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"The Return of Sherlock Holmes"
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VIII. The Adventure of the Six Napoleons.
IT was no very unusual thing for Mr. Lestrade, of
Scotland Yard, to look in upon us of an evening,
and his visits were welcome to Sherlock Holmes,
for they enabled him to keep in touch with all
that was going on at the police head-quarters.
In return for the news which Lestrade would
bring, Holmes was always ready to listen with
attention to the details of any case upon which
the detective was engaged, and was able
occasionally, without any active interference,
to give some hint or suggestion drawn from his
own vast knowledge and experience.
On this particular evening Lestrade had
spoken of the weather and the newspapers. Then
he had fallen silent, puffing thoughtfully at
his cigar. Holmes looked keenly at him.
"Anything remarkable on hand?" he asked.
"Oh, no, Mr. Holmes, nothing very
particular."
"Then tell me about it."
Lestrade laughed.
"Well, Mr. Holmes, there is no use denying
that there IS something on my mind. And yet it
is such an absurd business that I hesitated to
bother you about it. On the other hand, although
it is trivial, it is undoubtedly queer, and I
know that you have a taste for all that is out
of the common. But in my opinion it comes more
in Dr. Watson`s line than ours."
"Disease?" said I.
"Madness, anyhow. And a queer madness too!
You wouldn`t think there was anyone living at
this time of day who had such a hatred of
Napoleon the First that he would break any image
of him that he could see."
Holmes sank back in his chair.
"That`s no business of mine," said he.
"Exactly. That`s what I said. But then, when
the man commits burglary in order to break
images which are not his own, that brings it
away from the doctor and on to the policeman."
Holmes sat up again.
"Burglary! This is more interesting. Let me
hear the details."
Lestrade took out his official note-book and
refreshed his memory from its pages.
"The first case reported was four days ago,"
said he. "It was at the shop of Morse Hudson,
who has a place for the sale of pictures and
statues in the Kennington Road. The assistant
had left the front shop for an instant when he
heard a crash, and hurrying in he found a
plaster bust of Napoleon, which stood with
several other works of art upon the counter,
lying shivered into fragments. He rushed out
into the road, but, although several passers-by
declared that they had noticed a man run out of
the shop, he could neither see anyone nor could
he find any means of identifying the rascal. It
seemed to be one of those senseless acts of
Hooliganism which occur from time to time, and
it was reported to the constable on the beat as
such. The plaster cast was not worth more than a
few shillings, and the whole affair appeared to
be too childish for any particular
investigation.
"The second case, however, was more serious
and also more singular. It occurred only last
night.
"In Kennington Road, and within a few hundred
yards of Morse Hudson`s shop, there lives a
well-known medical practitioner, named Dr.
Barnicot, who has one of the largest practices
upon the south side of the Thames. His residence
and principal consulting-room is at Kennington
Road, but he has a branch surgery and dispensary
at Lower Brixton Road, two miles away. This Dr.
Barnicot is an enthusiastic admirer of Napoleon,
and his house is full of books, pictures, and
relics of the French Emperor. Some little time
ago he purchased from Morse Hudson two duplicate
plaster casts of the famous head of Napoleon by
the French sculptor, Devine. One of these he
placed in his hall in the house at Kennington
Road, and the other on the mantelpiece of the
surgery at Lower Brixton. Well, when Dr.
Barnicot came down this morning he was
astonished to find that his house had been
burgled during the night, but that nothing had
been taken save the plaster head from the hall.
It had been carried out and had been dashed
savagely against the garden wall, under which
its splintered fragments were discovered."
Holmes rubbed his hands.
"This is certainly very novel," said he.
"I thought it would please you. But I have
not got to the end yet. Dr. Barnicot was due at
his surgery at twelve o`clock, and you can
imagine his amazement when, on arriving there,
he found that the window had been opened in the
night, and that the broken pieces of his second
bust were strewn all over the room. It had been
smashed to atoms where it stood. In neither case
were there any signs which could give us a clue
as to the criminal or lunatic who had done the
mischief. Now, Mr. Holmes, you have got the
facts."
"They are singular, not to say grotesque,"
said Holmes. "May I ask whether the two busts
smashed in Dr. Barnicot`s rooms were the exact
duplicates of the one which was destroyed in
Morse Hudson`s shop?"
"They were taken from the same mould."
"Such a fact must tell against the theory
that the man who breaks them is influenced by
any general hatred of Napoleon. Considering how
many hundreds of statues of the great Emperor
must exist in London, it is too much to suppose
such a coincidence as that a promiscuous
iconoclast should chance to begin upon three
specimens of the same bust."
"Well, I thought as you do," said Lestrade.
"On the other hand, this Morse Hudson is the
purveyor of busts in that part of London, and
these three were the only ones which had been in
his shop for years. So, although, as you say,
there are many hundreds of statues in London, it
is very probable that these three were the only
ones in that district. Therefore, a local
fanatic would begin with them. What do you
think, Dr. Watson?"
"There are no limits to the possibilities of
monomania," I answered. "There is the condition
which the modern French psychologists have
called the `idee fixe,` which may be trifling in
character, and accompanied by complete sanity in
every other way. A man who had read deeply about
Napoleon, or who had possibly received some
hereditary family injury through the great war,
might conceivably form such an `idee fixe` and
under its influence be capable of any fantastic
outrage."
"That won`t do, my dear Watson," said Holmes,
shaking his head; "for no amount of `idee fixe`
would enable your interesting monomaniac to find
out where these busts were situated."
"Well, how do YOU explain it?"
"I don`t attempt to do so. I would only
observe that there is a certain method in the
gentleman`s eccentric proceedings. For example,
in Dr. Barnicot`s hall, where a sound might
arouse the family, the bust was taken outside
before being broken, whereas in the surgery,
where there was less danger of an alarm, it was
smashed where it stood. The affair seems
absurdly trifling, and yet I dare call nothing
trivial when I reflect that some of my most
classic cases have had the least promising
commencement. You will remember, Watson, how the
dreadful business of the Abernetty family was
first brought to my notice by the depth which
the parsley had sunk into the butter upon a hot
day. I can`t afford, therefore, to smile at your
three broken busts, Lestrade, and I shall be
very much obliged to you if you will let me hear
of any fresh developments of so singular a chain
of events."
The development for which my friend had asked
came in a quicker and an infinitely more tragic
form than he could have imagined. I was still
dressing in my bedroom next morning when there
was a tap at the door and Holmes entered, a
telegram in his hand. He read it aloud:--
"Come instantly, 131, Pitt Street,
Kensington. -- Lestrade."
"What is it, then?" I asked.
"Don`t know -- may be anything. But I suspect
it is the sequel of the story of the statues. In
that case our friend, the image-breaker, has
begun operations in another quarter of London.
There`s coffee on the table, Watson, and I have
a cab at the door."
In half an hour we had reached Pitt Street, a
quiet little backwater just beside one of the
briskest currents of London life. No. 131 was
one of a row, all flat-chested, respectable, and
most unromantic dwellings. As we drove up we
found the railings in front of the house lined
by a curious crowd. Holmes whistled.
"By George! it`s attempted murder at the
least. Nothing less will hold the London
message-boy. There`s a deed of violence
indicated in that fellow`s round shoulders and
outstretched neck. What`s this, Watson? The top
steps swilled down and the other ones dry.
Footsteps enough, anyhow! Well, well, there`s
Lestrade at the front window, and we shall soon
know all about it."
The official received us with a very grave
face and showed us into a sitting-room, where an
exceedingly unkempt and agitated elderly man,
clad in a flannel dressing-gown, was pacing up
and down. He was introduced to us as the owner
of the house -- Mr. Horace Harker, of the
Central Press Syndicate.
"It`s the Napoleon bust business again," said
Lestrade. "You seemed interested last night, Mr.
Holmes, so I thought perhaps you would be glad
to be present now that the affair has taken a
very much graver turn."
"What has it turned to, then?"
"To murder. Mr. Harker, will you tell these
gentlemen exactly what has occurred?"
The man in the dressing-gown turned upon us
with a most melancholy face.
"It`s an extraordinary thing," said he, "that
all my life I have been collecting other
people`s news, and now that a real piece of news
has come my own way I am so confused and
bothered that I can`t put two words together. If
I had come in here as a journalist I should have
interviewed myself and had two columns in every
evening paper. As it is I am giving away
valuable copy by telling my story over and over
to a string of different people, and I can make
no use of it myself. However, I`ve heard your
name, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and if you`ll only
explain this queer business I shall be paid for
my trouble in telling you the story."
Holmes sat down and listened.
"It all seems to centre round that bust of
Napoleon which I bought for this very room about
four months ago. I picked it up cheap from
Harding Brothers, two doors from the High Street
Station. A great deal of my journalistic work is
done at night, and I often write until the early
morning. So it was to-day. I was sitting in my
den, which is at the back of the top of the
house, about three o`clock, when I was convinced
that I heard some sounds downstairs. I listened,
but they were not repeated, and I concluded that
they came from outside. Then suddenly, about
five minutes later, there came a most horrible
yell -- the most dreadful sound, Mr. Holmes,
that ever I heard. It will ring in my ears as
long as I live. I sat frozen with horror for a
minute or two. Then I seized the poker and went
downstairs. When I entered this room I found the
window wide open, and I at once observed that
the bust was gone from the mantelpiece. Why any
burglar should take such a thing passes my
understanding, for it was only a plaster cast
and of no real value whatever.
"You can see for yourself that anyone going
out through that open window could reach the
front doorstep by taking a long stride. This was
clearly what the burglar had done, so I went
round and opened the door. Stepping out into the
dark I nearly fell over a dead man who was lying
there. I ran back for a light, and there was the
poor fellow, a great gash in his throat and the
whole place swimming in blood. He lay on his
back, his knees drawn up, and his mouth horribly
open. I shall see him in my dreams. I had just
time to blow on my police-whistle, and then I
must have fainted, for I knew nothing more until
I found the policeman standing over me in the
hall."
"Well, who was the murdered man?" asked
Holmes.
"There`s nothing to show who he was," said
Lestrade. "You shall see the body at the
mortuary, but we have made nothing of it up to
now. He is a tall man, sunburned, very powerful,
not more than thirty. He is poorly dressed, and
yet does not appear to be a labourer. A
horn-handled clasp knife was lying in a pool of
blood beside him. Whether it was the weapon
which did the deed, or whether it belonged to
the dead man, I do not know. There was no name
on his clothing, and nothing in his pockets save
an apple, some string, a shilling map of London,
and a photograph. Here it is."
It was evidently taken by a snap-shot from a
small camera. It represented an alert,
sharp-featured simian man with thick eyebrows,
and a very peculiar projection of the lower part
of the face like the muzzle of a baboon.
"And what became of the bust?" asked Holmes,
after a careful study of this picture.
"We had news of it just before you came. It
has been found in the front garden of an empty
house in Campden House Road. It was broken into
fragments. I am going round now to see it. Will
you come?"
"Certainly. I must just take one look round."
He examined the carpet and the window. "The
fellow had either very long legs or was a most
active man," said he. "With an area beneath, it
was no mean feat to reach that window-ledge and
open that window. Getting back was comparatively
simple. Are you coming with us to see the
remains of your bust, Mr. Harker?"
The disconsolate journalist had seated
himself at a writing-table.
"I must try and make something of it," said
he, "though I have no doubt that the first
editions of the evening papers are out already
with full details. It`s like my luck! You
remember when the stand fell at Doncaster? Well,
I was the only journalist in the stand, and my
journal the only one that had no account of it,
for I was too shaken to write it. And now I`ll
be too late with a murder done on my own
doorstep."
As we left the room we heard his pen
travelling shrilly over the foolscap.
The spot where the fragments of the bust had
been found was only a few hundred yards away.
For the first time our eyes rested upon this
presentment of the great Emperor, which seemed
to raise such frantic and destructive hatred in
the mind of the unknown. It lay scattered in
splintered shards upon the grass. Holmes picked
up several of them and examined them carefully.
I was convinced from his intent face and his
purposeful manner that at last he was upon a
clue.
"Well?" asked Lestrade.
Holmes shrugged his shoulders.
"We have a long way to go yet," said he. "And
yet -- and yet -- well, we have some suggestive
facts to act upon. The possession of this
trifling bust was worth more in the eyes of this
strange criminal than a human life. That is one
point. Then there is the singular fact that he
did not break it in the house, or immediately
outside the house, if to break it was his sole
object."
"He was rattled and bustled by meeting this
other fellow. He hardly knew what he was doing."
"Well, that`s likely enough. But I wish to
call your attention very particularly to the
position of this house in the garden of which
the bust was destroyed."
Lestrade looked about him.
"It was an empty house, and so he knew that
he would not be disturbed in the garden."
"Yes, but there is another empty house
farther up the street which he must have passed
before he came to this one. Why did he not break
it there, since it is evident that every yard
that he carried it increased the risk of someone
meeting him?"
"I give it up," said Lestrade.
Holmes pointed to the street lamp above our
heads.
"He could see what he was doing here and he
could not there. That was his reason."
"By Jove! that`s true," said the detective.
"Now that I come to think of it, Dr. Barnicot`s
bust was broken not far from his red lamp. Well,
Mr. Holmes, what are we to do with that fact?"
"To remember it -- to docket it. We may come
on something later which will bear upon it. What
steps do you propose to take now, Lestrade?"
"The most practical way of getting at it, in
my opinion, is to identify the dead man. There
should be no difficulty about that. When we have
found who he is and who his associates are, we
should have a good start in learning what he was
doing in Pitt Street last night, and who it was
who met him and killed him on the doorstep of
Mr. Horace Harker. Don`t you think so?"
"No doubt; and yet it is not quite the way in
which I should approach the case."
"What would you do, then?"
"Oh, you must not let me influence you in any
way! I suggest that you go on your line and I on
mine. We can compare notes afterwards, and each
will supplement the other."
"Very good," said Lestrade.
"If you are going back to Pitt Street you
might see Mr. Horace Harker. Tell him from me
that I have quite made up my mind, and that it
is certain that a dangerous homicidal lunatic
with Napoleonic delusions was in his house last
night. It will be useful for his article."
Lestrade stared.
"You don`t seriously believe that?"
Holmes smiled.
"Don`t I? Well, perhaps I don`t. But I am
sure that it will interest Mr. Horace Harker and
the subscribers of the Central Press Syndicate.
Now, Watson, I think that we shall find that we
have a long and rather complex day`s work before
us. I should be glad, Lestrade, if you could
make it convenient to meet us at Baker Street at
six o`clock this evening. Until then I should
like to keep this photograph found in the dead
man`s pocket. It is possible that I may have to
ask your company and assistance upon a small
expedition which will have be undertaken
to-night, if my chain of reasoning should prove
to be correct. Until then, good-bye and good
luck!"
Sherlock Holmes and I walked together to the
High Street, where he stopped at the shop of
Harding Brothers, whence the bust had been
purchased. A young assistant informed us that
Mr. Harding would be absent until after noon,
and that he was himself a newcomer who could
give us no information. Holmes`s face showed his
disappointment and annoyance.
"Well, well, we can`t expect to have it all
our own way, Watson," he said, at last. "We must
come back in the afternoon if Mr. Harding will
not be here until then. I am, as you have no
doubt surmised, endeavouring to trace these
busts to their source, in order to find if there
is not something peculiar which may account for
their remarkable fate. Let us make for Mr. Morse
Hudson, of the Kennington Road, and see if he
can throw any light upon the problem."
A drive of an hour brought us to the
picture-dealer`s establishment. He was a small,
stout man with a red face and a peppery manner.
"Yes, sir. On my very counter, sir," said he.
"What we pay rates and taxes for I don`t know,
when any ruffian can come in and break one`s
goods. Yes, sir, it was I who sold Dr. Barnicot
his two statues. Disgraceful, sir! A Nihilist
plot, that`s what I make it. No one but an
Anarchist would go about breaking statues. Red
republicans, that`s what I call `em. Who did I
get the statues from? I don`t see what that has
to do with it. Well, if you really want to know,
I got them from Gelder and Co., in Church
Street, Stepney. They are a well-known house in
the trade, and have been this twenty years. How
many had I? Three -- two and one are three --
two of Dr. Barnicot`s and one smashed in broad
daylight on my own counter. Do I know that
photograph? No, I don`t. Yes, I do, though. Why,
it`s Beppo. He was a kind of Italian piece-work
man, who made himself useful in the shop. He
could carve a bit and gild and frame, and do odd
jobs. The fellow left me last week, and I`ve
heard nothing of him since. No, I don`t know
where he came from nor where he went to. I have
nothing against him while he was here. He was
gone two days before the bust was smashed."
"Well, that`s all we could reasonably expect
to get from Morse Hudson," said Holmes, as we
emerged from the shop. "We have this Beppo as a
common factor, both in Kennington and in
Kensington, so that is worth a ten-mile drive.
Now, Watson, let us make for Gelder and Co., of
Stepney, the source and origin of busts. I shall
be surprised if we don`t get some help down
there."
In rapid succession we passed through the
fringe of fashionable London, hotel London,
theatrical London, literary London, commercial
London, and, finally, maritime London, till we
came to a riverside city of a hundred thousand
souls, where the tenement houses swelter and
reek with the outcasts of Europe. Here, in a
broad thoroughfare, once the abode of wealthy
City merchants, we found the sculpture works for
which we searched. Outside was a considerable
yard full of monumental masonry. Inside was a
large room in which fifty workers were carving
or moulding. The manager, a big blond German,
received us civilly, and gave a clear answer to
all Holmes`s questions. A reference to his books
showed that hundreds of casts had been taken
from a marble copy of Devine`s head of Napoleon,
but that the three which had been sent to Morse
Hudson a year or so before had been half of a
batch of six, the other three being sent to
Harding Brothers, of Kensington. There was no
reason why those six should be different to any
of the other casts. He could suggest no possible
cause why anyone should wish to destroy them --
in fact, he laughed at the idea. Their wholesale
price was six shillings, but the retailer would
get twelve or more. The cast was taken in two
moulds from each side of the face, and then
these two profiles of plaster of Paris were
joined together to make the complete bust. The
work was usually done by Italians in the room we
were in. When finished the busts were put on a
table in the passage to dry, and afterwards
stored. That was all he could tell us.
But the production of the photograph had a
remarkable effect upon the manager. His face
flushed with anger, and his brows knotted over
his blue Teutonic eyes.
"Ah, the rascal!" he cried. "Yes, indeed, I
know him very well. This has always been a
respectable establishment, and the only time
that we have ever had the police in it was over
this very fellow. It was more than a year ago
now. He knifed another Italian in the street,
and then he came to the works with the police on
his heels, and he was taken here. Beppo was his
name -- his second name I never knew. Serve me
right for engaging a man with such a face. But
he was a good workman, one of the best."
"What did he get?"
"The man lived and he got off with a year. I
have no doubt he is out now; but he has not
dared to show his nose here. We have a cousin of
his here, and I dare say he could tell you where
he is."
"No, no," cried Holmes, "not a word to the
cousin -- not a word, I beg you. The matter is
very important, and the farther I go with it the
more important it seems to grow. When you
referred in your ledger to the sale of those
casts I observed that the date was June 3rd of
last year. Could you give me the date when Beppo
was arrested?"
"I could tell you roughly by the pay-list,"
the manager answered. "Yes," he continued, after
some turning over of pages, "he was paid last on
May 20th."
"Thank you," said Holmes. "I don`t think that
I need intrude upon your time and patience any
more." With a last word of caution that he
should say nothing as to our researches we
turned our faces westward once more.
The afternoon was far advanced before we were
able to snatch a hasty luncheon at a restaurant.
A news-bill at the entrance announced
"Kensington Outrage. Murder by a Madman," and
the contents of the paper showed that Mr. Horace
Harker had got his account into print after all.
Two columns were occupied with a highly
sensational and flowery rendering of the whole
incident. Holmes propped it against the
cruet-stand and read it while he ate. Once or
twice he chuckled.
"This is all right, Watson," said he. "Listen
to this: `It is satisfactory to know that there
can be no difference of opinion upon this case,
since Mr. Lestrade, one of the most experienced
members of the official force, and Mr. Sherlock
Holmes, the well-known consulting expert, have
each come to the conclusion that the grotesque
series of incidents, which have ended in so
tragic a fashion, arise from lunacy rather than
from deliberate crime. No explanation save
mental aberration can cover the facts.` The
Press, Watson, is a most valuable institution if
you only know how to use it. And now, if you
have quite finished, we will hark back to
Kensington and see what the manager of Harding
Brothers has to say to the matter."
The founder of that great emporium proved to
be a brisk, crisp little person, very dapper and
quick, with a clear head and a ready tongue.
"Yes, sir, I have already read the account in
the evening papers. Mr. Horace Harker is a
customer of ours. We supplied him with the bust
some months ago. We ordered three busts of that
sort from Gelder and Co., of Stepney. They are
all sold now. To whom? Oh, I dare say by
consulting our sales book we could very easily
tell you. Yes, we have the entries here. One to
Mr. Harker, you see, and one to Mr. Josiah
Brown, of Laburnum Lodge, Laburnum Vale,
Chiswick, and one to Mr. Sandeford, of Lower
Grove Road, Reading. No, I have never seen this
face which you show me in the photograph. You
would hardly forget it, would you, sir, for I`ve
seldom seen an uglier. Have we any Italians on
the staff? Yes, sir, we have several among our
workpeople and cleaners. I dare say they might
get a peep at that sales book if they wanted to.
There is no particular reason for keeping a
watch upon that book. Well, well, it`s a very
strange business, and I hope that you`ll let me
know if anything comes of your inquiries."
Holmes had taken several notes during Mr.
Harding`s evidence, and I could see that he was
thoroughly satisfied by the turn which affairs
were taking. He made no remark, however, save
that, unless we hurried, we should be late for
our appointment with Lestrade. Sure enough, when
we reached Baker Street the detective was
already there, and we found him pacing up and
down in a fever of impatience. His look of
importance showed that his day`s work had not
been in vain.
"Well?" he asked. "What luck, Mr. Holmes?"
"We have had a very busy day, and not
entirely a wasted one," my friend explained. "We
have seen both the retailers and also the
wholesale manufacturers. I can trace each of the
busts now from the beginning."
"The busts!" cried Lestrade. "Well, well, you
have your own methods, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and
it is not for me to say a word against them, but
I think I have done a better day`s work than
you. I have identified the dead man."
"You don`t say so?"
"And found a cause for the crime."
"Splendid!"
"We have an inspector who makes a specialty
of Saffron Hill and the Italian quarter. Well,
this dead man had some Catholic emblem round his
neck, and that, along with his colour, made me
think he was from the South. Inspector Hill knew
him the moment he caught sight of him. His name
is Pietro Venucci, from Naples, and he is one of
the greatest cut-throats in London. He is
connected with the Mafia, which, as you know, is
a secret political society, enforcing its
decrees by murder. Now you see how the affair
begins to clear up. The other fellow is probably
an Italian also, and a member of the Mafia. He
has broken the rules in some fashion. Pietro is
set upon his track. Probably the photograph we
found in his pocket is the man himself, so that
he may not knife the wrong person. He dogs the
fellow, he sees him enter a house, he waits
outside for him, and in the scuffle he receives
his own death-wound. How is that, Mr. Sherlock
Holmes?"
Holmes clapped his hands approvingly.
"Excellent, Lestrade, excellent!" he cried.
"But I didn`t quite follow your explanation of
the destruction of the busts."
"The busts! You never can get those busts out
of your head. After all, that is nothing; petty
larceny, six months at the most. It is the
murder that we are really investigating, and I
tell you that I am gathering all the threads
into my hands."
"And the next stage?"
"Is a very simple one. I shall go down with
Hill to the Italian quarter, find the man whose
photograph we have got, and arrest him on the
charge of murder. Will you come with us?"
"I think not. I fancy we can attain our end
in a simpler way. I can`t say for certain,
because it all depends -- well, it all depends
upon a factor which is completely outside our
control. But I have great hopes -- in fact, the
betting is exactly two to one -- that if you
will come with us to-night I shall be able to
help you to lay him by the heels."
"In the Italian quarter?"
"No; I fancy Chiswick is an address which is
more likely to find him. If you will come with
me to Chiswick to-night, Lestrade, I`ll promise
to go to the Italian quarter with you to-morrow,
and no harm will be done by the delay. And now I
think that a few hours` sleep would do us all
good, for I do not propose to leave before
eleven o`clock, and it is unlikely that we shall
be back before morning. You`ll dine with us,
Lestrade, and then you are welcome to the sofa
until it is time for us to start. In the
meantime, Watson, I should be glad if you would
ring for an express messenger, for I have a
letter to send, and it is important that it
should go at once."
Holmes spent the evening in rummaging among
the files of the old daily papers with which one
of our lumber-rooms was packed. When at last he
descended it was with triumph in his eyes, but
he said nothing to either of us as to the result
of his researches. For my own part, I had
followed step by step the methods by which he
had traced the various windings of this complex
case, and, though I could not yet perceive the
goal which we would reach, I understood clearly
that Holmes expected this grotesque criminal to
make an attempt upon the two remaining busts,
one of which, I remembered, was at Chiswick. No
doubt the object of our journey was to catch him
in the very act, and I could not but admire the
cunning with which my friend had inserted a
wrong clue in the evening paper, so as to give
the fellow the idea that he could continue his
scheme with impunity. I was not surprised when
Holmes suggested that I should take my revolver
with me. He had himself picked up the loaded
hunting-crop which was his favourite weapon.
A four-wheeler was at the door at eleven, and
in it we drove to a spot at the other side of
Hammersmith Bridge. Here the cabman was directed
to wait. A short walk brought us to a secluded
road fringed with pleasant houses, each standing
in its own grounds. In the light of a street
lamp we read "Laburnum Villa" upon the gate-post
of one of them. The occupants had evidently
retired to rest, for all was dark save for a
fanlight over the hall door, which shed a single
blurred circle on to the garden path. The wooden
fence which separated the grounds from the road
threw a dense black shadow upon the inner side,
and here it was that we crouched.
"I fear that you`ll have a long wait," Holmes
whispered. "We may thank our stars that it is
not raining. I don`t think we can even venture
to smoke to pass the time. However, it`s a two
to one chance that we get something to pay us
for our trouble."
It proved, however, that our vigil was not to
be so long as Holmes had led us to fear, and it
ended in a very sudden and singular fashion. In
an instant, without the least sound to warn us
of his coming, the garden gate swung open, and a
lithe, dark figure, as swift and active as an
ape, rushed up the garden path. We saw it whisk
past the light thrown from over the door and
disappear against the black shadow of the house.
There was a long pause, during which we held our
breath, and then a very gentle creaking sound
came to our ears. The window was being opened.
The noise ceased, and again there was a long
silence. The fellow was making his way into the
house. We saw the sudden flash of a dark lantern
inside the room. What he sought was evidently
not there, for again we saw the flash through
another blind, and then through another.
"Let us get to the open window. We will nab
him as he climbs out," Lestrade whispered.
But before we could move the man had emerged
again. As he came out into the glimmering patch
of light we saw that he carried something white
under his arm. He looked stealthily all round
him. The silence of the deserted street
reassured him. Turning his back upon us he laid
down his burden, and the next instant there was
the sound of a sharp tap, followed by a clatter
and rattle. The man was so intent upon what he
was doing that he never heard our steps as we
stole across the grass plot. With the bound of a
tiger Holmes was on his back, and an instant
later Lestrade and I had him by either wrist and
the handcuffs had been fastened. As we turned
him over I saw a hideous, sallow face, with
writhing, furious features, glaring up at us,
and I knew that it was indeed the man of the
photograph whom we had secured.
But it was not our prisoner to whom Holmes
was giving his attention. Squatted on the
doorstep, he was engaged in most carefully
examining that which the man had brought from
the house. It was a bust of Napoleon like the
one which we had seen that morning, and it had
been broken into similar fragments. Carefully
Holmes held each separate shard to the light,
but in no way did it differ from any other
shattered piece of plaster. He had just
completed his examination when the hall lights
flew up, the door opened, and the owner of the
house, a jovial, rotund figure in shirt and
trousers, presented himself.
"Mr. Josiah Brown, I suppose?" said Holmes.
"Yes, sir; and you, no doubt, are Mr.
Sherlock Holmes? I had the note which you sent
by the express messenger, and I did exactly what
you told me. We locked every door on the inside
and awaited developments. Well, I`m very glad to
see that you have got the rascal. I hope,
gentlemen, that you will come in and have some
refreshment."
However, Lestrade was anxious to get his man
into safe quarters, so within a few minutes our
cab had been summoned and we were all four upon
our way to London. Not a word would our captive
say; but he glared at us from the shadow of his
matted hair, and once, when my hand seemed
within his reach, he snapped at it like a hungry
wolf. We stayed long enough at the
police-station to learn that a search of his
clothing revealed nothing save a few shillings
and a long sheath knife, the handle of which
bore copious traces of recent blood.
"That`s all right," said Lestrade, as we
parted. "Hill knows all these gentry, and he
will give a name to him. You`ll find that my
theory of the Mafia will work out all right. But
I`m sure I am exceedingly obliged to you, Mr.
Holmes, for the workmanlike way in which you
laid hands upon him. I don`t quite understand it
all yet."
"I fear it is rather too late an hour for
explanations," said Holmes. "Besides, there are
one or two details which are not finished off,
and it is one of those cases which are worth
working out to the very end. If you will come
round once more to my rooms at six o`clock
to-morrow I think I shall be able to show you
that even now you have not grasped the entire
meaning of this business, which presents some
features which make it absolutely original in
the history of crime. If ever I permit you to
chronicle any more of my little problems,
Watson, I foresee that you will enliven your
pages by an account of the singular adventure of
the Napoleonic busts."
When we met again next evening Lestrade was
furnished with much information concerning our
prisoner. His name, it appeared, was Beppo,
second name unknown. He was a well-known
ne`er-do-well among the Italian colony. He had
once been a skilful sculptor and had earned an
honest living, but he had taken to evil courses
and had twice already been in gaol -- once for a
petty theft and once, as we had already heard,
for stabbing a fellow-countryman. He could talk
English perfectly well. His reasons for
destroying the busts were still unknown, and he
refused to answer any questions upon the
subject; but the police had discovered that
these same busts might very well have been made
by his own hands, since he was engaged in this
class of work at the establishment of Gelder and
Co. To all this information, much of which we
already knew, Holmes listened with polite
attention; but I, who knew him so well, could
clearly see that his thoughts were elsewhere,
and I detected a mixture of mingled uneasiness
and expectation beneath that mask which he was
wont to assume. At last he started in his chair
and his eyes brightened. There had been a ring
at the bell. A minute later we heard steps upon
the stairs, and an elderly, red-faced man with
grizzled side-whiskers was ushered in. In his
right hand he carried an old-fashioned
carpet-bag, which he placed upon the table.
"Is Mr. Sherlock Holmes here?"
My friend bowed and smiled. "Mr. Sandeford,
of Reading, I suppose?" said he.
"Yes, sir, I fear that I am a little late;
but the trains were awkward. You wrote to me
about a bust that is in my possession."
"Exactly."
"I have your letter here. You said, `I desire
to possess a copy of Devine`s Napoleon, and am
prepared to pay you ten pounds for the one which
is in your possession.` Is that right?"
"Certainly."
"I was very much surprised at your letter,
for I could not imagine how you knew that I
owned such a thing."
"Of course you must have been surprised, but
the explanation is very simple. Mr. Harding, of
Harding Brothers, said that they had sold you
their last copy, and he gave me your address."
"Oh, that was it, was it? Did he tell you
what I paid for it?"
"No, he did not."
"Well, I am an honest man, though not a very
rich one. I only gave fifteen shillings for the
bust, and I think you ought to know that before
I take ten pounds from you."
"I am sure the scruple does you honour, Mr.
Sandeford. But I have named that price, so I
intend to stick to it."
"Well, it is very handsome of you, Mr.
Holmes. I brought the bust up with me, as you
asked me to do. Here it is!" He opened his bag,
and at last we saw placed upon our table a
complete specimen of that bust which we had
already seen more than once in fragments.
Holmes took a paper from his pocket and laid
a ten-pound note upon the table.
"You will kindly sign that paper, Mr.
Sandeford, in the presence of these witnesses.
It is simply to say that you transfer every
possible right that you ever had in the bust to
me. I am a methodical man, you see, and you
never know what turn events might take
afterwards. Thank you, Mr. Sandeford; here is
your money, and I wish you a very good evening."
When our visitor had disappeared Sherlock
Holmes`s movements were such as to rivet our
attention. He began by taking a clean white
cloth from a drawer and laying it over the
table. Then he placed his newly-acquired bust in
the centre of the cloth. Finally, he picked up
his hunting-crop and struck Napoleon a sharp
blow on the top of the head. The figure broke
into fragments, and Holmes bent eagerly over the
shattered remains. Next instant, with a loud
shout of triumph, he held up one splinter, in
which a round, dark object was fixed like a plum
in a pudding.
"Gentlemen," he cried, "let me introduce you
to the famous black pearl of the Borgias."
Lestrade and I sat silent for a moment, and
then, with a spontaneous impulse, we both broke
out clapping as at the well-wrought crisis of a
play. A flush of colour sprang to Holmes`s pale
cheeks, and he bowed to us like the master
dramatist who receives the homage of his
audience. It was at such moments that for an
instant he ceased to be a reasoning machine, and
betrayed his human love for admiration and
applause. The same singularly proud and reserved
nature which turned away with disdain from
popular notoriety was capable of being moved to
its depths by spontaneous wonder and praise from
a friend.
"Yes, gentlemen," said he, "it is the most
famous pearl now existing in the world, and it
has been my good fortune, by a connected chain
of inductive reasoning, to trace it from the
Prince of Colonna`s bedroom at the Dacre Hotel,
where it was lost, to the interior of this, the
last of the six busts of Napoleon which were
manufactured by Gelder and Co., of Stepney. You
will remember, Lestrade, the sensation caused by
the disappearance of this valuable jewel, and
the vain efforts of the London police to recover
it. I was myself consulted upon the case; but I
was unable to throw any light upon it. Suspicion
fell upon the maid of the Princess, who was an
Italian, and it was proved that she had a
brother in London, but we failed to trace any
connection between them. The maid`s name was
Lucretia Venucci, and there is no doubt in my
mind that this Pietro who was murdered two
nights ago was the brother. I have been looking
up the dates in the old files of the paper, and
I find that the disappearance of the pearl was
exactly two days before the arrest of Beppo for
some crime of violence, an event which took
place in the factory of Gelder and Co., at the
very moment when these busts were being made.
Now you clearly see the sequence of events,
though you see them, of course, in the inverse
order to the way in which they presented
themselves to me. Beppo had the pearl in his
possession. He may have stolen it from Pietro,
he may have been Pietro`s confederate, he may
have been the go-between of Pietro and his
sister. It is of no consequence to us which is
the correct solution.
"The main fact is that he HAD the pearl, and
at that moment, when it was on his person, he
was pursued by the police. He made for the
factory in which he worked, and he knew that he
had only a few minutes in which to conceal this
enormously valuable prize, which would otherwise
be found on him when he was searched. Six
plaster casts of Napoleon were drying in the
passage. One of them was still soft. In an
instant Beppo, a skilful workman, made a small
hole in the wet plaster, dropped in the pearl,
and with a few touches covered over the aperture
once more. It was an admirable hiding-place. No
one could possibly find it. But Beppo was
condemned to a year`s imprisonment, and in the
meanwhile his six busts were scattered over
London. He could not tell which contained his
treasure. Only by breaking them could he see.
Even shaking would tell him nothing, for as the
plaster was wet it was probable that the pearl
would adhere to it -- as, in fact, it has done.
Beppo did not despair, and he conducted his
search with considerable ingenuity and
perseverance. Through a cousin who works with
Gelder he found out the retail firms who had
bought the busts. He managed to find employment
with Morse Hudson, and in that way tracked down
three of them. The pearl was not there. Then,
with the help of some Italian EMPLOYE, he
succeeded in finding out where the other three
busts had gone. The first was at Harker`s. There
he was dogged by his confederate, who held Beppo
responsible for the loss of the pearl, and he
stabbed him in the scuffle which followed."
"If he was his confederate why should he
carry his photograph?" I asked.
"As a means of tracing him if he wished to
inquire about him from any third person. That
was the obvious reason. Well, after the murder I
calculated that Beppo would probably hurry
rather than delay his movements. He would fear
that the police would read his secret, and so he
hastened on before they should get ahead of him.
Of course, I could not say that he had not found
the pearl in Harker`s bust. I had not even
concluded for certain that it was the pearl; but
it was evident to me that he was looking for
something, since he carried the bust past the
other houses in order to break it in the garden
which had a lamp overlooking it. Since Harker`s
bust was one in three the chances were exactly
as I told you, two to one against the pearl
being inside it. There remained two busts, and
it was obvious that he would go for the London
one first. I warned the inmates of the house, so
as to avoid a second tragedy, and we went down
with the happiest results. By that time, of
course, I knew for certain that it was the
Borgia pearl that we were after. The name of the
murdered man linked the one event with the
other. There only remained a single bust -- the
Reading one -- and the pearl must be there. I
bought it in your presence from the owner -- and
there it lies."
We sat in silence for a moment.
"Well," said Lestrade, "I`ve seen you handle
a good many cases, Mr. Holmes, but I don`t know
that I ever knew a more workmanlike one than
that. We`re not jealous of you at Scotland Yard.
No, sir, we are very proud of you, and if you
come down to-morrow there`s not a man, from the
oldest inspector to the youngest constable, who
wouldn`t be glad to shake you by the hand."
"Thank you!" said Holmes. "Thank you!" and as
he turned away it seemed to me that he was more
nearly moved by the softer human emotions than I
had ever seen him. A moment later he was the
cold and practical thinker once more. "Put the
pearl in the safe, Watson," said he, "and get
out the papers of the Conk-Singleton forgery
case. Good-bye, Lestrade. If any little problem
comes your way I shall be happy, if I can, to
give you a hint or two as to its solution."
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IX. The Adventure of the Three Students.
IT was in the year `95 that a combination of events, into which I need
not enter, caused Mr. Sherlock Holmes and myself
to spend some weeks in one of our great
University towns, and it was during this time
that the small but instructive adventure which I
am about to relate befell us. It will be obvious
that any details which would help the reader to
exactly identify the college or the criminal
would be injudicious and offensive. So painful a
scandal may well be allowed to die out. With due
discretion the incident itself may, however, be
described, since it serves to illustrate some of
those qualities for which my friend was
remarkable. I will endeavour in my statement to
avoid such terms as would serve to limit the
events to any particular place, or give a clue
as to the people concerned.
We were residing at the time in furnished
lodgings close to a library where Sherlock
Holmes was pursuing some laborious researches in
early English charters -- researches which led
to results so striking that they may be the
subject of one of my future narratives. Here it
was that one evening we received a visit from an
acquaintance, Mr. Hilton Soames, tutor and
lecturer at the College of St. Luke`s. Mr.
Soames was a tall, spare man, of a nervous and
excitable temperament. I had always known him to
be restless in his manner, but on this
particular occasion he was in such a state of
uncontrollable agitation that it was clear
something very unusual had occurred.
"I trust, Mr. Holmes, that you can spare me a
few hours of your valuable time. We have had a
very painful incident at St. Luke`s, and really,
but for the happy chance of your being in the
town, I should have been at a loss what to do."
"I am very busy just now, and I desire no
distractions," my friend answered. "I should
much prefer that you called in the aid of the
police."
"No, no, my dear sir; such a course is
utterly impossible. When once the law is evoked
it cannot be stayed again, and this is just one
of those cases where, for the credit of the
college, it is most essential to avoid scandal.
Your discretion is as well known as your powers,
and you are the one man in the world who can
help me. I beg you, Mr. Holmes, to do what you
can."
My friend`s temper had not improved since he
had been deprived of the congenial surroundings
of Baker Street. Without his scrap-books, his
chemicals, and his homely untidiness, he was an
uncomfortable man. He shrugged his shoulders in
ungracious acquiescence, while our visitor in
hurried words and with much excitable
gesticulation poured forth his story.
"I must explain to you, Mr. Holmes, that
to-morrow is the first day of the examination
for the Fortescue Scholarship. I am one of the
examiners. My subject is Greek, and the first of
the papers consists of a large passage of Greek
translation which the candidate has not seen.
This passage is printed on the examination
paper, and it would naturally be an immense
advantage if the candidate could prepare it in
advance. For this reason great care is taken to
keep the paper secret.
"To-day about three o`clock the proofs of
this paper arrived from the printers. The
exercise consists of half a chapter of
Thucydides. I had to read it over carefully, as
the text must be absolutely correct. At
four-thirty my task was not yet completed. I
had, however, promised to take tea in a friend`s
rooms, so I left the proof upon my desk. I was
absent rather more than an hour.
"You are aware, Mr. Holmes, that our college
doors are double -- a green baize one within and
a heavy oak one without. As I approached my
outer door I was amazed to see a key in it. For
an instant I imagined that I had left my own
there, but on feeling in my pocket I found that
it was all right. The only duplicate which
existed, so far as I knew, was that which
belonged to my servant, Bannister, a man who has
looked after my room for ten years, and whose
honesty is absolutely above suspicion. I found
that the key was indeed his, that he had entered
my room to know if I wanted tea, and that he had
very carelessly left the key in the door when he
came out. His visit to my room must have been
within a very few minutes of my leaving it. His
forgetfulness about the key would have mattered
little upon any other occasion, but on this one
day it has produced the most deplorable
consequences.
"The moment I looked at my table I was aware
that someone had rummaged among my papers. The
proof was in three long slips. I had left them
all together. Now, I found that one of them was
lying on the floor, one was on the side table
near the window, and the third was where I had
left it."
Holmes stirred for the first time.
"The first page on the floor, the second in
the window, the third where you left it," said
he.
"Exactly, Mr. Holmes. You amaze me. How could
you possibly know that?"
"Pray continue your very interesting
statement."
"For an instant I imagined that Bannister had
taken the unpardonable liberty of examining my
papers. He denied it, however, with the utmost
earnestness, and I am convinced that he was
speaking the truth. The alternative was that
someone passing had observed the key in the
door, had known that I was out, and had entered
to look at the papers. A large sum of money is
at stake, for the scholarship is a very valuable
one, and an unscrupulous man might very well run
a risk in order to gain an advantage over his
fellows.
"Bannister was very much upset by the
incident. He had nearly fainted when we found
that the papers had undoubtedly been tampered
with. I gave him a little brandy and left him
collapsed in a chair while I made a most careful
examination of the room. I soon saw that the
intruder had left other traces of his presence
besides the rumpled papers. On the table in the
window were several shreds from a pencil which
had been sharpened. A broken tip of lead was
lying there also. Evidently the rascal had
copied the paper in a great hurry, had broken
his pencil, and had been compelled to put a
fresh point to it."
"Excellent!" said Holmes, who was recovering
his good-humour as his attention became more
engrossed by the case. "Fortune has been your
friend."
"This was not all. I have a new writing-table
with a fine surface of red leather. I am
prepared to swear, and so is Bannister, that it
was smooth and unstained. Now I found a clean
cut in it about three inches long -- not a mere
scratch, but a positive cut. Not only this, but
on the table I found a small ball of black
dough, or clay, with specks of something which
looks like sawdust in it. I am convinced that
these marks were left by the man who rifled the
papers. There were no footmarks and no other
evidence as to his identity. I was at my wits`
ends, when suddenly the happy thought occurred
to me that you were in the town, and I came
straight round to put the matter into your
hands. Do help me, Mr. Holmes! You see my
dilemma. Either I must find the man or else the
examination must be postponed until fresh papers
are prepared, and since this cannot be done
without explanation there will ensue a hideous
scandal, which will throw a cloud not only on
the college, but on the University. Above all
things I desire to settle the matter quietly and
discreetly."
"I shall be happy to look into it and to give
you such advice as I can," said Holmes, rising
and putting on his overcoat. "The case is not
entirely devoid of interest. Had anyone visited
you in your room after the papers came to you?"
"Yes; young Daulat Ras, an Indian student who
lives on the same stair, came in to ask me some
particulars about the examination."
"For which he was entered?"
"Yes."
"And the papers were on your table?"
"To the best of my belief they were rolled
up."
"But might be recognised as proofs?"
"Possibly."
"No one else in your room?"
"No."
"Did anyone know that these proofs would be
there?"
"No one save the printer."
"Did this man Bannister know?"
"No, certainly not. No one knew."
"Where is Bannister now?"
"He was very ill, poor fellow. I left him
collapsed in the chair. I was in such a hurry to
come to you."
"You left your door open?"
"I locked up the papers first."
"Then it amounts to this, Mr. Soames, that
unless the Indian student recognised the roll as
being proofs, the man who tampered with them
came upon them accidentally without knowing that
they were there."
"So it seems to me."
Holmes gave an enigmatic smile.
"Well," said he, "let us go round. Not one of
your cases, Watson -- mental, not physical. All
right; come if you want to. Now, Mr. Soames --
at your disposal!"
The sitting-room of our client opened by a
long, low, latticed window on to the ancient
lichen-tinted court of the old college. A Gothic
arched door led to a worn stone staircase. On
the ground floor was the tutor`s room. Above
were three students, one on each story. It was
already twilight when we reached the scene of
our problem. Holmes halted and looked earnestly
at the window. Then he approached it, and,
standing on tiptoe with his neck craned, he
looked into the room.
"He must have entered through the door. There
is no opening except the one pane," said our
learned guide.
"Dear me!" said Holmes, and he smiled in a
singular way as he glanced at our companion.
"Well, if there is nothing to be learned here we
had best go inside."
The lecturer unlocked the outer door and
ushered us into his room. We stood at the
entrance while Holmes made an examination of the
carpet.
"I am afraid there are no signs here," said
he. "One could hardly hope for any upon so dry a
day. Your servant seems to have quite recovered.
You left him in a chair, you say; which chair?"
"By the window there."
"I see. Near this little table. You can come
in now. I have finished with the carpet. Let us
take the little table first. Of course, what has
happened is very clear. The man entered and took
the papers, sheet by sheet, from the central
table. He carried them over to the window table,
because from there he could see if you came
across the courtyard, and so could effect an
escape."
"As a matter of fact he could not," said
Soames, "for I entered by the side door."
"Ah, that`s good! Well, anyhow, that was in
his mind. Let me see the three strips. No finger
impressions -- no! Well, he carried over this
one first and he copied it. How long would it
take him to do that, using every possible
contraction? A quarter of an hour, not less.
Then he tossed it down and seized the next. He
was in the midst of that when your return caused
him to make a very hurried retreat -- VERY
hurried, since he had not time to replace the
papers which would tell you that he had been
there. You were not aware of any hurrying feet
on the stair as you entered the outer door?"
"No, I can`t say I was."
"Well, he wrote so furiously that he broke
his pencil, and had, as you observe, to sharpen
it again. This is of interest, Watson. The
pencil was not an ordinary one. It was above the
usual size, with a soft lead; the outer colour
was dark blue, the maker`s name was printed in
silver lettering, and the piece remaining is
only about an inch and a half long. Look for
such a pencil, Mr. Soames, and you have got your
man. When I add that he possesses a large and
very blunt knife, you have an additional aid."
Mr. Soames was somewhat overwhelmed by this
flood of information. "I can follow the other
points," said he, "but really, in this matter of
the length ----"
Holmes held out a small chip with the letters
NN and a space of clear wood after them.
"You see?"
"No, I fear that even now ----"
"Watson, I have always done you an injustice.
There are others. What could this NN be? It is
at the end of a word. You are aware that Johann
Faber is the most common maker`s name. Is it not
clear that there is just as much of the pencil
left as usually follows the Johann?" He held the
small table sideways to the electric light. "I
was hoping that if the paper on which he wrote
was thin some trace of it might come through
upon this polished surface. No, I see nothing. I
don`t think there is anything more to be learned
here. Now for the central table. This small
pellet is, I presume, the black, doughy mass you
spoke of. Roughly pyramidal in shape and
hollowed out, I perceive. As you say, there
appear to be grains of sawdust in it. Dear me,
this is very interesting. And the cut -- a
positive tear, I see. It began with a thin
scratch and ended in a jagged hole. I am much
indebted to you for directing my attention to
this case, Mr. Soames. Where does that door lead
to?"
"To my bedroom."
"Have you been in it since your adventure?"
"No; I came straight away for you."
"I should like to have a glance round. What a
charming, old-fashioned room! Perhaps you will
kindly wait a minute until I have examined the
floor. No, I see nothing. What about this
curtain? You hang your clothes behind it. If
anyone were forced to conceal himself in this
room he must do it there, since the bed is too
low and the wardrobe too shallow. No one there,
I suppose?"
As Holmes drew the curtain I was aware, from
some little rigidity and alertness of his
attitude, that he was prepared for an emergency.
As a matter of fact the drawn curtain disclosed
nothing but three or four suits of clothes
hanging from a line of pegs. Holmes turned away
and stooped suddenly to the floor.
"Halloa! What`s this?" said he.
It was a small pyramid of black, putty-like
stuff, exactly like the one upon the table of
the study. Holmes held it out on his open palm
in the glare of the electric light.
"Your visitor seems to have left traces in
your bedroom as well as in your sitting-room,
Mr. Soames."
"What could he have wanted there?"
"I think it is clear enough. You came back by
an unexpected way, and so he had no warning
until you were at the very door. What could he
do? He caught up everything which would betray
him and he rushed into your bedroom to conceal
himself."
"Good gracious, Mr. Holmes, do you mean to
tell me that all the time I was talking to
Bannister in this room we had the man prisoner
if we had only known it?"
"So I read it."
"Surely there is another alternative, Mr.
Holmes. I don`t know whether you observed my
bedroom window?"
"Lattice-paned, lead framework, three
separate windows, one swinging on hinge and
large enough to admit a man."
"Exactly. And it looks out on an angle of the
courtyard so as to be partly invisible. The man
might have effected his entrance there, left
traces as he passed through the bedroom, and,
finally, finding the door open have escaped that
way."
Holmes shook his head impatiently.
"Let us be practical," said he. "I understand
you to say that there are three students who use
this stair and are in the habit of passing your
door?"
"Yes, there are."
"And they are all in for this examination?"
"Yes."
"Have you any reason to suspect any one of
them more than the others?"
Soames hesitated.
"It is a very delicate question," said he.
"One hardly likes to throw suspicion where there
are no proofs."
"Let us hear the suspicions. I will look
after the proofs."
"I will tell you, then, in a few words the
character of the three men who inhabit these
rooms. The lower of the three is Gilchrist, a
fine scholar and athlete; plays in the Rugby
team and the cricket team for the college, and
got his Blue for the hurdles and the long jump.
He is a fine, manly fellow. His father was the
notorious Sir Jabez Gilchrist, who ruined
himself on the turf. My scholar has been left
very poor, but he is hard-working and
industrious. He will do well.
"The second floor is inhabited by Daulat Ras,
the Indian. He is a quiet, inscrutable fellow,
as most of those Indians are. He is well up in
his work, though his Greek is his weak subject.
He is steady and methodical.
"The top floor belongs to Miles McLaren. He
is a brilliant fellow when he chooses to work --
one of the brightest intellects of the
University, but he is wayward, dissipated, and
unprincipled. He was nearly expelled over a card
scandal in his first year. He has been idling
all this term, and he must look forward with
dread to the examination."
"Then it is he whom you suspect?"
"I dare not go so far as that. But of the
three he is perhaps the least unlikely."
"Exactly. Now, Mr. Soames, let us have a look
at your servant, Bannister."
He was a little, white-faced, clean-shaven,
grizzly-haired fellow of fifty. He was still
suffering from this sudden disturbance of the
quiet routine of his life. His plump face was
twitching with his nervousness, and his fingers
could not keep still.
"We are investigating this unhappy business,
Bannister," said his master.
"Yes, sir."
"I understand," said Holmes, "that you left
your key in the door?"
"Yes, sir."
"Was it not very extraordinary that you
should do this on the very day when there were
these papers inside?"
"It was most unfortunate, sir. But I have
occasionally done the same thing at other
times."
"When did you enter the room?"
"It was about half-past four. That is Mr.
Soames`s tea time."
"How long did you stay?"
"When I saw that he was absent I withdrew at
once."
"Did you look at these papers on the table?"
"No, sir; certainly not."
"How came you to leave the key in the door?"
"I had the tea-tray in my hand. I thought I
would come back for the key. Then I forgot."
"Has the outer door a spring lock?"
"No, sir."
"Then it was open all the time?"
"Yes, sir."
"Anyone in the room could get out?"
"Yes, sir."
"When Mr. Soames returned and called for you,
you were very much disturbed?"
"Yes, sir. Such a thing has never happened
during the many years that I have been here. I
nearly fainted, sir."
"So I understand. Where were you when you
began to feel bad?"
"Where was I, sir? Why, here, near the door."
"That is singular, because you sat down in
that chair over yonder near the corner. Why did
you pass these other chairs?"
"I don`t know, sir. It didn`t matter to me
where I sat."
"I really don`t think he knew much about it,
Mr. Holmes. He was looking very bad -- quite
ghastly."
"You stayed here when your master left?"
"Only for a minute or so. Then I locked the
door and went to my room."
"Whom do you suspect?"
"Oh, I would not venture to say, sir. I don`t
believe there is any gentleman in this
University who is capable of profiting by such
an action. No, sir, I`ll not believe it."
"Thank you; that will do," said Holmes. "Oh,
one more word. You have not mentioned to any of
the three gentlemen whom you attend that
anything is amiss?"
"No, sir; not a word."
"You haven`t seen any of them?"
"No, sir."
"Very good. Now, Mr. Soames, we will take a
walk in the quadrangle, if you please."
Three yellow squares of light shone above us
in the gathering gloom."
"Your three birds are all in their nests,"
said Holmes, looking up. "Halloa! What`s that?
One of them seems restless enough."
It was the Indian, whose dark silhouette
appeared suddenly upon his blind. He was pacing
swiftly up and down his room.
"I should like to have a peep at each of
them," said Holmes. "Is it possible?"
"No difficulty in the world," Soames
answered. "This set of rooms is quite the oldest
in the college, and it is not unusual for
visitors to go over them. Come along, and I will
personally conduct you."
"No names, please!" said Holmes, as we
knocked at Gilchrist`s door. A tall,
flaxen-haired, slim young fellow opened it, and
made us welcome when he understood our errand.
There were some really curious pieces of
mediaeval domestic architecture within. Holmes
was so charmed with one of them that he insisted
on drawing it on his note-book, broke his
pencil, had to borrow one from our host, and
finally borrowed a knife to sharpen his own. The
same curious accident happened to him in the
rooms of the Indian -- a silent, little,
hook-nosed fellow, who eyed us askance and was
obviously glad when Holmes`s architectural
studies had come to an end. I could not see that
in either case Holmes had come upon the clue for
which he was searching. Only at the third did
our visit prove abortive. The outer door would
not open to our knock, and nothing more
substantial than a torrent of bad language came
from behind it. "I don`t care who you are. You
can go to blazes!" roared the angry voice.
"To-morrow`s the exam, and I won`t be drawn by
anyone."
"A rude fellow," said our guide, flushing
with anger as we withdrew down the stair. "Of
course, he did not realize that it was I who was
knocking, but none the less his conduct was very
uncourteous, and, indeed, under the
circumstances rather suspicious."
Holmes`s response was a curious one.
"Can you tell me his exact height?" he asked.
"Really, Mr. Holmes, I cannot undertake to
say. He is taller than the Indian, not so tall
as Gilchrist. I suppose five foot six would be
about it."
"That is very important," said Holmes. "And
now, Mr. Soames, I wish you good-night."
Our guide cried aloud in his astonishment and
dismay. "Good gracious, Mr. Holmes, you are
surely not going to leave me in this abrupt
fashion! You don`t seem to realize the position.
To-morrow is the examination. I must take some
definite action to-night. I cannot allow the
examination to be held if one of the papers has
been tampered with. The situation must be
faced."
"You must leave it as it is. I shall drop
round early to-morrow morning and chat the
matter over. It is possible that I may be in a
position then to indicate some course of action.
Meanwhile you change nothing -- nothing at all."
"Very good, Mr. Holmes."
"You can be perfectly easy in your mind. We
shall certainly find some way out of your
difficulties. I will take the black clay with
me, also the pencil cuttings. Good-bye."
When we were out in the darkness of the
quadrangle we again looked up at the windows.
The Indian still paced his room. The others were
invisible.
"Well, Watson, what do you think of it?"
Holmes asked, as we came out into the main
street. "Quite a little parlour game -- sort of
three-card trick, is it not? There are your
three men. It must be one of them. You take your
choice. Which is yours?"
"The foul-mouthed fellow at the top. He is
the one with the worst record. And yet that
Indian was a sly fellow also. Why should he be
pacing his room all the time?"
"There is nothing in that. Many men do it
when they are trying to learn anything by
heart."
"He looked at us in a queer way."
"So would you if a flock of strangers came in
on you when you were preparing for an
examination next day, and every moment was of
value. No, I see nothing in that. Pencils, too,
and knives -- all was satisfactory. But that
fellow DOES puzzle me."
"Who?"
"Why, Bannister, the servant. What`s his game
in the matter?"
"He impressed me as being a perfectly honest
man."
"So he did me. That`s the puzzling part. Why
should a perfectly honest man -- well, well,
here`s a large stationer`s. We shall begin our
researches here."
There were only four stationers of any
consequence in the town, and at each Holmes
produced his pencil chips and bid high for a
duplicate. All were agreed that one could be
ordered, but that it was not a usual size of
pencil and that it was seldom kept in stock. My
friend did not appear to be depressed by his
failure, but shrugged his shoulders in
half-humorous resignation.
"No good, my dear Watson. This, the best and
only final clue, has run to nothing. But,
indeed, I have little doubt that we can build up
a sufficient case without it. By Jove! my dear
fellow, it is nearly nine, and the landlady
babbled of green peas at seven-thirty. What with
your eternal tobacco, Watson, and your
irregularity at meals, I expect that you will
get notice to quit and that I shall share your
downfall -- not, however, before we have solved
the problem of the nervous tutor, the careless
servant, and the three enterprising students."
Holmes made no further allusion to the matter
that day, though he sat lost in thought for a
long time after our belated dinner. At eight in
the morning he came into my room just as I
finished my toilet.
"Well, Watson," said he, "it is time we went
down to St. Luke`s. Can you do without
breakfast?"
"Certainly."
"Soames will be in a dreadful fidget until we
are able to tell him something positive."
"Have you anything positive to tell him?"
"I think so."
"You have formed a conclusion?"
"Yes, my dear Watson; I have solved the
mystery."
"But what fresh evidence could you have got?"
"Aha! It is not for nothing that I have
turned myself out of bed at the untimely hour of
six. I have put in two hours` hard work and
covered at least five miles, with something to
show for it. Look at that!"
He held out his hand. On the palm were three
little pyramids of black, doughy clay.
"Why, Holmes, you had only two yesterday!"
"And one more this morning. It is a fair
argument that wherever No. 3 came from is also
the source of Nos. 1 and 2. Eh, Watson? Well,
come along and put friend Soames out of his
pain."
The unfortunate tutor was certainly in a
state of pitiable agitation when we found him in
his chambers. In a few hours the examination
would commence, and he was still in the dilemma
between making the facts public and allowing the
culprit to compete for the valuable scholarship.
He could hardly stand still, so great was his
mental agitation, and he ran towards Holmes with
two eager hands outstretched.
"Thank Heaven that you have come! I feared
that you had given it up in despair. What am I
to do? Shall the examination proceed?"
"Yes; let it proceed by all means."
"But this rascal ----?"
"He shall not compete."
"You know him?"
"I think so. If this matter is not to become
public we must give ourselves certain powers,
and resolve ourselves into a small private
court-martial. You there, if you please, Soames!
Watson, you here! I`ll take the arm-chair in the
middle. I think that we are now sufficiently
imposing to strike terror into a guilty breast.
Kindly ring the bell!"
Bannister entered, and shrunk back in evident
surprise and fear at our judicial appearance.
"You will kindly close the door," said
Holmes. "Now, Bannister, will you please tell us
the truth about yesterday`s incident?"
The man turned white to the roots of his
hair.
"I have told you everything, sir."
"Nothing to add?"
"Nothing at all, sir."
"Well, then, I must make some suggestions to
you. When you sat down on that chair yesterday,
did you do so in order to conceal some object
which would have shown who had been in the
room?"
Bannister`s face was ghastly.
"No, sir; certainly not."
"It is only a suggestion," said Holmes,
suavely. "I frankly admit that I am unable to
prove it. But it seems probable enough, since
the moment that Mr. Soames`s back was turned you
released the man who was hiding in that
bedroom."
Bannister licked his dry lips.
"There was no man, sir."
"Ah, that`s a pity, Bannister. Up to now you
may have spoken the truth, but now I know that
you have lied."
The man`s face set in sullen defiance.
"There was no man, sir."
"Come, come, Bannister!"
"No, sir; there was no one."
"In that case you can give us no further
information. Would you please remain in the
room? Stand over there near the bedroom door.
Now, Soames, I am going to ask you to have the
great kindness to go up to the room of young
Gilchrist, and to ask him to step down into
yours."
An instant later the tutor returned, bringing
with him the student. He was a fine figure of a
man, tall, lithe, and agile, with a springy step
and a pleasant, open face. His troubled blue
eyes glanced at each of us, and finally rested
with an expression of blank dismay upon
Bannister in the farther corner.
"Just close the door," said Holmes. "Now, Mr.
Gilchrist, we are all quite alone here, and no
one need ever know one word of what passes
between us. We can be perfectly frank with each
other. We want to know, Mr. Gilchrist, how you,
an honourable man, ever came to commit such an
action as that of yesterday?"
The unfortunate young man staggered back and
cast a look full of horror and reproach at
Bannister.
"No, no, Mr. Gilchrist, sir; I never said a
word -- never one word!" cried the servant.
"No, but you have now," said Holmes. "Now,
sir, you must see that after Bannister`s words
your position is hopeless, and that your only
chance lies in a frank confession."
For a moment Gilchrist, with upraised hand,
tried to control his writhing features. The next
he had thrown himself on his knees beside the
table and, burying his face in his hands, he had
burst into a storm of passionate sobbing.
"Come, come," said Holmes, kindly; "it is
human to err, and at least no one can accuse you
of being a callous criminal. Perhaps it would be
easier for you if I were to tell Mr. Soames what
occurred, and you can check me where I am wrong.
Shall I do so? Well, well, don`t trouble to
answer. Listen, and see that I do you no
injustice.
"From the moment, Mr. Soames, that you said
to me that no one, not even Bannister, could
have told that the papers were in your room, the
case began to take a definite shape in my mind.
The printer one could, of course, dismiss. He
could examine the papers in his own office. The
Indian I also thought nothing of. If the proofs
were in a roll he could not possibly know what
they were. On the other hand, it seemed an
unthinkable coincidence that a man should dare
to enter the room, and that by chance on that
very day the papers were on the table. I
dismissed that. The man who entered knew that
the papers were there. How did he know?
"When I approached your room I examined the
window. You amused me by supposing that I was
contemplating the possibility of someone having
in broad daylight, under the eyes of all these
opposite rooms, forced himself through it. Such
an idea was absurd. I was measuring how tall a
man would need to be in order to see as he
passed what papers were on the central table. I
am six feet high, and I could do it with an
effort. No one less than that would have a
chance. Already you see I had reason to think
that if one of your three students was a man of
unusual height he was the most worth watching of
the three.
"I entered and I took you into my confidence
as to the suggestions of the side table. Of the
centre table I could make nothing, until in your
description of Gilchrist you mentioned that he
was a long-distance jumper. Then the whole thing
came to me in an instant, and I only needed
certain corroborative proofs, which I speedily
obtained.
"What happened was this. This young fellow
had employed his afternoon at the athletic
grounds, where he had been practising the jump.
He returned carrying his jumping shoes, which
are provided, as you are aware, with several
sharp spikes. As he passed your window he saw,
by means of his great height, these proofs upon
your table, and conjectured what they were. No
harm would have been done had it not been that
as he passed your door he perceived the key
which had been left by the carelessness of your
servant. A sudden impulse came over him to enter
and see if they were indeed the proofs. It was
not a dangerous exploit, for he could always
pretend that he had simply looked in to ask a
question.
"Well, when he saw that they were indeed the
proofs, it was then that he yielded to
temptation. He put his shoes on the table. What
was it you put on that chair near the window?"
"Gloves," said the young man.
Holmes looked triumphantly at Bannister. "He
put his gloves on the chair, and he took the
proofs, sheet by sheet, to copy them. He thought
the tutor must return by the main gate, and that
he would see him. As we know, he came back by
the side gate. Suddenly he heard him at the very
door. There was no possible escape. He forgot
his gloves, but he caught up his shoes and
darted into the bedroom. You observe that the
scratch on that table is slight at one side, but
deepens in the direction of the bedroom door.
That in itself is enough to show us that the
shoe had been drawn in that direction and that
the culprit had taken refuge there. The earth
round the spike had been left on the table, and
a second sample was loosened and fell in the
bedroom. I may add that I walked out to the
athletic grounds this morning, saw that
tenacious black clay is used in the jumping-pit,
and carried away a specimen of it, together with
some of the fine tan or sawdust which is strewn
over it to prevent the athlete from slipping.
Have I told the truth, Mr. Gilchrist?"
The student had drawn himself erect.
"Yes, sir, it is true," said he.
"Good heavens, have you nothing to add?"
cried Soames.
"Yes, sir, I have, but the shock of this
disgraceful exposure has bewildered me. I have a
letter here, Mr. Soames, which I wrote to you
early this morning in the middle of a restless
night. It was before I knew that my sin had
found me out. Here it is, sir. You will see that
I have said, `I have determined not to go in for
the examination. I have been offered a
commission in the Rhodesian Police, and I am
going out to South Africa at once."`
"I am indeed pleased to hear that you did not
intend to profit by your unfair advantage," said
Soames. "But why did you change your purpose?"
Gilchrist pointed to Bannister.
"There is the man who set me in the right
path," said he.
"Come now, Bannister," said Holmes. "It will
be clear to you from what I have said that only
you could have let this young man out, since you
were left in the room, and must have locked the
door when you went out. As to his escaping by
that window, it was incredible. Can you not
clear up the last point in this mystery, and
tell us the reasons for your action?"
"It was simple enough, sir, if you only had
known; but with all your cleverness it was
impossible that you could know. Time was, sir,
when I was butler to old Sir Jabez Gilchrist,
this young gentleman`s father. When he was
ruined I came to the college as servant, but I
never forgot my old employer because he was down
in the world. I watched his son all I could for
the sake of the old days. Well, sir, when I came
into this room yesterday when the alarm was
given, the very first thing I saw was Mr.
Gilchrist`s tan gloves a-lying in that chair. I
knew those gloves well, and I understood their
message. If Mr. Soames saw them the game was up.
I flopped down into that chair, and nothing
would budge me until Mr. Soames he went for you.
Then out came my poor young master, whom I had
dandled on my knee, and confessed it all to me.
Wasn`t it natural, sir, that I should save him,
and wasn`t it natural also that I should try to
speak to him as his dead father would have done,
and make him understand that he could not profit
by such a deed? Could you blame me, sir?"
"No, indeed," said Holmes, heartily,
springing to his feet. "Well, Soames, I think we
have cleared your little problem up, and our
breakfast awaits us at home. Come, Watson! As to
you, sir, I trust that a bright future awaits
you in Rhodesia. For once you have fallen low.
Let us see in the future how high you can rise."
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X. The Adventure of the Golden Pince-Nez.
WHEN I look at the three massive manuscript volumes which contain our
work for the year 1894 I confess that it is very
difficult for me, out of such a wealth of
material, to select the cases which are most
interesting in themselves and at the same time
most conducive to a display of those peculiar
powers for which my friend was famous. As I turn
over the pages I see my notes upon the repulsive
story of the red leech and the terrible death of
Crosby the banker. Here also I find an account
of the Addleton tragedy and the singular
contents of the ancient British barrow. The
famous Smith-Mortimer succession case comes also
within this period, and so does the tracking and
arrest of Huret, the Boulevard assassin -- an
exploit which won for Holmes an autograph letter
of thanks from the French President and the
Order of the Legion of Honour. Each of these
would furnish a narrative, but on the whole I am
of opinion that none of them unite so many
singular points of interest as the episode of
Yoxley Old Place, which includes not only the
lamentable death of young Willoughby Smith, but
also those subsequent developments which threw
so curious a light upon the causes of the crime.
It was a wild, tempestuous night towards the
close of November. Holmes and I sat together in
silence all the evening, he engaged with a
powerful lens deciphering the remains of the
original inscription upon a palimpsest, I deep
in a recent treatise upon surgery. Outside the
wind howled down Baker Street, while the rain
beat fiercely against the windows. It was
strange there in the very depths of the town,
with ten miles of man`s handiwork on every side
of us, to feel the iron grip of Nature, and to
be conscious that to the huge elemental forces
all London was no more than the molehills that
dot the fields. I walked to the window and
looked out on the deserted street. The
occasional lamps gleamed on the expanse of muddy
road and shining pavement. A single cab was
splashing its way from the Oxford Street end.
"Well, Watson, it`s as well we have not to
turn out to-night," said Holmes, laying aside
his lens and rolling up the palimpsest. "I`ve
done enough for one sitting. It is trying work
for the eyes. So far as I can make out it is
nothing more exciting than an Abbey`s accounts
dating from the second half of the fifteenth
century. Halloa! halloa! halloa! What`s this?"
Amid the droning of the wind there had come
the stamping of a horse`s hoofs and the long
grind of a wheel as it rasped against the kerb.
The cab which I had seen had pulled up at our
door.
"What can he want?" I ejaculated, as a man
stepped out of it.
"Want! He wants us. And we, my poor Watson,
want overcoats and cravats and goloshes, and
every aid that man ever invented to fight the
weather. Wait a bit, though! There`s the cab off
again! There`s hope yet. He`d have kept it if he
had wanted us to come. Run down, my dear fellow,
and open the door, for all virtuous folk have
been long in bed."
When the light of the hall lamp fell upon our
midnight visitor I had no difficulty in
recognising him. It was young Stanley Hopkins, a
promising detective, in whose career Holmes had
several times shown a very practical interest.
"Is he in?" he asked, eagerly.
"Come up, my dear sir," said Holmes`s voice
from above. "I hope you have no designs upon us
on such a night as this."
The detective mounted the stairs, and our
lamp gleamed upon his shining waterproof. I
helped him out of it while Holmes knocked a
blaze out of the logs in the grate.
"Now, my dear Hopkins, draw up and warm your
toes," said he. "Here`s a cigar, and the doctor
has a prescription containing hot water and a
lemon which is good medicine on a night like
this. It must be something important which has
brought you out in such a gale."
"It is indeed, Mr. Holmes. I`ve had a
bustling afternoon, I promise you. Did you see
anything of the Yoxley case in the latest
editions?"
"I`ve seen nothing later than the fifteenth
century to-day."
"Well, it was only a paragraph, and all wrong
at that, so you have not missed anything. I
haven`t let the grass grow under my feet. It`s
down in Kent, seven miles from Chatham and three
from the railway line. I was wired for at
three-fifteen, reached Yoxley Old Place at five,
conducted my investigation, was back at Charing
Cross by the last train, and straight to you by
cab."
"Which means, I suppose, that you are not
quite clear about your case?"
"It means that I can make neither head nor
tail of it. So far as I can see it is just as
tangled a business as ever I handled, and yet at
first it seemed so simple that one couldn`t go
wrong. There`s no motive, Mr. Holmes. That`s
what bothers me -- I can`t put my hand on a
motive. Here`s a man dead -- there`s no denying
that -- but, so far as I can see, no reason on
earth why anyone should wish him harm."
Holmes lit his cigar and leaned back in his
chair.
"Let us hear about it," said he.
"I`ve got my facts pretty clear," said
Stanley Hopkins. "All I want now is to know what
they all mean. The story, so far as I can make
it out, is like this. Some years ago this
country house, Yoxley Old Place, was taken by an
elderly man, who gave the name of Professor
Coram. He was an invalid, keeping his bed half
the time, and the other half hobbling round the
house with a stick or being pushed about the
grounds by the gardener in a bath-chair. He was
well liked by the few neighbours who called upon
him, and he has the reputation down there of
being a very learned man. His household used to
consist of an elderly housekeeper, Mrs. Marker,
and of a maid, Susan Tarlton. These have both
been with him since his arrival, and they seem
to be women of excellent character. The
Professor is writing a learned book, and he
found it necessary about a year ago to engage a
secretary. The first two that he tried were not
successes; but the third, Mr. Willoughby Smith,
a very young man straight from the University,
seems to have been just what his employer
wanted. His work consisted in writing all the
morning to the Professor`s dictation, and he
usually spent the evening in hunting up
references and passages which bore upon the next
day`s work. This Willoughby Smith has nothing
against him either as a boy at Uppingham or as a
young man at Cambridge. I have seen his
testimonials, and from the first he was a
decent, quiet, hardworking fellow, with no weak
spot in him at all. And yet this is the lad who
has met his death this morning in the
Professor`s study under circumstances which can
point only to murder."
The wind howled and screamed at the windows.
Holmes and I drew closer to the fire while the
young inspector slowly and point by point
developed his singular narrative.
"If you were to search all England," said he,
"I don`t suppose you could find a household more
self-contained or free from outside influences.
Whole weeks would pass and not one of them go
past the garden gate. The Professor was buried
in his work and existed for nothing else. Young
Smith knew nobody in the neighbourhood, and
lived very much as his employer did. The two
women had nothing to take them from the house.
Mortimer the gardener, who wheels the
bath-chair, is an Army pensioner -- an old
Crimean man of excellent character. He does not
live in the house, but in a three-roomed cottage
at the other end of the garden. Those are the
only people that you would find within the
grounds of Yoxley Old Place. At the same time,
the gate of the garden is a hundred yards from
the main London to Chatham road. It opens with a
latch, and there is nothing to prevent anyone
from walking in.
"Now I will give you the evidence of Susan
Tarlton, who is the only person who can say
anything positive about the matter. It was in
the forenoon, between eleven and twelve. She was
engaged at the moment in hanging some curtains
in the upstairs front bedroom. Professor Coram
was still in bed, for when the weather is bad he
seldom rises before midday. The housekeeper was
busied with some work in the back of the house.
Willoughby Smith had been in his bedroom, which
he uses as a sitting-room; but the maid heard
him at that moment pass along the passage and
descend to the study immediately below her. She
did not see him, but she says that she could not
be mistaken in his quick, firm tread. She did
not hear the study door close, but a minute or
so later there was a dreadful cry in the room
below. It was a wild, hoarse scream, so strange
and unnatural that it might have come either
from a man or a woman. At the same instant there
was a heavy thud, which shook the old house, and
then all was silence. The maid stood petrified
for a moment, and then, recovering her courage,
she ran downstairs. The study door was shut, and
she opened it. Inside young Mr. Willoughby Smith
was stretched upon the floor. At first she could
see no injury, but as she tried to raise him she
saw that blood was pouring from the underside of
his neck. It was pierced by a very small but
very deep wound, which had divided the carotid
artery. The instrument with which the injury had
been inflicted lay upon the carpet beside him.
It was one of those small sealing-wax knives to
be found on old-fashioned writing-tables, with
an ivory handle and a stiff blade. It was part
of the fittings of the Professor`s own desk.
"At first the maid thought that young Smith
was already dead, but on pouring some water from
the carafe over his forehead he opened his eyes
for an instant. `The Professor,` he murmured --
`it was she.` The maid is prepared to swear that
those were the exact words. He tried desperately
to say something else, and he held his right
hand up in the air. Then he fell back dead.
"In the meantime the housekeeper had also
arrived upon the scene, but she was just too
late to catch the young man`s dying words.
Leaving Susan with the body, she hurried to the
Professor`s room. He was sitting up in bed
horribly agitated, for he had heard enough to
convince him that something terrible had
occurred. Mrs. Marker is prepared to swear that
the Professor was still in his night-clothes,
and, indeed, it was impossible for him to dress
without the help of Mortimer, whose orders were
to come at twelve o`clock. The Professor
declares that he heard the distant cry, but that
he knows nothing more. He can give no
explanation of the young man`s last words, `The
Professor -- it was she,` but imagines that they
were the outcome of delirium. He believes that
Willoughby Smith had not an enemy in the world,
and can give no reason for the crime. His first
action was to send Mortimer the gardener for the
local police. A little later the chief constable
sent for me. Nothing was moved before I got
there, and strict orders were given that no one
should walk upon the paths leading to the house.
It was a splendid chance of putting your
theories into practice, Mr. Sherlock Holmes.
There was really nothing wanting."
"Except Mr. Sherlock Holmes," said my
companion, with a somewhat bitter smile. "Well,
let us hear about it. What sort of job did you
make of it?"
"I must ask you first, Mr. Holmes, to glance
at this rough plan, which will give you a
general idea of the position of the Professor`s
study and the various points of the case. It
will help you in following my investigation."
He unfolded the rough chart, which I here
reproduce, and he laid it across Holmes`s knee.
I rose, and, standing behind Holmes, I studied
it over his shoulder.
GRAPHIC
"It is very rough, of course, and it only
deals with the points which seem to me to be
essential. All the rest you will see later for
yourself. Now, first of all, presuming that the
assassin entered the house, how did he or she
come in? Undoubtedly by the garden path and the
back door, from which there is direct access to
the study. Any other way would have been
exceedingly complicated. The escape must have
also been made along that line, for of the two
other exits from the room one was blocked by
Susan as she ran downstairs and the other leads
straight to the Professor`s bedroom. I therefore
directed my attention at once to the garden
path, which was saturated with recent rain and
would certainly show any footmarks.
"My examination showed me that I was dealing
with a cautious and expert criminal. No
footmarks were to be found on the path. There
could be no question, however, that someone had
passed along the grass border which lines the
path, and that he had done so in order to avoid
leaving a track. I could not find anything in
the nature of a distinct impression, but the
grass was trodden down and someone had
undoubtedly passed. It could only have been the
murderer, since neither the gardener nor anyone
else had been there that morning and the rain
had only begun during the night."
"One moment," said Holmes. "Where does this
path lead to?"
"To the road."
"How long is it?"
"A hundred yards or so."
"At the point where the path passes through
the gate you could surely pick up the tracks?"
"Unfortunately, the path was tiled at that
point."
"Well, on the road itself?"
"No; it was all trodden into mire."
"Tut-tut! Well, then, these tracks upon the
grass, were they coming or going?"
"It was impossible to say. There was never
any outline."
"A large foot or a small?"
"You could not distinguish."
Holmes gave an ejaculation of impatience.
"It has been pouring rain and blowing a
hurricane ever since," said he. "It will be
harder to read now than that palimpsest. Well,
well, it can`t be helped. What did you do,
Hopkins, after you had made certain that you had
made certain of nothing?"
"I think I made certain of a good deal, Mr.
Holmes. I knew that someone had entered the
house cautiously from without. I next examined
the corridor. It is lined with cocoanut matting
and had taken no impression of any kind. This
brought me into the study itself. It is a
scantily-furnished room. The main article is a
large writing-table with a fixed bureau. This
bureau consists of a double column of drawers
with a central small cupboard between them. The
drawers were open, the cupboard locked. The
drawers, it seems, were always open, and nothing
of value was kept in them. There were some
papers of importance in the cupboard, but there
were no signs that this had been tampered with,
and the Professor assures me that nothing was
missing. It is certain that no robbery has been
committed.
"I come now to the body of the young man. It
was found near the bureau, and just to the left
of it, as marked upon that chart. The stab was
on the right side of the neck and from behind
forwards, so that it is almost impossible that
it could have been self-inflicted."
"Unless he fell upon the knife," said Holmes.
"Exactly. The idea crossed my mind. But we
found the knife some feet away from the body, so
that seems impossible. Then, of course, there
are the man`s own dying words. And, finally,
there was this very important piece of evidence
which was found clasped in the dead man`s right
hand."
From his pocket Stanley Hopkins drew a small
paper packet. He unfolded it and disclosed a
golden pince-nez, with two broken ends of black
silk cord dangling from the end of it.
"Willoughby Smith had excellent sight," he
added. "There can be no question that this was
snatched from the face or the person of the
assassin."
Sherlock Holmes took the glasses into his
hand and examined them with the utmost attention
and interest. He held them on his nose,
endeavoured to read through them, went to the
window and stared up the street with them,
looked at them most minutely in the full light
of the lamp, and finally, with a chuckle, seated
himself at the table and wrote a few lines upon
a sheet of paper, which he tossed across to
Stanley Hopkins.
"That`s the best I can do for you," said he.
"It may prove to be of some use."
The astonished detective read the note aloud.
It ran as follows:--
"Wanted, a woman of good address, attired
like a lady. She has a remarkably thick nose,
with eyes which are set close upon either side
of it. She has a puckered forehead, a peering
expression, and probably rounded shoulders.
There are indications that she has had recourse
to an optician at least twice during the last
few months. As her glasses are of remarkable
strength and as opticians are not very numerous,
there should be no difficulty in tracing her."
Holmes smiled at the astonishment of Hopkins,
which must have been reflected upon my features.
"Surely my deductions are simplicity itself,"
said he. "It would be difficult to name any
articles which afford a finer field for
inference than a pair of glasses, especially so
remarkable a pair as these. That they belong to
a woman I infer from their delicacy, and also,
of course, from the last words of the dying man.
As to her being a person of refinement and well
dressed, they are, as you perceive, handsomely
mounted in solid gold, and it is inconceivable
that anyone who wore such glasses could be
slatternly in other respects. You will find that
the clips are too wide for your nose, showing
that the lady`s nose was very broad at the base.
This sort of nose is usually a short and coarse
one, but there are a sufficient number of
exceptions to prevent me from being dogmatic or
from insisting upon this point in my
description. My own face is a narrow one, and
yet I find that I cannot get my eyes into the
centre, or near the centre, of these glasses.
Therefore the lady`s eyes are set very near to
the sides of the nose. You will perceive,
Watson, that the glasses are concave and of
unusual strength. A lady whose vision has been
so extremely contracted all her life is sure to
have the physical characteristics of such
vision, which are seen in the forehead, the
eyelids, and the shoulders."
"Yes," I said, "I can follow each of your
arguments. I confess, however, that I am unable
to understand how you arrive at the double visit
to the optician."
Holmes took the glasses in his hand.
"You will perceive," he said, "that the clips
are lined with tiny bands of cork to soften the
pressure upon the nose. One of these is
discoloured and worn to some slight extent, but
the other is new. Evidently one has fallen off
and been replaced. I should judge that the older
of them has not been there more than a few
months. They exactly correspond, so I gather
that the lady went back to the same
establishment for the second."
"By George, it`s marvellous!" cried Hopkins,
in an ecstasy of admiration. "To think that I
had all that evidence in my hand and never knew
it! I had intended, however, to go the round of
the London opticians."
"Of course you would. Meanwhile, have you
anything more to tell us about the case?"
"Nothing, Mr. Holmes. I think that you know
as much as I do now -- probably more. We have
had inquiries made as to any stranger seen on
the country roads or at the railway station. We
have heard of none. What beats me is the utter
want of all object in the crime. Not a ghost of
a motive can anyone suggest."
"Ah! there I am not in a position to help
you. But I suppose you want us to come out
to-morrow?"
"If it is not asking too much, Mr. Holmes.
There`s a train from Charing Cross to Chatham at
six in the morning, and we should be at Yoxley
Old Place between eight and nine."
"Then we shall take it. Your case has
certainly some features of great interest, and I
shall be delighted to look into it. Well, it`s
nearly one, and we had best get a few hours`
sleep. I dare say you can manage all right on
the sofa in front of the fire. I`ll light my
spirit-lamp and give you a cup of coffee before
we start."
The gale had blown itself out next day, but
it was a bitter morning when we started upon our
journey. We saw the cold winter sun rise over
the dreary marshes of the Thames and the long,
sullen reaches of the river, which I shall ever
associate with our pursuit of the Andaman
Islander in the earlier days of our career.
After a long and weary journey we alighted at a
small station some miles from Chatham. While a
horse was being put into a trap at the local inn
we snatched a hurried breakfast, and so we were
all ready for business when we at last arrived
at Yoxley Old Place. A constable met us at the
garden gate.
"Well, Wilson, any news?"
"No, sir, nothing."
"No reports of any stranger seen?"
"No, sir. Down at the station they are
certain that no stranger either came or went
yesterday."
"Have you had inquiries made at inns and
lodgings?"
"Yes, sir; there is no one that we cannot
account for."
"Well, it`s only a reasonable walk to
Chatham. Anyone might stay there, or take a
train without being observed. This is the garden
path of which I spoke, Mr. Holmes. I`ll pledge
my word there was no mark on it yesterday."
"On which side were the marks on the grass?"
"This side, sir. This narrow margin of grass
between the path and the flower-bed. I can`t see
the traces now, but they were clear to me then."
"Yes, yes; someone has passed along," said
Holmes, stooping over the grass border. "Our
lady must have picked her steps carefully, must
she not, since on the one side she would leave a
track on the path, and on the other an even
clearer one on the soft bed?"
"Yes, sir, she must have been a cool hand."
I saw an intent look pass over Holmes`s face.
"You say that she must have come back this
way?"
"Yes, sir; there is no other."
"On this strip of grass?"
"Certainly, Mr. Holmes."
"Hum! It was a very remarkable performance --
very remarkable. Well, I think we have exhausted
the path. Let us go farther. This garden door is
usually kept open, I suppose? Then this visitor
had nothing to do but to walk in. The idea of
murder was not in her mind, or she would have
provided herself with some sort of weapon,
instead of having to pick this knife off the
writing-table. She advanced along this corridor,
leaving no traces upon the cocoanut matting.
Then she found herself in this study. How long
was she there? We have no means of judging."
"Not more than a few minutes, sir. I forgot
to tell you that Mrs. Marker, the housekeeper,
had been in there tidying not very long before
-- about a quarter of an hour, she says."
"Well, that gives us a limit. Our lady enters
this room and what does she do? She goes over to
the writing-table. What for? Not for anything in
the drawers. If there had been anything worth
her taking it would surely have been locked up.
No; it was for something in that wooden bureau.
Halloa! what is that scratch upon the face of
it? Just hold a match, Watson. Why did you not
tell me of this, Hopkins?"
The mark which he was examining began upon
the brass work on the right-hand side of the
keyhole, and extended for about four inches,
where it had scratched the varnish from the
surface.
"I noticed it, Mr. Holmes. But you`ll always
find scratches round a keyhole."
"This is recent, quite recent. See how the
brass shines where it is cut. An old scratch
would be the same colour as the surface. Look at
it through my lens. There`s the varnish, too,
like earth on each side of a furrow. Is Mrs.
Marker there?"
A sad-faced, elderly woman came into the
room.
"Did you dust this bureau yesterday morning?"
"Yes, sir."
"Did you notice this scratch?"
"No, sir, I did not."
"I am sure you did not, for a duster would
have swept away these shreds of varnish. Who has
the key of this bureau?"
"The Professor keeps it on his watch-chain."
"Is it a simple key?"
"No, sir; it is a Chubb`s key."
"Very good. Mrs. Marker, you can go. Now we
are making a little progress. Our lady enters
the room, advances to the bureau, and either
opens it or tries to do so. While she is thus
engaged young Willoughby Smith enters the room.
In her hurry to withdraw the key she makes this
scratch upon the door. He seizes her, and she,
snatching up the nearest object, which happens
to be this knife, strikes at him in order to
make him let go his hold. The blow is a fatal
one. He falls and she escapes, either with or
without the object for which she has come. Is
Susan the maid there? Could anyone have got away
through that door after the time that you heard
the cry, Susan?"
"No sir; it is impossible. Before I got down
the stair I`d have seen anyone in the passage.
Besides, the door never opened, for I would have
heard it."
"That settles this exit. Then no doubt the
lady went out the way she came. I understand
that this other passage leads only to the
Professor`s room. There is no exit that way?"
"No, sir."
"We shall go down it and make the
acquaintance of the Professor. Halloa, Hopkins!
this is very important, very important indeed.
The Professor`s corridor is also lined with
cocoanut matting."
"Well, sir, what of that?"
"Don`t you see any bearing upon the case?
Well, well, I don`t insist upon it. No doubt I
am wrong. And yet it seems to me to be
suggestive. Come with me and introduce me."
We passed down the passage, which was of the
same length as that which led to the garden. At
the end was a short flight of steps ending in a
door. Our guide knocked, and then ushered us
into the Professor`s bedroom.
It was a very large chamber, lined with
innumerable volumes, which had overflowed from
the shelves and lay in piles in the corners, or
were stacked all round at the base of the cases.
The bed was in the centre of the room, and in
it, propped up with pillows, was the owner of
the house. I have seldom seen a more
remarkable-looking person. It was a gaunt,
aquiline face which was turned towards us, with
piercing dark eyes, which lurked in deep hollows
under overhung and tufted brows. His hair and
beard were white, save that the latter was
curiously stained with yellow around his mouth.
A cigarette glowed amid the tangle of white
hair, and the air of the room was fetid with
stale tobacco-smoke. As he held out his hand to
Holmes I perceived that it also was stained
yellow with nicotine.
"A smoker, Mr. Holmes?" said he, speaking
well-chosen English with a curious little
mincing accent. "Pray take a cigarette. And you,
sir? I can recommend them, for I have them
especially prepared by Ionides of Alexandria. He
sends me a thousand at a time, and I grieve to
say that I have to arrange for a fresh supply
every fortnight. Bad, sir, very bad, but an old
man has few pleasures. Tobacco and my work --
that is all that is left to me."
Holmes had lit a cigarette, and was shooting
little darting glances all over the room.
"Tobacco and my work, but now only tobacco,"
the old man exclaimed. "Alas! what a fatal
interruption! Who could have foreseen such a
terrible catastrophe? So estimable a young man!
I assure you that after a few months` training
he was an admirable assistant. What do you think
of the matter, Mr. Holmes?"
"I have not yet made up my mind."
"I shall indeed be indebted to you if you can
throw a light where all is so dark to us. To a
poor bookworm and invalid like myself such a
blow is paralyzing. I seem to have lost the
faculty of thought. But you are a man of action
-- you are a man of affairs. It is part of the
everyday routine of your life. You can preserve
your balance in every emergency. We are
fortunate indeed in having you at our side."
Holmes was pacing up and down one side of the
room whilst the old Professor was talking. I
observed that he was smoking with extraordinary
rapidity. It was evident that he shared our
host`s liking for the fresh Alexandrian
cigarettes.
"Yes, sir, it is a crushing blow," said the
old man. "That is my MAGNUM OPUS -- the pile of
papers on the side table yonder. It is my
analysis of the documents found in the Coptic
monasteries of Syria and Egypt, a work which
will cut deep at the very foundations of
revealed religion. With my enfeebled health I do
not know whether I shall ever be able to
complete it now that my assistant has been taken
from me. Dear me, Mr. Holmes; why, you are even
a quicker smoker than I am myself."
Holmes smiled.
"I am a connoisseur," said he, taking another
cigarette from the box -- his fourth -- and
lighting it from the stub of that which he had
finished. "I will not trouble you with any
lengthy cross-examination, Professor Coram,
since I gather that you were in bed at the time
of the crime and could know nothing about it. I
would only ask this. What do you imagine that
this poor fellow meant by his last words: `The
Professor -- it was she`?"
The Professor shook his head.
"Susan is a country girl," said he, "and you
know the incredible stupidity of that class. I
fancy that the poor fellow murmured some
incoherent delirious words, and that she twisted
them into this meaningless message."
"I see. You have no explanation yourself of
the tragedy?"
"Possibly an accident; possibly -- I only
breathe it among ourselves -- a suicide. Young
men have their hidden troubles -- some affair of
the heart, perhaps, which we have never known.
It is a more probable supposition than murder."
"But the eye-glasses?"
"Ah! I am only a student -- a man of dreams.
I cannot explain the practical things of life.
But still, we are aware, my friend, that
love-gages may take strange shapes. By all means
take another cigarette. It is a pleasure to see
anyone appreciate them so. A fan, a glove,
glasses -- who knows what article may be carried
as a token or treasured when a man puts an end
to his life? This gentleman speaks of footsteps
in the grass; but, after all, it is easy to be
mistaken on such a point. As to the knife, it
might well be thrown far from the unfortunate
man as he fell. It is possible that I speak as a
child, but to me it seems that Willoughby Smith
has met his fate by his own hand."
Holmes seemed struck by the theory thus put
forward, and he continued to walk up and down
for some time, lost in thought and consuming
cigarette after cigarette.
"Tell me, Professor Coram," he said, at last,
"what is in that cupboard in the bureau?"
"Nothing that would help a thief. Family
papers, letters from my poor wife, diplomas of
Universities which have done me honour. Here is
the key. You can look for yourself."
Holmes picked up the key and looked at it for
an instant; then he handed it back.
"No; I hardly think that it would help me,"
said he. "I should prefer to go quietly down to
your garden and turn the whole matter over in my
head. There is something to be said for the
theory of suicide which you have put forward. We
must apologize for having intruded upon you,
Professor Coram, and I promise that we won`t
disturb you until after lunch. At two o`clock we
will come again and report to you anything which
may have happened in the interval."
Holmes was curiously distrait, and we walked
up and down the garden path for some time in
silence.
"Have you a clue?" I asked, at last.
"It depends upon those cigarettes that I
smoked," said he. "It is possible that I am
utterly mistaken. The cigarettes will show me."
"My dear Holmes," I exclaimed, "how on earth
----"
"Well, well, you may see for yourself. If
not, there`s no harm done. Of course, we always
have the optician clue to fall back upon, but I
take a short cut when I can get it. Ah, here is
the good Mrs. Marker! Let us enjoy five minutes
of instructive conversation with her."
I may have remarked before that Holmes had,
when he liked, a peculiarly ingratiating way
with women, and that he very readily established
terms of confidence with them. In half the time
which he had named he had captured the
housekeeper`s goodwill, and was chatting with
her as if he had known her for years.
"Yes, Mr. Holmes, it is as you say, sir. He
does smoke something terrible. All day and
sometimes all night, sir. I`ve seen that room of
a morning -- well, sir, you`d have thought it
was a London fog. Poor young Mr. Smith, he was a
smoker also, but not as bad as the Professor.
His health -- well, I don`t know that it`s
better nor worse for the smoking."
"Ah!" said Holmes, "but it kills the
appetite."
"Well, I don`t know about that, sir."
"I suppose the Professor eats hardly
anything?"
"Well, he is variable. I`ll say that for
him."
"I`ll wager he took no breakfast this
morning, and won`t face his lunch after all the
cigarettes I saw him consume."
"Well, you`re out there, sir, as it happens,
for he ate a remarkable big breakfast this
morning. I don`t know when I`ve known him make a
better one, and he`s ordered a good dish of
cutlets for his lunch. I`m surprised myself, for
since I came into that room yesterday and saw
young Mr. Smith lying there on the floor I
couldn`t bear to look at food. Well, it takes
all sorts to make a world, and the Professor
hasn`t let it take his appetite away."
We loitered the morning away in the garden.
Stanley Hopkins had gone down to the village to
look into some rumours of a strange woman who
had been seen by some children on the Chatham
Road the previous morning. As to my friend, all
his usual energy seemed to have deserted him. I
had never known him handle a case in such a
half-hearted fashion. Even the news brought back
by Hopkins that he had found the children and
that they had undoubtedly seen a woman exactly
corresponding with Holmes`s description, and
wearing either spectacles or eye-glasses, failed
to rouse any sign of keen interest. He was more
attentive when Susan, who waited upon us at
lunch, volunteered the information that she
believed Mr. Smith had been out for a walk
yesterday morning, and that he had only returned
half an hour before the tragedy occurred. I
could not myself see the bearing of this
incident, but I clearly perceived that Holmes
was weaving it into the general scheme which he
had formed in his brain. Suddenly he sprang from
his chair and glanced at his watch. "Two
o`clock, gentlemen," said he. "We must go up and
have it out with our friend the Professor."
The old man had just finished his lunch, and
certainly his empty dish bore evidence to the
good appetite with which his housekeeper had
credited him. He was, indeed, a weird figure as
he turned his white mane and his glowing eyes
towards us. The eternal cigarette smouldered in
his mouth. He had been dressed and was seated in
an arm-chair by the fire.
"Well, Mr. Holmes, have you solved this
mystery yet?" He shoved the large tin of
cigarettes which stood on a table beside him
towards my companion. Holmes stretched out his
hand at the same moment, and between them they
tipped the box over the edge. For a minute or
two we were all on our knees retrieving stray
cigarettes from impossible places. When we rose
again I observed that Holmes`s eyes were shining
and his cheeks tinged with colour. Only at a
crisis have I seen those battle-signals flying.
"Yes," said he, "I have solved it."
Stanley Hopkins and I stared in amazement.
Something like a sneer quivered over the gaunt
features of the old Professor.
"Indeed! In the garden?"
"No, here."
"Here! When?"
"This instant."
"You are surely joking, Mr. Sherlock Holmes.
You compel me to tell you that this is too
serious a matter to be treated in such a
fashion."
"I have forged and tested every link of my
chain, Professor Coram, and I am sure that it is
sound. What your motives are or what exact part
you play in this strange business I am not yet
able to say. In a few minutes I shall probably
hear it from your own lips. Meanwhile I will
reconstruct what is past for your benefit, so
that you may know the information which I still
require.
"A lady yesterday entered your study. She
came with the intention of possessing herself of
certain documents which were in your bureau. She
had a key of her own. I have had an opportunity
of examining yours, and I do not find that
slight discolouration which the scratch made
upon the varnish would have produced. You were
not an accessory, therefore, and she came, so
far as I can read the evidence, without your
knowledge to rob you."
The Professor blew a cloud from his lips.
"This is most interesting and instructive," said
he. "Have you no more to add? Surely, having
traced this lady so far, you can also say what
has become of her."
"I will endeavour to do so. In the first
place she was seized by your secretary, and
stabbed him in order to escape. This catastrophe
I am inclined to regard as an unhappy accident,
for I am convinced that the lady had no
intention of inflicting so grievous an injury.
An assassin does not come unarmed. Horrified by
what she had done she rushed wildly away from
the scene of the tragedy. Unfortunately for her
she had lost her glasses in the scuffle, and as
she was extremely short-sighted she was really
helpless without them. She ran down a corridor,
which she imagined to be that by which she had
come -- both were lined with cocoanut matting --
and it was only when it was too late that she
understood that she had taken the wrong passage
and that her retreat was cut off behind her.
What was she to do? She could not go back. She
could not remain where she was. She must go on.
She went on. She mounted a stair, pushed open a
door, and found herself in your room."
The old man sat with his mouth open staring
wildly at Holmes. Amazement and fear were
stamped upon his expressive features. Now, with
an effort, he shrugged his shoulders and burst
into insincere laughter.
"All very fine, Mr. Holmes," said he. "But
there is one little flaw in your splendid
theory. I was myself in my room, and I never
left it during the day."
"I am aware of that, Professor Coram."
"And you mean to say that I could lie upon
that bed and not be aware that a woman had
entered my room?"
"I never said so. You WERE aware of it. You
spoke with her. You recognised her. You aided
her to escape."
Again the Professor burst into high-keyed
laughter. He had risen to his feet and his eyes
glowed like embers.
"You are mad!" he cried. "You are talking
insanely. I helped her to escape? Where is she
now?"
"She is there," said Holmes, and he pointed
to a high bookcase in the corner of the room.
I saw the old man throw up his arms, a
terrible convulsion passed over his grim face,
and he fell back in his chair. At the same
instant the bookcase at which Holmes pointed
swung round upon a hinge, and a woman rushed out
into the room. "You are right!" she cried, in a
strange foreign voice. "You are right! I am
here."
She was brown with the dust and draped with
the cobwebs which had come from the walls of her
hiding-place. Her face, too, was streaked with
grime, and at the best she could never have been
handsome, for she had the exact physical
characteristics which Holmes had divined, with,
in addition, a long and obstinate chin. What
with her natural blindness, and what with the
change from dark to light, she stood as one
dazed, blinking about her to see where and who
we were. And yet, in spite of all these
disadvantages, there was a certain nobility in
the woman`s bearing, a gallantry in the defiant
chin and in the upraised head, which compelled
something of respect and admiration. Stanley
Hopkins had laid his hand upon her arm and
claimed her as his prisoner, but she waved him
aside gently, and yet with an overmastering
dignity which compelled obedience. The old man
lay back in his chair, with a twitching face,
and stared at her with brooding eyes.
"Yes, sir, I am your prisoner," she said.
"From where I stood I could hear everything, and
I know that you have learned the truth. I
confess it all. It was I who killed the young
man. But you are right, you who say it was an
accident. I did not even know that it was a
knife which I held in my hand, for in my despair
I snatched anything from the table and struck at
him to make him let me go. It is the truth that
I tell."
"Madam," said Holmes, "I am sure that it is
the truth. I fear that you are far from well."
She had turned a dreadful colour, the more
ghastly under the dark dust-streaks upon her
face. She seated herself on the side of the bed;
then she resumed.
"I have only a little time here," she said,
"but I would have you to know the whole truth. I
am this man`s wife. He is not an Englishman. He
is a Russian. His name I will not tell."
For the first time the old man stirred. "God
bless you, Anna!" he cried. "God bless you!"
She cast a look of the deepest disdain in his
direction. "Why should you cling so hard to that
wretched life of yours, Sergius?" said she. "It
has done harm to many and good to none -- not
even to yourself. However, it is not for me to
cause the frail thread to be snapped before
God`s time. I have enough already upon my soul
since I crossed the threshold of this cursed
house. But I must speak or I shall be too late.
"I have said, gentlemen, that I am this man`s
wife. He was fifty and I a foolish girl of
twenty when we married. It was in a city of
Russia, a University -- I will not name the
place."
"God bless you, Anna!" murmured the old man
again.
"We were reformers -- revolutionists --
Nihilists, you understand. He and I and many
more. Then there came a time of trouble, a
police officer was killed, many were arrested,
evidence was wanted, and in order to save his
own life and to earn a great reward my husband
betrayed his own wife and his companions. Yes,
we were all arrested upon his confession. Some
of us found our way to the gallows and some to
Siberia. I was among these last, but my term was
not for life. My husband came to England with
his ill-gotten gains, and has lived in quiet
ever since, knowing well that if the Brotherhood
knew where he was not a week would pass before
justice would be done."
The old man reached out a trembling hand and
helped himself to a cigarette. "I am in your
hands, Anna," said he. "You were always good to
me."
"I have not yet told you the height of his
villainy," said she. "Among our comrades of the
Order there was one who was the friend of my
heart. He was noble, unselfish, loving -- all
that my husband was not. He hated violence. We
were all guilty -- if that is guilt -- but he
was not. He wrote for ever dissuading us from
such a course. These letters would have saved
him. So would my diary, in which from day to day
I had entered both my feelings towards him and
the view which each of us had taken. My husband
found and kept both diary and letters. He hid
them, and he tried hard to swear away the young
man`s life. In this he failed, but Alexis was
sent a convict to Siberia, where now, at this
moment, he works in a salt mine. Think of that,
you villain, you villain; now, now, at this very
moment, Alexis, a man whose name you are not
worthy to speak, works and lives like a slave,
and yet I have your life in my hands and I let
you go."
"You were always a noble woman, Anna," said
the old man, puffing at his cigarette.
She had risen, but she fell back again with a
little cry of pain.
"I must finish," she said. "When my term was
over I set myself to get the diary and letters
which, if sent to the Russian Government, would
procure my friend`s release. I knew that my
husband had come to England. After months of
searching I discovered where he was. I knew that
he still had the diary, for when I was in
Siberia I had a letter from him once reproaching
me and quoting some passages from its pages. Yet
I was sure that with his revengeful nature he
would never give it to me of his own free will.
I must get it for myself. With this object I
engaged an agent from a private detective firm,
who entered my husband`s house as secretary --
it was your second secretary, Sergius, the one
who left you so hurriedly. He found that papers
were kept in the cupboard, and he got an
impression of the key. He would not go farther.
He furnished me with a plan of the house, and he
told me that in the forenoon the study was
always empty, as the secretary was employed up
here. So at last I took my courage in both hands
and I came down to get the papers for myself. I
succeeded, but at what a cost!
"I had just taken the papers and was locking
the cupboard when the young man seized me. I had
seen him already that morning. He had met me in
the road and I had asked him to tell me where
Professor Coram lived, not knowing that he was
in his employ."
"Exactly! exactly!" said Holmes. "The
secretary came back and told his employer of the
woman he had met. Then in his last breath he
tried to send a message that it was she -- the
she whom he had just discussed with him."
"You must let me speak," said the woman, in
an imperative voice, and her face contracted as
if in pain. "When he had fallen I rushed from
the room, chose the wrong door, and found myself
in my husband`s room. He spoke of giving me up.
I showed him that if he did so his life was in
my hands. If he gave me to the law I could give
him to the Brotherhood. It was not that I wished
to live for my own sake, but it was that I
desired to accomplish my purpose. He knew that I
would do what I said -- that his own fate was
involved in mine. For that reason and for no
other he shielded me. He thrust me into that
dark hiding-place, a relic of old days, known
only to himself. He took his meals in his own
room, and so was able to give me part of his
food. It was agreed that when the police left
the house I should slip away by night and come
back no more. But in some way you have read our
plans." She tore from the bosom of her dress a
small packet. "These are my last words," said
she; "here is the packet which will save Alexis.
I confide it to your honour and to your love of
justice. Take it! You will deliver it at the
Russian Embassy. Now I have done my duty, and
----"
"Stop her!" cried Holmes. He had bounded
across the room and had wrenched a small phial
from her hand.
"Too late!" she said, sinking back on the
bed. "Too late! I took the poison before I left
my hiding-place. My head swims! I am going! I
charge you, sir, to remember the packet."
"A simple case, and yet in some ways an
instructive one," Holmes remarked, as we
travelled back to town. "It hinged from the
outset upon the pince-nez. But for the fortunate
chance of the dying man having seized these I am
not sure that we could ever have reached our
solution. It was clear to me from the strength
of the glasses that the wearer must have been
very blind and helpless when deprived of them.
When you asked me to believe that she walked
along a narrow strip of grass without once
making a false step I remarked, as you may
remember, that it was a noteworthy performance.
In my mind I set it down as an impossible
performance, save in the unlikely case that she
had a second pair of glasses. I was forced,
therefore, to seriously consider the hypothesis
that she had remained within the house. On
perceiving the similarity of the two corridors
it became clear that she might very easily have
made such a mistake, and in that case it was
evident that she must have entered the
Professor`s room. I was keenly on the alert,
therefore, for whatever would bear out this
supposition, and I examined the room narrowly
for anything in the shape of a hiding-place. The
carpet seemed continuous and firmly nailed, so I
dismissed the idea of a trap-door. There might
well be a recess behind the books. As you are
aware, such devices are common in old libraries.
I observed that books were piled on the floor at
all other points, but that one bookcase was left
clear. This, then, might be the door. I could
see no marks to guide me, but the carpet was of
a dun colour, which lends itself very well to
examination. I therefore smoked a great number
of those excellent cigarettes, and I dropped the
ash all over the space in front of the suspected
bookcase. It was a simple trick, but exceedingly
effective. I then went downstairs and I
ascertained, in your presence, Watson, without
your perceiving the drift of my remarks, that
Professor Coram`s consumption of food had
increased -- as one would expect when he is
supplying a second person. We then ascended to
the room again, when, by upsetting the
cigarette-box, I obtained a very excellent view
of the floor, and was able to see quite clearly,
from the traces upon the cigarette ash, that the
prisoner had, in our absence, come out from her
retreat. Well, Hopkins, here we are at Charing
Cross, and I congratulate you on having brought
your case to a successful conclusion. You are
going to head-quarters, no doubt. I think,
Watson, you and I will drive together to the
Russian Embassy."
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XI. The Adventure of the Missing Three-Quarter.
WE were fairly accustomed to receive weird telegrams at Baker Street,
but I have a particular recollection of one
which reached us on a gloomy February morning
some seven or eight years ago and gave Mr.
Sherlock Holmes a puzzled quarter of an hour. It
was addressed to him, and ran thus:--
"Please await me. Terrible misfortune. Right
wing three-quarter missing; indispensable to
morrow. -- OVERTON."
"Strand post-mark and dispatched
ten-thirty-six," said Holmes, reading it over
and over. "Mr. Overton was evidently
considerably excited when he sent it, and
somewhat incoherent in consequence. Well, well,
he will be here, I dare say, by the time I have
looked through the TIMES, and then we shall know
all about it. Even the most insignificant
problem would be welcome in these stagnant
days."
Things had indeed been very slow with us, and
I had learned to dread such periods of inaction,
for I knew by experience that my companion`s
brain was so abnormally active that it was
dangerous to leave it without material upon
which to work. For years I had gradually weaned
him from that drug mania which had threatened
once to check his remarkable career. Now I knew
that under ordinary conditions he no longer
craved for this artificial stimulus, but I was
well aware that the fiend was not dead, but
sleeping; and I have known that the sleep was a
light one and the waking near when in periods of
idleness I have seen the drawn look upon
Holmes`s ascetic face, and the brooding of his
deep-set and inscrutable eyes. Therefore I
blessed this Mr. Overton, whoever he might be,
since he had come with his enigmatic message to
break that dangerous calm which brought more
peril to my friend than all the storms of his
tempestuous life.
As we had expected, the telegram was soon
followed by its sender, and the card of Mr.
Cyril Overton, of Trinity College, Cambridge,
announced the arrival of an enormous young man,
sixteen stone of solid bone and muscle, who
spanned the doorway with his broad shoulders and
looked from one of us to the other with a comely
face which was haggard with anxiety.
"Mr. Sherlock Holmes?"
My companion bowed.
"I`ve been down to Scotland Yard, Mr. Holmes.
I saw Inspector Stanley Hopkins. He advised me
to come to you. He said the case, so far as he
could see, was more in your line than in that of
the regular police."
"Pray sit down and tell me what is the
matter."
"It`s awful, Mr. Holmes, simply awful! I
wonder my hair isn`t grey. Godfrey Staunton --
you`ve heard of him, of course? He`s simply the
hinge that the whole team turns on. I`d rather
spare two from the pack and have Godfrey for my
three-quarter line. Whether it`s passing, or
tackling, or dribbling, there`s no one to touch
him; and then, he`s got the head and can hold us
all together. What am I to do? That`s what I ask
you, Mr. Holmes. There`s Moorhouse, first
reserve, but he is trained as a half, and he
always edges right in on to the scrum instead of
keeping out on the touch-line. He`s a fine
place-kick, it`s true, but, then, he has no
judgment, and he can`t sprint for nuts. Why,
Morton or Johnson, the Oxford fliers, could romp
round him. Stevenson is fast enough, but he
couldn`t drop from the twenty-five line, and a
three-quarter who can`t either punt or drop
isn`t worth a place for pace alone. No, Mr.
Holmes, we are done unless you can help me to
find Godfrey Staunton."
My friend had listened with amused surprise
to this long speech, which was poured forth with
extraordinary vigour and earnestness, every
point being driven home by the slapping of a
brawny hand upon the speaker`s knee. When our
visitor was silent Holmes stretched out his hand
and took down letter "S" of his commonplace
book. For once he dug in vain into that mine of
varied information.
"There is Arthur H. Staunton, the rising
young forger," said he, "and there was Henry
Staunton, whom I helped to hang, but Godfrey
Staunton is a new name to me."
It was our visitor`s turn to look surprised.
"Why, Mr. Holmes, I thought you knew things,"
said he. "I suppose, then, if you have never
heard of Godfrey Staunton you don`t know Cyril
Overton either?"
Holmes shook his head good-humouredly.
"Great Scot!" cried the athlete. "Why, I was
first reserve for England against Wales, and
I`ve skippered the `Varsity all this year. But
that`s nothing! I didn`t think there was a soul
in England who didn`t know Godfrey Staunton, the
crack three-quarter, Cambridge, Blackheath, and
five Internationals. Good Lord! Mr. Holmes,
where HAVE you lived?"
Holmes laughed at the young giant`s naive
astonishment.
"You live in a different world to me, Mr.
Overton, a sweeter and healthier one. My
ramifications stretch out into many sections of
society, but never, I am happy to say, into
amateur sport, which is the best and soundest
thing in England. However, your unexpected visit
this morning shows me that even in that world of
fresh air and fair play there may be work for me
to do; so now, my good sir, I beg you to sit
down and to tell me slowly and quietly exactly
what it is that has occurred, and how you desire
that I should help you."
Young Overton`s face assumed the bothered
look of the man who is more accustomed to using
his muscles than his wits; but by degrees, with
many repetitions and obscurities which I may
omit from his narrative, he laid his strange
story before us.
"It`s this way, Mr. Holmes. As I have said, I
am the skipper of the Rugger team of Cambridge
`Varsity, and Godfrey Staunton is my best man.
To-morrow we play Oxford. Yesterday we all came
up and we settled at Bentley`s private hotel. At
ten o`clock I went round and saw that all the
fellows had gone to roost, for I believe in
strict training and plenty of sleep to keep a
team fit. I had a word or two with Godfrey
before he turned in. He seemed to me to be pale
and bothered. I asked him what was the matter.
He said he was all right -- just a touch of
headache. I bade him good-night and left him.
Half an hour later the porter tells me that a
rough-looking man with a beard called with a
note for Godfrey. He had not gone to bed and the
note was taken to his room. Godfrey read it and
fell back in a chair as if he had been
pole-axed. The porter was so scared that he was
going to fetch me, but Godfrey stopped him, had
a drink of water, and pulled himself together.
Then he went downstairs, said a few words to the
man who was waiting in the hall, and the two of
them went off together. The last that the porter
saw of them, they were almost running down the
street in the direction of the Strand. This
morning Godfrey`s room was empty, his bed had
never been slept in, and his things were all
just as I had seen them the night before. He had
gone off at a moment`s notice with this
stranger, and no word has come from him since. I
don`t believe he will ever come back. He was a
sportsman, was Godfrey, down to his marrow, and
he wouldn`t have stopped his training and let in
his skipper if it were not for some cause that
was too strong for him. No; I feel as if he were
gone for good and we should never see him
again."
Sherlock Holmes listened with the deepest
attention to this singular narrative.
"What did you do?" he asked.
"I wired to Cambridge to learn if anything
had been heard of him there. I have had an
answer. No one has seen him."
"Could he have got back to Cambridge?"
"Yes, there is a late train -- quarter-past
eleven."
"But so far as you can ascertain he did not
take it?"
"No, he has not been seen."
"What did you do next?"
"I wired to Lord Mount-James."
"Why to Lord Mount-James?"
"Godfrey is an orphan, and Lord Mount-James
is his nearest relative -- his uncle, I
believe."
"Indeed. This throws new light upon the
matter. Lord Mount-James is one of the richest
men in England."
"So I`ve heard Godfrey say."
"And your friend was closely related?"
"Yes, he was his heir, and the old boy is
nearly eighty -- cram full of gout, too. They
say he could chalk his billiard-cue with his
knuckles. He never allowed Godfrey a shilling in
his life, for he is an absolute miser, but it
will all come to him right enough."
"Have you heard from Lord Mount-James?"
"No."
"What motive could your friend have in going
to Lord Mount-James?"
"Well, something was worrying him the night
before, and if it was to do with money it is
possible that he would make for his nearest
relative who had so much of it, though from all
I have heard he would not have much chance of
getting it. Godfrey was not fond of the old man.
He would not go if he could help it."
"Well, we can soon determine that. If your
friend was going to his relative, Lord
Mount-James, you have then to explain the visit
of this rough-looking fellow at so late an hour,
and the agitation that was caused by his
coming."
Cyril Overton pressed his hands to his head.
"I can make nothing of it," said he.
"Well, well, I have a clear day, and I shall
be happy to look into the matter," said Holmes.
"I should strongly recommend you to make your
preparations for your match without reference to
this young gentleman. It must, as you say, have
been an overpowering necessity which tore him
away in such a fashion, and the same necessity
is likely to hold him away. Let us step round
together to this hotel, and see if the porter
can throw any fresh light upon the matter."
Sherlock Holmes was a past-master in the art
of putting a humble witness at his ease, and
very soon, in the privacy of Godfrey Staunton`s
abandoned room, he had extracted all that the
porter had to tell. The visitor of the night
before was not a gentleman, neither was he a
working man. He was simply what the porter
described as a "medium-looking chap"; a man of
fifty, beard grizzled, pale face, quietly
dressed. He seemed himself to be agitated. The
porter had observed his hand trembling when he
had held out the note. Godfrey Staunton had
crammed the note into his pocket. Staunton had
not shaken hands with the man in the hall. They
had exchanged a few sentences, of which the
porter had only distinguished the one word
"time." Then they had hurried off in the manner
described. It was just half-past ten by the hall
clock.
"Let me see," said Holmes, seating himself on
Staunton`s bed. "You are the day porter, are you
not?"
"Yes, sir; I go off duty at eleven."
"The night porter saw nothing, I suppose?"
"No, sir; one theatre party came in late. No
one else."
"Were you on duty all day yesterday?"
"Yes, sir."
"Did you take any messages to Mr. Staunton?"
"Yes, sir; one telegram."
"Ah! that`s interesting. What o`clock was
this?"
"About six."
"Where was Mr. Staunton when he received it?"
"Here in his room."
"Were you present when he opened it?"
"Yes, sir; I waited to see if there was an
answer."
"Well, was there?"
"Yes, sir. He wrote an answer."
"Did you take it?"
"No; he took it himself."
"But he wrote it in your presence?"
"Yes, sir. I was standing by the door, and he
with his back turned at that table. When he had
written it he said, `All right, porter, I will
take this myself.`"
"What did he write it with?"
"A pen, sir."
"Was the telegraphic form one of these on the
table?"
"Yes, sir; it was the top one."
Holmes rose. Taking the forms he carried them
over to the window and carefully examined that
which was uppermost.
"It is a pity he did not write in pencil,"
said he, throwing them down again with a shrug
of disappointment. "As you have no doubt
frequently observed, Watson, the impression
usually goes through -- a fact which has
dissolved many a happy marriage. However, I can
find no trace here. I rejoice, however, to
perceive that he wrote with a broad-pointed
quill pen, and I can hardly doubt that we will
find some impression upon this blotting-pad. Ah,
yes, surely this is the very thing!"
He tore off a strip of the blotting-paper and
turned towards us the following hieroglyphic:--
GRAPHIC
Cyril Overton was much excited. "Hold it to
the glass!" he cried.
"That is unnecessary," said Holmes. "The
paper is thin, and the reverse will give the
message. Here it is." He turned it over and we
read:--
GRAPHIC
"So that is the tail end of the telegram
which Godfrey Staunton dispatched within a few
hours of his disappearance. There are at least
six words of the message which have escaped us;
but what remains -- `Stand by us for God`s
sake!` -- proves that this young man saw a
formidable danger which approached him, and from
which someone else could protect him. `US,` mark
you! Another person was involved. Who should it
be but the pale-faced, bearded man, who seemed
himself in so nervous a state? What, then, is
the connection between Godfrey Staunton and the
bearded man? And what is the third source from
which each of them sought for help against
pressing danger? Our inquiry has already
narrowed down to that."
"We have only to find to whom that telegram
is addressed," I suggested.
"Exactly, my dear Watson. Your reflection,
though profound, had already crossed my mind.
But I dare say it may have come to your notice
that if you walk into a post-office and demand
to see the counterfoil of another man`s message
there may be some disinclination on the part of
the officials to oblige you. There is so much
red tape in these matters! However, I have no
doubt that with a little delicacy and finesse
the end may be attained. Meanwhile, I should
like in your presence, Mr. Overton, to go
through these papers which have been left upon
the table."
There were a number of letters, bills, and
note-books, which Holmes turned over and
examined with quick, nervous fingers and
darting, penetrating eyes. "Nothing here," he
said, at last. "By the way, I suppose your
friend was a healthy young fellow -- nothing
amiss with him?"
"Sound as a bell."
"Have you ever known him ill?"
"Not a day. He has been laid up with a hack,
and once he slipped his knee-cap, but that was
nothing."
"Perhaps he was not so strong as you suppose.
I should think he may have had some secret
trouble. With your assent I will put one or two
of these papers in my pocket, in case they
should bear upon our future inquiry."
"One moment! one moment!" cried a querulous
voice, and we looked up to find a queer little
old man, jerking and twitching in the doorway.
He was dressed in rusty black, with a very broad
brimmed top-hat and a loose white necktie -- the
whole effect being that of a very rustic parson
or of an undertaker`s mute. Yet, in spite of his
shabby and even absurd appearance, his voice had
a sharp crackle, and his manner a quick
intensity which commanded attention.
"Who are you, sir, and by what right do you
touch this gentleman`s papers?" he asked.
"I am a private detective, and I am
endeavouring to explain his disappearance."
"Oh, you are, are you? And who instructed
you, eh?"
"This gentleman, Mr. Staunton`s friend, was
referred to me by Scotland Yard."
"Who are you, sir?"
"I am Cyril Overton."
"Then it is you who sent me a telegram. My
name is Lord Mount-James. I came round as
quickly as the Bayswater `bus would bring me. So
you have instructed a detective?"
"Yes, sir."
"And are you prepared to meet the cost?"
"I have no doubt, sir, that my friend
Godfrey, when we find him, will be prepared to
do that."
"But if he is never found, eh? Answer me
that!"
"In that case no doubt his family ----"
"Nothing of the sort, sir!" screamed the
little man. "Don`t look to me for a penny -- not
a penny! You understand that, Mr. Detective! I
am all the family that this young man has got,
and I tell you that I am not responsible. If he
has any expectations it is due to the fact that
I have never wasted money, and I do not propose
to begin to do so now. As to those papers with
which you are making so free, I may tell you
that in case there should be anything of any
value among them you will be held strictly to
account for what you do with them."
"Very good, sir," said Sherlock Holmes. "May
I ask in the meanwhile whether you have yourself
any theory to account for this young man`s
disappearance?"
"No, sir, I have not. He is big enough and
old enough to look after himself, and if he is
so foolish as to lose himself I entirely refuse
to accept the responsibility of hunting for
him."
"I quite understand your position," said
Holmes, with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.
"Perhaps you don`t quite understand mine.
Godfrey Staunton appears to have been a poor
man. If he has been kidnapped it could not have
been for anything which he himself possesses.
The fame of your wealth has gone abroad, Lord
Mount-James, and it is entirely possible that a
gang of thieves have secured your nephew in
order to gain from him some information as to
your house, your habits, and your treasure."
The face of our unpleasant little visitor
turned as white as his neckcloth.
"Heavens, sir, what an idea! I never thought
of such villainy! What inhuman rogues there are
in the world! But Godfrey is a fine lad -- a
staunch lad. Nothing would induce him to give
his old uncle away. I`ll have the plate moved
over to the bank this evening. In the meantime
spare no pains, Mr. Detective! I beg you to
leave no stone unturned to bring him safely
back. As to money, well, so far as a fiver, or
even a tenner, goes, you can always look to me."
Even in his chastened frame of mind the noble
miser could give us no information which could
help us, for he knew little of the private life
of his nephew. Our only clue lay in the
truncated telegram, and with a copy of this in
his hand Holmes set forth to find a second link
for his chain. We had shaken off Lord
Mount-James, and Overton had gone to consult
with the other members of his team over the
misfortune which had befallen them.
There was a telegraph-office at a short
distance from the hotel. We halted outside it.
"It`s worth trying, Watson," said Holmes. "Of
course, with a warrant we could demand to see
the counterfoils, but we have not reached that
stage yet. I don`t suppose they remember faces
in so busy a place. Let us venture it."
"I am sorry to trouble you," said he, in his
blandest manner, to the young woman behind the
grating; "there is some small mistake about a
telegram I sent yesterday. I have had no answer,
and I very much fear that I must have omitted to
put my name at the end. Could you tell me if
this was so?"
The young woman turned over a sheaf of
counterfoils.
"What o`clock was it?" she asked.
"A little after six."
"Whom was it to?"
Holmes put his finger to his lips and glanced
at me. "The last words in it were `for God`s
sake,`" he whispered, confidentially; "I am very
anxious at getting no answer."
The young woman separated one of the forms.
"This is it. There is no name," said she,
smoothing it out upon the counter.
"Then that, of course, accounts for my
getting no answer," said Holmes. "Dear me, how
very stupid of me, to be sure! Good morning,
miss, and many thanks for having relieved my
mind." He chuckled and rubbed his hands when we
found ourselves in the street once more.
"Well?" I asked.
"We progress, my dear Watson, we progress. I
had seven different schemes for getting a
glimpse of that telegram, but I could hardly
hope to succeed the very first time."
"And what have you gained?"
"A starting-point for our investigation." He
hailed a cab. "King`s Cross Station," said he.
"We have a journey, then?"
"Yes; I think we must run down to Cambridge
together. All the indications seem to me to
point in that direction."
"Tell me," I asked, as we rattled up Gray`s
Inn Road, "have you any suspicion yet as to the
cause of the disappearance? I don`t think that
among all our cases I have known one where the
motives are more obscure. Surely you don`t
really imagine that he may be kidnapped in order
to give information against his wealthy uncle?"
"I confess, my dear Watson, that that does
not appeal to me as a very probable explanation.
It struck me, however, as being the one which
was most likely to interest that exceedingly
unpleasant old person."
"It certainly did that. But what are your
alternatives?"
"I could mention several. You must admit that
it is curious and suggestive that this incident
should occur on the eve of this important match,
and should involve the only man whose presence
seems essential to the success of the side. It
may, of course, be coincidence, but it is
interesting. Amateur sport is free from betting,
but a good deal of outside betting goes on among
the public, and it is possible that it might be
worth someone`s while to get at a player as the
ruffians of the turf get at a race-horse. There
is one explanation. A second very obvious one is
that this young man really is the heir of a
great property, however modest his means may at
present be, and it is not impossible that a plot
to hold him for ransom might be concocted."
"These theories take no account of the
telegram."
"Quite true, Watson. The telegram still
remains the only solid thing with which we have
to deal, and we must not permit our attention to
wander away from it. It is to gain light upon
the purpose of this telegram that we are now
upon our way to Cambridge. The path of our
investigation is at present obscure, but I shall
be very much surprised if before evening we have
not cleared it up or made a considerable advance
along it."
It was already dark when we reached the old
University city. Holmes took a cab at the
station, and ordered the man to drive to the
house of Dr. Leslie Armstrong. A few minutes
later we had stopped at a large mansion in the
busiest thoroughfare. We were shown in, and
after a long wait were at last admitted into the
consulting-room, where we found the doctor
seated behind his table.
It argues the degree in which I had lost
touch with my profession that the name of Leslie
Armstrong was unknown to me. Now I am aware that
he is not only one of the heads of the medical
school of the University, but a thinker of
European reputation in more than one branch of
science. Yet even without knowing his brilliant
record one could not fail to be impressed by a
mere glance at the man, the square, massive
face, the brooding eyes under the thatched
brows, and the granite moulding of the
inflexible jaw. A man of deep character, a man
with an alert mind, grim, ascetic,
self-contained, formidable -- so I read Dr.
Leslie Armstrong. He held my friend`s card in
his hand, and he looked up with no very pleased
expression upon his dour features.
"I have heard your name, Mr. Sherlock Holmes,
and I am aware of your profession, one of which
I by no means approve."
"In that, doctor, you will find yourself in
agreement with every criminal in the country,"
said my friend, quietly.
"So far as your efforts are directed towards
the suppression of crime, sir, they must have
the support of every reasonable member of the
community, though I cannot doubt that the
official machinery is amply sufficient for the
purpose. Where your calling is more open to
criticism is when you pry into the secrets of
private individuals, when you rake up family
matters which are better hidden, and when you
incidentally waste the time of men who are more
busy than yourself. At the present moment, for
example, I should be writing a treatise instead
of conversing with you."
"No doubt, doctor; and yet the conversation
may prove more important than the treatise.
Incidentally I may tell you that we are doing
the reverse of what you very justly blame, and
that we are endeavouring to prevent anything
like public exposure of private matters which
must necessarily follow when once the case is
fairly in the hands of the official police. You
may look upon me simply as an irregular pioneer
who goes in front of the regular forces of the
country. I have come to ask you about Mr.
Godfrey Staunton."
"What about him?"
"You know him, do you not?"
"He is an intimate friend of mine."
"You are aware that he has disappeared?"
"Ah, indeed!" There was no change of
expression in the rugged features of the doctor.
"He left his hotel last night. He has not
been heard of."
"No doubt he will return."
"To-morrow is the `Varsity football match."
"I have no sympathy with these childish
games. The young man`s fate interests me deeply,
since I know him and like him. The football
match does not come within my horizon at all."
"I claim your sympathy, then, in my
investigation of Mr. Staunton`s fate. Do you
know where he is?"
"Certainly not."
"You have not seen him since yesterday?"
"No, I have not."
"Was Mr. Staunton a healthy man?"
"Absolutely."
"Did you ever know him ill?"
"Never."
Holmes popped a sheet of paper before the
doctor`s eyes. "Then perhaps you will explain
this receipted bill for thirteen guineas, paid
by Mr. Godfrey Staunton last month to Dr. Leslie
Armstrong of Cambridge. I picked it out from
among the papers upon his desk."
The doctor flushed with anger.
"I do not feel that there is any reason why I
should render an explanation to you, Mr.
Holmes."
Holmes replaced the bill in his note-book.
"If you prefer a public explanation it must come
sooner or later," said he. "I have already told
you that I can hush up that which others will be
bound to publish, and you would really be wiser
to take me into your complete confidence."
"I know nothing about it."
"Did you hear from Mr. Staunton in London?"
"Certainly not."
"Dear me, dear me; the post-office again!"
Holmes sighed, wearily. "A most urgent telegram
was dispatched to you from London by Godfrey
Staunton at six-fifteen yesterday evening -- a
telegram which is undoubtedly associated with
his disappearance -- and yet you have not had
it. It is most culpable. I shall certainly go
down to the office here and register a
complaint."
Dr. Leslie Armstrong sprang up from behind
his desk, and his dark face was crimson with
fury.
"I`ll trouble you to walk out of my house,
sir," said he. "You can tell your employer, Lord
Mount-James, that I do not wish to have anything
to do either with him or with his agents. No,
sir, not another word!" He rang the bell
furiously. "John, show these gentlemen out!" A
pompous butler ushered us severely to the door,
and we found ourselves in the street. Holmes
burst out laughing.
"Dr. Leslie Armstrong is certainly a man of
energy and character," said he. "I have not seen
a man who, if he turned his talents that way,
was more calculated to fill the gap left by the
illustrious Moriarty. And now, my poor Watson,
here we are, stranded and friendless in this
inhospitable town, which we cannot leave without
abandoning our case. This little inn just
opposite Armstrong`s house is singularly adapted
to our needs. If you would engage a front room
and purchase the necessaries for the night, I
may have time to make a few inquiries."
These few inquiries proved, however, to be a
more lengthy proceeding than Holmes had
imagined, for he did not return to the inn until
nearly nine o`clock. He was pale and dejected,
stained with dust, and exhausted with hunger and
fatigue. A cold supper was ready upon the table,
and when his needs were satisfied and his pipe
alight he was ready to take that half comic and
wholly philosophic view which was natural to him
when his affairs were going awry. The sound of
carriage wheels caused him to rise and glance
out of the window. A brougham and pair of greys
under the glare of a gas-lamp stood before the
doctor`s door.
"It`s been out three hours," said Holmes;
"started at half-past six, and here it is back
again. That gives a radius of ten or twelve
miles, and he does it once, or sometimes twice,
a day."
"No unusual thing for a doctor in practice."
"But Armstrong is not really a doctor in
practice. He is a lecturer and a consultant, but
he does not care for general practice, which
distracts him from his literary work. Why, then,
does he make these long journeys, which must be
exceedingly irksome to him, and who is it that
he visits?"
"His coachman ----"
"My dear Watson, can you doubt that it was to
him that I first applied? I do not know whether
it came from his own innate depravity or from
the promptings of his master, but he was rude
enough to set a dog at me. Neither dog nor man
liked the look of my stick, however, and the
matter fell through. Relations were strained
after that, and further inquiries out of the
question. All that I have learned I got from a
friendly native in the yard of our own inn. It
was he who told me of the doctor`s habits and of
his daily journey. At that instant, to give
point to his words, the carriage came round to
the door."
"Could you not follow it?"
"Excellent, Watson! You are scintillating
this evening. The idea did cross my mind. There
is, as you may have observed, a bicycle shop
next to our inn. Into this I rushed, engaged a
bicycle, and was able to get started before the
carriage was quite out of sight. I rapidly
overtook it, and then, keeping at a discreet
distance of a hundred yards or so, I followed
its lights until we were clear of the town. We
had got well out on the country road when a
somewhat mortifying incident occurred. The
carriage stopped, the doctor alighted, walked
swiftly back to where I had also halted, and
told me in an excellent sardonic fashion that he
feared the road was narrow, and that he hoped
his carriage did not impede the passage of my
bicycle. Nothing could have been more admirable
than his way of putting it. I at once rode past
the carriage, and, keeping to the main road, I
went on for a few miles, and then halted in a
convenient place to see if the carriage passed.
There was no sign of it, however, and so it
became evident that it had turned down one of
several side roads which I had observed. I rode
back, but again saw nothing of the carriage, and
now, as you perceive, it has returned after me.
Of course, I had at the outset no particular
reason to connect these journeys with the
disappearance of Godfrey Staunton, and was only
inclined to investigate them on the general
grounds that everything which concerns Dr.
Armstrong is at present of interest to us; but,
now that I find he keeps so keen a look-out upon
anyone who may follow him on these excursions,
the affair appears more important, and I shall
not be satisfied until I have made the matter
clear."
"We can follow him to-morrow."
"Can we? It is not so easy as you seem to
think. You are not familiar with Cambridgeshire
scenery, are you? It does not lend itself to
concealment. All this country that I passed over
to-night is as flat and clean as the palm of
your hand, and the man we are following is no
fool, as he very clearly showed to-night. I have
wired to Overton to let us know any fresh London
developments at this address, and in the
meantime we can only concentrate our attention
upon Dr. Armstrong, whose name the obliging
young lady at the office allowed me to read upon
the counterfoil of Staunton`s urgent message. He
knows where the young man is -- to that I`ll
swear -- and if he knows, then it must be our
own fault if we cannot manage to know also. At
present it must be admitted that the odd trick
is in his possession, and, as you are aware,
Watson, it is not my habit to leave the game in
that condition."
And yet the next day brought us no nearer to
the solution of the mystery. A note was handed
in after breakfast, which Holmes passed across
to me with a smile.
"Sir," it ran, "I can assure you that you are
wasting your time in dogging my movements. I
have, as you discovered last night, a window at
the back of my brougham, and if you desire a
twenty-mile ride which will lead you to the spot
from which you started, you have only to follow
me. Meanwhile, I can inform you that no spying
upon me can in any way help Mr. Godfrey
Staunton, and I am convinced that the best
service you can do to that gentleman is to
return at once to London and to report to your
employer that you are unable to trace him. Your
time in Cambridge will certainly be wasted.
"Yours faithfully, "LESLIE ARMSTRONG."
"An outspoken, honest antagonist is the
doctor," said Holmes. "Well, well, he excites my
curiosity, and I must really know more before I
leave him."
"His carriage is at his door now," said I.
"There he is stepping into it. I saw him glance
up at our window as he did so. Suppose I try my
luck upon the bicycle?"
"No, no, my dear Watson! With all respect for
your natural acumen I do not think that you are
quite a match for the worthy doctor. I think
that possibly I can attain our end by some
independent explorations of my own. I am afraid
that I must leave you to your own devices, as
the appearance of TWO inquiring strangers upon a
sleepy countryside might excite more gossip than
I care for. No doubt you will find some sights
to amuse you in this venerable city, and I hope
to bring back a more favourable report to you
before evening."
Once more, however, my friend was destined to
be disappointed. He came back at night weary and
unsuccessful.
"I have had a blank day, Watson. Having got
the doctor`s general direction, I spent the day
in visiting all the villages upon that side of
Cambridge, and comparing notes with publicans
and other local news agencies. I have covered
some ground: Chesterton, Histon, Waterbeach, and
Oakington have each been explored and have each
proved disappointing. The daily appearance of a
brougham and pair could hardly have been
overlooked in such Sleepy Hollows. The doctor
has scored once more. Is there a telegram for
me?"
"Yes; I opened it. Here it is: `Ask for
Pompey from Jeremy Dixon, Trinity College.` I
don`t understand it."
"Oh, it is clear enough. It is from our
friend Overton, and is in answer to a question
from me. I`ll just send round a note to Mr.
Jeremy Dixon, and then I have no doubt that our
luck will turn. By the way, is there any news of
the match?"
"Yes, the local evening paper has an
excellent account in its last edition. Oxford
won by a goal and two tries. The last sentences
of the description say: `The defeat of the Light
Blues may be entirely attributed to the
unfortunate absence of the crack International,
Godfrey Staunton, whose want was felt at every
instant of the game. The lack of combination in
the three-quarter line and their weakness both
in attack and defence more than neutralized the
efforts of a heavy and hard-working pack.`"
"Then our friend Overton`s forebodings have
been justified," said Holmes. "Personally I am
in agreement with Dr. Armstrong, and football
does not come within my horizon. Early to bed
to-night, Watson, for I foresee that to-morrow
may be an eventful day."
I was horrified by my first glimpse of Holmes
next morning, for he sat by the fire holding his
tiny hypodermic syringe. I associated that
instrument with the single weakness of his
nature, and I feared the worst when I saw it
glittering in his hand. He laughed at my
expression of dismay, and laid it upon the
table.
"No, no, my dear fellow, there is no cause
for alarm. It is not upon this occasion the
instrument of evil, but it will rather prove to
be the key which will unlock our mystery. On
this syringe I base all my hopes. I have just
returned from a small scouting expedition and
everything is favourable. Eat a good breakfast,
Watson, for I propose to get upon Dr.
Armstrong`s trail to-day, and once on it I will
not stop for rest or food until I run him to his
burrow."
"In that case," said I, "we had best carry
our breakfast with us, for he is making an early
start. His carriage is at the door."
"Never mind. Let him go. He will be clever if
he can drive where I cannot follow him. When you
have finished come downstairs with me, and I
will introduce you to a detective who is a very
eminent specialist in the work that lies before
us."
When we descended I followed Holmes into the
stable yard, where he opened the door of a
loose-box and led out a squat, lop-eared,
white-and-tan dog, something between a beagle
and a foxhound.
"Let me introduce you to Pompey," said he.
"Pompey is the pride of the local draghounds, no
very great flier, as his build will show, but a
staunch hound on a scent. Well, Pompey, you may
not be fast, but I expect you will be too fast
for a couple of middle-aged London gentlemen, so
I will take the liberty of fastening this
leather leash to your collar. Now, boy, come
along, and show what you can do." He led him
across to the doctor`s door. The dog sniffed
round for an instant, and then with a shrill
whine of excitement started off down the street,
tugging at his leash in his efforts to go
faster. In half an hour, we were clear of the
town and hastening down a country road.
"What have you done, Holmes?" I asked.
"A threadbare and venerable device, but
useful upon occasion. I walked into the doctor`s
yard this morning and shot my syringe full of
aniseed over the hind wheel. A draghound will
follow aniseed from here to John o` Groat`s, and
our friend Armstrong would have to drive through
the Cam before he would shake Pompey off his
trail. Oh, the cunning rascal! This is how he
gave me the slip the other night."
The dog had suddenly turned out of the main
road into a grass-grown lane. Half a mile
farther this opened into another broad road, and
the trail turned hard to the right in the
direction of the town, which we had just
quitted. The road took a sweep to the south of
the town and continued in the opposite direction
to that in which we started.
"This DETOUR has been entirely for our
benefit, then?" said Holmes. "No wonder that my
inquiries among those villages led to nothing.
The doctor has certainly played the game for all
it is worth, and one would like to know the
reason for such elaborate deception. This should
be the village of Trumpington to the right of
us. And, by Jove! here is the brougham coming
round the corner. Quick, Watson, quick, or we
are done!"
He sprang through a gate into a field,
dragging the reluctant Pompey after him. We had
hardly got under the shelter of the hedge when
the carriage rattled past. I caught a glimpse of
Dr. Armstrong within, his shoulders bowed, his
head sunk on his hands, the very image of
distress. I could tell by my companion`s graver
face that he also had seen.
"I fear there is some dark ending to our
quest," said he. "It cannot be long before we
know it. Come, Pompey! Ah, it is the cottage in
the field!"
There could be no doubt that we had reached
the end of our journey. Pompey ran about and
whined eagerly outside the gate where the marks
of the brougham`s wheels were still to be seen.
A footpath led across to the lonely cottage.
Holmes tied the dog to the hedge, and we
hastened onwards. My friend knocked at the
little rustic door, and knocked again without
response. And yet the cottage was not deserted,
for a low sound came to our ears -- a kind of
drone of misery and despair, which was
indescribably melancholy. Holmes paused
irresolute, and then he glanced back at the road
which we had just traversed. A brougham was
coming down it, and there could be no mistaking
those grey horses.
"By Jove, the doctor is coming back!" cried
Holmes. "That settles it. We are bound to see
what it means before he comes."
He opened the door and we stepped into the
hall. The droning sound swelled louder upon our
ears until it became one long, deep wail of
distress. It came from upstairs. Holmes darted
up and I followed him. He pushed open a
half-closed door and we both stood appalled at
the sight before us.
A woman, young and beautiful, was lying dead
upon the bed. Her calm, pale face, with dim,
wide-opened blue eyes, looked upward from amid a
great tangle of golden hair. At the foot of the
bed, half sitting, half kneeling, his face
buried in the clothes, was a young man, whose
frame was racked by his sobs. So absorbed was he
by his bitter grief that he never looked up
until Holmes`s hand was on his shoulder.
"Are you Mr. Godfrey Staunton?"
"Yes, yes; I am -- but you are too late. She
is dead."
The man was so dazed that he could not be
made to understand that we were anything but
doctors who had been sent to his assistance.
Holmes was endeavouring to utter a few words of
consolation, and to explain the alarm which had
been caused to his friends by his sudden
disappearance, when there was a step upon the
stairs, and there was the heavy, stern,
questioning face of Dr. Armstrong at the door.
"So, gentlemen," said he, "you have attained
your end, and have certainly chosen a
particularly delicate moment for your intrusion.
I would not brawl in the presence of death, but
I can assure you that if I were a younger man
your monstrous conduct would not pass with
impunity."
"Excuse me, Dr. Armstrong, I think we are a
little at cross-purposes," said my friend, with
dignity. "If you could step downstairs with us
we may each be able to give some light to the
other upon this miserable affair."
A minute later the grim doctor and ourselves
were in the sitting-room below.
"Well, sir?" said he.
"I wish you to understand, in the first
place, that I am not employed by Lord
Mount-James, and that my sympathies in this
matter are entirely against that nobleman. When
a man is lost it is my duty to ascertain his
fate, but having done so the matter ends so far
as I am concerned; and so long as there is
nothing criminal, I am much more anxious to hush
up private scandals than to give them publicity.
If, as I imagine, there is no breach of the law
in this matter, you can absolutely depend upon
my discretion and my co-operation in keeping the
facts out of the papers."
Dr. Armstrong took a quick step forward and
wrung Holmes by the hand.
"You are a good fellow," said he. "I had
misjudged you. I thank Heaven that my
compunction at leaving poor Staunton all alone
in this plight caused me to turn my carriage
back, and so to make your acquaintance. Knowing
as much as you do, the situation is very easily
explained. A year ago Godfrey Staunton lodged in
London for a time, and became passionately
attached to his landlady`s daughter, whom he
married. She was as good as she was beautiful,
and as intelligent as she was good. No man need
be ashamed of such a wife. But Godfrey was the
heir to this crabbed old nobleman, and it was
quite certain that the news of his marriage
would have been the end of his inheritance. I
knew the lad well, and I loved him for his many
excellent qualities. I did all I could to help
him to keep things straight. We did our very
best to keep the thing from everyone, for when
once such a whisper gets about it is not long
before everyone has heard it. Thanks to this
lonely cottage and his own discretion, Godfrey
has up to now succeeded. Their secret was known
to no one save to me and to one excellent
servant who has at present gone for assistance
to Trumpington. But at last there came a
terrible blow in the shape of dangerous illness
to his wife. It was consumption of the most
virulent kind. The poor boy was half crazed with
grief, and yet he had to go to London to play
this match, for he could not get out of it
without explanations which would expose his
secret. I tried to cheer him up by a wire, and
he sent me one in reply imploring me to do all I
could. This was the telegram which you appear in
some inexplicable way to have seen. I did not
tell him how urgent the danger was, for I knew
that he could do no good here, but I sent the
truth to the girl`s father, and he very
injudiciously communicated it to Godfrey. The
result was that he came straight away in a state
bordering on frenzy, and has remained in the
same state, kneeling at the end of her bed,
until this morning death put an end to her
sufferings. That is all, Mr. Holmes, and I am
sure that I can rely upon your discretion and
that of your friend."
Holmes grasped the doctor`s hand.
"Come, Watson," said he, and we passed from
that house of grief into the pale sunlight of
the winter day.
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XII. The Adventure of the Abbey Grange.
It was on a bitterly cold and frosty morning
during the winter of `97 that I was awakened by
a tugging at my shoulder. It was Holmes. The
candle in his hand shone upon his eager,
stooping face and told me at a glance that
something was amiss.
"Come, Watson, come!" he cried. "The game is
afoot. Not a word! Into your clothes and come!"
Ten minutes later we were both in a cab and
rattling through the silent streets on our way
to Charing Cross Station. The first faint
winter`s dawn was beginning to appear, and we
could dimly see the occasional figure of an
early workman as he passed us, blurred and
indistinct in the opalescent London reek. Holmes
nestled in silence into his heavy coat, and I
was glad to do the same, for the air was most
bitter and neither of us had broken our fast. It
was not until we had consumed some hot tea at
the station, and taken our places in the Kentish
train, that we were sufficiently thawed, he to
speak and I to listen. Holmes drew a note from
his pocket and read it aloud:--
"Abbey Grange, Marsham, Kent, "3.30 a.m. "MY
DEAR MR. HOLMES, --- I should be very glad of
your immediate assistance in what promises to be
a most remarkable case. It is something quite in
your line. Except for releasing the lady I will
see that everything is kept exactly as I have
found it, but I beg you not to lose an instant,
as it is difficult to leave Sir Eustace there.
"Yours faithfully, STANLEY HOPKINS."
"Hopkins has called me in seven times, and on
each occasion his summons has been entirely
justified," said Holmes. "I fancy that every one
of his cases has found its way into your
collection, and I must admit, Watson, that you
have some power of selection which atones for
much which I deplore in your narratives. Your
fatal habit of looking at everything from the
point of view of a story instead of as a
scientific exercise has ruined what might have
been an instructive and even classical series of
demonstrations. You slur over work of the utmost
finesse and delicacy in order to dwell upon
sensational details which may excite, but cannot
possibly instruct, the reader."
"Why do you not write them yourself?" I said,
with some bitterness.
"I will, my dear Watson, I will. At present I
am, as you know, fairly busy, but I propose to
devote my declining years to the composition of
a text-book which shall focus the whole art of
detection into one volume. Our present research
appears to be a case of murder."
"You think this Sir Eustace is dead, then?"
"I should say so. Hopkins`s writing shows
considerable agitation, and he is not an
emotional man. Yes, I gather there has been
violence, and that the body is left for our
inspection. A mere suicide would not have caused
him to send for me. As to the release of the
lady, it would appear that she has been locked
in her room during the tragedy. We are moving in
high life, Watson; crackling paper, `E.B.`
monogram, coat-of-arms, picturesque address. I
think that friend Hopkins will live up to his
reputation and that we shall have an interesting
morning. The crime was committed before twelve
last night."
"How can you possibly tell?"
"By an inspection of the trains and by
reckoning the time. The local police had to be
called in, they had to communicate with Scotland
Yard, Hopkins had to go out, and he in turn had
to send for me. All that makes a fair night`s
work. Well, here we are at Chislehurst Station,
and we shall soon set our doubts at rest."
A drive of a couple of miles through narrow
country lanes brought us to a park gate, which
was opened for us by an old lodge-keeper, whose
haggard face bore the reflection of some great
disaster. The avenue ran through a noble park,
between lines of ancient elms, and ended in a
low, widespread house, pillared in front after
the fashion of Palladio. The central part was
evidently of a great age and shrouded in ivy,
but the large windows showed that modern changes
had been carried out, and one wing of the house
appeared to be entirely new. The youthful figure
and alert, eager face of Inspector Stanley
Hopkins confronted us in the open doorway.
"I`m very glad you have come, Mr. Holmes. And
you too, Dr. Watson! But, indeed, if I had my
time over again I should not have troubled you,
for since the lady has come to herself she has
given so clear an account of the affair that
there is not much left for us to do. You
remember that Lewisham gang of burglars?"
"What, the three Randalls?"
"Exactly; the father and two sons. It`s their
work. I have not a doubt of it. They did a job
at Sydenham a fortnight ago, and were seen and
described. Rather cool to do another so soon and
so near, but it is they, beyond all doubt. It`s
a hanging matter this time."
"Sir Eustace is dead, then?"
"Yes; his head was knocked in with his own
poker."
"Sir Eustace Brackenstall, the driver tells
me."
"Exactly -- one of the richest men in Kent.
Lady Brackenstall is in the morning-room. Poor
lady, she has had a most dreadful experience.
She seemed half dead when I saw her first. I
think you had best see her and hear her account
of the facts. Then we will examine the
dining-room together."
Lady Brackenstall was no ordinary person.
Seldom have I seen so graceful a figure, so
womanly a presence, and so beautiful a face. She
was a blonde, golden-haired, blue-eyed, and
would, no doubt, have had the perfect complexion
which goes with such colouring had not her
recent experience left her drawn and haggard.
Her sufferings were physical as well as mental,
for over one eye rose a hideous, plum-coloured
swelling, which her maid, a tall, austere woman,
was bathing assiduously with vinegar and water.
The lady lay back exhausted upon a couch, but
her quick, observant gaze as we entered the
room, and the alert expression of her beautiful
features, showed that neither her wits nor her
courage had been shaken by her terrible
experience. She was enveloped in a loose
dressing-gown of blue and silver, but a black
sequin-covered dinner-dress was hung upon the
couch beside her.
"I have told you all that happened, Mr.
Hopkins," she said, wearily; "could you not
repeat it for me? Well, if you think it
necessary, I will tell these gentlemen what
occurred. Have they been in the dining-room
yet?"
"I thought they had better hear your
ladyship`s story first."
"I shall be glad when you can arrange
matters. It is horrible to me to think of him
still lying there." She shuddered and buried her
face in her hands. As she did so the loose gown
fell back from her forearms. Holmes uttered an
exclamation.
"You have other injuries, madam! What is
this?" Two vivid red spots stood out on one of
the white, round limbs. She hastily covered it.
"It is nothing. It has no connection with the
hideous business of last night. If you and your
friend will sit down I will tell you all I can.
"I am the wife of Sir Eustace Brackenstall. I
have been married about a year. I suppose that
it is no use my attempting to conceal that our
marriage has not been a happy one. I fear that
all our neighbours would tell you that, even if
I were to attempt to deny it. Perhaps the fault
may be partly mine. I was brought up in the
freer, less conventional atmosphere of South
Australia, and this English life, with its
proprieties and its primness, is not congenial
to me. But the main reason lies in the one fact
which is notorious to everyone, and that is that
Sir Eustace was a confirmed drunkard. To be with
such a man for an hour is unpleasant. Can you
imagine what it means for a sensitive and
high-spirited woman to be tied to him for day
and night? It is a sacrilege, a crime, a
villainy to hold that such a marriage is
binding. I say that these monstrous laws of
yours will bring a curse upon the land -- Heaven
will not let such wickedness endure." For an
instant she sat up, her cheeks flushed, and her
eyes blazing from under the terrible mark upon
her brow. Then the strong, soothing hand of the
austere maid drew her head down on to the
cushion, and the wild anger died away into
passionate sobbing. At last she continued:--
"I will tell you about last night. You are
aware, perhaps, that in this house all servants
sleep in the modern wing. This central block is
made up of the dwelling-rooms, with the kitchen
behind and our bedroom above. My maid Theresa
sleeps above my room. There is no one else, and
no sound could alarm those who are in the
farther wing. This must have been well known to
the robbers, or they would not have acted as
they did.
"Sir Eustace retired about half-past ten. The
servants had already gone to their quarters.
Only my maid was up, and she had remained in her
room at the top of the house until I needed her
services. I sat until after eleven in this room,
absorbed in a book. Then I walked round to see
that all was right before I went upstairs. It
was my custom to do this myself, for, as I have
explained, Sir Eustace was not always to be
trusted. I went into the kitchen, the butler`s
pantry, the gun-room, the billiard-room, the
drawing-room, and finally the dining-room. As I
approached the window, which is covered with
thick curtains, I suddenly felt the wind blow
upon my face and realized that it was open. I
flung the curtain aside and found myself face to
face with a broad-shouldered, elderly man who
had just stepped into the room. The window is a
long French one, which really forms a door
leading to the lawn. I held my bedroom candle
lit in my hand, and, by its light, behind the
first man I saw two others, who were in the act
of entering. I stepped back, but the fellow was
on me in an instant. He caught me first by the
wrist and then by the throat. I opened my mouth
to scream, but he struck me a savage blow with
his fist over the eye, and felled me to the
ground. I must have been unconscious for a few
minutes, for when I came to myself I found that
they had torn down the bell-rope and had secured
me tightly to the oaken chair which stands at
the head of the dining-room table. I was so
firmly bound that I could not move, and a
handkerchief round my mouth prevented me from
uttering any sound. It was at this instant that
my unfortunate husband entered the room. He had
evidently heard some suspicious sounds, and he
came prepared for such a scene as he found. He
was dressed in his shirt and trousers, with his
favourite blackthorn cudgel in his hand. He
rushed at one of the burglars, but another -- it
was the elderly man -- stooped, picked the poker
out of the grate, and struck him a horrible blow
as he passed. He fell without a groan, and never
moved again. I fainted once more, but again it
could only have been a very few minutes during
which I was insensible. When I opened my eyes I
found that they had collected the silver from
the sideboard, and they had drawn a bottle of
wine which stood there. Each of them had a glass
in his hand. I have already told you, have I
not, that one was elderly, with a beard, and the
others young, hairless lads. They might have
been a father with his two sons. They talked
together in whispers. Then they came over and
made sure that I was still securely bound.
Finally they withdrew, closing the window after
them. It was quite a quarter of an hour before I
got my mouth free. When I did so my screams
brought the maid to my assistance. The other
servants were soon alarmed, and we sent for the
local police, who instantly communicated with
London. That is really all that I can tell you,
gentlemen, and I trust that it will not be
necessary for me to go over so painful a story
again."
"Any questions, Mr. Holmes?" asked Hopkins.
"I will not impose any further tax upon Lady
Brackenstall`s patience and time," said Holmes.
"Before I go into the dining-room I should like
to hear your experience." He looked at the maid.
"I saw the men before ever they came into the
house," said she. "As I sat by my bedroom window
I saw three men in the moonlight down by the
lodge gate yonder, but I thought nothing of it
at the time. It was more than an hour after that
I heard my mistress scream, and down I ran, to
find her, poor lamb, just as she says, and him
on the floor with his blood and brains over the
room. It was enough to drive a woman out of her
wits, tied there, and her very dress spotted
with him; but she never wanted courage, did Miss
Mary Fraser of Adelaide, and Lady Brackenstall
of Abbey Grange hasn`t learned new ways. You`ve
questioned her long enough, you gentlemen, and
now she is coming to her own room, just with her
old Theresa, to get the rest that she badly
needs."
With a motherly tenderness the gaunt woman
put her arm round her mistress and led her from
the room.
"She has been with her all her life," said
Hopkins. "Nursed her as a baby, and came with
her to England when they first left Australia
eighteen months ago. Theresa Wright is her name,
and the kind of maid you don`t pick up nowadays.
This way, Mr. Holmes, if you please!"
The keen interest had passed out of Holmes`s
expressive face, and I knew that with the
mystery all the charm of the case had departed.
There still remained an arrest to be effected,
but what were these commonplace rogues that he
should soil his hands with them? An abstruse and
learned specialist who finds that he has been
called in for a case of measles would experience
something of the annoyance which I read in my
friend`s eyes. Yet the scene in the dining-room
of the Abbey Grange was sufficiently strange to
arrest his attention and to recall his waning
interest.
It was a very large and high chamber, with
carved oak ceiling, oaken panelling, and a fine
array of deer`s heads and ancient weapons around
the walls. At the farther end from the door was
the high French window of which we had heard.
Three smaller windows on the right-hand side
filled the apartment with cold winter sunshine.
On the left was a large, deep fireplace, with a
massive, over-hanging oak mantelpiece. Beside
the fireplace was a heavy oaken chair with arms
and cross-bars at the bottom. In and out through
the open woodwork was woven a crimson cord,
which was secured at each side to the crosspiece
below. In releasing the lady the cord had been
slipped off her, but the knots with which it had
been secured still remained. These details only
struck our attention afterwards, for our
thoughts were entirely absorbed by the terrible
object which lay upon the tiger-skin hearthrug
in front of the fire.
It was the body of a tall, well-made man,
about forty years of age. He lay upon his back,
his face upturned, with his white teeth grinning
through his short black beard. His two clenched
hands were raised above his head, and a heavy
blackthorn stick lay across them. His dark,
handsome, aquiline features were convulsed into
a spasm of vindictive hatred, which had set his
dead face in a terribly fiendish expression. He
had evidently been in his bed when the alarm had
broken out, for he wore a foppish embroidered
night-shirt, and his bare feet projected from
his trousers. His head was horribly injured, and
the whole room bore witness to the savage
ferocity of the blow which had struck him down.
Beside him lay the heavy poker, bent into a
curve by the concussion. Holmes examined both it
and the indescribable wreck which it had
wrought.
"He must be a powerful man, this elder
Randall," he remarked.
"Yes," said Hopkins. "I have some record of
the fellow, and he is a rough customer."
"You should have no difficulty in getting
him."
"Not the slightest. We have been on the
look-out for him, and there was some idea that
he had got away to America. Now that we know the
gang are here I don`t see how they can escape.
We have the news at every seaport already, and a
reward will be offered before evening. What
beats me is how they could have done so mad a
thing, knowing that the lady could describe
them, and that we could not fail to recognise
the description."
"Exactly. One would have expected that they
would have silenced Lady Brackenstall as well."
"They may not have realized," I suggested,
"that she had recovered from her faint."
"That is likely enough. If she seemed to be
senseless they would not take her life. What
about this poor fellow, Hopkins? I seem to have
heard some queer stories about him."
"He was a good-hearted man when he was sober,
but a perfect fiend when he was drunk, or rather
when he was half drunk, for he seldom really
went the whole way. The devil seemed to be in
him at such times, and he was capable of
anything. From what I hear, in spite of all his
wealth and his title, he very nearly came our
way once or twice. There was a scandal about his
drenching a dog with petroleum and setting it on
fire -- her ladyship`s dog, to make the matter
worse -- and that was only hushed up with
difficulty. Then he threw a decanter at that
maid, Theresa Wright; there was trouble about
that. On the whole, and between ourselves, it
will be a brighter house without him. What are
you looking at now?"
Holmes was down on his knees examining with
great attention the knots upon the red cord with
which the lady had been secured. Then he
carefully scrutinized the broken and frayed end
where it had snapped off when the burglar had
dragged it down.
"When this was pulled down the bell in the
kitchen must have rung loudly," he remarked.
"No one could hear it. The kitchen stands
right at the back of the house."
"How did the burglar know no one would hear
it? How dared he pull at a bell-rope in that
reckless fashion?"
"Exactly, Mr. Holmes, exactly. You put the
very question which I have asked myself again
and again. There can be no doubt that this
fellow must have known the house and its habits.
He must have perfectly understood that the
servants would all be in bed at that
comparatively early hour, and that no one could
possibly hear a bell ring in the kitchen.
Therefore he must have been in close league with
one of the servants. Surely that is evident. But
there are eight servants, and all of good
character."
"Other things being equal," said Holmes, "one
would suspect the one at whose head the master
threw a decanter. And yet that would involve
treachery towards the mistress to whom this
woman seems devoted. Well, well, the point is a
minor one, and when you have Randall you will
probably find no difficulty in securing his
accomplice. The lady`s story certainly seems to
be corroborated, if it needed corroboration, by
every detail which we see before us." He walked
to the French window and threw it open. "There
are no signs here, but the ground is iron hard,
and one would not expect them. I see that these
candles on the mantelpiece have been lighted."
"Yes; it was by their light and that of the
lady`s bedroom candle that the burglars saw
their way about."
"And what did they take?"
"Well, they did not take much -- only
half-a-dozen articles of plate off the
sideboard. Lady Brackenstall thinks that they
were themselves so disturbed by the death of Sir
Eustace that they did not ransack the house as
they would otherwise have done."
"No doubt that is true. And yet they drank
some wine, I understand."
"To steady their own nerves."
"Exactly. These three glasses upon the
sideboard have been untouched, I suppose?"
"Yes; and the bottle stands as they left it."
"Let us look at it. Halloa! halloa! what is
this?"
The three glasses were grouped together, all
of them tinged with wine, and one of them
containing some dregs of bees-wing. The bottle
stood near them, two-thirds full, and beside it
lay a long, deeply-stained cork. Its appearance
and the dust upon the bottle showed that it was
no common vintage which the murderers had
enjoyed.
A change had come over Holmes`s manner. He
had lost his listless expression, and again I
saw an alert light of interest in his keen,
deep-set eyes. He raised the cork and examined
it minutely.
"How did they draw it?" he asked.
Hopkins pointed to a half-opened drawer. In
it lay some table linen and a large cork-screw.
"Did Lady Brackenstall say that screw was
used?"
"No; you remember that she was senseless at
the moment when the bottle was opened."
"Quite so. As a matter of fact that screw was
NOT used. This bottle was opened by a
pocket-screw, probably contained in a knife, and
not more than an inch and a half long. If you
examine the top of the cork you will observe
that the screw was driven in three times before
the cork was extracted. It has never been
transfixed. This long screw would have
transfixed it and drawn it with a single pull.
When you catch this fellow you will find that he
has one of these multiplex knives in his
possession."
"Excellent!" said Hopkins.
"But these glasses do puzzle me, I confess.
Lady Brackenstall actually SAW the three men
drinking, did she not?"
"Yes; she was clear about that."
"Then there is an end of it. What more is to
be said? And yet you must admit that the three
glasses are very remarkable, Hopkins. What, you
see nothing remarkable! Well, well, let it pass.
Perhaps when a man has special knowledge and
special powers like my own it rather encourages
him to seek a complex explanation when a simpler
one is at hand. Of course, it must be a mere
chance about the glasses. Well, good morning,
Hopkins. I don`t see that I can be of any use to
you, and you appear to have your case very
clear. You will let me know when Randall is
arrested, and any further developments which may
occur. I trust that I shall soon have to
congratulate you upon a successful conclusion.
Come, Watson, I fancy that we may employ
ourselves more profitably at home."
During our return journey I could see by
Holmes`s face that he was much puzzled by
something which he had observed. Every now and
then, by an effort, he would throw off the
impression and talk as if the matter were clear,
but then his doubts would settle down upon him
again, and his knitted brows and abstracted eyes
would show that his thoughts had gone back once
more to the great dining-room of the Abbey
Grange in which this midnight tragedy had been
enacted. At last, by a sudden impulse, just as
our train was crawling out of a suburban
station, he sprang on to the platform and pulled
me out after him.
"Excuse me, my dear fellow," said he, as we
watched the rear carriages of our train
disappearing round a curve; "I am sorry to make
you the victim of what may seem a mere whim, but
on my life, Watson, I simply CAN`T leave that
case in this condition. Every instinct that I
possess cries out against it. It`s wrong -- it`s
all wrong -- I`ll swear that it`s wrong. And yet
the lady`s story was complete, the maid`s
corroboration was sufficient, the detail was
fairly exact. What have I to put against that?
Three wine-glasses, that is all. But if I had
not taken things for granted, if I had examined
everything with care which I would have shown
had we approached the case DE NOVO and had no
cut-and-dried story to warp my mind, would I not
then have found something more definite to go
upon? Of course I should. Sit down on this
bench, Watson, until a train for Chislehurst
arrives, and allow me to lay the evidence before
you, imploring you in the first instance to
dismiss from your mind the idea that anything
which the maid or her mistress may have said
must necessarily be true. The lady`s charming
personality must not be permitted to warp our
judgment.
"Surely there are details in her story which,
if we looked at it in cold blood, would excite
our suspicion. These burglars made a
considerable haul at Sydenham a fortnight ago.
Some account of them and of their appearance was
in the papers, and would naturally occur to
anyone who wished to invent a story in which
imaginary robbers should play a part. As a
matter of fact, burglars who have done a good
stroke of business are, as a rule, only too glad
to enjoy the proceeds in peace and quiet without
embarking on another perilous undertaking.
Again, it is unusual for burglars to operate at
so early an hour; it is unusual for burglars to
strike a lady to prevent her screaming, since
one would imagine that was the sure way to make
her scream; it is unusual for them to commit
murder when their numbers are sufficient to
overpower one man; it is unusual for them to be
content with a limited plunder when there is
much more within their reach; and finally I
should say that it was very unusual for such men
to leave a bottle half empty. How do all these
unusuals strike you, Watson?"
"Their cumulative effect is certainly
considerable, and yet each of them is quite
possible in itself. The most unusual thing of
all, as it seems to me, is that the lady should
be tied to the chair."
"Well, I am not so clear about that, Watson;
for it is evident that they must either kill her
or else secure her in such a way that she could
not give immediate notice of their escape. But
at any rate I have shown, have I not, that there
is a certain element of improbability about the
lady`s story? And now on the top of this comes
the incident of the wine-glasses."
"What about the wine-glasses?"
"Can you see them in your mind`s eye?"
"I see them clearly."
"We are told that three men drank from them.
Does that strike you as likely?"
"Why not? There was wine in each glass."
"Exactly; but there was bees-wing only in one
glass. You must have noticed that fact. What
does that suggest to your mind?"
"The last glass filled would be most likely
to contain bees-wing."
"Not at all. The bottle was full of it, and
it is inconceivable that the first two glasses
were clear and the third heavily charged with
it. There are two possible explanations, and
only two. One is that after the second glass was
filled the bottle was violently agitated, and so
the third glass received the bees-wing. That
does not appear probable. No, no; I am sure that
I am right."
"What, then, do you suppose?"
"That only two glasses were used, and that
the dregs of both were poured into a third
glass, so as to give the false impression that
three people had been here. In that way all the
bees-wing would be in the last glass, would it
not? Yes, I am convinced that this is so. But if
I have hit upon the true explanation of this one
small phenomenon, then in an instant the case
rises from the commonplace to the exceedingly
remarkable, for it can only mean that Lady
Brackenstall and her maid have deliberately lied
to us, that not one word of their story is to be
believed, that they have some very strong reason
for covering the real criminal, and that we must
construct our case for ourselves without any
help from them. That is the mission which now
lies before us, and here, Watson, is the
Chislehurst train."
The household of the Abbey Grange were much
surprised at our return, but Sherlock Holmes,
finding that Stanley Hopkins had gone off to
report to head-quarters, took possession of the
dining-room, locked the door upon the inside,
and devoted himself for two hours to one of
those minute and laborious investigations which
formed the solid basis on which his brilliant
edifices of deduction were reared. Seated in a
corner like an interested student who observes
the demonstration of his professor, I followed
every step of that remarkable research. The
window, the curtains, the carpet, the chair, the
rope -- each in turn was minutely examined and
duly pondered. The body of the unfortunate
baronet had been removed, but all else remained
as we had seen it in the morning. Then, to my
astonishment, Holmes climbed up on to the
massive mantelpiece. Far above his head hung the
few inches of red cord which were still attached
to the wire. For a long time he gazed upward at
it, and then in an attempt to get nearer to it
he rested his knee upon a wooden bracket on the
wall. This brought his hand within a few inches
of the broken end of the rope, but it was not
this so much as the bracket itself which seemed
to engage his attention. Finally he sprang down
with an ejaculation of satisfaction.
"It`s all right, Watson," said he. "We have
got our case -- one of the most remarkable in
our collection. But, dear me, how slow-witted I
have been, and how nearly I have committed the
blunder of my lifetime! Now, I think that with a
few missing links my chain is almost complete."
"You have got your men?"
"Man, Watson, man. Only one, but a very
formidable person. Strong as a lion -- witness
the blow that bent that poker. Six foot three in
height, active as a squirrel, dexterous with his
fingers; finally, remarkably quick-witted, for
this whole ingenious story is of his concoction.
Yes, Watson, we have come upon the handiwork of
a very remarkable individual. And yet in that
bell-rope he has given us a clue which should
not have left us a doubt."
"Where was the clue?"
"Well, if you were to pull down a bell-rope,
Watson, where would you expect it to break?
Surely at the spot where it is attached to the
wire. Why should it break three inches from the
top as this one has done?"
"Because it is frayed there?"
"Exactly. This end, which we can examine, is
frayed. He was cunning enough to do that with
his knife. But the other end is not frayed. You
could not observe that from here, but if you
were on the mantelpiece you would see that it is
cut clean off without any mark of fraying
whatever. You can reconstruct what occurred. The
man needed the rope. He would not tear it down
for fear of giving the alarm by ringing the
bell. What did he do? He sprang up on the
mantelpiece, could not quite reach it, put his
knee on the bracket -- you will see the
impression in the dust -- and so got his knife
to bear upon the cord. I could not reach the
place by at least three inches, from which I
infer that he is at least three inches a bigger
man than I. Look at that mark upon the seat of
the oaken chair! What is it?"
"Blood."
"Undoubtedly it is blood. This alone puts the
lady`s story out of court. If she were seated on
the chair when the crime was done, how comes
that mark? No, no; she was placed in the chair
AFTER the death of her husband. I`ll wager that
the black dress shows a corresponding mark to
this. We have not yet met our Waterloo, Watson,
but this is our Marengo, for it begins in defeat
and ends in victory. I should like now to have a
few words with the nurse Theresa. We must be
wary for awhile, if we are to get the
information which we want."
She was an interesting person, this stern
Australian nurse. Taciturn, suspicious,
ungracious, it took some time before Holmes`s
pleasant manner and frank acceptance of all that
she said thawed her into a corresponding
amiability. She did not attempt to conceal her
hatred for her late employer.
"Yes, sir, it is true that he threw the
decanter at me. I heard him call my mistress a
name, and I told him that he would not dare to
speak so if her brother had been there. Then it
was that he threw it at me. He might have thrown
a dozen if he had but left my bonny bird alone.
He was for ever illtreating her, and she too
proud to complain. She will not even tell me all
that he has done to her. She never told me of
those marks on her arm that you saw this
morning, but I know very well that they come
from a stab with a hat-pin. The sly fiend --
Heaven forgive me that I should speak of him so,
now that he is dead, but a fiend he was if ever
one walked the earth. He was all honey when
first we met him, only eighteen months ago, and
we both feel as if it were eighteen years. She
had only just arrived in London. Yes, it was her
first voyage -- she had never been from home
before. He won her with his title and his money
and his false London ways. If she made a mistake
she has paid for it, if ever a woman did. What
month did we meet him? Well, I tell you it was
just after we arrived. We arrived in June, and
it was July. They were married in January of
last year. Yes, she is down in the morning-room
again, and I have no doubt she will see you, but
you must not ask too much of her, for she has
gone through all that flesh and blood will
stand."
Lady Brackenstall was reclining on the same
couch, but looked brighter than before. The maid
had entered with us, and began once more to
foment the bruise upon her mistress`s brow.
"I hope," said the lady, "that you have not
come to cross-examine me again?"
"No," Holmes answered, in his gentlest voice,
"I will not cause you any unnecessary trouble,
Lady Brackenstall, and my whole desire is to
make things easy for you, for I am convinced
that you are a much-tried woman. If you will
treat me as a friend and trust me you may find
that I will justify your trust."
"What do you want me to do?"
"To tell me the truth."
"Mr. Holmes!"
"No, no, Lady Brackenstall, it is no use. You
may have heard of any little reputation which I
possess. I will stake it all on the fact that
your story is an absolute fabrication."
Mistress and maid were both staring at Holmes
with pale faces and frightened eyes.
"You are an impudent fellow!" cried Theresa.
"Do you mean to say that my mistress has told a
lie?"
Holmes rose from his chair.
"Have you nothing to tell me?"
"I have told you everything."
"Think once more, Lady Brackenstall. Would it
not be better to be frank?"
For an instant there was hesitation in her
beautiful face. Then some new strong thought
caused it to set like a mask.
"I have told you all I know."
Holmes took his hat and shrugged his
shoulders. "I am sorry," he said, and without
another word we left the room and the house.
There was a pond in the park, and to this my
friend led the way. It was frozen over, but a
single hole was left for the convenience of a
solitary swan. Holmes gazed at it and then
passed on to the lodge gate. There he scribbled
a short note for Stanley Hopkins and left it
with the lodge-keeper.
"It may be a hit or it may be a miss, but we
are bound to do something for friend Hopkins,
just to justify this second visit," said he. "I
will not quite take him into my confidence yet.
I think our next scene of operations must be the
shipping office of the Adelaide-Southampton
line, which stands at the end of Pall Mall, if I
remember right. There is a second line of
steamers which connect South Australia with
England, but we will draw the larger cover
first."
Holmes`s card sent in to the manager ensured
instant attention, and he was not long in
acquiring all the information which he needed.
In June of `95 only one of their line had
reached a home port. It was the ROCK OF
GIBRALTAR, their largest and best boat. A
reference to the passenger list showed that Miss
Fraser of Adelaide, with her maid, had made the
voyage in her. The boat was now on her way to
Australia, somewhere to the south of the Suez
Canal. Her officers were the same as in `95,
with one exception. The first officer, Mr. Jack
Croker, had been made a captain and was to take
charge of their new ship, the BASS ROCK, sailing
in two days` time from Southampton. He lived at
Sydenham, but he was likely to be in that
morning for instructions, if we cared to wait
for him.
No; Mr. Holmes had no desire to see him, but
would be glad to know more about his record and
character.
His record was magnificent. There was not an
officer in the fleet to touch him. As to his
character, he was reliable on duty, but a wild,
desperate fellow off the deck of his ship,
hot-headed, excitable, but loyal, honest, and
kind-hearted. That was the pith of the
information with which Holmes left the office of
the Adelaide-Southampton company. Thence he
drove to Scotland Yard, but instead of entering
he sat in his cab with his brows drawn down,
lost in profound thought. Finally he drove round
to the Charing Cross telegraph office, sent off
a message, and then, at last, we made for Baker
Street once more.
"No, I couldn`t do it, Watson," said he, as
we re-entered our room. "Once that warrant was
made out nothing on earth would save him. Once
or twice in my career I feel that I have done
more real harm by my discovery of the criminal
than ever he had done by his crime. I have
learned caution now, and I had rather play
tricks with the law of England than with my own
conscience. Let us know a little more before we
act."
Before evening we had a visit from Inspector
Stanley Hopkins. Things were not going very well
with him.
"I believe that you are a wizard, Mr. Holmes.
I really do sometimes think that you have powers
that are not human. Now, how on earth could you
know that the stolen silver was at the bottom of
that pond?"
"I didn`t know it."
"But you told me to examine it."
"You got it, then?"
"Yes, I got it."
"I am very glad if I have helped you."
"But you haven`t helped me. You have made the
affair far more difficult. What sort of burglars
are they who steal silver and then throw it into
the nearest pond?"
"It was certainly rather eccentric behaviour.
I was merely going on the idea that if the
silver had been taken by persons who did not
want it, who merely took it for a blind as it
were, then they would naturally be anxious to
get rid of it."
"But why should such an idea cross your
mind?"
"Well, I thought it was possible. When they
came out through the French window there was the
pond, with one tempting little hole in the ice,
right in front of their noses. Could there be a
better hiding-place?"
"Ah, a hiding-place -- that is better!" cried
Stanley Hopkins. "Yes, yes, I see it all now! It
was early, there were folk upon the roads, they
were afraid of being seen with the silver, so
they sank it in the pond, intending to return
for it when the coast was clear. Excellent, Mr.
Holmes -- that is better than your idea of a
blind."
"Quite so; you have got an admirable theory.
I have no doubt that my own ideas were quite
wild, but you must admit that they have ended in
discovering the silver."
"Yes, sir, yes. It was all your doing. But I
have had a bad set-back."
"A set-back?"
"Yes, Mr. Holmes. The Randall gang were
arrested in New York this morning."
"Dear me, Hopkins! That is certainly rather
against your theory that they committed a murder
in Kent last night."
"It is fatal, Mr. Holmes, absolutely fatal.
Still, there are other gangs of three besides
the Randalls, or it may be some new gang of
which the police have never heard."
"Quite so; it is perfectly possible. What,
are you off?"
Yes, Mr. Holmes; there is no rest for me
until I have got to the bottom of the business.
I suppose you have no hint to give me?"
"I have given you one."
"Which?"
"Well, I suggested a blind."
"But why, Mr. Holmes, why?"
"Ah, that`s the question, of course. But I
commend the idea to your mind. You might
possibly find that there was something in it.
You won`t stop for dinner? Well, good-bye, and
let us know how you get on."
Dinner was over and the table cleared before
Holmes alluded to the matter again. He had lit
his pipe and held his slippered feet to the
cheerful blaze of the fire. Suddenly he looked
at his watch.
"I expect developments, Watson."
"When?"
"Now -- within a few minutes. I dare say you
thought I acted rather badly to Stanley Hopkins
just now?"
"I trust your judgment."
"A very sensible reply, Watson. You must look
at it this way: what I know is unofficial; what
he knows is official. I have the right to
private judgment, but he has none. He must
disclose all, or he is a traitor to his service.
In a doubtful case I would not put him in so
painful a position, and so I reserve my
information until my own mind is clear upon the
matter."
"But when will that be?"
"The time has come. You will now be present
at the last scene of a remarkable little drama."
There was a sound upon the stairs, and our
door was opened to admit as fine a specimen of
manhood as ever passed through it. He was a very
tall young man, golden-moustached, blue-eyed,
with a skin which had been burned by tropical
suns, and a springy step which showed that the
huge frame was as active as it was strong. He
closed the door behind him, and then he stood
with clenched hands and heaving breast, choking
down some overmastering emotion.
"Sit down, Captain Croker. You got my
telegram?"
Our visitor sank into an arm-chair and looked
from one to the other of us with questioning
eyes.
"I got your telegram, and I came at the hour
you said. I heard that you had been down to the
office. There was no getting away from you.
Let`s hear the worst. What are you going to do
with me? Arrest me? Speak out, man! You can`t
sit there and play with me like a cat with a
mouse."
"Give him a cigar," said Holmes. "Bite on
that, Captain Croker, and don`t let your nerves
run away with you. I should not sit here smoking
with you if I thought that you were a common
criminal, you may be sure of that. Be frank with
me, and we may do some good. Play tricks with
me, and I`ll crush you."
"What do you wish me to do?"
"To give me a true account of all that
happened at the Abbey Grange last night -- a
TRUE account, mind you, with nothing added and
nothing taken off. I know so much already that
if you go one inch off the straight I`ll blow
this police whistle from my window and the
affair goes out of my hands for ever."
The sailor thought for a little. Then he
struck his leg with his great, sun-burned hand.
"I`ll chance it," he cried. "I believe you
are a man of your word, and a white man, and
I`ll tell you the whole story. But one thing I
will say first. So far as I am concerned I
regret nothing and I fear nothing, and I would
do it all again and be proud of the job. Curse
the beast, if he had as many lives as a cat he
would owe them all to me! But it`s the lady,
Mary -- Mary Fraser -- for never will I call her
by that accursed name. When I think of getting
her into trouble, I who would give my life just
to bring one smile to her dear face, it`s that
that turns my soul into water. And yet -- and
yet -- what less could I do? I`ll tell you my
story, gentlemen, and then I`ll ask you as man
to man what less could I do.
"I must go back a bit. You seem to know
everything, so I expect that you know that I met
her when she was a passenger and I was first
officer of the ROCK OF GIBRALTAR. From the first
day I met her she was the only woman to me.
Every day of that voyage I loved her more, and
many a time since have I kneeled down in the
darkness of the night watch and kissed the deck
of that ship because I knew her dear feet had
trod it. She was never engaged to me. She
treated me as fairly as ever a woman treated a
man. I have no complaint to make. It was all
love on my side, and all good comradeship and
friendship on hers. When we parted she was a
free woman, but I could never again be a free
man.
"Next time I came back from sea I heard of
her marriage. Well, why shouldn`t she marry whom
she liked? Title and money -- who could carry
them better than she? She was born for all that
is beautiful and dainty. I didn`t grieve over
her marriage. I was not such a selfish hound as
that. I just rejoiced that good luck had come
her way, and that she had not thrown herself
away on a penniless sailor. That`s how I loved
Mary Fraser.
"Well, I never thought to see her again; but
last voyage I was promoted, and the new boat was
not yet launched, so I had to wait for a couple
of months with my people at Sydenham. One day
out in a country lane I met Theresa Wright, her
old maid. She told me about her, about him,
about everything. I tell you, gentlemen, it
nearly drove me mad. This drunken hound, that he
should dare to raise his hand to her whose boots
he was not worthy to lick! I met Theresa again.
Then I met Mary herself -- and met her again.
Then she would meet me no more. But the other
day I had a notice that I was to start on my
voyage within a week, and I determined that I
would see her once before I left. Theresa was
always my friend, for she loved Mary and hated
this villain almost as much as I did. From her I
learned the ways of the house. Mary used to sit
up reading in her own little room downstairs. I
crept round there last night and scratched at
the window. At first she would not open to me,
but in her heart I know that now she loves me,
and she could not leave me in the frosty night.
She whispered to me to come round to the big
front window, and I found it open before me so
as to let me into the dining-room. Again I heard
from her own lips things that made my blood
boil, and again I cursed this brute who
mishandled the woman that I loved. Well,
gentlemen, I was standing with her just inside
the window, in all innocence, as Heaven is my
judge, when he rushed like a madman into the
room, called her the vilest name that a man
could use to a woman, and welted her across the
face with the stick he had in his hand. I had
sprung for the poker, and it was a fair fight
between us. See here on my arm where his first
blow fell. Then it was my turn, and I went
through him as if he had been a rotten pumpkin.
Do you think I was sorry? Not I! It was his life
or mine, but far more than that it was his life
or hers, for how could I leave her in the power
of this madman? That was how I killed him. Was I
wrong? Well, then, what would either of you
gentlemen have done if you had been in my
position?"
"She had screamed when he struck her, and
that brought old Theresa down from the room
above. There was a bottle of wine on the
sideboard, and I opened it and poured a little
between Mary`s lips, for she was half dead with
the shock. Then I took a drop myself. Theresa
was as cool as ice, and it was her plot as much
as mine. We must make it appear that burglars
had done the thing. Theresa kept on repeating
our story to her mistress, while I swarmed up
and cut the rope of the bell. Then I lashed her
in her chair, and frayed out the end of the rope
to make it look natural, else they would wonder
how in the world a burglar could have got up
there to cut it. Then I gathered up a few plates
and pots of silver, to carry out the idea of a
robbery, and there I left them with orders to
give the alarm when I had a quarter of an hour`s
start. I dropped the silver into the pond and
made off for Sydenham, feeling that for once in
my life I had done a real good night`s work. And
that`s the truth and the whole truth, Mr.
Holmes, if it costs me my neck."
Holmes smoked for some time in silence. Then
he crossed the room and shook our visitor by the
hand.
"That`s what I think," said he. "I know that
every word is true, for you have hardly said a
word which I did not know. No one but an acrobat
or a sailor could have got up to that bell-rope
from the bracket, and no one but a sailor could
have made the knots with which the cord was
fastened to the chair. Only once had this lady
been brought into contact with sailors, and that
was on her voyage, and it was someone of her own
class of life, since she was trying hard to
shield him and so showing that she loved him.
You see how easy it was for me to lay my hands
upon you when once I had started upon the right
trail."
"I thought the police never could have seen
through our dodge."
"And the police haven`t; nor will they, to
the best of my belief. Now, look here, Captain
Croker, this is a very serious matter, though I
am willing to admit that you acted under the
most extreme provocation to which any man could
be subjected. I am not sure that in defence of
your own life your action will not be pronounced
legitimate. However, that is for a British jury
to decide. Meanwhile I have so much sympathy for
you that if you choose to disappear in the next
twenty-four hours I will promise you that no one
will hinder you."
"And then it will all come out?"
"Certainly it will come out."
The sailor flushed with anger.
"What sort of proposal is that to make a man?
I know enough of law to understand that Mary
would be had as accomplice. Do you think I would
leave her alone to face the music while I slunk
away? No, sir; let them do their worst upon me,
but for Heaven`s sake, Mr. Holmes, find some way
of keeping my poor Mary out of the courts."
Holmes for a second time held out his hand to
the sailor.
"I was only testing you, and you ring true
every time. Well, it is a great responsibility
that I take upon myself, but I have given
Hopkins an excellent hint, and if he can`t avail
himself of it I can do no more. See here,
Captain Croker, we`ll do this in due form of
law. You are the prisoner. Watson, you are a
British jury, and I never met a man who was more
eminently fitted to represent one. I am the
judge. Now, gentleman of the jury, you have
heard the evidence. Do you find the prisoner
guilty or not guilty?"
"Not guilty, my lord," said I.
"Vox populi, vox Dei. You are acquitted,
Captain Croker. So long as the law does not find
some other victim you are safe from me. Come
back to this lady in a year, and may her future
and yours justify us in the judgment which we
have pronounced this night."
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XIII. The Adventure of the Second Stain.
I HAD intended "The Adventure of the Abbey Grange" to be the last of
those exploits of my friend, Mr. Sherlock
Holmes, which I should ever communicate to the
public. This resolution of mine was not due to
any lack of material, since I have notes of many
hundreds of cases to which I have never alluded,
nor was it caused by any waning interest on the
part of my readers in the singular personality
and unique methods of this remarkable man. The
real reason lay in the reluctance which Mr.
Holmes has shown to the continued publication of
his experiences. So long as he was in actual
professional practice the records of his
successes were of some practical value to him;
but since he has definitely retired from London
and betaken himself to study and bee-farming on
the Sussex Downs, notoriety has become hateful
to him, and he has peremptorily requested that
his wishes in this matter should be strictly
observed. It was only upon my representing to
him that I had given a promise that "The
Adventure of the Second Stain" should be
published when the times were ripe, and pointing
out to him that it is only appropriate that this
long series of episodes should culminate in the
most important international case which he has
ever been called upon to handle, that I at last
succeeded in obtaining his consent that a
carefully-guarded account of the incident should
at last be laid before the public. If in telling
the story I seem to be somewhat vague in certain
details the public will readily understand that
there is an excellent reason for my reticence.
It was, then, in a year, and even in a
decade, that shall be nameless, that upon one
Tuesday morning in autumn we found two visitors
of European fame within the walls of our humble
room in Baker Street. The one, austere,
high-nosed, eagle-eyed, and dominant, was none
other than the illustrious Lord Bellinger, twice
Premier of Britain. The other, dark, clear-cut,
and elegant, hardly yet of middle age, and
endowed with every beauty of body and of mind,
was the Right Honourable Trelawney Hope,
Secretary for European Affairs, and the most
rising statesman in the country. They sat side
by side upon our paper-littered settee, and it
was easy to see from their worn and anxious
faces that it was business of the most pressing
importance which had brought them. The Premier`s
thin, blue-veined hands were clasped tightly
over the ivory head of his umbrella, and his
gaunt, ascetic face looked gloomily from Holmes
to me. The European Secretary pulled nervously
at his moustache and fidgeted with the seals of
his watch-chain.
"When I discovered my loss, Mr. Holmes, which
was at eight o`clock this morning, I at once
informed the Prime Minister. It was at his
suggestion that we have both come to you."
"Have you informed the police?"
"No, sir," said the Prime Minister, with the
quick, decisive manner for which he was famous.
"We have not done so, nor is it possible that we
should do so. To inform the police must, in the
long run, mean to inform the public. This is
what we particularly desire to avoid."
"And why, sir?"
"Because the document in question is of such
immense importance that its publication might
very easily -- I might almost say probably --
lead to European complications of the utmost
moment. It is not too much to say that peace or
war may hang upon the issue. Unless its recovery
can be attended with the utmost secrecy, then it
may as well not be recovered at all, for all
that is aimed at by those who have taken it is
that its contents should be generally known."
"I understand. Now, Mr. Trelawney Hope, I
should be much obliged if you would tell me
exactly the circumstances under which this
document disappeared."
"That can be done in a very few words, Mr.
Holmes. The letter -- for it was a letter from a
foreign potentate -- was received six days ago.
It was of such importance that I have never left
it in my safe, but I have taken it across each
evening to my house in Whitehall Terrace, and
kept it in my bedroom in a locked despatch-box.
It was there last night. Of that I am certain. I
actually opened the box while I was dressing for
dinner, and saw the document inside. This
morning it was gone. The despatch-box had stood
beside the glass upon my dressing-table all
night. I am a light sleeper, and so is my wife.
We are both prepared to swear that no one could
have entered the room during the night. And yet
I repeat that the paper is gone."
"What time did you dine?"
"Half-past seven."
"How long was it before you went to bed?"
"My wife had gone to the theatre. I waited up
for her. It was half-past eleven before we went
to our room."
"Then for four hours the despatch-box had
lain unguarded?"
"No one is ever permitted to enter that room
save the housemaid in the morning, and my valet,
or my wife`s maid, during the rest of the day.
They are both trusty servants who have been with
us for some time. Besides, neither of them could
possibly have known that there was anything more
valuable than the ordinary departmental papers
in my despatch-box."
"Who did know of the existence of that
letter?"
"No one in the house."
"Surely your wife knew?"
"No, sir; I had said nothing to my wife until
I missed the paper this morning."
The Premier nodded approvingly.
"I have long known, sir, how high is your
sense of public duty," said he. "I am convinced
that in the case of a secret of this importance
it would rise superior to the most intimate
domestic ties."
The European Secretary bowed.
"You do me no more than justice, sir. Until
this morning I have never breathed one word to
my wife upon this matter."
"Could she have guessed?"
"No, Mr. Holmes, she could not have guessed
-- nor could anyone have guessed."
"Have you lost any documents before?"
"No, sir."
"Who is there in England who did know of the
existence of this letter?"
"Each member of the Cabinet was informed of
it yesterday; but the pledge of secrecy which
attends every Cabinet meeting was increased by
the solemn warning which was given by the Prime
Minister. Good heavens, to think that within a
few hours I should myself have lost it!" His
handsome face was distorted with a spasm of
despair, and his hands tore at his hair. For a
moment we caught a glimpse of the natural man,
impulsive, ardent, keenly sensitive. The next
the aristocratic mask was replaced, and the
gentle voice had returned. "Besides the members
of the Cabinet there are two, or possibly three,
departmental officials who know of the letter.
No one else in England, Mr. Holmes, I assure
you."
"But abroad?"
"I believe that no one abroad has seen it
save the man who wrote it. I am well convinced
that his Ministers -- that the usual official
channels have not been employed."
Holmes considered for some little time.
"Now, sir, I must ask you more particularly
what this document is, and why its disappearance
should have such momentous consequences?"
The two statesmen exchanged a quick glance
and the Premier`s shaggy eyebrows gathered in a
frown.
"Mr. Holmes, the envelope is a long, thin one
of pale blue colour. There is a seal of red wax
stamped with a crouching lion. It is addressed
in large, bold handwriting to ---"
"I fear, sir," said Holmes, "that,
interesting and indeed essential as these
details are, my inquiries must go more to the
root of things. What WAS the letter?"
"That is a State secret of the utmost
importance, and I fear that I cannot tell you,
nor do I see that it is necessary. If by the aid
of the powers which you are said to possess you
can find such an envelope as I describe with its
enclosure, you will have deserved well of your
country, and earned any reward which it lies in
our power to bestow."
Sherlock Holmes rose with a smile.
"You are two of the most busy men in the
country," said he, "and in my own small way I
have also a good many calls upon me. I regret
exceedingly that I cannot help you in this
matter, and any continuation of this interview
would be a waste of time."
The Premier sprang to his feet with that
quick, fierce gleam of his deep-set eyes before
which a Cabinet has cowered. "I am not
accustomed, sir ----" he began, but mastered his
anger and resumed his seat. For a minute or more
we all sat in silence. Then the old statesman
shrugged his shoulders.
"We must accept your terms, Mr. Holmes. No
doubt you are right, and it is unreasonable for
us to expect you to act unless we give you our
entire confidence."
"I agree with you, sir," said the younger
statesman.
"Then I will tell you, relying entirely upon
your honour and that of your colleague, Dr.
Watson. I may appeal to your patriotism also,
for I could not imagine a greater misfortune for
the country than that this affair should come
out."
"You may safely trust us."
"The letter, then, is from a certain foreign
potentate who has been ruffled by some recent
Colonial developments of this country. It has
been written hurriedly and upon his own
responsibility entirely. Inquiries have shown
that his Ministers know nothing of the matter.
At the same time it is couched in so unfortunate
a manner, and certain phrases in it are of so
provocative a character, that its publication
would undoubtedly lead to a most dangerous state
of feeling in this country. There would be such
a ferment, sir, that I do not hesitate to say
that within a week of the publication of that
letter this country would be involved in a great
war."
Holmes wrote a name upon a slip of paper and
handed it to the Premier.
"Exactly. It was he. And it is this letter --
this letter which may well mean the expenditure
of a thousand millions and the lives of a
hundred thousand men -- which has become lost in
this unaccountable fashion."
"Have you informed the sender?"
"Yes, sir, a cipher telegram has been
despatched."
"Perhaps he desires the publication of the
letter."
"No, sir, we have strong reason to believe
that he already understands that he has acted in
an indiscreet and hot-headed manner. It would be
a greater blow to him and to his country than to
us if this letter were to come out."
"If this is so, whose interest is it that the
letter should come out? Why should anyone desire
to steal it or to publish it?"
"There, Mr. Holmes, you take me into regions
of high international politics. But if you
consider the European situation you will have no
difficulty in perceiving the motive. The whole
of Europe is an armed camp. There is a double
league which makes a fair balance of military
power. Great Britain holds the scales. If
Britain were driven into war with one
confederacy, it would assure the supremacy of
the other confederacy, whether they joined in
the war or not. Do you follow?"
"Very clearly. It is then the interest of the
enemies of this potentate to secure and publish
this letter, so as to make a breach between his
country and ours?"
"Yes, sir."
"And to whom would this document be sent if
it fell into the hands of an enemy?"
"To any of the great Chancelleries of Europe.
It is probably speeding on its way thither at
the present instant as fast as steam can take
it."
Mr. Trelawney Hope dropped his head on his
chest and groaned aloud. The Premier placed his
hand kindly upon his shoulder.
"It is your misfortune, my dear fellow. No
one can blame you. There is no precaution which
you have neglected. Now, Mr. Holmes, you are in
full possession of the facts. What course do you
recommend?"
Holmes shook his head mournfully.
"You think, sir, that unless this document is
recovered there will be war?"
"I think it is very probable."
"Then, sir, prepare for war."
"That is a hard saying, Mr. Holmes."
"Consider the facts, sir. It is inconceivable
that it was taken after eleven-thirty at night,
since I understand that Mr. Hope and his wife
were both in the room from that hour until the
loss was found out. It was taken, then,
yesterday evening between seven-thirty and
eleven-thirty, probably near the earlier hour,
since whoever took it evidently knew that it was
there and would naturally secure it as early as
possible. Now, sir, if a document of this
importance were taken at that hour, where can it
be now? No one has any reason to retain it. It
has been passed rapidly on to those who need it.
What chance have we now to overtake or even to
trace it? It is beyond our reach."
The Prime Minister rose from the settee.
"What you say is perfectly logical, Mr.
Holmes. I feel that the matter is indeed out of
our hands."
"Let us presume, for argument`s sake, that
the document was taken by the maid or by the
valet ----"
"They are both old and tried servants."
"I understand you to say that your room is on
the second floor, that there is no entrance from
without, and that from within no one could go up
unobserved. It must, then, be somebody in the
house who has taken it. To whom would the thief
take it? To one of several international spies
and secret agents, whose names are tolerably
familiar to me. There are three who may be said
to be the heads of their profession. I will
begin my research by going round and finding if
each of them is at his post. If one is missing
-- especially if he has disappeared since last
night -- we will have some indication as to
where the document has gone."
"Why should he be missing?" asked the
European Secretary. "He would take the letter to
an Embassy in London, as likely as not."
"I fancy not. These agents work
independently, and their relations with the
Embassies are often strained."
The Prime Minister nodded his acquiescence.
"I believe you are right, Mr. Holmes. He
would take so valuable a prize to head-quarters
with his own hands. I think that your course of
action is an excellent one. Meanwhile, Hope, we
cannot neglect all our other duties on account
of this one misfortune. Should there be any
fresh developments during the day we shall
communicate with you, and you will no doubt let
us know the results of your own inquiries."
The two statesmen bowed and walked gravely
from the room.
When our illustrious visitors had departed
Holmes lit his pipe in silence, and sat for some
time lost in the deepest thought. I had opened
the morning paper and was immersed in a
sensational crime which had occurred in London
the night before, when my friend gave an
exclamation, sprang to his feet, and laid his
pipe down upon the mantelpiece.
"Yes," said he, "there is no better way of
approaching it. The situation is desperate, but
not hopeless. Even now, if we could be sure
which of them has taken it, it is just possible
that it has not yet passed out of his hands.
After all, it is a question of money with these
fellows, and I have the British Treasury behind
me. If it`s on the market I`ll buy it -- if it
means another penny on the income-tax. It is
conceivable that the fellow might hold it back
to see what bids come from this side before he
tries his luck on the other. There are only
those three capable of playing so bold a game;
there are Oberstein, La Rothiere, and Eduardo
Lucas. I will see each of them."
I glanced at my morning paper.
"Is that Eduardo Lucas of Godolphin Street?"
"Yes."
"You will not see him."
"Why not?"
"He was murdered in his house last night."
My friend has so often astonished me in the
course of our adventures that it was with a
sense of exultation that I realized how
completely I had astonished him. He stared in
amazement, and then snatched the paper from my
hands. This was the paragraph which I had been
engaged in reading when he rose from his
chair:--
"MURDER IN WESTMINSTER.
"A crime of mysterious character was
committed last night at 16, Godolphin Street,
one of the old-fashioned and secluded rows of
eighteenth-century houses which lie between the
river and the Abbey, almost in the shadow of the
great Tower of the Houses of Parliament. This
small but select mansion has been inhabited for
some years by Mr. Eduardo Lucas, well known in
society circles both on account of his charming
personality and because he has the well-deserved
reputation of being one of the best amateur
tenors in the country. Mr. Lucas is an unmarried
man, thirty-four years of age, and his
establishment consists of Mrs. Pringle, an
elderly housekeeper, and of Mitton, his valet.
The former retires early and sleeps at the top
of the house. The valet was out for the evening,
visiting a friend at Hammersmith. From ten
o`clock onwards Mr. Lucas had the house to
himself. What occurred during that time has not
yet transpired, but at a quarter to twelve
Police-constable Barrett, passing along
Godolphin Street, observed that the door of No.
16 was ajar. He knocked, but received no answer.
Perceiving a light in the front room he advanced
into the passage and again knocked, but without
reply. He then pushed open the door and entered.
The room was in a state of wild disorder, the
furniture being all swept to one side, and one
chair lying on its back in the centre. Beside
this chair, and still grasping one of its legs,
lay the unfortunate tenant of the house. He had
been stabbed to the heart and must have died
instantly. The knife with which the crime had
been committed was a curved Indian dagger,
plucked down from a trophy of Oriental arms
which adorned one of the walls. Robbery does not
appear to have been the motive of the crime, for
there had been no attempt to remove the valuable
contents of the room. Mr. Eduardo Lucas was so
well known and popular that his violent and
mysterious fate will arouse painful interest and
intense sympathy in a wide-spread circle of
friends."
"Well, Watson, what do you make of this?"
asked Holmes, after a long pause.
"It is an amazing coincidence."
"A coincidence! Here is one of the three men
whom we had named as possible actors in this
drama, and he meets a violent death during the
very hours when we know that that drama was
being enacted. The odds are enormous against its
being coincidence. No figures could express
them. No, my dear Watson, the two events are
connected -- MUST be connected. It is for us to
find the connection."
"But now the official police must know all."
"Not at all. They know all they see at
Godolphin Street. They know -- and shall know --
nothing of Whitehall Terrace. Only WE know of
both events, and can trace the relation between
them. There is one obvious point which would, in
any case, have turned my suspicions against
Lucas. Godolphin Street, Westminster, is only a
few minutes` walk from Whitehall Terrace. The
other secret agents whom I have named live in
the extreme West-end. It was easier, therefore,
for Lucas than for the others to establish a
connection or receive a message from the
European Secretary`s household -- a small thing,
and yet where events are compressed into a few
hours it may prove essential. Halloa! what have
we here?"
Mrs. Hudson had appeared with a lady`s card
upon her salver. Holmes glanced at it, raised
his eyebrows, and handed it over to me.
"Ask Lady Hilda Trelawney Hope if she will be
kind enough to step up," said he.
A moment later our modest apartment, already
so distinguished that morning, was further
honoured by the entrance of the most lovely
woman in London. I had often heard of the beauty
of the youngest daughter of the Duke of
Belminster, but no description of it, and no
contemplation of colourless photographs, had
prepared me for the subtle, delicate charm and
the beautiful colouring of that exquisite head.
And yet as we saw it that autumn morning, it was
not its beauty which would be the first thing to
impress the observer. The cheek was lovely, but
it was paled with emotion; the eyes were bright,
but it was the brightness of fever; the
sensitive mouth was tight and drawn in an effort
after self-command. Terror -- not beauty -- was
what sprang first to the eye as our fair visitor
stood framed for an instant in the open door.
"Has my husband been here, Mr. Holmes?"
"Yes, madam, he has been here."
"Mr. Holmes, I implore you not to tell him
that I came here." Holmes bowed coldly, and
motioned the lady to a chair.
"Your ladyship places me in a very delicate
position. I beg that you will sit down and tell
me what you desire; but I fear that I cannot
make any unconditional promise."
She swept across the room and seated herself
with her back to the window. It was a queenly
presence -- tall, graceful, and intensely
womanly.
"Mr. Holmes," she said, and her white-gloved
hands clasped and unclasped as she spoke -- "I
will speak frankly to you in the hope that it
may induce you to speak frankly in return. There
is complete confidence between my husband and me
on all matters save one. That one is politics.
On this his lips are sealed. He tells me
nothing. Now, I am aware that there was a most
deplorable occurrence in our house last night. I
know that a paper has disappeared. But because
the matter is political my husband refuses to
take me into his complete confidence. Now it is
essential -- essential, I say -- that I should
thoroughly understand it. You are the only other
person, save only these politicians, who knows
the true facts. I beg you, then, Mr. Holmes, to
tell me exactly what has happened and what it
will lead to. Tell me all, Mr. Holmes. Let no
regard for your client`s interests keep you
silent, for I assure you that his interests, if
he would only see it, would be best served by
taking me into his complete confidence. What was
this paper which was stolen?"
"Madam, what you ask me is really
impossible."
She groaned and sank her face in her hands.
"You must see that this is so, madam. If your
husband thinks fit to keep you in the dark over
this matter, is it for me, who has only learned
the true facts under the pledge of professional
secrecy, to tell what he has withheld? It is not
fair to ask it. It is him whom you must ask."
"I have asked him. I come to you as a last
resource. But without your telling me anything
definite, Mr. Holmes, you may do a great service
if you would enlighten me on one point."
"What is it, madam?"
"Is my husband`s political career likely to
suffer through this incident?"
"Well, madam, unless it is set right it may
certainly have a very unfortunate effect."
"Ah!" She drew in her breath sharply as one
whose doubts are resolved.
"One more question, Mr. Holmes. From an
expression which my husband dropped in the first
shock of this disaster I understood that
terrible public consequences might arise from
the loss of this document."
"If he said so, I certainly cannot deny it."
"Of what nature are they?"
"Nay, madam, there again you ask me more than
I can possibly answer."
"Then I will take up no more of your time. I
cannot blame you, Mr. Holmes, for having refused
to speak more freely, and you on your side will
not, I am sure, think the worse of me because I
desire, even against his will, to share my
husband`s anxieties. Once more I beg that you
will say nothing of my visit." She looked back
at us from the door, and I had a last impression
of that beautiful haunted face, the startled
eyes, and the drawn mouth. Then she was gone.
"Now, Watson, the fair sex is your
department," said Holmes, with a smile, when the
dwindling frou-frou of skirts had ended in the
slam of the front door. "What was the fair
lady`s game? What did she really want?"
"Surely her own statement is clear and her
anxiety very natural."
"Hum! Think of her appearance, Watson -- her
manner, her suppressed excitement, her
restlessness, her tenacity in asking questions.
Remember that she comes of a caste who do not
lightly show emotion."
"She was certainly much moved."
"Remember also the curious earnestness with
which she assured us that it was best for her
husband that she should know all. What did she
mean by that? And you must have observed,
Watson, how she manoeuvred to have the light at
her back. She did not wish us to read her
expression."
"Yes; she chose the one chair in the room."
"And yet the motives of women are so
inscrutable. You remember the woman at Margate
whom I suspected for the same reason. No powder
on her nose -- that proved to be the correct
solution. How can you build on such a quicksand?
Their most trivial action may mean volumes, or
their most extraordinary conduct may depend upon
a hairpin or a curling-tongs. Good morning,
Watson."
"You are off?"
"Yes; I will wile away the morning at
Godolphin Street with our friends of the regular
establishment. With Eduardo Lucas lies the
solution of our problem, though I must admit
that I have not an inkling as to what form it
may take. It is a capital mistake to theorize in
advance of the facts. Do you stay on guard, my
good Watson, and receive any fresh visitors.
I`ll join you at lunch if I am able."
All that day and the next and the next Holmes
was in a mood which his friends would call
taciturn, and others morose. He ran out and ran
in, smoked incessantly, played snatches on his
violin, sank into reveries, devoured sandwiches
at irregular hours, and hardly answered the
casual questions which I put to him. It was
evident to me that things were not going well
with him or his quest. He would say nothing of
the case, and it was from the papers that I
learned the particulars of the inquest, and the
arrest with the subsequent release of John
Mitton, the valet of the deceased. The coroner`s
jury brought in the obvious "Wilful Murder," but
the parties remained as unknown as ever. No
motive was suggested. The room was full of
articles of value, but none had been taken. The
dead man`s papers had not been tampered with.
They were carefully examined, and showed that he
was a keen student of international politics, an
indefatigable gossip, a remarkable linguist, and
an untiring letter-writer. He had been on
intimate terms with the leading politicians of
several countries. But nothing sensational was
discovered among the documents which filled his
drawers. As to his relations with women, they
appeared to have been promiscuous but
superficial. He had many acquaintances among
them, but few friends, and no one whom he loved.
His habits were regular, his conduct
inoffensive. His death was an absolute mystery,
and likely to remain so.
As to the arrest of John Mitton, the valet,
it was a counsel of despair as an alternative to
absolute inaction. But no case could be
sustained against him. He had visited friends in
Hammersmith that night. The ALIBI was complete.
It is true that he started home at an hour which
should have brought him to Westminster before
the time when the crime was discovered, but his
own explanation that he had walked part of the
way seemed probable enough in view of the
fineness of the night. He had actually arrived
at twelve o`clock, and appeared to be
overwhelmed by the unexpected tragedy. He had
always been on good terms with his master.
Several of the dead man`s possessions -- notably
a small case of razors -- had been found in the
valet`s boxes, but he explained that they had
been presents from the deceased, and the
housekeeper was able to corroborate the story.
Mitton had been in Lucas`s employment for three
years. It was noticeable that Lucas did not take
Mitton on the Continent with him. Sometimes he
visited Paris for three months on end, but
Mitton was left in charge of the Godolphin
Street house. As to the housekeeper, she had
heard nothing on the night of the crime. If her
master had a visitor he had himself admitted
him.
So for three mornings the mystery remained,
so far as I could follow it in the papers. If
Holmes knew more he kept his own counsel, but,
as he told me that Inspector Lestrade had taken
him into his confidence in the case, I knew that
he was in close touch with every development.
Upon the fourth day there appeared a long
telegram from Paris which seemed to solve the
whole question.
"A discovery has just been made by the
Parisian police," said the DAILY TELEGRAPH,
"which raises the veil which hung round the
tragic fate of Mr. Eduardo Lucas, who met his
death by violence last Monday night at Godolphin
Street, Westminster. Our readers will remember
that the deceased gentleman was found stabbed in
his room, and that some suspicion attached to
his valet, but that the case broke down on an
ALIBI. Yesterday a lady, who has been known as
Mme. Henri Fournaye, occupying a small villa in
the Rue Austerlitz, was reported to the
authorities by her servants as being insane. An
examination showed that she had indeed developed
mania of a dangerous and permanent form. On
inquiry the police have discovered that Mme.
Henri Fournaye only returned from a journey to
London on Tuesday last, and there is evidence to
connect her with the crime at Westminster. A
comparison of photographs has proved
conclusively that M. Henri Fournaye and Eduardo
Lucas were really one and the same person, and
that the deceased had for some reason lived a
double life in London and Paris. Mme. Fournaye,
who is of Creole origin, is of an extremely
excitable nature, and has suffered in the past
from attacks of jealousy which have amounted to
frenzy. It is conjectured that it was in one of
these that she committed the terrible crime
which has caused such a sensation in London. Her
movements upon the Monday night have not yet
been traced, but it is undoubted that a woman
answering to her description attracted much
attention at Charing Cross Station on Tuesday
morning by the wildness of her appearance and
the violence of her gestures. It is probable,
therefore, that the crime was either committed
when insane, or that its immediate effect was to
drive the unhappy woman out of her mind. At
present she is unable to give any coherent
account of the past, and the doctors hold out no
hopes of the re-establishment of her reason.
There is evidence that a woman, who might have
been Mme. Fournaye, was seen for some hours on
Monday night watching the house in Godolphin
Street."
"What do you think of that, Holmes?" I had
read the account aloud to him, while he finished
his breakfast.
"My dear Watson," said he, as he rose from
the table and paced up and down the room, "you
are most long-suffering, but if I have told you
nothing in the last three days it is because
there is nothing to tell. Even now this report
from Paris does not help us much."
"Surely it is final as regards the man`s
death."
"The man`s death is a mere incident -- a
trivial episode -- in comparison with our real
task, which is to trace this document and save a
European catastrophe. Only one important thing
has happened in the last three days, and that is
that nothing has happened. I get reports almost
hourly from the Government, and it is certain
that nowhere in Europe is there any sign of
trouble. Now, if this letter were loose -- no,
it CAN`T be loose -- but if it isn`t loose,
where can it be? Who has it? Why is it held
back? That`s the question that beats in my brain
like a hammer. Was it, indeed, a coincidence
that Lucas should meet his death on the night
when the letter disappeared? Did the letter ever
reach him? If so, why is it not among his
papers? Did this mad wife of his carry it off
with her? If so, is it in her house in Paris?
How could I search for it without the French
police having their suspicions aroused? It is a
case, my dear Watson, where the law is as
dangerous to us as the criminals are. Every
man`s hand is against us, and yet the interests
at stake are colossal. Should I bring it to a
successful conclusion it will certainly
represent the crowning glory of my career. Ah,
here is my latest from the front!" He glanced
hurriedly at the note which had been handed in.
"Halloa! Lestrade seems to have observed
something of interest. Put on your hat, Watson,
and we will stroll down together to
Westminster."
It was my first visit to the scene of the
crime -- a high, dingy, narrow-chested house,
prim, formal, and solid, like the century which
gave it birth. Lestrade`s bulldog features gazed
out at us from the front window, and he greeted
us warmly when a big constable had opened the
door and let us in. The room into which we were
shown was that in which the crime had been
committed, but no trace of it now remained, save
an ugly, irregular stain upon the carpet. This
carpet was a small square drugget in the centre
of the room, surrounded by a broad expanse of
beautiful, old-fashioned wood-flooring in square
blocks highly polished. Over the fireplace was a
magnificent trophy of weapons, one of which had
been used on that tragic night. In the window
was a sumptuous writing-desk, and every detail
of the apartment, the pictures, the rugs, and
the hangings, all pointed to a taste which was
luxurious to the verge of effeminacy.
"Seen the Paris news?" asked Lestrade.
Holmes nodded.
"Our French friends seem to have touched the
spot this time. No doubt it`s just as they say.
She knocked at the door -- surprise visit, I
guess, for he kept his life in water-tight
compartments. He let her in -- couldn`t keep her
in the street. She told him how she had traced
him, reproached him, one thing led to another,
and then with that dagger so handy the end soon
came. It wasn`t all done in an instant, though,
for these chairs were all swept over yonder, and
he had one in his hand as if he had tried to
hold her off with it. We`ve got it all clear as
if we had seen it."
Holmes raised his eyebrows.
"And yet you have sent for me?"
"Ah, yes, that`s another matter -- a mere
trifle, but the sort of thing you take an
interest in -- queer, you know, and what you
might call freakish. It has nothing to do with
the main fact -- can`t have, on the face of it."
"What is it, then?"
"Well, you know, after a crime of this sort
we are very careful to keep things in their
position. Nothing has been moved. Officer in
charge here day and night. This morning, as the
man was buried and the investigation over -- so
far as this room is concerned -- we thought we
could tidy up a bit. This carpet. You see, it is
not fastened down; only just laid there. We had
occasion to raise it. We found ----"
"Yes? You found ----"
Holmes`s face grew tense with anxiety.
"Well, I`m sure you would never guess in a
hundred years what we did find. You see that
stain on the carpet? Well, a great deal must
have soaked through, must it not?"
"Undoubtedly it must."
"Well, you will be surprised to hear that
there is no stain on the white woodwork to
correspond."
"No stain! But there must ----"
"Yes; so you would say. But the fact remains
that there isn`t."
He took the corner of the carpet in his hand
and, turning it over, he showed that it was
indeed as he said.
"But the underside is as stained as the
upper. It must have left a mark."
Lestrade chuckled with delight at having
puzzled the famous expert.
"Now I`ll show you the explanation. There IS
a second stain, but it does not correspond with
the other. See for yourself." As he spoke he
turned over another portion of the carpet, and
there, sure enough, was a great crimson spill
upon the square white facing of the
old-fashioned floor. "What do you make of that,
Mr. Holmes?"
"Why, it is simple enough. The two stains did
correspond, but the carpet has been turned
round. As it was square and unfastened it was
easily done."
The official police don`t need you, Mr.
Holmes, to tell them that the carpet must have
been turned round. That`s clear enough, for the
stains lie above each other -- if you lay it
over this way. But what I want to know is, who
shifted the carpet, and why?"
I could see from Holmes`s rigid face that he
was vibrating with inward excitement.
"Look here, Lestrade," said he, "has that
constable in the passage been in charge of the
place all the time?"
"Yes, he has."
"Well, take my advice. Examine him carefully.
Don`t do it before us. We`ll wait here. You take
him into the back room. You`ll be more likely to
get a confession out of him alone. Ask him how
he dared to admit people and leave them alone in
this room. Don`t ask him if he has done it. Take
it for granted. Tell him you KNOW someone has
been here. Press him. Tell him that a full
confession is his only chance of forgiveness. Do
exactly what I tell you!"
"By George, if he knows I`ll have it out of
him!" cried Lestrade. He darted into the hall,
and a few moments later his bullying voice
sounded from the back room.
"Now, Watson, now!" cried Holmes, with
frenzied eagerness. All the demoniacal force of
the man masked behind that listless manner burst
out in a paroxysm of energy. He tore the drugget
from the floor, and in an instant was down on
his hands and knees clawing at each of the
squares of wood beneath it. One turned sideways
as he dug his nails into the edge of it. It
hinged back like the lid of a box. A small black
cavity opened beneath it. Holmes plunged his
eager hand into it, and drew it out with a
bitter snarl of anger and disappointment. It was
empty.
"Quick, Watson, quick! Get it back again!"
The wooden lid was replaced, and the drugget had
only just been drawn straight when Lestrade`s
voice was heard in the passage. He found Holmes
leaning languidly against the mantelpiece,
resigned and patient, endeavouring to conceal
his irrepressible yawns.
"Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Holmes. I can
see that you are bored to death with the whole
affair. Well, he has confessed, all right. Come
in here, MacPherson. Let these gentlemen hear of
your most inexcusable conduct."
The big constable, very hot and penitent,
sidled into the room.
"I meant no harm, sir, I`m sure. The young
woman came to the door last evening -- mistook
the house, she did. And then we got talking.
It`s lonesome, when you`re on duty here all
day."
"Well, what happened then?"
"She wanted to see where the crime was done
-- had read about it in the papers, she said.
She was a very respectable, well-spoken young
woman, sir, and I saw no harm in letting her
have a peep. When she saw that mark on the
carpet, down she dropped on the floor, and lay
as if she were dead. I ran to the back and got
some water, but I could not bring her to. Then I
went round the corner to the Ivy Plant for some
brandy, and by the time I had brought it back
the young woman had recovered and was off --
ashamed of herself, I dare say, and dared not
face me."
"How about moving that drugget?"
"Well, sir, it was a bit rumpled, certainly,
when I came back. You see, she fell on it, and
it lies on a polished floor with nothing to keep
it in place. I straightened it out afterwards."
"It`s a lesson to you that you can`t deceive
me, Constable MacPherson," said Lestrade, with
dignity. "No doubt you thought that your breach
of duty could never be discovered, and yet a
mere glance at that drugget was enough to
convince me that someone had been admitted to
the room. It`s lucky for you, my man, that
nothing is missing, or you would find yourself
in Queer Street. I`m sorry to have called you
down over such a petty business, Mr. Holmes, but
I thought the point of the second stain not
corresponding with the first would interest
you."
"Certainly, it was most interesting. Has this
woman only been here once, constable?"
"Yes, sir, only once."
"Who was she?"
"Don`t know the name, sir. Was answering an
advertisement about type-writing, and came to
the wrong number -- very pleasant, genteel young
woman, sir."
"Tall? Handsome?"
"Yes, sir; she was a well-grown young woman.
I suppose you might say she was handsome.
Perhaps some would say she was very handsome.
`Oh, officer, do let me have a peep!` says she.
She had pretty, coaxing ways, as you might say,
and I thought there was no harm in letting her
just put her head through the door."
"How was she dressed?"
"Quiet, sir -- a long mantle down to her
feet."
"What time was it?"
"It was just growing dusk at the time. They
were lighting the lamps as I came back with the
brandy."
"Very good," said Holmes. "Come, Watson, I
think that we have more important work
elsewhere."
As we left the house Lestrade remained in the
front room, while the repentant constable opened
the door to let us out. Holmes turned on the
step and held up something in his hand. The
constable stared intently.
"Good Lord, sir!" he cried, with amazement on
his face. Holmes put his finger on his lips,
replaced his hand in his breast-pocket, and
burst out laughing as we turned down the street.
"Excellent!" said he. "Come, friend Watson, the
curtain rings up for the last act. You will be
relieved to hear that there will be no war, that
the Right Honourable Trelawney Hope will suffer
no set-back in his brilliant career, that the
indiscreet Sovereign will receive no punishment
for his indiscretion, that the Prime Minister
will have no European complication to deal with,
and that with a little tact and management upon
our part nobody will be a penny the worse for
what might have been a very ugly incident."
My mind filled with admiration for this
extraordinary man.
"You have solved it!" I cried.
"Hardly that, Watson. There are some points
which are as dark as ever. But we have so much
that it will be our own fault if we cannot get
the rest. We will go straight to Whitehall
Terrace and bring the matter to a head."
When we arrived at the residence of the
European Secretary it was for Lady Hilda
Trelawney Hope that Sherlock Holmes inquired. We
were shown into the morning-room.
"Mr. Holmes!" said the lady, and her face was
pink with her indignation, "this is surely most
unfair and ungenerous upon your part. I desired,
as I have explained, to keep my visit to you a
secret, lest my husband should think that I was
intruding into his affairs. And yet you
compromise me by coming here and so showing that
there are business relations between us."
"Unfortunately, madam, I had no possible
alternative. I have been commissioned to recover
this immensely important paper. I must therefore
ask you, madam, to be kind enough to place it in
my hands."
The lady sprang to her feet, with the colour
all dashed in an instant from her beautiful
face. Her eyes glazed -- she tottered -- I
thought that she would faint. Then with a grand
effort she rallied from the shock, and a supreme
astonishment and indignation chased every other
expression from her features.
"You -- you insult me, Mr. Holmes."
"Come, come, madam, it is useless. Give up
the letter."
She darted to the bell.
"The butler shall show you out."
"Do not ring, Lady Hilda. If you do, then all
my earnest efforts to avoid a scandal will be
frustrated. Give up the letter and all will be
set right. If you will work with me I can
arrange everything. If you work against me I
must expose you."
She stood grandly defiant, a queenly figure,
her eyes fixed upon his as if she would read his
very soul. Her hand was on the bell, but she had
forborne to ring it.
"You are trying to frighten me. It is not a
very manly thing, Mr. Holmes, to come here and
browbeat a woman. You say that you know
something. What is it that you know?"
"Pray sit down, madam. You will hurt yourself
there if you fall. I will not speak until you
sit down. Thank you."
"I give you five minutes, Mr. Holmes."
"One is enough, Lady Hilda. I know of your
visit to Eduardo Lucas, of your giving him this
document, of your ingenious return to the room
last night, and of the manner in which you took
the letter from the hiding-place under the
carpet."
She stared at him with an ashen face and
gulped twice before she could speak.
"You are mad, Mr. Holmes -- you are mad!" she
cried, at last.
He drew a small piece of cardboard from his
pocket. It was the face of a woman cut out of a
portrait.
"I have carried this because I thought it
might be useful," said he. "The policeman has
recognised it."
She gave a gasp and her head dropped back in
the chair.
"Come, Lady Hilda. You have the letter. The
matter may still be adjusted. I have no desire
to bring trouble to you. My duty ends when I
have returned the lost letter to your husband.
Take my advice and be frank with me; it is your
only chance."
Her courage was admirable. Even now she would
not own defeat.
"I tell you again, Mr. Holmes, that you are
under some absurd illusion."
Holmes rose from his chair.
"I am sorry for you, Lady Hilda. I have done
my best for you; I can see that it is all in
vain."
He rang the bell. The butler entered.
"Is Mr. Trelawney Hope at home?"
"He will be home, sir, at a quarter to one."
Holmes glanced at his watch.
"Still a quarter of an hour," said he. "Very
good, I shall wait."
The butler had hardly closed the door behind
him when Lady Hilda was down on her knees at
Holmes`s feet, her hands out-stretched, her
beautiful face upturned and wet with her tears.
"Oh, spare me, Mr. Holmes! Spare me!" she
pleaded, in a frenzy of supplication. "For
Heaven`s sake, don`t tell him! I love him so! I
would not bring one shadow on his life, and this
I know would break his noble heart."
Holmes raised the lady. "I am thankful,
madam, that you have come to your senses even at
this last moment! There is not an instant to
lose. Where is the letter?"
She darted across to a writing-desk, unlocked
it, and drew out a long blue envelope.
"Here it is, Mr. Holmes. Would to Heaven I
had never seen it!"
"How can we return it?" Holmes muttered.
"Quick, quick, we must think of some way! Where
is the despatch-box?"
"Still in his bedroom."
"What a stroke of luck! Quick, madam, bring
it here!"
A moment later she had appeared with a red
flat box in her hand.
"How did you open it before? You have a
duplicate key? Yes, of course you have. Open
it!"
From out of her bosom Lady Hilda had drawn a
small key. The box flew open. It was stuffed
with papers. Holmes thrust the blue envelope
deep down into the heart of them, between the
leaves of some other document. The box was shut,
locked, and returned to the bedroom.
"Now we are ready for him," said Holmes; "we
have still ten minutes. I am going far to screen
you, Lady Hilda. In return you will spend the
time in telling me frankly the real meaning of
this extraordinary affair."
"Mr. Holmes, I will tell you everything,"
cried the lady. "Oh, Mr. Holmes, I would cut off
my right hand before I gave him a moment of
sorrow! There is no woman in all London who
loves her husband as I do, and yet if he knew
how I have acted -- how I have been compelled to
act -- he would never forgive me. For his own
honour stands so high that he could not forget
or pardon a lapse in another. Help me, Mr.
Holmes! My happiness, his happiness, our very
lives are at stake!"
"Quick, madam, the time grows short!"
"It was a letter of mine, Mr. Holmes, an
indiscreet letter written before my marriage --
a foolish letter, a letter of an impulsive,
loving girl. I meant no harm, and yet he would
have thought it criminal. Had he read that
letter his confidence would have been for ever
destroyed. It is years since I wrote it. I had
thought that the whole matter was forgotten.
Then at last I heard from this man, Lucas, that
it had passed into his hands, and that he would
lay it before my husband. I implored his mercy.
He said that he would return my letter if I
would bring him a certain document which he
described in my husband`s despatch-box. He had
some spy in the office who had told him of its
existence. He assured me that no harm could come
to my husband. Put yourself in my position, Mr.
Holmes! What was I to do?"
"Take your husband into your confidence."
"I could not, Mr. Holmes, I could not! On the
one side seemed certain ruin; on the other,
terrible as it seemed to take my husband`s
paper, still in a matter of politics I could not
understand the consequences, while in a matter
of love and trust they were only too clear to
me. I did it, Mr. Holmes! I took an impression
of his key; this man Lucas furnished a
duplicate. I opened his despatch-box, took the
paper, and conveyed it to Godolphin Street."
"What happened there, madam?"
"I tapped at the door as agreed. Lucas opened
it. I followed him into his room, leaving the
hall door ajar behind me, for I feared to be
alone with the man. I remember that there was a
woman outside as I entered. Our business was
soon done. He had my letter on his desk; I
handed him the document. He gave me the letter.
At this instant there was a sound at the door.
There were steps in the passage. Lucas quickly
turned back the drugget, thrust the document
into some hiding-place there, and covered it
over.
"What happened after that is like some
fearful dream. I have a vision of a dark,
frantic face, of a woman`s voice, which screamed
in French, `My waiting is not in vain. At last,
at last I have found you with her!` There was a
savage struggle. I saw him with a chair in his
hand, a knife gleamed in hers. I rushed from the
horrible scene, ran from the house, and only
next morning in the paper did I learn the
dreadful result. That night I was happy, for I
had my letter, and I had not seen yet what the
future would bring.
"It was the next morning that I realized that
I had only exchanged one trouble for another. My
husband`s anguish at the loss of his paper went
to my heart. I could hardly prevent myself from
there and then kneeling down at his feet and
telling him what I had done. But that again
would mean a confession of the past. I came to
you that morning in order to understand the full
enormity of my offence. From the instant that I
grasped it my whole mind was turned to the one
thought of getting back my husband`s paper. It
must still be where Lucas had placed it, for it
was concealed before this dreadful woman entered
the room. If it had not been for her coming, I
should not have known where his hiding-place
was. How was I to get into the room? For two
days I watched the place, but the door was never
left open. Last night I made a last attempt.
What I did and how I succeeded, you have already
learned. I brought the paper back with me, and
thought of destroying it since I could see no
way of returning it, without confessing my guilt
to my husband. Heavens, I hear his step upon the
stair!"
The European Secretary burst excitedly into
the room.
"Any news, Mr. Holmes, any news?" he cried.
"I have some hopes."
"Ah, thank heaven!" His face became radiant.
"The Prime Minister is lunching with me. May he
share your hopes? He has nerves of steel, and
yet I know that he has hardly slept since this
terrible event. Jacobs, will you ask the Prime
Minister to come up? As to you, dear, I fear
that this is a matter of politics. We will join
you in a few minutes in the dining-room."
The Prime Minister`s manner was subdued, but
I could see by the gleam of his eyes and the
twitchings of his bony hands that he shared the
excitement of his young colleague.
"I understand that you have something to
report, Mr. Holmes?"
"Purely negative as yet," my friend answered.
"I have inquired at every point where it might
be, and I am sure that there is no danger to be
apprehended."
"But that is not enough, Mr. Holmes. We
cannot live for ever on such a volcano. We must
have something definite."
"I am in hopes of getting it. That is why I
am here. The more I think of the matter the more
convinced I am that the letter has never left
this house."
"Mr. Holmes!"
"If it had it would certainly have been
public by now."
"But why should anyone take it in order to
keep it in his house?"
"I am not convinced that anyone did take it."
"Then how could it leave the despatch-box?"
"I am not convinced that it ever did leave
the despatch-box."
"Mr. Holmes, this joking is very ill-timed.
You have my assurance that it left the box."
"Have you examined the box since Tuesday
morning?"
"No; it was not necessary."
"You may conceivably have overlooked it."
"Impossible, I say."
"But I am not convinced of it; I have known
such things to happen. I presume there are other
papers there. Well, it may have got mixed with
them."
"It was on the top."
"Someone may have shaken the box and
displaced it."
"No, no; I had everything out."
"Surely it is easily decided, Hope," said the
Premier. "Let us have the despatch-box brought
in."
The Secretary rang the bell.
"Jacobs, bring down my despatch-box. This is
a farcical waste of time, but still, if nothing
else will satisfy you, it shall be done. Thank
you, Jacobs; put it here. I have always had the
key on my watch-chain. Here are the papers, you
see. Letter from Lord Merrow, report from Sir
Charles Hardy, memorandum from Belgrade, note on
the Russo-German grain taxes, letter from
Madrid, note from Lord Flowers -- good heavens!
what is this? Lord Bellinger! Lord Bellinger!"
The Premier snatched the blue envelope from
his hand.
"Yes, it is it -- and the letter is intact.
Hope, I congratulate you."
"Thank you! Thank you! What a weight from my
heart. But this is inconceivable -- impossible.
Mr. Holmes, you are a wizard, a sorcerer! How
did you know it was there?"
"Because I knew it was nowhere else."
"I cannot believe my eyes!" He ran wildly to
the door. "Where is my wife? I must tell her
that all is well. Hilda! Hilda!" we heard his
voice on the stairs.
The Premier looked at Holmes with twinkling
eyes.
"Come, sir," said he. "There is more in this
than meets the eye. How came the letter back in
the box?"
Holmes turned away smiling from the keen
scrutiny of those wonderful eyes.
"We also have our diplomatic secrets," said
he, and picking up his hat he turned to the
door.
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