl's short sight, he appears as Mr. Hosmer Angel, and keeps off↩

other lovers by making love himself."↩

↩

"It was only a joke at first," groaned our visitor. "We never↩

thought that she would have been so carried away."↩

↩

"Very likely not. However that may be, the young lady was very↩

decidedly carried away, and, having quite made up her mind that↩

her stepfather was in France, the suspicion of treachery never↩

for an instant entered her mind. She was flattered by the↩

gentleman's attentions, and the effect was increased by the↩

loudly expressed admiration of her mother. Then Mr. Angel began↩

to call, for it was obvious that the matter should be pushed as↩

far as it would go if a real effect were to be produced. There↩

were meetings, and an engagement, which would finally secure the↩

girl's affections from turning towards anyone else. But the↩

deception could not be kept up forever. These pretended journeys↩

to France were rather cumbrous. The thing to do was clearly to↩

bring the business to an end in such a dramatic manner that it↩

would leave a permanent impression upon the young lady's mind and↩

prevent her from looking upon any other suitor for some time to↩

come. Hence those vows of fidelity exacted upon a Testament, and↩

hence also the allusions to a possibility of something happening↩

on the very morning of the wedding. James Windibank wished Miss↩

Sutherland to be so bound to Hosmer Angel, and so uncertain as to↩

his fate, that for ten years to come, at any rate, she would not↩

listen to another man. As far as the church door he brought her,↩

and then, as he could go no farther, he conveniently vanished↩

away by the old trick of stepping in at one door of a↩

four-wheeler and out at the other. I think that was the chain of↩

events, Mr. Windibank!"↩

↩

Our visitor had recovered something of his assurance while Holmes↩

had been talking, and he rose from his chair now with a cold↩

sneer upon his pale face.↩

↩

"It may be so, or it may not, Mr. Holmes," said he, "but if you↩

are so very sharp you ought to be sharp enough to know that it is↩

you who are breaking the law now, and not me. I have done nothing↩

actionable from the first, but as long as you keep that door↩

locked you lay yourself open to an action for assault and illegal↩

constraint."↩

↩

"The law cannot, as you say, touch you," said Holmes, unlocking↩

and throwing open the door, "yet there never was a man who↩

deserved punishment more. If the young lady has a brother or a↩

friend, he ought to lay a whip across your shoulders. By Jove!"↩

he continued, flushing up at the sight of the bitter sneer upon↩

the man's face, "it is not part of my duties to my client, but↩

here's a hunting crop handy, and I think I shall just treat↩

myself to--" He took two swift steps to the whip, but before he↩

could grasp it there was a wild clatter of steps upon the stairs,↩

the heavy hall door banged, and from the window we could see Mr.↩

James Windibank running at the top of his speed down the road.↩

↩

"There's a cold-blooded scoundrel!" said Holmes, laughing, as he↩

threw himself down into his chair once more. "That fellow will↩

rise from crime to crime until he does something very bad, and↩

ends on a gallows. The case has, in some respects, been not↩

entirely devoid of interest."↩

↩

"I cannot now entirely see all the steps of your reasoning," I↩

remarked.↩

↩

"Well, of course it was obvious from the first that this Mr.↩

Hosmer Angel must have some strong object for his curious↩

conduct, and it was equally clear that the only man who really↩

profited by the incident, as far as we could see, was the↩

stepfather. Then the fact that the two men were never together,↩

but that the one always appeared when the other was away, was↩

suggestive. So were the tinted spectacles and the curious voice,↩

which both hinted at a disguise, as did the bushy whiskers. My↩

suspicions were all confirmed by his peculiar action in↩

typewriting his signature, which, of course, inferred that his↩

handwriting was so familiar to her that she would recognise even↩

the smallest sample of it. You see all these isolated facts,↩

together with many minor ones, all pointed in the same↩

direction."↩

↩

"And how did you verify them?"↩

↩

"Having once spotted my man, it was easy to get corroboration. I↩

knew the firm for which this man worked. Having taken the printed↩

description. I eliminated everything from it which could be the↩

result of a disguise--the whiskers, the glasses, the voice, and I↩

sent it to the firm, with a request that they would inform me↩

whether it answered to the description of any of their↩

travellers. I had already noticed the peculiarities of the↩

typewriter, and I wrote to the man himself at his business↩

address asking him if he would come here. As I expected, his↩

reply was typewritten and revealed the same trivial but↩

characteristic defects. The same post brought me a letter from↩

Westhouse & Marbank, of Fenchurch Street, to say that the↩

description tallied in every respect with that of their employé,↩

James Windibank. Voilà tout!"↩

↩

"And Miss Sutherland?"↩

↩

"If I tell her she will not believe me. You may remember the old↩

Persian saying, 'There is danger for him who taketh the tiger↩

cub, and danger also for whoso snatches a delusion from a woman.'↩

There is as much sense in Hafiz as in Horace, and as much↩

knowledge of the world."↩

↩

↩

↩

ADVENTURE IV. THE BOSCOMBE VALLEY MYSTERY↩

↩

We were seated at breakfast one morning, my wife and I, when the↩

maid brought in a telegram. It was from Sherlock Holmes and ran↩

in this way:↩

↩

"Have you a couple of days to spare? Have just been wired for from↩

the west of England in connection with Boscombe Valley tragedy.↩

Shall be glad if you will come with me. Air and scenery perfect.↩

Leave Paddington by the 11:15."↩

↩

"What do you say, dear?" said my wife, looking across at me.↩

"Will you go?"↩

↩

"I really don't know what to say. I have a fairly long list at↩

present."↩

↩

"Oh, Anstruther would do your work for you. You have been looking↩

a little pale lately. I think that the change would do you good,↩

and you are always so interested in Mr. Sherlock Holmes' cases."↩

↩

"I should be ungrateful if I were not, seeing what I gained↩

through one of them," I answered. "But if I am to go, I must pack↩

at once, for I have only half an hour."↩

↩

My experience of camp life in Afghanistan had at least had the↩

effect of making me a prompt and ready traveller. My wants were↩

few and simple, so that in less than the time stated I was in a↩

cab with my valise, rattling away to Paddington Station. Sherlock↩

Holmes was pacing up and down the platform, his tall, gaunt↩

figure made even gaunter and taller by his long grey↩

travelling-cloak and close-fitting cloth cap.↩

↩

"It is really very good of you to come, Watson," said he. "It↩

makes a considerable difference to me, having someone with me on↩

whom I can thoroughly rely. Local aid is always either worthless↩

or else biassed. If you will keep the two corner seats I shall↩

get the tickets."↩

↩

We had the carriage to ourselves save for an immense litter of↩

papers which Holmes had brought with him. Among these he rummaged↩

and read, with intervals of note-taking and of meditation, until↩

we were past Reading. Then he suddenly rolled them all into a↩

gigantic ball and tossed them up onto the rack.↩

↩

"Have you heard anything of the case?" he asked.↩

↩

"Not a word. I have not seen a paper for some days."↩

↩

"The London press has not had very full accounts. I have just↩

been looking through all the recent papers in order to master the↩

particulars. It seems, from what I gather, to be one of those↩

simple cases which are so extremely difficult."↩

↩

"That sounds a little paradoxical."↩

↩

"But it is profoundly true. Singularity is almost invariably a↩

clue. The more featureless and commonplace a crime is, the more↩

difficult it is to bring it home. In this case, however, they↩

have established a very serious case against the son of the↩

murdered man."↩

↩

"It is a murder, then?"↩

↩

"Well, it is conjectured to be so. I shall take nothing for↩

granted until I have the opportunity of looking personally into↩

it. I will explain the state of things to you, as far as I have↩

been able to understand it, in a very few words.↩

↩

"Boscombe Valley is a country district not very far from Ross, in↩

Herefordshire. The largest landed proprietor in that part is a↩

Mr. John Turner, who made his money in Australia and returned↩

some years ago to the old country. One of the farms which he↩

held, that of Hatherley, was let to Mr. Charles McCarthy, who was↩

also an ex-Australian. The men had known each other in the↩

colonies, so that it was not unnatural that when they came to↩

settle down they should do so as near each other as possible.↩

Turner was apparently the richer man, so McCarthy became his↩

tenant but still remained, it seems, upon terms of perfect↩

equality, as they were frequently together. McCarthy had one son,↩

a lad of eighteen, and Turner had an only daughter of the same↩

age, but neither of them had wives living. They appear to have↩

avoided the society of the neighbouring English families and to↩

have led retired lives, though both the McCarthys were fond of↩

sport and were frequently seen at the race-meetings of the↩

neighbourhood. McCarthy kept two servants--a man and a girl.↩

Turner had a considerable household, some half-dozen at the↩

least. That is as much as I have been able to gather about the↩

families. Now for the facts.↩

↩

"On June 3rd, that is, on Monday last, McCarthy left his house at↩

Hatherley about three in the afternoon and walked down to the↩

Boscombe Pool, which is a small lake formed by the spreading out↩

of the stream which runs down the Boscombe Valley. He had been↩

out with his serving-man in the morning at Ross, and he had told↩

the man that he must hurry, as he had an appointment of↩

importance to keep at three. From that appointment he never came↩

back alive.↩

↩

"From Hatherley Farm-house to the Boscombe Pool is a quarter of a↩

mile, and two people saw him as he passed over this ground. One↩

was an old woman, whose name is not mentioned, and the other was↩

William Crowder, a game-keeper in the employ of Mr. Turner. Both↩

these witnesses depose that Mr. McCarthy was walking alone. The↩

game-keeper adds that within a few minutes of his seeing Mr.↩

McCarthy pass he had seen his son, Mr. James McCarthy, going the↩

same way with a gun under his arm. To the best of his belief, the↩

father was actually in sight at the time, and the son was↩

following him. He thought no more of the matter until he heard in↩

the evening of the tragedy that had occurred.↩

↩

"The two McCarthys were seen after the time when William Crowder,↩

the game-keeper, lost sight of them. The Boscombe Pool is thickly↩

wooded round, with just a fringe of grass and of reeds round the↩

edge. A girl of fourteen, Patience Moran, who is the daughter of↩

the lodge-keeper of the Boscombe Valley estate, was in one of the↩

woods picking flowers. She states that while she was there she↩

saw, at the border of the wood and close by the lake, Mr.↩

McCarthy and his son, and that they appeared to be having a↩

violent quarrel. She heard Mr. McCarthy the elder using very↩

strong language to his son, and she saw the latter raise up his↩

hand as if to strike his father. She was so frightened by their↩

violence that she ran away and told her mother when she reached↩

home that she had left the two McCarthys quarrelling near↩

Boscombe Pool, and that she was afraid that they were going to↩

fight. She had hardly said the words when young Mr. McCarthy came↩

running up to the lodge to say that he had found his father dead↩

in the wood, and to ask for the help of the lodge-keeper. He was↩

much excited, without either his gun or his hat, and his right↩

hand and sleeve were observed to be stained with fresh blood. On↩

following him they found the dead body stretched out upon the↩

grass beside the pool. The head had been beaten in by repeated↩

blows of some heavy and blunt weapon. The injuries were such as↩

might very well have been inflicted by the butt-end of his son's↩

gun, which was found lying on the grass within a few paces of the↩

body. Under these circumstances the young man was instantly↩

arrested, and a verdict of 'wilful murder' having been returned↩

at the inquest on Tuesday, he was on Wednesday brought before the↩

magistrates at Ross, who have referred the case to the next↩

Assizes. Those are the main facts of the case as they came out↩

before the coroner and the police-court."↩

↩

"I could hardly imagine a more damning case," I remarked. "If↩

ever circumstantial evidence pointed to a criminal it does so↩

here."↩

↩

"Circumstantial evidence is a very tricky thing," answered Holmes↩

thoughtfully. "It may seem to point very straight to one thing,↩

but if you shift your own point of view a little, you may find it↩

pointing in an equally uncompromising manner to something↩

entirely different. It must be confessed, however, that the case↩

looks exceedingly grave against the young man, and it is very↩

possible that he is indeed the culprit. There are several people↩

in the neighbourhood, however, and among them Miss Turner, the↩

daughter of the neighbouring landowner, who believe in his↩

innocence, and who have retained Lestrade, whom you may recollect↩

in connection with the Study in Scarlet, to work out the case in↩

his interest. Lestrade, being rather puzzled, has referred the↩

case to me, and hence it is that two middle-aged gentlemen are↩

flying westward at fifty miles an hour instead of quietly↩

digesting their breakfasts at home."↩

↩

"I am afraid," said I, "that the facts are so obvious that you↩

will find little credit to be gained out of this case."↩

↩

"There is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact," he↩

answered, laughing. "Besides, we may chance to hit upon some↩

other obvious facts which may have been by no means obvious to↩

Mr. Lestrade. You know me too well to think that I am boasting↩

when I say that I shall either confirm or destroy his theory by↩

means which he is quite incapable of employing, or even of↩

understanding. To take the first example to hand, I very clearly↩

perceive that in your bedroom the window is upon the right-hand↩

side, and yet I question whether Mr. Lestrade would have noted↩

even so self-evident a thing as that."↩

↩

"How on earth--"↩

↩

"My dear fellow, I know you well. I know the military neatness↩

which characterises you. You shave every morning, and in this↩

season you shave by the sunlight; but since your shaving is less↩

and less complete as we get farther back on the left side, until↩

it becomes positively slovenly as we get round the angle of the↩

jaw, it is surely very clear that that side is less illuminated↩

than the other. I could not imagine a man of your habits looking↩

at himself in an equal light and being satisfied with such a↩

result. I only quote this as a trivial example of observation and↩

inference. Therein lies my métier, and it is just possible that↩

it may be of some service in the investigation which lies before↩

us. There are one or two minor points which were brought out in↩

the inquest, and which are worth considering."↩

↩

"What are they?"↩

↩

"It appears that his arrest did not take place at once, but after↩

the return to Hatherley Farm. On the inspector of constabulary↩

informing him that he was a prisoner, he remarked that he was not↩

surprised to hear it, and that it was no more than his deserts.↩

This observation of his had the natural effect of removing any↩

traces of doubt which might have remained in the minds of the↩

coroner's jury."↩

↩

"It was a confession," I ejaculated.↩

↩

"No, for it was followed by a protestation of innocence."↩

↩

"Coming on the top of such a damning series of events, it was at↩

least a most suspicious remark."↩

↩

"On the contrary," said Holmes, "it is the brightest rift which I↩

can at present see in the clouds. However innocent he might be,↩

he could not be such an absolute imbecile as not to see that the↩

circumstances were very black against him. Had he appeared↩

surprised at his own arrest, or feigned indignation at it, I↩

should have looked upon it as highly suspicious, because such↩

surprise or anger would not be natural under the circumstances,↩

and yet might appear to be the best policy to a scheming man. His↩

frank acceptance of the situation marks him as either an innocent↩

man, or else as a man of considerable self-restraint and↩

firmness. As to his remark about his deserts, it was also not↩

unnatural if you consider that he stood beside the dead body of↩

his father, and that there is no doubt that he had that very day↩

so far forgotten his filial duty as to bandy words with him, and↩

even, according to the little girl whose evidence is so↩

important, to raise his hand as if to strike him. The↩

self-reproach and contrition which are displayed in his remark↩

appear to me to be the signs of a healthy mind rather than of a↩

guilty one."↩

↩

I shook my head. "Many men have been hanged on far slighter↩

evidence," I remarked.↩

↩

"So they have. And many men have been wrongfully hanged."↩

↩

"What is the young man's own account of the matter?"↩

↩

"It is, I am afraid, not very encouraging to his supporters,↩

though there are one or two points in it which are suggestive.↩

You will find it here, and may read it for yourself."↩

↩

He picked out from his bundle a copy of the local Herefordshire↩

paper, and having turned down the sheet he pointed out the↩

paragraph in which the unfortunate young man had given his own↩

statement of what had occurred. I settled myself down in the↩

corner of the carriage and read it very carefully. It ran in this↩

way:↩

↩

"Mr. James McCarthy, the only son of the deceased, was then called↩

and gave evidence as follows: 'I had been away from home for↩

three days at Bristol, and had only just returned upon the↩

morning of last Monday, the 3rd. My father was absent from home at↩

the time of my arrival, and I was informed by the maid that he↩

had driven over to Ross with John Cobb, the groom. Shortly after↩

my return I heard the wheels of his trap in the yard, and,↩

looking out of my window, I saw him get out and walk rapidly out↩

of the yard, though I was not aware in which direction he was↩

going. I then took my gun and strolled out in the direction of↩

the Boscombe Pool, with the intention of visiting the rabbit↩

warren which is upon the other side. On my way I saw William↩

Crowder, the game-keeper, as he had stated in his evidence; but↩

he is mistaken in thinking that I was following my father. I had↩

no idea that he was in front of me. When about a hundred yards↩

from the pool I heard a cry of "Cooee!" which was a usual signal↩

between my father and myself. I then hurried forward, and found↩

him standing by the pool. He appeared to be much surprised at↩

seeing me and asked me rather roughly what I was doing there. A↩

conversation ensued which led to high words and almost to blows,↩

for my father was a man of a very violent temper. Seeing that his↩

passion was becoming ungovernable, I left him and returned↩

towards Hatherley Farm. I had not gone more than 150 yards,↩

however, when I heard a hideous outcry behind me, which caused me↩

to run back again. I found my father expiring upon the ground,↩

with his head terribly injured. I dropped my gun and held him in↩

my arms, but he almost instantly expired. I knelt beside him for↩

some minutes, and then made my way to Mr. Turner's lodge-keeper,↩

his house being the nearest, to ask for assistance. I saw no one↩

near my father when I returned, and I have no idea how he came by↩

his injuries. He was not a popular man, being somewhat cold and↩

forbidding in his manners, but he had, as far as I know, no↩

active enemies. I know nothing further of the matter.'↩

↩

"The Coroner: Did your father make any statement to you before↩

he died?↩

↩

"Witness: He mumbled a few words, but I could only catch some↩

allusion to a rat.↩

↩

"The Coroner: What did you understand by that?↩

↩

"Witness: It conveyed no meaning to me. I thought that he was↩

delirious.↩

↩

"The Coroner: What was the point upon which you and your father↩

had this final quarrel?↩

↩

"Witness: I should prefer not to answer.↩

↩

"The Coroner: I am afraid that I must press it.↩

↩

"Witness: It is really impossible for me to tell you. I can↩

assure you that it has nothing to do with the sad tragedy which↩

followed.↩

↩

"The Coroner: That is for the court to decide. I need not point↩

out to you that your refusal to answer will prejudice your case↩

considerably in any future proceedings which may arise.↩

↩

"Witness: I must still refuse.↩

↩

"The Coroner: I understand that the cry of 'Cooee' was a common↩

signal between you and your father?↩

↩

"Witness: It was.↩

↩

"The Coroner: How was it, then, that he uttered it before he saw↩

you, and before he even knew that you had returned from Bristol?↩

↩

"Witness (with considerable confusion): I do not know.↩

↩

"A Juryman: Did you see nothing which aroused your suspicions↩

when you returned on hearing the cry and found your father↩

fatally injured?↩

↩

"Witness: Nothing definite.↩

↩

"The Coroner: What do you mean?↩

↩

"Witness: I was so disturbed and excited as I rushed out into↩

the open, that I could think of nothing except of my father. Yet↩

I have a vague impression that as I ran forward something lay↩

upon the ground to the left of me. It seemed to me to be↩

something grey in colour, a coat of some sort, or a plaid perhaps.↩

When I rose from my father I looked round for it, but it was↩

gone.↩

↩

"'Do you mean that it disappeared before you went for help?'↩

↩

"'Yes, it was gone.'↩

↩

"'You cannot say what it was?'↩

↩

"'No, I had a feeling something was there.'↩

↩

"'How far from the body?'↩

↩

"'A dozen yards or so.'↩

↩

"'And how far from the edge of the wood?'↩

↩

"'About the same.'↩

↩

"'Then if it was removed it was while you were within a dozen↩

yards of it?'↩

↩

"'Yes, but with my back towards it.'↩

↩

"This concluded the examination of the witness."↩

↩

"I see," said I as I glanced down the column, "that the coroner↩

in his concluding remarks was rather severe upon young McCarthy.↩

He calls attention, and with reason, to the discrepancy about his↩

father having signalled to him before seeing him, also to his↩

refusal to give details of his conversation with his father, and↩

his singular account of his father's dying words. They are all,↩

as he remarks, very much against the son."↩

↩

Holmes laughed softly to himself and stretched himself out upon↩

the cushioned seat. "Both you and the coroner have been at some↩

pains," said he, "to single out the very strongest points in the↩

young man's favour. Don't you see that you alternately give him↩

credit for having too much imagination and too little? Too↩

little, if he could not invent a cause of quarrel which would↩

give him the sympathy of the jury; too much, if he evolved from↩

his own inner consciousness anything so outré as a dying↩

reference to a rat, and the incident of the vanishing cloth. No,↩

sir, I shall approach this case from the point of view that what↩

this young man says is true, and we shall see whither that↩

hypothesis will lead us. And now here is my pocket Petrarch, and↩

not another word shall I say of this case until we are on the↩

scene of action. We lunch at Swindon, and I see that we shall be↩

there in twenty minutes."↩

↩

It was nearly four o'clock when we at last, after passing through↩

the beautiful Stroud Valley, and over the broad gleaming Severn,↩

found ourselves at the pretty little country-town of Ross. A↩

lean, ferret-like man, furtive and sly-looking, was waiting for↩

us upon the platform. In spite of the light brown dustcoat and↩

leather-leggings which he wore in deference to his rustic↩

surroundings, I had no difficulty in recognising Lestrade, of↩

Scotland Yard. With him we drove to the Hereford Arms where a↩

room had already been engaged for us.↩

↩

"I have ordered a carriage," said Lestrade as we sat over a cup↩

of tea. "I knew your energetic nature, and that you would not be↩

happy until you had been on the scene of the crime."↩

↩

"It was very nice and complimentary of you," Holmes answered. "It↩

is entirely a question of barometric pressure."↩

↩

Lestrade looked startled. "I do not quite follow," he said.↩

↩

"How is the glass? Twenty-nine, I see. No wind, and not a cloud↩

in the sky. I have a caseful of cigarettes here which need↩

smoking, and the sofa is very much superior to the usual country↩

hotel abomination. I do not think that it is probable that I↩

shall use the carriage to-night."↩

↩

Lestrade laughed indulgently. "You have, no doubt, already formed↩

your conclusions from the newspapers," he said. "The case is as↩

plain as a pikestaff, and the more one goes into it the plainer↩

it becomes. Still, of course, one can't refuse a lady, and such a↩

very positive one, too. She has heard of you, and would have your↩

opinion, though I repeatedly told her that there was nothing↩

which you could do which I had not already done. Why, bless my↩

soul! here is her carriage at the door."↩

↩

He had hardly spoken before there rushed into the room one of the↩

most lovely young women that I have ever seen in my life. Her↩

violet eyes shining, her lips parted, a pink flush upon her↩

cheeks, all thought of her natural reserve lost in her↩

overpowering excitement and concern.↩

↩

"Oh, Mr. Sherlock Holmes!" she cried, glancing from one to the↩

other of us, and finally, with a woman's quick intuition,↩

fastening upon my companion, "I am so glad that you have come. I↩

have driven down to tell you so. I know that James didn't do it.↩

I know it, and I want you to start upon your work knowing it,↩

too. Never let yourself doubt upon that point. We have known each↩

other since we were little children, and I know his faults as no↩

one else does; but he is too tender-hearted to hurt a fly. Such a↩

charge is absurd to anyone who really knows him."↩

↩

"I hope we may clear him, Miss Turner," said Sherlock Holmes.↩

"You may rely upon my doing all that I can."↩

↩

"But you have read the evidence. You have formed some conclusion?↩

Do you not see some loophole, some flaw? Do you not yourself↩

think that he is innocent?"↩

↩

"I think that it is very probable."↩

↩

"There, now!" she cried, throwing back her head and looking↩

defiantly at Lestrade. "You hear! He gives me hopes."↩

↩

Lestrade shrugged his shoulders. "I am afraid that my colleague↩

has been a little quick in forming his conclusions," he said.↩

↩

"But he is right. Oh! I know that he is right. James never did↩

it. And about his quarrel with his father, I am sure that the↩

reason why he would not speak about it to the coroner was because↩

I was concerned in it."↩

↩

"In what way?" asked Holmes.↩

↩

"It is no time for me to hide anything. James and his father had↩

many disagreements about me. Mr. McCarthy was very anxious that↩

there should be a marriage between us. James and I have always↩

loved each other as brother and sister; but of course he is young↩

and has seen very little of life yet, and--and--well, he↩

naturally did not wish to do anything like that yet. So there↩

were quarrels, and this, I am sure, was one of them."↩

↩

"And your father?" asked Holmes. "Was he in favour of such a↩

union?"↩

↩

"No, he was averse to it also. No one but Mr. McCarthy was in↩

favour of it." A quick blush passed over her fresh young face as↩

Holmes shot one of his keen, questioning glances at her.↩

↩

"Thank you for this information," said he. "May I see your father↩

if I call to-morrow?"↩

↩

"I am afraid the doctor won't allow it."↩

↩

"The doctor?"↩

↩

"Yes, have you not heard? Poor father has never been strong for↩

years back, but this has broken him down completely. He has taken↩

to his bed, and Dr. Willows says that he is a wreck and that his↩

nervous system is shattered. Mr. McCarthy was the only man alive↩

who had known dad in the old days in Victoria."↩

↩

"Ha! In Victoria! That is important."↩

↩

"Yes, at the mines."↩

↩

"Quite so; at the gold-mines, where, as I understand, Mr. Turner↩

made his money."↩

↩

"Yes, certainly."↩

↩

"Thank you, Miss Turner. You have been of material assistance to↩

me."↩

↩

"You will tell me if you have any news to-morrow. No doubt you↩

will go to the prison to see James. Oh, if you do, Mr. Holmes, do↩

tell him that I know him to be innocent."↩

↩

"I will, Miss Turner."↩

↩

"I must go home now, for dad is very ill, and he misses me so if↩

I leave him. Good-bye, and God help you in your undertaking." She↩

hurried from the room as impulsively as she had entered, and we↩

heard the wheels of her carriage rattle off down the street.↩

↩

"I am ashamed of you, Holmes," said Lestrade with dignity after a↩

few minutes' silence. "Why should you raise up hopes which you↩

are bound to disappoint? I am not over-tender of heart, but I↩

call it cruel."↩

↩

"I think that I see my way to clearing James McCarthy," said↩

Holmes. "Have you an order to see him in prison?"↩

↩

"Yes, but only for you and me."↩

↩

"Then I shall reconsider my resolution about going out. We have↩

still time to take a train to Hereford and see him to-night?"↩

↩

"Ample."↩

↩

"Then let us do so. Watson, I fear that you will find it very↩

slow, but I shall only be away a couple of hours."↩

↩

I walked down to the station with them, and then wandered through↩

the streets of the little town, finally returning to the hotel,↩

where I lay upon the sofa and tried to interest myself in a↩

yellow-backed novel. The puny plot of the story was so thin,↩

however, when compared to the deep mystery through which we were↩

groping, and I found my attention wander so continually from the↩

action to the fact, that I at last flung it across the room and↩

gave myself up entirely to a consideration of the events of the↩

day. Supposing that this unhappy young man's story were↩

absolutely true, then what hellish thing, what absolutely↩

unforeseen and extraordinary calamity could have occurred between↩

the time when he parted from his father, and the moment when,↩

drawn back by his screams, he rushed into the glade? It was↩

something terrible and deadly. What could it be? Might not the↩

nature of the injuries reveal something to my medical instincts?↩

I rang the bell and called for the weekly county paper, which↩

contained a verbatim account of the inquest. In the surgeon's↩

deposition it was stated that the posterior third of the left↩

parietal bone and the left half of the occipital bone had been↩

shattered by a heavy blow from a blunt weapon. I marked the spot↩

upon my own head. Clearly such a blow must have been struck from↩

behind. That was to some extent in favour of the accused, as when↩

seen quarrelling he was face to face with his father. Still, it↩

did not go for very much, for the older man might have turned his↩

back before the blow fell. Still, it might be worth while to call↩

Holmes' attention to it. Then there was the peculiar dying↩

reference to a rat. What could that mean? It could not be↩

delirium. A man dying from a sudden blow does not commonly become↩

delirious. No, it was more likely to be an attempt to explain how↩

he met his fate. But what could it indicate? I cudgelled my↩

brains to find some possible explanation. And then the incident↩

of the grey cloth seen by young McCarthy. If that were true the↩

murderer must have dropped some part of his dress, presumably his↩

overcoat, in his flight, and must have had the hardihood to↩

return and to carry it away at the instant when the son was↩

kneeling with his back turned not a dozen paces off. What a↩

tissue of mysteries and improbabilities the whole thing was! I↩

did not wonder at Lestrade's opinion, and yet I had so much faith↩

in Sherlock Holmes' insight that I could not lose hope as long↩

as every fresh fact seemed to strengthen his conviction of young↩

McCarthy's innocence.↩

↩

It was late before Sherlock Holmes returned. He came back alone,↩

for Lestrade was staying in lodgings in the town.↩

↩

"The glass still keeps very high," he remarked as he sat down.↩

"It is of importance that it should not rain before we are able↩

to go over the ground. On the other hand, a man should be at his↩

very best and keenest for such nice work as that, and I did not↩

wish to do it when fagged by a long journey. I have seen young↩

McCarthy."↩

↩

"And what did you learn from him?"↩

↩

"Nothing."↩

↩

"Could he throw no light?"↩

↩

"None at all. I was inclined to think at one time that he knew↩

who had done it and was screening him or her, but I am convinced↩

now that he is as puzzled as everyone else. He is not a very↩

quick-witted youth, though comely to look at and, I should think,↩

sound at heart."↩

↩

"I cannot admire his taste," I remarked, "if it is indeed a fact↩

that he was averse to a marriage with so charming a young lady as↩

this Miss Turner."↩

↩

"Ah, thereby hangs a rather painful tale. This fellow is madly,↩

insanely, in love with her, but some two years ago, when he was↩

only a lad, and before he really knew her, for she had been away↩

five years at a boarding-school, what does the idiot do but get↩

into the clutches of a barmaid in Bristol and marry her at a↩

registry office? No one knows a word of the matter, but you can↩

imagine how maddening it must be to him to be upbraided for not↩

doing what he would give his very eyes to do, but what he knows↩

to be absolutely impossible. It was sheer frenzy of this sort↩

which made him throw his hands up into the air when his father,↩

at their last interview, was goading him on to propose to Miss↩

Turner. On the other hand, he had no means of supporting himself,↩

and his father, who was by all accounts a very hard man, would↩

have thrown him over utterly had he known the truth. It was with↩

his barmaid wife that he had spent the last three days in↩

Bristol, and his father did not know where he was. Mark that↩

point. It is of importance. Good has come out of evil, however,↩

for the barmaid, finding from the papers that he is in serious↩

trouble and likely to be hanged, has thrown him over utterly and↩

has written to him to say that she has a husband already in the↩

Bermuda Dockyard, so that there is really no tie between them. I↩

think that that bit of news has consoled young McCarthy for all↩

that he has suffered."↩

↩

"But if he is innocent, who has done it?"↩

↩

"Ah! who? I would call your attention very particularly to two↩

points. One is that the murdered man had an appointment with↩

someone at the pool, and that the someone could not have been his↩

son, for his son was away, and he did not know when he would↩

return. The second is that the murdered man was heard to cry↩

'Cooee!' before he knew that his son had returned. Those are the↩

crucial points upon which the case depends. And now let us talk↩

about George Meredith, if you please, and we shall leave all↩

minor matters until to-morrow."↩

↩

There was no rain, as Holmes had foretold, and the morning broke↩

bright and cloudless. At nine o'clock Lestrade called for us with↩

the carriage, and we set off for Hatherley Farm and the Boscombe↩

Pool.↩

↩

"There is serious news this morning," Lestrade observed. "It is↩

said that Mr. Turner, of the Hall, is so ill that his life is↩

despaired of."↩

↩

"An elderly man, I presume?" said Holmes.↩

↩

"About sixty; but his constitution has been shattered by his life↩

abroad, and he has been in failing health for some time. This↩

business has had a very bad effect upon him. He was an old friend↩

of McCarthy's, and, I may add, a great benefactor to him, for I↩

have learned that he gave him Hatherley Farm rent free."↩

↩

"Indeed! That is interesting," said Holmes.↩

↩

"Oh, yes! In a hundred other ways he has helped him. Everybody↩

about here speaks of his kindness to him."↩

↩

"Really! Does it not strike you as a little singular that this↩

McCarthy, who appears to have had little of his own, and to have↩

been under such obligations to Turner, should still talk of↩

marrying his son to Turner's daughter, who is, presumably,↩

heiress to the estate, and that in such a very cocksure manner,↩

as if it were merely a case of a proposal and all else would↩

follow? It is the more strange, since we know that Turner himself↩

was averse to the idea. The daughter told us as much. Do you not↩

deduce something from that?"↩

↩

"We have got to the deductions and the inferences," said↩

Lestrade, winking at me. "I find it hard enough to tackle facts,↩

Holmes, without flying away after theories and fancies."↩

↩

"You are right," said Holmes demurely; "you do find it very hard↩

to tackle the facts."↩

↩

"Anyhow, I have grasped one fact which you seem to find it↩

difficult to get hold of," replied Lestrade with some warmth.↩

↩

"And that is--"↩

↩

"That McCarthy senior met his death from McCarthy junior and that↩

all theories to the contrary are the merest moonshine."↩

↩

"Well, moonshine is a brighter thing than fog," said Holmes,↩

laughing. "But I am very much mistaken if this is not Hatherley↩

Farm upon the left."↩

↩

"Yes, that is it." It was a widespread, comfortable-looking↩

building, two-storied, slate-roofed, with great yellow blotches↩

of lichen upon the grey walls. The drawn blinds and the smokeless↩

chimneys, however, gave it a stricken look, as though the weight↩

of this horror still lay heavy upon it. We called at the door,↩

when the maid, at Holmes' request, showed us the boots which her↩

master wore at the time of his death, and also a pair of the↩

son's, though not the pair which he had then had. Having measured↩

these very carefully from seven or eight different points, Holmes↩

desired to be led to the court-yard, from which we all followed↩

the winding track which led to Boscombe Pool.↩

↩

Sherlock Holmes was transformed when he was hot upon such a scent↩

as this. Men who had only known the quiet thinker and logician of↩

Baker Street would have failed to recognise him. His face flushed↩

and darkened. His brows were drawn into two hard black lines,↩

while his eyes shone out from beneath them with a steely glitter.↩

His face was bent downward, his shoulders bowed, his lips↩

compressed, and the veins stood out like whipcord in his long,↩

sinewy neck. His nostrils seemed to dilate with a purely animal↩

lust for the chase, and his mind was so absolutely concentrated↩

upon the matter before him that a question or remark fell↩

unheeded upon his ears, or, at the most, only provoked a quick,↩

impatient snarl in reply. Swiftly and silently he made his way↩

along the track which ran through the meadows, and so by way of↩

the woods to the Boscombe Pool. It was damp, marshy ground, as is↩

all that district, and there were marks of many feet, both upon↩

the path and amid the short grass which bounded it on either↩

side. Sometimes Holmes would hurry on, sometimes stop dead, and↩

once he made quite a little detour into the meadow. Lestrade and↩

I walked behind him, the detective indifferent and contemptuous,↩

while I watched my friend with the interest which sprang from the↩

conviction that every one of his actions was directed towards a↩

definite end.↩

↩

The Boscombe Pool, which is a little reed-girt sheet of water↩

some fifty yards across, is situated at the boundary between the↩

Hatherley Farm and the private park of the wealthy Mr. Turner.↩

Above the woods which lined it upon the farther side we could see↩

the red, jutting pinnacles which marked the site of the rich↩

landowner's dwelling. On the Hatherley side of the pool the woods↩

grew very thick, and there was a narrow belt of sodden grass↩

twenty paces across between the edge of the trees and the reeds↩

which lined the lake. Lestrade showed us the exact spot at which↩

the body had been found, and, indeed, so moist was the ground,↩

that I could plainly see the traces which had been left by the↩

fall of the stricken man. To Holmes, as I could see by his eager↩

face and peering eyes, very many other things were to be read↩

upon the trampled grass. He ran round, like a dog who is picking↩

up a scent, and then turned upon my companion.↩

↩

"What did you go into the pool for?" he asked.↩

↩

"I fished about with a rake. I thought there might be some weapon↩

or other trace. But how on earth--"↩

↩

"Oh, tut, tut! I have no time! That left foot of yours with its↩

inward twist is all over the place. A mole could trace it, and↩

there it vanishes among the reeds. Oh, how simple it would all↩

have been had I been here before they came like a herd of buffalo↩

and wallowed all over it. Here is where the party with the↩

lodge-keeper came, and they have covered all tracks for six or↩

eight feet round the body. But here are three separate tracks of↩

the same feet." He drew out a lens and lay down upon his↩

waterproof to have a better view, talking all the time rather to↩

himself than to us. "These are young McCarthy's feet. Twice he↩

was walking, and once he ran swiftly, so that the soles are↩

deeply marked and the heels hardly visible. That bears out his↩

story. He ran when he saw his father on the ground. Then here are↩

the father's feet as he paced up and down. What is this, then? It↩

is the butt-end of the gun as the son stood listening. And this?↩

Ha, ha! What have we here? Tiptoes! tiptoes! Square, too, quite↩

unusual boots! They come, they go, they come again--of course↩

that was for the cloak. Now where did they come from?" He ran up↩

and down, sometimes losing, sometimes finding the track until we↩

were well within the edge of the wood and under the shadow of a↩

great beech, the largest tree in the neighbourhood. Holmes traced↩

his way to the farther side of this and lay down once more upon↩

his face with a little cry of satisfaction. For a long time he↩

remained there, turning over the leaves and dried sticks,↩

gathering up what seemed to me to be dust into an envelope and↩

examining with his lens not only the ground but even the bark of↩

the tree as far as he could reach. A jagged stone was lying among↩

the moss, and this also he carefully examined and retained. Then↩

he followed a pathway through the wood until he came to the↩

highroad, where all traces were lost.↩

↩

"It has been a case of considerable interest," he remarked,↩

returning to his natural manner. "I fancy that this grey house on↩

the right must be the lodge. I think that I will go in and have a↩

word with Moran, and perhaps write a little note. Having done↩

that, we may drive back to our luncheon. You may walk to the cab,↩

and I shall be with you presently."↩

↩

It was about ten minutes before we regained our cab and drove↩

back into Ross, Holmes still carrying with him the stone which he↩

had picked up in the wood.↩

↩

"This may interest you, Lestrade," he remarked, holding it out.↩

"The murder was done with it."↩

↩

"I see no marks."↩

↩

"There are none."↩

↩

"How do you know, then?"↩

↩

"The grass was growing under it. It had only lain there a few↩

days. There was no sign of a place whence it had been taken. It↩

corresponds with the injuries. There is no sign of any other↩

weapon."↩

↩

"And the murderer?"↩

↩

"Is a tall man, left-handed, limps with the right leg, wears↩

thick-soled shooting-boots and a grey cloak, smokes Indian↩

cigars, uses a cigar-holder, and carries a blunt pen-knife in his↩

pocket. There are several other indications, but these may be↩

enough to aid us in our search."↩

↩

Lestrade laughed. "I am afraid that I am still a sceptic," he↩

said. "Theories are all very well, but we have to deal with a↩

hard-headed British jury."↩

↩

"Nous verrons," answered Holmes calmly. "You work your own↩

method, and I shall work mine. I shall be busy this afternoon,↩

and shall probably return to London by the evening train."↩

↩

"And leave your case unfinished?"↩

↩

"No, finished."↩

↩

"But the mystery?"↩

↩

"It is solved."↩

↩

"Who was the criminal, then?"↩

↩

"The gentleman I describe."↩

↩

"But who is he?"↩

↩

"Surely it would not be difficult to find out. This is not such a↩

populous neighbourhood."↩

↩

Lestrade shrugged his shoulders. "I am a practical man," he said,↩

"and I really cannot undertake to go about the country looking↩

for a left-handed gentleman with a game leg. I should become the↩

laughing-stock of Scotland Yard."↩

↩

"All right," said Holmes quietly. "I have given you the chance.↩

Here are your lodgings. Good-bye. I shall drop you a line before↩

I leave."↩

↩

Having left Lestrade at his rooms, we drove to our hotel, where↩

we found lunch upon the table. Holmes was silent and buried in↩

thought with a pained expression upon his face, as one who finds↩

himself in a perplexing position.↩

↩

"Look here, Watson," he said when the cloth was cleared "just sit↩

down in this chair and let me preach to you for a little. I don't↩

know quite what to do, and I should value your advice. Light a↩

cigar and let me expound."↩

↩

 "Pray do so."↩

↩

"Well, now, in considering this case there are two points about↩

young McCarthy's narrative which struck us both instantly,↩

although they impressed me in his favour and you against him. One↩

was the fact that his father should, according to his account,↩

cry 'Cooee!' before seeing him. The other was his singular dying↩

reference to a rat. He mumbled several words, you understand, but↩

that was all that caught the son's ear. Now from this double↩

point our research must commence, and we will begin it by↩

presuming that what the lad says is absolutely true."↩

↩

"What of this 'Cooee!' then?"↩

↩

"Well, obviously it could not have been meant for the son. The↩

son, as far as he knew, was in Bristol. It was mere chance that↩

he was within earshot. The 'Cooee!' was meant to attract the↩

attention of whoever it was that he had the appointment with. But↩

'Cooee' is a distinctly Australian cry, and one which is used↩

between Australians. There is a strong presumption that the↩

person whom McCarthy expected to meet him at Boscombe Pool was↩

someone who had been in Australia."↩

↩

"What of the rat, then?"↩

↩

Sherlock Holmes took a folded paper from his pocket and flattened↩

it out on the table. "This is a map of the Colony of Victoria,"↩

he said. "I wired to Bristol for it last night." He put his hand↩

over part of the map. "What do you read?"↩

↩

"ARAT," I read.↩

↩

"And now?" He raised his hand.↩

↩

"BALLARAT."↩

↩

"Quite so. That was the word the man uttered, and of which his↩

son only caught the last two syllables. He was trying to utter↩

the name of his murderer. So and so, of Ballarat."↩

↩

"It is wonderful!" I exclaimed.↩

↩

"It is obvious. And now, you see, I had narrowed the field down↩

considerably. The possession of a grey garment was a third point↩

which, granting the son's statement to be correct, was a↩

certainty. We have come now out of mere vagueness to the definite↩

conception of an Australian from Ballarat with a grey cloak."↩

↩

"Certainly."↩

↩

"And one who was at home in the district, for the pool can only↩

be approached by the farm or by the estate, where strangers could↩

hardly wander."↩

↩

"Quite so."↩

↩

"Then comes our expedition of to-day. By an examination of the↩

ground I gained the trifling details which I gave to that↩

imbecile Lestrade, as to the personality of the criminal."↩

↩

"But how did you gain them?"↩

↩

"You know my method. It is founded upon the observation of↩

trifles."↩

↩

"His height I know that you might roughly judge from the length↩

of his stride. His boots, too, might be told from their traces."↩

↩

"Yes, they were peculiar boots."↩

↩

"But his lameness?"↩

↩

"The impression of his right foot was always less distinct than↩

his left. He put less weight upon it. Why? Because he limped--he↩

was lame."↩

↩

"But his left-handedness."↩

↩

"You were yourself struck by the nature of the injury as recorded↩

by the surgeon at the inquest. The blow was struck from↩

immediately behind, and yet was upon the left side. Now, how can↩

that be unless it were by a left-handed man? He had stood behind↩

that tree during the interview between the father and son. He had↩

even smoked there. I found the ash of a cigar, which my special↩

knowledge of tobacco ashes enables me to pronounce as an Indian↩

cigar. I have, as you know, devoted some attention to this, and↩

written a little monograph on the ashes of 140 different↩

varieties of pipe, cigar, and cigarette tobacco. Having found the↩

ash, I then looked round and discovered the stump among the moss↩

where he had tossed it. It was an Indian cigar, of the variety↩

which are rolled in Rotterdam."↩

↩

"And the cigar-holder?"↩

↩

"I could see that the end had not been in his mouth. Therefore he↩

used a holder. The tip had been cut off, not bitten off, but the↩

cut was not a clean one, so I deduced a blunt pen-knife."↩

↩

"Holmes," I said, "you have drawn a net round this man from which↩

he cannot escape, and you have saved an innocent human life as↩

truly as if you had cut the cord which was hanging him. I see the↩

direction in which all this points. The culprit is--"↩

↩

"Mr. John Turner," cried the hotel waiter, opening the door of↩

our sitting-room, and ushering in a visitor.↩

↩

The man who entered was a strange and impressive figure. His↩

slow, limping step and bowed shoulders gave the appearance of↩

decrepitude, and yet his hard, deep-lined, craggy features, and↩

his enormous limbs showed that he was possessed of unusual↩

strength of body and of character. His tangled beard, grizzled↩

hair, and outstanding, drooping eyebrows combined to give an air↩

of dignity and power to his appearance, but his face was of an↩

ashen white, while his lips and the corners of his nostrils were↩

tinged with a shade of blue. It was clear to me at a glance that↩

he was in the grip of some deadly and chronic disease.↩

↩

"Pray sit down on the sofa," said Holmes gently. "You had my↩

note?"↩

↩

"Yes, the lodge-keeper brought it up. You said that you wished to↩

see me here to avoid scandal."↩

↩

"I thought people would talk if I went to the Hall."↩

↩

"And why did you wish to see me?" He looked across at my↩

companion with despair in his weary eyes, as though his question↩

was already answered.↩

↩

"Yes," said Holmes, answering the look rather than the words. "It↩

is so. I know all about McCarthy."↩

↩

The old man sank his face in his hands. "God help me!" he cried.↩

"But I would not have let the young man come to harm. I give you↩

my word that I would have spoken out if it went against him at↩

the Assizes."↩

↩

"I am glad to hear you say so," said Holmes gravely.↩

↩

"I would have spoken now had it not been for my dear girl. It↩

would break her heart--it will break her heart when she hears↩

that I am arrested."↩

↩

"It may not come to that," said Holmes.↩

↩

"What?"↩

↩

"I am no official agent. I understand that it was your daughter↩

who required my presence here, and I am acting in her interests.↩

Young McCarthy must be got off, however."↩

↩

"I am a dying man," said old Turner. "I have had diabetes for↩

years. My doctor says it is a question whether I shall live a↩

month. Yet I would rather die under my own roof than in a gaol."↩

↩

Holmes rose and sat down at the table with his pen in his hand↩

and a bundle of paper before him. "Just tell us the truth," he↩

said. "I shall jot down the facts. You will sign it, and Watson↩

here can witness it. Then I could produce your confession at the↩

last extremity to save young McCarthy. I promise you that I shall↩

not use it unless it is absolutely needed."↩

↩

"It's as well," said the old man; "it's a question whether I↩

shall live to the Assizes, so it matters little to me, but I↩

should wish to spare Alice the shock. And now I will make the↩

thing clear to you; it has been a long time in the acting, but↩

will not take me long to tell.↩

↩

"You didn't know this dead man, McCarthy. He was a devil↩

incarnate. I tell you that. God keep you out of the clutches of↩

such a man as he. His grip has been upon me these twenty years,↩

and he has blasted my life. I'll tell you first how I came to be↩

in his power.↩

↩

"It was in the early '60's at the diggings. I was a young chap↩

then, hot-blooded and reckless, ready to turn my hand at↩

anything; I got among bad companions, took to drink, had no luck↩

with my claim, took to the bush, and in a word became what you↩

would call over here a highway robber. There were six of us, and↩

we had a wild, free life of it, sticking up a station from time↩

to time, or stopping the wagons on the road to the diggings.↩

Black Jack of Ballarat was the name I went under, and our party↩

is still remembered in the colony as the Ballarat Gang.↩

↩

"One day a gold convoy came down from Ballarat to Melbourne, and↩

we lay in wait for it and attacked it. There were six troopers↩

and six of us, so it was a close thing, but we emptied four of↩

their saddles at the first volley. Three of our boys were killed,↩

however, before we got the swag. I put my pistol to the head of↩

the wagon-driver, who was this very man McCarthy. I wish to the↩

Lord that I had shot him then, but I spared him, though I saw his↩

wicked little eyes fixed on my face, as though to remember every↩

feature. We got away with the gold, became wealthy men, and made↩

our way over to England without being suspected. There I parted↩

from my old pals and determined to settle down to a quiet and↩

respectable life. I bought this estate, which chanced to be in↩

the market, and I set myself to do a little good with my money,↩

to make up for the way in which I had earned it. I married, too,↩

and though my wife died young she left me my dear little Alice.↩

Even when she was just a baby her wee hand seemed to lead me down↩

the right path as nothing else had ever done. In a word, I turned↩

over a new leaf and did my best to make up for the past. All was↩

going well when McCarthy laid his grip upon me.↩

↩

"I had gone up to town about an investment, and I met him in↩

Regent Street with hardly a coat to his back or a boot to his↩

foot.↩

↩

"'Here we are, Jack,' says he, touching me on the arm; 'we'll be↩

as good as a family to you. There's two of us, me and my son, and↩

you can have the keeping of us. If you don't--it's a fine,↩

law-abiding country is England, and there's always a policeman↩

within hail.'↩

↩

"Well, down they came to the west country, there was no shaking↩

them off, and there they have lived rent free on my best land↩

ever since. There was no rest for me, no peace, no forgetfulness;↩

turn where I would, there was his cunning, grinning face at my↩

elbow. It grew worse as Alice grew up, for he soon saw I was more↩

afraid of her knowing my past than of the police. Whatever he↩

wanted he must have, and whatever it was I gave him without↩

question, land, money, houses, until at last he asked a thing↩

which I could not give. He asked for Alice.↩

↩

"His son, you see, had grown up, and so had my girl, and as I was↩

known to be in weak health, it seemed a fine stroke to him that↩

his lad should step into the whole property. But there I was↩

firm. I would not have his cursed stock mixed with mine; not that↩

I had any dislike to the lad, but his blood was in him, and that↩

was enough. I stood firm. McCarthy threatened. I braved him to do↩

his worst. We were to meet at the pool midway between our houses↩

to talk it over.↩

↩

"When I went down there I found him talking with his son, so I↩

smoked a cigar and waited behind a tree until he should be alone.↩

But as I listened to his talk all that was black and bitter in↩

me seemed to come uppermost. He was urging his son to marry my↩

daughter with as little regard for what she might think as if she↩

were a slut from off the streets. It drove me mad to think that I↩

and all that I held most dear should be in the power of such a↩

man as this. Could I not snap the bond? I was already a dying and↩

a desperate man. Though clear of mind and fairly strong of limb,↩

I knew that my own fate was sealed. But my memory and my girl!↩

Both could be saved if I could but silence that foul tongue. I↩

did it, Mr. Holmes. I would do it again. Deeply as I have sinned,↩

I have led a life of martyrdom to atone for it. But that my girl↩

should be entangled in the same meshes which held me was more↩

than I could suffer. I struck him down with no more compunction↩

than if he had been some foul and venomous beast. His cry brought↩

back his son; but I had gained the cover of the wood, though I↩

was forced to go back to fetch the cloak which I had dropped in↩

my flight. That is the true story, gentlemen, of all that↩

occurred."↩

↩

"Well, it is not for me to judge you," said Holmes as the old man↩

signed the statement which had been drawn out. "I pray that we↩

may never be exposed to such a temptation."↩

↩

"I pray not, sir. And what do you intend to do?"↩

↩

"In view of your health, nothing. You are yourself aware that you↩

will soon have to answer for your deed at a higher court than the↩

Assizes. I will keep your confession, and if McCarthy is↩

condemned I shall be forced to use it. If not, it shall never be↩

seen by mortal eye; and your secret, whether you be alive or↩

dead, shall be safe with us."↩

↩

"Farewell, then," said the old man solemnly. "Your own deathbeds,↩

when they come, will be the easier for the thought of the peace↩

which you have given to mine." Tottering and shaking in all his↩

giant frame, he stumbled slowly from the room.↩

↩

"God help us!" said Holmes after a long silence. "Why does fate↩

play such tricks with poor, helpless worms? I never hear of such↩

a case as this that I do not think of Baxter's words, and say,↩

'There, but for the grace of God, goes Sherlock Holmes.'"↩

↩

James McCarthy was acquitted at the Assizes on the strength of a↩

number of objections which had been drawn out by Holmes and↩

submitted to the defending counsel. Old Turner lived for seven↩

months after our interview, but he is now dead; and there is↩

every prospect that the son and daughter may come to live happily↩

together in ignorance of the black cloud which rests upon their↩

past.↩

↩

↩

↩

ADVENTURE V. THE FIVE ORANGE PIPS↩

↩

When I glance over my notes and records of the Sherlock Holmes↩

cases between the years '82 and '90, I am faced by so many which↩

present strange and interesting features that it is no easy↩

matter to know which to choose and which to leave. Some, however,↩

have already gained publicity through the papers, and others have↩

not offered a field for those peculiar qualities which my friend↩

possessed in so high a degree, and which it is the object of↩

these papers to illustrate. Some, too, have baffled his↩

analytical skill, and would be, as narratives, beginnings without↩

an ending, while others have been but partially cleared up, and↩

have their explanations founded rather upon conjecture and↩

surmise than on that absolute logical proof which was so dear to↩

him. There is, however, one of these last which was so remarkable↩

in its details and so startling in its results that I am tempted↩

to give some account of it in spite of the fact that there are↩

points in connection with it which never have been, and probably↩

never will be, entirely cleared up.↩

↩

The year '87 furnished us with a long series of cases of greater↩

or less interest, of which I retain the records. Among my↩

headings under this one twelve months I find an account of the↩

adventure of the Paradol Chamber, of the Amateur Mendicant↩

Society, who held a luxurious club in the lower vault of a↩

furniture warehouse, of the facts connected with the loss of the↩

British barque "Sophy Anderson", of the singular adventures of the↩

Grice Patersons in the island of Uffa, and finally of the↩

Camberwell poisoning case. In the latter, as may be remembered,↩

Sherlock Holmes was able, by winding up the dead man's watch, to↩

prove that it had been wound up two hours before, and that↩

therefore the deceased had gone to bed within that time--a↩

deduction which was of the greatest importance in clearing up the↩

case. All these I may sketch out at some future date, but none of↩

them present such singular features as the strange train of↩

circumstances which I have now taken up my pen to describe.↩

↩

It was in the latter days of September, and the equinoctial gales↩

had set in with exceptional violence. All day the wind had↩

screamed and the rain had beaten against the windows, so that↩

even here in the heart of great, hand-made London we were forced↩

to raise our minds for the instant from the routine of life and↩

to recognise the presence of those great elemental forces which↩

shriek at mankind through the bars of his civilisation, like↩

untamed beasts in a cage. As evening drew in, the storm grew↩

higher and louder, and the wind cried and sobbed like a child in↩

the chimney. Sherlock Holmes sat moodily at one side of the↩

fireplace cross-indexing his records of crime, while I at the↩

other was deep in one of Clark Russell's fine sea-stories until↩

the howl of the gale from without seemed to blend with the text,↩

and the splash of the rain to lengthen out into the long swash of↩

the sea waves. My wife was on a visit to her mother's, and for a↩

few days I was a dweller once more in my old quarters at Baker↩

Street.↩

↩

"Why," said I, glancing up at my companion, "that was surely the↩

bell. Who could come to-night? Some friend of yours, perhaps?"↩

↩

"Except yourself I have none," he answered. "I do not encourage↩

visitors."↩

↩

"A client, then?"↩

↩

"If so, it is a serious case. Nothing less would bring a man out↩

on such a day and at such an hour. But I take it that it is more↩

likely to be some crony of the landlady's."↩

↩

Sherlock Holmes was wrong in his conjecture, however, for there↩

came a step in the passage and a tapping at the door. He↩

stretched out his long arm to turn the lamp away from himself and↩

towards the vacant chair upon which a newcomer must sit.↩

↩

"Come in!" said he.↩

↩

The man who entered was young, some two-and-twenty at the↩

outside, well-groomed and trimly clad, with something of↩

refinement and delicacy in his bearing. The streaming umbrella↩

which he held in his hand, and his long shining waterproof told↩

of the fierce weather through which he had come. He looked about↩

him anxiously in the glare of the lamp, and I could see that his↩

face was pale and his eyes heavy, like those of a man who is↩

weighed down with some great anxiety.↩

↩

"I owe you an apology," he said, raising his golden pince-nez to↩

his eyes. "I trust that I am not intruding. I fear that I have↩

brought some traces of the storm and rain into your snug↩

chamber."↩

↩

"Give me your coat and umbrella," said Holmes. "They may rest↩

here on the hook and will be dry presently. You have come up from↩

the south-west, I see."↩

↩

"Yes, from Horsham."↩

↩

"That clay and chalk mixture which I see upon your toe caps is↩

quite distinctive."↩

↩

"I have come for advice."↩

↩

"That is easily got."↩

↩

"And help."↩

↩

"That is not always so easy."↩

↩

"I have heard of you, Mr. Holmes. I heard from Major Prendergast↩

how you saved him in the Tankerville Club scandal."↩

↩

"Ah, of course. He was wrongfully accused of cheating at cards."↩

↩

"He said that you could solve anything."↩

↩

"He said too much."↩

↩

"That you are never beaten."↩

↩

"I have been beaten four times--three times by men, and once by a↩

woman."↩

↩

"But what is that compared with the number of your successes?"↩

↩

"It is true that I have been generally successful."↩

↩

"Then you may be so with me."↩

↩

"I beg that you will draw your chair up to the fire and favour me↩

with some details as to your case."↩

↩

"It is no ordinary one."↩

↩

"None of those which come to me are. I am the last court of↩

appeal."↩

↩

"And yet I question, sir, whether, in all your experience, you↩

have ever listened to a more mysterious and inexplicable chain of↩

events than those which have happened in my own family."↩

↩

"You fill me with interest," said Holmes. "Pray give us the↩

essential facts from the commencement, and I can afterwards↩

question you as to those details which seem to me to be most↩

important."↩

↩

The young man pulled his chair up and pushed his wet feet out↩

towards the blaze.↩

↩

"My name," said he, "is John Openshaw, but my own affairs have,↩

as far as I can understand, little to do with this awful↩

business. It is a hereditary matter; so in order to give you an↩

idea of the facts, I must go back to the commencement of the↩

affair.↩

↩

"You must know that my grandfather had two sons--my uncle Elias↩

and my father Joseph. My father had a small factory at Coventry,↩

which he enlarged at the time of the invention of bicycling. He↩

was a patentee of the Openshaw unbreakable tire, and his business↩

met with such success that he was able to sell it and to retire↩

upon a handsome competence.↩

↩

"My uncle Elias emigrated to America when he was a young man and↩

became a planter in Florida, where he was reported to have done↩

very well. At the time of the war he fought in Jackson's army,↩

and afterwards under Hood, where he rose to be a colonel. When↩

Lee laid down his arms my uncle returned to his plantation, where↩

he remained for three or four years. About 1869 or 1870 he came↩

back to Europe and took a small estate in Sussex, near Horsham.↩

He had made a very considerable fortune in the States, and his↩

reason for leaving them was his aversion to the negroes, and his↩

dislike of the Republican policy in extending the franchise to↩

them. He was a singular man, fierce and quick-tempered, very↩

foul-mouthed when he was angry, and of a most retiring↩

disposition. During all the years that he lived at Horsham, I↩

doubt if ever he set foot in the town. He had a garden and two or↩

three fields round his house, and there he would take his↩

exercise, though very often for weeks on end he would never leave↩

his room. He drank a great deal of brandy and smoked very↩

heavily, but he would see no society and did not want any↩

friends, not even his own brother.↩

↩

"He didn't mind me; in fact, he took a fancy to me, for at the↩

time when he saw me first I was a youngster of twelve or so. This↩

would be in the year 1878, after he had been eight or nine years↩

in England. He begged my father to let me live with him and he↩

was very kind to me in his way. When he was sober he used to be↩

fond of playing backgammon and draughts with me, and he would↩

make me his representative both with the servants and with the↩

tradespeople, so that by the time that I was sixteen I was quite↩

master of the house. I kept all the keys and could go where I↩

liked and do what I liked, so long as I did not disturb him in↩

his privacy. There was one singular exception, however, for he↩

had a single room, a lumber-room up among the attics, which was↩

invariably locked, and which he would never permit either me or↩

anyone else to enter. With a boy's curiosity I have peeped↩

through the keyhole, but I was never able to see more than such a↩

collection of old trunks and bundles as would be expected in such↩

a room.↩

↩

"One day--it was in March, 1883--a letter with a foreign stamp↩

lay upon the table in front of the colonel's plate. It was not a↩

common thing for him to receive letters, for his bills were all↩

paid in ready money, and he had no friends of any sort. 'From↩

India!' said he as he took it up, 'Pondicherry postmark! What can↩

this be?' Opening it hurriedly, out there jumped five little↩

dried orange pips, which pattered down upon his plate. I began to↩

laugh at this, but the laugh was struck from my lips at the sight↩

of his face. His lip had fallen, his eyes were protruding, his↩

skin the colour of putty, and he glared at the envelope which he↩

still held in his trembling hand, 'K. K. K.!' he shrieked, and↩

then, 'My God, my God, my sins have overtaken me!'↩

↩

"'What is it, uncle?' I cried.↩

↩

"'Death,' said he, and rising from the table he retired to his↩

room, leaving me palpitating with horror. I took up the envelope↩

and saw scrawled in red ink upon the inner flap, just above the↩

gum, the letter K three times repeated. There was nothing else↩

save the five dried pips. What could be the reason of his↩

overpowering terror? I left the breakfast-table, and as I↩

ascended the stair I met him coming down with an old rusty key,↩

which must have belonged to the attic, in one hand, and a small↩

brass box, like a cashbox, in the other.↩

↩

"'They may do what they like, but I'll checkmate them still,'↩

said he with an oath. 'Tell Mary that I shall want a fire in my↩

room to-day, and send down to Fordham, the Horsham lawyer.'↩

↩

"I did as he ordered, and when the lawyer arrived I was asked to↩

step up to the room. The fire was burning brightly, and in the↩

grate there was a mass of black, fluffy ashes, as of burned↩

paper, while the brass box stood open and empty beside it. As I↩

glanced at the box I noticed, with a start, that upon the lid was↩

printed the treble K which I had read in the morning upon the↩

envelope.↩

↩

"'I wish you, John,' said my uncle, 'to witness my will. I leave↩

my estate, with all its advantages and all its disadvantages, to↩

my brother, your father, whence it will, no doubt, descend to↩

you. If you can enjoy it in peace, well and good! If you find you↩

cannot, take my advice, my boy, and leave it to your deadliest↩

enemy. I am sorry to give you such a two-edged thing, but I can't↩

say what turn things are going to take. Kindly sign the paper↩

where Mr. Fordham shows you.'↩

↩

"I signed the paper as directed, and the lawyer took it away with↩

him. The singular incident made, as you may think, the deepest↩

impression upon me, and I pondered over it and turned it every↩

way in my mind without being able to make anything of it. Yet I↩

could not shake off the vague feeling of dread which it left↩

behind, though the sensation grew less keen as the weeks passed↩

and nothing happened to disturb the usual routine of our lives. I↩

could see a change in my uncle, however. He drank more than ever,↩

and he was less inclined for any sort of society. Most of his↩

time he would spend in his room, with the door locked upon the↩

inside, but sometimes he would emerge in a sort of drunken frenzy↩

and would burst out of the house and tear about the garden with a↩

revolver in his hand, screaming out that he was afraid of no man,↩

and that he was not to be cooped up, like a sheep in a pen, by↩

man or devil. When these hot fits were over, however, he would↩

rush tumultuously in at the door and lock and bar it behind him,↩

like a man who can brazen it out no longer against the terror↩

which lies at the roots of his soul. At such times I have seen↩

his face, even on a cold day, glisten with moisture, as though it↩

were new raised from a basin.↩

↩

"Well, to come to an end of the matter, Mr. Holmes, and not to↩

abuse your patience, there came a night when he made one of those↩

drunken sallies from which he never came back. We found him, when↩

we went to search for him, face downward in a little↩

green-scummed pool, which lay at the foot of the garden. There↩

was no sign of any violence, and the water was but two feet deep,↩

so that the jury, having regard to his known eccentricity,↩

brought in a verdict of 'suicide.' But I, who knew how he winced↩

from the very thought of death, had much ado to persuade myself↩

that he had gone out of his way to meet it. The matter passed,↩

however, and my father entered into possession of the estate, and↩

of some 14,000 pounds, which lay to his credit at the bank."↩

↩

"One moment," Holmes interposed, "your statement is, I foresee,↩

one of the most remarkable to which I have ever listened. Let me↩

have the date of the reception by your uncle of the letter, and↩

the date of his supposed suicide."↩

↩

"The letter arrived on March 10, 1883. His death was seven weeks↩

later, upon the night of May 2nd."↩

↩

"Thank you. Pray proceed."↩

↩

"When my father took over the Horsham property, he, at my↩

request, made a careful examination of the attic, which had been↩

always locked up. We found the brass box there, although its↩

contents had been destroyed. On the inside of the cover was a↩

paper label, with the initials of K. K. K. repeated upon it, and↩

'Letters, memoranda, receipts, and a register' written beneath.↩

These, we presume, indicated the nature of the papers which had↩

been destroyed by Colonel Openshaw. For the rest, there was↩

nothing of much importance in the attic save a great many↩

scattered papers and note-books bearing upon my uncle's life in↩

America. Some of them were of the war time and showed that he had↩

done his duty well and had borne the repute of a brave soldier.↩

Others were of a date during the reconstruction of the Southern↩

states, and were mostly concerned with politics, for he had↩

evidently taken a strong part in opposing the carpet-bag↩

politicians who had been sent down from the North.↩

↩

"Well, it was the beginning of '84 when my father came to live at↩

Horsham, and all went as well as possible with us until the↩

January of '85. On the fourth day after the new year I heard my↩

father give a sharp cry of surprise as we sat together at the↩

breakfast-table. There he was, sitting with a newly opened↩

envelope in one hand and five dried orange pips in the↩

outstretched palm of the other one. He had always laughed at what↩

he called my cock-and-bull story about the colonel, but he looked↩

very scared and puzzled now that the same thing had come upon↩

himself.↩

↩

"'Why, what on earth does this mean, John?' he stammered.↩

↩

"My heart had turned to lead. 'It is K. K. K.,' said I.↩

↩

"He looked inside the envelope. 'So it is,' he cried. 'Here are↩

the very letters. But what is this written above them?'↩

↩

"'Put the papers on the sundial,' I read, peeping over his↩

shoulder.↩

↩

"'What papers? What sundial?' he asked.↩

↩

"'The sundial in the garden. There is no other,' said I; 'but the↩

papers must be those that are destroyed.'↩

↩

"'Pooh!' said he, gripping hard at his courage. 'We are in a↩

civilised land here, and we can't have tomfoolery of this kind.↩

Where does the thing come from?'↩

↩

"'From Dundee,' I answered, glancing at the postmark.↩

↩

"'Some preposterous practical joke,' said he. 'What have I to do↩

with sundials and papers? I shall take no notice of such↩

nonsense.'↩

↩

"'I should certainly speak to the police,' I said.↩

↩

"'And be laughed at for my pains. Nothing of the sort.'↩

↩

"'Then let me do so?'↩

↩

"'No, I forbid you. I won't have a fuss made about such↩

nonsense.'↩

↩

"It was in vain to argue with him, for he was a very obstinate↩

man. I went about, however, with a heart which was full of↩

forebodings.↩

↩

"On the third day after the coming of the letter my father went↩

from home to visit an old friend of his, Major Freebody, who is↩

in command of one of the forts upon Portsdown Hill. I was glad↩

that he should go, for it seemed to me that he was farther from↩

danger when he was away from home. In that, however, I was in↩

error. Upon the second day of his absence I received a telegram↩

from the major, imploring me to come at once. My father had↩

fallen over one of the deep chalk-pits which abound in the↩

neighbourhood, and was lying senseless, with a shattered skull. I↩

hurried to him, but he passed away without having ever recovered↩

his consciousness. He had, as it appears, been returning from↩

Fareham in the twilight, and as the country was unknown to him,↩

and the chalk-pit unfenced, the jury had no hesitation in↩

bringing in a verdict of 'death from accidental causes.'↩

Carefully as I examined every fact connected with his death, I↩

was unable to find anything which could suggest the idea of↩

murder. There were no signs of violence, no footmarks, no↩

robbery, no record of strangers having been seen upon the roads.↩

And yet I need not tell you that my mind was far from at ease,↩

and that I was well-nigh certain that some foul plot had been↩

woven round him.↩

↩

"In this sinister way I came into my inheritance. You will ask me↩

why I did not dispose of it? I answer, because I was well↩

convinced that our troubles were in some way dependent upon an↩

incident in my uncle's life, and that the danger would be as↩

pressing in one house as in another.↩

↩

"It was in January, '85, that my poor father met his end, and two↩

years and eight months have elapsed since then. During that time↩

I have lived happily at Horsham, and I had begun to hope that↩

this curse had passed away from the family, and that it had ended↩

with the last generation. I had begun to take comfort too soon,↩

however; yesterday morning the blow fell in the very shape in↩

which it had come upon my father."↩

↩

The young man took from his waistcoat a crumpled envelope, and↩

turning to the table he shook out upon it five little dried↩

orange pips.↩

↩

"This is the envelope," he continued. "The postmark is↩

London--eastern division. Within are the very words which were↩

upon my father's last message: 'K. K. K.'; and then 'Put the↩

papers on the sundial.'"↩

↩

"What have you done?" asked Holmes.↩

↩

"Nothing."↩

↩

"Nothing?"↩

↩

"To tell the truth"--he sank his face into his thin, white↩

hands--"I have felt helpless. I have felt like one of those poor↩

rabbits when the snake is writhing towards it. I seem to be in↩

the grasp of some resistless, inexorable evil, which no foresight↩

and no precautions can guard against."↩

↩

"Tut! tut!" cried Sherlock Holmes. "You must act, man, or you are↩

lost. Nothing but energy can save you. This is no time for↩

despair."↩

↩

"I have seen the police."↩

↩

"Ah!"↩

↩

"But they listened to my story with a smile. I am convinced that↩

the inspector has formed the opinion that the letters are all↩

practical jokes, and that the deaths of my relations were really↩

accidents, as the jury stated, and were not to be connected with↩

the warnings."↩

↩

Holmes shook his clenched hands in the air. "Incredible↩

imbecility!" he cried.↩

↩

"They have, however, allowed me a policeman, who may remain in↩

the house with me."↩

↩

"Has he come with you to-night?"↩

↩

"No. His orders were to stay in the house."↩

↩

Again Holmes raved in the air.↩

↩

"Why did you come to me," he cried, "and, above all, why did you↩

not come at once?"↩

↩

"I did not know. It was only to-day that I spoke to Major↩

Prendergast about my troubles and was advised by him to come to↩

you."↩

↩

"It is really two days since you had the letter. We should have↩

acted before this. You have no further evidence, I suppose, than↩

that which you have placed before us--no suggestive detail which↩

might help us?"↩

↩

"There is one thing," said John Openshaw. He rummaged in his coat↩

pocket, and, drawing out a piece of discoloured, blue-tinted↩

paper, he laid it out upon the table. "I have some remembrance,"↩

said he, "that on the day when my uncle burned the papers I↩

observed that the small, unburned margins which lay amid the↩

ashes were of this particular colour. I found this single sheet↩

upon the floor of his room, and I am inclined to think that it↩

may be one of the papers which has, perhaps, fluttered out from↩

among the others, and in that way has escaped destruction. Beyond↩

the mention of pips, I do not see that it helps us much. I think↩

myself that it is a page from some private diary. The writing is↩

undoubtedly my uncle's."↩

↩

Holmes moved the lamp, and we both bent over the sheet of paper,↩

which showed by its ragged edge that it had indeed been torn from↩

a book. It was headed, "March, 1869," and beneath were the↩

following enigmatical notices:↩

↩

"4th. Hudson came. Same old platform.↩

↩

"7th. Set the pips on McCauley, Paramore, and↩

      John Swain, of St. Augustine.↩

↩

"9th. McCauley cleared.↩

↩

"10th. John Swain cleared.↩

↩

"12th. Visited Paramore. All well."↩

↩

"Thank you!" said Holmes, folding up the paper and returning it↩

to our visitor. "And now you must on no account lose another↩

instant. We cannot spare time even to discuss what you have told↩

me. You must get home instantly and act."↩

↩

"What shall I do?"↩

↩

"There is but one thing to do. It must be done at once. You must↩

put this piece of paper which you have shown us into the brass↩

box which you have described. You must also put in a note to say↩

that all the other papers were burned by your uncle, and that↩

this is the only one which remains. You must assert that in such↩

words as will carry conviction with them. Having done this, you↩

must at once put the box out upon the sundial, as directed. Do↩

you understand?"↩

↩

"Entirely."↩

↩

"Do not think of revenge, or anything of the sort, at present. I↩

think that we may gain that by means of the law; but we have our↩

web to weave, while theirs is already woven. The first↩

consideration is to remove the pressing danger which threatens↩

you. The second is to clear up the mystery and to punish the↩

guilty parties."↩

↩

"I thank you," said the young man, rising and pulling on his↩

overcoat. "You have given me fresh life and hope. I shall↩

certainly do as you advise."↩

↩

"Do not lose an instant. And, above all, take care of yourself in↩

the meanwhile, for I do not think that there can be a doubt that↩

you are threatened by a very real and imminent danger. How do you↩

go back?"↩

↩

"By train from Waterloo."↩

↩

"It is not yet nine. The streets will be crowded, so I trust that↩

you may be in safety. And yet you cannot guard yourself too↩

closely."↩

↩

"I am armed."↩

↩

"That is well. To-morrow I shall set to work upon your case."↩

↩

"I shall see you at Horsham, then?"↩

↩

"No, your secret lies in London. It is there that I shall seek↩

it."↩

↩

"Then I shall call upon you in a day, or in two days, with news↩

as to the box and the papers. I shall take your advice in every↩

particular." He shook hands with us and took his leave. Outside↩

the wind still screamed and the rain splashed and pattered↩

against the windows. This strange, wild story seemed to have come↩

to us from amid the mad elements--blown in upon us like a sheet↩

of sea-weed in a gale--and now to have been reabsorbed by them↩

once more.↩

↩

Sherlock Holmes sat for some time in silence, with his head sunk↩

forward and his eyes bent upon the red glow of the fire. Then he↩

lit his pipe, and leaning back in his chair he watched the blue↩

smoke-rings as they chased each other up to the ceiling.↩

↩

"I think, Watson," he remarked at last, "that of all our cases we↩

have had none more fantastic than this."↩

↩

"Save, perhaps, the Sign of Four."↩

↩

"Well, yes. Save, perhaps, that. And yet this John Openshaw seems↩

to me to be walking amid even greater perils than did the↩

Sholtos."↩

↩

"But have you," I asked, "formed any definite conception as to↩

what these perils are?"↩

↩

"There can be no question as to their nature," he answered.↩

↩

"Then what are they? Who is this K. K. K., and why does he pursue↩

this unhappy family?"↩

↩

Sherlock Holmes closed his eyes and placed his elbows upon the↩

arms of his chair, with his finger-tips together. "The ideal↩

reasoner," he remarked, "would, when he had once been shown a↩

single fact in all its bearings, deduce from it not only all the↩

chain of events which led up to it but also all the results which↩

would follow from it. As Cuvier could correctly describe a whole↩

animal by the contemplation of a single bone, so the observer who↩

has thoroughly understood one link in a series of incidents↩

should be able to accurately state all the other ones, both↩

before and after. We have not yet grasped the results which the↩

reason alone can attain to. Problems may be solved in the study↩

which have baffled all those who have sought a solution by the↩

aid of their senses. To carry the art, however, to its highest↩

pitch, it is necessary that the reasoner should be able to↩

utilise all the facts which have come to his knowledge; and this↩

in itself implies, as you will readily see, a possession of all↩

knowledge, which, even in these days of free education and↩

encyclopaedias, is a somewhat rare accomplishment. It is not so↩

impossible, however, that a man should possess all knowledge↩

which is likely to be useful to him in his work, and this I have↩

endeavoured in my case to do. If I remember rightly, you on one↩

occasion, in the early days of our friendship, defined my limits↩

in a very precise fashion."↩

↩

"Yes," I answered, laughing. "It was a singular document.↩

Philosophy, astronomy, and politics were marked at zero, I↩

remember. Botany variable, geology profound as regards the↩

mud-stains from any region within fifty miles of town, chemistry↩

eccentric, anatomy unsystematic, sensational literature and crime↩

records unique, violin-player, boxer, swordsman, lawyer, and↩

self-poisoner by cocaine and tobacco. Those, I think, were the↩

main points of my analysis."↩

↩

Holmes grinned at the last item. "Well," he said, "I say now, as↩

I said then, that a man should keep his little brain-attic↩

stocked with all the furniture that he is likely to use, and the↩

rest he can put away in the lumber-room of his library, where he↩

can get it if he wants it. Now, for such a case as the one which↩

has been submitted to us to-night, we need certainly to muster↩

all our resources. Kindly hand me down the letter K of the↩

'American Encyclopaedia' which stands upon the shelf beside you.↩

Thank you. Now let us consider the situation and see what may be↩

deduced from it. In the first place, we may start with a strong↩

presumption that Colonel Openshaw had some very strong reason for↩

leaving America. Men at his time of life do not change all their↩

habits and exchange willingly the charming climate of Florida for↩

the lonely life of an English provincial town. His extreme love↩

of solitude in England suggests the idea that he was in fear of↩

someone or something, so we may assume as a working hypothesis↩

that it was fear of someone or something which drove him from↩

America. As to what it was he feared, we can only deduce that by↩

considering the formidable letters which were received by himself↩

and his successors. Did you remark the postmarks of those↩

letters?"↩

↩

"The first was from Pondicherry, the second from Dundee, and the↩

third from London."↩

↩

"From East London. What do you deduce from that?"↩

↩

"They are all seaports. That the writer was on board of a ship."↩

↩

"Excellent. We have already a clue. There can be no doubt that↩

the probability--the strong probability--is that the writer was↩

on board of a ship. And now let us consider another point. In the↩

case of Pondicherry, seven weeks elapsed between the threat and↩

its fulfilment, in Dundee it was only some three or four days.↩

Does that suggest anything?"↩

↩

"A greater distance to travel."↩

↩

"But the letter had also a greater distance to come."↩

↩

"Then I do not see the point."↩

↩

"There is at least a presumption that the vessel in which the man↩

or men are is a sailing-ship. It looks as if they always send↩

their singular warning or token before them when starting upon↩

their mission. You see how quickly the deed followed the sign↩

when it came from Dundee. If they had come from Pondicherry in a↩

steamer they would have arrived almost as soon as their letter.↩

But, as a matter of fact, seven weeks elapsed. I think that those↩

seven weeks represented the difference between the mail-boat which↩

brought the letter and the sailing vessel which brought the↩

writer."↩

↩

"It is possible."↩

↩

"More than that. It is probable. And now you see the deadly↩

urgency of this new case, and why I urged young Openshaw to↩

caution. The blow has always fallen at the end of the time which↩

it would take the senders to travel the distance. But this one↩

comes from London, and therefore we cannot count upon delay."↩

↩

"Good God!" I cried. "What can it mean, this relentless↩

persecution?"↩

↩

"The papers which Openshaw carried are obviously of vital↩

importance to the person or persons in the sailing-ship. I think↩

that it is quite clear that there must be more than one of them.↩

A single man could not have carried out two deaths in such a way↩

as to deceive a coroner's jury. There must have been several in↩

it, and they must have been men of resource and determination.↩

Their papers they mean to have, be the holder of them who it may.↩

In this way you see K. K. K. ceases to be the initials of an↩

individual and becomes the badge of a society."↩

↩

"But of what society?"↩

↩

"Have you never--" said Sherlock Holmes, bending forward and↩

sinking his voice--"have you never heard of the Ku Klux Klan?"↩

↩

"I never have."↩

↩

Holmes turned over the leaves of the book upon his knee. "Here it↩

is," said he presently:↩

↩

"'Ku Klux Klan. A name derived from the fanciful resemblance to↩

the sound produced by cocking a rifle. This terrible secret↩

society was formed by some ex-Confederate soldiers in the↩

Southern states after the Civil War, and it rapidly formed local↩

branches in different parts of the country, notably in Tennessee,↩

Louisiana, the Carolinas, Georgia, and Florida. Its power was↩

used for political purposes, principally for the terrorising of↩

the negro voters and the murdering and driving from the country↩

of those who were opposed to its views. Its outrages were usually↩

preceded by a warning sent to the marked man in some fantastic↩

but generally recognised shape--a sprig of oak-leaves in some↩

parts, melon seeds or orange pips in others. On receiving this↩

the victim might either openly abjure his former ways, or might↩

fly from the country. If he braved the matter out, death would↩

unfailingly come upon him, and usually in some strange and↩

unforeseen manner. So perfect was the organisation of the↩

society, and so systematic its methods, that there is hardly a↩

case upon record where any man succeeded in braving it with↩

impunity, or in which any of its outrages were traced home to the↩

perpetrators. For some years the organisation flourished in spite↩

of the efforts of the United States government and of the better↩

classes of the community in the South. Eventually, in the year↩

1869, the movement rather suddenly collapsed, although there have↩

been sporadic outbreaks of the same sort since that date.'↩

↩

"You will observe," said Holmes, laying down the volume, "that↩

the sudden breaking up of the society was coincident with the↩

disappearance of Openshaw from America with their papers. It may↩

well have been cause and effect. It is no wonder that he and his↩

family have some of the more implacable spirits upon their track.↩

You can understand that this register and diary may implicate↩

some of the first men in the South, and that there may be many↩

who will not sleep easy at night until it is recovered."↩

↩

"Then the page we have seen--"↩

↩

"Is such as we might expect. It ran, if I remember right, 'sent↩

the pips to A, B, and C'--that is, sent the society's warning to↩

them. Then there are successive entries that A and B cleared, or↩

left the country, and finally that C was visited, with, I fear, a↩

sinister result for C. Well, I think, Doctor, that we may let↩

some light into this dark place, and I believe that the only↩

chance young Openshaw has in the meantime is to do what I have↩

told him. There is nothing more to be said or to be done↩

to-night, so hand me over my violin and let us try to forget for↩

half an hour the miserable weather and the still more miserable↩

ways of our fellow-men."↩

↩

↩

It had cleared in the morning, and the sun was shining with a↩

subdued brightness through the dim veil which hangs over the↩

great city. Sherlock Holmes was already at breakfast when I came↩

down.↩

↩

"You will excuse me for not waiting for you," said he; "I have, I↩

foresee, a very busy day before me in looking into this case of↩

young Openshaw's."↩

↩

"What steps will you take?" I asked.↩

↩

"It will very much depend upon the results of my first inquiries.↩

I may have to go down to Horsham, after all."↩

↩

"You will not go there first?"↩

↩

"No, I shall commence with the City. Just ring the bell and the↩

maid will bring up your coffee."↩

↩

As I waited, I lifted the unopened newspaper from the table and↩

glanced my eye over it. It rested upon a heading which sent a↩

chill to my heart.↩

↩

"Holmes," I cried, "you are too late."↩

↩

"Ah!" said he, laying down his cup, "I feared as much. How was it↩

done?" He spoke calmly, but I could see that he was deeply moved.↩

↩

"My eye caught the name of Openshaw, and the heading 'Tragedy↩

Near Waterloo Bridge.' Here is the account:↩

↩

"Between nine and ten last night Police-Constable Cook, of the H↩

Division, on duty near Waterloo Bridge, heard a cry for help and↩

a splash in the water. The night, however, was extremely dark and↩

stormy, so that, in spite of the help of several passers-by, it↩

was quite impossible to effect a rescue. The alarm, however, was↩

given, and, by the aid of the water-police, the body was↩

eventually recovered. It proved to be that of a young gentleman↩

whose name, as it appears from an envelope which was found in his↩

pocket, was John Openshaw, and whose residence is near Horsham.↩

It is conjectured that he may have been hurrying down to catch↩

the last train from Waterloo Station, and that in his haste and↩

the extreme darkness he missed his path and walked over the edge↩

of one of the small landing-places for river steamboats. The body↩

exhibited no traces of violence, and there can be no doubt that↩

the deceased had been the victim of an unfortunate accident,↩

which should have the effect of calling the attention of the↩

authorities to the condition of the riverside landing-stages."↩

↩

We sat in silence for some minutes, Holmes more depressed and↩

shaken than I had ever seen him.↩

↩

"That hurts my pride, Watson," he said at last. "It is a petty↩

feeling, no doubt, but it hurts my pride. It becomes a personal↩

matter with me now, and, if God sends me health, I shall set my↩

hand upon this gang. That he should come to me for help, and that↩

I should send him away to his death--!" He sprang from his chair↩

and paced about the room in uncontrollable agitation, with a↩

flush upon his sallow cheeks and a nervous clasping and↩

unclasping of his long thin hands.↩

↩

"They must be cunning devils," he exclaimed at last. "How could↩

they have decoyed him down there? The Embankment is not on the↩

direct line to the station. The bridge, no doubt, was too↩

crowded, even on such a night, for their purpose. Well, Watson,↩

we shall see who will win in the long run. I am going out now!"↩

↩

"To the police?"↩

↩

"No; I shall be my own police. When I have spun the web they may↩

take the flies, but not before."↩

↩

All day I was engaged in my professional work, and it was late in↩

the evening before I returned to Baker Street. Sherlock Holmes↩

had not come back yet. It was nearly ten o'clock before he↩

entered, looking pale and worn. He walked up to the sideboard,↩

and tearing a piece from the loaf he devoured it voraciously,↩

washing it down with a long draught of water.↩

↩

"You are hungry," I remarked.↩

↩

"Starving. It had escaped my memory. I have had nothing since↩

breakfast."↩

↩

"Nothing?"↩

↩

"Not a bite. I had no time to think of it."↩

↩

"And how have you succeeded?"↩

↩

"Well."↩

↩

"You have a clue?"↩

↩

"I have them in the hollow of my hand. Young Openshaw shall not↩

long remain unavenged. Why, Watson, let us put their own devilish↩

trade-mark upon them. It is well thought of!"↩

↩

"What do you mean?"↩

↩

He took an orange from the cupboard, and tearing it to pieces he↩

squeezed out the pips upon the table. Of these he took five and↩

thrust them into an envelope. On the inside of the flap he wrote↩

"S. H. for J. O." Then he sealed it and addressed it to "Captain↩

James Calhoun, Barque 'Lone Star,' Savannah, Georgia."↩

↩

"That will await him when he enters port," said he, chuckling.↩

"It may give him a sleepless night. He will find it as sure a↩

precursor of his fate as Openshaw did before him."↩

↩

"And who is this Captain Calhoun?"↩

↩

"The leader of the gang. I shall have the others, but he first."↩

↩

"How did you trace it, then?"↩

↩

He took a large sheet of paper from his pocket, all covered with↩

dates and names.↩

↩

"I have spent the whole day," said he, "over Lloyd's registers↩

and files of the old papers, following the future career of every↩

vessel which touched at Pondicherry in January and February in↩

'83. There were thirty-six ships of fair tonnage which were↩

reported there during those months. Of these, one, the 'Lone Star,'↩

instantly attracted my attention, since, although it was reported↩

as having cleared from London, the name is that which is given to↩

one of the states of the Union."↩

↩

"Texas, I think."↩

↩

"I was not and am not sure which; but I knew that the ship must↩

have an American origin."↩

↩

"What then?"↩

↩

"I searched the Dundee records, and when I found that the barque↩

'Lone Star' was there in January, '85, my suspicion became a↩

certainty. I then inquired as to the vessels which lay at present↩

in the port of London."↩

↩

"Yes?"↩

↩

"The 'Lone Star' had arrived here last week. I went down to the↩

Albert Dock and found that she had been taken down the river by↩

the early tide this morning, homeward bound to Savannah. I wired↩

to Gravesend and learned that she had passed some time ago, and↩

as the wind is easterly I have no doubt that she is now past the↩

Goodwins and not very far from the Isle of Wight."↩

↩

"What will you do, then?"↩

↩

"Oh, I have my hand upon him. He and the two mates, are as I↩

learn, the only native-born Americans in the ship. The others are↩

Finns and Germans. I know, also, that they were all three away↩

from the ship last night. I had it from the stevedore who has↩

been loading their cargo. By the time that their sailing-ship↩

reaches Savannah the mail-boat will have carried this letter, and↩

the cable will have informed the police of Savannah that these↩

three gentlemen are badly wanted here upon a charge of murder."↩

↩

There is ever a flaw, however, in the best laid of human plans,↩

and the murderers of John Openshaw were never to receive the↩

orange pips which would show them that another, as cunning and as↩

resolute as themselves, was upon their track. Very long and very↩

severe were the equinoctial gales that year. We waited long for↩

news of the "Lone Star" of Savannah, but none ever reached us. We↩

did at last hear that somewhere far out in the Atlantic a↩

shattered stern-post of a boat was seen swinging in the trough↩

of a wave, with the letters "L. S." carved upon it, and that is↩

all which we shall ever know of the fate of the "Lone Star."↩

↩

↩

↩

ADVENTURE VI. THE MAN WITH THE TWISTED LIP↩

↩

Isa Whitney, brother of the late Elias Whitney, D.D., Principal↩

of the Theological College of St. George's, was much addicted to↩

opium. The habit grew upon him, as I understand, from some↩

foolish freak when he was at college; for having read De↩

Quincey's description of his dreams and sensations, he had↩

drenched his tobacco with laudanum in an attempt to produce the↩

same effects. He found, as so many more have done, that the↩

practice is easier to attain than to get rid of, and for many↩

years he continued to be a slave to the drug, an object of↩

mingled horror and pity to his friends and relatives. I can see↩

him now, with yellow, pasty face, drooping lids, and pin-point↩

pupils, all huddled in a chair, the wreck and ruin of a noble↩

man.↩

↩

One night--it was in June, '89--there came a ring to my bell,↩

about the hour when a man gives his first yawn and glances at the↩

clock. I sat up in my chair, and my wife laid her needle-work↩

down in her lap and made a little face of disappointment.↩

↩

"A patient!" said she. "You'll have to go out."↩

↩

I groaned, for I was newly come back from a weary day.↩

↩

We heard the door open, a few hurried words, and then quick steps↩

upon the linoleum. Our own door flew open, and a lady, clad in↩

some dark-coloured stuff, with a black veil, entered the room.↩

↩

"You will excuse my calling so late," she began, and then,↩

suddenly losing her self-control, she ran forward, threw her arms↩

about my wife's neck, and sobbed upon her shoulder. "Oh, I'm in↩

such trouble!" she cried; "I do so want a little help."↩

↩

"Why," said my wife, pulling up her veil, "it is Kate Whitney.↩

How you startled me, Kate! I had not an idea who you were when↩

you came in."↩

↩

"I didn't know what to do, so I came straight to you." That was↩

always the way. Folk who were in grief came to my wife like birds↩

to a light-house.↩

↩

"It was very sweet of you to come. Now, you must have some wine↩

and water, and sit here comfortably and tell us all about it. Or↩

should you rather that I sent James off to bed?"↩

↩

"Oh, no, no! I want the doctor's advice and help, too. It's about↩

Isa. He has not been home for two days. I am so frightened about↩

him!"↩

↩

It was not the first time that she had spoken to us of her↩

husband's trouble, to me as a doctor, to my wife as an old friend↩

and school companion. We soothed and comforted her by such words↩

as we could find. Did she know where her husband was? Was it↩

possible that we could bring him back to her?↩

↩

It seems that it was. She had the surest information that of late↩

he had, when the fit was on him, made use of an opium den in the↩

farthest east of the City. Hitherto his orgies had always been↩

confined to one day, and he had come back, twitching and↩

shattered, in the evening. But now the spell had been upon him↩

eight-and-forty hours, and he lay there, doubtless among the↩

dregs of the docks, breathing in the poison or sleeping off the↩

effects. There he was to be found, she was sure of it, at the Bar↩

of Gold, in Upper Swandam Lane. But what was she to do? How could↩

she, a young and timid woman, make her way into such a place and↩

pluck her husband out from among the ruffians who surrounded him?↩

↩

There was the case, and of course there was but one way out of↩

it. Might I not escort her to this place? And then, as a second↩

thought, why should she come at all? I was Isa Whitney's medical↩

adviser, and as such I had influence over him. I could manage it↩

better if I were alone. I promised her on my word that I would↩

send him home in a cab within two hours if he were indeed at the↩

address which she had given me. And so in ten minutes I had left↩

my armchair and cheery sitting-room behind me, and was speeding↩

eastward in a hansom on a strange errand, as it seemed to me at↩

the time, though the future only could show how strange it was to↩

be.↩

↩

But there was no great difficulty in the first stage of my↩

adventure. Upper Swandam Lane is a vile alley lurking behind the↩

high wharves which line the north side of the river to the east↩

of London Bridge. Between a slop-shop and a gin-shop, approached↩

by a steep flight of steps leading down to a black gap like the↩

mouth of a cave, I found the den of which I was in search.↩

Ordering my cab to wait, I passed down the steps, worn hollow in↩

the centre by the ceaseless tread of drunken feet; and by the↩

light of a flickering oil-lamp above the door I found the latch↩

and made my way into a long, low room, thick and heavy with the↩

brown opium smoke, and terraced with wooden berths, like the↩

forecastle of an emigrant ship.↩

↩

Through the gloom one could dimly catch a glimpse of bodies lying↩

in strange fantastic poses, bowed shoulders, bent knees, heads↩

thrown back, and chins pointing upward, with here and there a↩

dark, lack-lustre eye turned upon the newcomer. Out of the black↩

shadows there glimmered little red circles of light, now bright,↩

now faint, as the burning poison waxed or waned in the bowls of↩

the metal pipes. The most lay silent, but some muttered to↩

themselves, and others talked together in a strange, low,↩

monotonous voice, their conversation coming in gushes, and then↩

suddenly tailing off into silence, each mumbling out his own↩

thoughts and paying little heed to the words of his neighbour. At↩

the farther end was a small brazier of burning charcoal, beside↩

which on a three-legged wooden stool there sat a tall, thin old↩

man, with his jaw resting upon his two fists, and his elbows upon↩

his knees, staring into the fire.↩

↩

As I entered, a sallow Malay attendant had hurried up with a pipe↩

for me and a supply of the drug, beckoning me to an empty berth.↩

↩

"Thank you. I have not come to stay," said I. "There is a friend↩

of mine here, Mr. Isa Whitney, and I wish to speak with him."↩

↩

There was a movement and an exclamation from my right, and↩

peering through the gloom, I saw Whitney, pale, haggard, and↩

unkempt, staring out at me.↩

↩

"My God! It's Watson," said he. He was in a pitiable state of↩

reaction, with every nerve in a twitter. "I say, Watson, what↩

o'clock is it?"↩

↩

"Nearly eleven."↩

↩

"Of what day?"↩

↩

"Of Friday, June 19th."↩

↩

"Good heavens! I thought it was Wednesday. It is Wednesday. What↩

d'you want to frighten a chap for?" He sank his face onto his↩

arms and began to sob in a high treble key.↩

↩

"I tell you that it is Friday, man. Your wife has been waiting↩

this two days for you. You should be ashamed of yourself!"↩

↩

"So I am. But you've got mixed, Watson, for I have only been here↩

a few hours, three pipes, four pipes--I forget how many. But I'll↩

go home with you. I wouldn't frighten Kate--poor little Kate.↩

Give me your hand! Have you a cab?"↩

↩

"Yes, I have one waiting."↩

↩

"Then I shall go in it. But I must owe something. Find what I↩

owe, Watson. I am all off colour. I can do nothing for myself."↩

↩

I walked down the narrow passage between the double row of↩

sleepers, holding my breath to keep out the vile, stupefying↩

fumes of the drug, and looking about for the manager. As I passed↩

the tall man who sat by the brazier I felt a sudden pluck at my↩

skirt, and a low voice whispered, "Walk past me, and then look↩

back at me." The words fell quite distinctly upon my ear. I↩

glanced down. They could only have come from the old man at my↩

side, and yet he sat now as absorbed as ever, very thin, very↩

wrinkled, bent with age, an opium pipe dangling down from between↩

his knees, as though it had dropped in sheer lassitude from his↩

fingers. I took two steps forward and looked back. It took all my↩

self-control to prevent me from breaking out into a cry of↩

astonishment. He had turned his back so that none could see him↩

but I. His form had filled out, his wrinkles were gone, the dull↩

eyes had regained their fire, and there, sitting by the fire and↩

grinning at my surprise, was none other than Sherlock Holmes. He↩

made a slight motion to me to approach him, and instantly, as he↩

turned his face half round to the company once more, subsided↩

into a doddering, loose-lipped senility.↩

↩

"Holmes!" I whispered, "what on earth are you doing in this den?"↩

↩

"As low as you can," he answered; "I have excellent ears. If you↩

would have the great kindness to get rid of that sottish friend↩

of yours I should be exceedingly glad to have a little talk with↩

you."↩

↩

"I have a cab outside."↩

↩

"Then pray send him home in it. You may safely trust him, for he↩

appears to be too limp to get into any mischief. I should↩

recommend you also to send a note by the cabman to your wife to↩

say that you have thrown in your lot with me. If you will wait↩

outside, I shall be with you in five minutes."↩

↩

It was difficult to refuse any of Sherlock Holmes' requests, for↩

they were always so exceedingly definite, and put forward with↩

such a quiet air of mastery. I felt, however, that when Whitney↩

was once confined in the cab my mission was practically↩

accomplished; and for the rest, I could not wish anything better↩

than to be associated with my friend in one of those singular↩

adventures which were the normal condition of his existence. In a↩

few minutes I had written my note, paid Whitney's bill, led him↩

out to the cab, and seen him driven through the darkness. In a↩

very short time a decrepit figure had emerged from the opium den,↩

and I was walking down the street with Sherlock Holmes. For two↩

streets he shuffled along with a bent back and an uncertain foot.↩

Then, glancing quickly round, he straightened himself out and↩

burst into a hearty fit of laughter.↩

↩

"I suppose, Watson," said he, "that you imagine that I have added↩

opium-smoking to cocaine injections, and all the other little↩

weaknesses on which you have favoured me with your medical↩

views."↩

↩

"I was certainly surprised to find you there."↩

↩

"But not more so than I to find you."↩

↩

"I came to find a friend."↩

↩

"And I to find an enemy."↩

↩

"An enemy?"↩

↩

"Yes; one of my natural enemies, or, shall I say, my natural↩

prey. Briefly, Watson, I am in the midst of a very remarkable↩

inquiry, and I have hoped to find a clue in the incoherent↩

ramblings of these sots, as I have done before now. Had I been↩

recognised in that den my life would not have been worth an↩

hour's purchase; for I have used it before now for my own↩

purposes, and the rascally Lascar who runs it has sworn to have↩

vengeance upon me. There is a trap-door at the back of that↩

building, near the corner of Paul's Wharf, which could tell some↩

strange tales of what has passed through it upon the moonless↩

nights."↩

↩

"What! You do not mean bodies?"↩

↩

"Ay, bodies, Watson. We should be rich men if we had 1000 pounds↩

for every poor devil who has been done to death in that den. It↩

is the vilest murder-trap on the whole riverside, and I fear that↩

Neville St. Clair has entered it never to leave it more. But our↩

trap should be here." He put his two forefingers between his↩

teeth and whistled shrilly--a signal which was answered by a↩

similar whistle from the distance, followed shortly by the rattle↩

of wheels and the clink of horses' hoofs.↩

↩

"Now, Watson," said Holmes, as a tall dog-cart dashed up through↩

the gloom, throwing out two golden tunnels of yellow light from↩

its side lanterns. "You'll come with me, won't you?"↩

↩

"If I can be of use."↩

↩

"Oh, a trusty comrade is always of use; and a chronicler still↩

more so. My room at The Cedars is a double-bedded one."↩

↩

"The Cedars?"↩

↩

"Yes; that is Mr. St. Clair's house. I am staying there while I↩

conduct the inquiry."↩

↩

"Where is it, then?"↩

↩

"Near Lee, in Kent. We have a seven-mile drive before us."↩

↩

"But I am all in the dark."↩

↩

"Of course you are. You'll know all about it presently. Jump up↩

here. All right, John; we shall not need you. Here's half a↩

crown. Look out for me to-morrow, about eleven. Give her her↩

head. So long, then!"↩

↩

He flicked the horse with his whip, and we dashed away through↩

the endless succession of sombre and deserted streets, which↩

widened gradually, until we were flying across a broad↩

balustraded bridge, with the murky river flowing sluggishly↩

beneath us. Beyond lay another dull wilderness of bricks and↩

mortar, its silence broken only by the heavy, regular footfall of↩

the policeman, or the songs and shouts of some belated party of↩

revellers. A dull wrack was drifting slowly across the sky, and a↩

star or two twinkled dimly here and there through the rifts of↩

the clouds. Holmes drove in silence, with his head sunk upon his↩

breast, and the air of a man who is lost in thought, while I sat↩

beside him, curious to learn what this new quest might be which↩

seemed to tax his powers so sorely, and yet afraid to break in↩

upon the current of his thoughts. We had driven several miles,↩

and were beginning to get to the fringe of the belt of suburban↩

villas, when he shook himself, shrugged his shoulders, and lit up↩

his pipe with the air of a man who has satisfied himself that he↩

is acting for the best.↩

↩

"You have a grand gift of silence, Watson," said he. "It makes↩

you quite invaluable as a companion. 'Pon my word, it is a great↩

thing for me to have someone to talk to, for my own thoughts are↩

not over-pleasant. I was wondering what I should say to this dear↩

little woman to-night when she meets me at the door."↩

↩

"You forget that I know nothing about it."↩

↩

"I shall just have time to tell you the facts of the case before↩

we get to Lee. It seems absurdly simple, and yet, somehow I can↩

get nothing to go upon. There's plenty of thread, no doubt, but I↩

can't get the end of it into my hand. Now, I'll state the case↩

clearly and concisely to you, Watson, and maybe you can see a↩

spark where all is dark to me."↩

↩

"Proceed, then."↩

↩

"Some years ago--to be definite, in May, 1884--there came to Lee↩

a gentleman, Neville St. Clair by name, who appeared to have↩

plenty of money. He took a large villa, laid out the grounds very↩

nicely, and lived generally in good style. By degrees he made↩

friends in the neighbourhood, and in 1887 he married the daughter↩

of a local brewer, by whom he now has two children. He had no↩

occupation, but was interested in several companies and went into↩

town as a rule in the morning, returning by the 5:14 from Cannon↩

Street every night. Mr. St. Clair is now thirty-seven years of↩

age, is a man of temperate habits, a good husband, a very↩

affectionate father, and a man who is popular with all who know↩

him. I may add that his whole debts at the present moment, as far↩

as we have been able to ascertain, amount to 88 pounds 10s., while↩

he has 220 pounds standing to his credit in the Capital and↩

Counties Bank. There is no reason, therefore, to think that money↩

troubles have been weighing upon his mind.↩

↩

"Last Monday Mr. Neville St. Clair went into town rather earlier↩

than usual, remarking before he started that he had two important↩

commissions to perform, and that he would bring his little boy↩

home a box of bricks. Now, by the merest chance, his wife↩

received a telegram upon this same Monday, very shortly after his↩

departure, to the effect that a small parcel of considerable↩

value which she had been expecting was waiting for her at the↩

offices of the Aberdeen Shipping Company. Now, if you are well up↩

in your London, you will know that the office of the company is↩

in Fresno Street, which branches out of Upper Swandam Lane, where↩

you found me to-night. Mrs. St. Clair had her lunch, started for↩

the City, did some shopping, proceeded to the company's office,↩

got her packet, and found herself at exactly 4:35 walking through↩

Swandam Lane on her way back to the station. Have you followed me↩

so far?"↩

↩

"It is very clear."↩

↩

"If you remember, Monday was an exceedingly hot day, and Mrs. St.↩

Clair walked slowly, glancing about in the hope of seeing a cab,↩

as she did not like the neighbourhood in which she found herself.↩

While she was walking in this way down Swandam Lane, she suddenly↩

heard an ejaculation or cry, and was struck cold to see her↩

husband looking down at her and, as it seemed to her, beckoning↩

to her from a second-floor window. The window was open, and she↩

distinctly saw his face, which she describes as being terribly↩

agitated. He waved his hands frantically to her, and then↩

vanished from the window so suddenly that it seemed to her that↩

he had been plucked back by some irresistible force from behind.↩

One singular point which struck her quick feminine eye was that↩

although he wore some dark coat, such as he had started to town↩

in, he had on neither collar nor necktie.↩

↩

"Convinced that something was amiss with him, she rushed down the↩

steps--for the house was none other than the opium den in which↩

you found me to-night--and running through the front room she↩

attempted to ascend the stairs which led to the first floor. At↩

the foot of the stairs, however, she met this Lascar scoundrel of↩

whom I have spoken, who thrust her back and, aided by a Dane, who↩

acts as assistant there, pushed her out into the street. Filled↩

with the most maddening doubts and fears, she rushed down the↩

lane and, by rare good-fortune, met in Fresno Street a number of↩

constables with an inspector, all on their way to their beat. The↩

inspector and two men accompanied her back, and in spite of the↩

continued resistance of the proprietor, they made their way to↩

the room in which Mr. St. Clair had last been seen. There was no↩

sign of him there. In fact, in the whole of that floor there was↩

no one to be found save a crippled wretch of hideous aspect, who,↩

it seems, made his home there. Both he and the Lascar stoutly↩

swore that no one else had been in the front room during the↩

afternoon. So determined was their denial that the inspector was↩

staggered, and had almost come to believe that Mrs. St. Clair had↩

been deluded when, with a cry, she sprang at a small deal box↩

which lay upon the table and tore the lid from it. Out there fell↩

a cascade of children's bricks. It was the toy which he had↩

promised to bring home.↩

↩

"This discovery, and the evident confusion which the cripple↩

showed, made the inspector realise that the matter was serious.↩

The rooms were carefully examined, and results all pointed to an↩

abominable crime. The front room was plainly furnished as a↩

sitting-room and led into a small bedroom, which looked out upon↩

the back of one of the wharves. Between the wharf and the bedroom↩

window is a narrow strip, which is dry at low tide but is covered↩

at high tide with at least four and a half feet of water. The↩

bedroom window was a broad one and opened from below. On↩

examination traces of blood were to be seen upon the windowsill,↩

and several scattered drops were visible upon the wooden floor of↩

the bedroom. Thrust away behind a curtain in the front room were↩

all the clothes of Mr. Neville St. Clair, with the exception of↩

his coat. His boots, his socks, his hat, and his watch--all were↩

there. There were no signs of violence upon any of these↩

garments, and there were no other traces of Mr. Neville St.↩

Clair. Out of the window he must apparently have gone for no↩

other exit could be discovered, and the ominous bloodstains upon↩

the sill gave little promise that he could save himself by↩

swimming, for the tide was at its very highest at the moment of↩

the tragedy.↩

↩

"And now as to the villains who seemed to be immediately↩

implicated in the matter. The Lascar was known to be a man of the↩

vilest antecedents, but as, by Mrs. St. Clair's story, he was↩

known to have been at the foot of the stair within a very few↩

seconds of her husband's appearance at the window, he could↩

hardly have been more than an accessory to the crime. His defence↩

was one of absolute ignorance, and he protested that he had no↩

knowledge as to the doings of Hugh Boone, his lodger, and that he↩

could not account in any way for the presence of the missing↩

gentleman's clothes.↩

↩

"So much for the Lascar manager. Now for the sinister cripple who↩

lives upon the second floor of the opium den, and who was↩

certainly the last human being whose eyes rested upon Neville St.↩

Clair. His name is Hugh Boone, and his hideous face is one which↩

is familiar to every man who goes much to the City. He is a↩

professional beggar, though in order to avoid the police↩

regulations he pretends to a small trade in wax vestas. Some↩

little distance down Threadneedle Street, upon the left-hand↩

side, there is, as you may have remarked, a small angle in the↩

wall. Here it is that this creature takes his daily seat,↩

cross-legged with his tiny stock of matches on his lap, and as he↩

is a piteous spectacle a small rain of charity descends into the↩

greasy leather cap which lies upon the pavement beside him. I↩

have watched the fellow more than once before ever I thought of↩

making his professional acquaintance, and I have been surprised↩

at the harvest which he has reaped in a short time. His↩

appearance, you see, is so remarkable that no one can pass him↩

without observing him. A shock of orange hair, a pale face↩

disfigured by a horrible scar, which, by its contraction, has↩

turned up the outer edge of his upper lip, a bulldog chin, and a↩

pair of very penetrating dark eyes, which present a singular↩

contrast to the colour of his hair, all mark him out from amid↩

the common crowd of mendicants and so, too, does his wit, for he↩

is ever ready with a reply to any piece of chaff which may be↩

thrown at him by the passers-by. This is the man whom we now↩

learn to have been the lodger at the opium den, and to have been↩

the last man to see the gentleman of whom we are in quest."↩

↩

"But a cripple!" said I. "What could he have done single-handed↩

against a man in the prime of life?"↩

↩

"He is a cripple in the sense that he walks with a limp; but in↩

other respects he appears to be a powerful and well-nurtured man.↩

Surely your medical experience would tell you, Watson, that↩

weakness in one limb is often compensated for by exceptional↩

strength in the others."↩

↩

"Pray continue your narrative."↩

↩

"Mrs. St. Clair had fainted at the sight of the blood upon the↩

window, and she was escorted home in a cab by the police, as her↩

presence could be of no help to them in their investigations.↩

Inspector Barton, who had charge of the case, made a very careful↩

examination of the premises, but without finding anything which↩

threw any light upon the matter. One mistake had been made in not↩

arresting Boone instantly, as he was allowed some few minutes↩

during which he might have communicated with his friend the↩

Lascar, but this fault was soon remedied, and he was seized and↩

searched, without anything being found which could incriminate↩

him. There were, it is true, some blood-stains upon his right↩

shirt-sleeve, but he pointed to his ring-finger, which had been↩

cut near the nail, and explained that the bleeding came from↩

there, adding that he had been to the window not long before, and↩

that the stains which had been observed there came doubtless from↩

the same source. He denied strenuously having ever seen Mr.↩

Neville St. Clair and swore that the presence of the clothes in↩

his room was as much a mystery to him as to the police. As to↩

Mrs. St. Clair's assertion that she had actually seen her husband↩

at the window, he declared that she must have been either mad or↩

dreaming. He was removed, loudly protesting, to the↩

police-station, while the inspector remained upon the premises in↩

the hope that the ebbing tide might afford some fresh clue.↩

↩

"And it did, though they hardly found upon the mud-bank what they↩

had feared to find. It was Neville St. Clair's coat, and not↩

Neville St. Clair, which lay uncovered as the tide receded. And↩

what do you think they found in the pockets?"↩

↩

"I cannot imagine."↩

↩

"No, I don't think you would guess. Every pocket stuffed with↩

pennies and half-pennies--421 pennies and 270 half-pennies. It↩

was no wonder that it had not been swept away by the tide. But a↩

human body is a different matter. There is a fierce eddy between↩

the wharf and the house. It seemed likely enough that the↩

weighted coat had remained when the stripped body had been sucked↩

away into the river."↩

↩

"But I understand that all the other clothes were found in the↩

room. Would the body be dressed in a coat alone?"↩

↩

"No, sir, but the facts might be met speciously enough. Suppose↩

that this man Boone had thrust Neville St. Clair through the↩

window, there is no human eye which could have seen the deed.↩

What would he do then? It would of course instantly strike him↩

that he must get rid of the tell-tale garments. He would seize↩

the coat, then, and be in the act of throwing it out, when it↩

would occur to him that it would swim and not sink. He has little↩

time, for he has heard the scuffle downstairs when the wife tried↩

to force her way up, and perhaps he has already heard from his↩

Lascar confederate that the police are hurrying up the street.↩

There is not an instant to be lost. He rushes to some secret↩

hoard, where he has accumulated the fruits of his beggary, and he↩

stuffs all the coins upon which he can lay his hands into the↩

pockets to make sure of the coat's sinking. He throws it out, and↩

would have done the same with the other garments had not he heard↩

the rush of steps below, and only just had time to close the↩

window when the police appeared."↩

↩

"It certainly sounds feasible."↩

↩

"Well, we will take it as a working hypothesis for want of a↩

better. Boone, as I have told you, was arrested and taken to the↩

station, but it could not be shown that there had ever before↩

been anything against him. He had for years been known as a↩

professional beggar, but his life appeared to have been a very↩

quiet and innocent one. There the matter stands at present, and↩

the questions which have to be solved--what Neville St. Clair was↩

doing in the opium den, what happened to him when there, where is↩

he now, and what Hugh Boone had to do with his disappearance--are↩

all as far from a solution as ever. I confess that I cannot↩

recall any case within my experience which looked at the first↩

glance so simple and yet which presented such difficulties."↩

↩

While Sherlock Holmes had been detailing this singular series of↩

events, we had been whirling through the outskirts of the great↩

town until the last straggling houses had been left behind, and↩

we rattled along with a country hedge upon either side of us.↩

Just as he finished, however, we drove through two scattered↩

villages, where a few lights still glimmered in the windows.↩

↩

"We are on the outskirts of Lee," said my companion. "We have↩

touched on three English counties in our short drive, starting in↩

Middlesex, passing over an angle of Surrey, and ending in Kent.↩

See that light among the trees? That is The Cedars, and beside↩

that lamp sits a woman whose anxious ears have already, I have↩

little doubt, caught the clink of our horse's feet."↩

↩

"But why are you not conducting the case from Baker Street?" I↩

asked.↩

↩

"Because there are many inquiries which must be made out here.↩

Mrs. St. Clair has most kindly put two rooms at my disposal, and↩

you may rest assured that she will have nothing but a welcome for↩

my friend and colleague. I hate to meet her, Watson, when I have↩

no news of her husband. Here we are. Whoa, there, whoa!"↩

↩

We had pulled up in front of a large villa which stood within its↩

own grounds. A stable-boy had run out to the horse's head, and↩

springing down, I followed Holmes up the small, winding↩

gravel-drive which led to the house. As we approached, the door↩

flew open, and a little blonde woman stood in the opening, clad↩

in some sort of light mousseline de soie, with a touch of fluffy↩

pink chiffon at her neck and wrists. She stood with her figure↩

outlined against the flood of light, one hand upon the door, one↩

half-raised in her eagerness, her body slightly bent, her head↩

and face protruded, with eager eyes and parted lips, a standing↩

question.↩

↩

"Well?" she cried, "well?" And then, seeing that there were two↩

of us, she gave a cry of hope which sank into a groan as she saw↩

that my companion shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.↩

↩

"No good news?"↩

↩

"None."↩

↩

"No bad?"↩

↩

"No."↩

↩

"Thank God for that. But come in. You must be weary, for you have↩

had a long day."↩

↩

"This is my friend, Dr. Watson. He has been of most vital use to↩

me in several of my cases, and a lucky chance has made it↩

possible for me to bring him out and associate him with this↩

investigation."↩

↩

"I am delighted to see you," said she, pressing my hand warmly.↩

"You will, I am sure, forgive anything that may be wanting in our↩

arrangements, when you consider the blow which has come so↩

suddenly upon us."↩

↩

"My dear madam," said I, "I am an old campaigner, and if I were↩

not I can very well see that no apology is needed. If I can be of↩

any assistance, either to you or to my friend here, I shall be↩

indeed happy."↩

↩

"Now, Mr. Sherlock Holmes," said the lady as we entered a↩

well-lit dining-room, upon the table of which a cold supper had↩

been laid out, "I should very much like to ask you one or two↩

plain questions, to which I beg that you will give a plain↩

answer."↩

↩

"Certainly, madam."↩

↩

"Do not trouble about my feelings. I am not hysterical, nor given↩

to fainting. I simply wish to hear your real, real opinion."↩

↩

"Upon what point?"↩

↩

"In your heart of hearts, do you think that Neville is alive?"↩

↩

Sherlock Holmes seemed to be embarrassed by the question.↩

"Frankly, now!" she repeated, standing upon the rug and looking↩

keenly down at him as he leaned back in a basket-chair.↩

↩

"Frankly, then, madam, I do not."↩

↩

"You think that he is dead?"↩

↩

"I do."↩

↩

"Murdered?"↩

↩

"I don't say that. Perhaps."↩

↩

"And on what day did he meet his death?"↩

↩

"On Monday."↩

↩

"Then perhaps, Mr. Holmes, you will be good enough to explain how↩

it is that I have received a letter from him to-day."↩

↩

Sherlock Holmes sprang out of his chair as if he had been↩

galvanised.↩

↩

"What!" he roared.↩

↩

"Yes, to-day." She stood smiling, holding up a little slip of↩

paper in the air.↩

↩

"May I see it?"↩

↩

"Certainly."↩

↩

He snatched it from her in his eagerness, and smoothing it out↩

upon the table he drew over the lamp and examined it intently. I↩

had left my chair and was gazing at it over his shoulder. The↩

envelope was a very coarse one and was stamped with the Gravesend↩

postmark and with the date of that very day, or rather of the day↩

before, for it was considerably after midnight.↩

↩

"Coarse writing," murmured Holmes. "Surely this is not your↩

husband's writing, madam."↩

↩

"No, but the enclosure is."↩

↩

"I perceive also that whoever addressed the envelope had to go↩

and inquire as to the address."↩

↩

"How can you tell that?"↩

↩

"The name, you see, is in perfectly black ink, which has dried↩

itself. The rest is of the greyish colour, which shows that↩

blotting-paper has been used. If it had been written straight↩

off, and then blotted, none would be of a deep black shade. This↩

man has written the name, and there has then been a pause before↩

he wrote the address, which can only mean that he was not↩

familiar with it. It is, of course, a trifle, but there is↩

nothing so important as trifles. Let us now see the letter. Ha!↩

there has been an enclosure here!"↩

↩

"Yes, there was a ring. His signet-ring."↩

↩

"And you are sure that this is your husband's hand?"↩

↩

"One of his hands."↩

↩

"One?"↩

↩

"His hand when he wrote hurriedly. It is very unlike his usual↩

writing, and yet I know it well."↩

↩

"'Dearest do not be frightened. All will come well. There is a↩

huge error which it may take some little time to rectify.↩

Wait in patience.--NEVILLE.' Written in pencil upon the fly-leaf↩

of a book, octavo size, no water-mark. Hum! Posted to-day in↩

Gravesend by a man with a dirty thumb. Ha! And the flap has been↩

gummed, if I am not very much in error, by a person who had been↩

chewing tobacco. And you have no doubt that it is your husband's↩

hand, madam?"↩

↩

"None. Neville wrote those words."↩

↩

"And they were posted to-day at Gravesend. Well, Mrs. St. Clair,↩

the clouds lighten, though I should not venture to say that the↩

danger is over."↩

↩

"But he must be alive, Mr. Holmes."↩

↩

"Unless this is a clever forgery to put us on the wrong scent.↩

The ring, after all, proves nothing. It may have been taken from↩

him."↩

↩

"No, no; it is, it is his very own writing!"↩

↩

"Very well. It may, however, have been written on Monday and only↩

posted to-day."↩

↩

"That is possible."↩

↩

"If so, much may have happened between."↩

↩

"Oh, you must not discourage me, Mr. Holmes. I know that all is↩

well with him. There is so keen a sympathy between us that I↩

should know if evil came upon him. On the very day that I saw him↩

last he cut himself in the bedroom, and yet I in the dining-room↩

rushed upstairs instantly with the utmost certainty that↩

something had happened. Do you think that I would respond to such↩

a trifle and yet be ignorant of his death?"↩

↩

"I have seen too much not to know that the impression of a woman↩

may be more valuable than the conclusion of an analytical↩

reasoner. And in this letter you certainly have a very strong↩

piece of evidence to corroborate your view. But if your husband↩

is alive and able to write letters, why should he remain away↩

from you?"↩

↩

"I cannot imagine. It is unthinkable."↩

↩

"And on Monday he made no remarks before leaving you?"↩

↩

"No."↩

↩

"And you were surprised to see him in Swandam Lane?"↩

↩

"Very much so."↩

↩

"Was the window open?"↩

↩

"Yes."↩

↩

"Then he might have called to you?"↩

↩

"He might."↩

↩

"He only, as I understand, gave an inarticulate cry?"↩

↩

"Yes."↩

↩

"A call for help, you thought?"↩

↩

"Yes. He waved his hands."↩

↩

"But it might have been a cry of surprise. Astonishment at the↩

unexpected sight of you might cause him to throw up his hands?"↩

↩

"It is possible."↩

↩

"And you thought he was pulled back?"↩

↩

"He disappeared so suddenly."↩

↩

"He might have leaped back. You did not see anyone else in the↩

room?"↩

↩

"No, but this horrible man confessed to having been there, and↩

the Lascar was at the foot of the stairs."↩

↩

"Quite so. Your husband, as far as you could see, had his↩

ordinary clothes on?"↩

↩

"But without his collar or tie. I distinctly saw his bare↩

throat."↩

↩

"Had he ever spoken of Swandam Lane?"↩

↩

"Never."↩

↩

"Had he ever showed any signs of having taken opium?"↩

↩

"Never."↩

↩

"Thank you, Mrs. St. Clair. Those are the principal points about↩

which I wished to be absolutely clear. We shall now have a little↩

supper and then retire, for we may have a very busy day↩

to-morrow."↩

↩

A large and comfortable double-bedded room had been placed at our↩

disposal, and I was quickly between the sheets, for I was weary↩

after my night of adventure. Sherlock Holmes was a man, however,↩

who, when he had an unsolved problem upon his mind, would go for↩

days, and even for a week, without rest, turning it over,↩

rearranging his facts, looking at it from every point of view↩

until he had either fathomed it or convinced himself that his↩

data were insufficient. It was soon evident to me that he was now↩

preparing for an all-night sitting. He took off his coat and↩

waistcoat, put on a large blue dressing-gown, and then wandered↩

about the room collecting pillows from his bed and cushions from↩

the sofa and armchairs. With these he constructed a sort of↩

Eastern divan, upon which he perched himself cross-legged, with↩

an ounce of shag tobacco and a box of matches laid out in front↩

of him. In the dim light of the lamp I saw him sitting there, an↩

old briar pipe between his lips, his eyes fixed vacantly upon the↩

corner of the ceiling, the blue smoke curling up from him,↩

silent, motionless, with the light shining upon his strong-set↩

aquiline features. So he sat as I dropped off to sleep, and so he↩

sat when a sudden ejaculation caused me to wake up, and I found↩

the summer sun shining into the apartment. The pipe was still↩

between his lips, the smoke still curled upward, and the room was↩

full of a dense tobacco haze, but nothing remained of the heap of↩

shag which I had seen upon the previous night.↩

↩

"Awake, Watson?" he asked.↩

↩

"Yes."↩

↩

"Game for a morning drive?"↩

↩

"Certainly."↩

↩

"Then dress. No one is stirring yet, but I know where the↩

stable-boy sleeps, and we shall soon have the trap out." He↩

chuckled to himself as he spoke, his eyes twinkled, and he seemed↩

a different man to the sombre thinker of the previous night.↩

↩

As I dressed I glanced at my watch. It was no wonder that no one↩

was stirring. It was twenty-five minutes past four. I had hardly↩

finished when Holmes returned with the news that the boy was↩

putting in the horse.↩

↩

"I want to test a little theory of mine," said he, pulling on his↩

boots. "I think, Watson, that you are now standing in the↩

presence of one of the most absolute fools in Europe. I deserve↩

to be kicked from here to Charing Cross. But I think I have the↩

key of the affair now."↩

↩

"And where is it?" I asked, smiling.↩

↩

"In the bathroom," he answered. "Oh, yes, I am not joking," he↩

continued, seeing my look of incredulity. "I have just been↩

there, and I have taken it out, and I have got it in this↩

Gladstone bag. Come on, my boy, and we shall see whether it will↩

not fit the lock."↩

↩

We made our way downstairs as quietly as possible, and out into↩

the bright morning sunshine. In the road stood our horse and↩

trap, with the half-clad stable-boy waiting at the head. We both↩

sprang in, and away we dashed down the London Road. A few country↩

carts were stirring, bearing in vegetables to the metropolis, but↩

the lines of villas on either side were as silent and lifeless as↩

some city in a dream.↩

↩

"It has been in some points a singular case," said Holmes,↩

flicking the horse on into a gallop. "I confess that I have been↩

as blind as a mole, but it is better to learn wisdom late than↩

never to learn it at all."↩

↩

In town the earliest risers were just beginning to look sleepily↩

from their windows as we drove through the streets of the Surrey↩

side. Passing down the Waterloo Bridge Road we crossed over the↩

river, and dashing up Wellington Street wheeled sharply to the↩

right and found ourselves in Bow Street. Sherlock Holmes was well↩

known to the force, and the two constables at the door saluted↩

him. One of them held the horse's head while the other led us in.↩

↩

"Who is on duty?" asked Holmes.↩

↩

"Inspector Bradstreet, sir."↩

↩

"Ah, Bradstreet, how are you?" A tall, stout official had come↩

down the stone-flagged passage, in a peaked cap and frogged↩

jacket. "I wish to have a quiet word with you, Bradstreet."↩

"Certainly, Mr. Holmes. Step into my room here." It was a small,↩

office-like room, with a huge ledger upon the table, and a↩

telephone projecting from the wall. The inspector sat down at his↩

desk.↩

↩

"What can I do for you, Mr. Holmes?"↩

↩

"I called about that beggarman, Boone--the one who was charged↩

with being concerned in the disappearance of Mr. Neville St.↩

Clair, of Lee."↩

↩

"Yes. He was brought up and remanded for further inquiries."↩

↩

"So I heard. You have him here?"↩

↩

"In the cells."↩

↩

"Is he quiet?"↩

↩

"Oh, he gives no trouble. But he is a dirty scoundrel."↩

↩

"Dirty?"↩

↩

"Yes, it is all we can do to make him wash his hands, and his↩

face is as black as a tinker's. Well, when once his case has been↩

settled, he will have a regular prison bath; and I think, if you↩

saw him, you would agree with me that he needed it."↩

↩

"I should like to see him very much."↩

↩

"Would you? That is easily done. Come this way. You can leave↩

your bag."↩

↩

"No, I think that I'll take it."↩

↩

"Very good. Come this way, if you please." He led us down a↩

passage, opened a barred door, passed down a winding stair, and↩

brought us to a whitewashed corridor with a line of doors on each↩

side.↩

↩

"The third on the right is his," said the inspector. "Here it↩

is!" He quietly shot back a panel in the upper part of the door↩

and glanced through.↩

↩

"He is asleep," said he. "You can see him very well."↩

↩

We both put our eyes to the grating. The prisoner lay with his↩

face towards us, in a very deep sleep, breathing slowly and↩

heavily. He was a middle-sized man, coarsely clad as became his↩

calling, with a coloured shirt protruding through the rent in his↩

tattered coat. He was, as the inspector had said, extremely↩

dirty, but the grime which covered his face could not conceal its↩

repulsive ugliness. A broad wheal from an old scar ran right↩

across it from eye to chin, and by its contraction had turned up↩

one side of the upper lip, so that three teeth were exposed in a↩

perpetual snarl. A shock of very bright red hair grew low over↩

his eyes and forehead.↩

↩

"He's a beauty, isn't he?" said the inspector.↩

↩

"He certainly needs a wash," remarked Holmes. "I had an idea that↩

he might, and I took the liberty of bringing the tools with me."↩

He opened the Gladstone bag as he spoke, and took out, to my↩

astonishment, a very large bath-sponge.↩

↩

"He! he! You are a funny one," chuckled the inspector.↩

↩

"Now, if you will have the great goodness to open that door very↩

quietly, we will soon make him cut a much more respectable↩

figure."↩

↩

"Well, I don't know why not," said the inspector. "He doesn't↩

look a credit to the Bow Street cells, does he?" He slipped his↩

key into the lock, and we all very quietly entered the cell. The↩

sleeper half turned, and then settled down once more into a deep↩

slumber. Holmes stooped to the water-jug, moistened his sponge,↩

and then rubbed it twice vigorously across and down the↩

prisoner's face.↩

↩

"Let me introduce you," he shouted, "to Mr. Neville St. Clair, of↩

Lee, in the county of Kent."↩

↩

Never in my life have I seen such a sight. The man's face peeled↩

off under the sponge like the bark from a tree. Gone was the↩

coarse brown tint! Gone, too, was the horrid scar which had↩

seamed it across, and the twisted lip which had given the↩

repulsive sneer to the face! A twitch brought away the tangled↩

red hair, and there, sitting up in his bed, was a pale,↩

sad-faced, refined-looking man, black-haired and smooth-skinned,↩

rubbing his eyes and staring about him with sleepy bewilderment.↩

Then suddenly realising the exposure, he broke into a scream and↩

threw himself down with his face to the pillow.↩

↩

"Great heavens!" cried the inspector, "it is, indeed, the missing↩

man. I know him from the photograph."↩

↩

The prisoner turned with the reckless air of a man who abandons↩

himself to his destiny. "Be it so," said he. "And pray what am I↩

charged with?"↩

↩

"With making away with Mr. Neville St.-- Oh, come, you can't be↩

charged with that unless they make a case of attempted suicide of↩

it," said the inspector with a grin. "Well, I have been↩

twenty-seven years in the force, but this really takes the cake."↩

↩

"If I am Mr. Neville St. Clair, then it is obvious that no crime↩

has been committed, and that, therefore, I am illegally↩

detained."↩

↩

"No crime, but a very great error has been committed," said↩

Holmes. "You would have done better to have trusted your wife."↩

↩

"It was not the wife; it was the children," groaned the prisoner.↩

"God help me, I would not have them ashamed of their father. My↩

God! What an exposure! What can I do?"↩

↩

Sherlock Holmes sat down beside him on the couch and patted him↩

kindly on the shoulder.↩

↩

"If you leave it to a court of law to clear the matter up," said↩

he, "of course you can hardly avoid publicity. On the other hand,↩

if you convince the police authorities that there is no possible↩

case against you, I do not know that there is any reason that the↩

details should find their way into the papers. Inspector↩

Bradstreet would, I am sure, make notes upon anything which you↩

might tell us and submit it to the proper authorities. The case↩

would then never go into court at all."↩

↩

"God bless you!" cried the prisoner passionately. "I would have↩

endured imprisonment, ay, even execution, rather than have left↩

my miserable secret as a family blot to my children.↩

↩

"You are the first who have ever heard my story. My father was a↩

schoolmaster in Chesterfield, where I received an excellent↩

education. I travelled in my youth, took to the stage, and↩

finally became a reporter on an evening paper in London. One day↩

my editor wished to have a series of articles upon begging in the↩

metropolis, and I volunteered to supply them. There was the point↩

from which all my adventures started. It was only by trying↩

begging as an amateur that I could get the facts upon which to↩

base my articles. When an actor I had, of course, learned all the↩

secrets of making up, and had been famous in the green-room for↩

my skill. I took advantage now of my attainments. I painted my↩

face, and to make myself as pitiable as possible I made a good↩

scar and fixed one side of my lip in a twist by the aid of a↩

small slip of flesh-coloured plaster. Then with a red head of↩

hair, and an appropriate dress, I took my station in the business↩

part of the city, ostensibly as a match-seller but really as a↩

beggar. For seven hours I plied my trade, and when I returned↩

home in the evening I found to my surprise that I had received no↩

less than 26s. 4d.↩

↩

"I wrote my articles and thought little more of the matter until,↩

some time later, I backed a bill for a friend and had a writ↩

served upon me for 25 pounds. I was at my wit's end where to get↩

the money, but a sudden idea came to me. I begged a fortnight's↩

grace from the creditor, asked for a holiday from my employers,↩

and spent the time in begging in the City under my disguise. In↩

ten days I had the money and had paid the debt.↩

↩

"Well, you can imagine how hard it was to settle down to arduous↩

work at 2 pounds a week when I knew that I could earn as much in↩

a day by smearing my face with a little paint, laying my cap on↩

the ground, and sitting still. It was a long fight between my↩

pride and the money, but the dollars won at last, and I threw up↩

reporting and sat day after day in the corner which I had first↩

chosen, inspiring pity by my ghastly face and filling my pockets↩

with coppers. Only one man knew my secret. He was the keeper of a↩

low den in which I used to lodge in Swandam Lane, where I could↩

every morning emerge as a squalid beggar and in the evenings↩

transform myself into a well-dressed man about town. This fellow,↩

a Lascar, was well paid by me for his rooms, so that I knew that↩

my secret was safe in his possession.↩

↩

"Well, very soon I found that I was saving considerable sums of↩

money. I do not mean that any beggar in the streets of London↩

could earn 700 pounds a year--which is less than my average↩

takings--but I had exceptional advantages in my power of making↩

up, and also in a facility of repartee, which improved by↩

practice and made me quite a recognised character in the City.↩

All day a stream of pennies, varied by silver, poured in upon me,↩

and it was a very bad day in which I failed to take 2 pounds.↩

↩

"As I grew richer I grew more ambitious, took a house in the↩

country, and eventually married, without anyone having a↩

suspicion as to my real occupation. My dear wife knew that I had↩

business in the City. She little knew what.↩

↩

"Last Monday I had finished for the day and was dressing in my↩

room above the opium den when I looked out of my window and saw,↩

to my horror and astonishment, that my wife was standing in the↩

street, with her eyes fixed full upon me. I gave a cry of↩

surprise, threw up my arms to cover my face, and, rushing to my↩

confidant, the Lascar, entreated him to prevent anyone from↩

coming up to me. I heard her voice downstairs, but I knew that↩

she could not ascend. Swiftly I threw off my clothes, pulled on↩

those of a beggar, and put on my pigments and wig. Even a wife's↩

eyes could not pierce so complete a disguise. But then it↩

occurred to me that there might be a search in the room, and that↩

the clothes might betray me. I threw open the window, reopening↩

by my violence a small cut which I had inflicted upon myself in↩

the bedroom that morning. Then I seized my coat, which was↩

weighted by the coppers which I had just transferred to it from↩

the leather bag in which I carried my takings. I hurled it out of↩

the window, and it disappeared into the Thames. The other clothes↩

would have followed, but at that moment there was a rush of↩

constables up the stair, and a few minutes after I found, rather,↩

I confess, to my relief, that instead of being identified as Mr.↩

Neville St. Clair, I was arrested as his murderer.↩

↩

"I do not know that there is anything else for me to explain. I↩

was determined to preserve my disguise as long as possible, and↩

hence my preference for a dirty face. Knowing that my wife would↩

be terribly anxious, I slipped off my ring and confided it to the↩

Lascar at a moment when no constable was watching me, together↩

with a hurried scrawl, telling her that she had no cause to↩

fear."↩

↩

"That note only reached her yesterday," said Holmes.↩

↩

"Good God! What a week she must have spent!"↩

↩

"The police have watched this Lascar," said Inspector Bradstreet,↩

"and I can quite understand that he might find it difficult to↩

post a letter unobserved. Probably he handed it to some sailor↩

customer of his, who forgot all about it for some days."↩

↩

"That was it," said Holmes, nodding approvingly; "I have no doubt↩

of it. But have you never been prosecuted for begging?"↩

↩

"Many times; but what was a fine to me?"↩

↩

"It must stop here, however," said Bradstreet. "If the police are↩

to hush this thing up, there must be no more of Hugh Boone."↩

↩

"I have sworn it by the most solemn oaths which a man can take."↩

↩

"In that case I think that it is probable that no further steps↩

may be taken. But if you are found again, then all must come out.↩

I am sure, Mr. Holmes, that we are very much indebted to you for↩

having cleared the matter up. I wish I knew how you reach your↩

results."↩

↩

"I reached this one," said my friend, "by sitting upon five↩

pillows and consuming an ounce of shag. I think, Watson, that if↩

we drive to Baker Street we shall just be in time for breakfast."↩

↩

↩

↩

VII. THE ADVENTURE OF THE BLUE CARBUNCLE↩

↩

I had called upon my friend Sherlock Holmes upon the second↩

morning after Christmas, with the intention of wishing him the↩

compliments of the season. He was lounging upon the sofa in a↩

purple dressing-gown, a pipe-rack within his reach upon the↩

right, and a pile of crumpled morning papers, evidently newly↩

studied, near at hand. Beside the couch was a wooden chair, and↩

on the angle of the back hung a very seedy and disreputable↩

hard-felt hat, much the worse for wear, and cracked in several↩

places. A lens and a forceps lying upon the seat of the chair↩

suggested that the hat had been suspended in this manner for the↩

purpose of examination.↩

↩

"You are engaged," said I; "perhaps I interrupt you."↩

↩

"Not at all. I am glad to have a friend with whom I can discuss↩

my results. The matter is a perfectly trivial one"--he jerked his↩

thumb in the direction of the old hat--"but there are points in↩

connection with it which are not entirely devoid of interest and↩

even of instruction."↩

↩

I seated myself in his armchair and warmed my hands before his↩

crackling fire, for a sharp frost had set in, and the windows↩

were thick with the ice crystals. "I suppose," I remarked, "that,↩

homely as it looks, this thing has some deadly story linked on to↩

it--that it is the clue which will guide you in the solution of↩

some mystery and the punishment of some crime."↩

↩

"No, no. No crime," said Sherlock Holmes, laughing. "Only one of↩

those whimsical little incidents which will happen when you have↩

four million human beings all jostling each other within the↩

space of a few square miles. Amid the action and reaction of so↩

dense a swarm of humanity, every possible combination of events↩

may be expected to take place, and many a little problem will be↩

presented which may be striking and bizarre without being↩

criminal. We have already had experience of such."↩

↩

"So much so," I remarked, "that of the last six cases which I↩

have added to my notes, three have been entirely free of any↩

legal crime."↩

↩

"Precisely. You allude to my attempt to recover the Irene Adler↩

papers, to the singular case of Miss Mary Sutherland, and to the↩

adventure of the man with the twisted lip. Well, I have no doubt↩

that this small matter will fall into the same innocent category.↩

You know Peterson, the commissionaire?"↩

↩

"Yes."↩

↩

"It is to him that this trophy belongs."↩

↩

"It is his hat."↩

↩

"No, no, he found it. Its owner is unknown. I beg that you will↩

look upon it not as a battered billycock but as an intellectual↩

problem. And, first, as to how it came here. It arrived upon↩

Christmas morning, in company with a good fat goose, which is, I↩

have no doubt, roasting at this moment in front of Peterson's↩

fire. The facts are these: about four o'clock on Christmas↩

morning, Peterson, who, as you know, is a very honest fellow, was↩

returning from some small jollification and was making his way↩

homeward down Tottenham Court Road. In front of him he saw, in↩

the gaslight, a tallish man, walking with a slight stagger, and↩

carrying a white goose slung over his shoulder. As he reached the↩

corner of Goodge Street, a row broke out between this stranger↩

and a little knot of roughs. One of the latter knocked off the↩

man's hat, on which he raised his stick to defend himself and,↩

swinging it over his head, smashed the shop window behind him.↩

Peterson had rushed forward to protect the stranger from his↩

assailants; but the man, shocked at having broken the window, and↩

seeing an official-looking person in uniform rushing towards him,↩

dropped his goose, took to his heels, and vanished amid the↩

labyrinth of small streets which lie at the back of Tottenham↩

Court Road. The roughs had also fled at the appearance of↩

Peterson, so that he was left in possession of the field of↩

battle, and also of the spoils of victory in the shape of this↩

battered hat and a most unimpeachable Christmas goose."↩

↩

"Which surely he restored to their owner?"↩

↩

"My dear fellow, there lies the problem. It is true that 'For↩

Mrs. Henry Baker' was printed upon a small card which was tied to↩

the bird's left leg, and it is also true that the initials 'H.↩

B.' are legible upon the lining of this hat, but as there are↩

some thousands of Bakers, and some hundreds of Henry Bakers in↩

this city of ours, it is not easy to restore lost property to any↩

one of them."↩

↩

"What, then, did Peterson do?"↩

↩

"He brought round both hat and goose to me on Christmas morning,↩

knowing that even the smallest problems are of interest to me.↩

The goose we retained until this morning, when there were signs↩

that, in spite of the slight frost, it would be well that it↩

should be eaten without unnecessary delay. Its finder has carried↩

it off, therefore, to fulfil the ultimate destiny of a goose,↩

while I continue to retain the hat of the unknown gentleman who↩

lost his Christmas dinner."↩

↩

"Did he not advertise?"↩

↩

"No."↩

↩

"Then, what clue could you have as to his identity?"↩

↩

"Only as much as we can deduce."↩

↩

"From his hat?"↩

↩

"Precisely."↩

↩

"But you are joking. What can you gather from this old battered↩

felt?"↩

↩

"Here is my lens. You know my methods. What can you gather↩

yourself as to the individuality of the man who has worn this↩

article?"↩

↩

I took the tattered object in my hands and turned it over rather↩

ruefully. It was a very ordinary black hat of the usual round↩

shape, hard and much the worse for wear. The lining had been of↩

red silk, but was a good deal discoloured. There was no maker's↩

name; but, as Holmes had remarked, the initials "H. B." were↩

scrawled upon one side. It was pierced in the brim for a↩

hat-securer, but the elastic was missing. For the rest, it was↩

cracked, exceedingly dusty, and spotted in several places,↩

although there seemed to have been some attempt to hide the↩

discoloured patches by smearing them with ink.↩

↩

"I can see nothing," said I, handing it back to my friend.↩

↩

"On the contrary, Watson, you can see everything. You fail,↩

however, to reason from what you see. You are too timid in↩

drawing your inferences."↩

↩

"Then, pray tell me what it is that you can infer from this hat?"↩

↩

He picked it up and gazed at it in the peculiar introspective↩

fashion which was characteristic of him. "It is perhaps less↩

suggestive than it might have been," he remarked, "and yet there↩

are a few inferences which are very distinct, and a few others↩

which represent at least a strong balance of probability. That↩

the man was highly intellectual is of course obvious upon the↩

face of it, and also that he was fairly well-to-do within the↩

last three years, although he has now fallen upon evil days. He↩

had foresight, but has less now than formerly, pointing to a↩

moral retrogression, which, when taken with the decline of his↩

fortunes, seems to indicate some evil influence, probably drink,↩

at work upon him. This may account also for the obvious fact that↩

his wife has ceased to love him."↩

↩

"My dear Holmes!"↩

↩

"He has, however, retained some degree of self-respect," he↩

continued, disregarding my remonstrance. "He is a man who leads a↩

sedentary life, goes out little, is out of training entirely, is↩

middle-aged, has grizzled hair which he has had cut within the↩

last few days, and which he anoints with lime-cream. These are↩

the more patent facts which are to be deduced from his hat. Also,↩

by the way, that it is extremely improbable that he has gas laid↩

on in his house."↩

↩

"You are certainly joking, Holmes."↩

↩

"Not in the least. Is it possible that even now, when I give you↩

these results, you are unable to see how they are attained?"↩

↩

"I have no doubt that I am very stupid, but I must confess that I↩

am unable to follow you. For example, how did you deduce that↩

this man was intellectual?"↩

↩

For answer Holmes clapped the hat upon his head. It came right↩

over the forehead and settled upon the bridge of his nose. "It is↩

a question of cubic capacity," said he; "a man with so large a↩

brain must have something in it."↩

↩

"The decline of his fortunes, then?"↩

↩

"This hat is three years old. These flat brims curled at the edge↩

came in then. It is a hat of the very best quality. Look at the↩

band of ribbed silk and the excellent lining. If this man could↩

afford to buy so expensive a hat three years ago, and has had no↩

hat since, then he has assuredly gone down in the world."↩

↩

"Well, that is clear enough, certainly. But how about the↩

foresight and the moral retrogression?"↩

↩

Sherlock Holmes laughed. "Here is the foresight," said he putting↩

his finger upon the little disc and loop of the hat-securer.↩

"They are never sold upon hats. If this man ordered one, it is a↩

sign of a certain amount of foresight, since he went out of his↩

way to take this precaution against the wind. But since we see↩

that he has broken the elastic and has not troubled to replace↩

it, it is obvious that he has less foresight now than formerly,↩

which is a distinct proof of a weakening nature. On the other↩

hand, he has endeavoured to conceal some of these stains upon the↩

felt by daubing them with ink, which is a sign that he has not↩

entirely lost his self-respect."↩

↩

"Your reasoning is certainly plausible."↩

↩

"The further points, that he is middle-aged, that his hair is↩

grizzled, that it has been recently cut, and that he uses↩

lime-cream, are all to be gathered from a close examination of the↩

lower part of the lining. The lens discloses a large number of↩

hair-ends, clean cut by the scissors of the barber. They all↩

appear to be adhesive, and there is a distinct odour of↩

lime-cream. This dust, you will observe, is not the gritty, grey↩

dust of the street but the fluffy brown dust of the house,↩

showing that it has been hung up indoors most of the time, while↩

the marks of moisture upon the inside are proof positive that the↩

wearer perspired very freely, and could therefore, hardly be in↩

the best of training."↩

↩

"But his wife--you said that she had ceased to love him."↩

↩

"This hat has not been brushed for weeks. When I see you, my dear↩

Watson, with a week's accumulation of dust upon your hat, and↩

when your wife allows you to go out in such a state, I shall fear↩

that you also have been unfortunate enough to lose your wife's↩

affection."↩

↩

"But he might be a bachelor."↩

↩

"Nay, he was bringing home the goose as a peace-offering to his↩

wife. Remember the card upon the bird's leg."↩

↩

"You have an answer to everything. But how on earth do you deduce↩

that the gas is not laid on in his house?"↩

↩

"One tallow stain, or even two, might come by chance; but when I↩

see no less than five, I think that there can be little doubt↩

that the individual must be brought into frequent contact with↩

burning tallow--walks upstairs at night probably with his hat in↩

one hand and a guttering candle in the other. Anyhow, he never↩

got tallow-stains from a gas-jet. Are you satisfied?"↩

↩

"Well, it is very ingenious," said I, laughing; "but since, as↩

you said just now, there has been no crime committed, and no harm↩

done save the loss of a goose, all this seems to be rather a↩

waste of energy."↩

↩

Sherlock Holmes had opened his mouth to reply, when the door flew↩

open, and Peterson, the commissionaire, rushed into the apartment↩

with flushed cheeks and the face of a man who is dazed with↩

astonishment.↩

↩

"The goose, Mr. Holmes! The goose, sir!" he gasped.↩

↩

"Eh? What of it, then? Has it returned to life and flapped off↩

through the kitchen window?" Holmes twisted himself round upon↩

the sofa to get a fairer view of the man's excited face.↩

↩

"See here, sir! See what my wife found in its crop!" He held out↩

his hand and displayed upon the centre of the palm a brilliantly↩

scintillating blue stone, rather smaller than a bean in size, but↩

of such purity and radiance that it twinkled like an electric↩

point in the dark hollow of his hand.↩

↩

Sherlock Holmes sat up with a whistle. "By Jove, Peterson!" said↩

he, "this is treasure trove indeed. I suppose you know what you↩

have got?"↩

↩

"A diamond, sir? A precious stone. It cuts into glass as though↩

it were putty."↩

↩

"It's more than a precious stone. It is the precious stone."↩

↩

"Not the Countess of Morcar's blue carbuncle!" I ejaculated.↩

↩

"Precisely so. I ought to know its size and shape, seeing that I↩

have read the advertisement about it in The Times every day↩

lately. It is absolutely unique, and its value can only be↩

conjectured, but the reward offered of 1000 pounds is certainly↩

not within a twentieth part of the market price."↩

↩

"A thousand pounds! Great Lord of mercy!" The commissionaire↩

plumped down into a chair and stared from one to the other of us.↩

↩

"That is the reward, and I have reason to know that there are↩

sentimental considerations in the background which would induce↩

the Countess to part with half her fortune if she could but↩

recover the gem."↩

↩

"It was lost, if I remember aright, at the Hotel Cosmopolitan," I↩

remarked.↩

↩

"Precisely so, on December 22nd, just five days ago. John Horner,↩

a plumber, was accused of having abstracted it from the lady's↩

jewel-case. The evidence against him was so strong that the case↩

has been referred to the Assizes. I have some account of the↩

matter here, I believe." He rummaged amid his newspapers,↩

glancing over the dates, until at last he smoothed one out,↩

doubled it over, and read the following paragraph:↩

↩

"Hotel Cosmopolitan Jewel Robbery. John Horner, 26, plumber, was↩

brought up upon the charge of having upon the 22nd inst.,↩

abstracted from the jewel-case of the Countess of Morcar the↩

valuable gem known as the blue carbuncle. James Ryder,↩

upper-attendant at the hotel, gave his evidence to the effect↩

that he had shown Horner up to the dressing-room of the Countess↩

of Morcar upon the day of the robbery in order that he might↩

solder the second bar of the grate, which was loose. He had↩

remained with Horner some little time, but had finally been↩

called away. On returning, he found that Horner had disappeared,↩

that the bureau had been forced open, and that the small morocco↩

casket in which, as it afterwards transpired, the Countess was↩

accustomed to keep her jewel, was lying empty upon the↩

dressing-table. Ryder instantly gave the alarm, and Horner was↩

arrested the same evening; but the stone could not be found↩

either upon his person or in his rooms. Catherine Cusack, maid to↩

the Countess, deposed to having heard Ryder's cry of dismay on↩

discovering the robbery, and to having rushed into the room,↩

where she found matters as described by the last witness.↩

Inspector Bradstreet, B division, gave evidence as to the arrest↩

of Horner, who struggled frantically, and protested his innocence↩

in the strongest terms. Evidence of a previous conviction for↩

robbery having been given against the prisoner, the magistrate↩

refused to deal summarily with the offence, but referred it to↩

the Assizes. Horner, who had shown signs of intense emotion↩

during the proceedings, fainted away at the conclusion and was↩

carried out of court."↩

↩

"Hum! So much for the police-court," said Holmes thoughtfully,↩

tossing aside the paper. "The question for us now to solve is the↩

sequence of events leading from a rifled jewel-case at one end to↩

the crop of a goose in Tottenham Court Road at the other. You↩

see, Watson, our little deductions have suddenly assumed a much↩

more important and less innocent aspect. Here is the stone; the↩

stone came from the goose, and the goose came from Mr. Henry↩

Baker, the gentleman with the bad hat and all the other↩

characteristics with which I have bored you. So now we must set↩

ourselves very seriously to finding this gentleman and↩

ascertaining what part he has played in this little mystery. To↩

do this, we must try the simplest means first, and these lie↩

undoubtedly in an advertisement in all the evening papers. If↩

this fail, I shall have recourse to other methods."↩

↩

"What will you say?"↩

↩

"Give me a pencil and that slip of paper. Now, then: 'Found at↩

the corner of Goodge Street, a goose and a black felt hat. Mr.↩

Henry Baker can have the same by applying at 6:30 this evening at↩

221B, Baker Street.' That is clear and concise."↩

↩

"Very. But will he see it?"↩

↩

"Well, he is sure to keep an eye on the papers, since, to a poor↩

man, the loss was a heavy one. He was clearly so scared by his↩

mischance in breaking the window and by the approach of Peterson↩

that he thought of nothing but flight, but since then he must↩

have bitterly regretted the impulse which caused him to drop his↩

bird. Then, again, the introduction of his name will cause him to↩

see it, for everyone who knows him will direct his attention to↩

it. Here you are, Peterson, run down to the advertising agency↩

and have this put in the evening papers."↩

↩

"In which, sir?"↩

↩

"Oh, in the Globe, Star, Pall Mall, St. James's, Evening News,↩

Standard, Echo, and any others that occur to you."↩

↩

"Very well, sir. And this stone?"↩

↩

"Ah, yes, I shall keep the stone. Thank you. And, I say,↩

Peterson, just buy a goose on your way back and leave it here↩

with me, for we must have one to give to this gentleman in place↩

of the one which your family is now devouring."↩

↩

When the commissionaire had gone, Holmes took up the stone and↩

held it against the light. "It's a bonny thing," said he. "Just↩

see how it glints and sparkles. Of course it is a nucleus and↩

focus of crime. Every good stone is. They are the devil's pet↩

baits. In the larger and older jewels every facet may stand for a↩

bloody deed. This stone is not yet twenty years old. It was found↩

in the banks of the Amoy River in southern China and is remarkable↩

in having every characteristic of the carbuncle, save that it is↩

blue in shade instead of ruby red. In spite of its youth, it has↩

already a sinister history. There have been two murders, a↩

vitriol-throwing, a suicide, and several robberies brought about↩

for the sake of this forty-grain weight of crystallised charcoal.↩

Who would think that so pretty a toy would be a purveyor to the↩

gallows and the prison? I'll lock it up in my strong box now and↩

drop a line to the Countess to say that we have it."↩

↩

"Do you think that this man Horner is innocent?"↩

↩

"I cannot tell."↩

↩

"Well, then, do you imagine that this other one, Henry Baker, had↩

anything to do with the matter?"↩

↩

"It is, I think, much more likely that Henry Baker is an↩

absolutely innocent man, who had no idea that the bird which he↩

was carrying was of considerably more value than if it were made↩

of solid gold. That, however, I shall determine by a very simple↩

test if we have an answer to our advertisement."↩

↩

"And you can do nothing until then?"↩

↩

"Nothing."↩

↩

"In that case I shall continue my professional round. But I shall↩

come back in the evening at the hour you have mentioned, for I↩

should like to see the solution of so tangled a business."↩

↩

"Very glad to see you. I dine at seven. There is a woodcock, I↩

believe. By the way, in view of recent occurrences, perhaps I↩

ought to ask Mrs. Hudson to examine its crop."↩

↩

I had been delayed at a case, and it was a little after half-past↩

six when I found myself in Baker Street once more. As I↩

approached the house I saw a tall man in a Scotch bonnet with a↩

coat which was buttoned up to his chin waiting outside in the↩

bright semicircle which was thrown from the fanlight. Just as I↩

arrived the door was opened, and we were shown up together to↩

Holmes' room.↩

↩

"Mr. Henry Baker, I believe," said he, rising from his armchair↩

and greeting his visitor with the easy air of geniality which he↩

could so readily assume. "Pray take this chair by the fire, Mr.↩

Baker. It is a cold night, and I observe that your circulation is↩

more adapted for summer than for winter. Ah, Watson, you have↩

just come at the right time. Is that your hat, Mr. Baker?"↩

↩

"Yes, sir, that is undoubtedly my hat."↩

↩

He was a large man with rounded shoulders, a massive head, and a↩

broad, intelligent face, sloping down to a pointed beard of↩

grizzled brown. A touch of red in nose and cheeks, with a slight↩

tremor of his extended hand, recalled Holmes' surmise as to his↩

habits. His rusty black frock-coat was buttoned right up in↩

front, with the collar turned up, and his lank wrists protruded↩

from his sleeves without a sign of cuff or shirt. He spoke in a↩

slow staccato fashion, choosing his words with care, and gave the↩

impression generally of a man of learning and letters who had had↩

ill-usage at the hands of fortune.↩

↩

"We have retained these things for some days," said Holmes,↩

"because we expected to see an advertisement from you giving your↩

address. I am at a loss to know now why you did not advertise."↩

↩

Our visitor gave a rather shamefaced laugh. "Shillings have not↩

been so plentiful with me as they once were," he remarked. "I had↩

no doubt that the gang of roughs who assaulted me had carried off↩

both my hat and the bird. I did not care to spend more money in a↩

hopeless attempt at recovering them."↩

↩

"Very naturally. By the way, about the bird, we were compelled to↩

eat it."↩

↩

"To eat it!" Our visitor half rose from his chair in his↩

excitement.↩

↩

"Yes, it would have been of no use to anyone had we not done so.↩

But I presume that this other goose upon the sideboard, which is↩

about the same weight and perfectly fresh, will answer your↩

purpose equally well?"↩

↩

"Oh, certainly, certainly," answered Mr. Baker with a sigh of↩

relief.↩

↩

"Of course, we still have the feathers, legs, crop, and so on of↩

your own bird, so if you wish--"↩

↩

The man burst into a hearty laugh. "They might be useful to me as↩

relics of my adventure," said he, "but beyond that I can hardly↩

see what use the disjecta membra of my late acquaintance are↩

going to be to me. No, sir, I think that, with your permission, I↩

will confine my attentions to the excellent bird which I perceive↩

upon the sideboard."↩

↩

Sherlock Holmes glanced sharply across at me with a slight shrug↩

of his shoulders.↩

↩

"There is your hat, then, and there your bird," said he. "By the↩

way, would it bore you to tell me where you got the other one↩

from? I am somewhat of a fowl fancier, and I have seldom seen a↩

better grown goose."↩

↩

"Certainly, sir," said Baker, who had risen and tucked his newly↩

gained property under his arm. "There are a few of us who↩

frequent the Alpha Inn, near the Museum--we are to be found in↩

the Museum itself during the day, you understand. This year our↩

good host, Windigate by name, instituted a goose club, by which,↩

on consideration of some few pence every week, we were each to↩

receive a bird at Christmas. My pence were duly paid, and the↩

rest is familiar to you. I am much indebted to you, sir, for a↩

Scotch bonnet is fitted neither to my years nor my gravity." With↩

a comical pomposity of manner he bowed solemnly to both of us and↩

strode off upon his way.↩

↩

"So much for Mr. Henry Baker," said Holmes when he had closed the↩

door behind him. "It is quite certain that he knows nothing↩

whatever about the matter. Are you hungry, Watson?"↩

↩

"Not particularly."↩

↩

"Then I suggest that we turn our dinner into a supper and follow↩

up this clue while it is still hot."↩

↩

"By all means."↩

↩

It was a bitter night, so we drew on our ulsters and wrapped↩

cravats about our throats. Outside, the stars were shining coldly↩

in a cloudless sky, and the breath of the passers-by blew out↩

into smoke like so many pistol shots. Our footfalls rang out↩

crisply and loudly as we swung through the doctors' quarter,↩

Wimpole Street, Harley Street, and so through Wigmore Street into↩

Oxford Street. In a quarter of an hour we were in Bloomsbury at↩

the Alpha Inn, which is a small public-house at the corner of one↩

of the streets which runs down into Holborn. Holmes pushed open↩

the door of the private bar and ordered two glasses of beer from↩

the ruddy-faced, white-aproned landlord.↩

↩

"Your beer should be excellent if it is as good as your geese,"↩

said he.↩

↩

"My geese!" The man seemed surprised.↩

↩

"Yes. I was speaking only half an hour ago to Mr. Henry Baker,↩

who was a member of your goose club."↩

↩

"Ah! yes, I see. But you see, sir, them's not our geese."↩

↩

"Indeed! Whose, then?"↩

↩

"Well, I got the two dozen from a salesman in Covent Garden."↩

↩

"Indeed? I know some of them. Which was it?"↩

↩

"Breckinridge is his name."↩

↩

"Ah! I don't know him. Well, here's your good health landlord,↩

and prosperity to your house. Good-night."↩

↩

"Now for Mr. Breckinridge," he continued, buttoning up his coat↩

as we came out into the frosty air. "Remember, Watson that though↩

we have so homely a thing as a goose at one end of this chain, we↩

have at the other a man who will certainly get seven years' penal↩

servitude unless we can establish his innocence. It is possible↩

that our inquiry may but confirm his guilt; but, in any case, we↩

have a line of investigation which has been missed by the police,↩

and which a singular chance has placed in our hands. Let us↩

follow it out to the bitter end. Faces to the south, then, and↩

quick march!"↩

↩

We passed across Holborn, down Endell Street, and so through a↩

zigzag of slums to Covent Garden Market. One of the largest↩

stalls bore the name of Breckinridge upon it, and the proprietor↩

a horsey-looking man, with a sharp face and trim side-whiskers was↩

helping a boy to put up the shutters.↩

↩

"Good-evening. It's a cold night," said Holmes.↩

↩

The salesman nodded and shot a questioning glance at my↩

companion.↩

↩

"Sold out of geese, I see," continued Holmes, pointing at the↩

bare slabs of marble.↩

↩

"Let you have five hundred to-morrow morning."↩

↩

"That's no good."↩

↩

"Well, there are some on the stall with the gas-flare."↩

↩

"Ah, but I was recommended to you."↩

↩

"Who by?"↩

↩

"The landlord of the Alpha."↩

↩

"Oh, yes; I sent him a couple of dozen."↩

↩

"Fine birds they were, too. Now where did you get them from?"↩

↩

To my surprise the question provoked a burst of anger from the↩

salesman.↩

↩

"Now, then, mister," said he, with his head cocked and his arms↩

akimbo, "what are you driving at? Let's have it straight, now."↩

↩

"It is straight enough. I should like to know who sold you the↩

geese which you supplied to the Alpha."↩

↩

"Well then, I shan't tell you. So now!"↩

↩

"Oh, it is a matter of no importance; but I don't know why you↩

should be so warm over such a trifle."↩

↩

"Warm! You'd be as warm, maybe, if you were as pestered as I am.↩

When I pay good money for a good article there should be an end↩

of the business; but it's 'Where are the geese?' and 'Who did you↩

sell the geese to?' and 'What will you take for the geese?' One↩

would think they were the only geese in the world, to hear the↩

fuss that is made over them."↩

↩

"Well, I have no connection with any other people who have been↩

making inquiries," said Holmes carelessly. "If you won't tell us↩

the bet is off, that is all. But I'm always ready to back my↩

opinion on a matter of fowls, and I have a fiver on it that the↩

bird I ate is country bred."↩

↩

"Well, then, you've lost your fiver, for it's town bred," snapped↩

the salesman.↩

↩

"It's nothing of the kind."↩

↩

"I say it is."↩

↩

"I don't believe it."↩

↩

"D'you think you know more about fowls than I, who have handled↩

them ever since I was a nipper? I tell you, all those birds that↩

went to the Alpha were town bred."↩

↩

"You'll never persuade me to believe that."↩

↩

"Will you bet, then?"↩

↩

"It's merely taking your money, for I know that I am right. But↩

I'll have a sovereign on with you, just to teach you not to be↩

obstinate."↩

↩

The salesman chuckled grimly. "Bring me the books, Bill," said↩

he.↩

↩

The small boy brought round a small thin volume and a great↩

greasy-backed one, laying them out together beneath the hanging↩

lamp.↩

↩

"Now then, Mr. Cocksure," said the salesman, "I thought that I↩

was out of geese, but before I finish you'll find that there is↩

still one left in my shop. You see this little book?"↩

↩

"Well?"↩

↩

"That's the list of the folk from whom I buy. D'you see? Well,↩

then, here on this page are the country folk, and the numbers↩

after their names are where their accounts are in the big ledger.↩

Now, then! You see this other page in red ink? Well, that is a↩

list of my town suppliers. Now, look at that third name. Just↩

read it out to me."↩

↩

"Mrs. Oakshott, 117, Brixton Road--249," read Holmes.↩

↩

"Quite so. Now turn that up in the ledger."↩

↩

Holmes turned to the page indicated. "Here you are, 'Mrs.↩

Oakshott, 117, Brixton Road, egg and poultry supplier.'"↩

↩

"Now, then, what's the last entry?"↩

↩

"'December 22nd. Twenty-four geese at 7s. 6d.'"↩

↩

"Quite so. There you are. And underneath?"↩

↩

"'Sold to Mr. Windigate of the Alpha, at 12s.'"↩

↩

"What have you to say now?"↩

↩

Sherlock Holmes looked deeply chagrined. He drew a sovereign from↩

his pocket and threw it down upon the slab, turning away with the↩

air of a man whose disgust is too deep for words. A few yards off↩

he stopped under a lamp-post and laughed in the hearty, noiseless↩

fashion which was peculiar to him.↩

↩

"When you see a man with whiskers of that cut and the 'Pink 'un'↩

protruding out of his pocket, you can always draw him by a bet,"↩

said he. "I daresay that if I had put 100 pounds down in front of↩

him, that man would not have given me such complete information↩

as was drawn from him by the idea that he was doing me on a↩

wager. Well, Watson, we are, I fancy, nearing the end of our↩

quest, and the only point which remains to be determined is↩

whether we should go on to this Mrs. Oakshott to-night, or↩

whether we should reserve it for to-morrow. It is clear from what↩

that surly fellow said that there are others besides ourselves↩

who are anxious about the matter, and I should--"↩

↩

His remarks were suddenly cut short by a loud hubbub which broke↩

out from the stall which we had just left. Turning round we saw a↩

little rat-faced fellow standing in the centre of the circle of↩

yellow light which was thrown by the swinging lamp, while↩

Breckinridge, the salesman, framed in the door of his stall, was↩

shaking his fists fiercely at the cringing figure.↩

↩

"I've had enough of you and your geese," he shouted. "I wish you↩

were all at the devil together. If you come pestering me any more↩

with your silly talk I'll set the dog at you. You bring Mrs.↩

Oakshott here and I'll answer her, but what have you to do with↩

it? Did I buy the geese off you?"↩

↩

"No; but one of them was mine all the same," whined the little↩

man.↩

↩

"Well, then, ask Mrs. Oakshott for it."↩

↩

"She told me to ask you."↩

↩

"Well, you can ask the King of Proosia, for all I care. I've had↩

enough of it. Get out of this!" He rushed fiercely forward, and↩

the inquirer flitted away into the darkness.↩

↩

"Ha! this may save us a visit to Brixton Road," whispered Holmes.↩

"Come with me, and we will see what is to be made of this↩

fellow." Striding through the scattered knots of people who↩

lounged round the flaring stalls, my companion speedily overtook↩

the little man and touched him upon the shoulder. He sprang↩

round, and I could see in the gas-light that every vestige of↩

colour had been driven from his face.↩

↩

"Who are you, then? What do you want?" he asked in a quavering↩

voice.↩

↩

"You will excuse me," said Holmes blandly, "but I could not help↩

overhearing the questions which you put to the salesman just now.↩

I think that I could be of assistance to you."↩

↩

"You? Who are you? How could you know anything of the matter?"↩

↩

"My name is Sherlock Holmes. It is my business to know what other↩

people don't know."↩

↩

"But you can know nothing of this?"↩

↩

"Excuse me, I know everything of it. You are endeavouring to↩

trace some geese which were sold by Mrs. Oakshott, of Brixton↩

Road, to a salesman named Breckinridge, by him in turn to Mr.↩

Windigate, of the Alpha, and by him to his club, of which Mr.↩

Henry Baker is a member."↩

↩

"Oh, sir, you are the very man whom I have longed to meet," cried↩

the little fellow with outstretched hands and quivering fingers.↩

"I can hardly explain to you how interested I am in this matter."↩

↩

Sherlock Holmes hailed a four-wheeler which was passing. "In that↩

case we had better discuss it in a cosy room rather than in this↩

wind-swept market-place," said he. "But pray tell me, before we↩

go farther, who it is that I have the pleasure of assisting."↩

↩

The man hesitated for an instant. "My name is John Robinson," he↩

answered with a sidelong glance.↩

↩

"No, no; the real name," said Holmes sweetly. "It is always↩

awkward doing business with an alias."↩

↩

A flush sprang to the white cheeks of the stranger. "Well then,"↩

said he, "my real name is James Ryder."↩

↩

"Precisely so. Head attendant at the Hotel Cosmopolitan. Pray↩

step into the cab, and I shall soon be able to tell you↩

everything which you would wish to know."↩

↩

The little man stood glancing from one to the other of us with↩

half-frightened, half-hopeful eyes, as one who is not sure↩

whether he is on the verge of a windfall or of a catastrophe.↩

Then he stepped into the cab, and in half an hour we were back in↩

the sitting-room at Baker Street. Nothing had been said during↩

our drive, but the high, thin breathing of our new companion, and↩

the claspings and unclaspings of his hands, spoke of the nervous↩

tension within him.↩

↩

"Here we are!" said Holmes cheerily as we filed into the room.↩

"The fire looks very seasonable in this weather. You look cold,↩

Mr. Ryder. Pray take the basket-chair. I will just put on my↩

slippers before we settle this little matter of yours. Now, then!↩

You want to know what became of those geese?"↩

↩

"Yes, sir."↩

↩

"Or rather, I fancy, of that goose. It was one bird, I imagine in↩

which you were interested--white, with a black bar across the↩

tail."↩

↩

Ryder quivered with emotion. "Oh, sir," he cried, "can you tell↩

me where it went to?"↩

↩

"It came here."↩

↩

"Here?"↩

↩

"Yes, and a most remarkable bird it proved. I don't wonder that↩

you should take an interest in it. It laid an egg after it was↩

dead--the bonniest, brightest little blue egg that ever was seen.↩

I have it here in my museum."↩

↩

Our visitor staggered to his feet and clutched the mantelpiece↩

with his right hand. Holmes unlocked his strong-box and held up↩

the blue carbuncle, which shone out like a star, with a cold,↩

brilliant, many-pointed radiance. Ryder stood glaring with a↩

drawn face, uncertain whether to claim or to disown it.↩

↩

"The game's up, Ryder," said Holmes quietly. "Hold up, man, or↩

you'll be into the fire! Give him an arm back into his chair,↩

Watson. He's not got blood enough to go in for felony with↩

impunity. Give him a dash of brandy. So! Now he looks a little↩

more human. What a shrimp it is, to be sure!"↩

↩

For a moment he had staggered and nearly fallen, but the brandy↩

brought a tinge of colour into his cheeks, and he sat staring↩

with frightened eyes at his accuser.↩

↩

"I have almost every link in my hands, and all the proofs which I↩

could possibly need, so there is little which you need tell me.↩

Still, that little may as well be cleared up to make the case↩

complete. You had heard, Ryder, of this blue stone of the↩

Countess of Morcar's?"↩

↩

"It was Catherine Cusack who told me of it," said he in a↩

crackling voice.↩

↩

"I see--her ladyship's waiting-maid. Well, the temptation of↩

sudden wealth so easily acquired was too much for you, as it has↩

been for better men before you; but you were not very scrupulous↩

in the means you used. It seems to me, Ryder, that there is the↩

making of a very pretty villain in you. You knew that this man↩

Horner, the plumber, had been concerned in some such matter↩

before, and that suspicion would rest the more readily upon him.↩

What did you do, then? You made some small job in my lady's↩

room--you and your confederate Cusack--and you managed that he↩

should be the man sent for. Then, when he had left, you rifled↩

the jewel-case, raised the alarm, and had this unfortunate man↩

arrested. You then--"↩

↩

Ryder threw himself down suddenly upon the rug and clutched at my↩

companion's knees. "For God's sake, have mercy!" he shrieked.↩

"Think of my father! Of my mother! It would break their hearts. I↩

never went wrong before! I never will again. I swear it. I'll↩

swear it on a Bible. Oh, don't bring it into court! For Christ's↩

sake, don't!"↩

↩

"Get back into your chair!" said Holmes sternly. "It is very well↩

to cringe and crawl now, but you thought little enough of this↩

poor Horner in the dock for a crime of which he knew nothing."↩

↩

"I will fly, Mr. Holmes. I will leave the country, sir. Then the↩

charge against him will break down."↩

↩

"Hum! We will talk about that. And now let us hear a true account↩

of the next act. How came the stone into the goose, and how came↩

the goose into the open market? Tell us the truth, for there lies↩

your only hope of safety."↩

↩

Ryder passed his tongue over his parched lips. "I will tell you↩

it just as it happened, sir," said he. "When Horner had been↩

arrested, it seemed to me that it would be best for me to get↩

away with the stone at once, for I did not know at what moment↩

the police might not take it into their heads to search me and my↩

room. There was no place about the hotel where it would be safe.↩

I went out, as if on some commission, and I made for my sister's↩

house. She had married a man named Oakshott, and lived in Brixton↩

Road, where she fattened fowls for the market. All the way there↩

every man I met seemed to me to be a policeman or a detective;↩

and, for all that it was a cold night, the sweat was pouring down↩

my face before I came to the Brixton Road. My sister asked me↩

what was the matter, and why I was so pale; but I told her that I↩

had been upset by the jewel robbery at the hotel. Then I went↩

into the back yard and smoked a pipe and wondered what it would↩

be best to do.↩

↩

"I had a friend once called Maudsley, who went to the bad, and↩

has just been serving his time in Pentonville. One day he had met↩

me, and fell into talk about the ways of thieves, and how they↩

could get rid of what they stole. I knew that he would be true to↩

me, for I knew one or two things about him; so I made up my mind↩

to go right on to Kilburn, where he lived, and take him into my↩

confidence. He would show me how to turn the stone into money.↩

But how to get to him in safety? I thought of the agonies I had↩

gone through in coming from the hotel. I might at any moment be↩

seized and searched, and there would be the stone in my waistcoat↩

pocket. I was leaning against the wall at the time and looking at↩

the geese which were waddling about round my feet, and suddenly↩

an idea came into my head which showed me how I could beat the↩

best detective that ever lived.↩

↩

"My sister had told me some weeks before that I might have the↩

pick of her geese for a Christmas present, and I knew that she↩

was always as good as her word. I would take my goose now, and in↩

it I would carry my stone to Kilburn. There was a little shed in↩

the yard, and behind this I drove one of the birds--a fine big↩

one, white, with a barred tail. I caught it, and prying its bill↩

open, I thrust the stone down its throat as far as my finger↩

could reach. The bird gave a gulp, and I felt the stone pass↩

along its gullet and down into its crop. But the creature flapped↩

and struggled, and out came my sister to know what was the↩

matter. As I turned to speak to her the brute broke loose and↩

fluttered off among the others.↩

↩

"'Whatever were you doing with that bird, Jem?' says she.↩

↩

"'Well,' said I, 'you said you'd give me one for Christmas, and I↩

was feeling which was the fattest.'↩

↩

"'Oh,' says she, 'we've set yours aside for you--Jem's bird, we↩

call it. It's the big white one over yonder. There's twenty-six↩

of them, which makes one for you, and one for us, and two dozen↩

for the market.'↩

↩

"'Thank you, Maggie,' says I; 'but if it is all the same to you,↩

I'd rather have that one I was handling just now.'↩

↩

"'The other is a good three pound heavier,' said she, 'and we↩

fattened it expressly for you.'↩

↩

"'Never mind. I'll have the other, and I'll take it now,' said I.↩

↩

"'Oh, just as you like,' said she, a little huffed. 'Which is it↩

you want, then?'↩

↩

"'That white one with the barred tail, right in the middle of the↩

flock.'↩

↩

"'Oh, very well. Kill it and take it with you.'↩

↩

"Well, I did what she said, Mr. Holmes, and I carried the bird↩

all the way to Kilburn. I told my pal what I had done, for he was↩

a man that it was easy to tell a thing like that to. He laughed↩

until he choked, and we got a knife and opened the goose. My↩

heart turned to water, for there was no sign of the stone, and I↩

knew that some terrible mistake had occurred. I left the bird,↩

rushed back to my sister's, and hurried into the back yard. There↩

was not a bird to be seen there.↩

↩

"'Where are they all, Maggie?' I cried.↩

↩

"'Gone to the dealer's, Jem.'↩

↩

"'Which dealer's?'↩

↩

"'Breckinridge, of Covent Garden.'↩

↩

"'But was there another with a barred tail?' I asked, 'the same↩

as the one I chose?'↩

↩

"'Yes, Jem; there were two barred-tailed ones, and I could never↩

tell them apart.'↩

↩

"Well, then, of course I saw it all, and I ran off as hard as my↩

feet would carry me to this man Breckinridge; but he had sold the↩

lot at once, and not one word would he tell me as to where they↩

had gone. You heard him yourselves to-night. Well, he has always↩

answered me like that. My sister thinks that I am going mad.↩

Sometimes I think that I am myself. And now--and now I am myself↩

a branded thief, without ever having touched the wealth for which↩

I sold my character. God help me! God help me!" He burst into↩

convulsive sobbing, with his face buried in his hands.↩

↩

There was a long silence, broken only by his heavy breathing and↩

by the measured tapping of Sherlock Holmes' finger-tips upon the↩

edge of the table. Then my friend rose and threw open the door.↩

↩

"Get out!" said he.↩

↩

"What, sir! Oh, Heaven bless you!"↩

↩

"No more words. Get out!"↩

↩

And no more words were needed. There was a rush, a clatter upon↩

the stairs, the bang of a door, and the crisp rattle of running↩

footfalls from the street.↩

↩

"After all, Watson," said Holmes, reaching up his hand for his↩

clay pipe, "I am not retained by the police to supply their↩

deficiencies. If Horner were in danger it would be another thing;↩

but this fellow will not appear against him, and the case must↩

collapse. I suppose that I am commuting a felony, but it is just↩

possible that I am saving a soul. This fellow will not go wrong↩

again; he is too terribly frightened. Send him to gaol now, and↩

you make him a gaol-bird for life. Besides, it is the season of↩

forgiveness. Chance has put in our way a most singular and↩

whimsical problem, and its solution is its own reward. If you↩

will have the goodness to touch the bell, Doctor, we will begin↩

another investigation, in which, also a bird will be the chief↩

feature."↩

↩

↩

↩

VIII. THE ADVENTURE OF THE SPECKLED BAND↩

↩

On glancing over my notes of the seventy odd cases in which I↩

have during the last eight years studied the methods of my friend↩

Sherlock Holmes, I find many tragic, some comic, a large number↩

merely strange, but none commonplace; for, working as he did↩

rather for the love of his art than for the acquirement of↩

wealth, he refused to associate himself with any investigation↩

which did not tend towards the unusual, and even the fantastic.↩

Of all these varied cases, however, I cannot recall any which↩

presented more singular features than that which was associated↩

with the well-known Surrey family of the Roylotts of Stoke Moran.↩

The events in question occurred in the early days of my↩

association with Holmes, when we were sharing rooms as bachelors↩

in Baker Street. It is possible that I might have placed them↩

upon record before, but a promise of secrecy was made at the↩

time, from which I have only been freed during the last month by↩

the untimely death of the lady to whom the pledge was given. It↩

is perhaps as well that the facts should now come to light, for I↩

have reasons to know that there are widespread rumours as to the↩

death of Dr. Grimesby Roylott which tend to make the matter even↩

more terrible than the truth.↩

↩

It was early in April in the year '83 that I woke one morning to↩

find Sherlock Holmes standing, fully dressed, by the side of my↩

bed. He was a late riser, as a rule, and as the clock on the↩

mantelpiece showed me that it was only a quarter-past seven, I↩

blinked up at him in some surprise, and perhaps just a little↩

resentment, for I was myself regular in my habits.↩

↩

"Very sorry to knock you up, Watson," said he, "but it's the↩

common lot this morning. Mrs. Hudson has been knocked up, she↩

retorted upon me, and I on you."↩

↩

"What is it, then--a fire?"↩

↩

"No; a client. It seems that a young lady has arrived in a↩

considerable state of excitement, who insists upon seeing me. She↩

is waiting now in the sitting-room. Now, when young ladies wander↩

about the metropolis at this hour of the morning, and knock↩

sleepy people up out of their beds, I presume that it is↩

something very pressing which they have to communicate. Should it↩

prove to be an interesting case, you would, I am sure, wish to↩

follow it from the outset. I thought, at any rate, that I should↩

call you and give you the chance."↩

↩

"My dear fellow, I would not miss it for anything."↩

↩

I had no keener pleasure than in following Holmes in his↩

professional investigations, and in admiring the rapid↩

deductions, as swift as intuitions, and yet always founded on a↩

logical basis with which he unravelled the problems which were↩

submitted to him. I rapidly threw on my clothes and was ready in↩

a few minutes to accompany my friend down to the sitting-room. A↩

lady dressed in black and heavily veiled, who had been sitting in↩

the window, rose as we entered.↩

↩

"Good-morning, madam," said Holmes cheerily. "My name is Sherlock↩

Holmes. This is my intimate friend and associate, Dr. Watson,↩

before whom you can speak as freely as before myself. Ha! I am↩

glad to see that Mrs. Hudson has had the good sense to light the↩

fire. Pray draw up to it, and I shall order you a cup of hot↩

coffee, for I observe that you are shivering."↩

↩

"It is not cold which makes me shiver," said the woman in a low↩

voice, changing her seat as requested.↩

↩

"What, then?"↩

↩

"It is fear, Mr. Holmes. It is terror." She raised her veil as↩

she spoke, and we could see that she was indeed in a pitiable↩

state of agitation, her face all drawn and grey, with restless↩

frightened eyes, like those of some hunted animal. Her features↩

and figure were those of a woman of thirty, but her hair was shot↩

with premature grey, and her expression was weary and haggard.↩

Sherlock Holmes ran her over with one of his quick,↩

all-comprehensive glances.↩

↩

"You must not fear," said he soothingly, bending forward and↩

patting her forearm. "We shall soon set matters right, I have no↩

doubt. You have come in by train this morning, I see."↩

↩

"You know me, then?"↩

↩

"No, but I observe the second half of a return ticket in the palm↩

of your left glove. You must have started early, and yet you had↩

a good drive in a dog-cart, along heavy roads, before you reached↩

the station."↩

↩

The lady gave a violent start and stared in bewilderment at my↩

companion.↩

↩

"There is no mystery, my dear madam," said he, smiling. "The left↩

arm of your jacket is spattered with mud in no less than seven↩

places. The marks are perfectly fresh. There is no vehicle save a↩

dog-cart which throws up mud in that way, and then only when you↩

sit on the left-hand side of the driver."↩

↩

"Whatever your reasons may be, you are perfectly correct," said↩

she. "I started from home before six, reached Leatherhead at↩

twenty past, and came in by the first train to Waterloo. Sir, I↩

can stand this strain no longer; I shall go mad if it continues.↩

I have no one to turn to--none, save only one, who cares for me,↩

and he, poor fellow, can be of little aid. I have heard of you,↩

Mr. Holmes; I have heard of you from Mrs. Farintosh, whom you↩

helped in the hour of her sore need. It was from her that I had↩

your address. Oh, sir, do you not think that you could help me,↩

too, and at least throw a little light through the dense darkness↩

which surrounds me? At present it is out of my power to reward↩

you for your services, but in a month or six weeks I shall be↩

married, with the control of my own income, and then at least you↩

shall not find me ungrateful."↩

↩

Holmes turned to his desk and, unlocking it, drew out a small↩

case-book, which he consulted.↩

↩

"Farintosh," said he. "Ah yes, I recall the case; it was↩

concerned with an opal tiara. I think it was before your time,↩

Watson. I can only say, madam, that I shall be happy to devote↩

the same care to your case as I did to that of your friend. As to↩

reward, my profession is its own reward; but you are at liberty↩

to defray whatever expenses I may be put to, at the time which↩

suits you best. And now I beg that you will lay before us↩

everything that may help us in forming an opinion upon the↩

matter."↩

↩

"Alas!" replied our visitor, "the very horror of my situation↩

lies in the fact that my fears are so vague, and my suspicions↩

depend so entirely upon small points, which might seem trivial to↩

another, that even he to whom of all others I have a right to↩

look for help and advice looks upon all that I tell him about it↩

as the fancies of a nervous woman. He does not say so, but I can↩

read it from his soothing answers and averted eyes. But I have↩

heard, Mr. Holmes, that you can see deeply into the manifold↩

wickedness of the human heart. You may advise me how to walk amid↩

the dangers which encompass me."↩

↩

"I am all attention, madam."↩

↩

"My name is Helen Stoner, and I am living with my stepfather, who↩

is the last survivor of one of the oldest Saxon families in↩

England, the Roylotts of Stoke Moran, on the western border of↩

Surrey."↩

↩

Holmes nodded his head. "The name is familiar to me," said he.↩

↩

"The family was at one time among the richest in England, and the↩

estates extended over the borders into Berkshire in the north,↩

and Hampshire in the west. In the last century, however, four↩

successive heirs were of a dissolute and wasteful disposition,↩

and the family ruin was eventually completed by a gambler in the↩

days of the Regency. Nothing was left save a few acres of ground,↩

and the two-hundred-year-old house, which is itself crushed under↩

a heavy mortgage. The last squire dragged out his existence↩

there, living the horrible life of an aristocratic pauper; but↩

his only son, my stepfather, seeing that he must adapt himself to↩

the new conditions, obtained an advance from a relative, which↩

enabled him to take a medical degree and went out to Calcutta,↩

where, by his professional skill and his force of character, he↩

established a large practice. In a fit of anger, however, caused↩

by some robberies which had been perpetrated in the house, he↩

beat his native butler to death and narrowly escaped a capital↩

sentence. As it was, he suffered a long term of imprisonment and↩

afterwards returned to England a morose and disappointed man.↩

↩

"When Dr. Roylott was in India he married my mother, Mrs. Stoner,↩

the young widow of Major-General Stoner, of the Bengal Artillery.↩

My sister Julia and I were twins, and we were only two years old↩

at the time of my mother's re-marriage. She had a considerable↩

sum of money--not less than 1000 pounds a year--and this she↩

bequeathed to Dr. Roylott entirely while we resided with him,↩

with a provision that a certain annual sum should be allowed to↩

each of us in the event of our marriage. Shortly after our return↩

to England my mother died--she was killed eight years ago in a↩

railway accident near Crewe. Dr. Roylott then abandoned his↩

attempts to establish himself in practice in London and took us↩

to live with him in the old ancestral house at Stoke Moran. The↩

money which my mother had left was enough for all our wants, and↩

there seemed to be no obstacle to our happiness.↩

↩

"But a terrible change came over our stepfather about this time.↩

Instead of making friends and exchanging visits with our↩

neighbours, who had at first been overjoyed to see a Roylott of↩

Stoke Moran back in the old family seat, he shut himself up in↩

his house and seldom came out save to indulge in ferocious↩

quarrels with whoever might cross his path. Violence of temper↩

approaching to mania has been hereditary in the men of the↩

family, and in my stepfather's case it had, I believe, been↩

intensified by his long residence in the tropics. A series of↩

disgraceful brawls took place, two of which ended in the↩

police-court, until at last he became the terror of the village,↩

and the folks would fly at his approach, for he is a man of↩

immense strength, and absolutely uncontrollable in his anger.↩

↩

"Last week he hurled the local blacksmith over a parapet into a↩

stream, and it was only by paying over all the money which I↩

could gather together that I was able to avert another public↩

exposure. He had no friends at all save the wandering gipsies,↩

and he would give these vagabonds leave to encamp upon the few↩

acres of bramble-covered land which represent the family estate,↩

and would accept in return the hospitality of their tents,↩

wandering away with them sometimes for weeks on end. He has a↩

passion also for Indian animals, which are sent over to him by a↩

correspondent, and he has at this moment a cheetah and a baboon,↩

which wander freely over his grounds and are feared by the↩

villagers almost as much as their master.↩

↩

"You can imagine from what I say that my poor sister Julia and I↩

had no great pleasure in our lives. No servant would stay with↩

us, and for a long time we did all the work of the house. She was↩

but thirty at the time of her death, and yet her hair had already↩

begun to whiten, even as mine has."↩

↩

"Your sister is dead, then?"↩

↩

"She died just two years ago, and it is of her death that I wish↩

to speak to you. You can understand that, living the life which I↩

have described, we were little likely to see anyone of our own↩

age and position. We had, however, an aunt, my mother's maiden↩

sister, Miss Honoria Westphail, who lives near Harrow, and we↩

were occasionally allowed to pay short visits at this lady's↩

house. Julia went there at Christmas two years ago, and met there↩

a half-pay major of marines, to whom she became engaged. My↩

stepfather learned of the engagement when my sister returned and↩

offered no objection to the marriage; but within a fortnight of↩

the day which had been fixed for the wedding, the terrible event↩

occurred which has deprived me of my only companion."↩

↩

Sherlock Holmes had been leaning back in his chair with his eyes↩

closed and his head sunk in a cushion, but he half opened his↩

lids now and glanced across at his visitor.↩

↩

"Pray be precise as to details," said he.↩

↩

"It is easy for me to be so, for every event of that dreadful↩

time is seared into my memory. The manor-house is, as I have↩

already said, very old, and only one wing is now inhabited. The↩

bedrooms in this wing are on the ground floor, the sitting-rooms↩

being in the central block of the buildings. Of these bedrooms↩

the first is Dr. Roylott's, the second my sister's, and the third↩

my own. There is no communication between them, but they all open↩

out into the same corridor. Do I make myself plain?"↩

↩

"Perfectly so."↩

↩

"The windows of the three rooms open out upon the lawn. That↩

fatal night Dr. Roylott had gone to his room early, though we↩

knew that he had not retired to rest, for my sister was troubled↩

by the smell of the strong Indian cigars which it was his custom↩

to smoke. She left her room, therefore, and came into mine, where↩

she sat for some time, chatting about her approaching wedding. At↩

eleven o'clock she rose to leave me, but she paused at the door↩

and looked back.↩

↩

"'Tell me, Helen,' said she, 'have you ever heard anyone whistle↩

in the dead of the night?'↩

↩

"'Never,' said I.↩

↩

"'I suppose that you could not possibly whistle, yourself, in↩

your sleep?'↩

↩

"'Certainly not. But why?'↩

↩

"'Because during the last few nights I have always, about three↩

in the morning, heard a low, clear whistle. I am a light sleeper,↩

and it has awakened me. I cannot tell where it came from--perhaps↩

from the next room, perhaps from the lawn. I thought that I would↩

just ask you whether you had heard it.'↩

↩

"'No, I have not. It must be those wretched gipsies in the↩

plantation.'↩

↩

"'Very likely. And yet if it were on the lawn, I wonder that you↩

did not hear it also.'↩

↩

"'Ah, but I sleep more heavily than you.'↩

↩

"'Well, it is of no great consequence, at any rate.' She smiled↩

back at me, closed my door, and a few moments later I heard her↩

key turn in the lock."↩

↩

"Indeed," said Holmes. "Was it your custom always to lock↩

yourselves in at night?"↩

↩

"Always."↩

↩

"And why?"↩

↩

"I think that I mentioned to you that the doctor kept a cheetah↩

and a baboon. We had no feeling of security unless our doors were↩

locked."↩

↩

"Quite so. Pray proceed with your statement."↩

↩

"I could not sleep that night. A vague feeling of impending↩

misfortune impressed me. My sister and I, you will recollect,↩

were twins, and you know how subtle are the links which bind two↩

souls which are so closely allied. It was a wild night. The wind↩

was howling outside, and the rain was beating and splashing↩

against the windows. Suddenly, amid all the hubbub of the gale,↩

there burst forth the wild scream of a terrified woman. I knew↩

that it was my sister's voice. I sprang from my bed, wrapped a↩

shawl round me, and rushed into the corridor. As I opened my door↩

I seemed to hear a low whistle, such as my sister described, and↩

a few moments later a clanging sound, as if a mass of metal had↩

fallen. As I ran down the passage, my sister's door was unlocked,↩

and revolved slowly upon its hinges. I stared at it↩

horror-stricken, not knowing what was about to issue from it. By↩

the light of the corridor-lamp I saw my sister appear at the↩

opening, her face blanched with terror, her hands groping for↩

help, her whole figure swaying to and fro like that of a↩

drunkard. I ran to her and threw my arms round her, but at that↩

moment her knees seemed to give way and she fell to the ground.↩

She writhed as one who is in terrible pain, and her limbs were↩

dreadfully convulsed. At first I thought that she had not↩

recognised me, but as I bent over her she suddenly shrieked out↩

in a voice which I shall never forget, 'Oh, my God! Helen! It was↩

the band! The speckled band!' There was something else which she↩

would fain have said, and she stabbed with her finger into the↩

air in the direction of the doctor's room, but a fresh convulsion↩

seized her and choked her words. I rushed out, calling loudly for↩

my stepfather, and I met him hastening from his room in his↩

dressing-gown. When he reached my sister's side she was↩

unconscious, and though he poured brandy down her throat and sent↩

for medical aid from the village, all efforts were in vain, for↩

she slowly sank and died without having recovered her↩

consciousness. Such was the dreadful end of my beloved sister."↩

↩

"One moment," said Holmes, "are you sure about this whistle and↩

metallic sound? Could you swear to it?"↩

↩

"That was what the county coroner asked me at the inquiry. It is↩

my strong impression that I heard it, and yet, among the crash of↩

the gale and the creaking of an old house, I may possibly have↩

been deceived."↩

↩

"Was your sister dressed?"↩

↩

"No, she was in her night-dress. In her right hand was found the↩

charred stump of a match, and in her left a match-box."↩

↩

"Showing that she had struck a light and looked about her when↩

the alarm took place. That is important. And what conclusions did↩

the coroner come to?"↩

↩

"He investigated the case with great care, for Dr. Roylott's↩

conduct had long been notorious in the county, but he was unable↩

to find any satisfactory cause of death. My evidence showed that↩

the door had been fastened upon the inner side, and the windows↩

were blocked by old-fashioned shutters with broad iron bars,↩

which were secured every night. The walls were carefully sounded,↩

and were shown to be quite solid all round, and the flooring was↩

also thoroughly examined, with the same result. The chimney is↩

wide, but is barred up by four large staples. It is certain,↩

therefore, that my sister was quite alone when she met her end.↩

Besides, there were no marks of any violence upon her."↩

↩

"How about poison?"↩

↩

"The doctors examined her for it, but without success."↩

↩

"What do you think that this unfortunate lady died of, then?"↩

↩

"It is my belief that she died of pure fear and nervous shock,↩

though what it was that frightened her I cannot imagine."↩

↩

"Were there gipsies in the plantation at the time?"↩

↩

"Yes, there are nearly always some there."↩

↩

"Ah, and what did you gather from this allusion to a band--a↩

speckled band?"↩

↩

"Sometimes I have thought that it was merely the wild talk of↩

delirium, sometimes that it may have referred to some band of↩

people, perhaps to these very gipsies in the plantation. I do not↩

know whether the spotted handkerchiefs which so many of them wear↩

over their heads might have suggested the strange adjective which↩

she used."↩

↩

Holmes shook his head like a man who is far from being satisfied.↩

↩

"These are very deep waters," said he; "pray go on with your↩

narrative."↩

↩

"Two years have passed since then, and my life has been until↩

lately lonelier than ever. A month ago, however, a dear friend,↩

whom I have known for many years, has done me the honour to ask↩

my hand in marriage. His name is Armitage--Percy Armitage--the↩

second son of Mr. Armitage, of Crane Water, near Reading. My↩

stepfather has offered no opposition to the match, and we are to↩

be married in the course of the spring. Two days ago some repairs↩

were started in the west wing of the building, and my bedroom↩

wall has been pierced, so that I have had to move into the↩

chamber in which my sister died, and to sleep in the very bed in↩

which she slept. Imagine, then, my thrill of terror when last↩

night, as I lay awake, thinking over her terrible fate, I↩

suddenly heard in the silence of the night the low whistle which↩

had been the herald of her own death. I sprang up and lit the↩

lamp, but nothing was to be seen in the room. I was too shaken to↩

go to bed again, however, so I dressed, and as soon as it was↩

daylight I slipped down, got a dog-cart at the Crown Inn, which↩

is opposite, and drove to Leatherhead, from whence I have come on↩

this morning with the one object of seeing you and asking your↩

advice."↩

↩

"You have done wisely," said my friend. "But have you told me↩

all?"↩

↩

"Yes, all."↩

↩

"Miss Roylott, you have not. You are screening your stepfather."↩

↩

"Why, what do you mean?"↩

↩

For answer Holmes pushed back the frill of black lace which↩

fringed the hand that lay upon our visitor's knee. Five little↩

livid spots, the marks of four fingers and a thumb, were printed↩

upon the white wrist.↩

↩

"You have been cruelly used," said Holmes.↩

↩

The lady coloured deeply and covered over her injured wrist. "He↩

is a hard man," she said, "and perhaps he hardly knows his own↩

strength."↩

↩

There was a long silence, during which Holmes leaned his chin↩

upon his hands and stared into the crackling fire.↩

↩

"This is a very deep business," he said at last. "There are a↩

thousand details which I should desire to know before I decide↩

upon our course of action. Yet we have not a moment to lose. If↩

we were to come to Stoke Moran to-day, would it be possible for↩

us to see over these rooms without the knowledge of your↩

stepfather?"↩

↩

"As it happens, he spoke of coming into town to-day upon some↩

most important business. It is probable that he will be away all↩

day, and that there would be nothing to disturb you. We have a↩

housekeeper now, but she is old and foolish, and I could easily↩

get her out of the way."↩

↩

"Excellent. You are not averse to this trip, Watson?"↩

↩

"By no means."↩

↩

"Then we shall both come. What are you going to do yourself?"↩

↩

"I have one or two things which I would wish to do now that I am↩

in town. But I shall return by the twelve o'clock train, so as to↩

be there in time for your coming."↩

↩

"And you may expect us early in the afternoon. I have myself some↩

small business matters to attend to. Will you not wait and↩

breakfast?"↩

↩

"No, I must go. My heart is lightened already since I have↩

confided my trouble to you. I shall look forward to seeing you↩

again this afternoon." She dropped her thick black veil over her↩

face and glided from the room.↩

↩

"And what do you think of it all, Watson?" asked Sherlock Holmes,↩

leaning back in his chair.↩

↩

"It seems to me to be a most dark and sinister business."↩

↩

"Dark enough and sinister enough."↩

↩

"Yet if the lady is correct in saying that the flooring and walls↩

are sound, and that the door, window, and chimney are impassable,↩

then her sister must have been undoubtedly alone when she met her↩

mysterious end."↩

↩

"What becomes, then, of these nocturnal whistles, and what of the↩

very peculiar words of the dying woman?"↩

↩

"I cannot think."↩

↩

"When you combine the ideas of whistles at night, the presence of↩

a band of gipsies who are on intimate terms with this old doctor,↩

the fact that we have every reason to believe that the doctor has↩

an interest in preventing his stepdaughter's marriage, the dying↩

allusion to a band, and, finally, the fact that Miss Helen Stoner↩

heard a metallic clang, which might have been caused by one of↩

those metal bars that secured the shutters falling back into its↩

place, I think that there is good ground to think that the↩

mystery may be cleared along those lines."↩

↩

"But what, then, did the gipsies do?"↩

↩

"I cannot imagine."↩

↩

"I see many objections to any such theory."↩

↩

"And so do I. It is precisely for that reason that we are going↩

to Stoke Moran this day. I want to see whether the objections are↩

fatal, or if they may be explained away. But what in the name of↩

the devil!"↩

↩

The ejaculation had been drawn from my companion by the fact that↩

our door had been suddenly dashed open, and that a huge man had↩

framed himself in the aperture. His costume was a peculiar↩

mixture of the professional and of the agricultural, having a↩

black top-hat, a long frock-coat, and a pair of high gaiters,↩

with a hunting-crop swinging in his hand. So tall was he that his↩

hat actually brushed the cross bar of the doorway, and his↩

breadth seemed to span it across from side to side. A large face,↩

seared with a thousand wrinkles, burned yellow with the sun, and↩

marked with every evil passion, was turned from one to the other↩

of us, while his deep-set, bile-shot eyes, and his high, thin,↩

fleshless nose, gave him somewhat the resemblance to a fierce old↩

bird of prey.↩

↩

"Which of you is Holmes?" asked this apparition.↩

↩

"My name, sir; but you have the advantage of me," said my↩

companion quietly.↩

↩

"I am Dr. Grimesby Roylott, of Stoke Moran."↩

↩

"Indeed, Doctor," said Holmes blandly. "Pray take a seat."↩

↩

"I will do nothing of the kind. My stepdaughter has been here. I↩

have traced her. What has she been saying to you?"↩

↩

"It is a little cold for the time of the year," said Holmes.↩

↩

"What has she been saying to you?" screamed the old man↩

furiously.↩

↩

"But I have heard that the crocuses promise well," continued my↩

companion imperturbably.↩

↩

"Ha! You put me off, do you?" said our new visitor, taking a step↩

forward and shaking his hunting-crop. "I know you, you scoundrel!↩

I have heard of you before. You are Holmes, the meddler."↩

↩

My friend smiled.↩

↩

"Holmes, the busybody!"↩

↩

His smile broadened.↩

↩

"Holmes, the Scotland Yard Jack-in-office!"↩

↩

Holmes chuckled heartily. "Your conversation is most↩

entertaining," said he. "When you go out close the door, for↩

there is a decided draught."↩

↩

"I will go when I have said my say. Don't you dare to meddle with↩

my affairs. I know that Miss Stoner has been here. I traced her!↩

I am a dangerous man to fall foul of! See here." He stepped↩

swiftly forward, seized the poker, and bent it into a curve with↩

his huge brown hands.↩

↩

"See that you keep yourself out of my grip," he snarled, and↩

hurling the twisted poker into the fireplace he strode out of the↩

room.↩

↩

"He seems a very amiable person," said Holmes, laughing. "I am↩

not quite so bulky, but if he had remained I might have shown him↩

that my grip was not much more feeble than his own." As he spoke↩

he picked up the steel poker and, with a sudden effort,↩

straightened it out again.↩

↩

"Fancy his having the insolence to confound me with the official↩

detective force! This incident gives zest to our investigation,↩

however, and I only trust that our little friend will not suffer↩

from her imprudence in allowing this brute to trace her. And now,↩

Watson, we shall order breakfast, and afterwards I shall walk↩

down to Doctors' Commons, where I hope to get some data which may↩

help us in this matter."↩

↩

↩

It was nearly one o'clock when Sherlock Holmes returned from his↩

excursion. He held in his hand a sheet of blue paper, scrawled↩

over with notes and figures.↩

↩

"I have seen the will of the deceased wife," said he. "To↩

determine its exact meaning I have been obliged to work out the↩

present prices of the investments with which it is concerned. The↩

total income, which at the time of the wife's death was little↩

short of 1100 pounds, is now, through the fall in agricultural↩

prices, not more than 750 pounds. Each daughter can claim an↩

income of 250 pounds, in case of marriage. It is evident,↩

therefore, that if both girls had married, this beauty would have↩

had a mere pittance, while even one of them would cripple him to↩

a very serious extent. My morning's work has not been wasted,↩

since it has proved that he has the very strongest motives for↩

standing in the way of anything of the sort. And now, Watson,↩

this is too serious for dawdling, especially as the old man is↩

aware that we are interesting ourselves in his affairs; so if you↩

are ready, we shall call a cab and drive to Waterloo. I should be↩

very much obliged if you would slip your revolver into your↩

pocket. An Eley's No. 2 is an excellent argument with gentlemen↩

who can twist steel pokers into knots. That and a tooth-brush↩

are, I think, all that we need."↩

↩

At Waterloo we were fortunate in catching a train for↩

Leatherhead, where we hired a trap at the station inn and drove↩

for four or five miles through the lovely Surrey lanes. It was a↩

perfect day, with a bright sun and a few fleecy clouds in the↩

heavens. The trees and wayside hedges were just throwing out↩

their first green shoots, and the air was full of the pleasant↩

smell of the moist earth. To me at least there was a strange↩

contrast between the sweet promise of the spring and this↩

sinister quest upon which we were engaged. My companion sat in↩

the front of the trap, his arms folded, his hat pulled down over↩

his eyes, and his chin sunk upon his breast, buried in the↩

deepest thought. Suddenly, however, he started, tapped me on the↩

shoulder, and pointed over the meadows.↩

↩

"Look there!" said he.↩

↩

A heavily timbered park stretched up in a gentle slope,↩

thickening into a grove at the highest point. From amid the↩

branches there jutted out the grey gables and high roof-tree of a↩

very old mansion.↩

↩

"Stoke Moran?" said he.↩

↩

"Yes, sir, that be the house of Dr. Grimesby Roylott," remarked↩

the driver.↩

↩

"There is some building going on there," said Holmes; "that is↩

where we are going."↩

↩

"There's the village," said the driver, pointing to a cluster of↩

roofs some distance to the left; "but if you want to get to the↩

house, you'll find it shorter to get over this stile, and so by↩

the foot-path over the fields. There it is, where the lady is↩

walking."↩

↩

"And the lady, I fancy, is Miss Stoner," observed Holmes, shading↩

his eyes. "Yes, I think we had better do as you suggest."↩

↩

We got off, paid our fare, and the trap rattled back on its way↩

to Leatherhead.↩

↩

"I thought it as well," said Holmes as we climbed the stile,↩

"that this fellow should think we had come here as architects, or↩

on some definite business. It may stop his gossip.↩

Good-afternoon, Miss Stoner. You see that we have been as good as↩

our word."↩

↩

Our client of the morning had hurried forward to meet us with a↩

face which spoke her joy. "I have been waiting so eagerly for↩

you," she cried, shaking hands with us warmly. "All has turned↩

out splendidly. Dr. Roylott has gone to town, and it is unlikely↩

that he will be back before evening."↩

↩

"We have had the pleasure of making the doctor's acquaintance,"↩

said Holmes, and in a few words he sketched out what had↩

occurred. Miss Stoner turned white to the lips as she listened.↩

↩

"Good heavens!" she cried, "he has followed me, then."↩

↩

"So it appears."↩

↩

"He is so cunning that I never know when I am safe from him. What↩

will he say when he returns?"↩

↩

"He must guard himself, for he may find that there is someone↩

more cunning than himself upon his track. You must lock yourself↩

up from him to-night. If he is violent, we shall take you away to↩

your aunt's at Harrow. Now, we must make the best use of our↩

time, so kindly take us at once to the rooms which we are to↩

examine."↩

↩

The building was of grey, lichen-blotched stone, with a high↩

central portion and two curving wings, like the claws of a crab,↩

thrown out on each side. In one of these wings the windows were↩

broken and blocked with wooden boards, while the roof was partly↩

caved in, a picture of ruin. The central portion was in little↩

better repair, but the right-hand block was comparatively modern,↩

and the blinds in the windows, with the blue smoke curling up↩

from the chimneys, showed that this was where the family resided.↩

Some scaffolding had been erected against the end wall, and the↩

stone-work had been broken into, but there were no signs of any↩

workmen at the moment of our visit. Holmes walked slowly up and↩

down the ill-trimmed lawn and examined with deep attention the↩

outsides of the windows.↩

↩

"This, I take it, belongs to the room in which you used to sleep,↩

the centre one to your sister's, and the one next to the main↩

building to Dr. Roylott's chamber?"↩

↩

"Exactly so. But I am now sleeping in the middle one."↩

↩

"Pending the alterations, as I understand. By the way, there does↩

not seem to be any very pressing need for repairs at that end↩

wall."↩

↩

"There were none. I believe that it was an excuse to move me from↩

my room."↩

↩

"Ah! that is suggestive. Now, on the other side of this narrow↩

wing runs the corridor from which these three rooms open. There↩

are windows in it, of course?"↩

↩

"Yes, but very small ones. Too narrow for anyone to pass↩

through."↩

↩

"As you both locked your doors at night, your rooms were↩

unapproachable from that side. Now, would you have the kindness↩

to go into your room and bar your shutters?"↩

↩

Miss Stoner did so, and Holmes, after a careful examination↩

through the open window, endeavoured in every way to force the↩

shutter open, but without success. There was no slit through↩

which a knife could be passed to raise the bar. Then with his↩

lens he tested the hinges, but they were of solid iron, built↩

firmly into the massive masonry. "Hum!" said he, scratching his↩

chin in some perplexity, "my theory certainly presents some↩

difficulties. No one could pass these shutters if they were↩

bolted. Well, we shall see if the inside throws any light upon↩

the matter."↩

↩

A small side door led into the whitewashed corridor from which↩

the three bedrooms opened. Holmes refused to examine the third↩

chamber, so we passed at once to the second, that in which Miss↩

Stoner was now sleeping, and in which her sister had met with her↩

fate. It was a homely little room, with a low ceiling and a↩

gaping fireplace, after the fashion of old country-houses. A↩

brown chest of drawers stood in one corner, a narrow↩

white-counterpaned bed in another, and a dressing-table on the↩

left-hand side of the window. These articles, with two small↩

wicker-work chairs, made up all the furniture in the room save↩

for a square of Wilton carpet in the centre. The boards round and↩

the panelling of the walls were of brown, worm-eaten oak, so old↩

and discoloured that it may have dated from the original building↩

of the house. Holmes drew one of the chairs into a corner and sat↩

silent, while his eyes travelled round and round and up and down,↩

taking in every detail of the apartment.↩

↩

"Where does that bell communicate with?" he asked at last↩

pointing to a thick bell-rope which hung down beside the bed, the↩

tassel actually lying upon the pillow.↩

↩

"It goes to the housekeeper's room."↩

↩

"It looks newer than the other things?"↩

↩

"Yes, it was only put there a couple of years ago."↩

↩

"Your sister asked for it, I suppose?"↩

↩

"No, I never heard of her using it. We used always to get what we↩

wanted for ourselves."↩

↩

"Indeed, it seemed unnecessary to put so nice a bell-pull there.↩

You will excuse me for a few minutes while I satisfy myself as to↩

this floor." He threw himself down upon his face with his lens in↩

his hand and crawled swiftly backward and forward, examining↩

minutely the cracks between the boards. Then he did the same with↩

the wood-work with which the chamber was panelled. Finally he↩

walked over to the bed and spent some time in staring at it and↩

in running his eye up and down the wall. Finally he took the↩

bell-rope in his hand and gave it a brisk tug.↩

↩

"Why, it's a dummy," said he.↩

↩

"Won't it ring?"↩

↩

"No, it is not even attached to a wire. This is very interesting.↩

You can see now that it is fastened to a hook just above where↩

the little opening for the ventilator is."↩

↩

"How very absurd! I never noticed that before."↩

↩

"Very strange!" muttered Holmes, pulling at the rope. "There are↩

one or two very singular points about this room. For example,↩

what a fool a builder must be to open a ventilator into another↩

room, when, with the same trouble, he might have communicated↩

with the outside air!"↩

↩

"That is also quite modern," said the lady.↩

↩

"Done about the same time as the bell-rope?" remarked Holmes.↩

↩

"Yes, there were several little changes carried out about that↩

time."↩

↩

"They seem to have been of a most interesting character--dummy↩

bell-ropes, and ventilators which do not ventilate. With your↩

permission, Miss Stoner, we shall now carry our researches into↩

the inner apartment."↩

↩

Dr. Grimesby Roylott's chamber was larger than that of his↩

step-daughter, but was as plainly furnished. A camp-bed, a small↩

wooden shelf full of books, mostly of a technical character, an↩

armchair beside the bed, a plain wooden chair against the wall, a↩

round table, and a large iron safe were the principal things↩

which met the eye. Holmes walked slowly round and examined each↩

and all of them with the keenest interest.↩

↩

"What's in here?" he asked, tapping the safe.↩

↩

"My stepfather's business papers."↩

↩

"Oh! you have seen inside, then?"↩

↩

"Only once, some years ago. I remember that it was full of↩

papers."↩

↩

"There isn't a cat in it, for example?"↩

↩

"No. What a strange idea!"↩

↩

"Well, look at this!" He took up a small saucer of milk which↩

stood on the top of it.↩

↩

"No; we don't keep a cat. But there is a cheetah and a baboon."↩

↩

"Ah, yes, of course! Well, a cheetah is just a big cat, and yet a↩

saucer of milk does not go very far in satisfying its wants, I↩

daresay. There is one point which I should wish to determine." He↩

squatted down in front of the wooden chair and examined the seat↩

of it with the greatest attention.↩

↩

"Thank you. That is quite settled," said he, rising and putting↩

his lens in his pocket. "Hullo! Here is something interesting!"↩

↩

The object which had caught his eye was a small dog lash hung on↩

one corner of the bed. The lash, however, was curled upon itself↩

and tied so as to make a loop of whipcord.↩

↩

"What do you make of that, Watson?"↩

↩

"It's a common enough lash. But I don't know why it should be↩

tied."↩

↩

"That is not quite so common, is it? Ah, me! it's a wicked world,↩

and when a clever man turns his brains to crime it is the worst↩

of all. I think that I have seen enough now, Miss Stoner, and↩

with your permission we shall walk out upon the lawn."↩

↩

I had never seen my friend's face so grim or his brow so dark as↩

it was when we turned from the scene of this investigation. We↩

had walked several times up and down the lawn, neither Miss↩

Stoner nor myself liking to break in upon his thoughts before he↩

roused himself from his reverie.↩

↩

"It is very essential, Miss Stoner," said he, "that you should↩

absolutely follow my advice in every respect."↩

↩

"I shall most certainly do so."↩

↩

"The matter is too serious for any hesitation. Your life may↩

depend upon your compliance."↩

↩

"I assure you that I am in your hands."↩

↩

"In the first place, both my friend and I must spend the night in↩

your room."↩

↩

Both Miss Stoner and I gazed at him in astonishment.↩

↩

"Yes, it must be so. Let me explain. I believe that that is the↩

village inn over there?"↩

↩

"Yes, that is the Crown."↩

↩

"Very good. Your windows would be visible from there?"↩

↩

"Certainly."↩

↩

"You must confine yourself to your room, on pretence of a↩

headache, when your stepfather comes back. Then when you hear him↩

retire for the night, you must open the shutters of your window,↩

undo the hasp, put your lamp there as a signal to us, and then↩

withdraw quietly with everything which you are likely to want↩

into the room which you used to occupy. I have no doubt that, in↩

spite of the repairs, you could manage there for one night."↩

↩

"Oh, yes, easily."↩

↩

"The rest you will leave in our hands."↩

↩

"But what will you do?"↩

↩

"We shall spend the night in your room, and we shall investigate↩

the cause of this noise which has disturbed you."↩

↩

"I believe, Mr. Holmes, that you have already made up your mind,"↩

said Miss Stoner, laying her hand upon my companion's sleeve.↩

↩

"Perhaps I have."↩

↩

"Then, for pity's sake, tell me what was the cause of my sister's↩

death."↩

↩

"I should prefer to have clearer proofs before I speak."↩

↩

"You can at least tell me whether my own thought is correct, and↩

if she died from some sudden fright."↩

↩

"No, I do not think so. I think that there was probably some more↩

tangible cause. And now, Miss Stoner, we must leave you for if↩

Dr. Roylott returned and saw us our journey would be in vain.↩

Good-bye, and be brave, for if you will do what I have told you,↩

you may rest assured that we shall soon drive away the dangers↩

that threaten you."↩

↩

Sherlock Holmes and I had no difficulty in engaging a bedroom and↩

sitting-room at the Crown Inn. They were on the upper floor, and↩

from our window we could command a view of the avenue gate, and↩

of the inhabited wing of Stoke Moran Manor House. At dusk we saw↩

Dr. Grimesby Roylott drive past, his huge form looming up beside↩

the little figure of the lad who drove him. The boy had some↩

slight difficulty in undoing the heavy iron gates, and we heard↩

the hoarse roar of the doctor's voice and saw the fury with which↩

he shook his clinched fists at him. The trap drove on, and a few↩

minutes later we saw a sudden light spring up among the trees as↩

the lamp was lit in one of the sitting-rooms.↩

↩

"Do you know, Watson," said Holmes as we sat together in the↩

gathering darkness, "I have really some scruples as to taking you↩

to-night. There is a distinct element of danger."↩

↩

"Can I be of assistance?"↩

↩

"Your presence might be invaluable."↩

↩

"Then I shall certainly come."↩

↩

"It is very kind of you."↩

↩

"You speak of danger. You have evidently seen more in these rooms↩

than was visible to me."↩

↩

"No, but I fancy that I may have deduced a little more. I imagine↩

that you saw all that I did."↩

↩

"I saw nothing remarkable save the bell-rope, and what purpose↩

that could answer I confess is more than I can imagine."↩

↩

"You saw the ventilator, too?"↩

↩

"Yes, but I do not think that it is such a very unusual thing to↩

have a small opening between two rooms. It was so small that a↩

rat could hardly pass through."↩

↩

"I knew that we should find a ventilator before ever we came to↩

Stoke Moran."↩

↩

"My dear Holmes!"↩

↩

"Oh, yes, I did. You remember in her statement she said that her↩

sister could smell Dr. Roylott's cigar. Now, of course that↩

suggested at once that there must be a communication between the↩

two rooms. It could only be a small one, or it would have been↩

remarked upon at the coroner's inquiry. I deduced a ventilator."↩

↩

"But what harm can there be in that?"↩

↩

"Well, there is at least a curious coincidence of dates. A↩

ventilator is made, a cord is hung, and a lady who sleeps in the↩

bed dies. Does not that strike you?"↩

↩

"I cannot as yet see any connection."↩

↩

"Did you observe anything very peculiar about that bed?"↩

↩

"No."↩

↩

"It was clamped to the floor. Did you ever see a bed fastened↩

like that before?"↩

↩

"I cannot say that I have."↩

↩

"The lady could not move her bed. It must always be in the same↩

relative position to the ventilator and to the rope--or so we may↩

call it, since it was clearly never meant for a bell-pull."↩

↩

"Holmes," I cried, "I seem to see dimly what you are hinting at.↩

We are only just in time to prevent some subtle and horrible↩

crime."↩

↩

"Subtle enough and horrible enough. When a doctor does go wrong↩

he is the first of criminals. He has nerve and he has knowledge.↩

Palmer and Pritchard were among the heads of their profession.↩

This man strikes even deeper, but I think, Watson, that we shall↩

be able to strike deeper still. But we shall have horrors enough↩

before the night is over; for goodness' sake let us have a quiet↩

pipe and turn our minds for a few hours to something more↩

cheerful."↩

↩

↩

About nine o'clock the light among the trees was extinguished,↩

and all was dark in the direction of the Manor House. Two hours↩

passed slowly away, and then, suddenly, just at the stroke of↩

eleven, a single bright light shone out right in front of us.↩

↩

"That is our signal," said Holmes, springing to his feet; "it↩

comes from the middle window."↩

↩

As we passed out he exchanged a few words with the landlord,↩

explaining that we were going on a late visit to an acquaintance,↩

and that it was possible that we might spend the night there. A↩

moment later we were out on the dark road, a chill wind blowing↩

in our faces, and one yellow light twinkling in front of us↩

through the gloom to guide us on our sombre errand.↩

↩

There was little difficulty in entering the grounds, for↩

unrepaired breaches gaped in the old park wall. Making our way↩

among the trees, we reached the lawn, crossed it, and were about↩

to enter through the window when out from a clump of laurel↩

bushes there darted what seemed to be a hideous and distorted↩

child, who threw itself upon the grass with writhing limbs and↩

then ran swiftly across the lawn into the darkness.↩

↩

"My God!" I whispered; "did you see it?"↩

↩

Holmes was for the moment as startled as I. His hand closed like↩

a vice upon my wrist in his agitation. Then he broke into a low↩

laugh and put his lips to my ear.↩

↩

"It is a nice household," he murmured. "That is the baboon."↩

↩

I had forgotten the strange pets which the doctor affected. There↩

was a cheetah, too; perhaps we might find it upon our shoulders↩

at any moment. I confess that I felt easier in my mind when,↩

after following Holmes' example and slipping off my shoes, I↩

found myself inside the bedroom. My companion noiselessly closed↩

the shutters, moved the lamp onto the table, and cast his eyes↩

round the room. All was as we had seen it in the daytime. Then↩

creeping up to me and making a trumpet of his hand, he whispered↩

into my ear again so gently that it was all that I could do to↩

distinguish the words:↩

↩

"The least sound would be fatal to our plans."↩

↩

I nodded to show that I had heard.↩

↩

"We must sit without light. He would see it through the↩

ventilator."↩

↩

I nodded again.↩

↩

"Do not go asleep; your very life may depend upon it. Have your↩

pistol ready in case we should need it. I will sit on the side of↩

the bed, and you in that chair."↩

↩

I took out my revolver and laid it on the corner of the table.↩

↩

Holmes had brought up a long thin cane, and this he placed upon↩

the bed beside him. By it he laid the box of matches and the↩

stump of a candle. Then he turned down the lamp, and we were left↩

in darkness.↩

↩

How shall I ever forget that dreadful vigil? I could not hear a↩

sound, not even the drawing of a breath, and yet I knew that my↩

companion sat open-eyed, within a few feet of me, in the same↩

state of nervous tension in which I was myself. The shutters cut↩

off the least ray of light, and we waited in absolute darkness.↩

↩

From outside came the occasional cry of a night-bird, and once at↩

our very window a long drawn catlike whine, which told us that↩

the cheetah was indeed at liberty. Far away we could hear the↩

deep tones of the parish clock, which boomed out every quarter of↩

an hour. How long they seemed, those quarters! Twelve struck, and↩

one and two and three, and still we sat waiting silently for↩

whatever might befall.↩

↩

Suddenly there was the momentary gleam of a light up in the↩

direction of the ventilator, which vanished immediately, but was↩

succeeded by a strong smell of burning oil and heated metal.↩

Someone in the next room had lit a dark-lantern. I heard a gentle↩

sound of movement, and then all was silent once more, though the↩

smell grew stronger. For half an hour I sat with straining ears.↩

Then suddenly another sound became audible--a very gentle,↩

soothing sound, like that of a small jet of steam escaping↩

continually from a kettle. The instant that we heard it, Holmes↩

sprang from the bed, struck a match, and lashed furiously with↩

his cane at the bell-pull.↩

↩

"You see it, Watson?" he yelled. "You see it?"↩

↩

But I saw nothing. At the moment when Holmes struck the light I↩

heard a low, clear whistle, but the sudden glare flashing into my↩

weary eyes made it impossible for me to tell what it was at which↩

my friend lashed so savagely. I could, however, see that his face↩

was deadly pale and filled with horror and loathing. He had↩

ceased to strike and was gazing up at the ventilator when↩

suddenly there broke from the silence of the night the most↩

horrible cry to which I have ever listened. It swelled up louder↩

and louder, a hoarse yell of pain and fear and anger all mingled↩

in the one dreadful shriek. They say that away down in the↩

village, and even in the distant parsonage, that cry raised the↩

sleepers from their beds. It struck cold to our hearts, and I↩

stood gazing at Holmes, and he at me, until the last echoes of it↩

had died away into the silence from which it rose.↩

↩

"What can it mean?" I gasped.↩

↩

"It means that it is all over," Holmes answered. "And perhaps,↩

after all, it is for the best. Take your pistol, and we will↩

enter Dr. Roylott's room."↩

↩

With a grave face he lit the lamp and led the way down the↩

corridor. Twice he struck at the chamber door without any reply↩

from within. Then he turned the handle and entered, I at his↩

heels, with the cocked pistol in my hand.↩

↩

It was a singular sight which met our eyes. On the table stood a↩

dark-lantern with the shutter half open, throwing a brilliant↩

beam of light upon the iron safe, the door of which was ajar.↩

Beside this table, on the wooden chair, sat Dr. Grimesby Roylott↩

clad in a long grey dressing-gown, his bare ankles protruding↩

beneath, and his feet thrust into red heelless Turkish slippers.↩

Across his lap lay the short stock with the long lash which we↩

had noticed during the day. His chin was cocked upward and his↩

eyes were fixed in a dreadful, rigid stare at the corner of the↩

ceiling. Round his brow he had a peculiar yellow band, with↩

brownish speckles, which seemed to be bound tightly round his↩

head. As we entered he made neither sound nor motion.↩

↩

"The band! the speckled band!" whispered Holmes.↩

↩

I took a step forward. In an instant his strange headgear began↩

to move, and there reared itself from among his hair the squat↩

diamond-shaped head and puffed neck of a loathsome serpent.↩

↩

"It is a swamp adder!" cried Holmes; "the deadliest snake in↩

India. He has died within ten seconds of being bitten. Violence↩

does, in truth, recoil upon the violent, and the schemer falls↩

into the pit which he digs for another. Let us thrust this↩

creature back into its den, and we can then remove Miss Stoner to↩

some place of shelter and let the county police know what has↩

happened."↩

↩

As he spoke he drew the dog-whip swiftly from the dead man's lap,↩

and throwing the noose round the reptile's neck he drew it from↩

its horrid perch and, carrying it at arm's length, threw it into↩

the iron safe, which he closed upon it.↩

↩

Such are the true facts of the death of Dr. Grimesby Roylott, of↩

Stoke Moran. It is not necessary that I should prolong a↩

narrative which has already run to too great a length by telling↩

how we broke the sad news to the terrified girl, how we conveyed↩

her by the morning train to the care of her good aunt at Harrow,↩

of how the slow process of official inquiry came to the↩

conclusion that the doctor met his fate while indiscreetly↩

playing with a dangerous pet. The little which I had yet to learn↩

of the case was told me by Sherlock Holmes as we travelled back↩

next day.↩

↩

"I had," said he, "come to an entirely erroneous conclusion which↩

shows, my dear Watson, how dangerous it always is to reason from↩

insufficient data. The presence of the gipsies, and the use of↩

the word 'band,' which was used by the poor girl, no doubt, to↩

explain the appearance which she had caught a hurried glimpse of↩

by the light of her match, were sufficient to put me upon an↩

entirely wrong scent. I can only claim the merit that I instantly↩

reconsidered my position when, however, it became clear to me↩

that whatever danger threatened an occupant of the room could not↩

come either from the window or the door. My attention was↩

speedily drawn, as I have already remarked to you, to this↩

ventilator, and to the bell-rope which hung down to the bed. The↩

discovery that this was a dummy, and that the bed was clamped to↩

the floor, instantly gave rise to the suspicion that the rope was↩

there as a bridge for something passing through the hole and↩

coming to the bed. The idea of a snake instantly occurred to me,↩

and when I coupled it with my knowledge that the doctor was↩

furnished with a supply of creatures from India, I felt that I↩

was probably on the right track. The idea of using a form of↩

poison which could not possibly be discovered by any chemical↩

test was just such a one as would occur to a clever and ruthless↩

man who had had an Eastern training. The rapidity with which such↩

a poison would take effect would also, from his point of view, be↩

an advantage. It would be a sharp-eyed coroner, indeed, who could↩

distinguish the two little dark punctures which would show where↩

the poison fangs had done their work. Then I thought of the↩

whistle. Of course he must recall the snake before the morning↩

light revealed it to the victim. He had trained it, probably by↩

the use of the milk which we saw, to return to him when summoned.↩

He would put it through this ventilator at the hour that he↩

thought best, with the certainty that it would crawl down the↩

rope and land on the bed. It might or might not bite the↩

occupant, perhaps she might escape every night for a week, but↩

sooner or later she must fall a victim.↩

↩

"I had come to these conclusions before ever I had entered his↩

room. An inspection of his chair showed me that he had been in↩

the habit of standing on it, which of course would be necessary↩

in order that he should reach the ventilator. The sight of the↩

safe, the saucer of milk, and the loop of whipcord were enough to↩

finally dispel any doubts which may have remained. The metallic↩

clang heard by Miss Stoner was obviously caused by her stepfather↩

hastily closing the door of his safe upon its terrible occupant.↩

Having once made up my mind, you know the steps which I took in↩

order to put the matter to the proof. I heard the creature hiss↩

as I have no doubt that you did also, and I instantly lit the↩

light and attacked it."↩

↩

"With the result of driving it through the ventilator."↩

↩

"And also with the result of causing it to turn upon its master↩

at the other side. Some of the blows of my cane came home and↩

roused its snakish temper, so that it flew upon the first person↩

it saw. In this way I am no doubt indirectly responsible for Dr.↩

Grimesby Roylott's death, and I cannot say that it is likely to↩

weigh very heavily upon my conscience."↩

↩

↩

↩

IX. THE ADVENTURE OF THE ENGINEER'S THUMB↩

↩

Of all the problems which have been submitted to my friend, Mr.↩

Sherlock Holmes, for solution during the years of our intimacy,↩

there were only two which I was the means of introducing to his↩

notice--that of Mr. Hatherley's thumb, and that of Colonel↩

Warburton's madness. Of these the latter may have afforded a↩

finer field for an acute and original observer, but the other was↩

so strange in its inception and so dramatic in its details that↩

it may be the more worthy of being placed upon record, even if it↩

gave my friend fewer openings for those deductive methods of↩

reasoning by which he achieved such remarkable results. The story↩

has, I believe, been told more than once in the newspapers, but,↩

like all such narratives, its effect is much less striking when↩

set forth en bloc in a single half-column of print than when the↩

facts slowly evolve before your own eyes, and the mystery clears↩

gradually away as each new discovery furnishes a step which leads↩

on to the complete truth. At the time the circumstances made a↩

deep impression upon me, and the lapse of two years has hardly↩

served to weaken the effect.↩

↩

It was in the summer of '89, not long after my marriage, that the↩

events occurred which I am now about to summarise. I had returned↩

to civil practice and had finally abandoned Holmes in his Baker↩

Street rooms, although I continually visited him and occasionally↩

even persuaded him to forgo his Bohemian habits so far as to come↩

and visit us. My practice had steadily increased, and as I↩

happened to live at no very great distance from Paddington↩

Station, I got a few patients from among the officials. One of↩

these, whom I had cured of a painful and lingering disease, was↩

never weary of advertising my virtues and of endeavouring to send↩

me on every sufferer over whom he might have any influence.↩

↩

One morning, at a little before seven o'clock, I was awakened by↩

the maid tapping at the door to announce that two men had come↩

from Paddington and were waiting in the consulting-room. I↩

dressed hurriedly, for I knew by experience that railway cases↩

were seldom trivial, and hastened downstairs. As I descended, my↩

old ally, the guard, came out of the room and closed the door↩

tightly behind him.↩

↩

"I've got him here," he whispered, jerking his thumb over his↩

shoulder; "he's all right."↩

↩

"What is it, then?" I asked, for his manner suggested that it was↩

some strange creature which he had caged up in my room.↩

↩

"It's a new patient," he whispered. "I thought I'd bring him↩

round myself; then he couldn't slip away. There he is, all safe↩

and sound. I must go now, Doctor; I have my dooties, just the↩

same as you." And off he went, this trusty tout, without even↩

giving me time to thank him.↩

↩

I entered my consulting-room and found a gentleman seated by the↩

table. He was quietly dressed in a suit of heather tweed with a↩

soft cloth cap which he had laid down upon my books. Round one of↩

his hands he had a handkerchief wrapped, which was mottled all↩

over with bloodstains. He was young, not more than↩

five-and-twenty, I should say, with a strong, masculine face; but↩

he was exceedingly pale and gave me the impression of a man who↩

was suffering from some strong agitation, which it took all his↩

strength of mind to control.↩

↩

"I am sorry to knock you up so early, Doctor," said he, "but I↩

have had a very serious accident during the night. I came in by↩

train this morning, and on inquiring at Paddington as to where I↩

might find a doctor, a worthy fellow very kindly escorted me↩

here. I gave the maid a card, but I see that she has left it upon↩

the side-table."↩

↩

I took it up and glanced at it. "Mr. Victor Hatherley, hydraulic↩

engineer, 16A, Victoria Street (3rd floor)." That was the name,↩

style, and abode of my morning visitor. "I regret that I have↩

kept you waiting," said I, sitting down in my library-chair. "You↩

are fresh from a night journey, I understand, which is in itself↩

a monotonous occupation."↩

↩

"Oh, my night could not be called monotonous," said he, and↩

laughed. He laughed very heartily, with a high, ringing note,↩

leaning back in his chair and shaking his sides. All my medical↩

instincts rose up against that laugh.↩

↩

"Stop it!" I cried; "pull yourself together!" and I poured out↩

some water from a caraffe.↩

↩

It was useless, however. He was off in one of those hysterical↩

outbursts which come upon a strong nature when some great crisis↩

is over and gone. Presently he came to himself once more, very↩

weary and pale-looking.↩

↩

"I have been making a fool of myself," he gasped.↩

↩

"Not at all. Drink this." I dashed some brandy into the water,↩

and the colour began to come back to his bloodless cheeks.↩

↩

"That's better!" said he. "And now, Doctor, perhaps you would↩

kindly attend to my thumb, or rather to the place where my thumb↩

used to be."↩

↩

He unwound the handkerchief and held out his hand. It gave even↩

my hardened nerves a shudder to look at it. There were four↩

protruding fingers and a horrid red, spongy surface where the↩

thumb should have been. It had been hacked or torn right out from↩

the roots.↩

↩

"Good heavens!" I cried, "this is a terrible injury. It must have↩

bled considerably."↩

↩

"Yes, it did. I fainted when it was done, and I think that I must↩

have been senseless for a long time. When I came to I found that↩

it was still bleeding, so I tied one end of my handkerchief very↩

tightly round the wrist and braced it up with a twig."↩

↩

"Excellent! You should have been a surgeon."↩

↩

"It is a question of hydraulics, you see, and came within my own↩

province."↩

↩

"This has been done," said I, examining the wound, "by a very↩

heavy and sharp instrument."↩

↩

"A thing like a cleaver," said he.↩

↩

"An accident, I presume?"↩

↩

"By no means."↩

↩

"What! a murderous attack?"↩

↩

"Very murderous indeed."↩

↩

"You horrify me."↩

↩

I sponged the wound, cleaned it, dressed it, and finally covered↩

it over with cotton wadding and carbolised bandages. He lay back↩

without wincing, though he bit his lip from time to time.↩

↩

"How is that?" I asked when I had finished.↩

↩

"Capital! Between your brandy and your bandage, I feel a new man.↩

I was very weak, but I have had a good deal to go through."↩

↩

"Perhaps you had better not speak of the matter. It is evidently↩

trying to your nerves."↩

↩

"Oh, no, not now. I shall have to tell my tale to the police;↩

but, between ourselves, if it were not for the convincing↩

evidence of this wound of mine, I should be surprised if they↩

believed my statement, for it is a very extraordinary one, and I↩

have not much in the way of proof with which to back it up; and,↩

even if they believe me, the clues which I can give them are so↩

vague that it is a question whether justice will be done."↩

↩

"Ha!" cried I, "if it is anything in the nature of a problem↩

which you desire to see solved, I should strongly recommend you↩

to come to my friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, before you go to the↩

official police."↩

↩

"Oh, I have heard of that fellow," answered my visitor, "and I↩

should be very glad if he would take the matter up, though of↩

course I must use the official police as well. Would you give me↩

an introduction to him?"↩

↩

"I'll do better. I'll take you round to him myself."↩

↩

"I should be immensely obliged to you."↩

↩

"We'll call a cab and go together. We shall just be in time to↩

have a little breakfast with him. Do you feel equal to it?"↩

↩

"Yes; I shall not feel easy until I have told my story."↩

↩

"Then my servant will call a cab, and I shall be with you in an↩

instant." I rushed upstairs, explained the matter shortly to my↩

wife, and in five minutes was inside a hansom, driving with my↩

new acquaintance to Baker Street.↩

↩

Sherlock Holmes was, as I expected, lounging about his↩

sitting-room in his dressing-gown, reading the agony column of The↩

Times and smoking his before-breakfast pipe, which was composed↩

of all the plugs and dottles left from his smokes of the day↩

before, all carefully dried and collected on the corner of the↩

mantelpiece. He received us in his quietly genial fashion,↩

ordered fresh rashers and eggs, and joined us in a hearty meal.↩

When it was concluded he settled our new acquaintance upon the↩

sofa, placed a pillow beneath his head, and laid a glass of↩

brandy and water within his reach.↩

↩

"It is easy to see that your experience has been no common one,↩

Mr. Hatherley," said he. "Pray, lie down there and make yourself↩

absolutely at home. Tell us what you can, but stop when you are↩

tired and keep up your strength with a little stimulant."↩

↩

"Thank you," said my patient, "but I have felt another man since↩

the doctor bandaged me, and I think that your breakfast has↩

completed the cure. I shall take up as little of your valuable↩

time as possible, so I shall start at once upon my peculiar↩

experiences."↩

↩

Holmes sat in his big armchair with the weary, heavy-lidded↩

expression which veiled his keen and eager nature, while I sat↩

opposite to him, and we listened in silence to the strange story↩

which our visitor detailed to us.↩

↩

"You must know," said he, "that I am an orphan and a bachelor,↩

residing alone in lodgings in London. By profession I am a↩

hydraulic engineer, and I have had considerable experience of my↩

work during the seven years that I was apprenticed to Venner &↩

Matheson, the well-known firm, of Greenwich. Two years ago,↩

having served my time, and having also come into a fair sum of↩

money through my poor father's death, I determined to start in↩

business for myself and took professional chambers in Victoria↩

Street.↩

↩

"I suppose that everyone finds his first independent start in↩

business a dreary experience. To me it has been exceptionally so.↩

During two years I have had three consultations and one small↩

job, and that is absolutely all that my profession has brought↩

me. My gross takings amount to 27 pounds 10s. Every day, from↩

nine in the morning until four in the afternoon, I waited in my↩

little den, until at last my heart began to sink, and I came to↩

believe that I should never have any practice at all.↩

↩

"Yesterday, however, just as I was thinking of leaving the↩

office, my clerk entered to say there was a gentleman waiting who↩

wished to see me upon business. He brought up a card, too, with↩

the name of 'Colonel Lysander Stark' engraved upon it. Close at↩

his heels came the colonel himself, a man rather over the middle↩

size, but of an exceeding thinness. I do not think that I have↩

ever seen so thin a man. His whole face sharpened away into nose↩

and chin, and the skin of his cheeks was drawn quite tense over↩

his outstanding bones. Yet this emaciation seemed to be his↩

natural habit, and due to no disease, for his eye was bright, his↩

step brisk, and his bearing assured. He was plainly but neatly↩

dressed, and his age, I should judge, would be nearer forty than↩

thirty.↩

↩

"'Mr. Hatherley?' said he, with something of a German accent.↩

'You have been recommended to me, Mr. Hatherley, as being a man↩

who is not only proficient in his profession but is also discreet↩

and capable of preserving a secret.'↩

↩

"I bowed, feeling as flattered as any young man would at such an↩

address. 'May I ask who it was who gave me so good a character?'↩

↩

"'Well, perhaps it is better that I should not tell you that just↩

at this moment. I have it from the same source that you are both↩

an orphan and a bachelor and are residing alone in London.'↩

↩

"'That is quite correct,' I answered; 'but you will excuse me if↩

I say that I cannot see how all this bears upon my professional↩

qualifications. I understand that it was on a professional matter↩

that you wished to speak to me?'↩

↩

"'Undoubtedly so. But you will find that all I say is really to↩

the point. I have a professional commission for you, but absolute↩

secrecy is quite essential--absolute secrecy, you understand, and↩

of course we may expect that more from a man who is alone than↩

from one who lives in the bosom of his family.'↩

↩

"'If I promise to keep a secret,' said I, 'you may absolutely↩

depend upon my doing so.'↩

↩

"He looked very hard at me as I spoke, and it seemed to me that I↩

had never seen so suspicious and questioning an eye.↩

↩

"'Do you promise, then?' said he at last.↩

↩

"'Yes, I promise.'↩

↩

"'Absolute and complete silence before, during, and after? No↩

reference to the matter at all, either in word or writing?'↩

↩

"'I have already given you my word.'↩

↩

"'Very good.' He suddenly sprang up, and darting like lightning↩

across the room he flung open the door. The passage outside was↩

empty.↩

↩

"'That's all right,' said he, coming back. 'I know that clerks are↩

sometimes curious as to their master's affairs. Now we can talk↩

in safety.' He drew up his chair very close to mine and began to↩

stare at me again with the same questioning and thoughtful look.↩

↩

"A feeling of repulsion, and of something akin to fear had begun↩

to rise within me at the strange antics of this fleshless man.↩

Even my dread of losing a client could not restrain me from↩

showing my impatience.↩

↩

"'I beg that you will state your business, sir,' said I; 'my time↩

is of value.' Heaven forgive me for that last sentence, but the↩

words came to my lips.↩

↩

"'How would fifty guineas for a night's work suit you?' he asked.↩

↩

"'Most admirably.'↩

↩

"'I say a night's work, but an hour's would be nearer the mark. I↩

simply want your opinion about a hydraulic stamping machine which↩

has got out of gear. If you show us what is wrong we shall soon↩

set it right ourselves. What do you think of such a commission as↩

that?'↩

↩

"'The work appears to be light and the pay munificent.'↩

↩

"'Precisely so. We shall want you to come to-night by the last↩

train.'↩

↩

"'Where to?'↩

↩

"'To Eyford, in Berkshire. It is a little place near the borders↩

of Oxfordshire, and within seven miles of Reading. There is a↩

train from Paddington which would bring you there at about↩

11:15.'↩

↩

"'Very good.'↩

↩

"'I shall come down in a carriage to meet you.'↩

↩

"'There is a drive, then?'↩

↩

"'Yes, our little place is quite out in the country. It is a good↩

seven miles from Eyford Station.'↩

↩

"'Then we can hardly get there before midnight. I suppose there↩

would be no chance of a train back. I should be compelled to stop↩

the night.'↩

↩

"'Yes, we could easily give you a shake-down.'↩

↩

"'That is very awkward. Could I not come at some more convenient↩

hour?'↩

↩

"'We have judged it best that you should come late. It is to↩

recompense you for any inconvenience that we are paying to you, a↩

young and unknown man, a fee which would buy an opinion from the↩

very heads of your profession. Still, of course, if you would↩

like to draw out of the business, there is plenty of time to do↩

so.'↩

↩

"I thought of the fifty guineas, and of how very useful they↩

would be to me. 'Not at all,' said I, 'I shall be very happy to↩

accommodate myself to your wishes. I should like, however, to↩

understand a little more clearly what it is that you wish me to↩

do.'↩

↩

"'Quite so. It is very natural that the pledge of secrecy which↩

we have exacted from you should have aroused your curiosity. I↩

have no wish to commit you to anything without your having it all↩

laid before you. I suppose that we are absolutely safe from↩

eavesdroppers?'↩

↩

"'Entirely.'↩

↩

"'Then the matter stands thus. You are probably aware that↩

fuller's-earth is a valuable product, and that it is only found↩

in one or two places in England?'↩

↩

"'I have heard so.'↩

↩

"'Some little time ago I bought a small place--a very small↩

place--within ten miles of Reading. I was fortunate enough to↩

discover that there was a deposit of fuller's-earth in one of my↩

fields. On examining it, however, I found that this deposit was a↩

comparatively small one, and that it formed a link between two↩

very much larger ones upon the right and left--both of them,↩

however, in the grounds of my neighbours. These good people were↩

absolutely ignorant that their land contained that which was↩

quite as valuable as a gold-mine. Naturally, it was to my↩

interest to buy their land before they discovered its true value,↩

but unfortunately I had no capital by which I could do this. I↩

took a few of my friends into the secret, however, and they↩

suggested that we should quietly and secretly work our own little↩

deposit and that in this way we should earn the money which would↩

enable us to buy the neighbouring fields. This we have now been↩

doing for some time, and in order to help us in our operations we↩

erected a hydraulic press. This press, as I have already↩

explained, has got out of order, and we wish your advice upon the↩

subject. We guard our secret very jealously, however, and if it↩

once became known that we had hydraulic engineers coming to our↩

little house, it would soon rouse inquiry, and then, if the facts↩

came out, it would be good-bye to any chance of getting these↩

fields and carrying out our plans. That is why I have made you↩

promise me that you will not tell a human being that you are↩

going to Eyford to-night. I hope that I make it all plain?'↩

↩

"'I quite follow you,' said I. 'The only point which I could not↩

quite understand was what use you could make of a hydraulic press↩

in excavating fuller's-earth, which, as I understand, is dug out↩

like gravel from a pit.'↩

↩

"'Ah!' said he carelessly, 'we have our own process. We compress↩

the earth into bricks, so as to remove them without revealing↩

what they are. But that is a mere detail. I have taken you fully↩

into my confidence now, Mr. Hatherley, and I have shown you how I↩

trust you.' He rose as he spoke. 'I shall expect you, then, at↩

Eyford at 11:15.'↩

↩

"'I shall certainly be there.'↩

↩

"'And not a word to a soul.' He looked at me with a last long,↩

questioning gaze, and then, pressing my hand in a cold, dank↩

grasp, he hurried from the room.↩

↩

"Well, when I came to think it all over in cool blood I was very↩

much astonished, as you may both think, at this sudden commission↩

which had been intrusted to me. On the one hand, of course, I was↩

glad, for the fee was at least tenfold what I should have asked↩

had I set a price upon my own services, and it was possible that↩

this order might lead to other ones. On the other hand, the face↩

and manner of my patron had made an unpleasant impression upon↩

me, and I could not think that his explanation of the↩

fuller's-earth was sufficient to explain the necessity for my↩

coming at midnight, and his extreme anxiety lest I should tell↩

anyone of my errand. However, I threw all fears to the winds, ate↩

a hearty supper, drove to Paddington, and started off, having↩

obeyed to the letter the injunction as to holding my tongue.↩

↩

"At Reading I had to change not only my carriage but my station.↩

However, I was in time for the last train to Eyford, and I↩

reached the little dim-lit station after eleven o'clock. I was the↩

only passenger who got out there, and there was no one upon the↩

platform save a single sleepy porter with a lantern. As I passed↩

out through the wicket gate, however, I found my acquaintance of↩

the morning waiting in the shadow upon the other side. Without a↩

word he grasped my arm and hurried me into a carriage, the door↩

of which was standing open. He drew up the windows on either↩

side, tapped on the wood-work, and away we went as fast as the↩

horse could go."↩

↩

"One horse?" interjected Holmes.↩

↩

"Yes, only one."↩

↩

"Did you observe the colour?"↩

↩

"Yes, I saw it by the side-lights when I was stepping into the↩

carriage. It was a chestnut."↩

↩

"Tired-looking or fresh?"↩

↩

"Oh, fresh and glossy."↩

↩

"Thank you. I am sorry to have interrupted you. Pray continue↩

your most interesting statement."↩

↩

"Away we went then, and we drove for at least an hour. Colonel↩

Lysander Stark had said that it was only seven miles, but I↩

should think, from the rate that we seemed to go, and from the↩

time that we took, that it must have been nearer twelve. He sat↩

at my side in silence all the time, and I was aware, more than↩

once when I glanced in his direction, that he was looking at me↩

with great intensity. The country roads seem to be not very good↩

in that part of the world, for we lurched and jolted terribly. I↩

tried to look out of the windows to see something of where we↩

were, but they were made of frosted glass, and I could make out↩

nothing save the occasional bright blur of a passing light. Now↩

and then I hazarded some remark to break the monotony of the↩

journey, but the colonel answered only in monosyllables, and the↩

conversation soon flagged. At last, however, the bumping of the↩

road was exchanged for the crisp smoothness of a gravel-drive,↩

and the carriage came to a stand. Colonel Lysander Stark sprang↩

out, and, as I followed after him, pulled me swiftly into a porch↩

which gaped in front of us. We stepped, as it were, right out of↩

the carriage and into the hall, so that I failed to catch the↩

most fleeting glance of the front of the house. The instant that↩

I had crossed the threshold the door slammed heavily behind us,↩

and I heard faintly the rattle of the wheels as the carriage↩

drove away.↩

↩

"It was pitch dark inside the house, and the colonel fumbled↩

about looking for matches and muttering under his breath.↩

Suddenly a door opened at the other end of the passage, and a↩

long, golden bar of light shot out in our direction. It grew↩

broader, and a woman appeared with a lamp in her hand, which she↩

held above her head, pushing her face forward and peering at us.↩

I could see that she was pretty, and from the gloss with which↩

the light shone upon her dark dress I knew that it was a rich↩

material. She spoke a few words in a foreign tongue in a tone as↩

though asking a question, and when my companion answered in a↩

gruff monosyllable she gave such a start that the lamp nearly↩

fell from her hand. Colonel Stark went up to her, whispered↩

something in her ear, and then, pushing her back into the room↩

from whence she had come, he walked towards me again with the↩

lamp in his hand.↩

↩

"'Perhaps you will have the kindness to wait in this room for a↩

few minutes,' said he, throwing open another door. It was a↩

quiet, little, plainly furnished room, with a round table in the↩

centre, on which several German books were scattered. Colonel↩

Stark laid down the lamp on the top of a harmonium beside the↩

door. 'I shall not keep you waiting an instant,' said he, and↩

vanished into the darkness.↩

↩

"I glanced at the books upon the table, and in spite of my↩

ignorance of German I could see that two of them were treatises↩

on science, the others being volumes of poetry. Then I walked↩

across to the window, hoping that I might catch some glimpse of↩

the country-side, but an oak shutter, heavily barred, was folded↩

across it. It was a wonderfully silent house. There was an old↩

clock ticking loudly somewhere in the passage, but otherwise↩

everything was deadly still. A vague feeling of uneasiness began↩

to steal over me. Who were these German people, and what were↩

they doing living in this strange, out-of-the-way place? And↩

where was the place? I was ten miles or so from Eyford, that was↩

all I knew, but whether north, south, east, or west I had no↩

idea. For that matter, Reading, and possibly other large towns,↩

were within that radius, so the place might not be so secluded,↩

after all. Yet it was quite certain, from the absolute stillness,↩

that we were in the country. I paced up and down the room,↩

humming a tune under my breath to keep up my spirits and feeling↩

that I was thoroughly earning my fifty-guinea fee.↩

↩

"Suddenly, without any preliminary sound in the midst of the↩

utter stillness, the door of my room swung slowly open. The woman↩

was standing in the aperture, the darkness of the hall behind↩

her, the yellow light from my lamp beating upon her eager and↩

beautiful face. I could see at a glance that she was sick with↩

fear, and the sight sent a chill to my own heart. She held up one↩

shaking finger to warn me to be silent, and she shot a few↩

whispered words of broken English at me, her eyes glancing back,↩

like those of a frightened horse, into the gloom behind her.↩

↩

"'I would go,' said she, trying hard, as it seemed to me, to↩

speak calmly; 'I would go. I should not stay here. There is no↩

good for you to do.'↩

↩

"'But, madam,' said I, 'I have not yet done what I came for. I↩

cannot possibly leave until I have seen the machine.'↩

↩

"'It is not worth your while to wait,' she went on. 'You can pass↩

through the door; no one hinders.' And then, seeing that I smiled↩

and shook my head, she suddenly threw aside her constraint and↩

made a step forward, with her hands wrung together. 'For the love↩

of Heaven!' she whispered, 'get away from here before it is too↩

late!'↩

↩

"But I am somewhat headstrong by nature, and the more ready to↩

engage in an affair when there is some obstacle in the way. I↩

thought of my fifty-guinea fee, of my wearisome journey, and of↩

the unpleasant night which seemed to be before me. Was it all to↩

go for nothing? Why should I slink away without having carried↩

out my commission, and without the payment which was my due? This↩

woman might, for all I knew, be a monomaniac. With a stout↩

bearing, therefore, though her manner had shaken me more than I↩

cared to confess, I still shook my head and declared my intention↩

of remaining where I was. She was about to renew her entreaties↩

when a door slammed overhead, and the sound of several footsteps↩

was heard upon the stairs. She listened for an instant, threw up↩

her hands with a despairing gesture, and vanished as suddenly and↩

as noiselessly as she had come.↩

↩

"The newcomers were Colonel Lysander Stark and a short thick man↩

with a chinchilla beard growing out of the creases of his double↩

chin, who was introduced to me as Mr. Ferguson.↩

↩

"'This is my secretary and manager,' said the colonel. 'By the↩

way, I was under the impression that I left this door shut just↩

now. I fear that you have felt the draught.'↩

↩

"'On the contrary,' said I, 'I opened the door myself because I↩

felt the room to be a little close.'↩

↩

"He shot one of his suspicious looks at me. 'Perhaps we had↩

better proceed to business, then,' said he. 'Mr. Ferguson and I↩

will take you up to see the machine.'↩

↩

"'I had better put my hat on, I suppose.'↩

↩

"'Oh, no, it is in the house.'↩

↩

"'What, you dig fuller's-earth in the house?'↩

↩

"'No, no. This is only where we compress it. But never mind that.↩

All we wish you to do is to examine the machine and to let us↩

know what is wrong with it.'↩

↩

"We went upstairs together, the colonel first with the lamp, the↩

fat manager and I behind him. It was a labyrinth of an old house,↩

with corridors, passages, narrow winding staircases, and little↩

low doors, the thresholds of which were hollowed out by the↩

generations who had crossed them. There were no carpets and no↩

signs of any furniture above the ground floor, while the plaster↩

was peeling off the walls, and the damp was breaking through in↩

green, unhealthy blotches. I tried to put on as unconcerned an↩

air as possible, but I had not forgotten the warnings of the↩

lady, even though I disregarded them, and I kept a keen eye upon↩

my two companions. Ferguson appeared to be a morose and silent↩

man, but I could see from the little that he said that he was at↩

least a fellow-countryman.↩

↩

"Colonel Lysander Stark stopped at last before a low door, which↩

he unlocked. Within was a small, square room, in which the three↩

of us could hardly get at one time. Ferguson remained outside,↩

and the colonel ushered me in.↩

↩

"'We are now,' said he, 'actually within the hydraulic press, and↩

it would be a particularly unpleasant thing for us if anyone were↩

to turn it on. The ceiling of this small chamber is really the↩

end of the descending piston, and it comes down with the force of↩

many tons upon this metal floor. There are small lateral columns↩

of water outside which receive the force, and which transmit and↩

multiply it in the manner which is familiar to you. The machine↩

goes readily enough, but there is some stiffness in the working↩

of it, and it has lost a little of its force. Perhaps you will↩

have the goodness to look it over and to show us how we can set↩

it right.'↩

↩

"I took the lamp from him, and I examined the machine very↩

thoroughly. It was indeed a gigantic one, and capable of↩

exercising enormous pressure. When I passed outside, however, and↩

pressed down the levers which controlled it, I knew at once by↩

the whishing sound that there was a slight leakage, which allowed↩

a regurgitation of water through one of the side cylinders. An↩

examination showed that one of the india-rubber bands which was↩

round the head of a driving-rod had shrunk so as not quite to↩

fill the socket along which it worked. This was clearly the cause↩

of the loss of power, and I pointed it out to my companions, who↩

followed my remarks very carefully and asked several practical↩

questions as to how they should proceed to set it right. When I↩

had made it clear to them, I returned to the main chamber of the↩

machine and took a good look at it to satisfy my own curiosity.↩

It was obvious at a glance that the story of the fuller's-earth↩

was the merest fabrication, for it would be absurd to suppose↩

that so powerful an engine could be designed for so inadequate a↩

purpose. The walls were of wood, but the floor consisted of a↩

large iron trough, and when I came to examine it I could see a↩

crust of metallic deposit all over it. I had stooped and was↩

scraping at this to see exactly what it was when I heard a↩

muttered exclamation in German and saw the cadaverous face of the↩

colonel looking down at me.↩

↩

"'What are you doing there?' he asked.↩

↩

"I felt angry at having been tricked by so elaborate a story as↩

that which he had told me. 'I was admiring your fuller's-earth,'↩

said I; 'I think that I should be better able to advise you as to↩

your machine if I knew what the exact purpose was for which it↩

was used.'↩

↩

"The instant that I uttered the words I regretted the rashness of↩

my speech. His face set hard, and a baleful light sprang up in↩

his grey eyes.↩

↩

"'Very well,' said he, 'you shall know all about the machine.' He↩

took a step backward, slammed the little door, and turned the key↩

in the lock. I rushed towards it and pulled at the handle, but it↩

was quite secure, and did not give in the least to my kicks and↩

shoves. 'Hullo!' I yelled. 'Hullo! Colonel! Let me out!'↩

↩

"And then suddenly in the silence I heard a sound which sent my↩

heart into my mouth. It was the clank of the levers and the swish↩

of the leaking cylinder. He had set the engine at work. The lamp↩

still stood upon the floor where I had placed it when examining↩

the trough. By its light I saw that the black ceiling was coming↩

down upon me, slowly, jerkily, but, as none knew better than↩

myself, with a force which must within a minute grind me to a↩

shapeless pulp. I threw myself, screaming, against the door, and↩

dragged with my nails at the lock. I implored the colonel to let↩

me out, but the remorseless clanking of the levers drowned my↩

cries. The ceiling was only a foot or two above my head, and with↩

my hand upraised I could feel its hard, rough surface. Then it↩

flashed through my mind that the pain of my death would depend↩

very much upon the position in which I met it. If I lay on my↩

face the weight would come upon my spine, and I shuddered to↩

think of that dreadful snap. Easier the other way, perhaps; and↩

yet, had I the nerve to lie and look up at that deadly black↩

shadow wavering down upon me? Already I was unable to stand↩

erect, when my eye caught something which brought a gush of hope↩

back to my heart.↩

↩

"I have said that though the floor and ceiling were of iron, the↩

walls were of wood. As I gave a last hurried glance around, I saw↩

a thin line of yellow light between two of the boards, which↩

broadened and broadened as a small panel was pushed backward. For↩

an instant I could hardly believe that here was indeed a door↩

which led away from death. The next instant I threw myself↩

through, and lay half-fainting upon the other side. The panel had↩

closed again behind me, but the crash of the lamp, and a few↩

moments afterwards the clang of the two slabs of metal, told me↩

how narrow had been my escape.↩

↩

"I was recalled to myself by a frantic plucking at my wrist, and↩

I found myself lying upon the stone floor of a narrow corridor,↩

while a woman bent over me and tugged at me with her left hand,↩

while she held a candle in her right. It was the same good friend↩

whose warning I had so foolishly rejected.↩

↩

"'Come! come!' she cried breathlessly. 'They will be here in a↩

moment. They will see that you are not there. Oh, do not waste↩

the so-precious time, but come!'↩

↩

"This time, at least, I did not scorn her advice. I staggered to↩

my feet and ran with her along the corridor and down a winding↩

stair. The latter led to another broad passage, and just as we↩

reached it we heard the sound of running feet and the shouting of↩

two voices, one answering the other from the floor on which  we↩

were and from the one beneath. My guide stopped and looked about↩

her like one  who is at her wit's end. Then she threw open a door↩

which led into a bedroom, through the window of which the moon↩

was shining brightly.↩

↩

"'It is your only chance,' said she. 'It is high, but it may be↩

that you can jump it.'↩

↩

"As she spoke a light sprang into view at the further end of the↩

passage, and I saw the lean figure of Colonel Lysander Stark↩

rushing forward with a lantern in one hand and a weapon like a↩

butcher's cleaver in the other. I rushed across the bedroom,↩

flung open the window, and looked out. How quiet and sweet and↩

wholesome the garden looked in the moonlight, and it could not be↩

more than thirty feet down. I clambered out upon the sill, but I↩

hesitated to jump until I should have heard what passed between↩

my saviour and the ruffian who pursued me. If she were ill-used,↩

then at any risks I was determined to go back to her assistance.↩

The thought had hardly flashed through my mind before he was at↩

the door, pushing his way past her; but she threw her arms round↩

him and tried to hold him back.↩

↩

"'Fritz! Fritz!' she cried in English, 'remember your promise↩

after the last time. You said it should not be again. He will be↩

silent! Oh, he will be silent!'↩

↩

"'You are mad, Elise!' he shouted, struggling to break away from↩

her. 'You will be the ruin of us. He has seen too much. Let me↩

pass, I say!' He dashed her to one side, and, rushing to the↩

window, cut at me with his heavy weapon. I had let myself go, and↩

was hanging by the hands to the sill, when his blow fell. I was↩

conscious of a dull pain, my grip loosened, and I fell into the↩

garden below.↩

↩

"I was shaken but not hurt by the fall; so I picked myself up and↩

rushed off among the bushes as hard as I could run, for I↩

understood that I was far from being out of danger yet. Suddenly,↩

however, as I ran, a deadly dizziness and sickness came over me.↩

I glanced down at my hand, which was throbbing painfully, and↩

then, for the first time, saw that my thumb had been cut off and↩

that the blood was pouring from my wound. I endeavoured to tie my↩

handkerchief round it, but there came a sudden buzzing in my↩

ears, and next moment I fell in a dead faint among the↩

rose-bushes.↩

↩

"How long I remained unconscious I cannot tell. It must have been↩

a very long time, for the moon had sunk, and a bright morning was↩

breaking when I came to myself. My clothes were all sodden with↩

dew, and my coat-sleeve was drenched with blood from my wounded↩

thumb. The smarting of it recalled in an instant all the↩

particulars of my night's adventure, and I sprang to my feet with↩

the feeling that I might hardly yet be safe from my pursuers. But↩

to my astonishment, when I came to look round me, neither house↩

nor garden were to be seen. I had been lying in an angle of the↩

hedge close by the highroad, and just a little lower down was a↩

long building, which proved, upon my approaching it, to be the↩

very station at which I had arrived upon the previous night. Were↩

it not for the ugly wound upon my hand, all that had passed↩

during those dreadful hours might have been an evil dream.↩

↩

"Half dazed, I went into the station and asked about the morning↩

train. There would be one to Reading in less than an hour. The↩

same porter was on duty, I found, as had been there when I↩

arrived. I inquired of him whether he had ever heard of Colonel↩

Lysander Stark. The name was strange to him. Had he observed a↩

carriage the night before waiting for me? No, he had not. Was↩

there a police-station anywhere near? There was one about three↩

miles off.↩

↩

"It was too far for me to go, weak and ill as I was. I determined↩

to wait until I got back to town before telling my story to the↩

police. It was a little past six when I arrived, so I went first↩

to have my wound dressed, and then the doctor was kind enough to↩

bring me along here. I put the case into your hands and shall do↩

exactly what you advise."↩

↩

We both sat in silence for some little time after listening to↩

this extraordinary narrative. Then Sherlock Holmes pulled down↩

from the shelf one of the ponderous commonplace books in which he↩

placed his cuttings.↩

↩

"Here is an advertisement which will interest you," said he. "It↩

appeared in all the papers about a year ago. Listen to this:↩

'Lost, on the 9th inst., Mr. Jeremiah Hayling, aged↩

twenty-six, a hydraulic engineer. Left his lodgings at ten↩

o'clock at night, and has not been heard of since. Was↩

dressed in,' etc., etc. Ha! That represents the last time that↩

the colonel needed to have his machine overhauled, I fancy."↩

↩

"Good heavens!" cried my patient. "Then that explains what the↩

girl said."↩

↩

"Undoubtedly. It is quite clear that the colonel was a cool and↩

desperate man, who was absolutely determined that nothing should↩

stand in the way of his little game, like those out-and-out↩

pirates who will leave no survivor from a captured ship. Well,↩

every moment now is precious, so if you feel equal to it we shall↩

go down to Scotland Yard at once as a preliminary to starting for↩

Eyford."↩

↩

Some three hours or so afterwards we were all in the train↩

together, bound from Reading to the little Berkshire village.↩

There were Sherlock Holmes, the hydraulic engineer, Inspector↩

Bradstreet, of Scotland Yard, a plain-clothes man, and myself.↩

Bradstreet had spread an ordnance map of the county out upon the↩

seat and was busy with his compasses drawing a circle with Eyford↩

for its centre.↩

↩

"There you are," said he. "That circle is drawn at a radius of↩

ten miles from the village. The place we want must be somewhere↩

near that line. You said ten miles, I think, sir."↩

↩

"It was an hour's good drive."↩

↩

"And you think that they brought you back all that way when you↩

were unconscious?"↩

↩

"They must have done so. I have a confused memory, too, of having↩

been lifted and conveyed somewhere."↩

↩

"What I cannot understand," said I, "is why they should have↩

spared you when they found you lying fainting in the garden.↩

Perhaps the villain was softened by the woman's entreaties."↩

↩

"I hardly think that likely. I never saw a more inexorable face↩

in my life."↩

↩

"Oh, we shall soon clear up all that," said Bradstreet. "Well, I↩

have drawn my circle, and I only wish I knew at what point upon↩

it the folk that we are in search of are to be found."↩

↩

"I think I could lay my finger on it," said Holmes quietly.↩

↩

"Really, now!" cried the inspector, "you have formed your↩

opinion! Come, now, we shall see who agrees with you. I say it is↩

south, for the country is more deserted there."↩

↩

"And I say east," said my patient.↩

↩

"I am for west," remarked the plain-clothes man. "There are↩

several quiet little villages up there."↩

↩

"And I am for north," said I, "because there are no hills there,↩

and our friend says that he did not notice the carriage go up↩

any."↩

↩

"Come," cried the inspector, laughing; "it's a very pretty↩

diversity of opinion. We have boxed the compass among us. Who do↩

you give your casting vote to?"↩

↩

"You are all wrong."↩

↩

"But we can't all be."↩

↩

"Oh, yes, you can. This is my point." He placed his finger in the↩

centre of the circle. "This is where we shall find them."↩

↩

"But the twelve-mile drive?" gasped Hatherley.↩

↩

"Six out and six back. Nothing simpler. You say yourself that the↩

horse was fresh and glossy when you got in. How could it be that↩

if it had gone twelve miles over heavy roads?"↩

↩

"Indeed, it is a likely ruse enough," observed Bradstreet↩

thoughtfully. "Of course there can be no doubt as to the nature↩

of this gang."↩

↩

"None at all," said Holmes. "They are coiners on a large scale,↩

and have used the machine to form the amalgam which has taken the↩

place of silver."↩

↩

"We have known for some time that a clever gang was at work,"↩

said the inspector. "They have been turning out half-crowns by↩

the thousand. We even traced them as far as Reading, but could↩

get no farther, for they had covered their traces in a way that↩

showed that they were very old hands. But now, thanks to this↩

lucky chance, I think that we have got them right enough."↩

↩

But the inspector was mistaken, for those criminals were not↩

destined to fall into the hands of justice. As we rolled into↩

Eyford Station we saw a gigantic column of smoke which streamed↩

up from behind a small clump of trees in the neighbourhood and↩

hung like an immense ostrich feather over the landscape.↩

↩

"A house on fire?" asked Bradstreet as the train steamed off↩

again on its way.↩

↩

"Yes, sir!" said the station-master.↩

↩

"When did it break out?"↩

↩

"I hear that it was during the night, sir, but it has got worse,↩

and the whole place is in a blaze."↩

↩

"Whose house is it?"↩

↩

"Dr. Becher's."↩

↩

"Tell me," broke in the engineer, "is Dr. Becher a German, very↩

thin, with a long, sharp nose?"↩

↩

The station-master laughed heartily. "No, sir, Dr. Becher is an↩

Englishman, and there isn't a man in the parish who has a↩

better-lined waistcoat. But he has a gentleman staying with him,↩

a patient, as I understand, who is a foreigner, and he looks as↩

if a little good Berkshire beef would do him no harm."↩

↩

The station-master had not finished his speech before we were all↩

hastening in the direction of the fire. The road topped a low↩

hill, and there was a great widespread whitewashed building in↩

front of us, spouting fire at every chink and window, while in↩

the garden in front three fire-engines were vainly striving to↩

keep the flames under.↩

↩

"That's it!" cried Hatherley, in intense excitement. "There is↩

the gravel-drive, and there are the rose-bushes where I lay. That↩

second window is the one that I jumped from."↩

↩

"Well, at least," said Holmes, "you have had your revenge upon↩

them. There can be no question that it was your oil-lamp which,↩

when it was crushed in the press, set fire to the wooden walls,↩

though no doubt they were too excited in the chase after you to↩

observe it at the time. Now keep your eyes open in this crowd for↩

your friends of last night, though I very much fear that they are↩

a good hundred miles off by now."↩

↩

And Holmes' fears came to be realised, for from that day to this↩

no word has ever been heard either of the beautiful woman, the↩

sinister German, or the morose Englishman. Early that morning a↩

peasant had met a cart containing several people and some very↩

bulky boxes driving rapidly in the direction of Reading, but↩

there all traces of the fugitives disappeared, and even Holmes'↩

ingenuity failed ever to discover the least clue as to their↩

whereabouts.↩

↩

The firemen had been much perturbed at the strange arrangements↩

which they had found within, and still more so by discovering a↩

newly severed human thumb upon a window-sill of the second floor.↩

About sunset, however, their efforts were at last successful, and↩

they subdued the flames, but not before the roof had fallen in,↩

and the whole place been reduced to such absolute ruin that, save↩

some twisted cylinders and iron piping, not a trace remained of↩

the machinery which had cost our unfortunate acquaintance so↩

dearly. Large masses of nickel and of tin were discovered stored↩

in an out-house, but no coins were to be found, which may have↩

explained the presence of those bulky boxes which have been↩

already referred to.↩

↩

How our hydraulic engineer had been conveyed from the garden to↩

the spot where he recovered his senses might have remained↩

forever a mystery were it not for the soft mould, which told us a↩

very plain tale. He had evidently been carried down by two↩

persons, one of whom had remarkably small feet and the other↩

unusually large ones. On the whole, it was most probable that the↩

silent Englishman, being less bold or less murderous than his↩

companion, had assisted the woman to bear the unconscious man out↩

of the way of danger.↩

↩

"Well," said our engineer ruefully as we took our seats to return↩

once more to London, "it has been a pretty business for me! I↩

have lost my thumb and I have lost a fifty-guinea fee, and what↩

have I gained?"↩

↩

"Experience," said Holmes, laughing. "Indirectly it may be of↩

value, you know; you have only to put it into words to gain the↩

reputation of being excellent company for the remainder of your↩

existence."↩

↩

↩

↩

X. THE ADVENTURE OF THE NOBLE BACHELOR↩

↩

The Lord St. Simon marriage, and its curious termination, have↩

long ceased to be a subject of interest in those exalted circles↩

in which the unfortunate bridegroom moves. Fresh scandals have↩

eclipsed it, and their more piquant details have drawn the↩

gossips away from this four-year-old drama. As I have reason to↩

believe, however, that the full facts have never been revealed to↩

the general public, and as my friend Sherlock Holmes had a↩

considerable share in clearing the matter up, I feel that no↩

memoir of him would be complete without some little sketch of↩

this remarkable episode.↩

↩

It was a few weeks before my own marriage, during the days when I↩

was still sharing rooms with Holmes in Baker Street, that he came↩

home from an afternoon stroll to find a letter on the table↩

waiting for him. I had remained indoors all day, for the weather↩

had taken a sudden turn to rain, with high autumnal winds, and↩

the Jezail bullet which I had brought back in one of my limbs as↩

a relic of my Afghan campaign throbbed with dull persistence.↩

With my body in one easy-chair and my legs upon another, I had↩

surrounded myself with a cloud of newspapers until at last,↩

saturated with the news of the day, I tossed them all aside and↩

lay listless, watching the huge crest and monogram upon the↩

envelope upon the table and wondering lazily who my friend's↩

noble correspondent could be.↩

↩

"Here is a very fashionable epistle," I remarked as he entered.↩

"Your morning letters, if I remember right, were from a↩

fish-monger and a tide-waiter."↩

↩

"Yes, my correspondence has certainly the charm of variety," he↩

answered, smiling, "and the humbler are usually the more↩

interesting. This looks like one of those unwelcome social↩

summonses which call upon a man either to be bored or to lie."↩

↩

He broke the seal and glanced over the contents.↩

↩

"Oh, come, it may prove to be something of interest, after all."↩

↩

"Not social, then?"↩

↩

"No, distinctly professional."↩

↩

"And from a noble client?"↩

↩

"One of the highest in England."↩

↩

"My dear fellow, I congratulate you."↩

↩

"I assure you, Watson, without affectation, that the status of my↩

client is a matter of less moment to me than the interest of his↩

case. It is just possible, however, that that also may not be↩

wanting in this new investigation. You have been reading the↩

papers diligently of late, have you not?"↩

↩

"It looks like it," said I ruefully, pointing to a huge bundle in↩

the corner. "I have had nothing else to do."↩

↩

"It is fortunate, for you will perhaps be able to post me up. I↩

read nothing except the criminal news and the agony column. The↩

latter is always instructive. But if you have followed recent↩

events so closely you must have read about Lord St. Simon and his↩

wedding?"↩

↩

"Oh, yes, with the deepest interest."↩

↩

"That is well. The letter which I hold in my hand is from Lord↩

St. Simon. I will read it to you, and in return you must turn↩

over these papers and let me have whatever bears upon the matter.↩

This is what he says:↩

↩

"'MY DEAR MR. SHERLOCK HOLMES:--Lord Backwater tells me that I↩

may place implicit reliance upon your judgment and discretion. I↩

have determined, therefore, to call upon you and to consult you↩

in reference to the very painful event which has occurred in↩

connection with my wedding. Mr. Lestrade, of Scotland Yard, is↩

acting already in the matter, but he assures me that he sees no↩

objection to your co-operation, and that he even thinks that↩

it might be of some assistance. I will call at four o'clock in↩

the afternoon, and, should you have any other engagement at that↩

time, I hope that you will postpone it, as this matter is of↩

paramount importance. Yours faithfully, ST. SIMON.'↩

↩

"It is dated from Grosvenor Mansions, written with a quill pen,↩

and the noble lord has had the misfortune to get a smear of ink↩

upon the outer side of his right little finger," remarked Holmes↩

as he folded up the epistle.↩

↩

"He says four o'clock. It is three now. He will be here in an↩

hour."↩

↩

"Then I have just time, with your assistance, to get clear upon↩

the subject. Turn over those papers and arrange the extracts in↩

their order of time, while I take a glance as to who our client↩

is." He picked a red-covered volume from a line of books of↩

reference beside the mantelpiece. "Here he is," said he, sitting↩

down and flattening it out upon his knee. "'Lord Robert Walsingham↩

de Vere St. Simon, second son of the Duke of Balmoral.' Hum! 'Arms:↩

Azure, three caltrops in chief over a fess sable. Born in 1846.'↩

He's forty-one years of age, which is mature for marriage. Was↩

Under-Secretary for the colonies in a late administration. The↩

Duke, his father, was at one time Secretary for Foreign Affairs.↩

They inherit Plantagenet blood by direct descent, and Tudor on↩

the distaff side. Ha! Well, there is nothing very instructive in↩

all this. I think that I must turn to you Watson, for something↩

more solid."↩

↩

"I have very little difficulty in finding what I want," said I,↩

"for the facts are quite recent, and the matter struck me as↩

remarkable. I feared to refer them to you, however, as I knew↩

that you had an inquiry on hand and that you disliked the↩

intrusion of other matters."↩

↩

"Oh, you mean the little problem of the Grosvenor Square↩

furniture van. That is quite cleared up now--though, indeed, it↩

was obvious from the first. Pray give me the results of your↩

newspaper selections."↩

↩

"Here is the first notice which I can find. It is in the personal↩

column of the Morning Post, and dates, as you see, some weeks↩

back: 'A marriage has been arranged,' it says, 'and will, if↩

rumour is correct, very shortly take place, between Lord Robert↩

St. Simon, second son of the Duke of Balmoral, and Miss Hatty↩

Doran, the only daughter of Aloysius Doran. Esq., of San↩

Francisco, Cal., U.S.A.' That is all."↩

↩

"Terse and to the point," remarked Holmes, stretching his long,↩

thin legs towards the fire.↩

↩

"There was a paragraph amplifying this in one of the society↩

papers of the same week. Ah, here it is: 'There will soon be a↩

call for protection in the marriage market, for the present↩

free-trade principle appears to tell heavily against our home↩

product. One by one the management of the noble houses of Great↩

Britain is passing into the hands of our fair cousins from across↩

the Atlantic. An important addition has been made during the last↩

week to the list of the prizes which have been borne away by↩

these charming invaders. Lord St. Simon, who has shown himself↩

for over twenty years proof against the little god's arrows, has↩

now definitely announced his approaching marriage with Miss Hatty↩

Doran, the fascinating daughter of a California millionaire. Miss↩

Doran, whose graceful figure and striking face attracted much↩

attention at the Westbury House festivities, is an only child,↩

and it is currently reported that her dowry will run to↩

considerably over the six figures, with expectancies for the↩

future. As it is an open secret that the Duke of Balmoral has↩

been compelled to sell his pictures within the last few years,↩

and as Lord St. Simon has no property of his own save the small↩

estate of Birchmoor, it is obvious that the Californian heiress↩

is not the only gainer by an alliance which will enable her to↩

make the easy and common transition from a Republican lady to a↩

British peeress.'"↩

↩

"Anything else?" asked Holmes, yawning.↩

↩

"Oh, yes; plenty. Then there is another note in the Morning Post↩

to say that the marriage would be an absolutely quiet one, that it↩

would be at St. George's, Hanover Square, that only half a dozen↩

intimate friends would be invited, and that the party would↩

return to the furnished house at Lancaster Gate which has been↩

taken by Mr. Aloysius Doran. Two days later--that is, on↩

Wednesday last--there is a curt announcement that the wedding had↩

taken place, and that the honeymoon would be passed at Lord↩

Backwater's place, near Petersfield. Those are all the notices↩

which appeared before the disappearance of the bride."↩

↩

"Before the what?" asked Holmes with a start.↩

↩

"The vanishing of the lady."↩

↩

"When did she vanish, then?"↩

↩

"At the wedding breakfast."↩

↩

"Indeed. This is more interesting than it promised to be; quite↩

dramatic, in fact."↩

↩

"Yes; it struck me as being a little out of the common."↩

↩

"They often vanish before the ceremony, and occasionally during↩

the honeymoon; but I cannot call to mind anything quite so prompt↩

as this. Pray let me have the details."↩

↩

"I warn you that they are very incomplete."↩

↩

"Perhaps we may make them less so."↩

↩

"Such as they are, they are set forth in a single article of a↩

morning paper of yesterday, which I will read to you. It is↩

headed, 'Singular Occurrence at a Fashionable Wedding':↩

↩

"'The family of Lord Robert St. Simon has been thrown into the↩

greatest consternation by the strange and painful episodes which↩

have taken place in connection with his wedding. The ceremony, as↩

shortly announced in the papers of yesterday, occurred on the↩

previous morning; but it is only now that it has been possible to↩

confirm the strange rumours which have been so persistently↩

floating about. In spite of the attempts of the friends to hush↩

the matter up, so much public attention has now been drawn to it↩

that no good purpose can be served by affecting to disregard what↩

is a common subject for conversation.↩

↩

"'The ceremony, which was performed at St. George's, Hanover↩

Square, was a very quiet one, no one being present save the↩

father of the bride, Mr. Aloysius Doran, the Duchess of Balmoral,↩

Lord Backwater, Lord Eustace and Lady Clara St. Simon (the↩

younger brother and sister of the bridegroom), and Lady Alicia↩

Whittington. The whole party proceeded afterwards to the house of↩

Mr. Aloysius Doran, at Lancaster Gate, where breakfast had been↩

prepared. It appears that some little trouble was caused by a↩

woman, whose name has not been ascertained, who endeavoured to↩

force her way into the house after the bridal party, alleging↩

that she had some claim upon Lord St. Simon. It was only after a↩

painful and prolonged scene that she was ejected by the butler↩

and the footman. The bride, who had fortunately entered the house↩

before this unpleasant interruption, had sat down to breakfast↩

with the rest, when she complained of a sudden indisposition and↩

retired to her room. Her prolonged absence having caused some↩

comment, her father followed her, but learned from her maid that↩

she had only come up to her chamber for an instant, caught up an↩

ulster and bonnet, and hurried down to the passage. One of the↩

footmen declared that he had seen a lady leave the house thus↩

apparelled, but had refused to credit that it was his mistress,↩

believing her to be with the company. On ascertaining that his↩

daughter had disappeared, Mr. Aloysius Doran, in conjunction with↩

the bridegroom, instantly put themselves in communication with↩

the police, and very energetic inquiries are being made, which↩

will probably result in a speedy clearing up of this very↩

singular business. Up to a late hour last night, however, nothing↩

had transpired as to the whereabouts of the missing lady. There↩

are rumours of foul play in the matter, and it is said that the↩

police have caused the arrest of the woman who had caused the↩

original disturbance, in the belief that, from jealousy or some↩

other motive, she may have been concerned in the strange↩

disappearance of the bride.'"↩

↩

"And is that all?"↩

↩

"Only one little item in another of the morning papers, but it is↩

a suggestive one."↩

↩

"And it is--"↩

↩

"That Miss Flora Millar, the lady who had caused the disturbance,↩

has actually been arrested. It appears that she was formerly a↩

danseuse at the Allegro, and that she has known the bridegroom↩

for some years. There are no further particulars, and the whole↩

case is in your hands now--so far as it has been set forth in the↩

public press."↩

↩

"And an exceedingly interesting case it appears to be. I would↩

not have missed it for worlds. But there is a ring at the bell,↩

Watson, and as the clock makes it a few minutes after four, I↩

have no doubt that this will prove to be our noble client. Do not↩

dream of going, Watson, for I very much prefer having a witness,↩

if only as a check to my own memory."↩

↩

"Lord Robert St. Simon," announced our page-boy, throwing open↩

the door. A gentleman entered, with a pleasant, cultured face,↩

high-nosed and pale, with something perhaps of petulance about↩

the mouth, and with the steady, well-opened eye of a man whose↩

pleasant lot it had ever been to command and to be obeyed. His↩

manner was brisk, and yet his general appearance gave an undue↩

impression of age, for he had a slight forward stoop and a little↩

bend of the knees as he walked. His hair, too, as he swept off↩

his very curly-brimmed hat, was grizzled round the edges and thin↩

upon the top. As to his dress, it was careful to the verge of↩

foppishness, with high collar, black frock-coat, white waistcoat,↩

yellow gloves, patent-leather shoes, and light-coloured gaiters.↩

He advanced slowly into the room, turning his head from left to↩

right, and swinging in his right hand the cord which held his↩

golden eyeglasses.↩

↩

"Good-day, Lord St. Simon," said Holmes, rising and bowing. "Pray↩

take the basket-chair. This is my friend and colleague, Dr.↩

Watson. Draw up a little to the fire, and we will talk this↩

matter over."↩

↩

"A most painful matter to me, as you can most readily imagine,↩

Mr. Holmes. I have been cut to the quick. I understand that you↩

have already managed several delicate cases of this sort, sir,↩

though I presume that they were hardly from the same class of↩

society."↩

↩

"No, I am descending."↩

↩

"I beg pardon."↩

↩

"My last client of the sort was a king."↩

↩

"Oh, really! I had no idea. And which king?"↩

↩

"The King of Scandinavia."↩

↩

"What! Had he lost his wife?"↩

↩

"You can understand," said Holmes suavely, "that I extend to the↩

affairs of my other clients the same secrecy which I promise to↩

you in yours."↩

↩

"Of course! Very right! very right! I'm sure I beg pardon. As to↩

my own case, I am ready to give you any information which may↩

assist you in forming an opinion."↩

↩

"Thank you. I have already learned all that is in the public↩

prints, nothing more. I presume that I may take it as correct--this↩

article, for example, as to the disappearance of the bride."↩

↩

Lord St. Simon glanced over it. "Yes, it is correct, as far as it↩

goes."↩

↩

"But it needs a great deal of supplementing before anyone could↩

offer an opinion. I think that I may arrive at my facts most↩

directly by questioning you."↩

↩

"Pray do so."↩

↩

"When did you first meet Miss Hatty Doran?"↩

↩

"In San Francisco, a year ago."↩

↩

"You were travelling in the States?"↩

↩

"Yes."↩

↩

"Did you become engaged then?"↩

↩

"No."↩

↩

"But you were on a friendly footing?"↩

↩

"I was amused by her society, and she could see that I was↩

amused."↩

↩

"Her father is very rich?"↩

↩

"He is said to be the richest man on the Pacific slope."↩

↩

"And how did he make his money?"↩

↩

"In mining. He had nothing a few years ago. Then he struck gold,↩

invested it, and came up by leaps and bounds."↩

↩

"Now, what is your own impression as to the young lady's--your↩

wife's character?"↩

↩

The nobleman swung his glasses a little faster and stared down↩

into the fire. "You see, Mr. Holmes," said he, "my wife was↩

twenty before her father became a rich man. During that time she↩

ran free in a mining camp and wandered through woods or↩

mountains, so that her education has come from Nature rather than↩

from the schoolmaster. She is what we call in England a tomboy,↩

with a strong nature, wild and free, unfettered by any sort of↩

traditions. She is impetuous--volcanic, I was about to say. She↩

is swift in making up her mind and fearless in carrying out her↩

resolutions. On the other hand, I would not have given her the↩

name which I have the honour to bear"--he gave a little stately↩

cough--"had not I thought her to be at bottom a noble woman. I↩

believe that she is capable of heroic self-sacrifice and that↩

anything dishonourable would be repugnant to her."↩

↩

"Have you her photograph?"↩

↩

"I brought this with me." He opened a locket and showed us the↩

full face of a very lovely woman. It was not a photograph but an↩

ivory miniature, and the artist had brought out the full effect↩

of the lustrous black hair, the large dark eyes, and the↩

exquisite mouth. Holmes gazed long and earnestly at it. Then he↩

closed the locket and handed it back to Lord St. Simon.↩

↩

"The young lady came to London, then, and you renewed your↩

acquaintance?"↩

↩

"Yes, her father brought her over for this last London season. I↩

met her several times, became engaged to her, and have now↩

married her."↩

↩

"She brought, I understand, a considerable dowry?"↩

↩

"A fair dowry. Not more than is usual in my family."↩

↩

"And this, of course, remains to you, since the marriage is a↩

fait accompli?"↩

↩

"I really have made no inquiries on the subject."↩

↩

"Very naturally not. Did you see Miss Doran on the day before the↩

wedding?"↩

↩

"Yes."↩

↩

"Was she in good spirits?"↩

↩

"Never better. She kept talking of what we should do in our↩

future lives."↩

↩

"Indeed! That is very interesting. And on the morning of the↩

wedding?"↩

↩

"She was as bright as possible--at least until after the↩

ceremony."↩

↩

"And did you observe any change in her then?"↩

↩

"Well, to tell the truth, I saw then the first signs that I had↩

ever seen that her temper was just a little sharp. The incident↩

however, was too trivial to relate and can have no possible↩

bearing upon the case."↩

↩

"Pray let us have it, for all that."↩

↩

"Oh, it is childish. She dropped her bouquet as we went towards↩

the vestry. She was passing the front pew at the time, and it↩

fell over into the pew. There was a moment's delay, but the↩

gentleman in the pew handed it up to her again, and it did not↩

appear to be the worse for the fall. Yet when I spoke to her of↩

the matter, she answered me abruptly; and in the carriage, on our↩

way home, she seemed absurdly agitated over this trifling cause."↩

↩

"Indeed! You say that there was a gentleman in the pew. Some of↩

the general public were present, then?"↩

↩

"Oh, yes. It is impossible to exclude them when the church is↩

open."↩

↩

"This gentleman was not one of your wife's friends?"↩

↩

"No, no; I call him a gentleman by courtesy, but he was quite a↩

common-looking person. I hardly noticed his appearance. But↩

really I think that we are wandering rather far from the point."↩

↩

"Lady St. Simon, then, returned from the wedding in a less↩

cheerful frame of mind than she had gone to it. What did she do↩

on re-entering her father's house?"↩

↩

"I saw her in conversation with her maid."↩

↩

"And who is her maid?"↩

↩

"Alice is her name. She is an American and came from California↩

with her."↩

↩

"A confidential servant?"↩

↩

"A little too much so. It seemed to me that her mistress allowed↩

her to take great liberties. Still, of course, in America they↩

look upon these things in a different way."↩

↩

"How long did she speak to this Alice?"↩

↩

"Oh, a few minutes. I had something else to think of."↩

↩

"You did not overhear what they said?"↩

↩

"Lady St. Simon said something about 'jumping a claim.' She was↩

accustomed to use slang of the kind. I have no idea what she↩

meant."↩

↩

"American slang is very expressive sometimes. And what did your↩

wife do when she finished speaking to her maid?"↩

↩

"She walked into the breakfast-room."↩

↩

"On your arm?"↩

↩

"No, alone. She was very independent in little matters like that.↩

Then, after we had sat down for ten minutes or so, she rose↩

hurriedly, muttered some words of apology, and left the room. She↩

never came back."↩

↩

"But this maid, Alice, as I understand, deposes that she went to↩

her room, covered her bride's dress with a long ulster, put on a↩

bonnet, and went out."↩

↩

"Quite so. And she was afterwards seen walking into Hyde Park in↩

company with Flora Millar, a woman who is now in custody, and who↩

had already made a disturbance at Mr. Doran's house that↩

morning."↩

↩

"Ah, yes. I should like a few particulars as to this young lady,↩

and your relations to her."↩

↩

Lord St. Simon shrugged his shoulders and raised his eyebrows.↩

"We have been on a friendly footing for some years--I may say on↩

a very friendly footing. She used to be at the Allegro. I have↩

not treated her ungenerously, and she had no just cause of↩

complaint against me, but you know what women are, Mr. Holmes.↩

Flora was a dear little thing, but exceedingly hot-headed and↩

devotedly attached to me. She wrote me dreadful letters when she↩

heard that I was about to be married, and, to tell the truth, the↩

reason why I had the marriage celebrated so quietly was that I↩

feared lest there might be a scandal in the church. She came to↩

Mr. Doran's door just after we returned, and she endeavoured to↩

push her way in, uttering very abusive expressions towards my↩

wife, and even threatening her, but I had foreseen the↩

possibility of something of the sort, and I had two police↩

fellows there in private clothes, who soon pushed her out again.↩

She was quiet when she saw that there was no good in making a↩

row."↩

↩

"Did your wife hear all this?"↩

↩

"No, thank goodness, she did not."↩

↩

"And she was seen walking with this very woman afterwards?"↩

↩

"Yes. That is what Mr. Lestrade, of Scotland Yard, looks upon as↩

so serious. It is thought that Flora decoyed my wife out and laid↩

some terrible trap for her."↩

↩

"Well, it is a possible supposition."↩

↩

"You think so, too?"↩

↩

"I did not say a probable one. But you do not yourself look upon↩

this as likely?"↩

↩

"I do not think Flora would hurt a fly."↩

↩

"Still, jealousy is a strange transformer of characters. Pray↩

what is your own theory as to what took place?"↩

↩

"Well, really, I came to seek a theory, not to propound one. I↩

have given you all the facts. Since you ask me, however, I may↩

say that it has occurred to me as possible that the excitement of↩

this affair, the consciousness that she had made so immense a↩

social stride, had the effect of causing some little nervous↩

disturbance in my wife."↩

↩

"In short, that she had become suddenly deranged?"↩

↩

"Well, really, when I consider that she has turned her back--I↩

will not say upon me, but upon so much that many have aspired to↩

without success--I can hardly explain it in any other fashion."↩

↩

"Well, certainly that is also a conceivable hypothesis," said↩

Holmes, smiling. "And now, Lord St. Simon, I think that I have↩

nearly all my data. May I ask whether you were seated at the↩

breakfast-table so that you could see out of the window?"↩

↩

"We could see the other side of the road and the Park."↩

↩

"Quite so. Then I do not think that I need to detain you longer.↩

I shall communicate with you."↩

↩

"Should you be fortunate enough to solve this problem," said our↩

client, rising.↩

↩

"I have solved it."↩

↩

"Eh? What was that?"↩

↩

"I say that I have solved it."↩

↩

"Where, then, is my wife?"↩

↩

"That is a detail which I shall speedily supply."↩

↩

Lord St. Simon shook his head. "I am afraid that it will take↩

wiser heads than yours or mine," he remarked, and bowing in a↩

stately, old-fashioned manner he departed.↩

↩

"It is very good of Lord St. Simon to honour my head by putting↩

it on a level with his own," said Sherlock Holmes, laughing. "I↩

think that I shall have a whisky and soda and a cigar after all↩

this cross-questioning. I had formed my conclusions as to the↩

case before our client came into the room."↩

↩

"My dear Holmes!"↩

↩

"I have notes of several similar cases, though none, as I↩

remarked before, which were quite as prompt. My whole examination↩

served to turn my conjecture into a certainty. Circumstantial↩

evidence is occasionally very convincing, as when you find a↩

trout in the milk, to quote Thoreau's example."↩

↩

"But I have heard all that you have heard."↩

↩

"Without, however, the knowledge of pre-existing cases which↩

serves me so well. There was a parallel instance in Aberdeen some↩

years back, and something on very much the same lines at Munich↩

the year after the Franco-Prussian War. It is one of these↩

cases--but, hullo, here is Lestrade! Good-afternoon, Lestrade!↩

You will find an extra tumbler upon the sideboard, and there are↩

cigars in the box."↩

↩

The official detective was attired in a pea-jacket and cravat,↩

which gave him a decidedly nautical appearance, and he carried a↩

black canvas bag in his hand. With a short greeting he seated↩

himself and lit the cigar which had been offered to him.↩

↩

"What's up, then?" asked Holmes with a twinkle in his eye. "You↩

look dissatisfied."↩

↩

"And I feel dissatisfied. It is this infernal St. Simon marriage↩

case. I can make neither head nor tail of the business."↩

↩

"Really! You surprise me."↩

↩

"Who ever heard of such a mixed affair? Every clue seems to slip↩

through my fingers. I have been at work upon it all day."↩

↩

"And very wet it seems to have made you," said Holmes laying his↩

hand upon the arm of the pea-jacket.↩

↩

"Yes, I have been dragging the Serpentine."↩

↩

"In heaven's name, what for?"↩

↩

"In search of the body of Lady St. Simon."↩

↩

Sherlock Holmes leaned back in his chair and laughed heartily.↩

↩

"Have you dragged the basin of Trafalgar Square fountain?" he↩

asked.↩

↩

"Why? What do you mean?"↩

↩

"Because you have just as good a chance of finding this lady in↩

the one as in the other."↩

↩

Lestrade shot an angry glance at my companion. "I suppose you↩

know all about it," he snarled.↩

↩

"Well, I have only just heard the facts, but my mind is made up."↩

↩

"Oh, indeed! Then you think that the Serpentine plays no part in↩

the matter?"↩

↩

"I think it very unlikely."↩

↩

"Then perhaps you will kindly explain how it is that we found↩

this in it?" He opened his bag as he spoke, and tumbled onto the↩

floor a wedding-dress of watered silk, a pair of white satin↩

shoes and a bride's wreath and veil, all discoloured and soaked↩

in water. "There," said he, putting a new wedding-ring upon the↩

top of the pile. "There is a little nut for you to crack, Master↩

Holmes."↩

↩

"Oh, indeed!" said my friend, blowing blue rings into the air.↩

"You dragged them from the Serpentine?"↩

↩

"No. They were found floating near the margin by a park-keeper.↩

They have been identified as her clothes, and it seemed to me↩

that if the clothes were there the body would not be far off."↩

↩

"By the same brilliant reasoning, every man's body is to be found↩

in the neighbourhood of his wardrobe. And pray what did you hope↩

to arrive at through this?"↩

↩

"At some evidence implicating Flora Millar in the disappearance."↩

↩

"I am afraid that you will find it difficult."↩

↩

"Are you, indeed, now?" cried Lestrade with some bitterness. "I↩

am afraid, Holmes, that you are not very practical with your↩

deductions and your inferences. You have made two blunders in as↩

many minutes. This dress does implicate Miss Flora Millar."↩

↩

"And how?"↩

↩

"In the dress is a pocket. In the pocket is a card-case. In the↩

card-case is a note. And here is the very note." He slapped it↩

down upon the table in front of him. "Listen to this: 'You will↩

see me when all is ready. Come at once. F.H.M.' Now my theory all↩

along has been that Lady St. Simon was decoyed away by Flora↩

Millar, and that she, with confederates, no doubt, was↩

responsible for her disappearance. Here, signed with her↩

initials, is the very note which was no doubt quietly slipped↩

into her hand at the door and which lured her within their↩

reach."↩

↩

"Very good, Lestrade," said Holmes, laughing. "You really are↩

very fine indeed. Let me see it." He took up the paper in a↩

listless way, but his attention instantly became riveted, and he↩

gave a little cry of satisfaction. "This is indeed important,"↩

said he.↩

↩

"Ha! you find it so?"↩

↩

"Extremely so. I congratulate you warmly."↩

↩

Lestrade rose in his triumph and bent his head to look. "Why," he↩

shrieked, "you're looking at the wrong side!"↩

↩

"On the contrary, this is the right side."↩

↩

"The right side? You're mad! Here is the note written in pencil↩

over here."↩

↩

"And over here is what appears to be the fragment of a hotel↩

bill, which interests me deeply."↩

↩

"There's nothing in it. I looked at it before," said Lestrade.↩

"'Oct. 4th, rooms 8s., breakfast 2s. 6d., cocktail 1s., lunch 2s.↩

6d., glass sherry, 8d.' I see nothing in that."↩

↩

"Very likely not. It is most important, all the same. As to the↩

note, it is important also, or at least the initials are, so I↩

congratulate you again."↩

↩

"I've wasted time enough," said Lestrade, rising. "I believe in↩

hard work and not in sitting by the fire spinning fine theories.↩

Good-day, Mr. Holmes, and we shall see which gets to the bottom↩

of the matter first." He gathered up the garments, thrust them↩

into the bag, and made for the door.↩

↩

"Just one hint to you, Lestrade," drawled Holmes before his rival↩

vanished; "I will tell you the true solution of the matter. Lady↩

St. Simon is a myth. There is not, and there never has been, any↩

such person."↩

↩

Lestrade looked sadly at my companion. Then he turned to me,↩

tapped his forehead three times, shook his head solemnly, and↩

hurried away.↩

↩

He had hardly shut the door behind him when Holmes rose to put on↩

his overcoat. "There is something in what the fellow says about↩

outdoor work," he remarked, "so I think, Watson, that I must↩

leave you to your papers for a little."↩

↩

It was after five o'clock when Sherlock Holmes left me, but I had↩

no time to be lonely, for within an hour there arrived a↩

confectioner's man with a very large flat box. This he unpacked↩

with the help of a youth whom he had brought with him, and↩

presently, to my very great astonishment, a quite epicurean↩

little cold supper began to be laid out upon our humble↩

lodging-house mahogany. There were a couple of brace of cold↩

woodcock, a pheasant, a pâté de foie gras pie with a group of↩

ancient and cobwebby bottles. Having laid out all these luxuries,↩

my two visitors vanished away, like the genii of the Arabian↩

Nights, with no explanation save that the things had been paid↩

for and were ordered to this address.↩

↩

Just before nine o'clock Sherlock Holmes stepped briskly into the↩

room. His features were gravely set, but there was a light in his↩

eye which made me think that he had not been disappointed in his↩

conclusions.↩

↩

"They have laid the supper, then," he said, rubbing his hands.↩

↩

"You seem to expect company. They have laid for five."↩

↩

"Yes, I fancy we may have some company dropping in," said he. "I↩

am surprised that Lord St. Simon has not already arrived. Ha! I↩

fancy that I hear his step now upon the stairs."↩

↩

It was indeed our visitor of the afternoon who came bustling in,↩

dangling his glasses more vigorously than ever, and with a very↩

perturbed expression upon his aristocratic features.↩

↩

"My messenger reached you, then?" asked Holmes.↩

↩

"Yes, and I confess that the contents startled me beyond measure.↩

Have you good authority for what you say?"↩

↩

"The best possible."↩

↩

Lord St. Simon sank into a chair and passed his hand over his↩

forehead.↩

↩

"What will the Duke say," he murmured, "when he hears that one of↩

the family has been subjected to such humiliation?"↩

↩

"It is the purest accident. I cannot allow that there is any↩

humiliation."↩

↩

"Ah, you look on these things from another standpoint."↩

↩

"I fail to see that anyone is to blame. I can hardly see how the↩

lady could have acted otherwise, though her abrupt method of↩

doing it was undoubtedly to be regretted. Having no mother, she↩

had no one to advise her at such a crisis."↩

↩

"It was a slight, sir, a public slight," said Lord St. Simon,↩

tapping his fingers upon the table.↩

↩

"You must make allowance for this poor girl, placed in so↩

unprecedented a position."↩

↩

"I will make no allowance. I am very angry indeed, and I have↩

been shamefully used."↩

↩

"I think that I heard a ring," said Holmes. "Yes, there are steps↩

on the landing. If I cannot persuade you to take a lenient view↩

of the matter, Lord St. Simon, I have brought an advocate here↩

who may be more successful." He opened the door and ushered in a↩

lady and gentleman. "Lord St. Simon," said he "allow me to↩

introduce you to Mr. and Mrs. Francis Hay Moulton. The lady, I↩

think, you have already met."↩

↩

At the sight of these newcomers our client had sprung from his↩

seat and stood very erect, with his eyes cast down and his hand↩

thrust into the breast of his frock-coat, a picture of offended↩

dignity. The lady had taken a quick step forward and had held out↩

her hand to him, but he still refused to raise his eyes. It was↩

as well for his resolution, perhaps, for her pleading face was↩

one which it was hard to resist.↩

↩

"You're angry, Robert," said she. "Well, I guess you have every↩

cause to be."↩

↩

"Pray make no apology to me," said Lord St. Simon bitterly.↩

↩

"Oh, yes, I know that I have treated you real bad and that I↩

should have spoken to you before I went; but I was kind of↩

rattled, and from the time when I saw Frank here again I just↩

didn't know what I was doing or saying. I only wonder I didn't↩

fall down and do a faint right there before the altar."↩

↩

"Perhaps, Mrs. Moulton, you would like my friend and me to leave↩

the room while you explain this matter?"↩

↩

"If I may give an opinion," remarked the strange gentleman,↩

"we've had just a little too much secrecy over this business↩

already. For my part, I should like all Europe and America to↩

hear the rights of it." He was a small, wiry, sunburnt man,↩

clean-shaven, with a sharp face and alert manner.↩

↩

"Then I'll tell our story right away," said the lady. "Frank here↩

and I met in '84, in McQuire's camp, near the Rockies, where pa↩

was working a claim. We were engaged to each other, Frank and I;↩

but then one day father struck a rich pocket and made a pile,↩

while poor Frank here had a claim that petered out and came to↩

nothing. The richer pa grew the poorer was Frank; so at last pa↩

wouldn't hear of our engagement lasting any longer, and he took↩

me away to 'Frisco. Frank wouldn't throw up his hand, though; so↩

he followed me there, and he saw me without pa knowing anything↩

about it. It would only have made him mad to know, so we just↩

fixed it all up for ourselves. Frank said that he would go and↩

make his pile, too, and never come back to claim me until he had↩

as much as pa. So then I promised to wait for him to the end of↩

time and pledged myself not to marry anyone else while he lived.↩

'Why shouldn't we be married right away, then,' said he, 'and↩

then I will feel sure of you; and I won't claim to be your↩

husband until I come back?' Well, we talked it over, and he had↩

fixed it all up so nicely, with a clergyman all ready in waiting,↩

that we just did it right there; and then Frank went off to seek↩

his fortune, and I went back to pa.↩

↩

"The next I heard of Frank was that he was in Montana, and then↩

he went prospecting in Arizona, and then I heard of him from New↩

Mexico. After that came a long newspaper story about how a↩

miners' camp had been attacked by Apache Indians, and there was↩

my Frank's name among the killed. I fainted dead away, and I was↩

very sick for months after. Pa thought I had a decline and took↩

me to half the doctors in 'Frisco. Not a word of news came for a↩

year and more, so that I never doubted that Frank was really↩

dead. Then Lord St. Simon came to 'Frisco, and we came to London,↩

and a marriage was arranged, and pa was very pleased, but I felt↩

all the time that no man on this earth would ever take the place↩

in my heart that had been given to my poor Frank.↩

↩

"Still, if I had married Lord St. Simon, of course I'd have done↩

my duty by him. We can't command our love, but we can our↩

actions. I went to the altar with him with the intention to make↩

him just as good a wife as it was in me to be. But you may↩

imagine what I felt when, just as I came to the altar rails, I↩

glanced back and saw Frank standing and looking at me out of the↩

first pew. I thought it was his ghost at first; but when I looked↩

again there he was still, with a kind of question in his eyes, as↩

if to ask me whether I were glad or sorry to see him. I wonder I↩

didn't drop. I know that everything was turning round, and the↩

words of the clergyman were just like the buzz of a bee in my↩

ear. I didn't know what to do. Should I stop the service and make↩

a scene in the church? I glanced at him again, and he seemed to↩

know what I was thinking, for he raised his finger to his lips to↩

tell me to be still. Then I saw him scribble on a piece of paper,↩

and I knew that he was writing me a note. As I passed his pew on↩

the way out I dropped my bouquet over to him, and he slipped the↩

note into my hand when he returned me the flowers. It was only a↩

line asking me to join him when he made the sign to me to do so.↩

Of course I never doubted for a moment that my first duty was now↩

to him, and I determined to do just whatever he might direct.↩

↩

"When I got back I told my maid, who had known him in California,↩

and had always been his friend. I ordered her to say nothing, but↩

to get a few things packed and my ulster ready. I know I ought to↩

have spoken to Lord St. Simon, but it was dreadful hard before↩

his mother and all those great people. I just made up my mind to↩

run away and explain afterwards. I hadn't been at the table ten↩

minutes before I saw Frank out of the window at the other side of↩

the road. He beckoned to me and then began walking into the Park.↩

I slipped out, put on my things, and followed him. Some woman↩

came talking something or other about Lord St. Simon to↩

me--seemed to me from the little I heard as if he had a little↩

secret of his own before marriage also--but I managed to get away↩

from her and soon overtook Frank. We got into a cab together, and↩

away we drove to some lodgings he had taken in Gordon Square, and↩

that was my true wedding after all those years of waiting. Frank↩

had been a prisoner among the Apaches, had escaped, came on to↩

'Frisco, found that I had given him up for dead and had gone to↩

England, followed me there, and had come upon me at last on the↩

very morning of my second wedding."↩

↩

"I saw it in a paper," explained the American. "It gave the name↩

and the church but not where the lady lived."↩

↩

"Then we had a talk as to what we should do, and Frank was all↩

for openness, but I was so ashamed of it all that I felt as if I↩

should like to vanish away and never see any of them again--just↩

sending a line to pa, perhaps, to show him that I was alive. It↩

was awful to me to think of all those lords and ladies sitting↩

round that breakfast-table and waiting for me to come back. So↩

Frank took my wedding-clothes and things and made a bundle of↩

them, so that I should not be traced, and dropped them away↩

somewhere where no one could find them. It is likely that we↩

should have gone on to Paris to-morrow, only that this good↩

gentleman, Mr. Holmes, came round to us this evening, though how↩

he found us is more than I can think, and he showed us very↩

clearly and kindly that I was wrong and that Frank was right, and↩

that we should be putting ourselves in the wrong if we were so↩

secret. Then he offered to give us a chance of talking to Lord↩

St. Simon alone, and so we came right away round to his rooms at↩

once. Now, Robert, you have heard it all, and I am very sorry if↩

I have given you pain, and I hope that you do not think very↩

meanly of me."↩

↩

Lord St. Simon had by no means relaxed his rigid attitude, but↩

had listened with a frowning brow and a compressed lip to this↩

long narrative.↩

↩

"Excuse me," he said, "but it is not my custom to discuss my most↩

intimate personal affairs in this public manner."↩

↩

"Then you won't forgive me? You won't shake hands before I go?"↩

↩

"Oh, certainly, if it would give you any pleasure." He put out↩

his hand and coldly grasped that which she extended to him.↩

↩

"I had hoped," suggested Holmes, "that you would have joined us↩

in a friendly supper."↩

↩

"I think that there you ask a little too much," responded his↩

Lordship. "I may be forced to acquiesce in these recent↩

developments, but I can hardly be expected to make merry over↩

them. I think that with your permission I will now wish you all a↩

very good-night." He included us all in a sweeping bow and↩

stalked out of the room.↩

↩

"Then I trust that you at least will honour me with your↩

company," said Sherlock Holmes. "It is always a joy to meet an↩

American, Mr. Moulton, for I am one of those who believe that the↩

folly of a monarch and the blundering of a minister in far-gone↩

years will not prevent our children from being some day citizens↩

of the same world-wide country under a flag which shall be a↩

quartering of the Union Jack with the Stars and Stripes."↩

↩

"The case has been an interesting one," remarked Holmes when our↩

visitors had left us, "because it serves to show very clearly how↩

simple the explanation may be of an affair which at first sight↩

seems to be almost inexplicable. Nothing could be more natural↩

than the sequence of events as narrated by this lady, and nothing↩

stranger than the result when viewed, for instance, by Mr.↩

Lestrade of Scotland Yard."↩

↩

"You were not yourself at fault at all, then?"↩

↩

"From the first, two facts were very obvious to me, the one that↩

the lady had been quite willing to undergo the wedding ceremony,↩

the other that she had repented of it within a few minutes of↩

returning home. Obviously something had occurred during the↩

morning, then, to cause her to change her mind. What could that↩

something be? She could not have spoken to anyone when she was↩

out, for she had been in the company of the bridegroom. Had she↩

seen someone, then? If she had, it must be someone from America↩

because she had spent so short a time in this country that she↩

could hardly have allowed anyone to acquire so deep an influence↩

over her that the mere sight of him would induce her to change↩

her plans so completely. You see we have already arrived, by a↩

process of exclusion, at the idea that she might have seen an↩

American. Then who could this American be, and why should he↩

possess so much influence over her? It might be a lover; it might↩

be a husband. Her young womanhood had, I knew, been spent in↩

rough scenes and under strange conditions. So far I had got↩

before I ever heard Lord St. Simon's narrative. When he told us↩

of a man in a pew, of the change in the bride's manner, of so↩

transparent a device for obtaining a note as the dropping of a↩

bouquet, of her resort to her confidential maid, and of her very↩

significant allusion to claim-jumping--which in miners' parlance↩

means taking possession of that which another person has a prior↩

claim to--the whole situation became absolutely clear. She had↩

gone off with a man, and the man was either a lover or was a↩

previous husband--the chances being in favour of the latter."↩

↩

"And how in the world did you find them?"↩

↩

"It might have been difficult, but friend Lestrade held↩

information in his hands the value of which he did not himself↩

know. The initials were, of course, of the highest importance,↩

but more valuable still was it to know that within a week he had↩

settled his bill at one of the most select London hotels."↩

↩

"How did you deduce the select?"↩

↩

"By the select prices. Eight shillings for a bed and eightpence↩

for a glass of sherry pointed to one of the most expensive↩

hotels. There are not many in London which charge at that rate.↩

In the second one which I visited in Northumberland Avenue, I↩

learned by an inspection of the book that Francis H. Moulton, an↩

American gentleman, had left only the day before, and on looking↩

over the entries against him, I came upon the very items which I↩

had seen in the duplicate bill. His letters were to be forwarded↩

to 226 Gordon Square; so thither I travelled, and being fortunate↩

enough to find the loving couple at home, I ventured to give them↩

some paternal advice and to point out to them that it would be↩

better in every way that they should make their position a little↩

clearer both to the general public and to Lord St. Simon in↩

particular. I invited them to meet him here, and, as you see, I↩

made him keep the appointment."↩

↩

"But with no very good result," I remarked. "His conduct was↩

certainly not very gracious."↩

↩

"Ah, Watson," said Holmes, smiling, "perhaps you would not be↩

very gracious either, if, after all the trouble of wooing and↩

wedding, you found yourself deprived in an instant of wife and of↩

fortune. I think that we may judge Lord St. Simon very mercifully↩

and thank our stars that we are never likely to find ourselves in↩

the same position. Draw your chair up and hand me my violin, for↩

the only problem we have still to solve is how to while away↩

these bleak autumnal evenings."↩

↩

↩

↩

XI. THE ADVENTURE OF THE BERYL CORONET↩

↩

"Holmes," said I as I stood one morning in our bow-window looking↩

down the street, "here is a madman coming along. It seems rather↩

sad that his relatives should allow him to come out alone."↩

↩

My friend rose lazily from his armchair and stood with his hands↩

in the pockets of his dressing-gown, looking over my shoulder. It↩

was a bright, crisp February morning, and the snow of the day↩

before still lay deep upon the ground, shimmering brightly in the↩

wintry sun. Down the centre of Baker Street it had been ploughed↩

into a brown crumbly band by the traffic, but at either side and↩

on the heaped-up edges of the foot-paths it still lay as white as↩

when it fell. The grey pavement had been cleaned and scraped, but↩

was still dangerously slippery, so that there were fewer↩

passengers than usual. Indeed, from the direction of the↩

Metropolitan Station no one was coming save the single gentleman↩

whose eccentric conduct had drawn my attention.↩

↩

He was a man of about fifty, tall, portly, and imposing, with a↩

massive, strongly marked face and a commanding figure. He was↩

dressed in a sombre yet rich style, in black frock-coat, shining↩

hat, neat brown gaiters, and well-cut pearl-grey trousers. Yet↩

his actions were in absurd contrast to the dignity of his dress↩

and features, for he was running hard, with occasional little↩

springs, such as a weary man gives who is little accustomed to↩

set any tax upon his legs. As he ran he jerked his hands up and↩

down, waggled his head, and writhed his face into the most↩

extraordinary contortions.↩

↩

"What on earth can be the matter with him?" I asked. "He is↩

looking up at the numbers of the houses."↩

↩

"I believe that he is coming here," said Holmes, rubbing his↩

hands.↩

↩

"Here?"↩

↩

"Yes; I rather think he is coming to consult me professionally. I↩

think that I recognise the symptoms. Ha! did I not tell you?" As↩

he spoke, the man, puffing and blowing, rushed at our door and↩

pulled at our bell until the whole house resounded with the↩

clanging.↩

↩

A few moments later he was in our room, still puffing, still↩

gesticulating, but with so fixed a look of grief and despair in↩

his eyes that our smiles were turned in an instant to horror and↩

pity. For a while he could not get his words out, but swayed his↩

body and plucked at his hair like one who has been driven to the↩

extreme limits of his reason. Then, suddenly springing to his↩

feet, he beat his head against the wall with such force that we↩

both rushed upon him and tore him away to the centre of the room.↩

Sherlock Holmes pushed him down into the easy-chair and, sitting↩

beside him, patted his hand and chatted with him in the easy,↩

soothing tones which he knew so well how to employ.↩

↩

"You have come to me to tell your story, have you not?" said he.↩

"You are fatigued with your haste. Pray wait until you have↩

recovered yourself, and then I shall be most happy to look into↩

any little problem which you may submit to me."↩

↩

The man sat for a minute or more with a heaving chest, fighting↩

against his emotion. Then he passed his handkerchief over his↩

brow, set his lips tight, and turned his face towards us.↩

↩

"No doubt you think me mad?" said he.↩

↩

"I see that you have had some great trouble," responded Holmes.↩

↩

"God knows I have!--a trouble which is enough to unseat my↩

reason, so sudden and so terrible is it. Public disgrace I might↩

have faced, although I am a man whose character has never yet↩

borne a stain. Private affliction also is the lot of every man;↩

but the two coming together, and in so frightful a form, have↩

been enough to shake my very soul. Besides, it is not I alone.↩

The very noblest in the land may suffer unless some way be found↩

out of this horrible affair."↩

↩

"Pray compose yourself, sir," said Holmes, "and let me have a↩

clear account of who you are and what it is that has befallen↩

you."↩

↩

"My name," answered our visitor, "is probably familiar to your↩

ears. I am Alexander Holder, of the banking firm of Holder &↩

Stevenson, of Threadneedle Street."↩

↩

The name was indeed well known to us as belonging to the senior↩

partner in the second largest private banking concern in the City↩

of London. What could have happened, then, to bring one of the↩

foremost citizens of London to this most pitiable pass? We↩

waited, all curiosity, until with another effort he braced↩

himself to tell his story.↩

↩

"I feel that time is of value," said he; "that is why I hastened↩

here when the police inspector suggested that I should secure↩

your co-operation. I came to Baker Street by the Underground and↩

hurried from there on foot, for the cabs go slowly through this↩

snow. That is why I was so out of breath, for I am a man who↩

takes very little exercise. I feel better now, and I will put the↩

facts before you as shortly and yet as clearly as I can.↩

↩

"It is, of course, well known to you that in a successful banking↩

business as much depends upon our being able to find remunerative↩

investments for our funds as upon our increasing our connection↩

and the number of our depositors. One of our most lucrative means↩

of laying out money is in the shape of loans, where the security↩

is unimpeachable. We have done a good deal in this direction↩

during the last few years, and there are many noble families to↩

whom we have advanced large sums upon the security of their↩

pictures, libraries, or plate.↩

↩

"Yesterday morning I was seated in my office at the bank when a↩

card was brought in to me by one of the clerks. I started when I↩

saw the name, for it was that of none other than--well, perhaps↩

even to you I had better say no more than that it was a name↩

which is a household word all over the earth--one of the highest,↩

noblest, most exalted names in England. I was overwhelmed by the↩

honour and attempted, when he entered, to say so, but he plunged↩

at once into business with the air of a man who wishes to hurry↩

quickly through a disagreeable task.↩

↩

"'Mr. Holder,' said he, 'I have been informed that you are in the↩

habit of advancing money.'↩

↩

"'The firm does so when the security is good.' I answered.↩

↩

"'It is absolutely essential to me,' said he, 'that I should have↩

50,000 pounds at once. I could, of course, borrow so trifling a↩

sum ten times over from my friends, but I much prefer to make it↩

a matter of business and to carry out that business myself. In my↩

position you can readily understand that it is unwise to place↩

one's self under obligations.'↩

↩

"'For how long, may I ask, do you want this sum?' I asked.↩

↩

"'Next Monday I have a large sum due to me, and I shall then most↩

certainly repay what you advance, with whatever interest you↩

think it right to charge. But it is very essential to me that the↩

money should be paid at once.'↩

↩

"'I should be happy to advance it without further parley from my↩

own private purse,' said I, 'were it not that the strain would be↩

rather more than it could bear. If, on the other hand, I am to do↩

it in the name of the firm, then in justice to my partner I must↩

insist that, even in your case, every businesslike precaution↩

should be taken.'↩

↩

"'I should much prefer to have it so,' said he, raising up a↩

square, black morocco case which he had laid beside his chair.↩

'You have doubtless heard of the Beryl Coronet?'↩

↩

"'One of the most precious public possessions of the empire,'↩

said I.↩

↩

"'Precisely.' He opened the case, and there, imbedded in soft,↩

flesh-coloured velvet, lay the magnificent piece of jewellery↩

which he had named. 'There are thirty-nine enormous beryls,' said↩

he, 'and the price of the gold chasing is incalculable. The↩

lowest estimate would put the worth of the coronet at double the↩

sum which I have asked. I am prepared to leave it with you as my↩

security.'↩

↩

"I took the precious case into my hands and looked in some↩

perplexity from it to my illustrious client.↩

↩

"'You doubt its value?' he asked.↩

↩

"'Not at all. I only doubt--'↩

↩

"'The propriety of my leaving it. You may set your mind at rest↩

about that. I should not dream of doing so were it not absolutely↩

certain that I should be able in four days to reclaim it. It is a↩

pure matter of form. Is the security sufficient?'↩

↩

"'Ample.'↩

↩

"'You understand, Mr. Holder, that I am giving you a strong proof↩

of the confidence which I have in you, founded upon all that I↩

have heard of you. I rely upon you not only to be discreet and to↩

refrain from all gossip upon the matter but, above all, to↩

preserve this coronet with every possible precaution because I↩

need not say that a great public scandal would be caused if any↩

harm were to befall it. Any injury to it would be almost as↩

serious as its complete loss, for there are no beryls in the↩

world to match these, and it would be impossible to replace them.↩

I leave it with you, however, with every confidence, and I shall↩

call for it in person on Monday morning.'↩

↩

"Seeing that my client was anxious to leave, I said no more but,↩

calling for my cashier, I ordered him to pay over fifty 1000↩

pound notes. When I was alone once more, however, with the↩

precious case lying upon the table in front of me, I could not↩

but think with some misgivings of the immense responsibility↩

which it entailed upon me. There could be no doubt that, as it↩

was a national possession, a horrible scandal would ensue if any↩

misfortune should occur to it. I already regretted having ever↩

consented to take charge of it. However, it was too late to alter↩

the matter now, so I locked it up in my private safe and turned↩

once more to my work.↩

↩

"When evening came I felt that it would be an imprudence to leave↩

so precious a thing in the office behind me. Bankers' safes had↩

been forced before now, and why should not mine be? If so, how↩

terrible would be the position in which I should find myself! I↩

determined, therefore, that for the next few days I would always↩

carry the case backward and forward with me, so that it might↩

never be really out of my reach. With this intention, I called a↩

cab and drove out to my house at Streatham, carrying the jewel↩

with me. I did not breathe freely until I had taken it upstairs↩

and locked it in the bureau of my dressing-room.↩

↩

"And now a word as to my household, Mr. Holmes, for I wish you to↩

thoroughly understand the situation. My groom and my page sleep↩

out of the house, and may be set aside altogether. I have three↩

maid-servants who have been with me a number of years and whose↩

absolute reliability is quite above suspicion. Another, Lucy↩

Parr, the second waiting-maid, has only been in my service a few↩

months. She came with an excellent character, however, and has↩

always given me satisfaction. She is a very pretty girl and has↩

attracted admirers who have occasionally hung about the place.↩

That is the only drawback which we have found to her, but we↩

believe her to be a thoroughly good girl in every way.↩

↩

"So much for the servants. My family itself is so small that it↩

will not take me long to describe it. I am a widower and have an↩

only son, Arthur. He has been a disappointment to me, Mr.↩

Holmes--a grievous disappointment. I have no doubt that I am↩

myself to blame. People tell me that I have spoiled him. Very↩

likely I have. When my dear wife died I felt that he was all I↩

had to love. I could not bear to see the smile fade even for a↩

moment from his face. I have never denied him a wish. Perhaps it↩

would have been better for both of us had I been sterner, but I↩

meant it for the best.↩

↩

"It was naturally my intention that he should succeed me in my↩

business, but he was not of a business turn. He was wild,↩

wayward, and, to speak the truth, I could not trust him in the↩

handling of large sums of money. When he was young he became a↩

member of an aristocratic club, and there, having charming↩

manners, he was soon the intimate of a number of men with long↩

purses and expensive habits. He learned to play heavily at cards↩

and to squander money on the turf, until he had again and again↩

to come to me and implore me to give him an advance upon his↩

allowance, that he might settle his debts of honour. He tried↩

more than once to break away from the dangerous company which he↩

was keeping, but each time the influence of his friend, Sir↩

George Burnwell, was enough to draw him back again.↩

↩

"And, indeed, I could not wonder that such a man as Sir George↩

Burnwell should gain an influence over him, for he has frequently↩

brought him to my house, and I have found myself that I could↩

hardly resist the fascination of his manner. He is older than↩

Arthur, a man of the world to his finger-tips, one who had been↩

everywhere, seen everything, a brilliant talker, and a man of↩

great personal beauty. Yet when I think of him in cold blood, far↩

away from the glamour of his presence, I am convinced from his↩

cynical speech and the look which I have caught in his eyes that↩

he is one who should be deeply distrusted. So I think, and so,↩

too, thinks my little Mary, who has a woman's quick insight into↩

character.↩

↩

"And now there is only she to be described. She is my niece; but↩

when my brother died five years ago and left her alone in the↩

world I adopted her, and have looked upon her ever since as my↩

daughter. She is a sunbeam in my house--sweet, loving, beautiful,↩

a wonderful manager and housekeeper, yet as tender and quiet and↩

gentle as a woman could be. She is my right hand. I do not know↩

what I could do without her. In only one matter has she ever gone↩

against my wishes. Twice my boy has asked her to marry him, for↩

he loves her devotedly, but each time she has refused him. I↩

think that if anyone could have drawn him into the right path it↩

would have been she, and that his marriage might have changed his↩

whole life; but now, alas! it is too late--forever too late!↩

↩

"Now, Mr. Holmes, you know the people who live under my roof, and↩

I shall continue with my miserable story.↩

↩

"When we were taking coffee in the drawing-room that night after↩

dinner, I told Arthur and Mary my experience, and of the precious↩

treasure which we had under our roof, suppressing only the name↩

of my client. Lucy Parr, who had brought in the coffee, had, I am↩

sure, left the room; but I cannot swear that the door was closed.↩

Mary and Arthur were much interested and wished to see the famous↩

coronet, but I thought it better not to disturb it.↩

↩

"'Where have you put it?' asked Arthur.↩

↩

"'In my own bureau.'↩

↩

"'Well, I hope to goodness the house won't be burgled during the↩

night.' said he.↩

↩

"'It is locked up,' I answered.↩

↩

"'Oh, any old key will fit that bureau. When I was a youngster I↩

have opened it myself with the key of the box-room cupboard.'↩

↩

"He often had a wild way of talking, so that I thought little of↩

what he said. He followed me to my room, however, that night with↩

a very grave face.↩

↩

"'Look here, dad,' said he with his eyes cast down, 'can you let↩

me have 200 pounds?'↩

↩

"'No, I cannot!' I answered sharply. 'I have been far too↩

generous with you in money matters.'↩

↩

"'You have been very kind,' said he, 'but I must have this money,↩

or else I can never show my face inside the club again.'↩

↩

"'And a very good thing, too!' I cried.↩

↩

"'Yes, but you would not have me leave it a dishonoured man,'↩

said he. 'I could not bear the disgrace. I must raise the money↩

in some way, and if you will not let me have it, then I must try↩

other means.'↩

↩

"I was very angry, for this was the third demand during the↩

month. 'You shall not have a farthing from me,' I cried, on which↩

he bowed and left the room without another word.↩

↩

"When he was gone I unlocked my bureau, made sure that my↩

treasure was safe, and locked it again. Then I started to go↩

round the house to see that all was secure--a duty which I↩

usually leave to Mary but which I thought it well to perform↩

myself that night. As I came down the stairs I saw Mary herself↩

at the side window of the hall, which she closed and fastened as↩

I approached.↩

↩

"'Tell me, dad,' said she, looking, I thought, a little↩

disturbed, 'did you give Lucy, the maid, leave to go out↩

to-night?'↩

↩

"'Certainly not.'↩

↩

"'She came in just now by the back door. I have no doubt that she↩

has only been to the side gate to see someone, but I think that↩

it is hardly safe and should be stopped.'↩

↩

"'You must speak to her in the morning, or I will if you prefer↩

it. Are you sure that everything is fastened?'↩

↩

"'Quite sure, dad.'↩

↩

"'Then, good-night.' I kissed her and went up to my bedroom↩

again, where I was soon asleep.↩

↩

"I am endeavouring to tell you everything, Mr. Holmes, which may↩

have any bearing upon the case, but I beg that you will question↩

me upon any point which I do not make clear."↩

↩

"On the contrary, your statement is singularly lucid."↩

↩

"I come to a part of my story now in which I should wish to be↩

particularly so. I am not a very heavy sleeper, and the anxiety↩

in my mind tended, no doubt, to make me even less so than usual.↩

About two in the morning, then, I was awakened by some sound in↩

the house. It had ceased ere I was wide awake, but it had left an↩

impression behind it as though a window had gently closed↩

somewhere. I lay listening with all my ears. Suddenly, to my↩

horror, there was a distinct sound of footsteps moving softly in↩

the next room. I slipped out of bed, all palpitating with fear,↩

and peeped round the corner of my dressing-room door.↩

↩

"'Arthur!' I screamed, 'you villain! you thief! How dare you↩

touch that coronet?'↩

↩

"The gas was half up, as I had left it, and my unhappy boy,↩

dressed only in his shirt and trousers, was standing beside the↩

light, holding the coronet in his hands. He appeared to be↩

wrenching at it, or bending it with all his strength. At my cry↩

he dropped it from his grasp and turned as pale as death. I↩

snatched it up and examined it. One of the gold corners, with↩

three of the beryls in it, was missing.↩

↩

"'You blackguard!' I shouted, beside myself with rage. 'You have↩

destroyed it! You have dishonoured me forever! Where are the↩

jewels which you have stolen?'↩

↩

"'Stolen!' he cried.↩

↩

"'Yes, thief!' I roared, shaking him by the shoulder.↩

↩

"'There are none missing. There cannot be any missing,' said he.↩

↩

"'There are three missing. And you know where they are. Must I↩

call you a liar as well as a thief? Did I not see you trying to↩

tear off another piece?'↩

↩

"'You have called me names enough,' said he, 'I will not stand it↩

any longer. I shall not say another word about this business,↩

since you have chosen to insult me. I will leave your house in↩

the morning and make my own way in the world.'↩

↩

"'You shall leave it in the hands of the police!' I cried↩

half-mad with grief and rage. 'I shall have this matter probed to↩

the bottom.'↩

↩

"'You shall learn nothing from me,' said he with a passion such↩

as I should not have thought was in his nature. 'If you choose to↩

call the police, let the police find what they can.'↩

↩

"By this time the whole house was astir, for I had raised my↩

voice in my anger. Mary was the first to rush into my room, and,↩

at the sight of the coronet and of Arthur's face, she read the↩

whole story and, with a scream, fell down senseless on the↩

ground. I sent the house-maid for the police and put the↩

investigation into their hands at once. When the inspector and a↩

constable entered the house, Arthur, who had stood sullenly with↩

his arms folded, asked me whether it was my intention to charge↩

him with theft. I answered that it had ceased to be a private↩

matter, but had become a public one, since the ruined coronet was↩

national property. I was determined that the law should have its↩

way in everything.↩

↩

"'At least,' said he, 'you will not have me arrested at once. It↩

would be to your advantage as well as mine if I might leave the↩

house for five minutes.'↩

↩

"'That you may get away, or perhaps that you may conceal what you↩

have stolen,' said I. And then, realising the dreadful position↩

in which I was placed, I implored him to remember that not only↩

my honour but that of one who was far greater than I was at↩

stake; and that he threatened to raise a scandal which would↩

convulse the nation. He might avert it all if he would but tell↩

me what he had done with the three missing stones.↩

↩

"'You may as well face the matter,' said I; 'you have been caught↩

in the act, and no confession could make your guilt more heinous.↩

If you but make such reparation as is in your power, by telling↩

us where the beryls are, all shall be forgiven and forgotten.'↩

↩

"'Keep your forgiveness for those who ask for it,' he answered,↩

turning away from me with a sneer. I saw that he was too hardened↩

for any words of mine to influence him. There was but one way for↩

it. I called in the inspector and gave him into custody. A search↩

was made at once not only of his person but of his room and of↩

every portion of the house where he could possibly have concealed↩

the gems; but no trace of them could be found, nor would the↩

wretched boy open his mouth for all our persuasions and our↩

threats. This morning he was removed to a cell, and I, after↩

going through all the police formalities, have hurried round to↩

you to implore you to use your skill in unravelling the matter.↩

The police have openly confessed that they can at present make↩

nothing of it. You may go to any expense which you think↩

necessary. I have already offered a reward of 1000 pounds. My↩

God, what shall I do! I have lost my honour, my gems, and my son↩

in one night. Oh, what shall I do!"↩

↩

He put a hand on either side of his head and rocked himself to↩

and fro, droning to himself like a child whose grief has got↩

beyond words.↩

↩

Sherlock Holmes sat silent for some few minutes, with his brows↩

knitted and his eyes fixed upon the fire.↩

↩

"Do you receive much company?" he asked.↩

↩

"None save my partner with his family and an occasional friend of↩

Arthur's. Sir George Burnwell has been several times lately. No↩

one else, I think."↩

↩

"Do you go out much in society?"↩

↩

"Arthur does. Mary and I stay at home. We neither of us care for↩

it."↩

↩

"That is unusual in a young girl."↩

↩

"She is of a quiet nature. Besides, she is not so very young. She↩

is four-and-twenty."↩

↩

"This matter, from what you say, seems to have been a shock to↩

her also."↩

↩

"Terrible! She is even more affected than I."↩

↩

"You have neither of you any doubt as to your son's guilt?"↩

↩

"How can we have when I saw him with my own eyes with the coronet↩

in his hands."↩

↩

"I hardly consider that a conclusive proof. Was the remainder of↩

the coronet at all injured?"↩

↩

"Yes, it was twisted."↩

↩

"Do you not think, then, that he might have been trying to↩

straighten it?"↩

↩

"God bless you! You are doing what you can for him and for me.↩

But it is too heavy a task. What was he doing there at all? If↩

his purpose were innocent, why did he not say so?"↩

↩

"Precisely. And if it were guilty, why did he not invent a lie?↩

His silence appears to me to cut both ways. There are several↩

singular points about the case. What did the police think of the↩

noise which awoke you from your sleep?"↩

↩

"They considered that it might be caused by Arthur's closing his↩

bedroom door."↩

↩

"A likely story! As if a man bent on felony would slam his door↩

so as to wake a household. What did they say, then, of the↩

disappearance of these gems?"↩

↩

"They are still sounding the planking and probing the furniture↩

in the hope of finding them."↩

↩

"Have they thought of looking outside the house?"↩

↩

"Yes, they have shown extraordinary energy. The whole garden has↩

already been minutely examined."↩

↩

"Now, my dear sir," said Holmes, "is it not obvious to you now↩

that this matter really strikes very much deeper than either you↩

or the police were at first inclined to think? It appeared to you↩

to be a simple case; to me it seems exceedingly complex. Consider↩

what is involved by your theory. You suppose that your son came↩

down from his bed, went, at great risk, to your dressing-room,↩

opened your bureau, took out your coronet, broke off by main↩

force a small portion of it, went off to some other place,↩

concealed three gems out of the thirty-nine, with such skill that↩

nobody can find them, and then returned with the other thirty-six↩

into the room in which he exposed himself to the greatest danger↩

of being discovered. I ask you now, is such a theory tenable?"↩

↩

"But what other is there?" cried the banker with a gesture of↩

despair. "If his motives were innocent, why does he not explain↩

them?"↩

↩

"It is our task to find that out," replied Holmes; "so now, if↩

you please, Mr. Holder, we will set off for Streatham together,↩

and devote an hour to glancing a little more closely into↩

details."↩

↩

My friend insisted upon my accompanying them in their expedition,↩

which I was eager enough to do, for my curiosity and sympathy↩

were deeply stirred by the story to which we had listened. I↩

confess that the guilt of the banker's son appeared to me to be↩

as obvious as it did to his unhappy father, but still I had such↩

faith in Holmes' judgment that I felt that there must be some↩

grounds for hope as long as he was dissatisfied with the accepted↩

explanation. He hardly spoke a word the whole way out to the↩

southern suburb, but sat with his chin upon his breast and his↩

hat drawn over his eyes, sunk in the deepest thought. Our client↩

appeared to have taken fresh heart at the little glimpse of hope↩

which had been presented to him, and he even broke into a↩

desultory chat with me over his business affairs. A short railway↩

journey and a shorter walk brought us to Fairbank, the modest↩

residence of the great financier.↩

↩

Fairbank was a good-sized square house of white stone, standing↩

back a little from the road. A double carriage-sweep, with a↩

snow-clad lawn, stretched down in front to two large iron gates↩

which closed the entrance. On the right side was a small wooden↩

thicket, which led into a narrow path between two neat hedges↩

stretching from the road to the kitchen door, and forming the↩

tradesmen's entrance. On the left ran a lane which led to the↩

stables, and was not itself within the grounds at all, being a↩

public, though little used, thoroughfare. Holmes left us standing↩

at the door and walked slowly all round the house, across the↩

front, down the tradesmen's path, and so round by the garden↩

behind into the stable lane. So long was he that Mr. Holder and I↩

went into the dining-room and waited by the fire until he should↩

return. We were sitting there in silence when the door opened and↩

a young lady came in. She was rather above the middle height,↩

slim, with dark hair and eyes, which seemed the darker against↩

the absolute pallor of her skin. I do not think that I have ever↩

seen such deadly paleness in a woman's face. Her lips, too, were↩

bloodless, but her eyes were flushed with crying. As she swept↩

silently into the room she impressed me with a greater sense of↩

grief than the banker had done in the morning, and it was the↩

more striking in her as she was evidently a woman of strong↩

character, with immense capacity for self-restraint. Disregarding↩

my presence, she went straight to her uncle and passed her hand↩

over his head with a sweet womanly caress.↩

↩

"You have given orders that Arthur should be liberated, have you↩

not, dad?" she asked.↩

↩

"No, no, my girl, the matter must be probed to the bottom."↩

↩

"But I am so sure that he is innocent. You know what woman's↩

instincts are. I know that he has done no harm and that you will↩

be sorry for having acted so harshly."↩

↩

"Why is he silent, then, if he is innocent?"↩

↩

"Who knows? Perhaps because he was so angry that you should↩

suspect him."↩

↩

"How could I help suspecting him, when I actually saw him with↩

the coronet in his hand?"↩

↩

"Oh, but he had only picked it up to look at it. Oh, do, do take↩

my word for it that he is innocent. Let the matter drop and say↩

no more. It is so dreadful to think of our dear Arthur in↩

prison!"↩

↩

"I shall never let it drop until the gems are found--never, Mary!↩

Your affection for Arthur blinds you as to the awful consequences↩

to me. Far from hushing the thing up, I have brought a gentleman↩

down from London to inquire more deeply into it."↩

↩

"This gentleman?" she asked, facing round to me.↩

↩

"No, his friend. He wished us to leave him alone. He is round in↩

the stable lane now."↩

↩

"The stable lane?" She raised her dark eyebrows. "What can he↩

hope to find there? Ah! this, I suppose, is he. I trust, sir,↩

that you will succeed in proving, what I feel sure is the truth,↩

that my cousin Arthur is innocent of this crime."↩

↩

"I fully share your opinion, and I trust, with you, that we may↩

prove it," returned Holmes, going back to the mat to knock the↩

snow from his shoes. "I believe I have the honour of addressing↩

Miss Mary Holder. Might I ask you a question or two?"↩

↩

"Pray do, sir, if it may help to clear this horrible affair up."↩

↩

"You heard nothing yourself last night?"↩

↩

"Nothing, until my uncle here began to speak loudly. I heard↩

that, and I came down."↩

↩

"You shut up the windows and doors the night before. Did you↩

fasten all the windows?"↩

↩

"Yes."↩

↩

"Were they all fastened this morning?"↩

↩

"Yes."↩

↩

"You have a maid who has a sweetheart? I think that you remarked↩

to your uncle last night that she had been out to see him?"↩

↩

"Yes, and she was the girl who waited in the drawing-room, and↩

who may have heard uncle's remarks about the coronet."↩

↩

"I see. You infer that she may have gone out to tell her↩

sweetheart, and that the two may have planned the robbery."↩

↩

"But what is the good of all these vague theories," cried the↩

banker impatiently, "when I have told you that I saw Arthur with↩

the coronet in his hands?"↩

↩

"Wait a little, Mr. Holder. We must come back to that. About this↩

girl, Miss Holder. You saw her return by the kitchen door, I↩

presume?"↩

↩

"Yes; when I went to see if the door was fastened for the night I↩

met her slipping in. I saw the man, too, in the gloom."↩

↩

"Do you know him?"↩

↩

"Oh, yes! he is the green-grocer who brings our vegetables round.↩

His name is Francis Prosper."↩

↩

"He stood," said Holmes, "to the left of the door--that is to↩

say, farther up the path than is necessary to reach the door?"↩

↩

"Yes, he did."↩

↩

"And he is a man with a wooden leg?"↩

↩

Something like fear sprang up in the young lady's expressive↩

black eyes. "Why, you are like a magician," said she. "How do you↩

know that?" She smiled, but there was no answering smile in↩

Holmes' thin, eager face.↩

↩

"I should be very glad now to go upstairs," said he. "I shall↩

probably wish to go over the outside of the house again. Perhaps↩

I had better take a look at the lower windows before I go up."↩

↩

He walked swiftly round from one to the other, pausing only at↩

the large one which looked from the hall onto the stable lane.↩

This he opened and made a very careful examination of the sill↩

with his powerful magnifying lens. "Now we shall go upstairs,"↩

said he at last.↩

↩

The banker's dressing-room was a plainly furnished little↩

chamber, with a grey carpet, a large bureau, and a long mirror.↩

Holmes went to the bureau first and looked hard at the lock.↩

↩

"Which key was used to open it?" he asked.↩

↩

"That which my son himself indicated--that of the cupboard of the↩

lumber-room."↩

↩

"Have you it here?"↩

↩

"That is it on the dressing-table."↩

↩

Sherlock Holmes took it up and opened the bureau.↩

↩

"It is a noiseless lock," said he. "It is no wonder that it did↩

not wake you. This case, I presume, contains the coronet. We must↩

have a look at it." He opened the case, and taking out the diadem↩

he laid it upon the table. It was a magnificent specimen of the↩

jeweller's art, and the thirty-six stones were the finest that I↩

have ever seen. At one side of the coronet was a cracked edge,↩

where a corner holding three gems had been torn away.↩

↩

"Now, Mr. Holder," said Holmes, "here is the corner which↩

corresponds to that which has been so unfortunately lost. Might I↩

beg that you will break it off."↩

↩

The banker recoiled in horror. "I should not dream of trying,"↩

said he.↩

↩

"Then I will." Holmes suddenly bent his strength upon it, but↩

without result. "I feel it give a little," said he; "but, though↩

I am exceptionally strong in the fingers, it would take me all my↩

time to break it. An ordinary man could not do it. Now, what do↩

you think would happen if I did break it, Mr. Holder? There would↩

be a noise like a pistol shot. Do you tell me that all this↩

happened within a few yards of your bed and that you heard↩

nothing of it?"↩

↩

"I do not know what to think. It is all dark to me."↩

↩

"But perhaps it may grow lighter as we go. What do you think,↩

Miss Holder?"↩

↩

"I confess that I still share my uncle's perplexity."↩

↩

"Your son had no shoes or slippers on when you saw him?"↩

↩

"He had nothing on save only his trousers and shirt."↩

↩

"Thank you. We have certainly been favoured with extraordinary↩

luck during this inquiry, and it will be entirely our own fault↩

if we do not succeed in clearing the matter up. With your↩

permission, Mr. Holder, I shall now continue my investigations↩

outside."↩

↩

He went alone, at his own request, for he explained that any↩

unnecessary footmarks might make his task more difficult. For an↩

hour or more he was at work, returning at last with his feet↩

heavy with snow and his features as inscrutable as ever.↩

↩

"I think that I have seen now all that there is to see, Mr.↩

Holder," said he; "I can serve you best by returning to my↩

rooms."↩

↩

"But the gems, Mr. Holmes. Where are they?"↩

↩

"I cannot tell."↩

↩

The banker wrung his hands. "I shall never see them again!" he↩

cried. "And my son? You give me hopes?"↩

↩

"My opinion is in no way altered."↩

↩

"Then, for God's sake, what was this dark business which was↩

acted in my house last night?"↩

↩

"If you can call upon me at my Baker Street rooms to-morrow↩

morning between nine and ten I shall be happy to do what I can to↩

make it clearer. I understand that you give me carte blanche to↩

act for you, provided only that I get back the gems, and that you↩

place no limit on the sum I may draw."↩

↩

"I would give my fortune to have them back."↩

↩

"Very good. I shall look into the matter between this and then.↩

Good-bye; it is just possible that I may have to come over here↩

again before evening."↩

↩

It was obvious to me that my companion's mind was now made up↩

about the case, although what his conclusions were was more than↩

I could even dimly imagine. Several times during our homeward↩

journey I endeavoured to sound him upon the point, but he always↩

glided away to some other topic, until at last I gave it over in↩

despair. It was not yet three when we found ourselves in our↩

rooms once more. He hurried to his chamber and was down again in↩

a few minutes dressed as a common loafer. With his collar turned↩

up, his shiny, seedy coat, his red cravat, and his worn boots, he↩

was a perfect sample of the class.↩

↩

"I think that this should do," said he, glancing into the glass↩

above the fireplace. "I only wish that you could come with me,↩

Watson, but I fear that it won't do. I may be on the trail in↩

this matter, or I may be following a will-o'-the-wisp, but I↩

shall soon know which it is. I hope that I may be back in a few↩

hours." He cut a slice of beef from the joint upon the sideboard,↩

sandwiched it between two rounds of bread, and thrusting this↩

rude meal into his pocket he started off upon his expedition.↩

↩

I had just finished my tea when he returned, evidently in↩

excellent spirits, swinging an old elastic-sided boot in his↩

hand. He chucked it down into a corner and helped himself to a↩

cup of tea.↩

↩

"I only looked in as I passed," said he. "I am going right on."↩

↩

"Where to?"↩

↩

"Oh, to the other side of the West End. It may be some time↩

before I get back. Don't wait up for me in case I should be↩

late."↩

↩

"How are you getting on?"↩

↩

"Oh, so so. Nothing to complain of. I have been out to Streatham↩

since I saw you last, but I did not call at the house. It is a↩

very sweet little problem, and I would not have missed it for a↩

good deal. However, I must not sit gossiping here, but must get↩

these disreputable clothes off and return to my highly↩

respectable self."↩

↩

I could see by his manner that he had stronger reasons for↩

satisfaction than his words alone would imply. His eyes twinkled,↩

and there was even a touch of colour upon his sallow cheeks. He↩

hastened upstairs, and a few minutes later I heard the slam of↩

the hall door, which told me that he was off once more upon his↩

congenial hunt.↩

↩

I waited until midnight, but there was no sign of his return, so↩

I retired to my room. It was no uncommon thing for him to be away↩

for days and nights on end when he was hot upon a scent, so that↩

his lateness caused me no surprise. I do not know at what hour he↩

came in, but when I came down to breakfast in the morning there↩

he was with a cup of coffee in one hand and the paper in the↩

other, as fresh and trim as possible.↩

↩

"You will excuse my beginning without you, Watson," said he, "but↩

you remember that our client has rather an early appointment this↩

morning."↩

↩

"Why, it is after nine now," I answered. "I should not be↩

surprised if that were he. I thought I heard a ring."↩

↩

It was, indeed, our friend the financier. I was shocked by the↩

change which had come over him, for his face which was naturally↩

of a broad and massive mould, was now pinched and fallen in,↩

while his hair seemed to me at least a shade whiter. He entered↩

with a weariness and lethargy which was even more painful than↩

his violence of the morning before, and he dropped heavily into↩

the armchair which I pushed forward for him.↩

↩

"I do not know what I have done to be so severely tried," said↩

he. "Only two days ago I was a happy and prosperous man, without↩

a care in the world. Now I am left to a lonely and dishonoured↩

age. One sorrow comes close upon the heels of another. My niece,↩

Mary, has deserted me."↩

↩

"Deserted you?"↩

↩

"Yes. Her bed this morning had not been slept in, her room was↩

empty, and a note for me lay upon the hall table. I had said to↩

her last night, in sorrow and not in anger, that if she had↩

married my boy all might have been well with him. Perhaps it was↩

thoughtless of me to say so. It is to that remark that she refers↩

in this note:↩

↩

"'MY DEAREST UNCLE:--I feel that I have brought trouble upon you,↩

and that if I had acted differently this terrible misfortune↩

might never have occurred. I cannot, with this thought in my↩

mind, ever again be happy under your roof, and I feel that I must↩

leave you forever. Do not worry about my future, for that is↩

provided for; and, above all, do not search for me, for it will↩

be fruitless labour and an ill-service to me. In life or in↩

death, I am ever your loving,--MARY.'↩

↩

"What could she mean by that note, Mr. Holmes? Do you think it↩

points to suicide?"↩

↩

"No, no, nothing of the kind. It is perhaps the best possible↩

solution. I trust, Mr. Holder, that you are nearing the end of↩

your troubles."↩

↩

"Ha! You say so! You have heard something, Mr. Holmes; you have↩

learned something! Where are the gems?"↩

↩

"You would not think 1000 pounds apiece an excessive sum for↩

them?"↩

↩

"I would pay ten."↩

↩

"That would be unnecessary. Three thousand will cover the matter.↩

And there is a little reward, I fancy. Have you your check-book?↩

Here is a pen. Better make it out for 4000 pounds."↩

↩

With a dazed face the banker made out the required check. Holmes↩

walked over to his desk, took out a little triangular piece of↩

gold with three gems in it, and threw it down upon the table.↩

↩

With a shriek of joy our client clutched it up.↩

↩

"You have it!" he gasped. "I am saved! I am saved!"↩

↩

The reaction of joy was as passionate as his grief had been, and↩

he hugged his recovered gems to his bosom.↩

↩

"There is one other thing you owe, Mr. Holder," said Sherlock↩

Holmes rather sternly.↩

↩

"Owe!" He caught up a pen. "Name the sum, and I will pay it."↩

↩

"No, the debt is not to me. You owe a very humble apology to that↩

noble lad, your son, who has carried himself in this matter as I↩

should be proud to see my own son do, should I ever chance to↩

have one."↩

↩

"Then it was not Arthur who took them?"↩

↩

"I told you yesterday, and I repeat to-day, that it was not."↩

↩

"You are sure of it! Then let us hurry to him at once to let him↩

know that the truth is known."↩

↩

"He knows it already. When I had cleared it all up I had an↩

interview with him, and finding that he would not tell me the↩

story, I told it to him, on which he had to confess that I was↩

right and to add the very few details which were not yet quite↩

clear to me. Your news of this morning, however, may open his↩

lips."↩

↩

"For heaven's sake, tell me, then, what is this extraordinary↩

mystery!"↩

↩

"I will do so, and I will show you the steps by which I reached↩

it. And let me say to you, first, that which it is hardest for me↩

to say and for you to hear: there has been an understanding↩

between Sir George Burnwell and your niece Mary. They have now↩

fled together."↩

↩

"My Mary? Impossible!"↩

↩

"It is unfortunately more than possible; it is certain. Neither↩

you nor your son knew the true character of this man when you↩

admitted him into your family circle. He is one of the most↩

dangerous men in England--a ruined gambler, an absolutely↩

desperate villain, a man without heart or conscience. Your niece↩

knew nothing of such men. When he breathed his vows to her, as he↩

had done to a hundred before her, she flattered herself that she↩

alone had touched his heart. The devil knows best what he said,↩

but at least she became his tool and was in the habit of seeing↩

him nearly every evening."↩

↩

"I cannot, and I will not, believe it!" cried the banker with an↩

ashen face.↩

↩

"I will tell you, then, what occurred in your house last night.↩

Your niece, when you had, as she thought, gone to your room,↩

slipped down and talked to her lover through the window which↩

leads into the stable lane. His footmarks had pressed right↩

through the snow, so long had he stood there. She told him of the↩

coronet. His wicked lust for gold kindled at the news, and he↩

bent her to his will. I have no doubt that she loved you, but↩

there are women in whom the love of a lover extinguishes all↩

other loves, and I think that she must have been one. She had↩

hardly listened to his instructions when she saw you coming↩

downstairs, on which she closed the window rapidly and told you↩

about one of the servants' escapade with her wooden-legged lover,↩

which was all perfectly true.↩

↩

"Your boy, Arthur, went to bed after his interview with you but↩

he slept badly on account of his uneasiness about his club debts.↩

In the middle of the night he heard a soft tread pass his door,↩

so he rose and, looking out, was surprised to see his cousin↩

walking very stealthily along the passage until she disappeared↩

into your dressing-room. Petrified with astonishment, the lad↩

slipped on some clothes and waited there in the dark to see what↩

would come of this strange affair. Presently she emerged from the↩

room again, and in the light of the passage-lamp your son saw↩

that she carried the precious coronet in her hands. She passed↩

down the stairs, and he, thrilling with horror, ran along and↩

slipped behind the curtain near your door, whence he could see↩

what passed in the hall beneath. He saw her stealthily open the↩

window, hand out the coronet to someone in the gloom, and then↩

closing it once more hurry back to her room, passing quite close↩

to where he stood hid behind the curtain.↩

↩

"As long as she was on the scene he could not take any action↩

without a horrible exposure of the woman whom he loved. But the↩

instant that she was gone he realised how crushing a misfortune↩

this would be for you, and how all-important it was to set it↩

right. He rushed down, just as he was, in his bare feet, opened↩

the window, sprang out into the snow, and ran down the lane,↩

where he could see a dark figure in the moonlight. Sir George↩

Burnwell tried to get away, but Arthur caught him, and there was↩

a struggle between them, your lad tugging at one side of the↩

coronet, and his opponent at the other. In the scuffle, your son↩

struck Sir George and cut him over the eye. Then something↩

suddenly snapped, and your son, finding that he had the coronet↩

in his hands, rushed back, closed the window, ascended to your↩

room, and had just observed that the coronet had been twisted in↩

the struggle and was endeavouring to straighten it when you↩

appeared upon the scene."↩

↩

"Is it possible?" gasped the banker.↩

↩

"You then roused his anger by calling him names at a moment when↩

he felt that he had deserved your warmest thanks. He could not↩

explain the true state of affairs without betraying one who↩

certainly deserved little enough consideration at his hands. He↩

took the more chivalrous view, however, and preserved her↩

secret."↩

↩

"And that was why she shrieked and fainted when she saw the↩

coronet," cried Mr. Holder. "Oh, my God! what a blind fool I have↩

been! And his asking to be allowed to go out for five minutes!↩

The dear fellow wanted to see if the missing piece were at the↩

scene of the struggle. How cruelly I have misjudged him!"↩

↩

"When I arrived at the house," continued Holmes, "I at once went↩

very carefully round it to observe if there were any traces in↩

the snow which might help me. I knew that none had fallen since↩

the evening before, and also that there had been a strong frost↩

to preserve impressions. I passed along the tradesmen's path, but↩

found it all trampled down and indistinguishable. Just beyond it,↩

however, at the far side of the kitchen door, a woman had stood↩

and talked with a man, whose round impressions on one side showed↩

that he had a wooden leg. I could even tell that they had been↩

disturbed, for the woman had run back swiftly to the door, as was↩

shown by the deep toe and light heel marks, while Wooden-leg had↩

waited a little, and then had gone away. I thought at the time↩

that this might be the maid and her sweetheart, of whom you had↩

already spoken to me, and inquiry showed it was so. I passed↩

round the garden without seeing anything more than random tracks,↩

which I took to be the police; but when I got into the stable↩

lane a very long and complex story was written in the snow in↩

front of me.↩

↩

"There was a double line of tracks of a booted man, and a second↩

double line which I saw with delight belonged to a man with naked↩

feet. I was at once convinced from what you had told me that the↩

latter was your son. The first had walked both ways, but the↩

other had run swiftly, and as his tread was marked in places over↩

the depression of the boot, it was obvious that he had passed↩

after the other. I followed them up and found they led to the↩

hall window, where Boots had worn all the snow away while↩

waiting. Then I walked to the other end, which was a hundred↩

yards or more down the lane. I saw where Boots had faced round,↩

where the snow was cut up as though there had been a struggle,↩

and, finally, where a few drops of blood had fallen, to show me↩

that I was not mistaken. Boots had then run down the lane, and↩

another little smudge of blood showed that it was he who had been↩

hurt. When he came to the highroad at the other end, I found that↩

the pavement had been cleared, so there was an end to that clue.↩

↩

"On entering the house, however, I examined, as you remember, the↩

sill and framework of the hall window with my lens, and I could↩

at once see that someone had passed out. I could distinguish the↩

outline of an instep where the wet foot had been placed in coming↩

in. I was then beginning to be able to form an opinion as to what↩

had occurred. A man had waited outside the window; someone had↩

brought the gems; the deed had been overseen by your son; he had↩

pursued the thief; had struggled with him; they had each tugged↩

at the coronet, their united strength causing injuries which↩

neither alone could have effected. He had returned with the↩

prize, but had left a fragment in the grasp of his opponent. So↩

far I was clear. The question now was, who was the man and who↩

was it brought him the coronet?↩

↩

"It is an old maxim of mine that when you have excluded the↩

impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the↩

truth. Now, I knew that it was not you who had brought it down,↩

so there only remained your niece and the maids. But if it were↩

the maids, why should your son allow himself to be accused in↩

their place? There could be no possible reason. As he loved his↩

cousin, however, there was an excellent explanation why he should↩

retain her secret--the more so as the secret was a disgraceful↩

one. When I remembered that you had seen her at that window, and↩

how she had fainted on seeing the coronet again, my conjecture↩

became a certainty.↩

↩

"And who could it be who was her confederate? A lover evidently,↩

for who else could outweigh the love and gratitude which she must↩

feel to you? I knew that you went out little, and that your↩

circle of friends was a very limited one. But among them was Sir↩

George Burnwell. I had heard of him before as being a man of evil↩

reputation among women. It must have been he who wore those boots↩

and retained the missing gems. Even though he knew that Arthur↩

had discovered him, he might still flatter himself that he was↩

safe, for the lad could not say a word without compromising his↩

own family.↩

↩

"Well, your own good sense will suggest what measures I took↩

next. I went in the shape of a loafer to Sir George's house,↩

managed to pick up an acquaintance with his valet, learned that↩

his master had cut his head the night before, and, finally, at↩

the expense of six shillings, made all sure by buying a pair of↩

his cast-off shoes. With these I journeyed down to Streatham and↩

saw that they exactly fitted the tracks."↩

↩

"I saw an ill-dressed vagabond in the lane yesterday evening,"↩

said Mr. Holder.↩

↩

"Precisely. It was I. I found that I had my man, so I came home↩

and changed my clothes. It was a delicate part which I had to↩

play then, for I saw that a prosecution must be avoided to avert↩

scandal, and I knew that so astute a villain would see that our↩

hands were tied in the matter. I went and saw him. At first, of↩

course, he denied everything. But when I gave him every↩

particular that had occurred, he tried to bluster and took down a↩

life-preserver from the wall. I knew my man, however, and I↩

clapped a pistol to his head before he could strike. Then he↩

became a little more reasonable. I told him that we would give↩

him a price for the stones he held--1000 pounds apiece. That↩

brought out the first signs of grief that he had shown. 'Why,↩

dash it all!' said he, 'I've let them go at six hundred for the↩

three!' I soon managed to get the address of the receiver who had↩

them, on promising him that there would be no prosecution. Off I↩

set to him, and after much chaffering I got our stones at 1000↩

pounds apiece. Then I looked in upon your son, told him that all↩

was right, and eventually got to my bed about two o'clock, after↩

what I may call a really hard day's work."↩

↩

"A day which has saved England from a great public scandal," said↩

the banker, rising. "Sir, I cannot find words to thank you, but↩

you shall not find me ungrateful for what you have done. Your↩

skill has indeed exceeded all that I have heard of it. And now I↩

must fly to my dear boy to apologise to him for the wrong which I↩

have done him. As to what you tell me of poor Mary, it goes to my↩

very heart. Not even your skill can inform me where she is now."↩

↩

"I think that we may safely say," returned Holmes, "that she is↩

wherever Sir George Burnwell is. It is equally certain, too, that↩

whatever her sins are, they will soon receive a more than↩

sufficient punishment."↩

↩

↩

↩

XII. THE ADVENTURE OF THE COPPER BEECHES↩

↩

"To the man who loves art for its own sake," remarked Sherlock↩

Holmes, tossing aside the advertisement sheet of the Daily↩

Telegraph, "it is frequently in its least important and lowliest↩

manifestations that the keenest pleasure is to be derived. It is↩

pleasant to me to observe, Watson, that you have so far grasped↩

this truth that in these little records of our cases which you↩

have been good enough to draw up, and, I am bound to say,↩

occasionally to embellish, you have given prominence not so much↩

to the many causes célèbres and sensational trials in which I↩

have figured but rather to those incidents which may have been↩

trivial in themselves, but which have given room for those↩

faculties of deduction and of logical synthesis which I have made↩

my special province."↩

↩

"And yet," said I, smiling, "I cannot quite hold myself absolved↩

from the charge of sensationalism which has been urged against my↩

records."↩

↩

"You have erred, perhaps," he observed, taking up a glowing↩

cinder with the tongs and lighting with it the long cherry-wood↩

pipe which was wont to replace his clay when he was in a↩

disputatious rather than a meditative mood--"you have erred↩

perhaps in attempting to put colour and life into each of your↩

statements instead of confining yourself to the task of placing↩

upon record that severe reasoning from cause to effect which is↩

really the only notable feature about the thing."↩

↩

"It seems to me that I have done you full justice in the matter,"↩

I remarked with some coldness, for I was repelled by the egotism↩

which I had more than once observed to be a strong factor in my↩

friend's singular character.↩

↩

"No, it is not selfishness or conceit," said he, answering, as↩

was his wont, my thoughts rather than my words. "If I claim full↩

justice for my art, it is because it is an impersonal thing--a↩

thing beyond myself. Crime is common. Logic is rare. Therefore it↩

is upon the logic rather than upon the crime that you should↩

dwell. You have degraded what should have been a course of↩

lectures into a series of tales."↩

↩

It was a cold morning of the early spring, and we sat after↩

breakfast on either side of a cheery fire in the old room at↩

Baker Street. A thick fog rolled down between the lines of↩

dun-coloured houses, and the opposing windows loomed like dark,↩

shapeless blurs through the heavy yellow wreaths. Our gas was lit↩

and shone on the white cloth and glimmer of china and metal, for↩

the table had not been cleared yet. Sherlock Holmes had been↩

silent all the morning, dipping continuously into the↩

advertisement columns of a succession of papers until at last,↩

having apparently given up his search, he had emerged in no very↩

sweet temper to lecture me upon my literary shortcomings.↩

↩

"At the same time," he remarked after a pause, during which he↩

had sat puffing at his long pipe and gazing down into the fire,↩

"you can hardly be open to a charge of sensationalism, for out of↩

these cases which you have been so kind as to interest yourself↩

in, a fair proportion do not treat of crime, in its legal sense,↩

at all. The small matter in which I endeavoured to help the King↩

of Bohemia, the singular experience of Miss Mary Sutherland, the↩

problem connected with the man with the twisted lip, and the↩

incident of the noble bachelor, were all matters which are↩

outside the pale of the law. But in avoiding the sensational, I↩

fear that you may have bordered on the trivial."↩

↩

"The end may have been so," I answered, "but the methods I hold↩

to have been novel and of interest."↩

↩

"Pshaw, my dear fellow, what do the public, the great unobservant↩

public, who could hardly tell a weaver by his tooth or a↩

compositor by his left thumb, care about the finer shades of↩

analysis and deduction! But, indeed, if you are trivial, I cannot↩

blame you, for the days of the great cases are past. Man, or at↩

least criminal man, has lost all enterprise and originality. As↩

to my own little practice, it seems to be degenerating into an↩

agency for recovering lost lead pencils and giving advice to↩

young ladies from boarding-schools. I think that I have touched↩

bottom at last, however. This note I had this morning marks my↩

zero-point, I fancy. Read it!" He tossed a crumpled letter across↩

to me.↩

↩

It was dated from Montague Place upon the preceding evening, and↩

ran thus:↩

↩

"DEAR MR. HOLMES:--I am very anxious to consult you as to whether↩

I should or should not accept a situation which has been offered↩

to me as governess. I shall call at half-past ten to-morrow if I↩

do not inconvenience you. Yours faithfully,↩

                                               "VIOLET HUNTER."↩

↩

"Do you know the young lady?" I asked.↩

↩

"Not I."↩

↩

"It is half-past ten now."↩

↩

"Yes, and I have no doubt that is her ring."↩

↩

"It may turn out to be of more interest than you think. You↩

remember that the affair of the blue carbuncle, which appeared to↩

be a mere whim at first, developed into a serious investigation.↩

It may be so in this case, also."↩

↩

"Well, let us hope so. But our doubts will very soon be solved,↩

for here, unless I am much mistaken, is the person in question."↩

↩

As he spoke the door opened and a young lady entered the room.↩

She was plainly but neatly dressed, with a bright, quick face,↩

freckled like a plover's egg, and with the brisk manner of a↩

woman who has had her own way to make in the world.↩

↩

"You will excuse my troubling you, I am sure," said she, as my↩

companion rose to greet her, "but I have had a very strange↩

experience, and as I have no parents or relations of any sort↩

from whom I could ask advice, I thought that perhaps you would be↩

kind enough to tell me what I should do."↩

↩

"Pray take a seat, Miss Hunter. I shall be happy to do anything↩

that I can to serve you."↩

↩

I could see that Holmes was favourably impressed by the manner↩

and speech of his new client. He looked her over in his searching↩

fashion, and then composed himself, with his lids drooping and↩

his finger-tips together, to listen to her story.↩

↩

"I have been a governess for five years," said she, "in the↩

family of Colonel Spence Munro, but two months ago the colonel↩

received an appointment at Halifax, in Nova Scotia, and took his↩

children over to America with him, so that I found myself without↩

a situation. I advertised, and I answered advertisements, but↩

without success. At last the little money which I had saved began↩

to run short, and I was at my wit's end as to what I should do.↩

↩

"There is a well-known agency for governesses in the West End↩

called Westaway's, and there I used to call about once a week in↩

order to see whether anything had turned up which might suit me.↩

Westaway was the name of the founder of the business, but it is↩

really managed by Miss Stoper. She sits in her own little office,↩

and the ladies who are seeking employment wait in an anteroom,↩

and are then shown in one by one, when she consults her ledgers↩

and sees whether she has anything which would suit them.↩

↩

"Well, when I called last week I was shown into the little office↩

as usual, but I found that Miss Stoper was not alone. A↩

prodigiously stout man with a very smiling face and a great heavy↩

chin which rolled down in fold upon fold over his throat sat at↩

her elbow with a pair of glasses on his nose, looking very↩

earnestly at the ladies who entered. As I came in he gave quite a↩

jump in his chair and turned quickly to Miss Stoper.↩

↩

"'That will do,' said he; 'I could not ask for anything better.↩

Capital! capital!' He seemed quite enthusiastic and rubbed his↩

hands together in the most genial fashion. He was such a↩

comfortable-looking man that it was quite a pleasure to look at↩

him.↩

↩

"'You are looking for a situation, miss?' he asked.↩

↩

"'Yes, sir.'↩

↩

"'As governess?'↩

↩

"'Yes, sir.'↩

↩

"'And what salary do you ask?'↩

↩

"'I had 4 pounds a month in my last place with Colonel Spence↩

Munro.'↩

↩

"'Oh, tut, tut! sweating--rank sweating!' he cried, throwing his↩

fat hands out into the air like a man who is in a boiling↩

passion. 'How could anyone offer so pitiful a sum to a lady with↩

such attractions and accomplishments?'↩

↩

"'My accomplishments, sir, may be less than you imagine,' said I.↩

'A little French, a little German, music, and drawing--'↩

↩

"'Tut, tut!' he cried. 'This is all quite beside the question.↩

The point is, have you or have you not the bearing and deportment↩

of a lady? There it is in a nutshell. If you have not, you are↩

not fitted for the rearing of a child who may some day play a↩

considerable part in the history of the country. But if you have↩

why, then, how could any gentleman ask you to condescend to↩

accept anything under the three figures? Your salary with me,↩

madam, would commence at 100 pounds a year.'↩

↩

"You may imagine, Mr. Holmes, that to me, destitute as I was,↩

such an offer seemed almost too good to be true. The gentleman,↩

however, seeing perhaps the look of incredulity upon my face,↩

opened a pocket-book and took out a note.↩

↩

"'It is also my custom,' said he, smiling in the most pleasant↩

fashion until his eyes were just two little shining slits amid↩

the white creases of his face, 'to advance to my young ladies↩

half their salary beforehand, so that they may meet any little↩

expenses of their journey and their wardrobe.'↩

↩

"It seemed to me that I had never met so fascinating and so↩

thoughtful a man. As I was already in debt to my tradesmen, the↩

advance was a great convenience, and yet there was something↩

unnatural about the whole transaction which made me wish to know↩

a little more before I quite committed myself.↩

↩

"'May I ask where you live, sir?' said I.↩

↩

"'Hampshire. Charming rural place. The Copper Beeches, five miles↩

on the far side of Winchester. It is the most lovely country, my↩

dear young lady, and the dearest old country-house.'↩

↩

"'And my duties, sir? I should be glad to know what they would↩

be.'↩

↩

"'One child--one dear little romper just six years old. Oh, if↩

you could see him killing cockroaches with a slipper! Smack!↩

smack! smack! Three gone before you could wink!' He leaned back↩

in his chair and laughed his eyes into his head again.↩

↩

"I was a little startled at the nature of the child's amusement,↩

but the father's laughter made me think that perhaps he was↩

joking.↩

↩

"'My sole duties, then,' I asked, 'are to take charge of a single↩

child?'↩

↩

"'No, no, not the sole, not the sole, my dear young lady,' he↩

cried. 'Your duty would be, as I am sure your good sense would↩

suggest, to obey any little commands my wife might give, provided↩

always that they were such commands as a lady might with↩

propriety obey. You see no difficulty, heh?'↩

↩

"'I should be happy to make myself useful.'↩

↩

"'Quite so. In dress now, for example. We are faddy people, you↩

know--faddy but kind-hearted. If you were asked to wear any dress↩

which we might give you, you would not object to our little whim.↩

Heh?'↩

↩

"'No,' said I, considerably astonished at his words.↩

↩

"'Or to sit here, or sit there, that would not be offensive to↩

you?'↩

↩

"'Oh, no.'↩

↩

"'Or to cut your hair quite short before you come to us?'↩

↩

"I could hardly believe my ears. As you may observe, Mr. Holmes,↩

my hair is somewhat luxuriant, and of a rather peculiar tint of↩

chestnut. It has been considered artistic. I could not dream of↩

sacrificing it in this offhand fashion.↩

↩

"'I am afraid that that is quite impossible,' said I. He had been↩

watching me eagerly out of his small eyes, and I could see a↩

shadow pass over his face as I spoke.↩

↩

"'I am afraid that it is quite essential,' said he. 'It is a↩

little fancy of my wife's, and ladies' fancies, you know, madam,↩

ladies' fancies must be consulted. And so you won't cut your↩

hair?'↩

↩

"'No, sir, I really could not,' I answered firmly.↩

↩

"'Ah, very well; then that quite settles the matter. It is a↩

pity, because in other respects you would really have done very↩

nicely. In that case, Miss Stoper, I had best inspect a few more↩

of your young ladies.'↩

↩

"The manageress had sat all this while busy with her papers↩

without a word to either of us, but she glanced at me now with so↩

much annoyance upon her face that I could not help suspecting↩

that she had lost a handsome commission through my refusal.↩

↩

"'Do you desire your name to be kept upon the books?' she asked.↩

↩

"'If you please, Miss Stoper.'↩

↩

"'Well, really, it seems rather useless, since you refuse the↩

most excellent offers in this fashion,' said she sharply. 'You↩

can hardly expect us to exert ourselves to find another such↩

opening for you. Good-day to you, Miss Hunter.' She struck a gong↩

upon the table, and I was shown out by the page.↩

↩

"Well, Mr. Holmes, when I got back to my lodgings and found↩

little enough in the cupboard, and two or three bills upon the↩

table, I began to ask myself whether I had not done a very↩

foolish thing. After all, if these people had strange fads and↩

expected obedience on the most extraordinary matters, they were↩

at least ready to pay for their eccentricity. Very few↩

governesses in England are getting 100 pounds a year. Besides,↩

what use was my hair to me? Many people are improved by wearing↩

it short and perhaps I should be among the number. Next day I was↩

inclined to think that I had made a mistake, and by the day after↩

I was sure of it. I had almost overcome my pride so far as to go↩

back to the agency and inquire whether the place was still open↩

when I received this letter from the gentleman himself. I have it↩

here and I will read it to you:↩

↩

                       "'The Copper Beeches, near Winchester.↩

"'DEAR MISS HUNTER:--Miss Stoper has very kindly given me your↩

address, and I write from here to ask you whether you have↩

reconsidered your decision. My wife is very anxious that you↩

should come, for she has been much attracted by my description of↩

you. We are willing to give 30 pounds a quarter, or 120 pounds a↩

year, so as to recompense you for any little inconvenience which↩

our fads may cause you. They are not very exacting, after all. My↩

wife is fond of a particular shade of electric blue and would↩

like you to wear such a dress indoors in the morning. You need↩

not, however, go to the expense of purchasing one, as we have one↩

belonging to my dear daughter Alice (now in Philadelphia), which↩

would, I should think, fit you very well. Then, as to sitting↩

here or there, or amusing yourself in any manner indicated, that↩

need cause you no inconvenience. As regards your hair, it is no↩

doubt a pity, especially as I could not help remarking its beauty↩

during our short interview, but I am afraid that I must remain↩

firm upon this point, and I only hope that the increased salary↩

may recompense you for the loss. Your duties, as far as the child↩

is concerned, are very light. Now do try to come, and I shall↩

meet you with the dog-cart at Winchester. Let me know your train.↩

Yours faithfully, JEPHRO RUCASTLE.'↩

↩

"That is the letter which I have just received, Mr. Holmes, and↩

my mind is made up that I will accept it. I thought, however,↩

that before taking the final step I should like to submit the↩

whole matter to your consideration."↩

↩

"Well, Miss Hunter, if your mind is made up, that settles the↩

question," said Holmes, smiling.↩

↩

"But you would not advise me to refuse?"↩

↩

"I confess that it is not the situation which I should like to↩

see a sister of mine apply for."↩

↩

"What is the meaning of it all, Mr. Holmes?"↩

↩

"Ah, I have no data. I cannot tell. Perhaps you have yourself↩

formed some opinion?"↩

↩

"Well, there seems to me to be only one possible solution. Mr.↩

Rucastle seemed to be a very kind, good-natured man. Is it not↩

possible that his wife is a lunatic, that he desires to keep the↩

matter quiet for fear she should be taken to an asylum, and that↩

he humours her fancies in every way in order to prevent an↩

outbreak?"↩

↩

"That is a possible solution--in fact, as matters stand, it is↩

the most probable one. But in any case it does not seem to be a↩

nice household for a young lady."↩

↩

"But the money, Mr. Holmes, the money!"↩

↩

"Well, yes, of course the pay is good--too good. That is what↩

makes me uneasy. Why should they give you 120 pounds a year, when↩

they could have their pick for 40 pounds? There must be some↩

strong reason behind."↩

↩

"I thought that if I told you the circumstances you would↩

understand afterwards if I wanted your help. I should feel so↩

much stronger if I felt that you were at the back of me."↩

↩

"Oh, you may carry that feeling away with you. I assure you that↩

your little problem promises to be the most interesting which has↩

come my way for some months. There is something distinctly novel↩

about some of the features. If you should find yourself in doubt↩

or in danger--"↩

↩

"Danger! What danger do you foresee?"↩

↩

Holmes shook his head gravely. "It would cease to be a danger if↩

we could define it," said he. "But at any time, day or night, a↩

telegram would bring me down to your help."↩

↩

"That is enough." She rose briskly from her chair with the↩

anxiety all swept from her face. "I shall go down to Hampshire↩

quite easy in my mind now. I shall write to Mr. Rucastle at once,↩

sacrifice my poor hair to-night, and start for Winchester↩

to-morrow." With a few grateful words to Holmes she bade us both↩

good-night and bustled off upon her way.↩

↩

"At least," said I as we heard her quick, firm steps descending↩

the stairs, "she seems to be a young lady who is very well able↩

to take care of herself."↩

↩

"And she would need to be," said Holmes gravely. "I am much↩

mistaken if we do not hear from her before many days are past."↩

↩

It was not very long before my friend's prediction was fulfilled.↩

A fortnight went by, during which I frequently found my thoughts↩

turning in her direction and wondering what strange side-alley of↩

human experience this lonely woman had strayed into. The unusual↩

salary, the curious conditions, the light duties, all pointed to↩

something abnormal, though whether a fad or a plot, or whether↩

the man were a philanthropist or a villain, it was quite beyond↩

my powers to determine. As to Holmes, I observed that he sat↩

frequently for half an hour on end, with knitted brows and an↩

abstracted air, but he swept the matter away with a wave of his↩

hand when I mentioned it. "Data! data! data!" he cried↩

impatiently. "I can't make bricks without clay." And yet he would↩

always wind up by muttering that no sister of his should ever↩

have accepted such a situation.↩

↩

The telegram which we eventually received came late one night↩

just as I was thinking of turning in and Holmes was settling down↩

to one of those all-night chemical researches which he frequently↩

indulged in, when I would leave him stooping over a retort and a↩

test-tube at night and find him in the same position when I came↩

down to breakfast in the morning. He opened the yellow envelope,↩

and then, glancing at the message, threw it across to me.↩

↩

"Just look up the trains in Bradshaw," said he, and turned back↩

to his chemical studies.↩

↩

The summons was a brief and urgent one.↩

↩

"Please be at the Black Swan Hotel at Winchester at midday↩

to-morrow," it said. "Do come! I am at my wit's end.  HUNTER."↩

↩

"Will you come with me?" asked Holmes, glancing up.↩

↩

"I should wish to."↩

↩

"Just look it up, then."↩

↩

"There is a train at half-past nine," said I, glancing over my↩

Bradshaw. "It is due at Winchester at 11:30."↩

↩

"That will do very nicely. Then perhaps I had better postpone my↩

analysis of the acetones, as we may need to be at our best in the↩

morning."↩

↩

By eleven o'clock the next day we were well upon our way to the↩

old English capital. Holmes had been buried in the morning papers↩

all the way down, but after we had passed the Hampshire border he↩

threw them down and began to admire the scenery. It was an ideal↩

spring day, a light blue sky, flecked with little fleecy white↩

clouds drifting across from west to east. The sun was shining↩

very brightly, and yet there was an exhilarating nip in the air,↩

which set an edge to a man's energy. All over the countryside,↩

away to the rolling hills around Aldershot, the little red and↩

grey roofs of the farm-steadings peeped out from amid the light↩

green of the new foliage.↩

↩

"Are they not fresh and beautiful?" I cried with all the↩

enthusiasm of a man fresh from the fogs of Baker Street.↩

↩

But Holmes shook his head gravely.↩

↩

"Do you know, Watson," said he, "that it is one of the curses of↩

a mind with a turn like mine that I must look at everything with↩

reference to my own special subject. You look at these scattered↩

houses, and you are impressed by their beauty. I look at them,↩

and the only thought which comes to me is a feeling of their↩

isolation and of the impunity with which crime may be committed↩

there."↩

↩

"Good heavens!" I cried. "Who would associate crime with these↩

dear old homesteads?"↩

↩

"They always fill me with a certain horror. It is my belief,↩

Watson, founded upon my experience, that the lowest and vilest↩

alleys in London do not present a more dreadful record of sin↩

than does the smiling and beautiful countryside."↩

↩

"You horrify me!"↩

↩

"But the reason is very obvious. The pressure of public opinion↩

can do in the town what the law cannot accomplish. There is no↩

lane so vile that the scream of a tortured child, or the thud of↩

a drunkard's blow, does not beget sympathy and indignation among↩

the neighbours, and then the whole machinery of justice is ever↩

so close that a word of complaint can set it going, and there is↩

but a step between the crime and the dock. But look at these↩

lonely houses, each in its own fields, filled for the most part↩

with poor ignorant folk who know little of the law. Think of the↩

deeds of hellish cruelty, the hidden wickedness which may go on,↩

year in, year out, in such places, and none the wiser. Had this↩

lady who appeals to us for help gone to live in Winchester, I↩

should never have had a fear for her. It is the five miles of↩

country which makes the danger. Still, it is clear that she is↩

not personally threatened."↩

↩

"No. If she can come to Winchester to meet us she can get away."↩

↩

"Quite so. She has her freedom."↩

↩

"What CAN be the matter, then? Can you suggest no explanation?"↩

↩

"I have devised seven separate explanations, each of which would↩

cover the facts as far as we know them. But which of these is↩

correct can only be determined by the fresh information which we↩

shall no doubt find waiting for us. Well, there is the tower of↩

the cathedral, and we shall soon learn all that Miss Hunter has↩

to tell."↩

↩

The Black Swan is an inn of repute in the High Street, at no↩

distance from the station, and there we found the young lady↩

waiting for us. She had engaged a sitting-room, and our lunch↩

awaited us upon the table.↩

↩

"I am so delighted that you have come," she said earnestly. "It↩

is so very kind of you both; but indeed I do not know what I↩

should do. Your advice will be altogether invaluable to me."↩

↩

"Pray tell us what has happened to you."↩

↩

"I will do so, and I must be quick, for I have promised Mr.↩

Rucastle to be back before three. I got his leave to come into↩

town this morning, though he little knew for what purpose."↩

↩

"Let us have everything in its due order." Holmes thrust his long↩

thin legs out towards the fire and composed himself to listen.↩

↩

"In the first place, I may say that I have met, on the whole,↩

with no actual ill-treatment from Mr. and Mrs. Rucastle. It is↩

only fair to them to say that. But I cannot understand them, and↩

I am not easy in my mind about them."↩

↩

"What can you not understand?"↩

↩

"Their reasons for their conduct. But you shall have it all just↩

as it occurred. When I came down, Mr. Rucastle met me here and↩

drove me in his dog-cart to the Copper Beeches. It is, as he↩

said, beautifully situated, but it is not beautiful in itself,↩

for it is a large square block of a house, whitewashed, but all↩

stained and streaked with damp and bad weather. There are grounds↩

round it, woods on three sides, and on the fourth a field which↩

slopes down to the Southampton highroad, which curves past about↩

a hundred yards from the front door. This ground in front belongs↩

to the house, but the woods all round are part of Lord↩

Southerton's preserves. A clump of copper beeches immediately in↩

front of the hall door has given its name to the place.↩

↩

"I was driven over by my employer, who was as amiable as ever,↩

and was introduced by him that evening to his wife and the child.↩

There was no truth, Mr. Holmes, in the conjecture which seemed to↩

us to be probable in your rooms at Baker Street. Mrs. Rucastle is↩

not mad. I found her to be a silent, pale-faced woman, much↩

younger than her husband, not more than thirty, I should think,↩

while he can hardly be less than forty-five. From their↩

conversation I have gathered that they have been married about↩

seven years, that he was a widower, and that his only child by↩

the first wife was the daughter who has gone to Philadelphia. Mr.↩

Rucastle told me in private that the reason why she had left them↩

was that she had an unreasoning aversion to her stepmother. As↩

the daughter could not have been less than twenty, I can quite↩

imagine that her position must have been uncomfortable with her↩

father's young wife.↩

↩

"Mrs. Rucastle seemed to me to be colourless in mind as well as↩

in feature. She impressed me neither favourably nor the reverse.↩

She was a nonentity. It was easy to see that she was passionately↩

devoted both to her husband and to her little son. Her light grey↩

eyes wandered continually from one to the other, noting every↩

little want and forestalling it if possible. He was kind to her↩

also in his bluff, boisterous fashion, and on the whole they↩

seemed to be a happy couple. And yet she had some secret sorrow,↩

this woman. She would often be lost in deep thought, with the↩

saddest look upon her face. More than once I have surprised her↩

in tears. I have thought sometimes that it was the disposition of↩

her child which weighed upon her mind, for I have never met so↩

utterly spoiled and so ill-natured a little creature. He is small↩

for his age, with a head which is quite disproportionately large.↩

His whole life appears to be spent in an alternation between↩

savage fits of passion and gloomy intervals of sulking. Giving↩

pain to any creature weaker than himself seems to be his one idea↩

of amusement, and he shows quite remarkable talent in planning↩

the capture of mice, little birds, and insects. But I would↩

rather not talk about the creature, Mr. Holmes, and, indeed, he↩

has little to do with my story."↩

↩

"I am glad of all details," remarked my friend, "whether they↩

seem to you to be relevant or not."↩

↩

"I shall try not to miss anything of importance. The one↩

unpleasant thing about the house, which struck me at once, was↩

the appearance and conduct of the servants. There are only two, a↩

man and his wife. Toller, for that is his name, is a rough,↩

uncouth man, with grizzled hair and whiskers, and a perpetual↩

smell of drink. Twice since I have been with them he has been↩

quite drunk, and yet Mr. Rucastle seemed to take no notice of it.↩

His wife is a very tall and strong woman with a sour face, as↩

silent as Mrs. Rucastle and much less amiable. They are a most↩

unpleasant couple, but fortunately I spend most of my time in the↩

nursery and my own room, which are next to each other in one↩

corner of the building.↩

↩

"For two days after my arrival at the Copper Beeches my life was↩

very quiet; on the third, Mrs. Rucastle came down just after↩

breakfast and whispered something to her husband.↩

↩

"'Oh, yes,' said he, turning to me, 'we are very much obliged to↩

you, Miss Hunter, for falling in with our whims so far as to cut↩

your hair. I assure you that it has not detracted in the tiniest↩

iota from your appearance. We shall now see how the electric-blue↩

dress will become you. You will find it laid out upon the bed in↩

your room, and if you would be so good as to put it on we should↩

both be extremely obliged.'↩

↩

"The dress which I found waiting for me was of a peculiar shade↩

of blue. It was of excellent material, a sort of beige, but it↩

bore unmistakable signs of having been worn before. It could not↩

have been a better fit if I had been measured for it. Both Mr.↩

and Mrs. Rucastle expressed a delight at the look of it, which↩

seemed quite exaggerated in its vehemence. They were waiting for↩

me in the drawing-room, which is a very large room, stretching↩

along the entire front of the house, with three long windows↩

reaching down to the floor. A chair had been placed close to the↩

central window, with its back turned towards it. In this I was↩

asked to sit, and then Mr. Rucastle, walking up and down on the↩

other side of the room, began to tell me a series of the funniest↩

stories that I have ever listened to. You cannot imagine how↩

comical he was, and I laughed until I was quite weary. Mrs.↩

Rucastle, however, who has evidently no sense of humour, never so↩

much as smiled, but sat with her hands in her lap, and a sad,↩

anxious look upon her face. After an hour or so, Mr. Rucastle↩

suddenly remarked that it was time to commence the duties of the↩

day, and that I might change my dress and go to little Edward in↩

the nursery.↩

↩

"Two days later this same performance was gone through under↩

exactly similar circumstances. Again I changed my dress, again I↩

sat in the window, and again I laughed very heartily at the funny↩

stories of which my employer had an immense répertoire, and which↩

he told inimitably. Then he handed me a yellow-backed novel, and↩

moving my chair a little sideways, that my own shadow might not↩

fall upon the page, he begged me to read aloud to him. I read for↩

about ten minutes, beginning in the heart of a chapter, and then↩

suddenly, in the middle of a sentence, he ordered me to cease and↩

to change my dress.↩

↩

"You can easily imagine, Mr. Holmes, how curious I became as to↩

what the meaning of this extraordinary performance could possibly↩

be. They were always very careful, I observed, to turn my face↩

away from the window, so that I became consumed with the desire↩

to see what was going on behind my back. At first it seemed to be↩

impossible, but I soon devised a means. My hand-mirror had been↩

broken, so a happy thought seized me, and I concealed a piece of↩

the glass in my handkerchief. On the next occasion, in the midst↩

of my laughter, I put my handkerchief up to my eyes, and was able↩

with a little management to see all that there was behind me. I↩

confess that I was disappointed. There was nothing. At least that↩

was my first impression. At the second glance, however, I↩

perceived that there was a man standing in the Southampton Road,↩

a small bearded man in a grey suit, who seemed to be looking in↩

my direction. The road is an important highway, and there are↩

usually people there. This man, however, was leaning against the↩

railings which bordered our field and was looking earnestly up. I↩

lowered my handkerchief and glanced at Mrs. Rucastle to find her↩

eyes fixed upon me with a most searching gaze. She said nothing,↩

but I am convinced that she had divined that I had a mirror in my↩

hand and had seen what was behind me. She rose at once.↩

↩

"'Jephro,' said she, 'there is an impertinent fellow upon the↩

road there who stares up at Miss Hunter.'↩

↩

"'No friend of yours, Miss Hunter?' he asked.↩

↩

"'No, I know no one in these parts.'↩

↩

"'Dear me! How very impertinent! Kindly turn round and motion to↩

him to go away.'↩

↩

"'Surely it would be better to take no notice.'↩

↩

"'No, no, we should have him loitering here always. Kindly turn↩

round and wave him away like that.'↩

↩

"I did as I was told, and at the same instant Mrs. Rucastle drew↩

down the blind. That was a week ago, and from that time I have↩

not sat again in the window, nor have I worn the blue dress, nor↩

seen the man in the road."↩

↩

"Pray continue," said Holmes. "Your narrative promises to be a↩

most interesting one."↩

↩

"You will find it rather disconnected, I fear, and there may↩

prove to be little relation between the different incidents of↩

which I speak. On the very first day that I was at the Copper↩

Beeches, Mr. Rucastle took me to a small outhouse which stands↩

near the kitchen door. As we approached it I heard the sharp↩

rattling of a chain, and the sound as of a large animal moving↩

about.↩

↩

"'Look in here!' said Mr. Rucastle, showing me a slit between two↩

planks. 'Is he not a beauty?'↩

↩

"I looked through and was conscious of two glowing eyes, and of a↩

vague figure huddled up in the darkness.↩

↩

"'Don't be frightened,' said my employer, laughing at the start↩

which I had given. 'It's only Carlo, my mastiff. I call him mine,↩

but really old Toller, my groom, is the only man who can do↩

anything with him. We feed him once a day, and not too much then,↩

so that he is always as keen as mustard. Toller lets him loose↩

every night, and God help the trespasser whom he lays his fangs↩

upon. For goodness' sake don't you ever on any pretext set your↩

foot over the threshold at night, for it's as much as your life↩

is worth.'↩

↩

"The warning was no idle one, for two nights later I happened to↩

look out of my bedroom window about two o'clock in the morning.↩

It was a beautiful moonlight night, and the lawn in front of the↩

house was silvered over and almost as bright as day. I was↩

standing, rapt in the peaceful beauty of the scene, when I was↩

aware that something was moving under the shadow of the copper↩

beeches. As it emerged into the moonshine I saw what it was. It↩

was a giant dog, as large as a calf, tawny tinted, with hanging↩

jowl, black muzzle, and huge projecting bones. It walked slowly↩

across the lawn and vanished into the shadow upon the other side.↩

That dreadful sentinel sent a chill to my heart which I do not↩

think that any burglar could have done.↩

↩

"And now I have a very strange experience to tell you. I had, as↩

you know, cut off my hair in London, and I had placed it in a↩

great coil at the bottom of my trunk. One evening, after the↩

child was in bed, I began to amuse myself by examining the↩

furniture of my room and by rearranging my own little things.↩

There was an old chest of drawers in the room, the two upper ones↩

empty and open, the lower one locked. I had filled the first two↩

with my linen, and as I had still much to pack away I was↩

naturally annoyed at not having the use of the third drawer. It↩

struck me that it might have been fastened by a mere oversight,↩

so I took out my bunch of keys and tried to open it. The very↩

first key fitted to perfection, and I drew the drawer open. There↩

was only one thing in it, but I am sure that you would never↩

guess what it was. It was my coil of hair.↩

↩

"I took it up and examined it. It was of the same peculiar tint,↩

and the same thickness. But then the impossibility of the thing↩

obtruded itself upon me. How could my hair have been locked in↩

the drawer? With trembling hands I undid my trunk, turned out the↩

contents, and drew from the bottom my own hair. I laid the two↩

tresses together, and I assure you that they were identical. Was↩

it not extraordinary? Puzzle as I would, I could make nothing at↩

all of what it meant. I returned the strange hair to the drawer,↩

and I said nothing of the matter to the Rucastles as I felt that↩

I had put myself in the wrong by opening a drawer which they had↩

locked.↩

↩

"I am naturally observant, as you may have remarked, Mr. Holmes,↩

and I soon had a pretty good plan of the whole house in my head.↩

There was one wing, however, which appeared not to be inhabited↩

at all. A door which faced that which led into the quarters of↩

the Tollers opened into this suite, but it was invariably locked.↩

One day, however, as I ascended the stair, I met Mr. Rucastle↩

coming out through this door, his keys in his hand, and a look on↩

his face which made him a very different person to the round,↩

jovial man to whom I was accustomed. His cheeks were red, his↩

brow was all crinkled with anger, and the veins stood out at his↩

temples with passion. He locked the door and hurried past me↩

without a word or a look.↩

↩

"This aroused my curiosity, so when I went out for a walk in the↩

grounds with my charge, I strolled round to the side from which I↩

could see the windows of this part of the house. There were four↩

of them in a row, three of which were simply dirty, while the↩

fourth was shuttered up. They were evidently all deserted. As I↩

strolled up and down, glancing at them occasionally, Mr. Rucastle↩

came out to me, looking as merry and jovial as ever.↩

↩

"'Ah!' said he, 'you must not think me rude if I passed you↩

without a word, my dear young lady. I was preoccupied with↩

business matters.'↩

↩

"I assured him that I was not offended. 'By the way,' said I,↩

'you seem to have quite a suite of spare rooms up there, and one↩

of them has the shutters up.'↩

↩

"He looked surprised and, as it seemed to me, a little startled↩

at my remark.↩

↩

"'Photography is one of my hobbies,' said he. 'I have made my↩

dark room up there. But, dear me! what an observant young lady we↩

have come upon. Who would have believed it? Who would have ever↩

believed it?' He spoke in a jesting tone, but there was no jest↩

in his eyes as he looked at me. I read suspicion there and↩

annoyance, but no jest.↩

↩

"Well, Mr. Holmes, from the moment that I understood that there↩

was something about that suite of rooms which I was not to know,↩

I was all on fire to go over them. It was not mere curiosity,↩

though I have my share of that. It was more a feeling of duty--a↩

feeling that some good might come from my penetrating to this↩

place. They talk of woman's instinct; perhaps it was woman's↩

instinct which gave me that feeling. At any rate, it was there,↩

and I was keenly on the lookout for any chance to pass the↩

forbidden door.↩

↩

"It was only yesterday that the chance came. I may tell you that,↩

besides Mr. Rucastle, both Toller and his wife find something to↩

do in these deserted rooms, and I once saw him carrying a large↩

black linen bag with him through the door. Recently he has been↩

drinking hard, and yesterday evening he was very drunk; and when↩

I came upstairs there was the key in the door. I have no doubt at↩

all that he had left it there. Mr. and Mrs. Rucastle were both↩

downstairs, and the child was with them, so that I had an↩

admirable opportunity. I turned the key gently in the lock,↩

opened the door, and slipped through.↩

↩

"There was a little passage in front of me, unpapered and↩

uncarpeted, which turned at a right angle at the farther end.↩

Round this corner were three doors in a line, the first and third↩

of which were open. They each led into an empty room, dusty and↩

cheerless, with two windows in the one and one in the other, so↩

thick with dirt that the evening light glimmered dimly through↩

them. The centre door was closed, and across the outside of it↩

had been fastened one of the broad bars of an iron bed, padlocked↩

at one end to a ring in the wall, and fastened at the other with↩

stout cord. The door itself was locked as well, and the key was↩

not there. This barricaded door corresponded clearly with the↩

shuttered window outside, and yet I could see by the glimmer from↩

beneath it that the room was not in darkness. Evidently there was↩

a skylight which let in light from above. As I stood in the↩

passage gazing at the sinister door and wondering what secret it↩

might veil, I suddenly heard the sound of steps within the room↩

and saw a shadow pass backward and forward against the little↩

slit of dim light which shone out from under the door. A mad,↩

unreasoning terror rose up in me at the sight, Mr. Holmes. My↩

overstrung nerves failed me suddenly, and I turned and ran--ran↩

as though some dreadful hand were behind me clutching at the↩

skirt of my dress. I rushed down the passage, through the door,↩

and straight into the arms of Mr. Rucastle, who was waiting↩

outside.↩

↩

"'So,' said he, smiling, 'it was you, then. I thought that it↩

must be when I saw the door open.'↩

↩

"'Oh, I am so frightened!' I panted.↩

↩

"'My dear young lady! my dear young lady!'--you cannot think how↩

caressing and soothing his manner was--'and what has frightened↩

you, my dear young lady?'↩

↩

"But his voice was just a little too coaxing. He overdid it. I↩

was keenly on my guard against him.↩

↩

"'I was foolish enough to go into the empty wing,' I answered.↩

'But it is so lonely and eerie in this dim light that I was↩

frightened and ran out again. Oh, it is so dreadfully still in↩

there!'↩

↩

"'Only that?' said he, looking at me keenly.↩

↩

"'Why, what did you think?' I asked.↩

↩

"'Why do you think that I lock this door?'↩

↩

"'I am sure that I do not know.'↩

↩

"'It is to keep people out who have no business there. Do you↩

see?' He was still smiling in the most amiable manner.↩

↩

"'I am sure if I had known--'↩

↩

"'Well, then, you know now. And if you ever put your foot over↩

that threshold again'--here in an instant the smile hardened into↩

a grin of rage, and he glared down at me with the face of a↩

demon--'I'll throw you to the mastiff.'↩

↩

"I was so terrified that I do not know what I did. I suppose that↩

I must have rushed past him into my room. I remember nothing↩

until I found myself lying on my bed trembling all over. Then I↩

thought of you, Mr. Holmes. I could not live there longer without↩

some advice. I was frightened of the house, of the man, of the↩

woman, of the servants, even of the child. They were all horrible↩

to me. If I could only bring you down all would be well. Of↩

course I might have fled from the house, but my curiosity was↩

almost as strong as my fears. My mind was soon made up. I would↩

send you a wire. I put on my hat and cloak, went down to the↩

office, which is about half a mile from the house, and then↩

returned, feeling very much easier. A horrible doubt came into my↩

mind as I approached the door lest the dog might be loose, but I↩

remembered that Toller had drunk himself into a state of↩

insensibility that evening, and I knew that he was the only one↩

in the household who had any influence with the savage creature,↩

or who would venture to set him free. I slipped in in safety and↩

lay awake half the night in my joy at the thought of seeing you.↩

I had no difficulty in getting leave to come into Winchester this↩

morning, but I must be back before three o'clock, for Mr. and↩

Mrs. Rucastle are going on a visit, and will be away all the↩

evening, so that I must look after the child. Now I have told you↩

all my adventures, Mr. Holmes, and I should be very glad if you↩

could tell me what it all means, and, above all, what I should↩

do."↩

↩

Holmes and I had listened spellbound to this extraordinary story.↩

My friend rose now and paced up and down the room, his hands in↩

his pockets, and an expression of the most profound gravity upon↩

his face.↩

↩

"Is Toller still drunk?" he asked.↩

↩

"Yes. I heard his wife tell Mrs. Rucastle that she could do↩

nothing with him."↩

↩

"That is well. And the Rucastles go out to-night?"↩

↩

"Yes."↩

↩

"Is there a cellar with a good strong lock?"↩

↩

"Yes, the wine-cellar."↩

↩

"You seem to me to have acted all through this matter like a very↩

brave and sensible girl, Miss Hunter. Do you think that you could↩

perform one more feat? I should not ask it of you if I did not↩

think you a quite exceptional woman."↩

↩

"I will try. What is it?"↩

↩

"We shall be at the Copper Beeches by seven o'clock, my friend↩

and I. The Rucastles will be gone by that time, and Toller will,↩

we hope, be incapable. There only remains Mrs. Toller, who might↩

give the alarm. If you could send her into the cellar on some↩

errand, and then turn the key upon her, you would facilitate↩

matters immensely."↩

↩

"I will do it."↩

↩

"Excellent! We shall then look thoroughly into the affair. Of↩

course there is only one feasible explanation. You have been↩

brought there to personate someone, and the real person is↩

imprisoned in this chamber. That is obvious. As to who this↩

prisoner is, I have no doubt that it is the daughter, Miss Alice↩

Rucastle, if I remember right, who was said to have gone to↩

America. You were chosen, doubtless, as resembling her in height,↩

figure, and the colour of your hair. Hers had been cut off, very↩

possibly in some illness through which she has passed, and so, of↩

course, yours had to be sacrificed also. By a curious chance you↩

came upon her tresses. The man in the road was undoubtedly some↩

friend of hers--possibly her fiancé--and no doubt, as you wore↩

the girl's dress and were so like her, he was convinced from your↩

laughter, whenever he saw you, and afterwards from your gesture,↩

that Miss Rucastle was perfectly happy, and that she no longer↩

desired his attentions. The dog is let loose at night to prevent↩

him from endeavouring to communicate with her. So much is fairly↩

clear. The most serious point in the case is the disposition of↩

the child."↩

↩

"What on earth has that to do with it?" I ejaculated.↩

↩

"My dear Watson, you as a medical man are continually gaining↩

light as to the tendencies of a child by the study of the↩

parents. Don't you see that the converse is equally valid. I have↩

frequently gained my first real insight into the character of↩

parents by studying their children. This child's disposition is↩

abnormally cruel, merely for cruelty's sake, and whether he↩

derives this from his smiling father, as I should suspect, or↩

from his mother, it bodes evil for the poor girl who is in their↩

power."↩

↩

"I am sure that you are right, Mr. Holmes," cried our client. "A↩

thousand things come back to me which make me certain that you↩

have hit it. Oh, let us lose not an instant in bringing help to↩

this poor creature."↩

↩

"We must be circumspect, for we are dealing with a very cunning↩

man. We can do nothing until seven o'clock. At that hour we shall↩

be with you, and it will not be long before we solve the↩

mystery."↩

↩

We were as good as our word, for it was just seven when we↩

reached the Copper Beeches, having put up our trap at a wayside↩

public-house. The group of trees, with their dark leaves shining↩

like burnished metal in the light of the setting sun, were↩

sufficient to mark the house even had Miss Hunter not been↩

standing smiling on the door-step.↩

↩

"Have you managed it?" asked Holmes.↩

↩

A loud thudding noise came from somewhere downstairs. "That is↩

Mrs. Toller in the cellar," said she. "Her husband lies snoring↩

on the kitchen rug. Here are his keys, which are the duplicates↩

of Mr. Rucastle's."↩

↩

"You have done well indeed!" cried Holmes with enthusiasm. "Now↩

lead the way, and we shall soon see the end of this black↩

business."↩

↩

We passed up the stair, unlocked the door, followed on down a↩

passage, and found ourselves in front of the barricade which Miss↩

Hunter had described. Holmes cut the cord and removed the↩

transverse bar. Then he tried the various keys in the lock, but↩

without success. No sound came from within, and at the silence↩

Holmes' face clouded over.↩

↩

"I trust that we are not too late," said he. "I think, Miss↩

Hunter, that we had better go in without you. Now, Watson, put↩

your shoulder to it, and we shall see whether we cannot make our↩

way in."↩

↩

It was an old rickety door and gave at once before our united↩

strength. Together we rushed into the room. It was empty. There↩

was no furniture save a little pallet bed, a small table, and a↩

basketful of linen. The skylight above was open, and the prisoner↩

gone.↩

↩

"There has been some villainy here," said Holmes; "this beauty↩

has guessed Miss Hunter's intentions and has carried his victim↩

off."↩

↩

"But how?"↩

↩

"Through the skylight. We shall soon see how he managed it." He↩

swung himself up onto the roof. "Ah, yes," he cried, "here's the↩

end of a long light ladder against the eaves. That is how he did↩

it."↩

↩

"But it is impossible," said Miss Hunter; "the ladder was not↩

there when the Rucastles went away."↩

↩

"He has come back and done it. I tell you that he is a clever and↩

dangerous man. I should not be very much surprised if this were↩

he whose step I hear now upon the stair. I think, Watson, that it↩

would be as well for you to have your pistol ready."↩

↩

The words were hardly out of his mouth before a man appeared at↩

the door of the room, a very fat and burly man, with a heavy↩

stick in his hand. Miss Hunter screamed and shrunk against the↩

wall at the sight of him, but Sherlock Holmes sprang forward and↩

confronted him.↩

↩

"You villain!" said he, "where's your daughter?"↩

↩

The fat man cast his eyes round, and then up at the open↩

skylight.↩

↩

"It is for me to ask you that," he shrieked, "you thieves! Spies↩

and thieves! I have caught you, have I? You are in my power. I'll↩

serve you!" He turned and clattered down the stairs as hard as he↩

could go.↩

↩

"He's gone for the dog!" cried Miss Hunter.↩

↩

"I have my revolver," said I.↩

↩

"Better close the front door," cried Holmes, and we all rushed↩

down the stairs together. We had hardly reached the hall when we↩

heard the baying of a hound, and then a scream of agony, with a↩

horrible worrying sound which it was dreadful to listen to. An↩

elderly man with a red face and shaking limbs came staggering out↩

at a side door.↩

↩

"My God!" he cried. "Someone has loosed the dog. It's not been↩

fed for two days. Quick, quick, or it'll be too late!"↩

↩

Holmes and I rushed out and round the angle of the house, with↩

Toller hurrying behind us. There was the huge famished brute, its↩

black muzzle buried in Rucastle's throat, while he writhed and↩

screamed upon the ground. Running up, I blew its brains out, and↩

it fell over with its keen white teeth still meeting in the great↩

creases of his neck. With much labour we separated them and↩

carried him, living but horribly mangled, into the house. We laid↩

him upon the drawing-room sofa, and having dispatched the sobered↩

Toller to bear the news to his wife, I did what I could to↩

relieve his pain. We were all assembled round him when the door↩

opened, and a tall, gaunt woman entered the room.↩

↩

"Mrs. Toller!" cried Miss Hunter.↩

↩

"Yes, miss. Mr. Rucastle let me out when he came back before he↩

went up to you. Ah, miss, it is a pity you didn't let me know↩

what you were planning, for I would have told you that your pains↩

were wasted."↩

↩

"Ha!" said Holmes, looking keenly at her. "It is clear that Mrs.↩

Toller knows more about this matter than anyone else."↩

↩

"Yes, sir, I do, and I am ready enough to tell what I know."↩

↩

"Then, pray, sit down, and let us hear it for there are several↩

points on which I must confess that I am still in the dark."↩

↩

"I will soon make it clear to you," said she; "and I'd have done↩

so before now if I could ha' got out from the cellar. If there's↩

police-court business over this, you'll remember that I was the↩

one that stood your friend, and that I was Miss Alice's friend↩

too.↩

↩

"She was never happy at home, Miss Alice wasn't, from the time↩

that her father married again. She was slighted like and had no↩

say in anything, but it never really became bad for her until↩

after she met Mr. Fowler at a friend's house. As well as I could↩

learn, Miss Alice had rights of her own by will, but she was so↩

quiet and patient, she was, that she never said a word about them↩

but just left everything in Mr. Rucastle's hands. He knew he was↩

safe with her; but when there was a chance of a husband coming↩

forward, who would ask for all that the law would give him, then↩

her father thought it time to put a stop on it. He wanted her to↩

sign a paper, so that whether she married or not, he could use↩

her money. When she wouldn't do it, he kept on worrying her until↩

she got brain-fever, and for six weeks was at death's door. Then↩

she got better at last, all worn to a shadow, and with her↩

beautiful hair cut off; but that didn't make no change in her↩

young man, and he stuck to her as true as man could be."↩

↩

"Ah," said Holmes, "I think that what you have been good enough↩

to tell us makes the matter fairly clear, and that I can deduce↩

all that remains. Mr. Rucastle then, I presume, took to this↩

system of imprisonment?"↩

↩

"Yes, sir."↩

↩

"And brought Miss Hunter down from London in order to get rid of↩

the disagreeable persistence of Mr. Fowler."↩

↩

"That was it, sir."↩

↩

"But Mr. Fowler being a persevering man, as a good seaman should↩

be, blockaded the house, and having met you succeeded by certain↩

arguments, metallic or otherwise, in convincing you that your↩

interests were the same as his."↩

↩

"Mr. Fowler was a very kind-spoken, free-handed gentleman," said↩

Mrs. Toller serenely.↩

↩

"And in this way he managed that your good man should have no↩

want of drink, and that a ladder should be ready at the moment↩

when your master had gone out."↩

↩

"You have it, sir, just as it happened."↩

↩

"I am sure we owe you an apology, Mrs. Toller," said Holmes, "for↩

you have certainly cleared up everything which puzzled us. And↩

here comes the country surgeon and Mrs. Rucastle, so I think,↩

Watson, that we had best escort Miss Hunter back to Winchester,↩

as it seems to me that our locus standi now is rather a↩

questionable one."↩

↩

And thus was solved the mystery of the sinister house with the↩

copper beeches in front of the door. Mr. Rucastle survived, but↩

was always a broken man, kept alive solely through the care of↩

his devoted wife. They still live with their old servants, who↩

probably know so much of Rucastle's past life that he finds it↩

difficult to part from them. Mr. Fowler and Miss Rucastle were↩

married, by special license, in Southampton the day after their↩

flight, and he is now the holder of a government appointment in↩

the island of Mauritius. As to Miss Violet Hunter, my friend↩

Holmes, rather to my disappointment, manifested no further↩

interest in her when once she had ceased to be the centre of one↩

of his problems, and she is now the head of a private school at↩

Walsall, where I believe that she has met with considerable success.↩

↩

↩

↩

↩

↩

↩

↩

↩

↩

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