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"The Return of Sherlock Holmes"
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I. The
Adventure of the Empty House.
IT was in the spring of the year 1894 that
all London was interested, and the
fashionable world dismayed, by the murder of
the Honourable Ronald Adair under most
unusual and inexplicable circumstances. The
public has already learned those particulars
of the crime which came out in the police
investigation; but a good deal was
suppressed upon that occasion, since the
case for the prosecution was so
overwhelmingly strong that it was not
necessary to bring forward all the facts.
Only now, at the end of nearly ten years, am
I allowed to supply those missing links
which make up the whole of that remarkable
chain. The crime was of interest in itself,
but that interest was as nothing to me
compared to the inconceivable sequel, which
afforded me the greatest shock and surprise
of any event in my adventurous life. Even
now, after this long interval, I find myself
thrilling as I think of it, and feeling once
more that sudden flood of joy, amazement,
and incredulity which utterly submerged my
mind. Let me say to that public which has
shown some interest in those glimpses which
I have occasionally given them of the
thoughts and actions of a very remarkable
man that they are not to blame me if I have
not shared my knowledge with them, for I
should have considered it my first duty to
have done so had I not been barred by a
positive prohibition from his own lips,
which was only withdrawn upon the third of
last month.
It can be imagined that my close intimacy
with Sherlock Holmes had interested me
deeply in crime, and that after his
disappearance I never failed to read with
care the various problems which came before
the public, and I even attempted more than
once for my own private satisfaction to
employ his methods in their solution, though
with indifferent success. There was none,
however, which appealed to me like this
tragedy of Ronald Adair. As I read the
evidence at the inquest, which led up to a
verdict of wilful murder against some person
or persons unknown, I realized more clearly
than I had ever done the loss which the
community had sustained by the death of
Sherlock Holmes. There were points about
this strange business which would, I was
sure, have specially appealed to him, and
the efforts of the police would have been
supplemented, or more probably anticipated,
by the trained observation and the alert
mind of the first criminal agent in Europe.
All day as I drove upon my round I turned
over the case in my mind, and found no
explanation which appeared to me to be
adequate. At the risk of telling a
twice-told tale I will recapitulate the
facts as they were known to the public at
the conclusion of the inquest.
The Honourable Ronald Adair was the
second son of the Earl of Maynooth, at that
time Governor of one of the Australian
Colonies. Adair`s mother had returned from
Australia to undergo the operation for
cataract, and she, her son Ronald, and her
daughter Hilda were living together at 427,
Park Lane. The youth moved in the best
society, had, so far as was known, no
enemies, and no particular vices. He had
been engaged to Miss Edith Woodley, of
Carstairs, but the engagement had been
broken off by mutual consent some months
before, and there was no sign that it had
left any very profound feeling behind it.
For the rest the man`s life moved in a
narrow and conventional circle, for his
habits were quiet and his nature
unemotional. Yet it was upon this easy-going
young aristocrat that death came in most
strange and unexpected form between the
hours of ten and eleven-twenty on the night
of March 30, 1894.
Ronald Adair was fond of cards, playing
continually, but never for such stakes as
would hurt him. He was a member of the
Baldwin, the Cavendish, and the Bagatelle
card clubs. It was shown that after dinner
on the day of his death he had played a
rubber of whist at the latter club. He had
also played there in the afternoon. The
evidence of those who had played with him --
Mr. Murray, Sir John Hardy, and Colonel
Moran -- showed that the game was whist, and
that there was a fairly equal fall of the
cards. Adair might have lost five pounds,
but not more. His fortune was a considerable
one, and such a loss could not in any way
affect him. He had played nearly every day
at one club or other, but he was a cautious
player, and usually rose a winner. It came
out in evidence that in partnership with
Colonel Moran he had actually won as much as
four hundred and twenty pounds in a sitting
some weeks before from Godfrey Milner and
Lord Balmoral. So much for his recent
history, as it came out at the inquest.
On the evening of the crime he returned
from the club exactly at ten. His mother and
sister were out spending the evening with a
relation. The servant deposed that she heard
him enter the front room on the second
floor, generally used as his sitting-room.
She had lit a fire there, and as it smoked
she had opened the window. No sound was
heard from the room until eleven-twenty, the
hour of the return of Lady Maynooth and her
daughter. Desiring to say good-night, she
had attempted to enter her son`s room. The
door was locked on the inside, and no answer
could be got to their cries and knocking.
Help was obtained and the door forced. The
unfortunate young man was found lying near
the table. His head had been horribly
mutilated by an expanding revolver bullet,
but no weapon of any sort was to be found in
the room. On the table lay two bank-notes
for ten pounds each and seventeen pounds ten
in silver and gold, the money arranged in
little piles of varying amount. There were
some figures also upon a sheet of paper with
the names of some club friends opposite to
them, from which it was conjectured that
before his death he was endeavouring to make
out his losses or winnings at cards.
A minute examination of the circumstances
served only to make the case more complex.
In the first place, no reason could be given
why the young man should have fastened the
door upon the inside. There was the
possibility that the murderer had done this
and had afterwards escaped by the window.
The drop was at least twenty feet, however,
and a bed of crocuses in full bloom lay
beneath. Neither the flowers nor the earth
showed any sign of having been disturbed,
nor were there any marks upon the narrow
strip of grass which separated the house
from the road. Apparently, therefore, it was
the young man himself who had fastened the
door. But how did he come by his death? No
one could have climbed up to the window
without leaving traces. Suppose a man had
fired through the window, it would indeed be
a remarkable shot who could with a revolver
inflict so deadly a wound. Again, Park Lane
is a frequented thoroughfare, and there is a
cab-stand within a hundred yards of the
house. No one had heard a shot. And yet
there was the dead man, and there the
revolver bullet, which had mushroomed out,
as soft-nosed bullets will, and so inflicted
a wound which must have caused instantaneous
death. Such were the circumstances of the
Park Lane Mystery, which were further
complicated by entire absence of motive,
since, as I have said, young Adair was not
known to have any enemy, and no attempt had
been made to remove the money or valuables
in the room.
All day I turned these facts over in my
mind, endeavouring to hit upon some theory
which could reconcile them all, and to find
that line of least resistance which my poor
friend had declared to be the starting-point
of every investigation. I confess that I
made little progress. In the evening I
strolled across the Park, and found myself
about six o`clock at the Oxford Street end
of Park Lane. A group of loafers upon the
pavements, all staring up at a particular
window, directed me to the house which I had
come to see. A tall, thin man with coloured
glasses, whom I strongly suspected of being
a plain-clothes detective, was pointing out
some theory of his own, while the others
crowded round to listen to what he said. I
got as near him as I could, but his
observations seemed to me to be absurd, so I
withdrew again in some disgust. As I did so
I struck against an elderly deformed man,
who had been behind me, and I knocked down
several books which he was carrying. I
remember that as I picked them up I observed
the title of one of them, "The Origin of
Tree Worship," and it struck me that the
fellow must be some poor bibliophile who,
either as a trade or as a hobby, was a
collector of obscure volumes. I endeavoured
to apologize for the accident, but it was
evident that these books which I had so
unfortunately maltreated were very precious
objects in the eyes of their owner. With a
snarl of contempt he turned upon his heel,
and I saw his curved back and white
side-whiskers disappear among the throng.
My observations of No. 427, Park Lane did
little to clear up the problem in which I
was interested. The house was separated from
the street by a low wall and railing, the
whole not more than five feet high. It was
perfectly easy, therefore, for anyone to get
into the garden, but the window was entirely
inaccessible, since there was no water-pipe
or anything which could help the most active
man to climb it. More puzzled than ever I
retraced my steps to Kensington. I had not
been in my study five minutes when the maid
entered to say that a person desired to see
me. To my astonishment it was none other
than my strange old book-collector, his
sharp, wizened face peering out from a frame
of white hair, and his precious volumes, a
dozen of them at least, wedged under his
right arm.
"You`re surprised to see me, sir," said
he, in a strange, croaking voice.
I acknowledged that I was.
"Well, I`ve a conscience, sir, and when I
chanced to see you go into this house, as I
came hobbling after you, I thought to
myself, I`ll just step in and see that kind
gentleman, and tell him that if I was a bit
gruff in my manner there was not any harm
meant, and that I am much obliged to him for
picking up my books."
"You make too much of a trifle," said I.
"May I ask how you knew who I was?"
"Well, sir, if it isn`t too great a
liberty, I am a neighbour of yours, for
you`ll find my little bookshop at the corner
of Church Street, and very happy to see you,
I am sure. Maybe you collect yourself, sir;
here`s `British Birds,` and `Catullus,` and
`The Holy War` -- a bargain every one of
them. With five volumes you could just fill
that gap on that second shelf. It looks
untidy, does it not, sir?"
I moved my head to look at the cabinet
behind me. When I turned again Sherlock
Holmes was standing smiling at me across my
study table. I rose to my feet, stared at
him for some seconds in utter amazement, and
then it appears that I must have fainted for
the first and the last time in my life.
Certainly a grey mist swirled before my
eyes, and when it cleared I found my
collar-ends undone and the tingling
after-taste of brandy upon my lips. Holmes
was bending over my chair, his flask in his
hand.
"My dear Watson," said the
well-remembered voice, "I owe you a thousand
apologies. I had no idea that you would be
so affected."
I gripped him by the arm.
"Holmes!" I cried. "Is it really you? Can
it indeed be that you are alive? Is it
possible that you succeeded in climbing out
of that awful abyss?"
"Wait a moment," said he. "Are you sure
that you are really fit to discuss things? I
have given you a serious shock by my
unnecessarily dramatic reappearance."
"I am all right, but indeed, Holmes, I
can hardly believe my eyes. Good heavens, to
think that you -- you of all men -- should
be standing in my study!" Again I gripped
him by the sleeve and felt the thin, sinewy
arm beneath it. "Well, you`re not a spirit,
anyhow," said I. "My dear chap, I am
overjoyed to see you. Sit down and tell me
how you came alive out of that dreadful
chasm."
He sat opposite to me and lit a cigarette
in his old nonchalant manner. He was dressed
in the seedy frock-coat of the book
merchant, but the rest of that individual
lay in a pile of white hair and old books
upon the table. Holmes looked even thinner
and keener than of old, but there was a
dead-white tinge in his aquiline face which
told me that his life recently had not been
a healthy one.
"I am glad to stretch myself, Watson,"
said he. "It is no joke when a tall man has
to take a foot off his stature for several
hours on end. Now, my dear fellow, in the
matter of these explanations we have, if I
may ask for your co-operation, a hard and
dangerous night`s work in front of us.
Perhaps it would be better if I gave you an
account of the whole situation when that
work is finished."
"I am full of curiosity. I should much
prefer to hear now."
"You`ll come with me to-night?"
"When you like and where you like."
"This is indeed like the old days. We
shall have time for a mouthful of dinner
before we need go. Well, then, about that
chasm. I had no serious difficulty in
getting out of it, for the very simple
reason that I never was in it."
"You never were in it?"
"No, Watson, I never was in it. My note
to you was absolutely genuine. I had little
doubt that I had come to the end of my
career when I perceived the somewhat
sinister figure of the late Professor
Moriarty standing upon the narrow pathway
which led to safety. I read an inexorable
purpose in his grey eyes. I exchanged some
remarks with him, therefore, and obtained
his courteous permission to write the short
note which you afterwards received. I left
it with my cigarette-box and my stick and I
walked along the pathway, Moriarty still at
my heels. When I reached the end I stood at
bay. He drew no weapon, but he rushed at me
and threw his long arms around me. He knew
that his own game was up, and was only
anxious to revenge himself upon me. We
tottered together upon the brink of the
fall. I have some knowledge, however, of
baritsu, or the Japanese system of
wrestling, which has more than once been
very useful to me. I slipped through his
grip, and he with a horrible scream kicked
madly for a few seconds and clawed the air
with both his hands. But for all his efforts
he could not get his balance, and over he
went. With my face over the brink I saw him
fall for a long way. Then he struck a rock,
bounded off, and splashed into the water."
I listened with amazement to this
explanation, which Holmes delivered between
the puffs of his cigarette.
"But the tracks!" I cried. "I saw with my
own eyes that two went down the path and
none returned."
"It came about in this way. The instant
that the Professor had disappeared it struck
me what a really extraordinarily lucky
chance Fate had placed in my way. I knew
that Moriarty was not the only man who had
sworn my death. There were at least three
others whose desire for vengeance upon me
would only be increased by the death of
their leader. They were all most dangerous
men. One or other would certainly get me. On
the other hand, if all the world was
convinced that I was dead they would take
liberties, these men, they would lay
themselves open, and sooner or later I could
destroy them. Then it would be time for me
to announce that I was still in the land of
the living. So rapidly does the brain act
that I believe I had thought this all out
before Professor Moriarty had reached the
bottom of the Reichenbach Fall.
"I stood up and examined the rocky wall
behind me. In your picturesque account of
the matter, which I read with great interest
some months later, you assert that the wall
was sheer. This was not literally true. A
few small footholds presented themselves,
and there was some indication of a ledge.
The cliff is so high that to climb it all
was an obvious impossibility, and it was
equally impossible to make my way along the
wet path without leaving some tracks. I
might, it is true, have reversed my boots,
as I have done on similar occasions, but the
sight of three sets of tracks in one
direction would certainly have suggested a
deception. On the whole, then, it was best
that I should risk the climb. It was not a
pleasant business, Watson. The fall roared
beneath me. I am not a fanciful person, but
I give you my word that I seemed to hear
Moriarty`s voice screaming at me out of the
abyss. A mistake would have been fatal. More
than once, as tufts of grass came out in my
hand or my foot slipped in the wet notches
of the rock, I thought that I was gone. But
I struggled upwards, and at last I reached a
ledge several feet deep and covered with
soft green moss, where I could lie unseen in
the most perfect comfort. There I was
stretched when you, my dear Watson, and all
your following were investigating in the
most sympathetic and inefficient manner the
circumstances of my death.
"At last, when you had all formed your
inevitable and totally erroneous
conclusions, you departed for the hotel and
I was left alone. I had imagined that I had
reached the end of my adventures, but a very
unexpected occurrence showed me that there
were surprises still in store for me. A huge
rock, falling from above, boomed past me,
struck the path, and bounded over into the
chasm. For an instant I thought that it was
an accident; but a moment later, looking up,
I saw a man`s head against the darkening
sky, and another stone struck the very ledge
upon which I was stretched, within a foot of
my head. Of course, the meaning of this was
obvious. Moriarty had not been alone. A
confederate -- and even that one glance had
told me how dangerous a man that confederate
was -- had kept guard while the Professor
had attacked me. From a distance, unseen by
me, he had been a witness of his friend`s
death and of my escape. He had waited, and
then, making his way round to the top of the
cliff, he had endeavoured to succeed where
his comrade had failed.
"I did not take long to think about it,
Watson. Again I saw that grim face look over
the cliff, and I knew that it was the
precursor of another stone. I scrambled down
on to the path. I don`t think I could have
done it in cold blood. It was a hundred
times more difficult than getting up. But I
had no time to think of the danger, for
another stone sang past me as I hung by my
hands from the edge of the ledge. Halfway
down I slipped, but by the blessing of God I
landed, torn and bleeding, upon the path. I
took to my heels, did ten miles over the
mountains in the darkness, and a week later
I found myself in Florence with the
certainty that no one in the world knew what
had become of me.
"I had only one confidant -- my brother
Mycroft. I owe you many apologies, my dear
Watson, but it was all-important that it
should be thought I was dead, and it is
quite certain that you would not have
written so convincing an account of my
unhappy end had you not yourself thought
that it was true. Several times during the
last three years I have taken up my pen to
write to you, but always I feared lest your
affectionate regard for me should tempt you
to some indiscretion which would betray my
secret. For that reason I turned away from
you this evening when you upset my books,
for I was in danger at the time, and any
show of surprise and emotion upon your part
might have drawn attention to my identity
and led to the most deplorable and
irreparable results. As to Mycroft, I had to
confide in him in order to obtain the money
which I needed. The course of events in
London did not run so well as I had hoped,
for the trial of the Moriarty gang left two
of its most dangerous members, my own most
vindictive enemies, at liberty. I travelled
for two years in Tibet, therefore, and
amused myself by visiting Lhassa and
spending some days with the head Llama. You
may have read of the remarkable explorations
of a Norwegian named Sigerson, but I am sure
that it never occurred to you that you were
receiving news of your friend. I then passed
through Persia, looked in at Mecca, and paid
a short but interesting visit to the Khalifa
at Khartoum, the results of which I have
communicated to the Foreign Office.
Returning to France I spent some months in a
research into the coal-tar derivatives,
which I conducted in a laboratory at
Montpelier, in the South of France. Having
concluded this to my satisfaction, and
learning that only one of my enemies was now
left in London, I was about to return when
my movements were hastened by the news of
this very remarkable Park Lane Mystery,
which not only appealed to me by its own
merits, but which seemed to offer some most
peculiar personal opportunities. I came over
at once to London, called in my own person
at Baker Street, threw Mrs. Hudson into
violent hysterics, and found that Mycroft
had preserved my rooms and my papers exactly
as they had always been. So it was, my dear
Watson, that at two o`clock to-day I found
myself in my old arm-chair in my own old
room, and only wishing that I could have
seen my old friend Watson in the other chair
which he has so often adorned."
Such was the remarkable narrative to
which I listened on that April evening -- a
narrative which would have been utterly
incredible to me had it not been confirmed
by the actual sight of the tall, spare
figure and the keen, eager face, which I had
never thought to see again. In some manner
he had learned of my own sad bereavement,
and his sympathy was shown in his manner
rather than in his words. "Work is the best
antidote to sorrow, my dear Watson," said
he, "and I have a piece of work for us both
to-night which, if we can bring it to a
successful conclusion, will in itself
justify a man`s life on this planet." In
vain I begged him to tell me more. "You will
hear and see enough before morning," he
answered. "We have three years of the past
to discuss. Let that suffice until half-past
nine, when we start upon the notable
adventure of the empty house."
It was indeed like old times when, at
that hour, I found myself seated beside him
in a hansom, my revolver in my pocket and
the thrill of adventure in my heart. Holmes
was cold and stern and silent. As the gleam
of the street-lamps flashed upon his austere
features I saw that his brows were drawn
down in thought and his thin lips
compressed. I knew not what wild beast we
were about to hunt down in the dark jungle
of criminal London, but I was well assured
from the bearing of this master huntsman
that the adventure was a most grave one,
while the sardonic smile which occasionally
broke through his ascetic gloom boded little
good for the object of our quest.
I had imagined that we were bound for
Baker Street, but Holmes stopped the cab at
the corner of Cavendish Square. I observed
that as he stepped out he gave a most
searching glance to right and left, and at
every subsequent street corner he took the
utmost pains to assure that he was not
followed. Our route was certainly a singular
one. Holmes`s knowledge of the byways of
London was extraordinary, and on this
occasion he passed rapidly, and with an
assured step, through a network of mews and
stables the very existence of which I had
never known. We emerged at last into a small
road, lined with old, gloomy houses, which
led us into Manchester Street, and so to
Blandford Street. Here he turned swiftly
down a narrow passage, passed through a
wooden gate into a deserted yard, and then
opened with a key the back door of a house.
We entered together and he closed it behind
us.
The place was pitch-dark, but it was
evident to me that it was an empty house.
Our feet creaked and crackled over the bare
planking, and my outstretched hand touched a
wall from which the paper was hanging in
ribbons. Holmes`s cold, thin fingers closed
round my wrist and led me forwards down a
long hall, until I dimly saw the murky
fanlight over the door. Here Holmes turned
suddenly to the right, and we found
ourselves in a large, square, empty room,
heavily shadowed in the corners, but faintly
lit in the centre from the lights of the
street beyond. There was no lamp near and
the window was thick with dust, so that we
could only just discern each other`s figures
within. My companion put his hand upon my
shoulder and his lips close to my ear.
"Do you know where we are?" he whispered.
"Surely that is Baker Street," I
answered, staring through the dim window.
"Exactly. We are in Camden House, which
stands opposite to our own old quarters."
"But why are we here?"
"Because it commands so excellent a view
of that picturesque pile. Might I trouble
you, my dear Watson, to draw a little nearer
to the window, taking every precaution not
to show yourself, and then to look up at our
old rooms -- the starting-point of so many
of our little adventures? We will see if my
three years of absence have entirely taken
away my power to surprise you."
I crept forward and looked across at the
familiar window. As my eyes fell upon it I
gave a gasp and a cry of amazement. The
blind was down and a strong light was
burning in the room. The shadow of a man who
was seated in a chair within was thrown in
hard, black outline upon the luminous screen
of the window. There was no mistaking the
poise of the head, the squareness of the
shoulders, the sharpness of the features.
The face was turned half-round, and the
effect was that of one of those black
silhouettes which our grandparents loved to
frame. It was a perfect reproduction of
Holmes. So amazed was I that I threw out my
hand to make sure that the man himself was
standing beside me. He was quivering with
silent laughter.
"Well?" said he.
"Good heavens!" I cried. "It is
marvellous."
"I trust that age doth not wither nor
custom stale my infinite variety,`" said he,
and I recognised in his voice the joy and
pride which the artist takes in his own
creation. "It really is rather like me, is
it not?"
"I should be prepared to swear that it
was you."
"The credit of the execution is due to
Monsieur Oscar Meunier, of Grenoble, who
spent some days in doing the moulding. It is
a bust in wax. The rest I arranged myself
during my visit to Baker Street this
afternoon."
"But why?"
"Because, my dear Watson, I had the
strongest possible reason for wishing
certain people to think that I was there
when I was really elsewhere."
"And you thought the rooms were watched?"
"I KNEW that they were watched."
"By whom?"
"By my old enemies, Watson. By the
charming society whose leader lies in the
Reichenbach Fall. You must remember that
they knew, and only they knew, that I was
still alive. Sooner or later they believed
that I should come back to my rooms. They
watched them continuously, and this morning
they saw me arrive."
"How do you know?"
"Because I recognised their sentinel when
I glanced out of my window. He is a harmless
enough fellow, Parker by name, a garroter by
trade, and a remarkable performer upon the
Jew`s harp. I cared nothing for him. But I
cared a great deal for the much more
formidable person who was behind him, the
bosom friend of Moriarty, the man who
dropped the rocks over the cliff, the most
cunning and dangerous criminal in London.
That is the man who is after me to-night,
Watson, and that is the man who is quite
unaware that we are after HIM."
My friend`s plans were gradually
revealing themselves. From this convenient
retreat the watchers were being watched and
the trackers tracked. That angular shadow up
yonder was the bait and we were the hunters.
In silence we stood together in the darkness
and watched the hurrying figures who passed
and repassed in front of us. Holmes was
silent and motionless; but I could tell that
he was keenly alert, and that his eyes were
fixed intently upon the stream of
passers-by. It was a bleak and boisterous
night, and the wind whistled shrilly down
the long street. Many people were moving to
and fro, most of them muffled in their coats
and cravats. Once or twice it seemed to me
that I had seen the same figure before, and
I especially noticed two men who appeared to
be sheltering themselves from the wind in
the doorway of a house some distance up the
street. I tried to draw my companion`s
attention to them, but he gave a little
ejaculation of impatience and continued to
stare into the street. More than once he
fidgeted with his feet and tapped rapidly
with his fingers upon the wall. It was
evident to me that he was becoming uneasy
and that his plans were not working out
altogether as he had hoped. At last, as
midnight approached and the street gradually
cleared, he paced up and down the room in
uncontrollable agitation. I was about to
make some remark to him when I raised my
eyes to the lighted window and again
experienced almost as great a surprise as
before. I clutched Holmes`s arm and pointed
upwards.
"The shadow has moved!" I cried.
It was, indeed, no longer the profile,
but the back, which was turned towards us.
Three years had certainly not smoothed
the asperities of his temper or his
impatience with a less active intelligence
than his own.
"Of course it has moved," said he. "Am I
such a farcical bungler, Watson, that I
should erect an obvious dummy and expect
that some of the sharpest men in Europe
would be deceived by it? We have been in
this room two hours, and Mrs. Hudson has
made some change in that figure eight times,
or once in every quarter of an hour. She
works it from the front so that her shadow
may never be seen. Ah!" He drew in his
breath with a shrill, excited intake. In the
dim light I saw his head thrown forward, his
whole attitude rigid with attention.
Outside, the street was absolutely deserted.
Those two men might still be crouching in
the doorway, but I could no longer see them.
All was still and dark, save only that
brilliant yellow screen in front of us with
the black figure outlined upon its centre.
Again in the utter silence I heard that
thin, sibilant note which spoke of intense
suppressed excitement. An instant later he
pulled me back into the blackest corner of
the room, and I felt his warning hand upon
my lips. The fingers which clutched me were
quivering. Never had I known my friend more
moved, and yet the dark street still
stretched lonely and motionless before us.
But suddenly I was aware of that which
his keener senses had already distinguished.
A low, stealthy sound came to my ears, not
from the direction of Baker Street, but from
the back of the very house in which we lay
concealed. A door opened and shut. An
instant later steps crept down the passage
-- steps which were meant to be silent, but
which reverberated harshly through the empty
house. Holmes crouched back against the wall
and I did the same, my hand closing upon the
handle of my revolver. Peering through the
gloom, I saw the vague outline of a man, a
shade blacker than the blackness of the open
door. He stood for an instant, and then he
crept forward, crouching, menacing, into the
room. He was within three yards of us, this
sinister figure, and I had braced myself to
meet his spring, before I realized that he
had no idea of our presence. He passed close
beside us, stole over to the window, and
very softly and noiselessly raised it for
half a foot. As he sank to the level of this
opening the light of the street, no longer
dimmed by the dusty glass, fell full upon
his face. The man seemed to be beside
himself with excitement. His two eyes shone
like stars and his features were working
convulsively. He was an elderly man, with a
thin, projecting nose, a high, bald
forehead, and a huge grizzled moustache. An
opera-hat was pushed to the back of his
head, and an evening dress shirt-front
gleamed out through his open overcoat. His
face was gaunt and swarthy, scored with
deep, savage lines. In his hand he carried
what appeared to be a stick, but as he laid
it down upon the floor it gave a metallic
clang. Then from the pocket of his overcoat
he drew a bulky object, and he busied
himself in some task which ended with a
loud, sharp click, as if a spring or bolt
had fallen into its place. Still kneeling
upon the floor he bent forward and threw all
his weight and strength upon some lever,
with the result that there came a long,
whirling, grinding noise, ending once more
in a powerful click. He straightened himself
then, and I saw that what he held in his
hand was a sort of gun, with a curiously
misshapen butt. He opened it at the breech,
put something in, and snapped the
breech-block. Then, crouching down, he
rested the end of the barrel upon the ledge
of the open window, and I saw his long
moustache droop over the stock and his eye
gleam as it peered along the sights. I heard
a little sigh of satisfaction as he cuddled
the butt into his shoulder, and saw that
amazing target, the black man on the yellow
ground, standing clear at the end of his
fore sight. For an instant he was rigid and
motionless. Then his finger tightened on the
trigger. There was a strange, loud whiz and
a long, silvery tinkle of broken glass. At
that instant Holmes sprang like a tiger on
to the marksman`s back and hurled him flat
upon his face. He was up again in a moment,
and with convulsive strength he seized
Holmes by the throat; but I struck him on
the head with the butt of my revolver and he
dropped again upon the floor. I fell upon
him, and as I held him my comrade blew a
shrill call upon a whistle. There was the
clatter of running feet upon the pavement,
and two policemen in uniform, with one
plain-clothes detective, rushed through the
front entrance and into the room.
"That you, Lestrade?" said Holmes.
"Yes, Mr. Holmes. I took the job myself.
It`s good to see you back in London, sir."
"I think you want a little unofficial
help. Three undetected murders in one year
won`t do, Lestrade. But you handled the
Molesey Mystery with less than your usual --
that`s to say, you handled it fairly well."
We had all risen to our feet, our
prisoner breathing hard, with a stalwart
constable on each side of him. Already a few
loiterers had begun to collect in the
street. Holmes stepped up to the window,
closed it, and dropped the blinds. Lestrade
had produced two candles and the policemen
had uncovered their lanterns. I was able at
last to have a good look at our prisoner.
It was a tremendously virile and yet
sinister face which was turned towards us.
With the brow of a philosopher above and the
jaw of a sensualist below, the man must have
started with great capacities for good or
for evil. But one could not look upon his
cruel blue eyes, with their drooping,
cynical lids, or upon the fierce, aggressive
nose and the threatening, deep-lined brow,
without reading Nature`s plainest
danger-signals. He took no heed of any of
us, but his eyes were fixed upon Holmes`s
face with an expression in which hatred and
amazement were equally blended. "You fiend!"
he kept on muttering. "You clever, clever
fiend!"
"Ah, Colonel!" said Holmes, arranging his
rumpled collar; "`journeys end in lovers`
meetings,` as the old play says. I don`t
think I have had the pleasure of seeing you
since you favoured me with those attentions
as I lay on the ledge above the Reichenbach
Fall."
The Colonel still stared at my friend
like a man in a trance. "You cunning,
cunning fiend!" was all that he could say.
"I have not introduced you yet," said
Holmes. "This, gentlemen, is Colonel
Sebastian Moran, once of Her Majesty`s
Indian Army, and the best heavy game shot
that our Eastern Empire has ever produced. I
believe I am correct, Colonel, in saying
that your bag of tigers still remains
unrivalled?"
The fierce old man said nothing, but
still glared at my companion; with his
savage eyes and bristling moustache he was
wonderfully like a tiger himself.
"I wonder that my very simple stratagem
could deceive so old a shikari," said
Holmes. "It must be very familiar to you.
Have you not tethered a young kid under a
tree, lain above it with your rifle, and
waited for the bait to bring up your tiger?
This empty house is my tree and you are my
tiger. You have possibly had other guns in
reserve in case there should be several
tigers, or in the unlikely supposition of
your own aim failing you. These," he pointed
around, "are my other guns. The parallel is
exact."
Colonel Moran sprang forward, with a
snarl of rage, but the constables dragged
him back. The fury upon his face was
terrible to look at.
"I confess that you had one small
surprise for me," said Holmes. "I did not
anticipate that you would yourself make use
of this empty house and this convenient
front window. I had imagined you as
operating from the street, where my friend
Lestrade and his merry men were awaiting
you. With that exception all has gone as I
expected."
Colonel Moran turned to the official
detective.
"You may or may not have just cause for
arresting me," said he, "but at least there
can be no reason why I should submit to the
gibes of this person. If I am in the hands
of the law let things be done in a legal
way."
"Well, that`s reasonable enough," said
Lestrade. "Nothing further you have to say,
Mr. Holmes, before we go?"
Holmes had picked up the powerful air-gun
from the floor and was examining its
mechanism.
"An admirable and unique weapon," said
he, "noiseless and of tremendous power. I
knew Von Herder, the blind German mechanic,
who constructed it to the order of the late
Professor Moriarty. For years I have been
aware of its existence, though I have never
before had the opportunity of handling it. I
commend it very specially to your attention,
Lestrade, and also the bullets which fit
it."
"You can trust us to look after that, Mr.
Holmes," said Lestrade, as the whole party
moved towards the door. "Anything further to
say?"
"Only to ask what charge you intend to
prefer?"
"What charge, sir? Why, of course, the
attempted murder of Mr. Sherlock Holmes."
"Not so, Lestrade. I do not propose to
appear in the matter at all. To you, and to
you only, belongs the credit of the
remarkable arrest which you have effected.
Yes, Lestrade, I congratulate you! With your
usual happy mixture of cunning and audacity
you have got him."
"Got him! Got whom, Mr. Holmes?"
"The man that the whole force has been
seeking in vain -- Colonel Sebastian Moran,
who shot the Honourable Ronald Adair with an
expanding bullet from an air-gun through the
open window of the second-floor front of No.
427, Park Lane, upon the 30th of last month.
That`s the charge, Lestrade. And now,
Watson, if you can endure the draught from a
broken window, I think that half an hour in
my study over a cigar may afford you some
profitable amusement."
Our old chambers had been left unchanged
through the supervision of Mycroft Holmes
and the immediate care of Mrs. Hudson. As I
entered I saw, it is true, an unwonted
tidiness, but the old landmarks were all in
their place. There were the chemical corner
and the acid-stained, deal-topped table.
There upon a shelf was the row of formidable
scrap-books and books of reference which
many of our fellow-citizens would have been
so glad to burn. The diagrams, the
violin-case, and the pipe-rack -- even the
Persian slipper which contained the tobacco
-- all met my eyes as I glanced round me.
There were two occupants of the room -- one
Mrs. Hudson, who beamed upon us both as we
entered; the other the strange dummy which
had played so important a part in the
evening`s adventures. It was a wax-coloured
model of my friend, so admirably done that
it was a perfect facsimile. It stood on a
small pedestal table with an old
dressing-gown of Holmes`s so draped round it
that the illusion from the street was
absolutely perfect.
"I hope you preserved all precautions,
Mrs. Hudson?" said Holmes.
"I went to it on my knees, sir, just as
you told me."
"Excellent. You carried the thing out
very well. Did you observe where the bullet
went?"
"Yes, sir. I`m afraid it has spoilt your
beautiful bust, for it passed right through
the head and flattened itself on the wall. I
picked it up from the carpet. Here it is!"
Holmes held it out to me. "A soft
revolver bullet, as you perceive, Watson.
There`s genius in that, for who would expect
to find such a thing fired from an air-gun.
All right, Mrs. Hudson, I am much obliged
for your assistance. And now, Watson, let me
see you in your old seat once more, for
there are several points which I should like
to discuss with you."
He had thrown off the seedy frock-coat,
and now he was the Holmes of old in the
mouse-coloured dressing-gown which he took
from his effigy.
"The old shikari`s nerves have not lost
their steadiness nor his eyes their
keenness," said he, with a laugh, as he
inspected the shattered forehead of his
bust.
"Plumb in the middle of the back of the
head and smack through the brain. He was the
best shot in India, and I expect that there
are few better in London. Have you heard the
name?"
"No, I have not."
"Well, well, such is fame! But, then, if
I remember aright, you had not heard the
name of Professor James Moriarty, who had
one of the great brains of the century. Just
give me down my index of biographies from
the shelf."
He turned over the pages lazily, leaning
back in his chair and blowing great clouds
from his cigar.
"My collection of M`s is a fine one,"
said he. "Moriarty himself is enough to make
any letter illustrious, and here is Morgan
the poisoner, and Merridew of abominable
memory, and Mathews, who knocked out my left
canine in the waiting-room at Charing Cross,
and, finally, here is our friend of
to-night."
He handed over the book, and I read:
"MORAN, SEBASTIAN, COLONEL. Unemployed.
Formerly 1st Bengalore Pioneers. Born
London, 1840. Son of Sir Augustus Moran,
C.B., once British Minister to Persia.
Educated Eton and Oxford. Served in Jowaki
Campaign, Afghan Campaign, Charasiab
(despatches), Sherpur, and Cabul. Author of
`Heavy Game of the Western Himalayas,` 1881;
`Three Months in the Jungle,` 1884. Address:
Conduit Street. Clubs: The Anglo-Indian, the
Tankerville, the Bagatelle Card Club."
On the margin was written, in Holmes`s
precise hand: "The second most dangerous man
in London."
"This is astonishing," said I, as I
handed back the volume. "The man`s career is
that of an honourable soldier."
"It is true," Holmes answered. "Up to a
certain point he did well. He was always a
man of iron nerve, and the story is still
told in India how he crawled down a drain
after a wounded man-eating tiger. There are
some trees, Watson, which grow to a certain
height and then suddenly develop some
unsightly eccentricity. You will see it
often in humans. I have a theory that the
individual represents in his development the
whole procession of his ancestors, and that
such a sudden turn to good or evil stands
for some strong influence which came into
the line of his pedigree. The person
becomes, as it were, the epitome of the
history of his own family."
"It is surely rather fanciful."
"Well, I don`t insist upon it. Whatever
the cause, Colonel Moran began to go wrong.
Without any open scandal he still made India
too hot to hold him. He retired, came to
London, and again acquired an evil name. It
was at this time that he was sought out by
Professor Moriarty, to whom for a time he
was chief of the staff. Moriarty supplied
him liberally with money and used him only
in one or two very high-class jobs which no
ordinary criminal could have undertaken. You
may have some recollection of the death of
Mrs. Stewart, of Lauder, in 1887. Not? Well,
I am sure Moran was at the bottom of it; but
nothing could be proved. So cleverly was the
Colonel concealed that even when the
Moriarty gang was broken up we could not
incriminate him. You remember at that date,
when I called upon you in your rooms, how I
put up the shutters for fear of air-guns? No
doubt you thought me fanciful. I knew
exactly what I was doing, for I knew of the
existence of this remarkable gun, and I knew
also that one of the best shots in the world
would be behind it. When we were in
Switzerland he followed us with Moriarty,
and it was undoubtedly he who gave me that
evil five minutes on the Reichenbach ledge.
"You may think that I read the papers
with some attention during my sojourn in
France, on the look-out for any chance of
laying him by the heels. So long as he was
free in London my life would really not have
been worth living. Night and day the shadow
would have been over me, and sooner or later
his chance must have come. What could I do?
I could not shoot him at sight, or I should
myself be in the dock. There was no use
appealing to a magistrate. They cannot
interfere on the strength of what would
appear to them to be a wild suspicion. So I
could do nothing. But I watched the criminal
news, knowing that sooner or later I should
get him. Then came the death of this Ronald
Adair. My chance had come at last! Knowing
what I did, was it not certain that Colonel
Moran had done it? He had played cards with
the lad; he had followed him home from the
club; he had shot him through the open
window. There was not a doubt of it. The
bullets alone are enough to put his head in
a noose. I came over at once. I was seen by
the sentinel, who would, I knew, direct the
Colonel`s attention to my presence. He could
not fail to connect my sudden return with
his crime and to be terribly alarmed. I was
sure that he would make an attempt to get me
out of the way AT ONCE, and would bring
round his murderous weapon for that purpose.
I left him an excellent mark in the window,
and, having warned the police that they
might be needed -- by the way, Watson, you
spotted their presence in that doorway with
unerring accuracy -- I took up what seemed
to me to be a judicious post for
observation, never dreaming that he would
choose the same spot for his attack. Now, my
dear Watson, does anything remain for me to
explain?"
"Yes," said I. "You have not made it
clear what was Colonel Moran`s motive in
murdering the Honourable Ronald Adair."
"Ah! my dear Watson, there we come into
those realms of conjecture where the most
logical mind may be at fault. Each may form
his own hypothesis upon the present
evidence, and yours is as likely to be
correct as mine."
"You have formed one, then?"
"I think that it is not difficult to
explain the facts. It came out in evidence
that Colonel Moran and young Adair had
between them won a considerable amount of
money. Now, Moran undoubtedly played foul --
of that I have long been aware. I believe
that on the day of the murder Adair had
discovered that Moran was cheating. Very
likely he had spoken to him privately, and
had threatened to expose him unless he
voluntarily resigned his membership of the
club and promised not to play cards again.
It is unlikely that a youngster like Adair
would at once make a hideous scandal by
exposing a well-known man so much older than
himself. Probably he acted as I suggest. The
exclusion from his clubs would mean ruin to
Moran, who lived by his ill-gotten card
gains. He therefore murdered Adair, who at
the time was endeavouring to work out how
much money he should himself return, since
he could not profit by his partner`s foul
play. He locked the door lest the ladies
should surprise him and insist upon knowing
what he was doing with these names and
coins. Will it pass?"
"I have no doubt that you have hit upon
the truth."
"It will be verified or disproved at the
trial. Meanwhile, come what may, Colonel
Moran will trouble us no more, the famous
air-gun of Von Herder will embellish the
Scotland Yard Museum, and once again Mr.
Sherlock Holmes is free to devote his life
to examining those interesting little
problems which the complex life of London so
plentifully presents."
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II. The
Adventure of the Norwood Builder.
"F ROM the point of view of the criminal expert," said Mr. Sherlock
Holmes, "London has become a singularly
uninteresting city since the death of the
late lamented Professor Moriarty."
"I can hardly think that you would find
many decent citizens to agree with you," I
answered.
"Well, well, I must not be selfish," said
he, with a smile, as he pushed back his
chair from the breakfast-table. "The
community is certainly the gainer, and no
one the loser, save the poor out-of-work
specialist, whose occupation has gone. With
that man in the field one`s morning paper
presented infinite possibilities. Often it
was only the smallest trace, Watson, the
faintest indication, and yet it was enough
to tell me that the great malignant brain
was there, as the gentlest tremors of the
edges of the web remind one of the foul
spider which lurks in the centre. Petty
thefts, wanton assaults, purposeless outrage
-- to the man who held the clue all could be
worked into one connected whole. To the
scientific student of the higher criminal
world no capital in Europe offered the
advantages which London then possessed. But
now ----" He shrugged his shoulders in
humorous deprecation of the state of things
which he had himself done so much to
produce.
At the time of which I speak Holmes had
been back for some months, and I, at his
request, had sold my practice and returned
to share the old quarters in Baker Street. A
young doctor, named Verner, had purchased my
small Kensington practice, and given with
astonishingly little demur the highest price
that I ventured to ask -- an incident which
only explained itself some years later when
I found that Verner was a distant relation
of Holmes`s, and that it was my friend who
had really found the money.
Our months of partnership had not been so
uneventful as he had stated, for I find, on
looking over my notes, that this period
includes the case of the papers of
Ex-President Murillo, and also the shocking
affair of the Dutch steamship FRIESLAND,
which so nearly cost us both our lives. His
cold and proud nature was always averse,
however, to anything in the shape of public
applause, and he bound me in the most
stringent terms to say no further word of
himself, his methods, or his successes -- a
prohibition which, as I have explained, has
only now been removed.
Mr. Sherlock Holmes was leaning back in
his chair after his whimsical protest, and
was unfolding his morning paper in a
leisurely fashion, when our attention was
arrested by a tremendous ring at the bell,
followed immediately by a hollow drumming
sound, as if someone were beating on the
outer door with his fist. As it opened there
came a tumultuous rush into the hall, rapid
feet clattered up the stair, and an instant
later a wild-eyed and frantic young man,
pale, dishevelled, and palpitating, burst
into the room. He looked from one to the
other of us, and under our gaze of inquiry
he became conscious that some apology was
needed for this unceremonious entry.
"I`m sorry, Mr. Holmes," he cried. "You
mustn`t blame me. I am nearly mad. Mr.
Holmes, I am the unhappy John Hector
McFarlane."
He made the announcement as if the name
alone would explain both his visit and its
manner; but I could see by my companion`s
unresponsive face that it meant no more to
him than to me.
"Have a cigarette, Mr. McFarlane," said
he, pushing his case across. "I am sure that
with your symptoms my friend Dr. Watson here
would prescribe a sedative. The weather has
been so very warm these last few days. Now,
if you feel a little more composed, I should
be glad if you would sit down in that chair
and tell us very slowly and quietly who you
are and what it is that you want. You
mentioned your name as if I should recognise
it, but I assure you that, beyond the
obvious facts that you are a bachelor, a
solicitor, a Freemason, and an asthmatic, I
know nothing whatever about you."
Familiar as I was with my friend`s
methods, it was not difficult for me to
follow his deductions, and to observe the
untidiness of attire, the sheaf of legal
papers, the watch-charm, and the breathing
which had prompted them. Our client,
however, stared in amazement.
"Yes, I am all that, Mr. Holmes, and in
addition I am the most unfortunate man at
this moment in London. For Heaven`s sake
don`t abandon me, Mr. Holmes! If they come
to arrest me before I have finished my
story, make them give me time so that I may
tell you the whole truth. I could go to gaol
happy if I knew that you were working for me
outside."
"Arrest you!" said Holmes. "This is
really most grati -- most interesting. On
what charge do you expect to be arrested?"
"Upon the charge of murdering Mr. Jonas
Oldacre, of Lower Norwood."
My companion`s expressive face showed a
sympathy which was not, I am afraid,
entirely unmixed with satisfaction.
"Dear me," said he; "it was only this
moment at breakfast that I was saying to my
friend, Dr. Watson, that sensational cases
had disappeared out of our papers."
Our visitor stretched forward a quivering
hand and picked up the DAILY TELEGRAPH,
which still lay upon Holmes`s knee.
"If you had looked at it, sir, you would
have seen at a glance what the errand is on
which I have come to you this morning. I
feel as if my name and my misfortune must be
in every man`s mouth." He turned it over to
expose the central page. "Here it is, and
with your permission I will read it to you.
Listen to this, Mr. Holmes. The head-lines
are: `Mysterious Affair at Lower Norwood.
Disappearance of a Well-known Builder.
Suspicion of Murder and Arson. A Clue to the
Criminal.` That is the clue which they are
already following, Mr. Holmes, and I know
that it leads infallibly to me. I have been
followed from London Bridge Station, and I
am sure that they are only waiting for the
warrant to arrest me. It will break my
mother`s heart -- it will break her heart!"
He wrung his hands in an agony of
apprehension, and swayed backwards and
forwards in his chair.
I looked with interest upon this man, who
was accused of being the perpetrator of a
crime of violence. He was flaxen-haired and
handsome in a washed-out negative fashion,
with frightened blue eyes and a clean-shaven
face, with a weak, sensitive mouth. His age
may have been about twenty-seven; his dress
and bearing that of a gentleman. From the
pocket of his light summer overcoat
protruded the bundle of endorsed papers
which proclaimed his profession.
"We must use what time we have," said
Holmes. "Watson, would you have the kindness
to take the paper and to read me the
paragraph in question?"
Underneath the vigorous head-lines which
our client had quoted I read the following
suggestive narrative:---
Late last night, or early this morning,
an incident occurred at Lower Norwood which
points, it is feared, to a serious crime.
Mr. Jonas Oldacre is a well-known resident
of that suburb, where he has carried on his
business as a builder for many years. Mr.
Oldacre is a bachelor, fifty-two years of
age, and lives in Deep Dene House, at the
Sydenham end of the road of that name. He
has had the reputation of being a man of
eccentric habits, secretive and retiring.
For some years he has practically withdrawn
from the business, in which he is said to
have amassed considerable wealth. A small
timber-yard still exists, however, at the
back of the house, and last night, about
twelve o`clock, an alarm was given that one
of the stacks was on fire. The engines were
soon upon the spot, but the dry wood burned
with great fury, and it was impossible to
arrest the conflagration until the stack had
been entirely consumed. Up to this point the
incident bore the appearance of an ordinary
accident, but fresh indications seem to
point to serious crime. Surprise was
expressed at the absence of the master of
the establishment from the scene of the
fire, and an inquiry followed, which showed
that he had disappeared from the house. An
examination of his room revealed that the
bed had not been slept in, that a safe which
stood in it was open, that a number of
important papers were scattered about the
room, and, finally, that there were signs of
a murderous struggle, slight traces of blood
being found within the room, and an oaken
walking-stick, which also showed stains of
blood upon the handle. It is known that Mr.
Jonas Oldacre had received a late visitor in
his bedroom upon that night, and the stick
found has been identified as the property of
this person, who is a young London solicitor
named John Hector McFarlane, junior partner
of Graham and McFarlane, of 426, Gresham
Buildings, E.C. The police believe that they
have evidence in their possession which
supplies a very convincing motive for the
crime, and altogether it cannot be doubted
that sensational developments will follow.
LATER. -- It is rumoured as we go to
press that Mr. John Hector McFarlane has
actually been arrested on the charge of the
murder of Mr. Jonas Oldacre. It is at least
certain that a warrant has been issued.
There have been further and sinister
developments in the investigation at
Norwood. Besides the signs of a struggle in
the room of the unfortunate builder it is
now known that the French windows of his
bedroom (which is on the ground floor) were
found to be open, that there were marks as
if some bulky object had been dragged across
to the wood-pile, and, finally, it is
asserted that charred remains have been
found among the charcoal ashes of the fire.
The police theory is that a most sensational
crime has been committed, that the victim
was clubbed to death in his own bedroom, his
papers rifled, and his dead body dragged
across to the wood-stack, which was then
ignited so as to hide all traces of the
crime. The conduct of the criminal
investigation has been left in the
experienced hands of Inspector Lestrade, of
Scotland Yard, who is following up the clues
with his accustomed energy and sagacity.
Sherlock Holmes listened with closed eyes
and finger-tips together to this remarkable
account.
"The case has certainly some points of
interest," said he, in his languid fashion.
"May I ask, in the first place, Mr.
McFarlane, how it is that you are still at
liberty, since there appears to be enough
evidence to justify your arrest?"
"I live at Torrington Lodge, Blackheath,
with my parents, Mr. Holmes; but last night,
having to do business very late with Mr.
Jonas Oldacre, I stayed at an hotel in
Norwood, and came to my business from there.
I knew nothing of this affair until I was in
the train, when I read what you have just
heard. I at once saw the horrible danger of
my position, and I hurried to put the case
into your hands. I have no doubt that I
should have been arrested either at my City
office or at my home. A man followed me from
London Bridge Station, and I have no doubt
--- Great Heaven, what is that?"
It was a clang of the bell, followed
instantly by heavy steps upon the stair. A
moment later our old friend Lestrade
appeared in the doorway. Over his shoulder I
caught a glimpse of one or two uniformed
policemen outside.
"Mr. John Hector McFarlane?" said
Lestrade.
Our unfortunate client rose with a
ghastly face.
"I arrest you for the wilful murder of
Mr. Jonas Oldacre, of Lower Norwood."
McFarlane turned to us with a gesture of
despair, and sank into his chair once more
like one who is crushed.
"One moment, Lestrade," said Holmes.
"Half an hour more or less can make no
difference to you, and the gentleman was
about to give us an account of this very
interesting affair, which might aid us in
clearing it up."
"I think there will be no difficulty in
clearing it up," said Lestrade, grimly.
"None the less, with your permission, I
should be much interested to hear his
account."
"Well, Mr. Holmes, it is difficult for me
to refuse you anything, for you have been of
use to the force once or twice in the past,
and we owe you a good turn at Scotland
Yard," said Lestrade. "At the same time I
must remain with my prisoner, and I am bound
to warn him that anything he may say will
appear in evidence against him."
"I wish nothing better," said our client.
"All I ask is that you should hear and
recognise the absolute truth."
Lestrade looked at his watch. "I`ll give
you half an hour," said he.
"I must explain first," said McFarlane,
"that I knew nothing of Mr. Jonas Oldacre.
His name was familiar to me, for many years
ago my parents were acquainted with him, but
they drifted apart. I was very much
surprised, therefore, when yesterday, about
three o`clock in the afternoon, he walked
into my office in the City. But I was still
more astonished when he told me the object
of his visit. He had in his hand several
sheets of a note-book, covered with
scribbled writing -- here they are -- and he
laid them on my table.
"`Here is my will,` said he. `I want you,
Mr. McFarlane, to cast it into proper legal
shape. I will sit here while you do so.`
"I set myself to copy it, and you can
imagine my astonishment when I found that,
with some reservations, he had left all his
property to me. He was a strange little,
ferret-like man, with white eyelashes, and
when I looked up at him I found his keen
grey eyes fixed upon me with an amused
expression. I could hardly believe my own
senses as I read the terms of the will; but
he explained that he was a bachelor with
hardly any living relation, that he had
known my parents in his youth, and that he
had always heard of me as a very deserving
young man, and was assured that his money
would be in worthy hands. Of course, I could
only stammer out my thanks. The will was
duly finished, signed, and witnessed by my
clerk. This is it on the blue paper, and
these slips, as I have explained, are the
rough draft. Mr. Jonas Oldacre then informed
me that there were a number of documents --
building leases, title-deeds, mortgages,
scrip, and so forth -- which it was
necessary that I should see and understand.
He said that his mind would not be easy
until the whole thing was settled, and he
begged me to come out to his house at
Norwood that night, bringing the will with
me, and to arrange matters. `Remember, my
boy, not one word to your parents about the
affair until everything is settled. We will
keep it as a little surprise for them.` He
was very insistent upon this point, and made
me promise it faithfully.
"You can imagine, Mr. Holmes, that I was
not in a humour to refuse him anything that
he might ask. He was my benefactor, and all
my desire was to carry out his wishes in
every particular. I sent a telegram home,
therefore, to say that I had important
business on hand, and that it was impossible
for me to say how late I might be. Mr.
Oldacre had told me that he would like me to
have supper with him at nine, as he might
not be home before that hour. I had some
difficulty in finding his house, however,
and it was nearly half-past before I reached
it. I found him ---"
"One moment!" said Holmes. "Who opened
the door?"
"A middle-aged woman, who was, I suppose,
his housekeeper."
"And it was she, I presume, who mentioned
your name?"
"Exactly," said McFarlane.
"Pray proceed."
McFarlane wiped his damp brow and then
continued his narrative:--
"I was shown by this woman into a
sitting-room, where a frugal supper was laid
out. Afterwards Mr. Jonas Oldacre led me
into his bedroom, in which there stood a
heavy safe. This he opened and took out a
mass of documents, which we went over
together. It was between eleven and twelve
when we finished. He remarked that we must
not disturb the housekeeper. He showed me
out through his own French window, which had
been open all this time."
"Was the blind down?" asked Holmes.
"I will not be sure, but I believe that
it was only half down. Yes, I remember how
he pulled it up in order to swing open the
window. I could not find my stick, and he
said, `Never mind, my boy; I shall see a
good deal of you now, I hope, and I will
keep your stick until you come back to claim
it.` I left him there, the safe open, and
the papers made up in packets upon the
table. It was so late that I could not get
back to Blackheath, so I spent the night at
the Anerley Arms, and I knew nothing more
until I read of this horrible affair in the
morning."
"Anything more that you would like to
ask, Mr. Holmes?" said Lestrade, whose
eyebrows had gone up once or twice during
this remarkable explanation.
"Not until I have been to Blackheath."
"You mean to Norwood," said Lestrade.
"Oh, yes; no doubt that is what I must
have meant," said Holmes, with his
enigmatical smile. Lestrade had learned by
more experiences than he would care to
acknowledge that that razor-like brain could
cut through that which was impenetrable to
him. I saw him look curiously at my
companion.
"I think I should like to have a word
with you presently, Mr. Sherlock Holmes,"
said he. "Now, Mr. McFarlane, two of my
constables are at the door and there is a
four-wheeler waiting." The wretched young
man arose, and with a last beseeching glance
at us walked from the room. The officers
conducted him to the cab, but Lestrade
remained.
Holmes had picked up the pages which
formed the rough draft of the will, and was
looking at them with the keenest interest
upon his face.
"There are some points about that
document, Lestrade, are there not?" said he,
pushing them over.
The official looked at them with a
puzzled expression.
"I can read the first few lines, and
these in the middle of the second page, and
one or two at the end. Those are as clear as
print," said he; "but the writing in between
is very bad, and there are three places
where I cannot read it at all."
"What do you make of that?" said Holmes.
"Well, what do YOU make of it?"
"That it was written in a train; the good
writing represents stations, the bad writing
movement, and the very bad writing passing
over points. A scientific expert would
pronounce at once that this was drawn up on
a suburban line, since nowhere save in the
immediate vicinity of a great city could
there be so quick a succession of points.
Granting that his whole journey was occupied
in drawing up the will, then the train was
an express, only stopping once between
Norwood and London Bridge."
Lestrade began to laugh.
"You are too many for me when you begin
to get on your theories, Mr. Holmes," said
he. "How does this bear on the case?"
"Well, it corroborates the young man`s
story to the extent that the will was drawn
up by Jonas Oldacre in his journey
yesterday. It is curious -- is it not? --
that a man should draw up so important a
document in so haphazard a fashion. It
suggests that he did not think it was going
to be of much practical importance. If a man
drew up a will which he did not intend ever
to be effective he might do it so."
"Well, he drew up his own death-warrant
at the same time," said Lestrade.
"Oh, you think so?"
"Don`t you?"
"Well, it is quite possible; but the case
is not clear to me yet."
"Not clear? Well, if that isn`t clear,
what COULD be clear? Here is a young man who
learns suddenly that if a certain older man
dies he will succeed to a fortune. What does
he do? He says nothing to anyone, but he
arranges that he shall go out on some
pretext to see his client that night; he
waits until the only other person in the
house is in bed, and then in the solitude of
a man`s room he murders him, burns his body
in the wood-pile, and departs to a
neighbouring hotel. The blood-stains in the
room and also on the stick are very slight.
It is probable that he imagined his crime to
be a bloodless one, and hoped that if the
body were consumed it would hide all traces
of the method of his death -- traces which
for some reason must have pointed to him. Is
all this not obvious?"
"It strikes me, my good Lestrade, as
being just a trifle too obvious," said
Holmes. "You do not add imagination to your
other great qualities; but if you could for
one moment put yourself in the place of this
young man, would you choose the very night
after the will had been made to commit your
crime? Would it not seem dangerous to you to
make so very close a relation between the
two incidents? Again, would you choose an
occasion when you are known to be in the
house, when a servant has let you in? And,
finally, would you take the great pains to
conceal the body and yet leave your own
stick as a sign that you were the criminal?
Confess, Lestrade, that all this is very
unlikely."
"As to the stick, Mr. Holmes, you know as
well as I do that a criminal is often
flurried and does things which a cool man
would avoid. He was very likely afraid to go
back to the room. Give me another theory
that would fit the facts."
"I could very easily give you
half-a-dozen," said Holmes. "Here, for
example, is a very possible and even
probable one. I make you a free present of
it. The older man is showing documents which
are of evident value. A passing tramp sees
them through the window, the blind of which
is only half down. Exit the solicitor. Enter
the tramp! He seizes a stick, which he
observes there, kills Oldacre, and departs
after burning the body."
"Why should the tramp burn the body?"
"For the matter of that why should
McFarlane?"
"To hide some evidence."
"Possibly the tramp wanted to hide that
any murder at all had been committed."
"And why did the tramp take nothing?"
"Because they were papers that he could
not negotiate."
Lestrade shook his head, though it seemed
to me that his manner was less absolutely
assured than before.
"Well, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, you may look
for your tramp, and while you are finding
him we will hold on to our man. The future
will show which is right. Just notice this
point, Mr. Holmes: that so far as we know
none of the papers were removed, and that
the prisoner is the one man in the world who
had no reason for removing them, since he
was heir-at-law and would come into them in
any case."
My friend seemed struck by this remark.
"I don`t mean to deny that the evidence
is in some ways very strongly in favour of
your theory," said he. "I only wish to point
out that there are other theories possible.
As you say, the future will decide. Good
morning! I dare say that in the course of
the day I shall drop in at Norwood and see
how you are getting on."
When the detective departed my friend
rose and made his preparations for the day`s
work with the alert air of a man who has a
congenial task before him.
"My first movement, Watson," said he, as
he bustled into his frock-coat, "must, as I
said, be in the direction of Blackheath."
"And why not Norwood?"
"Because we have in this case one
singular incident coming close to the heels
of another singular incident. The police are
making the mistake of concentrating their
attention upon the second, because it
happens to be the one which is actually
criminal. But it is evident to me that the
logical way to approach the case is to begin
by trying to throw some light upon the first
incident -- the curious will, so suddenly
made, and to so unexpected an heir. It may
do something to simplify what followed. No,
my dear fellow, I don`t think you can help
me. There is no prospect of danger, or I
should not dream of stirring out without
you. I trust that when I see you in the
evening I will be able to report that I have
been able to do something for this
unfortunate youngster who has thrown himself
upon my protection."
It was late when my friend returned, and
I could see by a glance at his haggard and
anxious face that the high hopes with which
he had started had not been fulfilled. For
an hour he droned away upon his violin,
endeavouring to soothe his own ruffled
spirits. At last he flung down the
instrument and plunged into a detailed
account of his misadventures.
"It`s all going wrong, Watson -- all as
wrong as it can go. I kept a bold face
before Lestrade, but, upon my soul, I
believe that for once the fellow is on the
right track and we are on the wrong. All my
instincts are one way and all the facts are
the other, and I much fear that British
juries have not yet attained that pitch of
intelligence when they will give the
preference to my theories over Lestrade`s
facts."
"Did you go to Blackheath?"
"Yes, Watson, I went there, and I found
very quickly that the late lamented Oldacre
was a pretty considerable black-guard. The
father was away in search of his son. The
mother was at home -- a little, fluffy,
blue-eyed person, in a tremor of fear and
indignation. Of course, she would not admit
even the possibility of his guilt. But she
would not express either surprise or regret
over the fate of Oldacre. On the contrary,
she spoke of him with such bitterness that
she was unconsciously considerably
strengthening the case of the police, for,
of course, if her son had heard her speak of
the man in this fashion it would predispose
him towards hatred and violence. `He was
more like a malignant and cunning ape than a
human being,` said she, `and he always was,
ever since he was a young man.`
"`You knew him at that time?` said I.
"`Yes, I knew him well; in fact, he was
an old suitor of mine. Thank Heaven that I
had the sense to turn away from him and to
marry a better, if a poorer, man. I was
engaged to him, Mr. Holmes, when I heard a
shocking story of how he had turned a cat
loose in an aviary, and I was so horrified
at his brutal cruelty that I would have
nothing more to do with him.` She rummaged
in a bureau, and presently she produced a
photograph of a woman, shamefully defaced
and mutilated with a knife. `That is my own
photograph,` she said. `He sent it to me in
that state, with his curse, upon my wedding
morning.`
"`Well,` said I, `at least he has
forgiven you now, since he has left all his
property to your son.`
"`Neither my son nor I want anything from
Jonas Oldacre, dead or alive,` she cried,
with a proper spirit. `There is a God in
Heaven, Mr. Holmes, and that same God who
has punished that wicked man will show in
His own good time that my son`s hands are
guiltless of his blood.`
"Well, I tried one or two leads, but
could get at nothing which would help our
hypothesis, and several points which would
make against it. I gave it up at last and
off I went to Norwood.
"This place, Deep Dene House, is a big
modern villa of staring brick, standing back
in its own grounds, with a laurel-clumped
lawn in front of it. To the right and some
distance back from the road was the
timber-yard which had been the scene of the
fire. Here`s a rough plan on a leaf of my
note-book. This window on the left is the
one which opens into Oldacre`s room. You can
look into it from the road, you see. That is
about the only bit of consolation I have had
to-day. Lestrade was not there, but his head
constable did the honours. They had just
made a great treasure-trove. They had spent
the morning raking among the ashes of the
burned wood-pile, and besides the charred
organic remains they had secured several
discoloured metal discs. I examined them
with care, and there was no doubt that they
were trouser buttons. I even distinguished
that one of them was marked with the name of
`Hyams,` who was Oldacre`s tailor. I then
worked the lawn very carefully for signs and
traces, but this drought has made everything
as hard as iron. Nothing was to be seen save
that some body or bundle had been dragged
through a low privet hedge which is in a
line with the wood-pile. All that, of
course, fits in with the official theory. I
crawled about the lawn with an August sun on
my back, but I got up at the end of an hour
no wiser than before.
"Well, after this fiasco I went into the
bedroom and examined that also. The
blood-stains were very slight, mere smears
and discolorations, but undoubtedly fresh.
The stick had been removed, but there also
the marks were slight. There is no doubt
about the stick belonging to our client. He
admits it. Footmarks of both men could be
made out on the carpet, but none of any
third person, which again is a trick for the
other side. They were piling up their score
all the time and we were at a standstill.
"Only one little gleam of hope did I get
-- and yet it amounted to nothing. I
examined the contents of the safe, most of
which had been taken out and left on the
table. The papers had been made up into
sealed envelopes, one or two of which had
been opened by the police. They were not, so
far as I could judge, of any great value,
nor did the bank-book show that Mr. Oldacre
was in such very affluent circumstances. But
it seemed to me that all the papers were not
there. There were allusions to some deeds --
possibly the more valuable -- which I could
not find. This, of course, if we could
definitely prove it, would turn Lestrade`s
argument against himself, for who would
steal a thing if he knew that he would
shortly inherit it?
"Finally, having drawn every other cover
and picked up no scent, I tried my luck with
the housekeeper. Mrs. Lexington is her name,
a little, dark, silent person, with
suspicious and sidelong eyes. She could tell
us something if she would -- I am convinced
of it. But she was as close as wax. Yes, she
had let Mr. McFarlane in at half-past nine.
She wished her hand had withered before she
had done so. She had gone to bed at
half-past ten. Her room was at the other end
of the house, and she could hear nothing of
what passed. Mr. McFarlane had left his hat,
and to the best of her belief his stick, in
the hall. She had been awakened by the alarm
of fire. Her poor, dear master had certainly
been murdered. Had he any enemies? Well,
every man had enemies, but Mr. Oldacre kept
himself very much to himself, and only met
people in the way of business. She had seen
the buttons, and was sure that they belonged
to the clothes which he had worn last night.
The wood-pile was very dry, for it had not
rained for a month. It burned like tinder,
and by the time she reached the spot nothing
could be seen but flames. She and all the
firemen smelled the burned flesh from inside
it. She knew nothing of the papers, nor of
Mr. Oldacre`s private affairs.
"So, my dear Watson, there`s my report of
a failure. And yet -- and yet ---" -- he
clenched his thin hands in a paroxysm of
conviction -- "I KNOW it`s all wrong. I feel
it in my bones. There is something that has
not come out, and that housekeeper knows it.
There was a sort of sulky defiance in her
eyes, which only goes with guilty knowledge.
However, there`s no good talking any more
about it, Watson; but unless some lucky
chance comes our way I fear that the Norwood
Disappearance Case will not figure in that
chronicle of our successes which I foresee
that a patient public will sooner or later
have to endure."
"Surely," said I, "the man`s appearance
would go far with any jury?"
"That is a dangerous argument, my dear
Watson. You remember that terrible murderer,
Bert Stevens, who wanted us to get him off
in `87? Was there ever a more mild-mannered,
Sunday-school young man?"
"It is true."
"Unless we succeed in establishing an
alternative theory this man is lost. You can
hardly find a flaw in the case which can now
be presented against him, and all further
investigation has served to strengthen it.
By the way, there is one curious little
point about those papers which may serve us
as the starting-point for an inquiry. On
looking over the bank-book I found that the
low state of the balance was principally due
to large cheques which have been made out
during the last year to Mr. Cornelius. I
confess that I should be interested to know
who this Mr. Cornelius may be with whom a
retired builder has such very large
transactions. Is it possible that he has had
a hand in the affair? Cornelius might be a
broker, but we have found no scrip to
correspond with these large payments.
Failing any other indication my researches
must now take the direction of an inquiry at
the bank for the gentleman who has cashed
these cheques. But I fear, my dear fellow,
that our case will end ingloriously by
Lestrade hanging our client, which will
certainly be a triumph for Scotland Yard."
I do not know how far Sherlock Holmes
took any sleep that night, but when I came
down to breakfast I found him pale and
harassed, his bright eyes the brighter for
the dark shadows round them. The carpet
round his chair was littered with
cigarette-ends and with the early editions
of the morning papers. An open telegram lay
upon the table.
"What do you think of this, Watson?" he
asked, tossing it across.
It was from Norwood, and ran as
follows:--
"IMPORTANT FRESH EVIDENCE TO HAND.
MCFARLANE`S GUILT DEFINITELY ESTABLISHED.
ADVISE YOU TO ABANDON CASE. -- LESTRADE."
"This sounds serious," said I.
"It is Lestrade`s little cock-a-doodle of
victory," Holmes answered, with a bitter
smile. "And yet it may be premature to
abandon the case. After all, important fresh
evidence is a two-edged thing, and may
possibly cut in a very different direction
to that which Lestrade imagines. Take your
breakfast, Watson, and we will go out
together and see what we can do. I feel as
if I shall need your company and your moral
support to-day."
My friend had no breakfast himself, for
it was one of his peculiarities that in his
more intense moments he would permit himself
no food, and I have known him presume upon
his iron strength until he has fainted from
pure inanition. "At present I cannot spare
energy and nerve force for digestion," he
would say in answer to my medical
remonstrances. I was not surprised,
therefore, when this morning he left his
untouched meal behind him and started with
me for Norwood. A crowd of morbid sightseers
were still gathered round Deep Dene House,
which was just such a suburban villa as I
had pictured. Within the gates Lestrade met
us, his face flushed with victory, his
manner grossly triumphant.
"Well, Mr. Holmes, have you proved us to
be wrong yet? Have you found your tramp?" he
cried.
"I have formed no conclusion whatever,"
my companion answered.
"But we formed ours yesterday, and now it
proves to be correct; so you must
acknowledge that we have been a little in
front of you this time, Mr. Holmes."
"You certainly have the air of something
unusual having occurred," said Holmes.
Lestrade laughed loudly.
"You don`t like being beaten any more
than the rest of us do," said he. "A man
can`t expect always to have it his own way,
can he, Dr. Watson? Step this way, if you
please, gentlemen, and I think I can
convince you once for all that it was John
McFarlane who did this crime."
He led us through the passage and out
into a dark hall beyond.
"This is where young McFarlane must have
come out to get his hat after the crime was
done," said he. "Now, look at this." With
dramatic suddenness he struck a match and by
its light exposed a stain of blood upon the
whitewashed wall. As he held the match
nearer I saw that it was more than a stain.
It was the well-marked print of a thumb.
"Look at that with your magnifying glass,
Mr. Holmes."
"Yes, I am doing so."
"You are aware that no two thumb marks
are alike?"
"I have heard something of the kind."
"Well, then, will you please compare that
print with this wax impression of young
McFarlane`s right thumb, taken by my orders
this morning?"
As he held the waxen print close to the
blood-stain it did not take a magnifying
glass to see that the two were undoubtedly
from the same thumb. It was evident to me
that our unfortunate client was lost.
"That is final," said Lestrade.
"Yes, that is final," I involuntarily
echoed.
"It is final," said Holmes.
Something in his tone caught my ear, and
I turned to look at him. An extraordinary
change had come over his face. It was
writhing with inward merriment. His two eyes
were shining like stars. It seemed to me
that he was making desperate efforts to
restrain a convulsive attack of laughter.
"Dear me! Dear me!" he said at last.
"Well, now, who would have thought it? And
how deceptive appearances may be, to be
sure! Such a nice young man to look at! It
is a lesson to us not to trust our own
judgment, is it not, Lestrade?"
"Yes, some of us are a little too much
inclined to be cocksure, Mr. Holmes," said
Lestrade. The man`s insolence was maddening,
but we could not resent it.
"What a providential thing that this
young man should press his right thumb
against the wall in taking his hat from the
peg! Such a very natural action, too, if you
come to think of it." Holmes was outwardly
calm, but his whole body gave a wriggle of
suppressed excitement as he spoke. "By the
way, Lestrade, who made this remarkable
discovery?"
"It was the housekeeper, Mrs. Lexington,
who drew the night constable`s attention to
it."
"Where was the night constable?"
"He remained on guard in the bedroom
where the crime was committed, so as to see
that nothing was touched."
"But why didn`t the police see this mark
yesterday?"
"Well, we had no particular reason to
make a careful examination of the hall.
Besides, it`s not in a very prominent place,
as you see."
"No, no, of course not. I suppose there
is no doubt that the mark was there
yesterday?"
Lestrade looked at Holmes as if he
thought he was going out of his mind. I
confess that I was myself surprised both at
his hilarious manner and at his rather wild
observation.
"I don`t know whether you think that
McFarlane came out of gaol in the dead of
the night in order to strengthen the
evidence against himself," said Lestrade. "I
leave it to any expert in the world whether
that is not the mark of his thumb."
"It is unquestionably the mark of his
thumb."
"There, that`s enough," said Lestrade. "I
am a practical man, Mr. Holmes, and when I
have got my evidence I come to my
conclusions. If you have anything to say you
will find me writing my report in the
sitting-room."
Holmes had recovered his equanimity,
though I still seemed to detect gleams of
amusement in his expression.
"Dear me, this is a very sad development,
Watson, is it not?" said he. "And yet there
are singular points about it which hold out
some hopes for our client."
"I am delighted to hear it," said I,
heartily. "I was afraid it was all up with
him."
"I would hardly go so far as to say that,
my dear Watson. The fact is that there is
one really serious flaw in this evidence to
which our friend attaches so much
importance."
"Indeed, Holmes! What is it?"
"Only this: that I KNOW that that mark
was not there when I examined the hall
yesterday. And now, Watson, let us have a
little stroll round in the sunshine."
With a confused brain, but with a heart
into which some warmth of hope was
returning, I accompanied my friend in a walk
round the garden. Holmes took each face of
the house in turn and examined it with great
interest. He then led the way inside and
went over the whole building from basement
to attics. Most of the rooms were
unfurnished, but none the less Holmes
inspected them all minutely. Finally, on the
top corridor, which ran outside three
untenanted bedrooms, he again was seized
with a spasm of merriment.
"There are really some very unique
features about this case, Watson," said he.
"I think it is time now that we took our
friend Lestrade into our confidence. He has
had his little smile at our expense, and
perhaps we may do as much by him if my
reading of this problem proves to be
correct. Yes, yes; I think I see how we
should approach it."
The Scotland Yard inspector was still
writing in the parlour when Holmes
interrupted him.
"I understood that you were writing a
report of this case," said he.
"So I am."
"Don`t you think it may be a little
premature? I can`t help thinking that your
evidence is not complete."
Lestrade knew my friend too well to
disregard his words. He laid down his pen
and looked curiously at him.
"What do you mean, Mr. Holmes?"
"Only that there is an important witness
whom you have not seen."
"Can you produce him?"
"I think I can."
"Then do so."
"I will do my best. How many constables
have you?"
"There are three within call."
"Excellent!" said Holmes. "May I ask if
they are all large, able-bodied men with
powerful voices?"
"I have no doubt they are, though I fail
to see what their voices have to do with
it."
"Perhaps I can help you to see that and
one or two other things as well," said
Holmes. "Kindly summon your men, and I will
try."
Five minutes later three policemen had
assembled in the hall.
"In the outhouse you will find a
considerable quantity of straw," said
Holmes. "I will ask you to carry in two
bundles of it. I think it will be of the
greatest assistance in producing the witness
whom I require. Thank you very much. I
believe you have some matches in your
pocket, Watson. Now, Mr. Lestrade, I will
ask you all to accompany me to the top
landing."
As I have said, there was a broad
corridor there, which ran outside three
empty bedrooms. At one end of the corridor
we were all marshalled by Sherlock Holmes,
the constables grinning and Lestrade staring
at my friend with amazement, expectation,
and derision chasing each other across his
features. Holmes stood before us with the
air of a conjurer who is performing a trick.
"Would you kindly send one of your
constables for two buckets of water? Put the
straw on the floor here, free from the wall
on either side. Now I think that we are all
ready."
Lestrade`s face had begun to grow red and
angry.
"I don`t know whether you are playing a
game with us, Mr. Sherlock Holmes," said he.
"If you know anything, you can surely say it
without all this tomfoolery."
"I assure you, my good Lestrade, that I
have an excellent reason for everything that
I do. You may possibly remember that you
chaffed me a little some hours ago, when the
sun seemed on your side of the hedge, so you
must not grudge me a little pomp and
ceremony now. Might I ask you, Watson, to
open that window, and then to put a match to
the edge of the straw?"
I did so, and, driven by the draught, a
coil of grey smoke swirled down the
corridor, while the dry straw crackled and
flamed.
"Now we must see if we can find this
witness for you, Lestrade. Might I ask you
all to join in the cry of `Fire!`? Now,
then; one, two, three ---"
"Fire!" we all yelled.
"Thank you. I will trouble you once
again."
"Fire!"
"Just once more, gentlemen, and all
together."
"Fire!" The shout must have rung over
Norwood.
It had hardly died away when an amazing
thing happened. A door suddenly flew open
out of what appeared to be solid wall at the
end of the corridor, and a little, wizened
man darted out of it, like a rabbit out of
its burrow.
"Capital!" said Holmes, calmly. "Watson,
a bucket of water over the straw. That will
do! Lestrade, allow me to present you with
your principal missing witness, Mr. Jonas
Oldacre."
The detective stared at the new-comer
with blank amazement. The latter was
blinking in the bright light of the
corridor, and peering at us and at the
smouldering fire. It was an odious face --
crafty, vicious, malignant, with shifty,
light-grey eyes and white eyelashes.
"What`s this, then?" said Lestrade at
last. "What have you been doing all this
time, eh?"
Oldacre gave an uneasy laugh, shrinking
back from the furious red face of the angry
detective.
"I have done no harm."
"No harm? You have done your best to get
an innocent man hanged. If it wasn`t for
this gentleman here, I am not sure that you
would not have succeeded."
The wretched creature began to whimper.
"I am sure, sir, it was only my practical
joke."
"Oh! a joke, was it? You won`t find the
laugh on your side, I promise you. Take him
down and keep him in the sitting-room until
I come. Mr. Holmes," he continued, when they
had gone, "I could not speak before the
constables, but I don`t mind saying, in the
presence of Dr. Watson, that this is the
brightest thing that you have done yet,
though it is a mystery to me how you did it.
You have saved an innocent man`s life, and
you have prevented a very grave scandal,
which would have ruined my reputation in the
Force."
Holmes smiled and clapped Lestrade upon
the shoulder.
"Instead of being ruined, my good sir,
you will find that your reputation has been
enormously enhanced. Just make a few
alterations in that report which you were
writing, and they will understand how hard
it is to throw dust in the eyes of Inspector
Lestrade."
"And you don`t want your name to appear?"
"Not at all. The work is its own reward.
Perhaps I shall get the credit also at some
distant day when I permit my zealous
historian to lay out his foolscap once more
-- eh, Watson? Well, now, let us see where
this rat has been lurking."
A lath-and-plaster partition had been run
across the passage six feet from the end,
with a door cunningly concealed in it. It
was lit within by slits under the eaves. A
few articles of furniture and a supply of
food and water were within, together with a
number of books and papers.
"There`s the advantage of being a
builder," said Holmes, as we came out. "He
was able to fix up his own little
hiding-place without any confederate --
save, of course, that precious housekeeper
of his, whom I should lose no time in adding
to your bag, Lestrade."
"I`ll take your advice. But how did you
know of this place, Mr. Holmes?"
"I made up my mind that the fellow was in
hiding in the house. When I paced one
corridor and found it six feet shorter than
the corresponding one below, it was pretty
clear where he was. I thought he had not the
nerve to lie quiet before an alarm of fire.
We could, of course, have gone in and taken
him, but it amused me to make him reveal
himself; besides, I owed you a little
mystification, Lestrade, for your chaff in
the morning."
"Well, sir, you certainly got equal with
me on that. But how in the world did you
know that he was in the house at all?"
"The thumb-mark, Lestrade. You said it
was final; and so it was, in a very
different sense. I knew it had not been
there the day before. I pay a good deal of
attention to matters of detail, as you may
have observed, and I had examined the hall
and was sure that the wall was clear.
Therefore, it had been put on during the
night."
"But how?"
"Very simply. When those packets were
sealed up, Jonas Oldacre got McFarlane to
secure one of the seals by putting his thumb
upon the soft wax. It would be done so
quickly and so naturally that I dare say the
young man himself has no recollection of it.
Very likely it just so happened, and Oldacre
had himself no notion of the use he would
put it to. Brooding over the case in that
den of his, it suddenly struck him what
absolutely damning evidence he could make
against McFarlane by using that thumb-mark.
It was the simplest thing in the world for
him to take a wax impression from the seal,
to moisten it in as much blood as he could
get from a pin-prick, and to put the mark
upon the wall during the night, either with
his own hand or with that of his
housekeeper. If you examine among those
documents which he took with him into his
retreat I will lay you a wager that you find
the seal with the thumb-mark upon it."
"Wonderful!" said Lestrade. "Wonderful!
It`s all as clear as crystal, as you put it.
But what is the object of this deep
deception, Mr. Holmes?"
It was amusing to me to see how the
detective`s overbearing manner had changed
suddenly to that of a child asking questions
of its teacher.
"Well, I don`t think that is very hard to
explain. A very deep, malicious, vindictive
person is the gentleman who is now awaiting
us downstairs. You know that he was once
refused by McFarlane`s mother? You don`t! I
told you that you should go to Blackheath
first and Norwood afterwards. Well, this
injury, as he would consider it, has rankled
in his wicked, scheming brain, and all his
life he has longed for vengeance, but never
seen his chance. During the last year or two
things have gone against him -- secret
speculation, I think -- and he finds himself
in a bad way. He determines to swindle his
creditors, and for this purpose he pays
large cheques to a certain Mr. Cornelius,
who is, I imagine, himself under another
name. I have not traced these cheques yet,
but I have no doubt that they were banked
under that name at some provincial town
where Oldacre from time to time led a double
existence. He intended to change his name
altogether, draw this money, and vanish,
starting life again elsewhere."
"Well, that`s likely enough."
"It would strike him that in disappearing
he might throw all pursuit off his track,
and at the same time have an ample and
crushing revenge upon his old sweetheart, if
he could give the impression that he had
been murdered by her only child. It was a
masterpiece of villainy, and he carried it
out like a master. The idea of the will,
which would give an obvious motive for the
crime, the secret visit unknown to his own
parents, the retention of the stick, the
blood, and the animal remains and buttons in
the wood-pile, all were admirable. It was a
net from which it seemed to me a few hours
ago that there was no possible escape. But
he had not that supreme gift of the artist,
the knowledge of when to stop. He wished to
improve that which was already perfect -- to
draw the rope tighter yet round the neck of
his unfortunate victim -- and so he ruined
all. Let us descend, Lestrade. There are
just one or two questions that I would ask
him."
The malignant creature was seated in his
own parlour with a policeman upon each side
of him.
"It was a joke, my good sir, a practical
joke, nothing more," he whined incessantly.
"I assure you, sir, that I simply concealed
myself in order to see the effect of my
disappearance, and I am sure that you would
not be so unjust as to imagine that I would
have allowed any harm to befall poor young
Mr. McFarlane."
"That`s for a jury to decide," said
Lestrade. "Anyhow, we shall have you on a
charge of conspiracy, if not for attempted
murder."
"And you`ll probably find that your
creditors will impound the banking account
of Mr. Cornelius," said Holmes.
The little man started and turned his
malignant eyes upon my friend.
"I have to thank you for a good deal,"
said he. "Perhaps I`ll pay my debt some
day."
Holmes smiled indulgently.
"I fancy that for some few years you will
find your time very fully occupied," said
he. "By the way, what was it you put into
the wood-pile besides your old trousers? A
dead dog, or rabbits, or what? You won`t
tell? Dear me, how very unkind of you! Well,
well, I dare say that a couple of rabbits
would account both for the blood and for the
charred ashes. If ever you write an account,
Watson, you can make rabbits serve your
turn."
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III. The
Adventure of the Dancing Men.
HOLMES had been seated for some hours in silence with his long, thin
back curved over a chemical vessel in which
he was brewing a particularly malodorous
product. His head was sunk upon his breast,
and he looked from my point of view like a
strange, lank bird, with dull grey plumage
and a black top-knot.
"So, Watson," said he, suddenly, "you do
not propose to invest in South African
securities?"
I gave a start of astonishment.
Accustomed as I was to Holmes`s curious
faculties, this sudden intrusion into my
most intimate thoughts was utterly
inexplicable.
"How on earth do you know that?" I asked.
He wheeled round upon his stool, with a
steaming test-tube in his hand and a gleam
of amusement in his deep-set eyes.
"Now, Watson, confess yourself utterly
taken aback," said he.
"I am."
"I ought to make you sign a paper to that
effect."
"Why?"
"Because in five minutes you will say
that it is all so absurdly simple."
"I am sure that I shall say nothing of
the kind."
"You see, my dear Watson" -- he propped
his test-tube in the rack and began to
lecture with the air of a professor
addressing his class -- "it is not really
difficult to construct a series of
inferences, each dependent upon its
predecessor and each simple in itself. If,
after doing so, one simply knocks out all
the central inferences and presents one`s
audience with the starting-point and the
conclusion, one may produce a startling,
though possibly a meretricious, effect. Now,
it was not really difficult, by an
inspection of the groove between your left
forefinger and thumb, to feel sure that you
did NOT propose to invest your small capital
in the goldfields."
"I see no connection."
"Very likely not; but I can quickly show
you a close connection. Here are the missing
links of the very simple chain: 1. You had
chalk between your left finger and thumb
when you returned from the club last night.
2. You put chalk there when you play
billiards to steady the cue. 3. You never
play billiards except with Thurston. 4. You
told me four weeks ago that Thurston had an
option on some South African property which
would expire in a month, and which he
desired you to share with him. 5. Your
cheque-book is locked in my drawer, and you
have not asked for the key. 6. You do not
propose to invest your money in this
manner."
"How absurdly simple!" I cried.
"Quite so!" said he, a little nettled.
"Every problem becomes very childish when
once it is explained to you. Here is an
unexplained one. See what you can make of
that, friend Watson." He tossed a sheet of
paper upon the table and turned once more to
his chemical analysis.
I looked with amazement at the absurd
hieroglyphics upon the paper.
"Why, Holmes, it is a child`s drawing," I
cried.
"Oh, that`s your idea!"
"What else should it be?"
"That is what Mr. Hilton Cubitt, of
Riding Thorpe Manor, Norfolk, is very
anxious to know. This little conundrum came
by the first post, and he was to follow by
the next train. There`s a ring at the bell,
Watson. I should not be very much surprised
if this were he."
A heavy step was heard upon the stairs,
and an instant later there entered a tall,
ruddy, clean-shaven gentleman, whose clear
eyes and florid cheeks told of a life led
far from the fogs of Baker Street. He seemed
to bring a whiff of his strong, fresh,
bracing, east-coast air with him as he
entered. Having shaken hands with each of
us, he was about to sit down when his eye
rested upon the paper with the curious
markings, which I had just examined and left
upon the table.
"Well, Mr. Holmes, what do you make of
these?" he cried. "They told me that you
were fond of queer mysteries, and I don`t
think you can find a queerer one than that.
I sent the paper on ahead so that you might
have time to study it before I came."
"It is certainly rather a curious
production," said Holmes. "At first sight it
would appear to be some childish prank. It
consists of a number of absurd little
figures dancing across the paper upon which
they are drawn. Why should you attribute any
importance to so grotesque an object?"
"I never should, Mr. Holmes. But my wife
does. It is frightening her to death. She
says nothing, but I can see terror in her
eyes. That`s why I want to sift the matter
to the bottom."
Holmes held up the paper so that the
sunlight shone full upon it. It was a page
torn from a note-book. The markings were
done in pencil, and ran in this way:--
GRAPHIC
Holmes examined it for some time, and
then, folding it carefully up, he placed it
in his pocket-book.
"This promises to be a most interesting
and unusual case," said he. "You gave me a
few particulars in your letter, Mr. Hilton
Cubitt, but I should be very much obliged if
you would kindly go over it all again for
the benefit of my friend, Dr. Watson."
"I`m not much of a story-teller," said
our visitor, nervously clasping and
unclasping his great, strong hands. "You`ll
just ask me anything that I don`t make
clear. I`ll begin at the time of my marriage
last year; but I want to say first of all
that, though I`m not a rich man, my people
have been at Ridling Thorpe for a matter of
five centuries, and there is no better known
family in the County of Norfolk. Last year I
came up to London for the Jubilee, and I
stopped at a boarding-house in Russell
Square, because Parker, the vicar of our
parish, was staying in it. There was an
American young lady there -- Patrick was the
name -- Elsie Patrick. In some way we became
friends, until before my month was up I was
as much in love as a man could be. We were
quietly married at a registry office, and we
returned to Norfolk a wedded couple. You`ll
think it very mad, Mr. Holmes, that a man of
a good old family should marry a wife in
this fashion, knowing nothing of her past or
of her people; but if you saw her and knew
her it would help you to understand.
"She was very straight about it, was
Elsie. I can`t say that she did not give me
every chance of getting out of it if I
wished to do so. `I have had some very
disagreeable associations in my life,` said
she; `I wish to forget all about them. I
would rather never allude to the past, for
it is very painful to me. If you take me,
Hilton, you will take a woman who has
nothing that she need be personally ashamed
of; but you will have to be content with my
word for it, and to allow me to be silent as
to all that passed up to the time when I
became yours. If these conditions are too
hard, then go back to Norfolk and leave me
to the lonely life in which you found me.`
It was only the day before our wedding that
she said those very words to me. I told her
that I was content to take her on her own
terms, and I have been as good as my word.
"Well, we have been married now for a
year, and very happy we have been. But about
a month ago, at the end of June, I saw for
the first time signs of trouble. One day my
wife received a letter from America. I saw
the American stamp. She turned deadly white,
read the letter, and threw it into the fire.
She made no allusion to it afterwards, and I
made none, for a promise is a promise; but
she has never known an easy hour from that
moment. There is always a look of fear upon
her face -- a look as if she were waiting
and expecting. She would do better to trust
me. She would find that I was her best
friend. But until she speaks I can say
nothing. Mind you, she is a truthful woman,
Mr. Holmes, and whatever trouble there may
have been in her past life it has been no
fault of hers. I am only a simple Norfolk
squire, but there is not a man in England
who ranks his family honour more highly than
I do. She knows it well, and she knew it
well before she married me. She would never
bring any stain upon it -- of that I am
sure.
"Well, now I come to the queer part of my
story. About a week ago -- it was the
Tuesday of last week -- I found on one of
the window-sills a number of absurd little
dancing figures, like these upon the paper.
They were scrawled with chalk. I thought
that it was the stable-boy who had drawn
them, but the lad swore he knew nothing
about it. Anyhow, they had come there during
the night. I had them washed out, and I only
mentioned the matter to my wife afterwards.
To my surprise she took it very seriously,
and begged me if any more came to let her
see them. None did come for a week, and then
yesterday morning I found this paper lying
on the sun-dial in the garden. I showed it
to Elsie, and down she dropped in a dead
faint. Since then she has looked like a
woman in a dream, half dazed, and with
terror always lurking in her eyes. It was
then that I wrote and sent the paper to you,
Mr. Holmes. It was not a thing that I could
take to the police, for they would have
laughed at me, but you will tell me what to
do. I am not a rich man; but if there is any
danger threatening my little woman I would
spend my last copper to shield her."
He was a fine creature, this man of the
old English soil, simple, straight, and
gentle, with his great, earnest blue eyes
and broad, comely face. His love for his
wife and his trust in her shone in his
features. Holmes had listened to his story
with the utmost attention, and now he sat
for some time in silent thought.
"Don`t you think, Mr. Cubitt," said he,
at last, "that your best plan would be to
make a direct appeal to your wife, and to
ask her to share her secret with you?"
Hilton Cubitt shook his massive head.
"A promise is a promise, Mr. Holmes. If
Elsie wished to tell me she would. If not,
it is not for me to force her confidence.
But I am justified in taking my own line --
and I will."
"Then I will help you with all my heart.
In the first place, have you heard of any
strangers being seen in your neighbourhood?"
"No."
"I presume that it is a very quiet place.
Any fresh face would cause comment?"
"In the immediate neighbourhood, yes. But
we have several small watering-places not
very far away. And the farmers take in
lodgers."
"These hieroglyphics have evidently a
meaning. If it is a purely arbitrary one it
may be impossible for us to solve it. If, on
the other hand, it is systematic, I have no
doubt that we shall get to the bottom of it.
But this particular sample is so short that
I can do nothing, and the facts which you
have brought me are so indefinite that we
have no basis for an investigation. I would
suggest that you return to Norfolk, that you
keep a keen look-out, and that you take an
exact copy of any fresh dancing men which
may appear. It is a thousand pities that we
have not a reproduction of those which were
done in chalk upon the window-sill. Make a
discreet inquiry also as to any strangers in
the neighbourhood. When you have collected
some fresh evidence come to me again. That
is the best advice which I can give you, Mr.
Hilton Cubitt. If there are any pressing
fresh developments I shall be always ready
to run down and see you in your Norfolk
home."
The interview left Sherlock Holmes very
thoughtful, and several times in the next
few days I saw him take his slip of paper
from his note-book and look long and
earnestly at the curious figures inscribed
upon it. He made no allusion to the affair,
however, until one afternoon a fortnight or
so later. I was going out when he called me
back.
"You had better stay here, Watson."
"Why?"
"Because I had a wire from Hilton Cubitt
this morning -- you remember Hilton Cubitt,
of the dancing men? He was to reach
Liverpool Street at one-twenty. He may be
here at any moment. I gather from his wire
that there have been some new incidents of
importance."
We had not long to wait, for our Norfolk
squire came straight from the station as
fast as a hansom could bring him. He was
looking worried and depressed, with tired
eyes and a lined forehead.
"It`s getting on my nerves, this
business, Mr. Holmes," said he, as he sank,
like a wearied man, into an arm-chair. "It`s
bad enough to feel that you are surrounded
by unseen, unknown folk, who have some kind
of design upon you; but when, in addition to
that, you know that it is just killing your
wife by inches, then it becomes as much as
flesh and blood can endure. She`s wearing
away under it -- just wearing away before my
eyes."
"Has she said anything yet?"
"No, Mr. Holmes, she has not. And yet
there have been times when the poor girl has
wanted to speak, and yet could not quite
bring herself to take the plunge. I have
tried to help her; but I dare say I did it
clumsily, and scared her off from it. She
has spoken about my old family, and our
reputation in the county, and our pride in
our unsullied honour, and I always felt it
was leading to the point; but somehow it
turned off before we got there."
"But you have found out something for
yourself?"
"A good deal, Mr. Holmes. I have several
fresh dancing men pictures for you to
examine, and, what is more important, I have
seen the fellow."
"What, the man who draws them?"
"Yes, I saw him at his work. But I will
tell you everything in order. When I got
back after my visit to you, the very first
thing I saw next morning was a fresh crop of
dancing men. They had been drawn in chalk
upon the black wooden door of the
tool-house, which stands beside the lawn in
full view of the front windows. I took an
exact copy, and here it is." He unfolded a
paper and laid it upon the table. Here is a
copy of the hieroglyphics:--
GRAPHIC
"Excellent!" said Holmes. "Excellent!
Pray continue."
"When I had taken the copy I rubbed out
the marks; but two mornings later a fresh
inscription had appeared. I have a copy of
it here":--
GRAPHIC
Holmes rubbed his hands and chuckled with
delight.
"Our material is rapidly accumulating,"
said he.
"Three days later a message was left
scrawled upon paper, and placed under a
pebble upon the sun-dial. Here it is. The
characters are, as you see, exactly the same
as the last one. After that I determined to
lie in wait; so I got out my revolver and I
sat up in my study, which overlooks the lawn
and garden. About two in the morning I was
seated by the window, all being dark save
for the moonlight outside, when I heard
steps behind me, and there was my wife in
her dressing-gown. She implored me to come
to bed. I told her frankly that I wished to
see who it was who played such absurd tricks
upon us. She answered that it was some
senseless practical joke, and that I should
not take any notice of it.
"`If it really annoys you, Hilton, we
might go and travel, you and I, and so avoid
this nuisance.`
"`What, be driven out of our own house by
a practical joker?` said I. `Why, we should
have the whole county laughing at us.`
"`Well, come to bed,` said she, `and we
can discuss it in the morning.`
"Suddenly, as she spoke, I saw her white
face grow whiter yet in the moonlight, and
her hand tightened upon my shoulder.
Something was moving in the shadow of the
tool-house. I saw a dark, creeping figure
which crawled round the corner and squatted
in front of the door. Seizing my pistol I
was rushing out, when my wife threw her arms
round me and held me with convulsive
strength. I tried to throw her off, but she
clung to me most desperately. At last I got
clear, but by the time I had opened the door
and reached the house the creature was gone.
He had left a trace of his presence,
however, for there on the door was the very
same arrangement of dancing men which had
already twice appeared, and which I have
copied on that paper. There was no other
sign of the fellow anywhere, though I ran
all over the grounds. And yet the amazing
thing is that he must have been there all
the time, for when I examined the door again
in the morning he had scrawled some more of
his pictures under the line which I had
already seen."
"Have you that fresh drawing?"
"Yes; it is very short, but I made a copy
of it, and here it is."
Again he produced a paper. The new dance
was in this form:--
GRAPHIC
"Tell me," said Holmes -- and I could see
by his eyes that he was much excited -- "was
this a mere addition to the first, or did it
appear to be entirely separate?"
"It was on a different panel of the
door."
"Excellent! This is far the most
important of all for our purpose. It fills
me with hopes. Now, Mr. Hilton Cubitt,
please continue your most interesting
statement."
"I have nothing more to say, Mr. Holmes,
except that I was angry with my wife that
night for having held me back when I might
have caught the skulking rascal. She said
that she feared that I might come to harm.
For an instant it had crossed my mind that
perhaps what she really feared was that HE
might come to harm, for I could not doubt
that she knew who this man was and what he
meant by these strange signals. But there is
a tone in my wife`s voice, Mr. Holmes, and a
look in her eyes which forbid doubt, and I
am sure that it was indeed my own safety
that was in her mind. There`s the whole
case, and now I want your advice as to what
I ought to do. My own inclination is to put
half-a-dozen of my farm lads in the
shrubbery, and when this fellow comes again
to give him such a hiding that he will leave
us in peace for the future."
"I fear it is too deep a case for such
simple remedies," said Holmes. "How long can
you stay in London?"
"I must go back to-day. I would not leave
my wife alone all night for anything. She is
very nervous and begged me to come back."
"I dare say you are right. But if you
could have stopped I might possibly have
been able to return with you in a day or
two. Meanwhile you will leave me these
papers, and I think that it is very likely
that I shall be able to pay you a visit
shortly and to throw some light upon your
case."
Sherlock Holmes preserved his calm
professional manner until our visitor had
left us, although it was easy for me, who
knew him so well, to see that he was
profoundly excited. The moment that Hilton
Cubitt`s broad back had disappeared through
the door my comrade rushed to the table,
laid out all the slips of paper containing
dancing men in front of him, and threw
himself into an intricate and elaborate
calculation. For two hours I watched him as
he covered sheet after sheet of paper with
figures and letters, so completely absorbed
in his task that he had evidently forgotten
my presence. Sometimes he was making
progress and whistled and sang at his work;
sometimes he was puzzled, and would sit for
long spells with a furrowed brow and a
vacant eye. Finally he sprang from his chair
with a cry of satisfaction, and walked up
and down the room rubbing his hands
together. Then he wrote a long telegram upon
a cable form. "If my answer to this is as I
hope, you will have a very pretty case to
add to your collection, Watson," said he. "I
expect that we shall be able to go down to
Norfolk to-morrow, and to take our friend
some very definite news as to the secret of
his annoyance."
I confess that I was filled with
curiosity, but I was aware that Holmes liked
to make his disclosures at his own time and
in his own way; so I waited until it should
suit him to take me into his confidence.
But there was a delay in that answering
telegram, and two days of impatience
followed, during which Holmes pricked up his
ears at every ring of the bell. On the
evening of the second there came a letter
from Hilton Cubitt. All was quiet with him,
save that a long inscription had appeared
that morning upon the pedestal of the
sun-dial. He inclosed a copy of it, which is
here reproduced:--
GRAPHIC
Holmes bent over this grotesque frieze
for some minutes, and then suddenly sprang
to his feet with an exclamation of surprise
and dismay. His face was haggard with
anxiety.
"We have let this affair go far enough,"
said he. "Is there a train to North Walsham
to-night?"
I turned up the time-table. The last had
just gone.
"Then we shall breakfast early and take
the very first in the morning," said Holmes.
"Our presence is most urgently needed. Ah!
here is our expected cablegram. One moment,
Mrs. Hudson; there may be an answer. No,
that is quite as I expected. This message
makes it even more essential that we should
not lose an hour in letting Hilton Cubitt
know how matters stand, for it is a singular
and a dangerous web in which our simple
Norfolk squire is entangled."
So, indeed, it proved, and as I come to
the dark conclusion of a story which had
seemed to me to be only childish and bizarre
I experience once again the dismay and
horror with which I was filled. Would that I
had some brighter ending to communicate to
my readers, but these are the chronicles of
fact, and I must follow to their dark crisis
the strange chain of events which for some
days made Ridling Thorpe Manor a household
word through the length and breadth of
England.
We had hardly alighted at North Walsham,
and mentioned the name of our destination,
when the station-master hurried towards us.
"I suppose that you are the detectives from
London?" said he.
A look of annoyance passed over Holmes`s
face.
"What makes you think such a thing?"
"Because Inspector Martin from Norwich
has just passed through. But maybe you are
the surgeons. She`s not dead -- or wasn`t by
last accounts. You may be in time to save
her yet -- though it be for the gallows."
Holmes`s brow was dark with anxiety.
"We are going to Ridling Thorpe Manor,"
said he, "but we have heard nothing of what
has passed there."
"It`s a terrible business," said the
station-master. "They are shot, both Mr.
Hilton Cubitt and his wife. She shot him and
then herself -- so the servants say. He`s
dead and her life is despaired of. Dear,
dear, one of the oldest families in the
County of Norfolk, and one of the most
honoured."
Without a word Holmes hurried to a
carriage, and during the long seven miles`
drive he never opened his mouth. Seldom have
I seen him so utterly despondent. He had
been uneasy during all our journey from
town, and I had observed that he had turned
over the morning papers with anxious
attention; but now this sudden realization
of his worst fears left him in a blank
melancholy. He leaned back in his seat, lost
in gloomy speculation. Yet there was much
around to interest us, for we were passing
through as singular a country-side as any in
England, where a few scattered cottages
represented the population of to-day, while
on every hand enormous square-towered
churches bristled up from the flat, green
landscape and told of the glory and
prosperity of old East Anglia. At last the
violet rim of the German Ocean appeared over
the green edge of the Norfolk coast, and the
driver pointed with his whip to two old
brick and timber gables which projected from
a grove of trees. "That`s Ridling Thorpe
Manor," said he.
As we drove up to the porticoed front
door I observed in front of it, beside the
tennis lawn, the black tool-house and the
pedestalled sun-dial with which we had such
strange associations. A dapper little man,
with a quick, alert manner and a waxed
moustache, had just descended from a high
dog-cart. He introduced himself as Inspector
Martin, of the Norfolk Constabulary, and he
was considerably astonished when he heard
the name of my companion.
"Why, Mr. Holmes, the crime was only
committed at three this morning. How could
you hear of it in London and get to the spot
as soon as I?"
"I anticipated it. I came in the hope of
preventing it."
"Then you must have important evidence of
which we are ignorant, for they were said to
be a most united couple."
"I have only the evidence of the dancing
men," said Holmes. "I will explain the
matter to you later. Meanwhile, since it is
too late to prevent this tragedy, I am very
anxious that I should use the knowledge
which I possess in order to ensure that
justice be done. Will you associate me in
your investigation, or will you prefer that
I should act independently?"
"I should be proud to feel that we were
acting together, Mr. Holmes," said the
inspector, earnestly.
"In that case I should be glad to hear
the evidence and to examine the premises
without an instant of unnecessary delay."
Inspector Martin had the good sense to
allow my friend to do things in his own
fashion, and contented himself with
carefully noting the results. The local
surgeon, an old, white-haired man, had just
come down from Mrs. Hilton Cubitt`s room,
and he reported that her injuries were
serious, but not necessarily fatal. The
bullet had passed through the front of her
brain, and it would probably be some time
before she could regain consciousness. On
the question of whether she had been shot or
had shot herself he would not venture to
express any decided opinion. Certainly the
bullet had been discharged at very close
quarters. There was only the one pistol
found in the room, two barrels of which had
been emptied. Mr. Hilton Cubitt had been
shot through the heart. It was equally
conceivable that he had shot her and then
himself, or that she had been the criminal,
for the revolver lay upon the floor midway
between them.
"Has he been moved?" asked Holmes.
"We have moved nothing except the lady.
We could not leave her lying wounded upon
the floor."
"How long have you been here, doctor?"
"Since four o`clock."
"Anyone else?"
"Yes, the constable here."
"And you have touched nothing?"
"Nothing."
"You have acted with great discretion.
Who sent for you?"
"The housemaid, Saunders."
"Was it she who gave the alarm?"
"She and Mrs. King, the cook."
"Where are they now?"
"In the kitchen, I believe."
"Then I think we had better hear their
story at once."
The old hall, oak-panelled and
high-windowed, had been turned into a court
of investigation. Holmes sat in a great,
old-fashioned chair, his inexorable eyes
gleaming out of his haggard face. I could
read in them a set purpose to devote his
life to this quest until the client whom he
had failed to save should at last be
avenged. The trim Inspector Martin, the old,
grey-headed country doctor, myself, and a
stolid village policeman made up the rest of
that strange company.
The two women told their story clearly
enough. They had been aroused from their
sleep by the sound of an explosion, which
had been followed a minute later by a second
one. They slept in adjoining rooms, and Mrs.
King had rushed in to Saunders. Together
they had descended the stairs. The door of
the study was open and a candle was burning
upon the table. Their master lay upon his
face in the centre of the room. He was quite
dead. Near the window his wife was
crouching, her head leaning against the
wall. She was horribly wounded, and the side
of her face was red with blood. She breathed
heavily, but was incapable of saying
anything. The passage, as well as the room,
was full of smoke and the smell of powder.
The window was certainly shut and fastened
upon the inside. Both women were positive
upon the point. They had at once sent for
the doctor and for the constable. Then, with
the aid of the groom and the stable-boy,
they had conveyed their injured mistress to
her room. Both she and her husband had
occupied the bed. She was clad in her dress
-- he in his dressing-gown, over his night
clothes. Nothing had been moved in the
study. So far as they knew there had never
been any quarrel between husband and wife.
They had always looked upon them as a very
united couple.
These were the main points of the
servants` evidence. In answer to Inspector
Martin they were clear that every door was
fastened upon the inside, and that no one
could have escaped from the house. In answer
to Holmes they both remembered that they
were conscious of the smell of powder from
the moment that they ran out of their rooms
upon the top floor. "I commend that fact
very carefully to your attention," said
Holmes to his professional colleague. "And
now I think that we are in a position to
undertake a thorough examination of the
room."
The study proved to be a small chamber,
lined on three sides with books, and with a
writing-table facing an ordinary window,
which looked out upon the garden. Our first
attention was given to the body of the
unfortunate squire, whose huge frame lay
stretched across the room. His disordered
dress showed that he had been hastily
aroused from sleep. The bullet had been
fired at him from the front, and had
remained in his body after penetrating the
heart. His death had certainly been
instantaneous and painless. There was no
powder-marking either upon his dressing-gown
or on his hands. According to the country
surgeon the lady had stains upon her face,
but none upon her hand.
"The absence of the latter means nothing,
though its presence may mean everything,"
said Holmes. "Unless the powder from a
badly-fitting cartridge happens to spurt
backwards, one may fire many shots without
leaving a sign. I would suggest that Mr.
Cubitt`s body may now be removed. I suppose,
doctor, you have not recovered the bullet
which wounded the lady?"
"A serious operation will be necessary
before that can be done. But there are still
four cartridges in the revolver. Two have
been fired and two wounds inflicted, so that
each bullet can be accounted for."
"So it would seem," said Holmes. "Perhaps
you can account also for the bullet which
has so obviously struck the edge of the
window?"
He had turned suddenly, and his long,
thin finger was pointing to a hole which had
been drilled right through the lower
window-sash about an inch above the bottom.
"By George!" cried the inspector. "How
ever did you see that?"
"Because I looked for it."
"Wonderful!" said the country doctor.
"You are certainly right, sir. Then a third
shot has been fired, and therefore a third
person must have been present. But who could
that have been and how could he have got
away?"
"That is the problem which we are now
about to solve," said Sherlock Holmes. "You
remember, Inspector Martin, when the
servants said that on leaving their room
they were at once conscious of a smell of
powder I remarked that the point was an
extremely important one?"
"Yes, sir; but I confess I did not quite
follow you."
"It suggested that at the time of the
firing the window as well as the door of the
room had been open. Otherwise the fumes of
powder could not have been blown so rapidly
through the house. A draught in the room was
necessary for that. Both door and window
were only open for a very short time,
however."
"How do you prove that?"
"Because the candle has not guttered."
"Capital!" cried the inspector.
"Capital!"
"Feeling sure that the window had been
open at the time of the tragedy I conceived
that there might have been a third person in
the affair, who stood outside this opening
and fired through it. Any shot directed at
this person might hit the sash. I looked,
and there, sure enough, was the bullet
mark!"
"But how came the window to be shut and
fastened?"
"The woman`s first instinct would be to
shut and fasten the window. But, halloa!
what is this?"
It was a lady`s hand-bag which stood upon
the study table -- a trim little hand-bag of
crocodile-skin and silver. Holmes opened it
and turned the contents out. There were
twenty fifty-pound notes of the Bank of
England, held together by an india-rubber
band -- nothing else.
"This must be preserved, for it will
figure in the trial," said Holmes, as he
handed the bag with its contents to the
inspector. "It is now necessary that we
should try to throw some light upon this
third bullet, which has clearly, from the
splintering of the wood, been fired from
inside the room. I should like to see Mrs.
King, the cook, again. You said, Mrs. King,
that you were awakened by a LOUD explosion.
When you said that, did you mean that it
seemed to you to be louder than the second
one?"
"Well, sir, it wakened me from my sleep,
and so it is hard to judge. But it did seem
very loud."
"You don`t think that it might have been
two shots fired almost at the same instant?"
"I am sure I couldn`t say, sir."
"I believe that it was undoubtedly so. I
rather think, Inspector Martin, that we have
now exhausted all that this room can teach
us. If you will kindly step round with me,
we shall see what fresh evidence the garden
has to offer."
A flower-bed extended up to the study
window, and we all broke into an exclamation
as we approached it. The flowers were
trampled down, and the soft soil was
imprinted all over with footmarks. Large,
masculine feet they were, with peculiarly
long, sharp toes. Holmes hunted about among
the grass and leaves like a retriever after
a wounded bird. Then, with a cry of
satisfaction, he bent forward and picked up
a little brazen cylinder.
"I thought so," said he; "the revolver
had an ejector, and here is the third
cartridge. I really think, Inspector Martin,
that our case is almost complete."
The country inspector`s face had shown
his intense amazement at the rapid and
masterful progress of Holmes`s
investigation. At first he had shown some
disposition to assert his own position; but
now he was overcome with admiration and
ready to follow without question wherever
Holmes led.
"Whom do you suspect?" he asked.
"I`ll go into that later. There are
several points in this problem which I have
not been able to explain to you yet. Now
that I have got so far I had best proceed on
my own lines, and then clear the whole
matter up once and for all."
"Just as you wish, Mr. Holmes, so long as
we get our man."
"I have no desire to make mysteries, but
it is impossible at the moment of action to
enter into long and complex explanations. I
have the threads of this affair all in my
hand. Even if this lady should never recover
consciousness we can still reconstruct the
events of last night and ensure that justice
be done. First of all I wish to know whether
there is any inn in this neighbourhood known
as `Elrige`s`?"
The servants were cross-questioned, but
none of them had heard of such a place. The
stable-boy threw a light upon the matter by
remembering that a farmer of that name lived
some miles off in the direction of East
Ruston.
"Is it a lonely farm?"
"Very lonely, sir."
"Perhaps they have not heard yet of all
that happened here during the night?"
"Maybe not, sir."
Holmes thought for a little and then a
curious smile played over his face.
"Saddle a horse, my lad," said he. "I
shall wish you to take a note to Elrige`s
Farm."
He took from his pocket the various slips
of the dancing men. With these in front of
him he worked for some time at the
study-table. Finally he handed a note to the
boy, with directions to put it into the
hands of the person to whom it was
addressed, and especially to answer no
questions of any sort which might be put to
him. I saw the outside of the note,
addressed in straggling, irregular
characters, very unlike Holmes`s usual
precise hand. It was consigned to Mr. Abe
Slaney, Elrige`s Farm, East Ruston, Norfolk.
"I think, inspector," Holmes remarked,
"that you would do well to telegraph for an
escort, as, if my calculations prove to be
correct, you may have a particularly
dangerous prisoner to convey to the county
gaol. The boy who takes this note could no
doubt forward your telegram. If there is an
afternoon train to town, Watson, I think we
should do well to take it, as I have a
chemical analysis of some interest to
finish, and this investigation draws rapidly
to a close."
When the youth had been dispatched with
the note, Sherlock Holmes gave his
instructions to the servants. If any visitor
were to call asking for Mrs. Hilton Cubitt
no information should be given as to her
condition, but he was to be shown at once
into the drawing-room. He impressed these
points upon them with the utmost
earnestness. Finally he led the way into the
drawing-room with the remark that the
business was now out of our hands, and that
we must while away the time as best we might
until we could see what was in store for us.
The doctor had departed to his patients, and
only the inspector and myself remained.
"I think that I can help you to pass an
hour in an interesting and profitable
manner," said Holmes, drawing his chair up
to the table and spreading out in front of
him the various papers upon which were
recorded the antics of the dancing men. "As
to you, friend Watson, I owe you every
atonement for having allowed your natural
curiosity to remain so long unsatisfied. To
you, inspector, the whole incident may
appeal as a remarkable professional study. I
must tell you first of all the interesting
circumstances connected with the previous
consultations which Mr. Hilton Cubitt has
had with me in Baker Street." He then
shortly recapitulated the facts which have
already been recorded. "I have here in front
of me these singular productions, at which
one might smile had they not proved
themselves to be the fore-runners of so
terrible a tragedy. I am fairly familiar
with all forms of secret writings, and am
myself the author of a trifling monograph
upon the subject, in which I analyze one
hundred and sixty separate ciphers; but I
confess that this is entirely new to me. The
object of those who invented the system has
apparently been to conceal that these
characters convey a message, and to give the
idea that they are the mere random sketches
of children.
"Having once recognised, however, that
the symbols stood for letters, and having
applied the rules which guide us in all
forms of secret writings, the solution was
easy enough. The first message submitted to
me was so short that it was impossible for
me to do more than to say with some
confidence that the symbol XXX stood for E.
As you are aware, E is the most common
letter in the English alphabet, and it
predominates to so marked an extent that
even in a short sentence one would expect to
find it most often. Out of fifteen symbols
in the first message four were the same, so
it was reasonable to set this down as E. It
is true that in some cases the figure was
bearing a flag and in some cases not, but it
was probable from the way in which the flags
were distributed that they were used to
break the sentence up into words. I accepted
this as a hypothesis, and noted that E was
represented by XXX.
"But now came the real difficulty of the
inquiry. The order of the English letters
after E is by no means well marked, and any
preponderance which may be shown in an
average of a printed sheet may be reversed
in a single short sentence. Speaking
roughly, T, A, O, I, N, S, H, R, D, and L
are the numerical order in which letters
occur; but T, A, O, and I are very nearly
abreast of each other, and it would be an
endless task to try each combination until a
meaning was arrived at. I, therefore, waited
for fresh material. In my second interview
with Mr. Hilton Cubitt he was able to give
me two other short sentences and one
message, which appeared -- since there was
no flag -- to be a single word. Here are the
symbols. Now, in the single word I have
already got the two E`s coming second and
fourth in a word of five letters. It might
be `sever,` or `lever,` or `never.` There
can be no question that the latter as a
reply to an appeal is far the most probable,
and the circumstances pointed to its being a
reply written by the lady. Accepting it as
correct, we are now able to say that the
symbols XXX stand respectively for N, V, and
R.
"Even now I was in considerable
difficulty, but a happy thought put me in
possession of several other letters. It
occurred to me that if these appeals came,
as I expected, from someone who had been
intimate with the lady in her early life, a
combination which contained two E`s with
three letters between might very well stand
for the name `ELSIE.` On examination I found
that such a combination formed the
termination of the message which was three
times repeated. It was certainly some appeal
to `Elsie.` In this way I had got my L, S,
and I. But what appeal could it be? There
were only four letters in the word which
preceded `Elsie,` and it ended in E. Surely
the word must be `COME.` I tried all other
four letters ending in E, but could find
none to fit the case. So now I was in
possession of C, O, and M, and I was in a
position to attack the first message once
more, dividing it into words and putting
dots for each symbol which was still
unknown. So treated it worked out in this
fashion:--
.M .ERE ..E SL.NE.
"Now the first letter CAN only be A,
which is a most useful discovery, since it
occurs no fewer than three times in this
short sentence, and the H is also apparent
in the second word. Now it becomes:--
AM HERE A.E SLANE.
Or, filling in the obvious vacancies in
the name:--
AM HERE ABE SLANEY.
I had so many letters now that I could
proceed with considerable confidence to the
second message, which worked out in this
fashion:--
A. ELRI.ES.
Here I could only make sense by putting T
and G for the missing letters, and supposing
that the name was that of some house or inn
at which the writer was staying."
Inspector Martin and I had listened with
the utmost interest to the full and clear
account of how my friend had produced
results which had led to so complete a
command over our difficulties.
"What did you do then, sir?" asked the
inspector.
"I had every reason to suppose that this
Abe Slaney was an American, since Abe is an
American contraction, and since a letter
from America had been the starting-point of
all the trouble. I had also every cause to
think that there was some criminal secret in
the matter. The lady`s allusions to her past
and her refusal to take her husband into her
confidence both pointed in that direction. I
therefore cabled to my friend, Wilson
Hargreave, of the New York Police Bureau,
who has more than once made use of my
knowledge of London crime. I asked him
whether the name of Abe Slaney was known to
him. Here is his reply: `The most dangerous
crook in Chicago.` On the very evening upon
which I had his answer Hilton Cubitt sent me
the last message from Slaney. Working with
known letters it took this form:--
ELSIE .RE.ARE TO MEET THY GO.
The addition of a P and a D completed a
message which showed me that the rascal was
proceeding from persuasion to threats, and
my knowledge of the crooks of Chicago
prepared me to find that he might very
rapidly put his words into action. I at once
came to Norfolk with my friend and
colleague, Dr. Watson, but, unhappily, only
in time to find that the worst had already
occurred."
"It is a privilege to be associated with
you in the handling of a case," said the
inspector, warmly. "You will excuse me,
however, if I speak frankly to you. You are
only answerable to yourself, but I have to
answer to my superiors. If this Abe Slaney,
living at Elrige`s, is indeed the murderer,
and if he has made his escape while I am
seated here, I should certainly get into
serious trouble."
"You need not be uneasy. He will not try
to escape."
"How do you know?"
"To fly would be a confession of guilt."
"Then let us go to arrest him."
"I expect him here every instant."
"But why should he come?"
"Because I have written and asked him."
"But this is incredible, Mr. Holmes! Why
should he come because you have asked him?
Would not such a request rather rouse his
suspicions and cause him to fly?"
"I think I have known how to frame the
letter," said Sherlock Holmes. "In fact, if
I am not very much mistaken, here is the
gentleman himself coming up the drive."
A man was striding up the path which led
to the door. He was a tall, handsome,
swarthy fellow, clad in a suit of grey
flannel, with a Panama hat, a bristling
black beard, and a great, aggressive hooked
nose, and flourishing a cane as he walked.
He swaggered up the path as if the place
belonged to him, and we heard his loud,
confident peal at the bell.
"I think, gentlemen," said Holmes,
quietly, "that we had best take up our
position behind the door. Every precaution
is necessary when dealing with such a
fellow. You will need your handcuffs,
inspector. You can leave the talking to me."
We waited in silence for a minute -- one
of those minutes which one can never forget.
Then the door opened and the man stepped in.
In an instant Holmes clapped a pistol to his
head and Martin slipped the handcuffs over
his wrists. It was all done so swiftly and
deftly that the fellow was helpless before
he knew that he was attacked. He glared from
one to the other of us with a pair of
blazing black eyes. Then he burst into a
bitter laugh.
"Well, gentlemen, you have the drop on me
this time. I seem to have knocked up against
something hard. But I came here in answer to
a letter from Mrs. Hilton Cubitt. Don`t tell
me that she is in this? Don`t tell me that
she helped to set a trap for me?"
"Mrs. Hilton Cubitt was seriously injured
and is at death`s door."
The man gave a hoarse cry of grief which
rang through the house.
"You`re crazy!" he cried, fiercely. "It
was he that was hurt, not she. Who would
have hurt little Elsie? I may have
threatened her, God forgive me, but I would
not have touched a hair of her pretty head.
Take it back -- you! Say that she is not
hurt!"
"She was found badly wounded by the side
of her dead husband."
He sank with a deep groan on to the
settee and buried his face in his manacled
hands. For five minutes he was silent. Then
he raised his face once more, and spoke with
the cold composure of despair.
"I have nothing to hide from you,
gentlemen," said he. "If I shot the man he
had his shot at me, and there`s no murder in
that. But if you think I could have hurt
that woman, then you don`t know either me or
her. I tell you there was never a man in
this world loved a woman more than I loved
her. I had a right to her. She was pledged
to me years ago. Who was this Englishman
that he should come between us? I tell you
that I had the first right to her, and that
I was only claiming my own."
"She broke away from your influence when
she found the man that you are," said
Holmes, sternly. "She fled from America to
avoid you, and she married an honourable
gentleman in England. You dogged her and
followed her and made her life a misery to
her in order to induce her to abandon the
husband whom she loved and respected in
order to fly with you, whom she feared and
hated. You have ended by bringing about the
death of a noble man and driving his wife to
suicide. That is your record in this
business, Mr. Abe Slaney, and you will
answer for it to the law."
"If Elsie dies I care nothing what
becomes of me," said the American. He opened
one of his hands and looked at a note
crumpled up in his palm. "See here, mister,
he cried, with a gleam of suspicion in his
eyes, "you`re not trying to scare me over
this, are you? If the lady is hurt as bad as
you say, who was it that wrote this note?"
He tossed it forwards on to the table.
"I wrote it to bring you here."
"You wrote it? There was no one on earth
outside the Joint who knew the secret of the
dancing men. How came you to write it?"
"What one man can invent another can
discover," said Holmes. There is a cab
coming to convey you to Norwich, Mr. Slaney.
But, meanwhile, you have time to make some
small reparation for the injury you have
wrought. Are you aware that Mrs. Hilton
Cubitt has herself lain under grave
suspicion of the murder of her husband, and
that it was only my presence here and the
knowledge which I happened to possess which
has saved her from the accusation? The least
that you owe her is to make it clear to the
whole world that she was in no way, directly
or indirectly, responsible for his tragic
end."
"I ask nothing better," said the
American. "I guess the very best case I can
make for myself is the absolute naked
truth."
"It is my duty to warn you that it will
be used against you," cried the inspector,
with the magnificent fair-play of the
British criminal law.
Slaney shrugged his shoulders.
"I`ll chance that," said he. "First of
all, I want you gentlemen to understand that
I have known this lady since she was a
child. There were seven of us in a gang in
Chicago, and Elsie`s father was the boss of
the Joint. He was a clever man, was old
Patrick. It was he who invented that
writing, which would pass as a child`s
scrawl unless you just happened to have the
key to it. Well, Elsie learned some of our
ways; but she couldn`t stand the business,
and she had a bit of honest money of her
own, so she gave us all the slip and got
away to London. She had been engaged to me,
and she would have married me, I believe, if
I had taken over another profession; but she
would have nothing to do with anything on
the cross. It was only after her marriage to
this Englishman that I was able to find out
where she was. I wrote to her, but got no
answer. After that I came over, and, as
letters were no use, I put my messages where
she could read them.
"Well, I have been here a month now. I
lived in that farm, where I had a room down
below, and could get in and out every night,
and no one the wiser. I tried all I could to
coax Elsie away. I knew that she read the
messages, for once she wrote an answer under
one of them. Then my temper got the better
of me, and I began to threaten her. She sent
me a letter then, imploring me to go away
and saying that it would break her heart if
any scandal should come upon her husband.
She said that she would come down when her
husband was asleep at three in the morning,
and speak with me through the end window, if
I would go away afterwards and leave her in
peace. She came down and brought money with
her, trying to bribe me to go. This made me
mad, and I caught her arm and tried to pull
her through the window. At that moment in
rushed the husband with his revolver in his
hand. Elsie had sunk down upon the floor,
and we were face to face. I was heeled also,
and I held up my gun to scare him off and
let me get away. He fired and missed me. I
pulled off almost at the same instant, and
down he dropped. I made away across the
garden, and as I went I heard the window
shut behind me. That`s God`s truth,
gentlemen, every word of it, and I heard no
more about it until that lad came riding up
with a note which made me walk in here, like
a jay, and give myself into your hands."
A cab had driven up whilst the American
had been talking. Two uniformed policemen
sat inside. Inspector Martin rose and
touched his prisoner on the shoulder.
"It is time for us to go."
"Can I see her first?"
"No, she is not conscious. Mr. Sherlock
Holmes, I only hope that if ever again I
have an important case I shall have the good
fortune to have you by my side."
We stood at the window and watched the
cab drive away. As I turned back my eye
caught the pellet of paper which the
prisoner had tossed upon the table. It was
the note with which Holmes had decoyed him.
"See if you can read it, Watson," said
he, with a smile.
It contained no word, but this little
line of dancing men:--
GRAPHIC
"If you use the code which I have
explained," said Holmes, "you will find that
it simply means `Come here at once.` I was
convinced that it was an invitation which he
would not refuse, since he could never
imagine that it could come from anyone but
the lady. And so, my dear Watson, we have
ended by turning the dancing men to good
when they have so often been the agents of
evil, and I think that I have fulfilled my
promise of giving you something unusual for
your note-book. Three-forty is our train,
and I fancy we should be back in Baker
Street for dinner.
Only one word of epilogue. The American,
Abe Slaney, was condemned to death at the
winter assizes at Norwich; but his penalty
was changed to penal servitude in
consideration of mitigating circumstances,
and the certainty that Hilton Cubitt had
fired the first shot. Of Mrs. Hilton Cubitt
I only know that I have heard she recovered
entirely, and that she still remains a
widow, devoting her whole life to the care
of the poor and to the administration of her
husband`s estate.
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IV. The
Adventure of the Solitary Cyclist.
FROM the years 1894 to 1901 inclusive Mr. Sherlock Holmes was a very
busy man. It is safe to say that there was
no public case of any difficulty in which he
was not consulted during those eight years,
and there were hundreds of private cases,
some of them of the most intricate and
extraordinary character, in which he played
a prominent part. Many startling successes
and a few unavoidable failures were the
outcome of this long period of continuous
work. As I have preserved very full notes of
all these cases, and was myself personally
engaged in many of them, it may be imagined
that it is no easy task to know which I
should select to lay before the public. I
shall, however, preserve my former rule, and
give the preference to those cases which
derive their interest not so much from the
brutality of the crime as from the ingenuity
and dramatic quality of the solution. For
this reason I will now lay before the reader
the facts connected with Miss Violet Smith,
the solitary cyclist of Charlington, and the
curious sequel of our investigation, which
culminated in unexpected tragedy. It is true
that the circumstances did not admit of any
striking illustration of those powers for
which my friend was famous, but there were
some points about the case which made it
stand out in those long records of crime
from which I gather the material for these
little narratives.
On referring to my note-book for the year
1895 I find that it was upon Saturday, the
23rd of April, that we first heard of Miss
Violet Smith. Her visit was, I remember,
extremely unwelcome to Holmes, for he was
immersed at the moment in a very abstruse
and complicated problem concerning the
peculiar persecution to which John Vincent
Harden, the well-known tobacco millionaire,
had been subjected. My friend, who loved
above all things precision and concentration
of thought, resented anything which
distracted his attention from the matter in
hand. And yet without a harshness which was
foreign to his nature it was impossible to
refuse to listen to the story of the young
and beautiful woman, tall, graceful, and
queenly, who presented herself at Baker
Street late in the evening and implored his
assistance and advice. It was vain to urge
that his time was already fully occupied,
for the young lady had come with the
determination to tell her story, and it was
evident that nothing short of force could
get her out of the room until she had done
so. With a resigned air and a somewhat weary
smile, Holmes begged the beautiful intruder
to take a seat and to inform us what it was
that was troubling her.
"At least it cannot be your health," said
he, as his keen eyes darted over her; "so
ardent a bicyclist must be full of energy."
She glanced down in surprise at her own
feet, and I observed the slight roughening
of the side of the sole caused by the
friction of the edge of the pedal.
"Yes, I bicycle a good deal, Mr. Holmes,
and that has something to do with my visit
to you to-day."
My friend took the lady`s ungloved hand
and examined it with as close an attention
and as little sentiment as a scientist would
show to a specimen.
"You will excuse me, I am sure. It is my
business," said he, as he dropped it. "I
nearly fell into the error of supposing that
you were typewriting. Of course, it is
obvious that it is music. You observe the
spatulate finger-end, Watson, which is
common to both professions? There is a
spirituality about the face, however" -- he
gently turned it towards the light -- "which
the typewriter does not generate. This lady
is a musician."
"Yes, Mr. Holmes, I teach music."
"In the country, I presume, from your
complexion."
"Yes, sir; near Farnham, on the borders
of Surrey."
"A beautiful neighbourhood and full of
the most interesting associations. You
remember, Watson, that it was near there
that we took Archie Stamford, the forger.
Now, Miss Violet, what has happened to you
near Farnham, on the borders of Surrey?"
The young lady, with great clearness and
composure, made the following curious
statement:--
"My father is dead, Mr. Holmes. He was
James Smith, who conducted the orchestra at
the old Imperial Theatre. My mother and I
were left without a relation in the world
except one uncle, Ralph Smith, who went to
Africa twenty-five years ago, and we have
never had a word from him since. When father
died we were left very poor, but one day we
were told that there was an advertisement in
the TIMES inquiring for our whereabouts. You
can imagine how excited we were, for we
thought that someone had left us a fortune.
We went at once to the lawyer whose name was
given in the paper. There we met two
gentlemen, Mr. Carruthers and Mr. Woodley,
who were home on a visit from South Africa.
They said that my uncle was a friend of
theirs, that he died some months before in
great poverty in Johannesburg, and that he
had asked them with his last breath to hunt
up his relations and see that they were in
no want. It seemed strange to us that Uncle
Ralph, who took no notice of us when he was
alive, should be so careful to look after us
when he was dead; but Mr. Carruthers
explained that the reason was that my uncle
had just heard of the death of his brother,
and so felt responsible for our fate."
"Excuse me," said Holmes; "when was this
interview?"
"Last December -- four months ago."
"Pray proceed."
"Mr. Woodley seemed to me to be a most
odious person. He was for ever making eyes
at me -- a coarse, puffy-faced,
red-moustached young man, with his hair
plastered down on each side of his forehead.
I thought that he was perfectly hateful --
and I was sure that Cyril would not wish me
to know such a person."
"Oh, Cyril is his name!" said Holmes,
smiling.
The young lady blushed and laughed.
"Yes, Mr. Holmes; Cyril Morton, an
electrical engineer, and we hope to be
married at the end of the summer. Dear me,
how DID I get talking about him? What I
wished to say was that Mr. Woodley was
perfectly odious, but that Mr. Carruthers,
who was a much older man, was more
agreeable. He was a dark, sallow,
clean-shaven, silent person; but he had
polite manners and a pleasant smile. He
inquired how we were left, and on finding
that we were very poor he suggested that I
should come and teach music to his only
daughter, aged ten. I said that I did not
like to leave my mother, on which he
suggested that I should go home to her every
week-end, and he offered me a hundred a
year, which was certainly splendid pay. So
it ended by my accepting, and I went down to
Chiltern Grange, about six miles from
Farnham. Mr. Carruthers was a widower, but
he had engaged a lady-housekeeper, a very
respectable, elderly person, called Mrs.
Dixon, to look after his establishment. The
child was a dear, and everything promised
well. Mr. Carruthers was very kind and very
musical, and we had most pleasant evenings
together. Every week-end I went home to my
mother in town.
"The first flaw in my happiness was the
arrival of the red-moustached Mr. Woodley.
He came for a visit of a week, and oh, it
seemed three months to me! He was a dreadful
person, a bully to everyone else, but to me
something infinitely worse. He made odious
love to me, boasted of his wealth, said that
if I married him I would have the finest
diamonds in London, and finally, when I
would have nothing to do with him, he seized
me in his arms one day after dinner -- he
was hideously strong -- and he swore that he
would not let me go until I had kissed him.
Mr. Carruthers came in and tore him off from
me, on which he turned upon his own host,
knocking him down and cutting his face open.
That was the end of his visit, as you can
imagine. Mr. Carruthers apologized to me
next day, and assured me that I should never
be exposed to such an insult again. I have
not seen Mr. Woodley since.
"And now, Mr. Holmes, I come at last to
the special thing which has caused me to ask
your advice to-day. You must know that every
Saturday forenoon I ride on my bicycle to
Farnham Station in order to get the 12.22 to
town. The road from Chiltern Grange is a
lonely one, and at one spot it is
particularly so, for it lies for over a mile
between Charlington Heath upon one side and
the woods which lie round Charlington Hall
upon the other. You could not find a more
lonely tract of road anywhere, and it is
quite rare to meet so much as a cart, or a
peasant, until you reach the high road near
Crooksbury Hill. Two weeks ago I was passing
this place when I chanced to look back over
my shoulder, and about two hundred yards
behind me I saw a man, also on a bicycle. He
seemed to be a middle-aged man, with a
short, dark beard. I looked back before I
reached Farnham, but the man was gone, so I
thought no more about it. But you can
imagine how surprised I was, Mr. Holmes,
when on my return on the Monday I saw the
same man on the same stretch of road. My
astonishment was increased when the incident
occurred again, exactly as before, on the
following Saturday and Monday. He always
kept his distance and did not molest me in
any way, but still it certainly was very
odd. I mentioned it to Mr. Carruthers, who
seemed interested in what I said, and told
me that he had ordered a horse and trap, so
that in future I should not pass over these
lonely roads without some companion.
"The horse and trap were to have come
this week, but for some reason they were not
delivered, and again I had to cycle to the
station. That was this morning. You can
think that I looked out when I came to
Charlington Heath, and there, sure enough,
was the man, exactly as he had been the two
weeks before. He always kept so far from me
that I could not clearly see his face, but
it was certainly someone whom I did not
know. He was dressed in a dark suit with a
cloth cap. The only thing about his face
that I could clearly see was his dark beard.
To-day I was not alarmed, but I was filled
with curiosity, and I determined to find out
who he was and what he wanted. I slowed down
my machine, but he slowed down his. Then I
stopped altogether, but he stopped also.
Then I laid a trap for him. There is a sharp
turning of the road, and I pedalled very
quickly round this, and then I stopped and
waited. I expected him to shoot round and
pass me before he could stop. But he never
appeared. Then I went back and looked round
the corner. I could see a mile of road, but
he was not on it. To make it the more
extraordinary, there was no side road at
this point down which he could have gone."
Holmes chuckled and rubbed his hands.
"This case certainly presents some features
of its own," said he. "How much time elapsed
between your turning the corner and your
discovery that the road was clear?"
"Two or three minutes."
"Then he could not have retreated down
the road, and you say that there are no side
roads?"
"None."
"Then he certainly took a footpath on one
side or the other."
"It could not have been on the side of
the heath or I should have seen him."
"So by the process of exclusion we arrive
at the fact that he made his way towards
Charlington Hall, which, as I understand, is
situated in its own grounds on one side of
the road. Anything else?"
"Nothing, Mr. Holmes, save that I was so
perplexed that I felt I should not be happy
until I had seen you and had your advice."
Holmes sat in silence for some little
time.
"Where is the gentleman to whom you are
engaged?" he asked, at last.
"He is in the Midland Electrical Company,
at Coventry."
"He would not pay you a surprise visit?"
"Oh, Mr. Holmes! As if I should not know
him!"
"Have you had any other admirers?"
"Several before I knew Cyril."
"And since?"
"There was this dreadful man, Woodley, if
you can call him an admirer."
"No one else?"
Our fair client seemed a little confused.
"Who was he?" asked Holmes.
"Oh, it may be a mere fancy of mine; but
it has seemed to me sometimes that my
employer, Mr. Carruthers, takes a great deal
of interest in me. We are thrown rather
together. I play his accompaniments in the
evening. He has never said anything. He is a
perfect gentleman. But a girl always knows."
"Ha!" Holmes looked grave. "What does he
do for a living?"
"He is a rich man."
"No carriages or horses?"
"Well, at least he is fairly well-to-do.
But he goes into the City two or three times
a week. He is deeply interested in South
African gold shares."
"You will let me know any fresh
development, Miss Smith. I am very busy just
now, but I will find time to make some
inquiries into your case. In the meantime
take no step without letting me know.
Good-bye, and I trust that we shall have
nothing but good news from you."
"It is part of the settled order of
Nature that such a girl should have
followers," said Holmes, as he pulled at his
meditative pipe, "but for choice not on
bicycles in lonely country roads. Some
secretive lover, beyond all doubt. But there
are curious and suggestive details about the
case, Watson."
"That he should appear only at that
point?"
"Exactly. Our first effort must be to
find who are the tenants of Charlington
Hall. Then, again, how about the connection
between Carruthers and Woodley, since they
appear to be men of such a different type?
How came they BOTH to be so keen upon
looking up Ralph Smith`s relations? One more
point. What sort of a MENAGE is it which
pays double the market price for a
governess, but does not keep a horse
although six miles from the station? Odd,
Watson -- very odd!"
"You will go down?"
"No, my dear fellow, YOU will go down.
This may be some trifling intrigue, and I
cannot break my other important research for
the sake of it. On Monday you will arrive
early at Farnham; you will conceal yourself
near Charlington Heath; you will observe
these facts for yourself, and act as your
own judgment advises. Then, having inquired
as to the occupants of the Hall, you will
come back to me and report. And now, Watson,
not another word of the matter until we have
a few solid stepping-stones on which we may
hope to get across to our solution."
We had ascertained from the lady that she
went down upon the Monday by the train which
leaves Waterloo at 9.50, so I started early
and caught the 9.13. At Farnham Station I
had no difficulty in being directed to
Charlington Heath. It was impossible to
mistake the scene of the young lady`s
adventure, for the road runs between the
open heath on one side and an old yew hedge
upon the other, surrounding a park which is
studded with magnificent trees. There was a
main gateway of lichen-studded stone, each
side pillar surmounted by mouldering
heraldic emblems; but besides this central
carriage drive I observed several points
where there were gaps in the hedge and paths
leading through them. The house was
invisible from the road, but the
surroundings all spoke of gloom and decay.
The heath was covered with golden patches
of flowering gorse, gleaming magnificently
in the light of the bright spring sunshine.
Behind one of these clumps I took up my
position, so as to command both the gateway
of the Hall and a long stretch of the road
upon either side. It had been deserted when
I left it, but now I saw a cyclist riding
down it from the opposite direction to that
in which I had come. He was clad in a dark
suit, and I saw that he had a black beard.
On reaching the end of the Charlington
grounds he sprang from his machine and led
it through a gap in the hedge, disappearing
from my view.
A quarter of an hour passed and then a
second cyclist appeared. This time it was
the young lady coming from the station. I
saw her look about her as she came to the
Charlington hedge. An instant later the man
emerged from his hiding-place, sprang upon
his cycle, and followed her. In all the
broad landscape those were the only moving
figures, the graceful girl sitting very
straight upon her machine, and the man
behind her bending low over his handle-bar,
with a curiously furtive suggestion in every
movement. She looked back at him and slowed
her pace. He slowed also. She stopped. He at
once stopped too, keeping two hundred yards
behind her. Her next movement was as
unexpected as it was spirited. She suddenly
whisked her wheels round and dashed straight
at him! He was as quick as she, however, and
darted off in desperate flight. Presently
she came back up the road again, her head
haughtily in the air, not deigning to take
any further notice of her silent attendant.
He had turned also, and still kept his
distance until the curve of the road hid
them from my sight.
I remained in my hiding-place, and it was
well that I did so, for presently the man
reappeared cycling slowly back. He turned in
at the Hall gates and dismounted from his
machine. For some few minutes I could see
him standing among the trees. His hands were
raised and he seemed to be settling his
necktie. Then he mounted his cycle and rode
away from me down the drive towards the
Hall. I ran across the heath and peered
through the trees. Far away I could catch
glimpses of the old grey building with its
bristling Tudor chimneys, but the drive ran
through a dense shrubbery, and I saw no more
of my man.
However, it seemed to me that I had done
a fairly good morning`s work, and I walked
back in high spirits to Farnham. The local
house-agent could tell me nothing about
Charlington Hall, and referred me to a
well-known firm in Pall Mall. There I halted
on my way home, and met with courtesy from
the representative. No, I could not have
Charlington Hall for the summer. I was just
too late. It had been let about a month ago.
Mr. Williamson was the name of the tenant.
He was a respectable elderly gentleman. The
polite agent was afraid he could say no
more, as the affairs of his clients were not
matters which he could discuss.
Mr. Sherlock Holmes listened with
attention to the long report which I was
able to present to him that evening, but it
did not elicit that word of curt praise
which I had hoped for and should have
valued. On the contrary, his austere face
was even more severe than usual as he
commented upon the things that I had done
and the things that I had not.
"Your hiding-place, my dear Watson, was
very faulty. You should have been behind the
hedge; then you would have had a close view
of this interesting person. As it is you
were some hundreds of yards away, and can
tell me even less than Miss Smith. She
thinks she does not know the man; I am
convinced she does. Why, otherwise, should
he be so desperately anxious that she should
not get so near him as to see his features?
You describe him as bending over the
handle-bar. Concealment again, you see. You
really have done remarkably badly. He
returns to the house and you want to find
out who he is. You come to a London
house-agent!"
"What should I have done?" I cried, with
some heat.
"Gone to the nearest public-house. That
is the centre of country gossip. They would
have told you every name, from the master to
the scullery-maid. Williamson! It conveys
nothing to my mind. If he is an elderly man
he is not this active cyclist who sprints
away from that athletic young lady`s
pursuit. What have we gained by your
expedition? The knowledge that the girl`s
story is true. I never doubted it. That
there is a connection between the cyclist
and the Hall. I never doubted that either.
That the Hall is tenanted by Williamson.
Who`s the better for that? Well, well, my
dear sir, don`t look so depressed. We can do
little more until next Saturday, and in the
meantime I may make one or two inquiries
myself."
Next morning we had a note from Miss
Smith, recounting shortly and accurately the
very incidents which I had seen, but the
pith of the letter lay in the postscript:--
"I am sure that you will respect my
confidence, Mr. Holmes, when I tell you that
my place here has become difficult owing to
the fact that my employer has proposed
marriage to me. I am convinced that his
feelings are most deep and most honourable.
At the same time my promise is, of course,
given. He took my refusal very seriously,
but also very gently. You can understand,
however, that the situation is a little
strained."
"Our young friend seems to be getting
into deep waters," said Holmes,
thoughtfully, as he finished the letter.
"The case certainly presents more features
of interest and more possibility of
development than I had originally thought. I
should be none the worse for a quiet,
peaceful day in the country, and I am
inclined to run down this afternoon and test
one or two theories which I have formed."
Holmes`s quiet day in the country had a
singular termination, for he arrived at
Baker Street late in the evening with a cut
lip and a discoloured lump upon his
forehead, besides a general air of
dissipation which would have made his own
person the fitting object of a Scotland Yard
investigation. He was immensely tickled by
his own adventures, and laughed heartily as
he recounted them.
"I get so little active exercise that it
is always a treat," said he. "You are aware
that I have some proficiency in the good old
British sport of boxing. Occasionally it is
of service. To-day, for example, I should
have come to very ignominious grief without
it."
I begged him to tell me what had
occurred.
"I found that country pub which I had
already recommended to your notice, and
there I made my discreet inquiries. I was in
the bar, and a garrulous landlord was giving
me all that I wanted. Williamson is a
white-bearded man, and he lives alone with a
small staff of servants at the Hall. There
is some rumour that he is or has been a
clergyman; but one or two incidents of his
short residence at the Hall struck me as
peculiarly unecclesiastical. I have already
made some inquiries at a clerical agency,
and they tell me that there WAS a man of
that name in orders whose career has been a
singularly dark one. The landlord further
informed me that there are usually week-end
visitors -- `a warm lot, sir` -- at the
Hall, and especially one gentleman with a
red moustache, Mr. Woodley by name, who was
always there. We had got as far as this when
who should walk in but the gentleman
himself, who had been drinking his beer in
the tap-room and had heard the whole
conversation. Who was I? What did I want?
What did I mean by asking questions? He had
a fine flow of language, and his adjectives
were very vigorous. He ended a string of
abuse by a vicious back-hander which I
failed to entirely avoid. The next few
minutes were delicious. It was a straight
left against a slogging ruffian. I emerged
as you see me. Mr. Woodley went home in a
cart. So ended my country trip, and it must
be confessed that, however enjoyable, my day
on the Surrey border has not been much more
profitable than your own."
The Thursday brought us another letter
from our client.
"You will not be surprised, Mr. Holmes,"
said she, "to hear that I am leaving Mr.
Carruthers`s employment. Even the high pay
cannot reconcile me to the discomforts of my
situation. On Saturday I come up to town and
I do not intend to return. Mr. Carruthers
has got a trap, and so the dangers of the
lonely road, if there ever were any dangers,
are now over.
"As to the special cause of my leaving,
it is not merely the strained situation with
Mr. Carruthers, but it is the reappearance
of that odious man, Mr. Woodley. He was
always hideous, but he looks more awful than
ever now, for he appears to have had an
accident and he is much disfigured. I saw
him out of the window, but I am glad to say
I did not meet him. He had a long talk with
Mr. Carruthers, who seemed much excited
afterwards. Woodley must be staying in the
neighbourhood, for he did not sleep here,
and yet I caught a glimpse of him again this
morning slinking about in the shrubbery. I
would sooner have a savage wild animal loose
about the place. I loathe and fear him more
than I can say. How CAN Mr. Carruthers
endure such a creature for a moment?
However, all my troubles will be over on
Saturday."
"So I trust, Watson; so I trust," said
Holmes, gravely. "There is some deep
intrigue going on round that little woman,
and it is our duty to see that no one
molests her upon that last journey. I think,
Watson, that we must spare time to run down
together on Saturday morning, and make sure
that this curious and inconclusive
investigation has no untoward ending."
I confess that I had not up to now taken
a very serious view of the case, which had
seemed to me rather grotesque and bizarre
than dangerous. That a man should lie in
wait for and follow a very handsome woman is
no unheard-of thing, and if he had so little
audacity that he not only dared not address
her, but even fled from her approach, he was
not a very formidable assailant. The ruffian
Woodley was a very different person, but,
except on one occasion, he had not molested
our client, and now he visited the house of
Carruthers without intruding upon her
presence. The man on the bicycle was
doubtless a member of those week-end parties
at the Hall of which the publican had
spoken; but who he was or what he wanted was
as obscure as ever. It was the severity of
Holmes`s manner and the fact that he slipped
a revolver into his pocket before leaving
our rooms which impressed me with the
feeling that tragedy might prove to lurk
behind this curious train of events.
A rainy night had been followed by a
glorious morning, and the heath-covered
country-side with the glowing clumps of
flowering gorse seemed all the more
beautiful to eyes which were weary of the
duns and drabs and slate-greys of London.
Holmes and I walked along the broad, sandy
road inhaling the fresh morning air, and
rejoicing in the music of the birds and the
fresh breath of the spring. From a rise of
the road on the shoulder of Crooksbury Hill
we could see the grim Hall bristling out
from amidst the ancient oaks, which, old as
they were, were still younger than the
building which they surrounded. Holmes
pointed down the long tract of road which
wound, a reddish yellow band, between the
brown of the heath and the budding green of
the woods. Far away, a black dot, we could
see a vehicle moving in our direction.
Holmes gave an exclamation of impatience.
"I had given a margin of half an hour,"
said he. "If that is her trap she must be
making for the earlier train. I fear,
Watson, that she will be past Charlington
before we can possibly meet her."
From the instant that we passed the rise
we could no longer see the vehicle, but we
hastened onwards at such a pace that my
sedentary life began to tell upon me, and I
was compelled to fall behind. Holmes,
however, was always in training, for he had
inexhaustible stores of nervous energy upon
which to draw. His springy step never slowed
until suddenly, when he was a hundred yards
in front of me, he halted, and I saw him
throw up his hand with a gesture of grief
and despair. At the same instant an empty
dog-cart, the horse cantering, the reins
trailing, appeared round the curve of the
road and rattled swiftly towards us.
"Too late, Watson; too late!" cried
Holmes, as I ran panting to his side. "Fool
that I was not to allow for that earlier
train! It`s abduction, Watson -- abduction!
Murder! Heaven knows what! Block the road!
Stop the horse! That`s right. Now, jump in,
and let us see if I can repair the
consequences of my own blunder."
We had sprung into the dog-cart, and
Holmes, after turning the horse, gave it a
sharp cut with the whip, and we flew back
along the road. As we turned the curve the
whole stretch of road between the Hall and
the heath was opened up. I grasped Holmes`s
arm.
"That`s the man!" I gasped.
A solitary cyclist was coming towards us.
His head was down and his shoulders rounded
as he put every ounce of energy that he
possessed on to the pedals. He was flying
like a racer. Suddenly he raised his bearded
face, saw us close to him, and pulled up,
springing from his machine. That coal-black
beard was in singular contrast to the pallor
of his face, and his eyes were as bright as
if he had a fever. He stared at us and at
the dog-cart. Then a look of amazement came
over his face.
"Halloa! Stop there!" he shouted, holding
his bicycle to block our road. "Where did
you get that dog-cart? Pull up, man!" he
yelled, drawing a pistol from his side
pocket. "Pull up, I say, or, by George, I`ll
put a bullet into your horse."
Holmes threw the reins into my lap and
sprang down from the cart.
"You`re the man we want to see. Where is
Miss Violet Smith?" he said, in his quick,
clear way.
"That`s what I am asking you. You`re in
her dog-cart. You ought to know where she
is."
"We met the dog-cart on the road. There
was no one in it. We drove back to help the
young lady."
"Good Lord! Good Lord! what shall I do?"
cried the stranger, in an ecstasy of
despair. "They`ve got her, that hellhound
Woodley and the blackguard parson. Come,
man, come, if you really are her friend.
Stand by me and we`ll save her, if I have to
leave my carcass in Charlington Wood."
He ran distractedly, his pistol in his
hand, towards a gap in the hedge. Holmes
followed him, and I, leaving the horse
grazing beside the road, followed Holmes.
"This is where they came through," said
he, pointing to the marks of several feet
upon the muddy path. "Halloa! Stop a minute!
Who`s this in the bush?"
It was a young fellow about seventeen,
dressed like an ostler, with leather cords
and gaiters. He lay upon his back, his knees
drawn up, a terrible cut upon his head. He
was insensible, but alive. A glance at his
wound told me that it had not penetrated the
bone.
"That`s Peter, the groom," cried the
stranger. "He drove her. The beasts have
pulled him off and clubbed him. Let him lie;
we can`t do him any good, but we may save
her from the worst fate that can befall a
woman."
We ran frantically down the path, which
wound among the trees. We had reached the
shrubbery which surrounded the house when
Holmes pulled up.
"They didn`t go to the house. Here are
their marks on the left -- here, beside the
laurel bushes! Ah, I said so!"
As he spoke a woman`s shrill scream -- a
scream which vibrated with a frenzy of
horror -- burst from the thick green clump
of bushes in front of us. It ended suddenly
on its highest note with a choke and a
gurgle.
"This way! This way! They are in the
bowling alley," cried the stranger, darting
through the bushes. "Ah, the cowardly dogs!
Follow me, gentlemen! Too late! too late! by
the living Jingo!"
We had broken suddenly into a lovely
glade of greensward surrounded by ancient
trees. On the farther side of it, under the
shadow of a mighty oak, there stood a
singular group of three people. One was a
woman, our client, drooping and faint, a
handkerchief round her mouth. Opposite her
stood a brutal, heavy-faced, red-moustached
young man, his gaitered legs parted wide,
one arm akimbo, the other waving a
riding-crop, his whole attitude suggestive
of triumphant bravado. Between them an
elderly, grey-bearded man, wearing a short
surplice over a light tweed suit, had
evidently just completed the wedding
service, for he pocketed his prayer-book as
we appeared and slapped the sinister
bridegroom upon the back in jovial
congratulation.
"They`re married!" I gasped.
"Come on!" cried our guide; "come on!" He
rushed across the glade, Holmes and I at his
heels. As we approached, the lady staggered
against the trunk of the tree for support.
Williamson, the ex-clergyman, bowed to us
with mock politeness, and the bully Woodley
advanced with a shout of brutal and exultant
laughter.
"You can take your beard off, Bob," said
he. "I know you right enough. Well, you and
your pals have just come in time for me to
be able to introduce you to Mrs. Woodley."
Our guide`s answer was a singular one. He
snatched off the dark beard which had
disguised him and threw it on the ground,
disclosing a long, sallow, clean-shaven face
below it. Then he raised his revolver and
covered the young ruffian, who was advancing
upon him with his dangerous riding-crop
swinging in his hand.
"Yes," said our ally, "I AM Bob
Carruthers, and I`ll see this woman righted
if I have to swing for it. I told you what
I`d do if you molested her, and, by the
Lord, I`ll be as good as my word!"
"You`re too late. She`s my wife!"
"No, she`s your widow."
His revolver cracked, and I saw the blood
spurt from the front of Woodley`s waistcoat.
He spun round with a scream and fell upon
his back, his hideous red face turning
suddenly to a dreadful mottled pallor. The
old man, still clad in his surplice, burst
into such a string of foul oaths as I have
never heard, and pulled out a revolver of
his own, but before he could raise it he was
looking down the barrel of Holmes`s weapon.
"Enough of this," said my friend, coldly.
"Drop that pistol! Watson, pick it up! Hold
it to his head! Thank you. You, Carruthers,
give me that revolver. We`ll have no more
violence. Come, hand it over!"
"Who are you, then?"
"My name is Sherlock Holmes."
"Good Lord!"
"You have heard of me, I see. I will
represent the official police until their
arrival. Here, you!" he shouted to a
frightened groom who had appeared at the
edge of the glade. "Come here. Take this
note as hard as you can ride to Farnham." He
scribbled a few words upon a leaf from his
note-book. "Give it to the superintendent at
the police-station. Until he comes I must
detain you all under my personal custody."
The strong, masterful personality of
Holmes dominated the tragic scene, and all
were equally puppets in his hands.
Williamson and Carruthers found themselves
carrying the wounded Woodley into the house,
and I gave my arm to the frightened girl.
The injured man was laid on his bed, and at
Holmes`s request I examined him. I carried
my report to where he sat in the old
tapestry-hung dining-room with his two
prisoners before him.
"He will live," said I.
"What!" cried Carruthers, springing out
of his chair. "I`ll go upstairs and finish
him first. Do you tell me that that girl,
that angel, is to be tied to Roaring Jack
Woodley for life?"
"You need not concern yourself about
that," said Holmes. "There are two very good
reasons why she should under no
circumstances be his wife. In the first
place, we are very safe in questioning Mr.
Williamson`s right to solemnize a marriage."
"I have been ordained," cried the old
rascal.
"And also unfrocked."
"Once a clergyman, always a clergyman."
"I think not. How about the license?"
"We had a license for the marriage. I
have it here in my pocket."
"Then you got it by a trick. But in any
case a forced marriage is no marriage, but
it is a very serious felony, as you will
discover before you have finished. You`ll
have time to think the point out during the
next ten years or so, unless I am mistaken.
As to you, Carruthers, you would have done
better to keep your pistol in your pocket."
"I begin to think so, Mr. Holmes; but
when I thought of all the precaution I had
taken to shield this girl -- for I loved
her, Mr. Holmes, and it is the only time
that ever I knew what love was -- it fairly
drove me mad to think that she was in the
power of the greatest brute and bully in
South Africa, a man whose name is a holy
terror from Kimberley to Johannesburg. Why,
Mr. Holmes, you`ll hardly believe it, but
ever since that girl has been in my
employment I never once let her go past this
house, where I knew these rascals were
lurking, without following her on my bicycle
just to see that she came to no harm. I kept
my distance from her, and I wore a beard so
that she should not recognise me, for she is
a good and high-spirited girl, and she
wouldn`t have stayed in my employment long
if she had thought that I was following her
about the country roads."
"Why didn`t you tell her of her danger?"
"Because then, again, she would have left
me, and I couldn`t bear to face that. Even
if she couldn`t love me it was a great deal
to me just to see her dainty form about the
house, and to hear the sound of her voice."
"Well," said I, "you call that love, Mr.
Carruthers, but I should call it
selfishness."
"Maybe the two things go together.
Anyhow, I couldn`t let her go. Besides, with
this crowd about, it was well that she
should have someone near to look after her.
Then when the cable came I knew they were
bound to make a move."
"What cable?"
Carruthers took a telegram from his
pocket.
"That`s it," said he.
It was short and concise:--
"The old man is dead."
"Hum!" said Holmes. "I think I see how
things worked, and I can understand how this
message would, as you say, bring them to a
head. But while we wait you might tell me
what you can."
The old reprobate with the surplice burst
into a volley of bad language.
"By Heaven," said he, "if you squeal on
us, Bob Carruthers, I`ll serve you as you
served Jack Woodley. You can bleat about the
girl to your heart`s content, for that`s
your own affair, but if you round on your
pals to this plain-clothes copper it will be
the worst day`s work that ever you did."
"Your reverence need not be excited,"
said Holmes, lighting a cigarette. "The case
is clear enough against you, and all I ask
is a few details for my private curiosity.
However, if there`s any difficulty in your
telling me I`ll do the talking, and then you
will see how far you have a chance of
holding back your secrets. In the first
place, three of you came from South Africa
on this game -- you Williamson, you
Carruthers, and Woodley."
"Lie number one," said the old man; "I
never saw either of them until two months
ago, and I have never been in Africa in my
life, so you can put that in your pipe and
smoke it, Mr. Busybody Holmes!"
"What he says is true," said Carruthers.
"Well, well, two of you came over. His
reverence is our own home-made article. You
had known Ralph Smith in South Africa. You
had reason to believe he would not live
long. You found out that his niece would
inherit his fortune. How`s that -- eh?"
Carruthers nodded and Williamson swore.
"She was next-of-kin, no doubt, and you
were aware that the old fellow would make no
will."
"Couldn`t read or write," said
Carruthers.
"So you came over, the two of you, and
hunted up the girl. The idea was that one of
you was to marry her and the other have a
share of the plunder. For some reason
Woodley was chosen as the husband. Why was
that?"
"We played cards for her on the voyage.
He won."
"I see. You got the young lady into your
service, and there Woodley was to do the
courting. She recognised the drunken brute
that he was, and would have nothing to do
with him. Meanwhile, your arrangement was
rather upset by the fact that you had
yourself fallen in love with the lady. You
could no longer bear the idea of this
ruffian owning her."
"No, by George, I couldn`t!"
"There was a quarrel between you. He left
you in a rage, and began to make his own
plans independently of you."
"It strikes me, Williamson, there isn`t
very much that we can tell this gentleman,"
cried Carruthers, with a bitter laugh. "Yes,
we quarreled, and he knocked me down. I am
level with him on that, anyhow. Then I lost
sight of him. That was when he picked up
with this cast padre here. I found that they
had set up house-keeping together at this
place on the line that she had to pass for
the station. I kept my eye on her after
that, for I knew there was some devilry in
the wind. I saw them from time to time, for
I was anxious to know what they were after.
Two days ago Woodley came up to my house
with this cable, which showed that Ralph
Smith was dead. He asked me if I would stand
by the bargain. I said I would not. He asked
me if I would marry the girl myself and give
him a share. I said I would willingly do so,
but that she would not have me. He said,
`Let us get her married first, and after a
week or two she may see things a bit
different.` I said I would have nothing to
do with violence. So he went off cursing,
like the foul-mouthed blackguard that he
was, and swearing that he would have her
yet. She was leaving me this week-end, and I
had got a trap to take her to the station,
but I was so uneasy in my mind that I
followed her on my bicycle. She had got a
start, however, and before I could catch her
the mischief was done. The first thing I
knew about it was when I saw you two
gentlemen driving back in her dog-cart."
Holmes rose and tossed the end of his
cigarette into the grate. "I have been very
obtuse, Watson," said he. "When in your
report you said that you had seen the
cyclist as you thought arrange his necktie
in the shrubbery, that alone should have
told me all. However, we may congratulate
ourselves upon a curious and in some
respects a unique case. I perceive three of
the county constabulary in the drive, and I
am glad to see that the little ostler is
able to keep pace with them; so it is likely
that neither he nor the interesting
bridegroom will be permanently damaged by
their morning`s adventures. I think, Watson,
that in your medical capacity you might wait
upon Miss Smith and tell her that if she is
sufficiently recovered we shall be happy to
escort her to her mother`s home. If she is
not quite convalescent you will find that a
hint that we were about to telegraph to a
young electrician in the Midlands would
probably complete the cure. As to you, Mr.
Carruthers, I think that you have done what
you could to make amends for your share in
an evil plot. There is my card, sir, and if
my evidence can be of help to you in your
trial it shall be at your disposal."
In the whirl of our incessant activity it
has often been difficult for me, as the
reader has probably observed, to round off
my narratives, and to give those final
details which the curious might expect. Each
case has been the prelude to another, and
the crisis once over the actors have passed
for ever out of our busy lives. I find,
however, a short note at the end of my
manuscripts dealing with this case, in which
I have put it upon record that Miss Violet
Smith did indeed inherit a large fortune,
and that she is now the wife of Cyril
Morton, the senior partner of Morton &
Kennedy, the famous Westminster
electricians. Williamson and Woodley were
both tried for abduction and assault, the
former getting seven years and the latter
ten. Of the fate of Carruthers I have no
record, but I am sure that his assault was
not viewed very gravely by the Court, since
Woodley had the reputation of being a most
dangerous ruffian, and I think that a few
months were sufficient to satisfy the
demands of justice.
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V. The
Adventure of the Priory School.
WE have had some dramatic entrances and exits upon our small stage at
Baker Street, but I cannot recollect
anything more sudden and startling than the
first appearance of Thorneycroft Huxtable,
M.A., Ph.D., etc. His card, which seemed too
small to carry the weight of his academic
distinctions, preceded him by a few seconds,
and then he entered himself -- so large, so
pompous, and so dignified that he was the
very embodiment of self-possession and
solidity. And yet his first action when the
door had closed behind him was to stagger
against the table, whence he slipped down
upon the floor, and there was that majestic
figure prostrate and insensible upon our
bearskin hearthrug.
We had sprung to our feet, and for a few
moments we stared in silent amazement at
this ponderous piece of wreckage, which told
of some sudden and fatal storm far out on
the ocean of life. Then Holmes hurried with
a cushion for his head and I with brandy for
his lips. The heavy white face was seamed
with lines of trouble, the hanging pouches
under the closed eyes were leaden in colour,
the loose mouth drooped dolorously at the
corners, the rolling chins were unshaven.
Collar and shirt bore the grime of a long
journey, and the hair bristled unkempt from
the well-shaped head. It was a
sorely-stricken man who lay before us.
"What is it, Watson?" asked Holmes.
"Absolute exhaustion -- possibly mere
hunger and fatigue," said I, with my finger
on the thready pulse, where the stream of
life trickled thin and small.
"Return ticket from Mackleton, in the
North of England," said Holmes, drawing it
from the watch-pocket. "It is not twelve
o`clock yet. He has certainly been an early
starter."
The puckered eyelids had begun to quiver,
and now a pair of vacant, grey eyes looked
up at us. An instant later the man had
scrambled on to his feet, his face crimson
with shame.
"Forgive this weakness, Mr. Holmes; I
have been a little overwrought. Thank you,
if I might have a glass of milk and a
biscuit I have no doubt that I should be
better. I came personally, Mr. Holmes, in
order to ensure that you would return with
me. I feared that no telegram would convince
you of the absolute urgency of the case."
"When you are quite restored ----"
"I am quite well again. I cannot imagine
how I came to be so weak. I wish you, Mr.
Holmes, to come to Mackleton with me by the
next train."
My friend shook his head.
"My colleague, Dr. Watson, could tell you
that we are very busy at present. I am
retained in this case of the Ferrers
Documents, and the Abergavenny murder is
coming up for trial. Only a very important
issue could call me from London at present."
"Important!" Our visitor threw up his
hands. "Have you heard nothing of the
abduction of the only son of the Duke of
Holdernesse?"
"What! the late Cabinet Minister?"
"Exactly. We had tried to keep it out of
the papers, but there was some rumour in the
GLOBE last night. I thought it might have
reached your ears."
Holmes shot out his long, thin arm and
picked out Volume "H" in his encyclopaedia
of reference.
"`Holdernesse, 6th Duke, K.G., P.C.` --
half the alphabet! `Baron Beverley, Earl of
Carston` -- dear me, what a list! `Lord
Lieutenant of Hallamshire since 1900.
Married Edith, daughter of Sir Charles
Appledore, 1888. Heir and only child, Lord
Saltire. Owns about two hundred and fifty
thousand acres. Minerals in Lancashire and
Wales. Address: Carlton House Terrace;
Holdernesse Hall, Hallamshire; Carston
Castle, Bangor, Wales. Lord of the
Admiralty, 1872; Chief Secretary of State
for --` Well, well, this man is certainly
one of the greatest subjects of the Crown!"
"The greatest and perhaps the wealthiest.
I am aware, Mr. Holmes, that you take a very
high line in professional matters, and that
you are prepared to work for the work`s
sake. I may tell you, however, that his
Grace has already intimated that a cheque
for five thousand pounds will be handed over
to the person who can tell him where his son
is, and another thousand to him who can name
the man, or men, who have taken him."
"It is a princely offer," said Holmes.
"Watson, I think that we shall accompany Dr.
Huxtable back to the North of England. And
now, Dr. Huxtable, when you have consumed
that milk you will kindly tell me what has
happened, when it happened, how it happened,
and, finally, what Dr. Thorneycroft
Huxtable, of the Priory School, near
Mackleton, has to do with the matter, and
why he comes three days after an event --
the state of your chin gives the date -- to
ask for my humble services."
Our visitor had consumed his milk and
biscuits. The light had come back to his
eyes and the colour to his cheeks as he set
himself with great vigour and lucidity to
explain the situation.
"I must inform you, gentlemen, that the
Priory is a preparatory school, of which I
am the founder and principal. `Huxtable`s
Sidelights on Horace` may possibly recall my
name to your memories. The Priory is,
without exception, the best and most select
preparatory school in England. Lord
Leverstoke, the Earl of Blackwater, Sir
Cathcart Soames -- they all have entrusted
their sons to me. But I felt that my school
had reached its zenith when, three weeks
ago, the Duke of Holdernesse sent Mr. James
Wilder, his secretary, with the intimation
that young Lord Saltire, ten years old, his
only son and heir, was about to be committed
to my charge. Little did I think that this
would be the prelude to the most crushing
misfortune of my life.
"On May 1st the boy arrived, that being
the beginning of the summer term. He was a
charming youth, and he soon fell into our
ways. I may tell you -- I trust that I am
not indiscreet, but half-confidences are
absurd in such a case -- that he was not
entirely happy at home. It is an open secret
that the Duke`s married life had not been a
peaceful one, and the matter had ended in a
separation by mutual consent, the Duchess
taking up her residence in the South of
France. This had occurred very shortly
before, and the boy`s sympathies are known
to have been strongly with his mother. He
moped after her departure from Holdernesse
Hall, and it was for this reason that the
Duke desired to send him to my
establishment. In a fortnight the boy was
quite at home with us, and was apparently
absolutely happy.
"He was last seen on the night of May
13th -- that is, the night of last Monday.
His room was on the second floor, and was
approached through another larger room in
which two boys were sleeping. These boys saw
and heard nothing, so that it is certain
that young Saltire did not pass out that
way. His window was open, and there is a
stout ivy plant leading to the ground. We
could trace no footmarks below, but it is
sure that this is the only possible exit.
"His absence was discovered at seven
o`clock on Tuesday morning. His bed had been
slept in. He had dressed himself fully
before going off in his usual school suit of
black Eton jacket and dark grey trousers.
There were no signs that anyone had entered
the room, and it is quite certain that
anything in the nature of cries, or a
struggle, would have been heard, since
Caunter, the elder boy in the inner room, is
a very light sleeper.
"When Lord Saltire`s disappearance was
discovered I at once called a roll of the
whole establishment, boys, masters, and
servants. It was then that we ascertained
that Lord Saltire had not been alone in his
flight. Heidegger, the German master, was
missing. His room was on the second floor,
at the farther end of the building, facing
the same way as Lord Saltire`s. His bed had
also been slept in; but he had apparently
gone away partly dressed, since his shirt
and socks were lying on the floor. He had
undoubtedly let himself down by the ivy, for
we could see the marks of his feet where he
had landed on the lawn. His bicycle was kept
in a small shed beside this lawn, and it
also was gone.
"He had been with me for two years, and
came with the best references; but he was a
silent, morose man, not very popular either
with masters or boys. No trace could be
found of the fugitives, and now on Thursday
morning we are as ignorant as we were on
Tuesday. Inquiry was, of course, made at
once at Holdernesse Hall. It is only a few
miles away, and we imagined that in some
sudden attack of home-sickness he had gone
back to his father; but nothing had been
heard of him. The Duke is greatly agitated
-- and as to me, you have seen yourselves
the state of nervous prostration to which
the suspense and the responsibility have
reduced me. Mr. Holmes, if ever you put
forward your full powers, I implore you to
do so now, for never in your life could you
have a case which is more worthy of them."
Sherlock Holmes had listened with the
utmost intentness to the statement of the
unhappy schoolmaster. His drawn brows and
the deep furrow between them showed that he
needed no exhortation to concentrate all his
attention upon a problem which, apart from
the tremendous interests involved, must
appeal so directly to his love of the
complex and the unusual. He now drew out his
note-book and jotted down one or two
memoranda.
"You have been very remiss in not coming
to me sooner," said he, severely. "You start
me on my investigation with a very serious
handicap. It is inconceivable, for example,
that this ivy and this lawn would have
yielded nothing to an expert observer."
"I am not to blame, Mr. Holmes. His Grace
was extremely desirous to avoid all public
scandal. He was afraid of his family
unhappiness being dragged before the world.
He has a deep horror of anything of the
kind."
"But there has been some official
investigation?"
"Yes, sir, and it has proved most
disappointing. An apparent clue was at once
obtained, since a boy and a young man were
reported to have been seen leaving a
neighbouring station by an early train. Only
last night we had news that the couple had
been hunted down in Liverpool, and they
prove to have no connection whatever with
the matter in hand. Then it was that in my
despair and disappointment, after a
sleepless night, I came straight to you by
the early train."
"I suppose the local investigation was
relaxed while this false clue was being
followed up?"
"It was entirely dropped."
"So that three days have been wasted. The
affair has been most deplorably handled."
"I feel it, and admit it."
"And yet the problem should be capable of
ultimate solution. I shall be very happy to
look into it. Have you been able to trace
any connection between the missing boy and
this German master?"
"None at all."
"Was he in the master`s class?"
"No; he never exchanged a word with him
so far as I know."
"That is certainly very singular. Had the
boy a bicycle?"
"No."
"Was any other bicycle missing?"
"No."
"Is that certain?"
"Quite."
"Well, now, you do not mean to seriously
suggest that this German rode off upon a
bicycle in the dead of the night bearing the
boy in his arms?"
"Certainly not."
"Then what is the theory in your mind?"
"The bicycle may have been a blind. It
may have been hidden somewhere and the pair
gone off on foot."
"Quite so; but it seems rather an absurd
blind, does it not? Were there other
bicycles in this shed?"
"Several."
"Would he not have hidden A COUPLE had he
desired to give the idea that they had gone
off upon them?"
"I suppose he would."
"Of course he would. The blind theory
won`t do. But the incident is an admirable
starting-point for an investigation. After
all, a bicycle is not an easy thing to
conceal or to destroy. One other question.
Did anyone call to see the boy on the day
before he disappeared?"
"No."
"Did he get any letters?"
"Yes; one letter."
"From whom?"
"From his father."
"Do you open the boys` letters?"
"No."
"How do you know it was from the father?"
"The coat of arms was on the envelope,
and it was addressed in the Duke`s peculiar
stiff hand. Besides, the Duke remembers
having written."
"When had he a letter before that?"
"Not for several days."
"Had he ever one from France?"
"No; never.
"You see the point of my questions, of
course. Either the boy was carried off by
force or he went of his own free will. In
the latter case you would expect that some
prompting from outside would be needed to
make so young a lad do such a thing. If he
has had no visitors, that prompting must
have come in letters. Hence I try to find
out who were his correspondents."
"I fear I cannot help you much. His only
correspondent, so far as I know, was his own
father."
"Who wrote to him on the very day of his
disappearance. Were the relations between
father and son very friendly?"
"His Grace is never very friendly with
anyone. He is completely immersed in large
public questions, and is rather inaccessible
to all ordinary emotions. But he was always
kind to the boy in his own way."
"But the sympathies of the latter were
with the mother?"
"Yes."
"Did he say so?"
"No."
"The Duke, then?"
"Good heavens, no!"
"Then how could you know?"
"I have had some confidential talks with
Mr. James Wilder, his Grace`s secretary. It
was he who gave me the information about
Lord Saltire`s feelings."
"I see. By the way, that last letter of
the Duke`s -- was it found in the boy`s room
after he was gone?"
"No; he had taken it with him. I think,
Mr. Holmes, it is time that we were leaving
for Euston."
"I will order a four-wheeler. In a
quarter of an hour we shall be at your
service. If you are telegraphing home, Mr.
Huxtable, it would be well to allow the
people in your neighbourhood to imagine that
the inquiry is still going on in Liverpool,
or wherever else that red herring led your
pack. In the meantime I will do a little
quiet work at your own doors, and perhaps
the scent is not so cold but that two old
hounds like Watson and myself may get a
sniff of it."
That evening found us in the cold,
bracing atmosphere of the Peak country, in
which Dr. Huxtable`s famous school is
situated. It was already dark when we
reached it. A card was lying on the hall
table, and the butler whispered something to
his master, who turned to us with agitation
in every heavy feature.
"The Duke is here," said he. "The Duke
and Mr. Wilder are in the study. Come,
gentlemen, and I will introduce you."
I was, of course, familiar with the
pictures of the famous statesman, but the
man himself was very different from his
representation. He was a tall and stately
person, scrupulously dressed, with a drawn,
thin face, and a nose which was grotesquely
curved and long. His complexion was of a
dead pallor, which was more startling by
contrast with a long, dwindling beard of
vivid red, which flowed down over his white
waistcoat, with his watch-chain gleaming
through its fringe. Such was the stately
presence who looked stonily at us from the
centre of Dr. Huxtable`s hearthrug. Beside
him stood a very young man, whom I
understood to be Wilder, the private
secretary. He was small, nervous, alert,
with intelligent, light-blue eyes and mobile
features. It was he who at once, in an
incisive and positive tone, opened the
conversation.
"I called this morning, Dr. Huxtable, too
late to prevent you from starting for
London. I learned that your object was to
invite Mr. Sherlock Holmes to undertake the
conduct of this case. His Grace is
surprised, Dr. Huxtable, that you should
have taken such a step without consulting
him."
"When I learned that the police had
failed ----"
"His Grace is by no means convinced that
the police have failed."
"But surely, Mr. Wilder ----"
"You are well aware, Dr. Huxtable, that
his Grace is particularly anxious to avoid
all public scandal. He prefers to take as
few people as possible into his confidence."
"The matter can be easily remedied," said
the brow-beaten doctor; "Mr. Sherlock Holmes
can return to London by the morning train."
"Hardly that, Doctor, hardly that," said
Holmes, in his blandest voice. "This
northern air is invigorating and pleasant,
so I propose to spend a few days upon your
moors, and to occupy my mind as best I may.
Whether I have the shelter of your roof or
of the village inn is, of course, for you to
decide."
I could see that the unfortunate doctor
was in the last stage of indecision, from
which he was rescued by the deep, sonorous
voice of the red-bearded Duke, which boomed
out like a dinner-gong.
"I agree with Mr. Wilder, Dr. Huxtable,
that you would have done wisely to consult
me. But since Mr. Holmes has already been
taken into your confidence, it would indeed
be absurd that we should not avail ourselves
of his services. Far from going to the inn,
Mr. Holmes, I should be pleased if you would
come and stay with me at Holdernesse Hall."
"I thank your Grace. For the purposes of
my investigation I think that it would be
wiser for me to remain at the scene of the
mystery."
"Just as you like, Mr. Holmes. Any
information which Mr. Wilder or I can give
you is, of course, at your disposal."
"It will probably be necessary for me to
see you at the Hall," said Holmes. "I would
only ask you now, sir, whether you have
formed any explanation in your own mind as
to the mysterious disappearance of your
son?"
"No, sir, I have not."
"Excuse me if I allude to that which is
painful to you, but I have no alternative.
Do you think that the Duchess had anything
to do with the matter?"
The great Minister showed perceptible
hesitation.
"I do not think so," he said, at last.
"The other most obvious explanation is
that the child has been kidnapped for the
purpose of levying ransom. You have not had
any demand of the sort?"
"No, sir."
"One more question, your Grace. I
understand that you wrote to your son upon
the day when this incident occurred."
"No; I wrote upon the day before."
"Exactly. But he received it on that
day?"
"Yes."
"Was there anything in your letter which
might have unbalanced him or induced him to
take such a step?"
"No, sir, certainly not."
"Did you post that letter yourself?"
The nobleman`s reply was interrupted by
his secretary, who broke in with some heat.
"His Grace is not in the habit of posting
letters himself," said he. "This letter was
laid with others upon the study table, and I
myself put them in the post-bag."
"You are sure this one was among them?"
"Yes; I observed it."
"How many letters did your Grace write
that day?"
"Twenty or thirty. I have a large
correspondence. But surely this is somewhat
irrelevant?"
"Not entirely," said Holmes.
"For my own part," the Duke continued, "I
have advised the police to turn their
attention to the South of France. I have
already said that I do not believe that the
Duchess would encourage so monstrous an
action, but the lad had the most
wrong-headed opinions, and it is possible
that he may have fled to her, aided and
abetted by this German. I think, Dr.
Huxtable, that we will now return to the
Hall."
I could see that there were other
questions which Holmes would have wished to
put; but the nobleman`s abrupt manner showed
that the interview was at an end. It was
evident that to his intensely aristocratic
nature this discussion of his intimate
family affairs with a stranger was most
abhorrent, and that he feared lest every
fresh question would throw a fiercer light
into the discreetly shadowed corners of his
ducal history.
When the nobleman and his secretary had
left, my friend flung himself at once with
characteristic eagerness into the
investigation.
The boy`s chamber was carefully examined,
and yielded nothing save the absolute
conviction that it was only through the
window that he could have escaped. The
German master`s room and effects gave no
further clue. In his case a trailer of ivy
had given way under his weight, and we saw
by the light of a lantern the mark on the
lawn where his heels had come down. That one
dint in the short green grass was the only
material witness left of this inexplicable
nocturnal flight.
Sherlock Holmes left the house alone, and
only returned after eleven. He had obtained
a large ordnance map of the neighbourhood,
and this he brought into my room, where he
laid it out on the bed, and, having balanced
the lamp in the middle of it, he began to
smoke over it, and occasionally to point out
objects of interest with the reeking amber
of his pipe.
"This case grows upon me, Watson," said
he. "There are decidedly some points of
interest in connection with it. In this
early stage I want you to realize those
geographical features which may have a good
deal to do with our investigation.
GRAPHIC
"Look at this map. This dark square is
the Priory School. I`ll put a pin in it.
Now, this line is the main road. You see
that it runs east and west past the school,
and you see also that there is no side road
for a mile either way. If these two folk
passed away by road it was THIS road."
"Exactly."
"By a singular and happy chance we are
able to some extent to check what passed
along this road during the night in
question. At this point, where my pipe is
now resting, a country constable was on duty
from twelve to six. It is, as you perceive,
the first cross road on the east side. This
man declares that he was not absent from his
post for an instant, and he is positive that
neither boy nor man could have gone that way
unseen. I have spoken with this policeman
to-night, and he appears to me to be a
perfectly reliable person. That blocks this
end. We have now to deal with the other.
There is an inn here, the Red Bull, the
landlady of which was ill. She had sent to
Mackleton for a doctor, but he did not
arrive until morning, being absent at
another case. The people at the inn were
alert all night, awaiting his coming, and
one or other of them seems to have
continually had an eye upon the road. They
declare that no one passed. If their
evidence is good, then we are fortunate
enough to be able to block the west, and
also to be able to say that the fugitives
did NOT use the road at all."
"But the bicycle?" I objected.
"Quite so. We will come to the bicycle
presently. To continue our reasoning: if
these people did not go by the road, they
must have traversed the country to the north
of the house or to the south of the house.
That is certain. Let us weigh the one
against the other. On the south of the house
is, as you perceive, a large district of
arable land, cut up into small fields, with
stone walls between them. There, I admit
that a bicycle is impossible. We can dismiss
the idea. We turn to the country on the
north. Here there lies a grove of trees,
marked as the `Ragged Shaw,` and on the
farther side stretches a great rolling moor,
Lower Gill Moor, extending for ten miles and
sloping gradually upwards. Here, at one side
of this wilderness, is Holdernesse Hall, ten
miles by road, but only six across the moor.
It is a peculiarly desolate plain. A few
moor farmers have small holdings, where they
rear sheep and cattle. Except these, the
plover and the curlew are the only
inhabitants until you come to the
Chesterfield high road. There is a church
there, you see, a few cottages, and an inn.
Beyond that the hills become precipitous.
Surely it is here to the north that our
quest must lie."
"But the bicycle?" I persisted.
"Well, well!" said Holmes, impatiently.
"A good cyclist does not need a high road.
The moor is intersected with paths and the
moon was at the full. Halloa! what is this?"
There was an agitated knock at the door,
and an instant afterwards Dr. Huxtable was
in the room. In his hand he held a blue
cricket-cap, with a white chevron on the
peak.
"At last we have a clue!" he cried.
"Thank Heaven! at last we are on the dear
boy`s track! It is his cap."
"Where was it found?"
"In the van of the gipsies who camped on
the moor. They left on Tuesday. To-day the
police traced them down and examined their
caravan. This was found."
"How do they account for it?"
"They shuffled and lied -- said that they
found it on the moor on Tuesday morning.
They know where he is, the rascals! Thank
goodness, they are all safe under lock and
key. Either the fear of the law or the
Duke`s purse will certainly get out of them
all that they know."
"So far, so good," said Holmes, when the
doctor had at last left the room. "It at
least bears out the theory that it is on the
side of the Lower Gill Moor that we must
hope for results. The police have really
done nothing locally, save the arrest of
these gipsies. Look here, Watson! There is a
watercourse across the moor. You see it
marked here in the map. In some parts it
widens into a morass. This is particularly
so in the region between Holdernesse Hall
and the school. It is vain to look elsewhere
for tracks in this dry weather; but at THAT
point there is certainly a chance of some
record being left. I will call you early
to-morrow morning, and you and I will try if
we can throw some little light upon the
mystery."
The day was just breaking when I woke to
find the long, thin form of Holmes by my
bedside. He was fully dressed, and had
apparently already been out.
"I have done the lawn and the bicycle
shed," said he. "I have also had a ramble
through the Ragged Shaw. Now, Watson, there
is cocoa ready in the next room. I must beg
you to hurry, for we have a great day before
us."
His eyes shone, and his cheek was flushed
with the exhilaration of the master workman
who sees his work lie ready before him. A
very different Holmes, this active, alert
man, from the introspective and pallid
dreamer of Baker Street. I felt, as I looked
upon that supple figure, alive with nervous
energy, that it was indeed a strenuous day
that awaited us.
And yet it opened in the blackest
disappointment. With high hopes we struck
across the peaty, russet moor, intersected
with a thousand sheep paths, until we came
to the broad, light-green belt which marked
the morass between us and Holdernesse.
Certainly, if the lad had gone homewards, he
must have passed this, and he could not pass
it without leaving his traces. But no sign
of him or the German could be seen. With a
darkening face my friend strode along the
margin, eagerly observant of every muddy
stain upon the mossy surface. Sheep-marks
there were in profusion, and at one place,
some miles down, cows had left their tracks.
Nothing more.
"Check number one," said Holmes, looking
gloomily over the rolling expanse of the
moor. "There is another morass down yonder
and a narrow neck between. Halloa! halloa!
halloa! what have we here?"
We had come on a small black ribbon of
pathway. In the middle of it, clearly marked
on the sodden soil, was the track of a
bicycle.
"Hurrah!" I cried. "We have it."
But Holmes was shaking his head, and his
face was puzzled and expectant rather than
joyous.
"A bicycle, certainly, but not THE
bicycle," said he. "I am familiar with
forty-two different impressions left by
tyres. This, as you perceive, is a Dunlop,
with a patch upon the outer cover.
Heidegger`s tyres were Palmer`s, leaving
longitudinal stripes. Aveling, the
mathematical master, was sure upon the
point. Therefore, it is not Heidegger`s
track."
"The boy`s, then?"
"Possibly, if we could prove a bicycle to
have been in his possession. But this we
have utterly failed to do. This track, as
you perceive, was made by a rider who was
going from the direction of the school."
"Or towards it?"
"No, no, my dear Watson. The more deeply
sunk impression is, of course, the hind
wheel, upon which the weight rests. You
perceive several places where it has passed
across and obliterated the more shallow mark
of the front one. It was undoubtedly heading
away from the school. It may or may not be
connected with our inquiry, but we will
follow it backwards before we go any
farther."
We did so, and at the end of a few
hundred yards lost the tracks as we emerged
from the boggy portion of the moor.
Following the path backwards, we picked out
another spot, where a spring trickled across
it. Here, once again, was the mark of the
bicycle, though nearly obliterated by the
hoofs of cows. After that there was no sign,
but the path ran right on into Ragged Shaw,
the wood which backed on to the school. From
this wood the cycle must have emerged.
Holmes sat down on a boulder and rested his
chin in his hands. I had smoked two
cigarettes before he moved.
"Well, well," said he, at last. "It is,
of course, possible that a cunning man might
change the tyre of his bicycle in order to
leave unfamiliar tracks. A criminal who was
capable of such a thought is a man whom I
should be proud to do business with. We will
leave this question undecided and hark back
to our morass again, for we have left a good
deal unexplored."
We continued our systematic survey of the
edge of the sodden portion of the moor, and
soon our perseverance was gloriously
rewarded. Right across the lower part of the
bog lay a miry path. Holmes gave a cry of
delight as he approached it. An impression
like a fine bundle of telegraph wires ran
down the centre of it. It was the Palmer
tyre.
"Here is Herr Heidegger, sure enough!"
cried Holmes, exultantly. "My reasoning
seems to have been pretty sound, Watson."
"I congratulate you."
"But we have a long way still to go.
Kindly walk clear of the path. Now let us
follow the trail. I fear that it will not
lead very far."
We found, however, as we advanced that
this portion of the moor is intersected with
soft patches, and, though we frequently lost
sight of the track, we always succeeded in
picking it up once more.
"Do you observe," said Holmes, "that the
rider is now undoubtedly forcing the pace?
There can be no doubt of it. Look at this
impression, where you get both tyres clear.
The one is as deep as the other. That can
only mean that the rider is throwing his
weight on to the handle-bar, as a man does
when he is sprinting. By Jove! he has had a
fall."
There was a broad, irregular smudge
covering some yards of the track. Then there
were a few footmarks, and the tyre
reappeared once more.
"A side-slip," I suggested.
Holmes held up a crumpled branch of
flowering gorse. To my horror I perceived
that the yellow blossoms were all dabbled
with crimson. On the path, too, and among
the heather were dark stains of clotted
blood.
"Bad!" said Holmes. "Bad! Stand clear,
Watson! Not an unnecessary footstep! What do
I read here? He fell wounded, he stood up,
he remounted, he proceeded. But there is no
other track. Cattle on this side path. He
was surely not gored by a bull? Impossible!
But I see no traces of anyone else. We must
push on, Watson. Surely with stains as well
as the track to guide us he cannot escape us
now."
Our search was not a very long one. The
tracks of the tyre began to curve
fantastically upon the wet and shining path.
Suddenly, as I looked ahead, the gleam of
metal caught my eye from amid the thick
gorse bushes. Out of them we dragged a
bicycle, Palmer-tyred, one pedal bent, and
the whole front of it horribly smeared and
slobbered with blood. On the other side of
the bushes a shoe was projecting. We ran
round, and there lay the unfortunate rider.
He was a tall man, full bearded, with
spectacles, one glass of which had been
knocked out. The cause of his death was a
frightful blow upon the head, which had
crushed in part of his skull. That he could
have gone on after receiving such an injury
said much for the vitality and courage of
the man. He wore shoes, but no socks, and
his open coat disclosed a night-shirt
beneath it. It was undoubtedly the German
master.
Holmes turned the body over reverently,
and examined it with great attention. He
then sat in deep thought for a time, and I
could see by his ruffled brow that this grim
discovery had not, in his opinion, advanced
us much in our inquiry.
"It is a little difficult to know what to
do, Watson," said he, at last. "My own
inclinations are to push this inquiry on,
for we have already lost so much time that
we cannot afford to waste another hour. On
the other hand, we are bound to inform the
police of the discovery, and to see that
this poor fellow`s body is looked after."
"I could take a note back."
"But I need your company and assistance.
Wait a bit! There is a fellow cutting peat
up yonder. Bring him over here, and he will
guide the police."
I brought the peasant across, and Holmes
dispatched the frightened man with a note to
Dr. Huxtable.
"Now, Watson," said he, "we have picked
up two clues this morning. One is the
bicycle with the Palmer tyre, and we see
what that has led to. The other is the
bicycle with the patched Dunlop. Before we
start to investigate that, let us try to
realize what we DO know so as to make the
most of it, and to separate the essential
from the accidental."
"First of all I wish to impress upon you
that the boy certainly left of his own free
will. He got down from his window and he
went off, either alone or with someone. That
is sure."
I assented.
"Well, now, let us turn to this
unfortunate German master. The boy was fully
dressed when he fled. Therefore, he foresaw
what he would do. But the German went
without his socks. He certainly acted on
very short notice."
"Undoubtedly."
"Why did he go? Because, from his bedroom
window, he saw the flight of the boy.
Because he wished to overtake him and bring
him back. He seized his bicycle, pursued the
lad, and in pursuing him met his death."
"So it would seem."
"Now I come to the critical part of my
argument. The natural action of a man in
pursuing a little boy would be to run after
him. He would know that he could overtake
him. But the German does not do so. He turns
to his bicycle. I am told that he was an
excellent cyclist. He would not do this if
he did not see that the boy had some swift
means of escape."
"The other bicycle."
"Let us continue our reconstruction. He
meets his death five miles from the school
-- not by a bullet, mark you, which even a
lad might conceivably discharge, but by a
savage blow dealt by a vigorous arm. The
lad, then, HAD a companion in his flight.
And the flight was a swift one, since it
took five miles before an expert cyclist
could overtake them. Yet we survey the
ground round the scene of the tragedy. What
do we find? A few cattle tracks, nothing
more. I took a wide sweep round, and there
is no path within fifty yards. Another
cyclist could have had nothing to do with
the actual murder. Nor were there any human
footmarks."
"Holmes," I cried, "this is impossible."
"Admirable!" he said. "A most
illuminating remark. It IS impossible as I
state it, and therefore I must in some
respect have stated it wrong. Yet you saw
for yourself. Can you suggest any fallacy?"
"He could not have fractured his skull in
a fall?"
"In a morass, Watson?"
"I am at my wit`s end."
"Tut, tut; we have solved some worse
problems. At least we have plenty of
material, if we can only use it. Come, then,
and, having exhausted the Palmer, let us see
what the Dunlop with the patched cover has
to offer us."
We picked up the track and followed it
onwards for some distance; but soon the moor
rose into a long, heather-tufted curve, and
we left the watercourse behind us. No
further help from tracks could be hoped for.
At the spot where we saw the last of the
Dunlop tyre it might equally have led to
Holdernesse Hall, the stately towers of
which rose some miles to our left, or to a
low, grey village which lay in front of us,
and marked the position of the Chesterfield
high road.
As we approached the forbidding and
squalid inn, with the sign of a game-cock
above the door, Holmes gave a sudden groan
and clutched me by the shoulder to save
himself from falling. He had had one of
those violent strains of the ankle which
leave a man helpless. With difficulty he
limped up to the door, where a squat, dark,
elderly man was smoking a black clay pipe.
"How are you, Mr. Reuben Hayes?" said
Holmes.
"Who are you, and how do you get my name
so pat?" the countryman answered, with a
suspicious flash of a pair of cunning eyes.
"Well, it`s printed on the board above
your head. It`s easy to see a man who is
master of his own house. I suppose you
haven`t such a thing as a carriage in your
stables?"
"No; I have not."
"I can hardly put my foot to the ground."
"Don`t put it to the ground."
"But I can`t walk."
"Well, then, hop."
Mr. Reuben Hayes`s manner was far from
gracious, but Holmes took it with admirable
good-humour.
"Look here, my man," said he. "This is
really rather an awkward fix for me. I don`t
mind how I get on."
"Neither do I," said the morose landlord.
"The matter is very important. I would
offer you a sovereign for the use of a
bicycle."
The landlord pricked up his ears.
"Where do you want to go?"
"To Holdernesse Hall."
"Pals of the Dook, I suppose?" said the
landlord, surveying our mud-stained garments
with ironical eyes.
Holmes laughed good-naturedly.
"He`ll be glad to see us, anyhow."
"Why?"
"Because we bring him news of his lost
son."
The landlord gave a very visible start.
"What, you`re on his track?"
"He has been heard of in Liverpool. They
expect to get him every hour."
Again a swift change passed over the
heavy, unshaven face. His manner was
suddenly genial.
"I`ve less reason to wish the Dook well
than most men," said he, "for I was his head
coachman once, and cruel bad he treated me.
It was him that sacked me without a
character on the word of a lying
corn-chandler. But I`m glad to hear that the
young lord was heard of in Liverpool, and
I`ll help you to take the news to the Hall."
"Thank you," said Holmes. "We`ll have
some food first. Then you can bring round
the bicycle."
"I haven`t got a bicycle."
Holmes held up a sovereign.
"I tell you, man, that I haven`t got one.
I`ll let you have two horses as far as the
Hall."
"Well, well," said Holmes, "we`ll talk
about it when we`ve had something to eat."
When we were left alone in the
stone-flagged kitchen it was astonishing how
rapidly that sprained ankle recovered. It
was nearly nightfall, and we had eaten
nothing since early morning, so that we
spent some time over our meal. Holmes was
lost in thought, and once or twice he walked
over to the window and stared earnestly out.
It opened on to a squalid courtyard. In the
far corner was a smithy, where a grimy lad
was at work. On the other side were the
stables. Holmes had sat down again after one
of these excursions, when he suddenly sprang
out of his chair with a loud exclamation.
"By Heaven, Watson, I believe that I`ve
got it!" he cried. "Yes, yes, it must be so.
Watson, do you remember seeing any
cow-tracks to-day?"
"Yes, several."
"Where?"
"Well, everywhere. They were at the
morass, and again on the path, and again
near where poor Heidegger met his death."
"Exactly. Well, now, Watson, how many
cows did you see on the moor?"
"I don`t remember seeing any."
"Strange, Watson, that we should see
tracks all along our line, but never a cow
on the whole moor; very strange, Watson,
eh?"
"Yes, it is strange."
"Now, Watson, make an effort; throw your
mind back! Can you see those tracks upon the
path?"
"Yes, I can."
"Can you recall that the tracks were
sometimes like that, Watson" -- he arranged
a number of bread-crumbs in this fashion --
: : : : : -- "and sometimes like this" -- :
. : . : . : . -- "and occasionally like
this" -- . ` . ` . ` . "Can you remember
that?"
"No, I cannot."
"But I can. I could swear to it. However,
we will go back at our leisure and verify
it. What a blind beetle I have been not to
draw my conclusion!"
"And what is your conclusion?"
"Only that it is a remarkable cow which
walks, canters, and gallops. By George,
Watson, it was no brain of a country
publican that thought out such a blind as
that! The coast seems to be clear, save for
that lad in the smithy. Let us slip out and
see what we can see."
There were two rough-haired, unkempt
horses in the tumble-down stable. Holmes
raised the hind leg of one of them and
laughed aloud.
"Old shoes, but newly shod -- old shoes,
but new nails. This case deserves to be a
classic. Let us go across to the smithy."
The lad continued his work without
regarding us. I saw Holmes`s eye darting to
right and left among the litter of iron and
wood which was scattered about the floor.
Suddenly, however, we heard a step behind
us, and there was the landlord, his heavy
eyebrows drawn over his savage eyes, his
swarthy features convulsed with passion. He
held a short, metal-headed stick in his
hand, and he advanced in so menacing a
fashion that I was right glad to feel the
revolver in my pocket.
"You infernal spies!" the man cried.
"What are you doing there?"
"Why, Mr. Reuben Hayes," said Holmes,
coolly, "one might think that you were
afraid of our finding something out."
The man mastered himself with a violent
effort, and his grim mouth loosened into a
false laugh, which was more menacing than
his frown.
"You`re welcome to all you can find out
in my smithy," said he. "But look here,
mister, I don`t care for folk poking about
my place without my leave, so the sooner you
pay your score and get out of this the
better I shall be pleased."
"All right, Mr. Hayes -- no harm meant,"
said Holmes. "We have been having a look at
your horses, but I think I`ll walk after
all. It`s not far, I believe."
"Not more than two miles to the Hall
gates. That`s the road to the left." He
watched us with sullen eyes until we had
left his premises.
We did not go very far along the road,
for Holmes stopped the instant that the
curve hid us from the landlord`s view.
"We were warm, as the children say, at
that inn," said he. "I seem to grow colder
every step that I take away from it. No, no;
I can`t possibly leave it."
"I am convinced," said I, "that this
Reuben Hayes knows all about it. A more
self-evident villain I never saw."
"Oh! he impressed you in that way, did
he? There are the horses, there is the
smithy. Yes, it is an interesting place,
this Fighting Cock. I think we shall have
another look at it in an unobtrusive way."
A long, sloping hillside, dotted with
grey limestone boulders, stretched behind
us. We had turned off the road, and were
making our way up the hill, when, looking in
the direction of Holdernesse Hall, I saw a
cyclist coming swiftly along.
"Get down, Watson!" cried Holmes, with a
heavy hand upon my shoulder. We had hardly
sunk from view when the man flew past us on
the road. Amid a rolling cloud of dust I
caught a glimpse of a pale, agitated face --
a face with horror in every lineament, the
mouth open, the eyes staring wildly in
front. It was like some strange caricature
of the dapper James Wilder whom we had seen
the night before.
"The Duke`s secretary!" cried Holmes.
"Come, Watson, let us see what he does."
We scrambled from rock to rock until in a
few moments we had made our way to a point
from which we could see the front door of
the inn. Wilder`s bicycle was leaning
against the wall beside it. No one was
moving about the house, nor could we catch a
glimpse of any faces at the windows. Slowly
the twilight crept down as the sun sank
behind the high towers of Holdernesse Hall.
Then in the gloom we saw the two side-lamps
of a trap light up in the stable yard of the
inn, and shortly afterwards heard the rattle
of hoofs, as it wheeled out into the road
and tore off at a furious pace in the
direction of Chesterfield.
"What do you make of that, Watson?"
Holmes whispered.
"It looks like a flight."
"A single man in a dog-cart, so far as I
could see. Well, it certainly was not Mr.
James Wilder, for there he is at the door."
A red square of light had sprung out of
the darkness. In the middle of it was the
black figure of the secretary, his head
advanced, peering out into the night. It was
evident that he was expecting someone. Then
at last there were steps in the road, a
second figure was visible for an instant
against the light, the door shut, and all
was black once more. Five minutes later a
lamp was lit in a room upon the first floor.
"It seems to be a curious class of custom
that is done by the Fighting Cock," said
Holmes.
"The bar is on the other side."
"Quite so. These are what one may call
the private guests. Now, what in the world
is Mr. James Wilder doing in that den at
this hour of night, and who is the companion
who comes to meet him there? Come, Watson,
we must really take a risk and try to
investigate this a little more closely."
Together we stole down to the road and
crept across to the door of the inn. The
bicycle still leaned against the wall.
Holmes struck a match and held it to the
back wheel, and I heard him chuckle as the
light fell upon a patched Dunlop tyre. Up
above us was the lighted window.
"I must have a peep through that, Watson.
If you bend your back and support yourself
upon the wall, I think that I can manage."
An instant later his feet were on my
shoulders. But he was hardly up before he
was down again.
"Come, my friend," said he, "our day`s
work has been quite long enough. I think
that we have gathered all that we can. It`s
a long walk to the school, and the sooner we
get started the better."
He hardly opened his lips during that
weary trudge across the moor, nor would he
enter the school when he reached it, but
went on to Mackleton Station, whence he
could send some telegrams. Late at night I
heard him consoling Dr. Huxtable, prostrated
by the tragedy of his master`s death, and
later still he entered my room as alert and
vigorous as he had been when he started in
the morning. "All goes well, my friend,"
said he. "I promise that before to-morrow
evening we shall have reached the solution
of the mystery."
At eleven o`clock next morning my friend
and I were walking up the famous yew avenue
of Holdernesse Hall. We were ushered through
the magnificent Elizabethan doorway and into
his Grace`s study. There we found Mr. James
Wilder, demure and courtly, but with some
trace of that wild terror of the night
before still lurking in his furtive eyes and
in his twitching features.
"You have come to see his Grace? I am
sorry; but the fact is that the Duke is far
from well. He has been very much upset by
the tragic news. We received a telegram from
Dr. Huxtable yesterday afternoon, which told
us of your discovery."
"I must see the Duke, Mr. Wilder."
"But he is in his room."
"Then I must go to his room."
"I believe he is in his bed."
"I will see him there."
Holmes`s cold and inexorable manner
showed the secretary that it was useless to
argue with him.
"Very good, Mr. Holmes; I will tell him
that you are here."
After half an hour`s delay the great
nobleman appeared. His face was more
cadaverous than ever, his shoulders had
rounded, and he seemed to me to be an
altogether older man than he had been the
morning before. He greeted us with a stately
courtesy and seated himself at his desk, his
red beard streaming down on to the table.
"Well, Mr. Holmes?" said he.
But my friend`s eyes were fixed upon the
secretary, who stood by his master`s chair.
"I think, your Grace, that I could speak
more freely in Mr. Wilder`s absence."
The man turned a shade paler and cast a
malignant glance at Holmes.
"If your Grace wishes ----"
"Yes, yes; you had better go. Now, Mr.
Holmes, what have you to say?"
My friend waited until the door had
closed behind the retreating secretary.
"The fact is, your Grace," said he, "that
my colleague, Dr. Watson, and myself had an
assurance from Dr. Huxtable that a reward
had been offered in this case. I should like
to have this confirmed from your own lips."
"Certainly, Mr. Holmes."
"It amounted, if I am correctly informed,
to five thousand pounds to anyone who will
tell you where your son is?"
"Exactly."
"And another thousand to the man who will
name the person or persons who keep him in
custody?"
"Exactly."
"Under the latter heading is included, no
doubt, not only those who may have taken him
away, but also those who conspire to keep
him in his present position?"
"Yes, yes," cried the Duke, impatiently.
"If you do your work well, Mr. Sherlock
Holmes, you will have no reason to complain
of niggardly treatment."
My friend rubbed his thin hands together
with an appearance of avidity which was a
surprise to me, who knew his frugal tastes.
"I fancy that I see your Grace`s
cheque-book upon the table," said he. "I
should be glad if you would make me out a
cheque for six thousand pounds. It would be
as well, perhaps, for you to cross it. The
Capital and Counties Bank, Oxford Street
branch, are my agents."
His Grace sat very stern and upright in
his chair, and looked stonily at my friend.
"Is this a joke, Mr. Holmes? It is hardly
a subject for pleasantry."
"Not at all, your Grace. I was never more
earnest in my life."
"What do you mean, then?"
"I mean that I have earned the reward. I
know where your son is, and I know some, at
least, of those who are holding him."
The Duke`s beard had turned more
aggressively red than ever against his
ghastly white face.
"Where is he?" he gasped.
"He is, or was last night, at the
Fighting Cock Inn, about two miles from your
park gate."
The Duke fell back in his chair.
"And whom do you accuse?"
Sherlock Holmes`s answer was an
astounding one. He stepped swiftly forward
and touched the Duke upon the shoulder.
"I accuse YOU," said he. "And now, your
Grace, I`ll trouble you for that cheque."
Never shall I forget the Duke`s
appearance as he sprang up and clawed with
his hands like one who is sinking into an
abyss. Then, with an extraordinary effort of
aristocratic self-command, he sat down and
sank his face in his hands. It was some
minutes before he spoke.
"How much do you know?" he asked at last,
without raising his head.
"I saw you together last night."
"Does anyone else besides your friend
know?"
"I have spoken to no one."
The Duke took a pen in his quivering
fingers and opened his cheque-book.
"I shall be as good as my word, Mr.
Holmes. I am about to write your cheque,
however unwelcome the information which you
have gained may be to me. When the offer was
first made I little thought the turn which
events might take. But you and your friend
are men of discretion, Mr. Holmes?"
"I hardly understand your Grace."
"I must put it plainly, Mr. Holmes. If
only you two know of this incident, there is
no reason why it should go any farther. I
think twelve thousand pounds is the sum that
I owe you, is it not?"
But Holmes smiled and shook his head.
"I fear, your Grace, that matters can
hardly be arranged so easily. There is the
death of this schoolmaster to be accounted
for."
"But James knew nothing of that. You
cannot hold him responsible for that. It was
the work of this brutal ruffian whom he had
the misfortune to employ."
"I must take the view, your Grace, that
when a man embarks upon a crime he is
morally guilty of any other crime which may
spring from it."
"Morally, Mr. Holmes. No doubt you are
right. But surely not in the eyes of the
law. A man cannot be condemned for a murder
at which he was not present, and which he
loathes and abhors as much as you do. The
instant that he heard of it he made a
complete confession to me, so filled was he
with horror and remorse. He lost not an hour
in breaking entirely with the murderer. Oh,
Mr. Holmes, you must save him -- you must
save him! I tell you that you must save
him!" The Duke had dropped the last attempt
at self-command, and was pacing the room
with a convulsed face and with his clenched
hands raving in the air. At last he mastered
himself and sat down once more at his desk.
"I appreciate your conduct in coming here
before you spoke to anyone else," said he.
"At least, we may take counsel how far we
can minimize this hideous scandal."
"Exactly," said Holmes. "I think, your
Grace, that this can only be done by
absolute and complete frankness between us.
I am disposed to help your Grace to the best
of my ability; but in order to do so I must
understand to the last detail how the matter
stands. I realize that your words applied to
Mr. James Wilder, and that he is not the
murderer."
"No; the murderer has escaped."
Sherlock Holmes smiled demurely.
"Your Grace can hardly have heard of any
small reputation which I possess, or you
would not imagine that it is so easy to
escape me. Mr. Reuben Hayes was arrested at
Chesterfield on my information at eleven
o`clock last night. I had a telegram from
the head of the local police before I left
the school this morning."
The Duke leaned back in his chair and
stared with amazement at my friend.
"You seem to have powers that are hardly
human," said he. "So Reuben Hayes is taken?
I am right glad to hear it, if it will not
react upon the fate of James."
"Your secretary?"
"No, sir; my son."
It was Holmes`s turn to look astonished.
"I confess that this is entirely new to
me, your Grace. I must beg you to be more
explicit."
"I will conceal nothing from you. I agree
with you that complete frankness, however
painful it may be to me, is the best policy
in this desperate situation to which James`s
folly and jealousy have reduced us. When I
was a very young man, Mr. Holmes, I loved
with such a love as comes only once in a
lifetime. I offered the lady marriage, but
she refused it on the grounds that such a
match might mar my career. Had she lived I
would certainly never have married anyone
else. She died, and left this one child,
whom for her sake I have cherished and cared
for. I could not acknowledge the paternity
to the world; but I gave him the best of
educations, and since he came to manhood I
have kept him near my person. He surprised
my secret, and has presumed ever since upon
the claim which he has upon me and upon his
power of provoking a scandal, which would be
abhorrent to me. His presence had something
to do with the unhappy issue of my marriage.
Above all, he hated my young legitimate heir
from the first with a persistent hatred. You
may well ask me why, under these
circumstances, I still kept James under my
roof. I answer that it was because I could
see his mother`s face in his, and that for
her dear sake there was no end to my
long-suffering. All her pretty ways, too --
there was not one of them which he could not
suggest and bring back to my memory. I COULD
not send him away. But I feared so much lest
he should do Arthur -- that is, Lord Saltire
-- a mischief that I dispatched him for
safety to Dr. Huxtable`s school.
"James came into contact with this fellow
Hayes because the man was a tenant of mine,
and James acted as agent. The fellow was a
rascal from the beginning; but in some
extraordinary way James became intimate with
him. He had always a taste for low company.
When James determined to kidnap Lord Saltire
it was of this man`s service that he availed
himself. You remember that I wrote to Arthur
upon that last day. Well, James opened the
letter and inserted a note asking Arthur to
meet him in a little wood called the Ragged
Shaw, which is near to the school. He used
the Duchess`s name, and in that way got the
boy to come. That evening James bicycled
over -- I am telling you what he has himself
confessed to me -- and he told Arthur, whom
he met in the wood, that his mother longed
to see him, that she was awaiting him on the
moor, and that if he would come back into
the wood at midnight he would find a man
with a horse, who would take him to her.
Poor Arthur fell into the trap. He came to
the appointment and found this fellow Hayes
with a led pony. Arthur mounted, and they
set off together. It appears -- though this
James only heard yesterday -- that they were
pursued, that Hayes struck the pursuer with
his stick, and that the man died of his
injuries. Hayes brought Arthur to his
public-house, the Fighting Cock, where he
was confined in an upper room, under the
care of Mrs. Hayes, who is a kindly woman,
but entirely under the control of her brutal
husband.
"Well, Mr. Holmes, that was the state of
affairs when I first saw you two days ago. I
had no more idea of the truth than you. You
will ask me what was James`s motive in doing
such a deed. I answer that there was a great
deal which was unreasoning and fanatical in
the hatred which he bore my heir. In his
view he should himself have been heir of all
my estates, and he deeply resented those
social laws which made it impossible. At the
same time he had a definite motive also. He
was eager that I should break the entail,
and he was of opinion that it lay in my
power to do so. He intended to make a
bargain with me -- to restore Arthur if I
would break the entail, and so make it
possible for the estate to be left to him by
will. He knew well that I should never
willingly invoke the aid of the police
against him. I say that he would have
proposed such a bargain to me, but he did
not actually do so, for events moved too
quickly for him, and he had not time to put
his plans into practice.
"What brought all his wicked scheme to
wreck was your discovery of this man
Heidegger`s dead body. James was seized with
horror at the news. It came to us yesterday
as we sat together in this study. Dr.
Huxtable had sent a telegram. James was so
overwhelmed with grief and agitation that my
suspicions, which had never been entirely
absent, rose instantly to a certainty, and I
taxed him with the deed. He made a complete
voluntary confession. Then he implored me to
keep his secret for three days longer, so as
to give his wretched accomplice a chance of
saving his guilty life. I yielded -- as I
have always yielded -- to his prayers, and
instantly James hurried off to the Fighting
Cock to warn Hayes and give him the means of
flight. I could not go there by daylight
without provoking comment, but as soon as
night fell I hurried off to see my dear
Arthur. I found him safe and well, but
horrified beyond expression by the dreadful
deed he had witnessed. In deference to my
promise, and much against my will, I
consented to leave him there for three days
under the charge of Mrs. Hayes, since it was
evident that it was impossible to inform the
police where he was without telling them
also who was the murderer, and I could not
see how that murderer could be punished
without ruin to my unfortunate James. You
asked for frankness, Mr. Holmes, and I have
taken you at your word, for I have now told
you everything without an attempt at
circumlocution or concealment. Do you in
turn be as frank with me."
"I will," said Holmes. "In the first
place, your Grace, I am bound to tell you
that you have placed yourself in a most
serious position in the eyes of the law. You
have condoned a felony and you have aided
the escape of a murderer; for I cannot doubt
that any money which was taken by James
Wilder to aid his accomplice in his flight
came from your Grace`s purse."
The Duke bowed his assent.
"This is indeed a most serious matter.
Even more culpable in my opinion, your
Grace, is your attitude towards your younger
son. You leave him in this den for three
days."
"Under solemn promises ----"
"What are promises to such people as
these? You have no guarantee that he will
not be spirited away again. To humour your
guilty elder son you have exposed your
innocent younger son to imminent and
unnecessary danger. It was a most
unjustifiable action."
The proud lord of Holdernesse was not
accustomed to be so rated in his own ducal
hall. The blood flushed into his high
forehead, but his conscience held him dumb.
"I will help you, but on one condition
only. It is that you ring for the footman
and let me give such orders as I like."
Without a word the Duke pressed the
electric bell. A servant entered.
"You will be glad to hear," said Holmes,
"that your young master is found. It is the
Duke`s desire that the carriage shall go at
once to the Fighting Cock Inn to bring Lord
Saltire home.
"Now," said Holmes, when the rejoicing
lackey had disappeared, "having secured the
future, we can afford to be more lenient
with the past. I am not in an official
position, and there is no reason, so long as
the ends of justice are served, why I should
disclose all that I know. As to Hayes I say
nothing. The gallows awaits him, and I would
do nothing to save him from it. What he will
divulge I cannot tell, but I have no doubt
that your Grace could make him understand
that it is to his interest to be silent.
From the police point of view he will have
kidnapped the boy for the purpose of ransom.
If they do not themselves find it out I see
no reason why I should prompt them to take a
broader point of view. I would warn your
Grace, however, that the continued presence
of Mr. James Wilder in your household can
only lead to misfortune."
"I understand that, Mr. Holmes, and it is
already settled that he shall leave me for
ever and go to seek his fortune in
Australia."
"In that case, your Grace, since you have
yourself stated that any unhappiness in your
married life was caused by his presence, I
would suggest that you make such amends as
you can to the Duchess, and that you try to
resume those relations which have been so
unhappily interrupted."
"That also I have arranged, Mr. Holmes. I
wrote to the Duchess this morning."
"In that case," said Holmes, rising, "I
think that my friend and I can congratulate
ourselves upon several most happy results
from our little visit to the North. There is
one other small point upon which I desire
some light. This fellow Hayes had shod his
horses with shoes which counterfeited the
tracks of cows. Was it from Mr. Wilder that
he learned so extraordinary a device?"
The Duke stood in thought for a moment,
with a look of intense surprise on his face.
Then he opened a door and showed us into a
large room furnished as a museum. He led the
way to a glass case in a corner, and pointed
to the inscription.
"These shoes," it ran, "were dug up in
the moat of Holdernesse Hall. They are for
the use of horses; but they are shaped below
with a cloven foot of iron, so as to throw
pursuers off the track. They are supposed to
have belonged to some of the marauding
Barons of Holdernesse in the Middle Ages."
Holmes opened the case, and moistening
his finger he passed it along the shoe. A
thin film of recent mud was left upon his
skin.
"Thank you," said he, as he replaced the
glass. "It is the second most interesting
object that I have seen in the North."
"And the first?"
Holmes folded up his cheque and placed it
carefully in his note-book. "I am a poor
man," said he, as he patted it
affectionately and thrust it into the depths
of his inner pocket.
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VI. The
Adventure of Black Peter.
I HAVE never known my friend to be in better form, both mental and
physical, than in the year `95. His
increasing fame had brought with it an
immense practice, and I should be guilty of
an indiscretion if I were even to hint at
the identity of some of the illustrious
clients who crossed our humble threshold in
Baker Street. Holmes, however, like all
great artists, lived for his art`s sake,
and, save in the case of the Duke of
Holdernesse, I have seldom known him claim
any large reward for his inestimable
services. So unworldly was he -- or so
capricious -- that he frequently refused his
help to the powerful and wealthy where the
problem made no appeal to his sympathies,
while he would devote weeks of most intense
application to the affairs of some humble
client whose case presented those strange
and dramatic qualities which appealed to his
imagination and challenged his ingenuity.
In this memorable year `95 a curious and
incongruous succession of cases had engaged
his attention, ranging from his famous
investigation of the sudden death of
Cardinal Tosca -- an inquiry which was
carried out by him at the express desire of
His Holiness the Pope -- down to his arrest
of Wilson, the notorious canary-trainer,
which removed a plague-spot from the
East-End of London. Close on the heels of
these two famous cases came the tragedy of
Woodman`s Lee, and the very obscure
circumstances which surrounded the death of
Captain Peter Carey. No record of the doings
of Mr. Sherlock Holmes would be complete
which did not include some account of this
very unusual affair.
During the first week of July my friend
had been absent so often and so long from
our lodgings that I knew he had something on
hand. The fact that several rough-looking
men called during that time and inquired for
Captain Basil made me understand that Holmes
was working somewhere under one of the
numerous disguises and names with which he
concealed his own formidable identity. He
had at least five small refuges in different
parts of London in which he was able to
change his personality. He said nothing of
his business to me, and it was not my habit
to force a confidence. The first positive
sign which he gave me of the direction which
his investigation was taking was an
extraordinary one. He had gone out before
breakfast, and I had sat down to mine, when
he strode into the room, his hat upon his
head and a huge barbed-headed spear tucked
like an umbrella under his arm.
"Good gracious, Holmes!" I cried. "You
don`t mean to say that you have been walking
about London with that thing?"
"I drove to the butcher`s and back."
"The butcher`s?"
"And I return with an excellent appetite.
There can be no question, my dear Watson, of
the value of exercise before breakfast. But
I am prepared to bet that you will not guess
the form that my exercise has taken."
"I will not attempt it."
He chuckled as he poured out the coffee.
"If you could have looked into
Allardyce`s back shop you would have seen a
dead pig swung from a hook in the ceiling,
and a gentleman in his shirt-sleeves
furiously stabbing at it with this weapon. I
was that energetic person, and I have
satisfied myself that by no exertion of my
strength can I transfix the pig with a
single blow. Perhaps you would care to try?"
"Not for worlds. But why were you doing
this?"
"Because it seemed to me to have an
indirect bearing upon the mystery of
Woodman`s Lee. Ah, Hopkins, I got your wire
last night, and I have been expecting you.
Come and join us."
Our visitor was an exceedingly alert man,
thirty years of age, dressed in a quiet
tweed suit, but retaining the erect bearing
of one who was accustomed to official
uniform. I recognised him at once as Stanley
Hopkins, a young police inspector for whose
future Holmes had high hopes, while he in
turn professed the admiration and respect of
a pupil for the scientific methods of the
famous amateur. Hopkins`s brow was clouded,
and he sat down with an air of deep
dejection.
"No, thank you, sir. I breakfasted before
I came round. I spent the night in town, for
I came up yesterday to report."
"And what had you to report?"
"Failure, sir; absolute failure."
"You have made no progress?"
"None."
"Dear me! I must have a look at the
matter."
"I wish to heavens that you would, Mr.
Holmes. It`s my first big chance, and I am
at my wit`s end. For goodness` sake come
down and lend me a hand."
"Well, well, it just happens that I have
already read all the available evidence,
including the report of the inquest, with
some care. By the way, what do you make of
that tobacco-pouch found on the scene of the
crime? Is there no clue there?"
Hopkins looked surprised.
"It was the man`s own pouch, sir. His
initials were inside it. And it was of
seal-skin -- and he an old sealer."
"But he had no pipe."
"No, sir, we could find no pipe; indeed,
he smoked very little. And yet he might have
kept some tobacco for his friends."
"No doubt. I only mention it because if I
had been handling the case I should have
been inclined to make that the
starting-point of my investigation. However,
my friend Dr. Watson knows nothing of this
matter, and I should be none the worse for
hearing the sequence of events once more.
Just give us some short sketch of the
essentials."
Stanley Hopkins drew a slip of paper from
his pocket.
"I have a few dates here which will give
you the career of the dead man, Captain
Peter Carey. He was born in `45 -- fifty
years of age. He was a most daring and
successful seal and whale fisher. In 1883 he
commanded the steam sealer SEA UNICORN, of
Dundee. He had then had several successful
voyages in succession, and in the following
year, 1884, he retired. After that he
travelled for some years, and finally he
bought a small place called Woodman`s Lee,
near Forest Row, in Sussex. There he has
lived for six years, and there he died just
a week ago to-day.
"There were some most singular points
about the man. In ordinary life he was a
strict Puritan -- a silent, gloomy fellow.
His household consisted of his wife, his
daughter, aged twenty, and two female
servants. These last were continually
changing, for it was never a very cheery
situation, and sometimes it became past all
bearing. The man was an intermittent
drunkard, and when he had the fit on him he
was a perfect fiend. He has been known to
drive his wife and his daughter out of doors
in the middle of the night, and flog them
through the park until the whole village
outside the gates was aroused by their
screams.
"He was summoned once for a savage
assault upon the old vicar, who had called
upon him to remonstrate with him upon his
conduct. In short, Mr. Holmes, you would go
far before you found a more dangerous man
than Peter Carey, and I have heard that he
bore the same character when he commanded
his ship. He was known in the trade as Black
Peter, and the name was given him, not only
on account of his swarthy features and the
colour of his huge beard, but for the
humours which were the terror of all around
him. I need not say that he was loathed and
avoided by every one of his neighbours, and
that I have not heard one single word of
sorrow about his terrible end.
"You must have read in the account of the
inquest about the man`s cabin, Mr. Holmes;
but perhaps your friend here has not heard
of it. He had built himself a wooden
outhouse -- he always called it `the cabin`
-- a few hundred yards from his house, and
it was here that he slept every night. It
was a little, single-roomed hut, sixteen
feet by ten. He kept the key in his pocket,
made his own bed, cleaned it himself, and
allowed no other foot to cross the
threshold. There are small windows on each
side, which were covered by curtains and
never opened. One of these windows was
turned towards the high road, and when the
light burned in it at night the folk used to
point it out to each other and wonder what
Black Peter was doing in there. That`s the
window, Mr. Holmes, which gave us one of the
few bits of positive evidence that came out
at the inquest.
"You remember that a stonemason, named
Slater, walking from Forest Row about one
o`clock in the morning -- two days before
the murder -- stopped as he passed the
grounds and looked at the square of light
still shining among the trees. He swears
that the shadow of a man`s head turned
sideways was clearly visible on the blind,
and that this shadow was certainly not that
of Peter Carey, whom he knew well. It was
that of a bearded man, but the beard was
short and bristled forwards in a way very
different from that of the captain. So he
says, but he had been two hours in the
public-house, and it is some distance from
the road to the window. Besides, this refers
to the Monday, and the crime was done upon
the Wednesday.
"On the Tuesday Peter Carey was in one of
his blackest moods, flushed with drink and
as savage as a dangerous wild beast. He
roamed about the house, and the women ran
for it when they heard him coming. Late in
the evening he went down to his own hut.
About two o`clock the following morning his
daughter, who slept with her window open,
heard a most fearful yell from that
direction, but it was no unusual thing for
him to bawl and shout when he was in drink,
so no notice was taken. On rising at seven
one of the maids noticed that the door of
the hut was open, but so great was the
terror which the man caused that it was
midday before anyone would venture down to
see what had become of him. Peeping into the
open door they saw a sight which sent them
flying with white faces into the village.
Within an hour I was on the spot and had
taken over the case.
"Well, I have fairly steady nerves, as
you know, Mr. Holmes, but I give you my word
that I got a shake when I put my head into
that little house. It was droning like a
harmonium with the flies and bluebottles,
and the floor and walls were like a
slaughter-house. He had called it a cabin,
and a cabin it was sure enough, for you
would have thought that you were in a ship.
There was a bunk at one end, a sea-chest,
maps and charts, a picture of the SEA
UNICORN, a line of log-books on a shelf, all
exactly as one would expect to find it in a
captain`s room. And there in the middle of
it was the man himself, his face twisted
like a lost soul in torment, and his great
brindled beard stuck upwards in his agony.
Right through his broad breast a steel
harpoon had been driven, and it had sunk
deep into the wood of the wall behind him.
He was pinned like a beetle on a card. Of
course, he was quite dead, and had been so
from the instant that he had uttered that
last yell of agony.
"I know your methods, sir, and I applied
them. Before I permitted anything to be
moved I examined most carefully the ground
outside, and also the floor of the room.
There were no footmarks."
"Meaning that you saw none?"
"I assure you, sir, that there were
none."
"My good Hopkins, I have investigated
many crimes, but I have never yet seen one
which was committed by a flying creature. As
long as the criminal remains upon two legs
so long must there be some indentation, some
abrasion, some trifling displacement which
can be detected by the scientific searcher.
It is incredible that this blood-bespattered
room contained no trace which could have
aided us. I understand, however, from the
inquest that there were some objects which
you failed to overlook?"
The young inspector winced at my
companion`s ironical comments.
"I was a fool not to call you in at the
time, Mr. Holmes. However, that`s past
praying for now. Yes, there were several
objects in the room which called for special
attention. One was the harpoon with which
the deed was committed. It had been snatched
down from a rack on the wall. Two others
remained there, and there was a vacant place
for the third. On the stock was engraved
`Ss. SEA UNICORN, Dundee.` This seemed to
establish that the crime had been done in a
moment of fury, and that the murderer had
seized the first weapon which came in his
way. The fact that the crime was committed
at two in the morning, and yet Peter Carey
was fully dressed, suggested that he had an
appointment with the murderer, which is
borne out by the fact that a bottle of rum
and two dirty glasses stood upon the table."
"Yes," said Holmes; "I think that both
inferences are permissible. Was there any
other spirit but rum in the room?"
"Yes; there was a tantalus containing
brandy and whisky on the sea-chest. It is of
no importance to us, however, since the
decanters were full, and it had therefore
not been used."
"For all that its presence has some
significance," said Holmes. "However, let us
hear some more about the objects which do
seem to you to bear upon the case."
"There was this tobacco-pouch upon the
table."
"What part of the table?"
"It lay in the middle. It was of coarse
seal-skin -- the straight-haired skin, with
a leather thong to bind it. Inside was
`P.C.` on the flap. There was half an ounce
of strong ship`s tobacco in it."
"Excellent! What more?"
Stanley Hopkins drew from his pocket a
drab-covered note-book. The outside was
rough and worn, the leaves discoloured. On
the first page were written the initials
"J.H.N." and the date "1883." Holmes laid it
on the table and examined it in his minute
way, while Hopkins and I gazed over each
shoulder. On the second page were the
printed letters "C.P.R.," and then came
several sheets of numbers. Another heading
was Argentine, another Costa Rica, and
another San Paulo, each with pages of signs
and figures after it.
"What do you make of these?" asked
Holmes.
"They appear to be lists of Stock
Exchange securities. I thought that `J.H.N.`
were the initials of a broker, and that
`C.P.R.` may have been his client."
"Try Canadian Pacific Railway," said
Holmes.
Stanley Hopkins swore between his teeth
and struck his thigh with his clenched hand.
"What a fool I have been!" he cried. "Of
course, it is as you say. Then `J.H.N.` are
the only initials we have to solve. I have
already examined the old Stock Exchange
lists, and I can find no one in 1883 either
in the House or among the outside brokers
whose initials correspond with these. Yet I
feel that the clue is the most important one
that I hold. You will admit, Mr. Holmes,
that there is a possibility that these
initials are those of the second person who
was present -- in other words, of the
murderer. I would also urge that the
introduction into the case of a document
relating to large masses of valuable
securities gives us for the first time some
indication of a motive for the crime."
Sherlock Holmes`s face showed that he was
thoroughly taken aback by this new
development.
"I must admit both your points," said he.
"I confess that this note-book, which did
not appear at the inquest, modifies any
views which I may have formed. I had come to
a theory of the crime in which I can find no
place for this. Have you endeavoured to
trace any of the securities here mentioned?"
"Inquiries are now being made at the
offices, but I fear that the complete
register of the stockholders of these South
American concerns is in South America, and
that some weeks must elapse before we can
trace the shares."
Holmes had been examining the cover of
the note-book with his magnifying lens.
"Surely there is some discolouration
here," said he.
"Yes, sir, it is a blood-stain. I told
you that I picked the book off the floor."
"Was the blood-stain above or below?"
"On the side next the boards."
"Which proves, of course, that the book
was dropped after the crime was committed."
"Exactly, Mr. Holmes. I appreciated that
point, and I conjectured that it was dropped
by the murderer in his hurried flight. It
lay near the door."
"I suppose that none of these securities
have been found among the property of the
dead man?"
"No, sir."
"Have you any reason to suspect robbery?"
"No, sir. Nothing seemed to have been
touched."
"Dear me, it is certainly a very
interesting case. Then there was a knife,
was there not?"
"A sheath-knife, still in its sheath. It
lay at the feet of the dead man. Mrs. Carey
has identified it as being her husband`s
property."
Holmes was lost in thought for some time.
"Well," said he, at last, "I suppose I
shall have to come out and have a look at
it."
Stanley Hopkins gave a cry of joy.
"Thank you, sir. That will indeed be a
weight off my mind."
Holmes shook his finger at the inspector.
"It would have been an easier task a week
ago," said he. "But even now my visit may
not be entirely fruitless. Watson, if you
can spare the time I should be very glad of
your company. If you will call a
four-wheeler, Hopkins, we shall be ready to
start for Forest Row in a quarter of an
hour."
Alighting at the small wayside station,
we drove for some miles through the remains
of widespread woods, which were once part of
that great forest which for so long held the
Saxon invaders at bay -- the impenetrable
"weald," for sixty years the bulwark of
Britain. Vast sections of it have been
cleared, for this is the seat of the first
iron-works of the country, and the trees
have been felled to smelt the ore. Now the
richer fields of the North have absorbed the
trade, and nothing save these ravaged groves
and great scars in the earth show the work
of the past. Here in a clearing upon the
green slope of a hill stood a long, low
stone house, approached by a curving drive
running through the fields. Nearer the road,
and surrounded on three sides by bushes, was
a small outhouse, one window and the door
facing in our direction. It was the scene of
the murder!
Stanley Hopkins led us first to the
house, where he introduced us to a haggard,
grey-haired woman, the widow of the murdered
man, whose gaunt and deep-lined face, with
the furtive look of terror in the depths of
her red-rimmed eyes, told of the years of
hardship and ill-usage which she had
endured. With her was her daughter, a pale,
fair-haired girl, whose eyes blazed
defiantly at us as she told us that she was
glad that her father was dead, and that she
blessed the hand which had struck him down.
It was a terrible household that Black Peter
Carey had made for himself, and it was with
a sense of relief that we found ourselves in
the sunlight again and making our way along
a path which had been worn across the fields
by the feet of the dead man.
The outhouse was the simplest of
dwellings, wooden-walled, shingle-roofed,
one window beside the door and one on the
farther side. Stanley Hopkins drew the key
from his pocket, and had stooped to the
lock, when he paused with a look of
attention and surprise upon his face.
"Someone has been tampering with it," he
said.
There could be no doubt of the fact. The
woodwork was cut and the scratches showed
white through the paint, as if they had been
that instant done. Holmes had been examining
the window.
"Someone has tried to force this also.
Whoever it was has failed to make his way
in. He must have been a very poor burglar."
"This is a most extraordinary thing,"
said the inspector; "I could swear that
these marks were not here yesterday
evening."
"Some curious person from the village,
perhaps," I suggested.
"Very unlikely. Few of them would dare to
set foot in the grounds, far less try to
force their way into the cabin. What do you
think of it, Mr. Holmes?"
"I think that fortune is very kind to
us."
"You mean that the person will come
again?"
"It is very probable. He came expecting
to find the door open. He tried to get in
with the blade of a very small penknife. He
could not manage it. What would he do?"
"Come again next night with a more useful
tool."
"So I should say. It will be our fault if
we are not there to receive him. Meanwhile,
let me see the inside of the cabin."
The traces of the tragedy had been
removed, but the furniture within the little
room still stood as it had been on the night
of the crime. For two hours, with most
intense concentration, Holmes examined every
object in turn, but his face showed that his
quest was not a successful one. Once only he
paused in his patient investigation.
"Have you taken anything off this shelf,
Hopkins?"
"No; I have moved nothing."
"Something has been taken. There is less
dust in this corner of the shelf than
elsewhere. It may have been a book lying on
its side. It may have been a box. Well,
well, I can do nothing more. Let us walk in
these beautiful woods, Watson, and give a
few hours to the birds and the flowers. We
shall meet you here later, Hopkins, and see
if we can come to closer quarters with the
gentleman who has paid this visit in the
night."
It was past eleven o`clock when we formed
our little ambuscade. Hopkins was for
leaving the door of the hut open, but Holmes
was of the opinion that this would rouse the
suspicions of the stranger. The lock was a
perfectly simple one, and only a strong
blade was needed to push it back. Holmes
also suggested that we should wait, not
inside the hut, but outside it among the
bushes which grew round the farther window.
In this way we should be able to watch our
man if he struck a light, and see what his
object was in this stealthy nocturnal visit.
It was a long and melancholy vigil, and
yet brought with it something of the thrill
which the hunter feels when he lies beside
the water pool and waits for the coming of
the thirsty beast of prey. What savage
creature was it which might steal upon us
out of the darkness? Was it a fierce tiger
of crime, which could only be taken fighting
hard with flashing fang and claw, or would
it prove to be some skulking jackal,
dangerous only to the weak and unguarded?
In absolute silence we crouched amongst
the bushes, waiting for whatever might come.
At first the steps of a few belated
villagers, or the sound of voices from the
village, lightened our vigil; but one by one
these interruptions died away and an
absolute stillness fell upon us, save for
the chimes of the distant church, which told
us of the progress of the night, and for the
rustle and whisper of a fine rain falling
amid the foliage which roofed us in.
Half-past two had chimed, and it was the
darkest hour which precedes the dawn, when
we all started as a low but sharp click came
from the direction of the gate. Someone had
entered the drive. Again there was a long
silence, and I had begun to fear that it was
a false alarm, when a stealthy step was
heard upon the other side of the hut, and a
moment later a metallic scraping and
clinking. The man was trying to force the
lock! This time his skill was greater or his
tool was better, for there was a sudden snap
and the creak of the hinges. Then a match
was struck, and next instant the steady
light from a candle filled the interior of
the hut. Through the gauze curtain our eyes
were all riveted upon the scene within.
The nocturnal visitor was a young man,
frail and thin, with a black moustache which
intensified the deadly pallor of his face.
He could not have been much above twenty
years of age. I have never seen any human
being who appeared to be in such a pitiable
fright, for his teeth were visibly
chattering and he was shaking in every limb.
He was dressed like a gentleman, in Norfolk
jacket and knickerbockers, with a cloth cap
upon his head. We watched him staring round
with frightened eyes. Then he laid the
candle-end upon the table and disappeared
from our view into one of the corners. He
returned with a large book, one of the
log-books which formed a line upon the
shelves. Leaning on the table he rapidly
turned over the leaves of this volume until
he came to the entry which he sought. Then,
with an angry gesture of his clenched hand,
he closed the book, replaced it in the
corner, and put out the light. He had hardly
turned to leave the hut when Hopkins`s hand
was on the fellow`s collar, and I heard his
loud gasp of terror as he understood that he
was taken. The candle was re-lit, and there
was our wretched captive shivering and
cowering in the grasp of the detective. He
sank down upon the sea-chest, and looked
helplessly from one of us to the other.
"Now, my fine fellow," said Stanley
Hopkins, "who are you, and what do you want
here?"
The man pulled himself together and faced
us with an effort at self-composure.
"You are detectives, I suppose?" said he.
"You imagine I am connected with the death
of Captain Peter Carey. I assure you that I
am innocent."
"We`ll see about that," said Hopkins.
"First of all, what is your name?"
"It is John Hopley Neligan."
I saw Holmes and Hopkins exchange a quick
glance.
"What are you doing here?"
"Can I speak confidentially?"
"No, certainly not."
"Why should I tell you?"
"If you have no answer it may go badly
with you at the trial."
The young man winced.
"Well, I will tell you," he said. "Why
should I not? And yet I hate to think of
this old scandal gaining a new lease of
life. Did you ever hear of Dawson and
Neligan?"
I could see from Hopkins`s face that he
never had; but Holmes was keenly interested.
"You mean the West-country bankers," said
he. "They failed for a million, ruined half
the county families of Cornwall, and Neligan
disappeared."
"Exactly. Neligan was my father."
At last we were getting something
positive, and yet it seemed a long gap
between an absconding banker and Captain
Peter Carey pinned against the wall with one
of his own harpoons. We all listened
intently to the young man`s words.
"It was my father who was really
concerned. Dawson had retired. I was only
ten years of age at the time, but I was old
enough to feel the shame and horror of it
all. It has always been said that my father
stole all the securities and fled. It is not
true. It was his belief that if he were
given time in which to realize them all
would be well and every creditor paid in
full. He started in his little yacht for
Norway just before the warrant was issued
for his arrest. I can remember that last
night when he bade farewell to my mother. He
left us a list of the securities he was
taking, and he swore that he would come back
with his honour cleared, and that none who
had trusted him would suffer. Well, no word
was ever heard from him again. Both the
yacht and he vanished utterly. We believed,
my mother and I, that he and it, with the
securities that he had taken with him, were
at the bottom of the sea. We had a faithful
friend, however, who is a business man, and
it was he who discovered some time ago that
some of the securities which my father had
with him have reappeared on the London
market. You can imagine our amazement. I
spent months in trying to trace them, and at
last, after many doublings and difficulties,
I discovered that the original seller had
been Captain Peter Carey, the owner of this
hut.
"Naturally, I made some inquiries about
the man. I found that he had been in command
of a whaler which was due to return from the
Arctic seas at the very time when my father
was crossing to Norway. The autumn of that
year was a stormy one, and there was a long
succession of southerly gales. My father`s
yacht may well have been blown to the north,
and there met by Captain Peter Carey`s ship.
If that were so, what had become of my
father? In any case, if I could prove from
Peter Carey`s evidence how these securities
came on the market it would be a proof that
my father had not sold them, and that he had
no view to personal profit when he took
them.
"I came down to Sussex with the intention
of seeing the captain, but it was at this
moment that his terrible death occurred. I
read at the inquest a description of his
cabin, in which it stated that the old
log-books of his vessel were preserved in
it. It struck me that if I could see what
occurred in the month of August, 1883, on
board the SEA UNICORN, I might settle the
mystery of my father`s fate. I tried last
night to get at these log-books, but was
unable to open the door. To-night I tried
again, and succeeded; but I find that the
pages which deal with that month have been
torn from the book. It was at that moment I
found myself a prisoner in your hands."
"Is that all?" asked Hopkins.
"Yes, that is all." His eyes shifted as
he said it.
"You have nothing else to tell us?"
He hesitated.
"No; there is nothing."
"You have not been here before last
night?"
"No."
"Then how do you account for THAT?" cried
Hopkins, as he held up the damning
note-book, with the initials of our prisoner
on the first leaf and the blood-stain on the
cover.
The wretched man collapsed. He sank his
face in his hands and trembled all over.
"Where did you get it?" he groaned. "I
did not know. I thought I had lost it at the
hotel."
"That is enough," said Hopkins, sternly.
"Whatever else you have to say you must say
in court. You will walk down with me now to
the police-station. Well, Mr. Holmes, I am
very much obliged to you and to your friend
for coming down to help me. As it turns out
your presence was unnecessary, and I would
have brought the case to this successful
issue without you; but none the less I am
very grateful. Rooms have been reserved for
you at the Brambletye Hotel, so we can all
walk down to the village together."
"Well, Watson, what do you think of it?"
asked Holmes, as we travelled back next
morning.
"I can see that you are not satisfied."
"Oh, yes, my dear Watson, I am perfectly
satisfied. At the same time Stanley
Hopkins`s methods do not commend themselves
to me. I am disappointed in Stanley Hopkins.
I had hoped for better things from him. One
should always look for a possible
alternative and provide against it. It is
the first rule of criminal investigation."
"What, then, is the alternative?"
"The line of investigation which I have
myself been pursuing. It may give us
nothing. I cannot tell. But at least I shall
follow it to the end."
Several letters were waiting for Holmes
at Baker Street. He snatched one of them up,
opened it, and burst out into a triumphant
chuckle of laughter.
"Excellent, Watson. The alternative
develops. Have you telegraph forms? Just
write a couple of messages for me: `Sumner,
Shipping Agent, Ratcliff Highway. Send three
men on, to arrive ten to-morrow morning. --
Basil.` That`s my name in those parts. The
other is: `Inspector Stanley Hopkins, 46,
Lord Street, Brixton. Come breakfast
to-morrow at nine-thirty. Important. Wire if
unable to come. -- Sherlock Holmes.` There,
Watson, this infernal case has haunted me
for ten days. I hereby banish it completely
from my presence. To-morrow I trust that we
shall hear the last of it for ever."
Sharp at the hour named Inspector Stanley
Hopkins appeared, and we sat down together
to the excellent breakfast which Mrs. Hudson
had prepared. The young detective was in
high spirits at his success.
"You really think that your solution must
be correct?" asked Holmes.
"I could not imagine a more complete
case."
"It did not seem to me conclusive."
"You astonish me, Mr. Holmes. What more
could one ask for?"
"Does your explanation cover every
point?"
"Undoubtedly. I find that young Neligan
arrived at the Brambletye Hotel on the very
day of the crime. He came on the pretence of
playing golf. His room was on the
ground-floor, and he could get out when he
liked. That very night he went down to
Woodman`s Lee, saw Peter Carey at the hut,
quarrelled with him, and killed him with the
harpoon. Then, horrified by what he had
done, he fled out of the hut, dropping the
note-book which he had brought with him in
order to question Peter Carey about these
different securities. You may have observed
that some of them were marked with ticks,
and the others -- the great majority -- were
not. Those which are ticked have been traced
on the London market; but the others
presumably were still in the possession of
Carey, and young Neligan, according to his
own account, was anxious to recover them in
order to do the right thing by his father`s
creditors. After his flight he did not dare
to approach the hut again for some time; but
at last he forced himself to do so in order
to obtain the information which he needed.
Surely that is all simple and obvious?"
Holmes smiled and shook his head.
"It seems to me to have only one
drawback, Hopkins, and that is that it is
intrinsically impossible. Have you tried to
drive a harpoon through a body? No? Tut,
tut, my dear sir, you must really pay
attention to these details. My friend Watson
could tell you that I spent a whole morning
in that exercise. It is no easy matter, and
requires a strong and practised arm. But
this blow was delivered with such violence
that the head of the weapon sank deep into
the wall. Do you imagine that this anaemic
youth was capable of so frightful an
assault? Is he the man who hobnobbed in rum
and water with Black Peter in the dead of
the night? Was it his profile that was seen
on the blind two nights before? No, no,
Hopkins; it is another and a more formidable
person for whom we must seek."
The detective`s face had grown longer and
longer during Holmes`s speech. His hopes and
his ambitions were all crumbling about him.
But he would not abandon his position
without a struggle.
"You can`t deny that Neligan was present
that night, Mr. Holmes. The book will prove
that. I fancy that I have evidence enough to
satisfy a jury, even if you are able to pick
a hole in it. Besides, Mr. Holmes, I have
laid my hand upon MY man. As to this
terrible person of yours, where is he?"
"I rather fancy that he is on the stair,"
said Holmes, serenely. "I think, Watson,
that you would do well to put that revolver
where you can reach it." He rose, and laid a
written paper upon a side-table. "Now we are
ready," said he.
There had been some talking in gruff
voices outside, and now Mrs. Hudson opened
the door to say that there were three men
inquiring for Captain Basil.
"Show them in one by one," said Holmes.
The first who entered was a little
ribston-pippin of a man, with ruddy cheeks
and fluffy white side-whiskers. Holmes had
drawn a letter from his pocket.
"What name?" he asked.
"James Lancaster."
"I am sorry, Lancaster, but the berth is
full. Here is half a sovereign for your
trouble. Just step into this room and wait
there for a few minutes."
The second man was a long, dried-up
creature, with lank hair and sallow cheeks.
His name was Hugh Pattins. He also received
his dismissal, his half-sovereign, and the
order to wait.
The third applicant was a man of
remarkable appearance. A fierce bull-dog
face was framed in a tangle of hair and
beard, and two bold dark eyes gleamed behind
the cover of thick, tufted, overhung
eyebrows. He saluted and stood
sailor-fashion, turning his cap round in his
hands.
"Your name?" asked Holmes.
"Patrick Cairns."
"Harpooner?"
"Yes, sir. Twenty-six voyages."
"Dundee, I suppose?"
"Yes, sir."
"And ready to start with an exploring
ship?"
"Yes, sir."
"What wages?"
"Eight pounds a month."
"Could you start at once?"
"As soon as I get my kit."
"Have you your papers?"
"Yes, sir." He took a sheaf of worn and
greasy forms from his pocket. Holmes glanced
over them and returned them.
"You are just the man I want," said he.
"Here`s the agreement on the side-table. If
you sign it the whole matter will be
settled."
The seaman lurched across the room and
took up the pen.
"Shall I sign here?" he asked, stooping
over the table.
Holmes leaned over his shoulder and
passed both hands over his neck.
"This will do," said he.
I heard a click of steel and a bellow
like an enraged bull. The next instant
Holmes and the seaman were rolling on the
ground together. He was a man of such
gigantic strength that, even with the
handcuffs which Holmes had so deftly
fastened upon his wrists, he would have very
quickly overpowered my friend had Hopkins
and I not rushed to his rescue. Only when I
pressed the cold muzzle of the revolver to
his temple did he at last understand that
resistance was vain. We lashed his ankles
with cord and rose breathless from the
struggle.
"I must really apologize, Hopkins," said
Sherlock Holmes; "I fear that the scrambled
eggs are cold. However, you will enjoy the
rest of your breakfast all the better, will
you not, for the thought that you have
brought your case to a triumphant
conclusion."
Stanley Hopkins was speechless with
amazement.
"I don`t know what to say, Mr. Holmes,"
he blurted out at last, with a very red
face. "It seems to me that I have been
making a fool of myself from the beginning.
I understand now, what I should never have
forgotten, that I am the pupil and you are
the master. Even now I see what you have
done, but I don`t know how you did it, or
what it signifies."
"Well, well," said Holmes,
good-humouredly. "We all learn by
experience, and your lesson this time is
that you should never lose sight of the
alternative. You were so absorbed in young
Neligan that you could not spare a thought
to Patrick Cairns, the true murderer of
Peter Carey."
The hoarse voice of the seaman broke in
on our conversation.
"See here, mister," said he, "I make no
complaint of being man-handled in this
fashion, but I would have you call things by
their right names. You say I murdered Peter
Carey; I say I KILLED Peter Carey, and
there`s all the difference. Maybe you don`t
believe what I say. Maybe you think I am
just slinging you a yarn."
"Not at all," said Holmes. "Let us hear
what you have to say."
"It`s soon told, and, by the Lord, every
word of it is truth. I knew Black Peter, and
when he pulled out his knife I whipped a
harpoon through him sharp, for I knew that
it was him or me. That`s how he died. You
can call it murder. Anyhow, I`d as soon die
with a rope round my neck as with Black
Peter`s knife in my heart."
"How came you there?" asked Holmes.
"I`ll tell it you from the beginning.
Just sit me up a little so as I can speak
easy. It was in `83 that it happened --
August of that year. Peter Carey was master
of the SEA UNICORN, and I was spare
harpooner. We were coming out of the
ice-pack on our way home, with head winds
and a week`s southerly gale, when we picked
up a little craft that had been blown north.
There was one man on her -- a landsman. The
crew had thought she would founder, and had
made for the Norwegian coast in the dinghy.
I guess they were all drowned. Well, we took
him on board, this man, and he and the
skipper had some long talks in the cabin.
All the baggage we took off with him was one
tin box. So far as I know, the man`s name
was never mentioned, and on the second night
he disappeared as if he had never been. It
was given out that he had either thrown
himself overboard or fallen overboard in the
heavy weather that we were having. Only one
man knew what had happened to him, and that
was me, for with my own eyes I saw the
skipper tip up his heels and put him over
the rail in the middle watch of a dark
night, two days before we sighted the
Shetland lights.
"Well, I kept my knowledge to myself and
waited to see what would come of it. When we
got back to Scotland it was easily hushed
up, and nobody asked any questions. A
stranger died by an accident, and it was
nobody`s business to inquire. Shortly after
Peter Carey gave up the sea, and it was long
years before I could find where he was. I
guessed that he had done the deed for the
sake of what was in that tin box, and that
he could afford now to pay me well for
keeping my mouth shut.
"I found out where he was through a
sailor man that had met him in London, and
down I went to squeeze him. The first night
he was reasonable enough, and was ready to
give me what would make me free of the sea
for life. We were to fix it all two nights
later. When I came I found him three parts
drunk and in a vile temper. We sat down and
we drank and we yarned about old times, but
the more he drank the less I liked the look
on his face. I spotted that harpoon upon the
wall, and I thought I might need it before I
was through. Then at last he broke out at
me, spitting and cursing, with murder in his
eyes and a great clasp-knife in his hand. He
had not time to get it from the sheath
before I had the harpoon through him.
Heavens! what a yell he gave; and his face
gets between me and my sleep! I stood there,
with his blood splashing round me, and I
waited for a bit; but all was quiet, so I
took heart once more. I looked round, and
there was the tin box on a shelf. I had as
much right to it as Peter Carey, anyhow, so
I took it with me and left the hut. Like a
fool I left my baccy-pouch upon the table.
"Now I`ll tell you the queerest part of
the whole story. I had hardly got outside
the hut when I heard someone coming, and I
hid among the bushes. A man came slinking
along, went into the hut, gave a cry as if
he had seen a ghost, and legged it as hard
as he could run until he was out of sight.
Who he was or what he wanted is more than I
can tell. For my part I walked ten miles,
got a train at Tunbridge Wells, and so
reached London, and no one the wiser.
"Well, when I came to examine the box I
found there was no money in it, and nothing
but papers that I would not dare to sell. I
had lost my hold on Black Peter, and was
stranded in London without a shilling. There
was only my trade left. I saw these
advertisements about harpooners and high
wages, so I went to the shipping agents, and
they sent me here. That`s all I know, and I
say again that if I killed Black Peter the
law should give me thanks, for I saved them
the price of a hempen rope."
"A very clear statement," said Holmes,
rising and lighting his pipe. "I think,
Hopkins, that you should lose no time in
conveying your prisoner to a place of
safety. This room is not well adapted for a
cell, and Mr. Patrick Cairns occupies too
large a proportion of our carpet."
"Mr. Holmes," said Hopkins, "I do not
know how to express my gratitude. Even now I
do not understand how you attained this
result."
"Simply by having the good fortune to get
the right clue from the beginning. It is
very possible if I had known about this
note-book it might have led away my
thoughts, as it did yours. But all I heard
pointed in the one direction. The amazing
strength, the skill in the use of the
harpoon, the rum and water, the seal-skin
tobacco-pouch, with the coarse tobacco --
all these pointed to a seaman, and one who
had been a whaler. I was convinced that the
initials `P.C.` upon the pouch were a
coincidence, and not those of Peter Carey,
since he seldom smoked, and no pipe was
found in his cabin. You remember that I
asked whether whisky and brandy were in the
cabin. You said they were. How many landsmen
are there who would drink rum when they
could get these other spirits? Yes, I was
certain it was a seaman."
"And how did you find him?"
"My dear sir, the problem had become a
very simple one. If it were a seaman, it
could only be a seaman who had been with him
on the SEA UNICORN. So far as I could learn
he had sailed in no other ship. I spent
three days in wiring to Dundee, and at the
end of that time I had ascertained the names
of the crew of the SEA UNICORN in 1883. When
I found Patrick Cairns among the harpooners
my research was nearing its end. I argued
that the man was probably in London, and
that he would desire to leave the country
for a time. I therefore spent some days in
the East-end, devised an Arctic expedition,
put forth tempting terms for harpooners who
would serve under Captain Basil -- and
behold the result!"
"Wonderful!" cried Hopkins. "Wonderful!"
"You must obtain the release of young
Neligan as soon as possible," said Holmes.
"I confess that I think you owe him some
apology. The tin box must be returned to
him, but, of course, the securities which
Peter Carey has sold are lost for ever.
There`s the cab, Hopkins, and you can remove
your man. If you want me for the trial, my
address and that of Watson will be somewhere
in Norway -- I`ll send particulars later."
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VII. The
Adventure of Charles Augustus Milverton.
IT is years since the
incidents of which I speak took place, and yet
it is with diffidence that I allude to them. For
a long time, even with the utmost discretion and
reticence, it would have been impossible to make
the facts public; but now the principal person
concerned is beyond the reach of human law, and
with due suppression the story may be told in
such fashion as to injure no one. It records an
absolutely unique experience in the career both
of Mr. Sherlock Holmes and of myself. The reader
will excuse me if I conceal the date or any
other fact by which he might trace the actual
occurrence.
We had been out for one of our evening
rambles, Holmes and I, and had returned about
six o`clock on a cold, frosty winter`s evening.
As Holmes turned up the lamp the light fell upon
a card on the table. He glanced at it, and then,
with an ejaculation of disgust, threw it on the
floor. I picked it up and read:--
CHARLES AUGUSTUS MILVERTON, APPLEDORE TOWERS,
AGENT. HAMPSTEAD.
"Who is he?" I asked.
"The worst man in London," Holmes answered,
as he sat down and stretched his legs before the
fire. "Is anything on the back of the card?"
I turned it over.
"Will call at 6.30 -- C.A.M.," I read.
"Hum! He`s about due. Do you feel a creeping,
shrinking sensation, Watson, when you stand
before the serpents in the Zoo and see the
slithery, gliding, venomous creatures, with
their deadly eyes and wicked, flattened faces?
Well, that`s how Milverton impresses me. I`ve
had to do with fifty murderers in my career, but
the worst of them never gave me the repulsion
which I have for this fellow. And yet I can`t
get out of doing business with him -- indeed, he
is here at my invitation."
"But who is he?"
"I`ll tell you, Watson. He is the king of all
the blackmailers. Heaven help the man, and still
more the woman, whose secret and reputation come
into the power of Milverton. With a smiling face
and a heart of marble he will squeeze and
squeeze until he has drained them dry. The
fellow is a genius in his way, and would have
made his mark in some more savoury trade. His
method is as follows: He allows it to be known
that he is prepared to pay very high sums for
letters which compromise people of wealth or
position. He receives these wares not only from
treacherous valets or maids, but frequently from
genteel ruffians who have gained the confidence
and affection of trusting women. He deals with
no niggard hand. I happen to know that he paid
seven hundred pounds to a footman for a note two
lines in length, and that the ruin of a noble
family was the result. Everything which is in
the market goes to Milverton, and there are
hundreds in this great city who turn white at
his name. No one knows where his grip may fall,
for he is far too rich and far too cunning to
work from hand to mouth. He will hold a card
back for years in order to play it at the moment
when the stake is best worth winning. I have
said that he is the worst man in London, and I
would ask you how could one compare the ruffian
who in hot blood bludgeons his mate with this
man, who methodically and at his leisure
tortures the soul and wrings the nerves in order
to add to his already swollen money-bags?"
I had seldom heard my friend speak with such
intensity of feeling.
"But surely," said I, "the fellow must be
within the grasp of the law?"
"Technically, no doubt, but practically not.
What would it profit a woman, for example, to
get him a few months` imprisonment if her own
ruin must immediately follow? His victims dare
not hit back. If ever he blackmailed an innocent
person, then, indeed, we should have him; but he
is as cunning as the Evil One. No, no; we must
find other ways to fight him."
"And why is he here?"
"Because an illustrious client has placed her
piteous case in my hands. It is the Lady Eva
Brackwell, the most beautiful DEBUTANTE of last
season. She is to be married in a fortnight to
the Earl of Dovercourt. This fiend has several
imprudent letters -- imprudent, Watson, nothing
worse -- which were written to an impecunious
young squire in the country. They would suffice
to break off the match. Milverton will send the
letters to the Earl unless a large sum of money
is paid him. I have been commissioned to meet
him, and -- to make the best terms I can."
At that instant there was a clatter and a
rattle in the street below. Looking down I saw a
stately carriage and pair, the brilliant lamps
gleaming on the glossy haunches of the noble
chestnuts. A footman opened the door, and a
small, stout man in a shaggy astrachan overcoat
descended. A minute later he was in the room.
Charles Augustus Milverton was a man of
fifty, with a large, intellectual head, a round,
plump, hairless face, a perpetual frozen smile,
and two keen grey eyes, which gleamed brightly
from behind broad, golden-rimmed glasses. There
was something of Mr. Pickwick`s benevolence in
his appearance, marred only by the insincerity
of the fixed smile and by the hard glitter of
those restless and penetrating eyes. His voice
was as smooth and suave as his countenance, as
he advanced with a plump little hand extended,
murmuring his regret for having missed us at his
first visit. Holmes disregarded the outstretched
hand and looked at him with a face of granite.
Milverton`s smile broadened; he shrugged his
shoulders, removed his overcoat, folded it with
great deliberation over the back of a chair, and
then took a seat.
"This gentleman?" said he, with a wave in my
direction. "Is it discreet? Is it right?"
"Dr. Watson is my friend and partner."
"Very good, Mr. Holmes. It is only in your
client`s interests that I protested. The matter
is so very delicate ----"
"Dr. Watson has already heard of it."
"Then we can proceed to business. You say
that you are acting for Lady Eva. Has she
empowered you to accept my terms?"
"What are your terms?"
"Seven thousand pounds."
"And the alternative?"
"My dear sir, it is painful for me to discuss
it; but if the money is not paid on the 14th
there certainly will be no marriage on the
18th." His insufferable smile was more
complacent than ever.
Holmes thought for a little.
"You appear to me," he said, at last, "to be
taking matters too much for granted. I am, of
course, familiar with the contents of these
letters. My client will certainly do what I may
advise. I shall counsel her to tell her future
husband the whole story and to trust to his
generosity."
Milverton chuckled.
"You evidently do not know the Earl," said
he.
From the baffled look upon Holmes`s face I
could see clearly that he did.
"What harm is there in the letters?" he
asked.
"They are sprightly -- very sprightly,"
Milverton answered. "The lady was a charming
correspondent. But I can assure you that the
Earl of Dovercourt would fail to appreciate
them. However, since you think otherwise, we
will let it rest at that. It is purely a matter
of business. If you think that it is in the best
interests of your client that these letters
should be placed in the hands of the Earl, then
you would indeed be foolish to pay so large a
sum of money to regain them." He rose and seized
his astrachan coat.
Holmes was grey with anger and mortification.
"Wait a little," he said. "You go too fast.
We would certainly make every effort to avoid
scandal in so delicate a matter."
Milverton relapsed into his chair.
"I was sure that you would see it in that
light," he purred.
"At the same time," Holmes continued, "Lady
Eva is not a wealthy woman. I assure you that
two thousand pounds would be a drain upon her
resources, and that the sum you name is utterly
beyond her power. I beg, therefore, that you
will moderate your demands, and that you will
return the letters at the price I indicate,
which is, I assure you, the highest that you can
get."
Milverton`s smile broadened and his eyes
twinkled humorously.
"I am aware that what you say is true about
the lady`s resources," said he. "At the same
time, you must admit that the occasion of a
lady`s marriage is a very suitable time for her
friends and relatives to make some little effort
upon her behalf. They may hesitate as to an
acceptable wedding present. Let me assure them
that this little bundle of letters would give
more joy than all the candelabra and
butter-dishes in London."
"It is impossible," said Holmes.
"Dear me, dear me, how unfortunate!" cried
Milverton, taking out a bulky pocket-book. "I
cannot help thinking that ladies are ill-advised
in not making an effort. Look at this!" He held
up a little note with a coat-of-arms upon the
envelope. "That belongs to -- well, perhaps it
is hardly fair to tell the name until to-morrow
morning. But at that time it will be in the
hands of the lady`s husband. And all because she
will not find a beggarly sum which she could get
by turning her diamonds into paste. It IS such a
pity. Now, you remember the sudden end of the
engagement between the Honourable Miss Miles and
Colonel Dorking? Only two days before the
wedding there was a paragraph in the MORNING
POST to say that it was all off. And why? It is
almost incredible, but the absurd sum of twelve
hundred pounds would have settled the whole
question. Is it not pitiful? And here I find
you, a man of sense, boggling about terms when
your client`s future and honour are at stake.
You surprise me, Mr. Holmes."
"What I say is true," Holmes answered. "The
money cannot be found. Surely it is better for
you to take the substantial sum which I offer
than to ruin this woman`s career, which can
profit you in no way?"
"There you make a mistake, Mr. Holmes. An
exposure would profit me indirectly to a
considerable extent. I have eight or ten similar
cases maturing. If it was circulated among them
that I had made a severe example of the Lady Eva
I should find all of them much more open to
reason. You see my point?"
Holmes sprang from his chair.
"Get behind him, Watson! Don`t let him out!
Now, sir, let us see the contents of that
note-book."
Milverton had glided as quick as a rat to the
side of the room, and stood with his back
against the wall.
"Mr. Holmes, Mr. Holmes," he said, turning
the front of his coat and exhibiting the butt of
a large revolver, which projected from the
inside pocket. "I have been expecting you to do
something original. This has been done so often,
and what good has ever come from it? I assure
you that I am armed to the teeth, and I am
perfectly prepared to use my weapons, knowing
that the law will support me. Besides, your
supposition that I would bring the letters here
in a note-book is entirely mistaken. I would do
nothing so foolish. And now, gentlemen, I have
one or two little interviews this evening, and
it is a long drive to Hampstead." He stepped
forward, took up his coat, laid his hand on his
revolver, and turned to the door. I picked up a
chair, but Holmes shook his head and I laid it
down again. With bow, a smile, and a twinkle
Milverton was out of the room, and a few moments
after we heard the slam of the carriage door and
the rattle of the wheels as he drove away.
Holmes sat motionless by the fire, his hands
buried deep in his trouser pockets, his chin
sunk upon his breast, his eyes fixed upon the
glowing embers. For half an hour he was silent
and still. Then, with the gesture of a man who
has taken his decision, he sprang to his feet
and passed into his bedroom. A little later a
rakish young workman with a goatee beard and a
swagger lit his clay pipe at the lamp before
descending into the street. "I`ll be back some
time, Watson," said he, and vanished into the
night. I understood that he had opened his
campaign against Charles Augustus Milverton; but
I little dreamed the strange shape which that
campaign was destined to take.
For some days Holmes came and went at all
hours in this attire, but beyond a remark that
his time was spent at Hampstead, and that it was
not wasted, I knew nothing of what he was doing.
At last, however, on a wild, tempestuous
evening, when the wind screamed and rattled
against the windows, he returned from his last
expedition, and having removed his disguise he
sat before the fire and laughed heartily in his
silent inward fashion.
"You would not call me a marrying man,
Watson?"
"No, indeed!"
"You`ll be interested to hear that I am
engaged."
"My dear fellow! I congrat ----"
"To Milverton`s housemaid."
"Good heavens, Holmes!"
"I wanted information, Watson."
"Surely you have gone too far?"
"It was a most necessary step. I am a plumber
with a rising business, Escott by name. I have
walked out with her each evening, and I have
talked with her. Good heavens, those talks!
However, I have got all I wanted. I know
Milverton`s house as I know the palm of my
hand."
"But the girl, Holmes?"
He shrugged his shoulders.
"You can`t help it, my dear Watson. You must
play your cards as best you can when such a
stake is on the table. However, I rejoice to say
that I have a hated rival who will certainly cut
me out the instant that my back is turned. What
a splendid night it is!"
"You like this weather?"
"It suits my purpose. Watson, I mean to
burgle Milverton`s house to-night."
I had a catching of the breath, and my skin
went cold at the words, which were slowly
uttered in a tone of concentrated resolution. As
a flash of lightning in the night shows up in an
instant every detail of a wide landscape, so at
one glance I seemed to see every possible result
of such an action -- the detection, the capture,
the honoured career ending in irreparable
failure and disgrace, my friend himself lying at
the mercy of the odious Milverton.
"For Heaven`s sake, Holmes, think what you
are doing," I cried.
"My dear fellow, I have given it every
consideration. I am never precipitate in my
actions, nor would I adopt so energetic and
indeed so dangerous a course if any other were
possible. Let us look at the matter clearly and
fairly. I suppose that you will admit that the
action is morally justifiable, though
technically criminal. To burgle his house is no
more than to forcibly take his pocket-book -- an
action in which you were prepared to aid me."
I turned it over in my mind.
"Yes," I said; "it is morally justifiable so
long as our object is to take no articles save
those which are used for an illegal purpose."
"Exactly. Since it is morally justifiable I
have only to consider the question of personal
risk. Surely a gentleman should not lay much
stress upon this when a lady is in most
desperate need of his help?"
"You will be in such a false position."
"Well, that is part of the risk. There is no
other possible way of regaining these letters.
The unfortunate lady has not the money, and
there are none of her people in whom she could
confide. To-morrow is the last day of grace, and
unless we can get the letters to-night this
villain will be as good as his word and will
bring about her ruin. I must, therefore, abandon
my client to her fate or I must play this last
card. Between ourselves, Watson, it`s a sporting
duel between this fellow Milverton and me. He
had, as you saw, the best of the first
exchanges; but my self-respect and my reputation
are concerned to fight it to a finish."
"Well, I don`t like it; but I suppose it must
be," said I. "When do we start?"
"You are not coming."
"Then you are not going," said I. "I give you
my word of honour -- and I never broke it in my
life -- that I will take a cab straight to the
police-station and give you away unless you let
me share this adventure with you."
"You can`t help me."
"How do you know that? You can`t tell what
may happen. Anyway, my resolution is taken.
Other people beside you have self-respect and
even reputations."
Holmes had looked annoyed, but his brow
cleared, and he clapped me on the shoulder.
"Well, well, my dear fellow, be it so. We
have shared the same room for some years, and it
would be amusing if we ended by sharing the same
cell. You know, Watson, I don`t mind confessing
to you that I have always had an idea that I
would have made a highly efficient criminal.
This is the chance of my lifetime in that
direction. See here!" He took a neat little
leather case out of a drawer, and opening it he
exhibited a number of shining instruments. "This
is a first-class, up-to-date burgling kit, with
nickel-plated jemmy, diamond-tipped
glass-cutter, adaptable keys, and every modern
improvement which the march of civilization
demands. Here, too, is my dark lantern.
Everything is in order. Have you a pair of
silent shoes?"
"I have rubber-soled tennis shoes."
"Excellent. And a mask?"
"I can make a couple out of black silk."
"I can see that you have a strong natural
turn for this sort of thing. Very good; do you
make the masks. We shall have some cold supper
before we start. It is now nine-thirty. At
eleven we shall drive as far as Church Row. It
is a quarter of an hour`s walk from there to
Appledore Towers. We shall be at work before
midnight. Milverton is a heavy sleeper and
retires punctually at ten-thirty. With any luck
we should be back here by two, with the Lady
Eva`s letters in my pocket."
Holmes and I put on our dress-clothes, so
that we might appear to be two theatre-goers
homeward bound. In Oxford Street we picked up a
hansom and drove to an address in Hampstead.
Here we paid off our cab, and with our
great-coats buttoned up, for it was bitterly
cold and the wind seemed to blow through us, we
walked along the edge of the Heath.
"It`s a business that needs delicate
treatment," said Holmes. "These documents are
contained in a safe in the fellow`s study, and
the study is the ante-room of his bed-chamber.
On the other hand, like all these stout, little
men who do themselves well, he is a plethoric
sleeper. Agatha -- that`s my FIANCEE -- says it
is a joke in the servants` hall that it`s
impossible to wake the master. He has a
secretary who is devoted to his interests and
never budges from the study all day. That`s why
we are going at night. Then he has a beast of a
dog which roams the garden. I met Agatha late
the last two evenings, and she locks the brute
up so as to give me a clear run. This is the
house, this big one in its own grounds. Through
the gate -- now to the right among the laurels.
We might put on our masks here, I think. You
see, there is not a glimmer of light in any of
the windows, and everything is working
splendidly."
With our black silk face-coverings, which
turned us into two of the most truculent figures
in London, we stole up to the silent, gloomy
house. A sort of tiled veranda extended along
one side of it, lined by several windows and two
doors.
"That`s his bedroom," Holmes whispered. "This
door opens straight into the study. It would
suit us best, but it is bolted as well as
locked, and we should make too much noise
getting in. Come round here. There`s a
greenhouse which opens into the drawing-room."
The place was locked, but Holmes removed a
circle of glass and turned the key from the
inside. An instant afterwards he had closed the
door behind us, and we had become felons in the
eyes of the law. The thick, warm air of the
conservatory and the rich, choking fragrance of
exotic plants took us by the throat. He seized
my hand in the darkness and led me swiftly past
banks of shrubs which brushed against our faces.
Holmes had remarkable powers, carefully
cultivated, of seeing in the dark. Still holding
my hand in one of his he opened a door, and I
was vaguely conscious that we had entered a
large room in which a cigar had been smoked not
long before. He felt his way among the
furniture, opened another door, and closed it
behind us. Putting out my hand I felt several
coats hanging from the wall, and I understood
that I was in a passage. We passed along it, and
Holmes very gently opened a door upon the
right-hand side. Something rushed out at us and
my heart sprang into my mouth, but I could have
laughed when I realized that it was the cat. A
fire was burning in this new room, and again the
air was heavy with tobacco smoke. Holmes entered
on tiptoe, waited for me to follow, and then
very gently closed the door. We were in
Milverton`s study, and a PORTIERE at the farther
side showed the entrance to his bedroom.
It was a good fire, and the room was
illuminated by it. Near the door I saw the gleam
of an electric switch, but it was unnecessary,
even if it had been safe, to turn it on. At one
side of the fireplace was a heavy curtain, which
covered the bay window we had seen from outside.
On the other side was the door which
communicated with the veranda. A desk stood in
the centre, with a turning chair of shining red
leather. Opposite was a large bookcase, with a
marble bust of Athene on the top. In the corner
between the bookcase and the wall there stood a
tall green safe, the firelight flashing back
from the polished brass knobs upon its face.
Holmes stole across and looked at it. Then he
crept to the door of the bedroom, and stood with
slanting head listening intently. No sound came
from within. Meanwhile it had struck me that it
would be wise to secure our retreat through the
outer door, so I examined it. To my amazement it
was neither locked nor bolted! I touched Holmes
on the arm, and he turned his masked face in
that direction. I saw him start, and he was
evidently as surprised as I.
"I don`t like it," he whispered, putting his
lips to my very ear. "I can`t quite make it out.
Anyhow, we have no time to lose."
"Can I do anything?"
"Yes; stand by the door. If you hear anyone
come, bolt it on the inside, and we can get away
as we came. If they come the other way, we can
get through the door if our job is done, or hide
behind these window curtains if it is not. Do
you understand?"
I nodded and stood by the door. My first
feeling of fear had passed away, and I thrilled
now with a keener zest than I had ever enjoyed
when we were the defenders of the law instead of
its defiers. The high object of our mission, the
consciousness that it was unselfish and
chivalrous, the villainous character of our
opponent, all added to the sporting interest of
the adventure. Far from feeling guilty, I
rejoiced and exulted in our dangers. With a glow
of admiration I watched Holmes unrolling his
case of instruments and choosing his tool with
the calm, scientific accuracy of a surgeon who
performs a delicate operation. I knew that the
opening of safes was a particular hobby with
him, and I understood the joy which it gave him
to be confronted with this green and gold
monster, the dragon which held in its maw the
reputations of many fair ladies. Turning up the
cuffs of his dress-coat -- he had placed his
overcoat on a chair -- Holmes laid out two
drills, a jemmy, and several skeleton keys. I
stood at the centre door with my eyes glancing
at each of the others, ready for any emergency;
though, indeed, my plans were somewhat vague as
to what I should do if we were interrupted. For
half an hour Holmes worked with concentrated
energy, laying down one tool, picking up
another, handling each with the strength and
delicacy of the trained mechanic. Finally I
heard a click, the broad green door swung open,
and inside I had a glimpse of a number of paper
packets, each tied, sealed, and inscribed.
Holmes picked one out, but it was hard to read
by the flickering fire, and he drew out his
little dark lantern, for it was too dangerous,
with Milverton in the next room, to switch on
the electric light. Suddenly I saw him halt,
listen intently, and then in an instant he had
swung the door of the safe to, picked up his
coat, stuffed his tools into the pockets, and
darted behind the window curtain, motioning me
to do the same.
It was only when I had joined him there that
I heard what had alarmed his quicker senses.
There was a noise somewhere within the house. A
door slammed in the distance. Then a confused,
dull murmur broke itself into the measured thud
of heavy footsteps rapidly approaching. They
were in the passage outside the room. They
paused at the door. The door opened. There was a
sharp snick as the electric light was turned on.
The door closed once more, and the pungent reek
of a strong cigar was borne to our nostrils.
Then the footsteps continued backwards and
forwards, backwards and forwards, within a few
yards of us. Finally, there was a creak from a
chair, and the footsteps ceased. Then a key
clicked in a lock and I heard the rustle of
papers.
So far I had not dared to look out, but now I
gently parted the division of the curtains in
front of me and peeped through. From the
pressure of Holmes`s shoulder against mine I
knew that he was sharing my observations. Right
in front of us, and almost within our reach, was
the broad, rounded back of Milverton. It was
evident that we had entirely miscalculated his
movements, that he had never been to his
bedroom, but that he had been sitting up in some
smoking or billiard room in the farther wing of
the house, the windows of which we had not seen.
His broad, grizzled head, with its shining patch
of baldness, was in the immediate foreground of
our vision. He was leaning far back in the red
leather chair, his legs outstretched, a long
black cigar projecting at an angle from his
mouth. He wore a semi-military smoking jacket,
claret-coloured, with a black velvet collar. In
his hand he held a long legal document, which he
was reading in an indolent fashion, blowing
rings of tobacco smoke from his lips as he did
so. There was no promise of a speedy departure
in his composed bearing and his comfortable
attitude.
I felt Holmes`s hand steal into mine and give
me a reassuring shake, as if to say that the
situation was within his powers and that he was
easy in his mind. I was not sure whether he had
seen what was only too obvious from my position,
that the door of the safe was imperfectly
closed, and that Milverton might at any moment
observe it. In my own mind I had determined that
if I were sure, from the rigidity of his gaze,
that it had caught his eye, I would at once
spring out, throw my great-coat over his head,
pinion him, and leave the rest to Holmes. But
Milverton never looked up. He was languidly
interested by the papers in his hand, and page
after page was turned as he followed the
argument of the lawyer. At least, I thought,
when he has finished the document and the cigar
he will go to his room; but before he had
reached the end of either there came a
remarkable development which turned our thoughts
into quite another channel.
Several times I had observed that Milverton
looked at his watch, and once he had risen and
sat down again, with a gesture of impatience.
The idea, however, that he might have an
appointment at so strange an hour never occurred
to me until a faint sound reached my ears from
the veranda outside. Milverton dropped his
papers and sat rigid in his chair. The sound was
repeated, and then there came a gentle tap at
the door. Milverton rose and opened it.
"Well," said he, curtly, "you are nearly half
an hour late."
So this was the explanation of the unlocked
door and of the nocturnal vigil of Milverton.
There was the gentle rustle of a woman`s dress.
I had closed the slit between the curtains as
Milverton`s face had turned in our direction,
but now I ventured very carefully to open it
once more. He had resumed his seat, the cigar
still projecting at an insolent angle from the
corner of his mouth. In front of him, in the
full glare of the electric light, there stood a
tall, slim, dark woman, a veil over her face, a
mantle drawn round her chin. Her breath came
quick and fast, and every inch of the lithe
figure was quivering with strong emotion.
"Well," said Milverton, "you`ve made me lose
a good night`s rest, my dear. I hope you`ll
prove worth it. You couldn`t come any other time
-- eh?"
The woman shook her head.
"Well, if you couldn`t you couldn`t. If the
Countess is a hard mistress you have your chance
to get level with her now. Bless the girl, what
are you shivering about? That`s right! Pull
yourself together! Now, let us get down to
business." He took a note from the drawer of his
desk. "You say that you have five letters which
compromise the Countess d`Albert. You want to
sell them. I want to buy them. So far so good.
It only remains to fix a price. I should want to
inspect the letters, of course. If they are
really good specimens --- Great heavens, is it
you?"
The woman without a word had raised her veil
and dropped the mantle from her chin. It was a
dark, handsome, clear-cut face which confronted
Milverton, a face with a curved nose, strong,
dark eyebrows shading hard, glittering eyes, and
a straight, thin-lipped mouth set in a dangerous
smile.
"It is I," she said; "the woman whose life
you have ruined."
Milverton laughed, but fear vibrated in his
voice. "You were so very obstinate," said he.
"Why did you drive me to such extremities? I
assure you I wouldn`t hurt a fly of my own
accord, but every man has his business, and what
was I to do? I put the price well within your
means. You would not pay."
"So you sent the letters to my husband, and
he -- the noblest gentleman that ever lived, a
man whose boots I was never worthy to lace -- he
broke his gallant heart and died. You remember
that last night when I came through that door I
begged and prayed you for mercy, and you laughed
in my face as you are trying to laugh now, only
your coward heart cannot keep your lips from
twitching? Yes, you never thought to see me here
again, but it was that night which taught me how
I could meet you face to face, and alone. Well,
Charles Milverton, what have you to say?"
"Don`t imagine that you can bully me," said
he, rising to his feet. "I have only to raise my
voice, and I could call my servants and have you
arrested. But I will make allowance for your
natural anger. Leave the room at once as you
came, and I will say no more."
The woman stood with her hand buried in her
bosom, and the same deadly smile on her thin
lips.
"You will ruin no more lives as you ruined
mine. You will wring no more hearts as you wrung
mine. I will free the world of a poisonous
thing. Take that, you hound, and that! -- and
that! -- and that!"
She had drawn a little, gleaming revolver,
and emptied barrel after barrel into Milverton`s
body, the muzzle within two feet of his shirt
front. He shrank away and then fell forward upon
the table, coughing furiously and clawing among
the papers. Then he staggered to his feet,
received another shot, and rolled upon the
floor. "You`ve done me," he cried, and lay
still. The woman looked at him intently and
ground her heel into his upturned face. She
looked again, but there was no sound or
movement. I heard a sharp rustle, the night air
blew into the heated room, and the avenger was
gone.
No interference upon our part could have
saved the man from his fate; but as the woman
poured bullet after bullet into Milverton`s
shrinking body I was about to spring out, when I
felt Holmes`s cold, strong grasp upon my wrist.
I understood the whole argument of that firm,
restraining grip -- that it was no affair of
ours; that justice had overtaken a villain; that
we had our own duties and our own objects which
were not to be lost sight of. But hardly had the
woman rushed from the room when Holmes, with
swift, silent steps, was over at the other door.
He turned the key in the lock. At the same
instant we heard voices in the house and the
sound of hurrying feet. The revolver shots had
roused the household. With perfect coolness
Holmes slipped across to the safe, filled his
two arms with bundles of letters, and poured
them all into the fire. Again and again he did
it, until the safe was empty. Someone turned the
handle and beat upon the outside of the door.
Holmes looked swiftly round. The letter which
had been the messenger of death for Milverton
lay, all mottled with his blood, upon the table.
Holmes tossed it in among the blazing papers.
Then he drew the key from the outer door, passed
through after me, and locked it on the outside.
"This way, Watson," said he; "we can scale the
garden wall in this direction."
I could not have believed that an alarm could
have spread so swiftly. Looking back, the huge
house was one blaze of light. The front door was
open, and figures were rushing down the drive.
The whole garden was alive with people, and one
fellow raised a view-halloa as we emerged from
the veranda and followed hard at our heels.
Holmes seemed to know the ground perfectly, and
he threaded his way swiftly among a plantation
of small trees, I close at his heels, and our
foremost pursuer panting behind us. It was a
six-foot wall which barred our path, but he
sprang to the top and over. As I did the same I
felt the hand of the man behind me grab at my
ankle; but I kicked myself free and scrambled
over a glass-strewn coping. I fell upon my face
among some bushes; but Holmes had me on my feet
in an instant, and together we dashed away
across the huge expanse of Hampstead Heath. We
had run two miles, I suppose, before Holmes at
last halted and listened intently. All was
absolute silence behind us. We had shaken off
our pursuers and were safe.
We had breakfasted and were smoking our
morning pipe on the day after the remarkable
experience which I have recorded when Mr.
Lestrade, of Scotland Yard, very solemn and
impressive, was ushered into our modest
sitting-room.
"Good morning, Mr. Holmes," said he; "good
morning. May I ask if you are very busy just
now?"
"Not too busy to listen to you."
"I thought that, perhaps, if you had nothing
particular on hand, you might care to assist us
in a most remarkable case which occurred only
last night at Hampstead."
"Dear me!" said Holmes. "What was that?"
"A murder -- a most dramatic and remarkable
murder. I know how keen you are upon these
things, and I would take it as a great favour if
you would step down to Appledore Towers and give
us the benefit of your advice. It is no ordinary
crime. We have had our eyes upon this Mr.
Milverton for some time, and, between ourselves,
he was a bit of a villain. He is known to have
held papers which he used for blackmailing
purposes. These papers have all been burned by
the murderers. No article of value was taken, as
it is probable that the criminals were men of
good position, whose sole object was to prevent
social exposure."
"Criminals!" said Holmes. "Plural!"
"Yes, there were two of them. They were, as
nearly as possible, captured red-handed. We have
their foot-marks, we have their description;
it`s ten to one that we trace them. The first
fellow was a bit too active, but the second was
caught by the under-gardener and only got away
after a struggle. He was a middle-sized,
strongly-built man -- square jaw, thick neck,
moustache, a mask over his eyes."
"That`s rather vague," said Sherlock Holmes.
"Why, it might be a description of Watson!"
"It`s true," said the inspector, with much
amusement. "It might be a description of
Watson."
"Well, I am afraid I can`t help you,
Lestrade," said Holmes. "The fact is that I knew
this fellow Milverton, that I considered him one
of the most dangerous men in London, and that I
think there are certain crimes which the law
cannot touch, and which therefore, to some
extent, justify private revenge. No, it`s no use
arguing. I have made up my mind. My sympathies
are with the criminals rather than with the
victim, and I will not handle this case."
Holmes had not said one word to me about the
tragedy which we had witnessed, but I observed
all the morning that he was in his most
thoughtful mood, and he gave me the impression,
from his vacant eyes and his abstracted manner,
of a man who is striving to recall something to
his memory. We were in the middle of our lunch
when he suddenly sprang to his feet. "By Jove,
Watson; I`ve got it!" he cried. "Take your hat!
Come with me!" He hurried at his top speed down
Baker Street and along Oxford Street, until we
had almost reached Regent Circus. Here on the
left hand there stands a shop window filled with
photographs of the celebrities and beauties of
the day. Holmes`s eyes fixed themselves upon one
of them, and following his gaze I saw the
picture of a regal and stately lady in Court
dress, with a high diamond tiara upon her noble
head. I looked at that delicately-curved nose,
at the marked eyebrows, at the straight mouth,
and the strong little chin beneath it. Then I
caught my breath as I read the time-honoured
title of the great nobleman and statesman whose
wife she had been. My eyes met those of Holmes,
and he put his finger to his lips as we turned
away from the window.
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