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\LARGE\strut{{\noindent}The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes}
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\noindent
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the \hyperlink{project-gutenberg-license}{Project Gutenberg License}
included with this eBook or online at
{http://www.gutenberg.org/license}.
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\noindent
Title: The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes
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\noindent
Author: Arthur Conan Doyle
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\noindent
Release Date: November 29, 2002 {[}EBook \#1661{]}
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\noindent
Language: English
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Character set encoding: UTF-8
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*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ADVENTURES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES ***
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{\LARGE\strut{{\noindent}The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes
}}\par

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{\LARGE\strut{By Arthur Conan Doyle
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\chapter*{{\noindent}Contents}


\begin{itemize}
\item[] \hyperlink{a-scandal-in-bohemia}{A Scandal in Bohemia}

\item[] \hyperlink{the-red-headed-league}{The Red-headed League}

\item[] \hyperlink{a-case-of-identity}{A Case of Identity}

\item[] \hyperlink{the-boscombe-valley-mystery}{The Boscombe Valley Mystery}

\item[] \hyperlink{the-five-orange-pips}{The Five Orange Pips}

\item[] \hyperlink{the-man-with-the-twisted-lip}{The Man with the Twisted Lip}

\item[] \hyperlink{the-adventure-of-the-blue-carbuncle}{The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle}

\item[] \hyperlink{the-adventure-of-the-speckled-band}{The Adventure of the Speckled Band}

\item[] \hyperlink{the-adventure-of-the-engineer-s-thumb}{The Adventure of the Engineer’s Thumb}

\item[] \hyperlink{the-adventure-of-the-noble-bachelor}{The Adventure of the Noble Bachelor}

\item[] \hyperlink{the-adventure-of-the-beryl-coronet}{The Adventure of the Beryl Coronet}

\item[] \hyperlink{the-adventure-of-the-copper-beeches}{The Adventure of the Copper Beeches}
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\chapter*{A Scandal in Bohemia}


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\section*{I.}


To Sherlock Holmes she is always {\itshape{the}} woman. I have seldom heard him
mention her under any other name. In his eyes she eclipses and
predominates the whole of her sex. It was not that he felt any emotion
akin to love for Irene Adler. All emotions, and that one particularly,
were abhorrent to his cold, precise but admirably balanced mind. He was, I
take it, the most perfect reasoning and observing machine that the world
has seen, but as a lover he would have placed himself in a false position.
He never spoke of the softer passions, save with a gibe and a sneer. They
were admirable things for the observer—excellent for drawing the veil from
men’s motives and actions. But for the trained reasoner to admit such
intrusions into his own delicate and finely adjusted temperament was to
introduce a distracting factor which might throw a doubt upon all his
mental results. Grit in a sensitive instrument, or a crack in one of his
own high-power lenses, would not be more disturbing than a strong emotion
in a nature such as his. And yet there was but one woman to him, and that
woman was the late Irene Adler, of dubious and questionable memory.\par

I had seen little of Holmes lately. My marriage had drifted us away from
each other. My own complete happiness, and the home-centred interests
which rise up around the man who first finds himself master of his own
establishment, were sufficient to absorb all my attention, while Holmes,
who loathed every form of society with his whole Bohemian soul, remained
in our lodgings in Baker Street, buried among his old books, and
alternating from week to week between cocaine and ambition, the drowsiness
of the drug, and the fierce energy of his own keen nature. He was still,
as ever, deeply attracted by the study of crime, and occupied his immense
faculties and extraordinary powers of observation in following out those
clues, and clearing up those mysteries which had been abandoned as
hopeless by the official police. From time to time I heard some vague
account of his doings: of his summons to Odessa in the case of the Trepoff
murder, of his clearing up of the singular tragedy of the Atkinson
brothers at Trincomalee, and finally of the mission which he had
accomplished so delicately and successfully for the reigning family of
Holland. Beyond these signs of his activity, however, which I merely
shared with all the readers of the daily press, I knew little of my former
friend and companion.\par

One night—it was on the twentieth of March, 1888—I was returning from a
journey to a patient (for I had now returned to civil practice), when my
way led me through Baker Street. As I passed the well-remembered door,
which must always be associated in my mind with my wooing, and with the
dark incidents of the Study in Scarlet, I was seized with a keen desire to
see Holmes again, and to know how he was employing his extraordinary
powers. His rooms were brilliantly lit, and, even as I looked up, I saw
his tall, spare figure pass twice in a dark silhouette against the blind.
He was pacing the room swiftly, eagerly, with his head sunk upon his chest
and his hands clasped behind him. To me, who knew his every mood and
habit, his attitude and manner told their own story. He was at work again.
He had risen out of his drug-created dreams and was hot upon the scent of
some new problem. I rang the bell and was shown up to the chamber which
had formerly been in part my own.\par

His manner was not effusive. It seldom was; but he was glad, I think, to
see me. With hardly a word spoken, but with a kindly eye, he waved me to
an armchair, threw across his case of cigars, and indicated a spirit case
and a gasogene in the corner. Then he stood before the fire and looked me
over in his singular introspective fashion.\par

“Wedlock suits you,” he remarked. “I think, Watson, that you have put on
seven and a half pounds since I saw you.”\par

“Seven!” I answered.\par

“Indeed, I should have thought a little more. Just a trifle more, I fancy,
Watson. And in practice again, I observe. You did not tell me that you
intended to go into harness.”\par

“Then, how do you know?”\par

“I see it, I deduce it. How do I know that you have been getting yourself
very wet lately, and that you have a most clumsy and careless servant
girl?”\par

“My dear Holmes,” said I, “this is too much. You would certainly have been
burned, had you lived a few centuries ago. It is true that I had a country
walk on Thursday and came home in a dreadful mess, but as I have changed
my clothes I can’t imagine how you deduce it. As to Mary Jane, she is
incorrigible, and my wife has given her notice, but there, again, I fail
to see how you work it out.”\par

He chuckled to himself and rubbed his long, nervous hands together.\par

“It is simplicity itself,” said he; “my eyes tell me that on the inside of
your left shoe, just where the firelight strikes it, the leather is scored
by six almost parallel cuts. Obviously they have been caused by someone
who has very carelessly scraped round the edges of the sole in order to
remove crusted mud from it. Hence, you see, my double deduction that you
had been out in vile weather, and that you had a particularly malignant
boot-slitting specimen of the London slavey. As to your practice, if a
gentleman walks into my rooms smelling of iodoform, with a black mark of
nitrate of silver upon his right forefinger, and a bulge on the right side
of his top-hat to show where he has secreted his stethoscope, I must be
dull, indeed, if I do not pronounce him to be an active member of the
medical profession.”\par

I could not help laughing at the ease with which he explained his process
of deduction. “When I hear you give your reasons,” I remarked, “the thing
always appears to me to be so ridiculously simple that I could easily do
it myself, though at each successive instance of your reasoning I am
baffled until you explain your process. And yet I believe that my eyes are
as good as yours.”\par

“Quite so,” he answered, lighting a cigarette, and throwing himself down
into an armchair. “You see, but you do not observe. The distinction is
clear. For example, you have frequently seen the steps which lead up from
the hall to this room.”\par

“Frequently.”\par

“How often?”\par

“Well, some hundreds of times.”\par

“Then how many are there?”\par

“How many? I don’t know.”\par

“Quite so! You have not observed. And yet you have seen. That is just my
point. Now, I know that there are seventeen steps, because I have both
seen and observed. By the way, since you are interested in these little
problems, and since you are good enough to chronicle one or two of my
trifling experiences, you may be interested in this.” He threw over a
sheet of thick, pink-tinted notepaper which had been lying open upon the
table. “It came by the last post,” said he. “Read it aloud.”\par

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

“There will call upon you to-night, at a quarter to eight o’clock,” it
said, “a gentleman who desires to consult you upon a matter of the very
deepest moment. Your recent services to one of the royal houses of Europe
have shown that you are one who may safely be trusted with matters which
are of an importance which can hardly be exaggerated. This account of you
we have from all quarters received. Be in your chamber then at that hour,
and do not take it amiss if your visitor wear a mask.”\par

“This is indeed a mystery,” I remarked. “What do you imagine that it
means?”\par

“I have no data yet. It is a capital mistake to theorise before one has
data. Insensibly one begins to twist facts to suit theories, instead of
theories to suit facts. But the note itself. What do you deduce from it?”\par

I carefully examined the writing, and the paper upon which it was written.\par

“The man who wrote it was presumably well to do,” I remarked, endeavouring
to imitate my companion’s processes. “Such paper could not be bought under
half a crown a packet. It is peculiarly strong and stiff.”\par

“Peculiar—that is the very word,” said Holmes. “It is not an English paper
at all. Hold it up to the light.”\par

I did so, and saw a large “E” with a small “g,” a “P,” and a large “G”
with a small “t” woven into the texture of the paper.\par

“What do you make of that?” asked Holmes.\par

“The name of the maker, no doubt; or his monogram, rather.”\par

“Not at all. The ‘G’ with the small ‘t’ stands for ‘Gesellschaft,’ which
is the German for ‘Company.’ It is a customary contraction like our ‘Co.’
‘P,’ of course, stands for ‘Papier.’ Now for the ‘Eg.’ Let us glance at
our Continental Gazetteer.” He took down a heavy brown volume from his
shelves. “Eglow, Eglonitz—here we are, Egria. It is in a German-speaking
country—in Bohemia, not far from Carlsbad. ‘Remarkable as being the scene
of the death of Wallenstein, and for its numerous glass-factories and
paper-mills.’ Ha, ha, my boy, what do you make of that?” His eyes
sparkled, and he sent up a great blue triumphant cloud from his cigarette.\par

“The paper was made in Bohemia,” I said.\par

“Precisely. And the man who wrote the note is a German. Do you note the
peculiar construction of the sentence—‘This account of you we have from
all quarters received.’ A Frenchman or Russian could not have written
that. It is the German who is so uncourteous to his verbs. It only
remains, therefore, to discover what is wanted by this German who writes
upon Bohemian paper and prefers wearing a mask to showing his face. And
here he comes, if I am not mistaken, to resolve all our doubts.”\par

As he spoke there was the sharp sound of horses’ hoofs and grating wheels
against the curb, followed by a sharp pull at the bell. Holmes whistled.\par

“A pair, by the sound,” said he. “Yes,” he continued, glancing out of the
window. “A nice little brougham and a pair of beauties. A hundred and
fifty guineas apiece. There’s money in this case, Watson, if there is
nothing else.”\par

“I think that I had better go, Holmes.”\par

“Not a bit, Doctor. Stay where you are. I am lost without my Boswell. And
this promises to be interesting. It would be a pity to miss it.”\par

“But your client—”\par

“Never mind him. I may want your help, and so may he. Here he comes. Sit
down in that armchair, Doctor, and give us your best attention.”\par

A slow and heavy step, which had been heard upon the stairs and in the
passage, paused immediately outside the door. Then there was a loud and
authoritative tap.\par

“Come in!” said Holmes.\par

A man entered who could hardly have been less than six feet six inches in
height, with the chest and limbs of a Hercules. His dress was rich with a
richness which would, in England, be looked upon as akin to bad taste.
Heavy bands of astrakhan were slashed across the sleeves and fronts of his
double-breasted coat, while the deep blue cloak which was thrown over his
shoulders was lined with flame-coloured silk and secured at the neck with
a brooch which consisted of a single flaming beryl. Boots which extended
halfway up his calves, and which were trimmed at the tops with rich brown
fur, completed the impression of barbaric opulence which was suggested by
his whole appearance. He carried a broad-brimmed hat in his hand, while he
wore across the upper part of his face, extending down past the
cheekbones, a black vizard mask, which he had apparently adjusted that
very moment, for his hand was still raised to it as he entered. From the
lower part of the face he appeared to be a man of strong character, with a
thick, hanging lip, and a long, straight chin suggestive of resolution
pushed to the length of obstinacy.\par

“You had my note?” he asked with a deep harsh voice and a strongly marked
German accent. “I told you that I would call.” He looked from one to the
other of us, as if uncertain which to address.\par

“Pray take a seat,” said Holmes. “This is my friend and colleague, Dr.
Watson, who is occasionally good enough to help me in my cases. Whom have
I the honour to address?”\par

“You may address me as the Count Von Kramm, a Bohemian nobleman. I
understand that this gentleman, your friend, is a man of honour and
discretion, whom I may trust with a matter of the most extreme importance.
If not, I should much prefer to communicate with you alone.”\par

I rose to go, but Holmes caught me by the wrist and pushed me back into my
chair. “It is both, or none,” said he. “You may say before this gentleman
anything which you may say to me.”\par

The Count shrugged his broad shoulders. “Then I must begin,” said he, “by
binding you both to absolute secrecy for two years; at the end of that
time the matter will be of no importance. At present it is not too much to
say that it is of such weight it may have an influence upon European
history.”\par

“I promise,” said Holmes.\par

“And I.”\par

“You will excuse this mask,” continued our strange visitor. “The august
person who employs me wishes his agent to be unknown to you, and I may
confess at once that the title by which I have just called myself is not
exactly my own.”\par

“I was aware of it,” said Holmes dryly.\par

“The circumstances are of great delicacy, and every precaution has to be
taken to quench what might grow to be an immense scandal and seriously
compromise one of the reigning families of Europe. To speak plainly, the
matter implicates the great House of Ormstein, hereditary kings of
Bohemia.”\par

“I was also aware of that,” murmured Holmes, settling himself down in his
armchair and closing his eyes.\par

Our visitor glanced with some apparent surprise at the languid, lounging
figure of the man who had been no doubt depicted to him as the most
incisive reasoner and most energetic agent in Europe. Holmes slowly
reopened his eyes and looked impatiently at his gigantic client.\par

“If your Majesty would condescend to state your case,” he remarked, “I
should be better able to advise you.”\par

The man sprang from his chair and paced up and down the room in
uncontrollable agitation. Then, with a gesture of desperation, he tore the
mask from his face and hurled it upon the ground. “You are right,” he
cried; “I am the King. Why should I attempt to conceal it?”\par

“Why, indeed?” murmured Holmes. “Your Majesty had not spoken before I was
aware that I was addressing Wilhelm Gottsreich Sigismond von Ormstein,
Grand Duke of Cassel-Felstein, and hereditary King of Bohemia.”\par

“But you can understand,” said our strange visitor, sitting down once more
and passing his hand over his high white forehead, “you can understand
that I am not accustomed to doing such business in my own person. Yet the
matter was so delicate that I could not confide it to an agent without
putting myself in his power. I have come {\itshape{incognito}} from Prague for the
purpose of consulting you.”\par

“Then, pray consult,” said Holmes, shutting his eyes once more.\par

“The facts are briefly these: Some five years ago, during a lengthy visit
to Warsaw, I made the acquaintance of the well-known adventuress, Irene
Adler. The name is no doubt familiar to you.”\par

“Kindly look her up in my index, Doctor,” murmured Holmes without opening
his eyes. For many years he had adopted a system of docketing all
paragraphs concerning men and things, so that it was difficult to name a
subject or a person on which he could not at once furnish information. In
this case I found her biography sandwiched in between that of a Hebrew
rabbi and that of a staff-commander who had written a monograph upon the
deep-sea fishes.\par

“Let me see!” said Holmes. “Hum! Born in New Jersey in the year 1858.
Contralto—hum! La Scala, hum! Prima donna Imperial Opera of Warsaw—yes!
Retired from operatic stage—ha! Living in London—quite so! Your Majesty,
as I understand, became entangled with this young person, wrote her some
compromising letters, and is now desirous of getting those letters back.”\par

“Precisely so. But how—”\par

“Was there a secret marriage?”\par

“None.”\par

“No legal papers or certificates?”\par

“None.”\par

“Then I fail to follow your Majesty. If this young person should produce
her letters for blackmailing or other purposes, how is she to prove their
authenticity?”\par

“There is the writing.”\par

“Pooh, pooh! Forgery.”\par

“My private note-paper.”\par

“Stolen.”\par

“My own seal.”\par

“Imitated.”\par

“My photograph.”\par

“Bought.”\par

“We were both in the photograph.”\par

“Oh, dear! That is very bad! Your Majesty has indeed committed an
indiscretion.”\par

“I was mad—insane.”\par

“You have compromised yourself seriously.”\par

“I was only Crown Prince then. I was young. I am but thirty now.”\par

“It must be recovered.”\par

“We have tried and failed.”\par

“Your Majesty must pay. It must be bought.”\par

“She will not sell.”\par

“Stolen, then.”\par

“Five attempts have been made. Twice burglars in my pay ransacked her
house. Once we diverted her luggage when she travelled. Twice she has been
waylaid. There has been no result.”\par

“No sign of it?”\par

“Absolutely none.”\par

Holmes laughed. “It is quite a pretty little problem,” said he.\par

“But a very serious one to me,” returned the King reproachfully.\par

“Very, indeed. And what does she propose to do with the photograph?”\par

“To ruin me.”\par

“But how?”\par

“I am about to be married.”\par

“So I have heard.”\par

“To Clotilde Lothman von Saxe-Meningen, second daughter of the King of
Scandinavia. You may know the strict principles of her family. She is
herself the very soul of delicacy. A shadow of a doubt as to my conduct
would bring the matter to an end.”\par

“And Irene Adler?”\par

“Threatens to send them the photograph. And she will do it. I know that
she will do it. You do not know her, but she has a soul of steel. She has
the face of the most beautiful of women, and the mind of the most resolute
of men. Rather than I should marry another woman, there are no lengths to
which she would not go—none.”\par

“You are sure that she has not sent it yet?”\par

“I am sure.”\par

“And why?”\par

“Because she has said that she would send it on the day when the betrothal
was publicly proclaimed. That will be next Monday.”\par

“Oh, then we have three days yet,” said Holmes with a yawn. “That is very
fortunate, as I have one or two matters of importance to look into just at
present. Your Majesty will, of course, stay in London for the present?”\par

“Certainly. You will find me at the Langham under the name of the Count
Von Kramm.”\par

“Then I shall drop you a line to let you know how we progress.”\par

“Pray do so. I shall be all anxiety.”\par

“Then, as to money?”\par

“You have {\itshape{carte blanche}}.”\par

“Absolutely?”\par

“I tell you that I would give one of the provinces of my kingdom to have
that photograph.”\par

“And for present expenses?”\par

The King took a heavy chamois leather bag from under his cloak and laid it
on the table.\par

“There are three hundred pounds in gold and seven hundred in notes,” he
said.\par

Holmes scribbled a receipt upon a sheet of his note-book and handed it to
him.\par

“And Mademoiselle’s address?” he asked.\par

“Is Briony Lodge, Serpentine Avenue, St. John’s Wood.”\par

Holmes took a note of it. “One other question,” said he. “Was the
photograph a cabinet?”\par

“It was.”\par

“Then, good-night, your Majesty, and I trust that we shall soon have some
good news for you. And good-night, Watson,” he added, as the wheels of the
royal brougham rolled down the street. “If you will be good enough to call
to-morrow afternoon at three o’clock I should like to chat this little
matter over with you.”\par

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\hypertarget{ii}{}%
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\section*{II.}


At three o’clock precisely I was at Baker Street, but Holmes had not yet
returned. The landlady informed me that he had left the house shortly
after eight o’clock in the morning. I sat down beside the fire, however,
with the intention of awaiting him, however long he might be. I was
already deeply interested in his inquiry, for, though it was surrounded by
none of the grim and strange features which were associated with the two
crimes which I have already recorded, still, the nature of the case and
the exalted station of his client gave it a character of its own. Indeed,
apart from the nature of the investigation which my friend had on hand,
there was something in his masterly grasp of a situation, and his keen,
incisive reasoning, which made it a pleasure to me to study his system of
work, and to follow the quick, subtle methods by which he disentangled the
most inextricable mysteries. So accustomed was I to his invariable success
that the very possibility of his failing had ceased to enter into my head.\par

It was close upon four before the door opened, and a drunken-looking
groom, ill-kempt and side-whiskered, with an inflamed face and
disreputable clothes, walked into the room. Accustomed as I was to my
friend’s amazing powers in the use of disguises, I had to look three times
before I was certain that it was indeed he. With a nod he vanished into
the bedroom, whence he emerged in five minutes tweed-suited and
respectable, as of old. Putting his hands into his pockets, he stretched
out his legs in front of the fire and laughed heartily for some minutes.\par

“Well, really!” he cried, and then he choked and laughed again until he
was obliged to lie back, limp and helpless, in the chair.\par

“What is it?”\par

“It’s quite too funny. I am sure you could never guess how I employed my
morning, or what I ended by doing.”\par

“I can’t imagine. I suppose that you have been watching the habits, and
perhaps the house, of Miss Irene Adler.”\par

“Quite so; but the sequel was rather unusual. I will tell you, however. I
left the house a little after eight o’clock this morning in the character
of a groom out of work. There is a wonderful sympathy and freemasonry
among horsey men. Be one of them, and you will know all that there is to
know. I soon found Briony Lodge. It is a {\itshape{bijou}} villa, with a garden at
the back, but built out in front right up to the road, two stories. Chubb
lock to the door. Large sitting-room on the right side, well furnished,
with long windows almost to the floor, and those preposterous English
window fasteners which a child could open. Behind there was nothing
remarkable, save that the passage window could be reached from the top of
the coach-house. I walked round it and examined it closely from every
point of view, but without noting anything else of interest.\par

“I then lounged down the street and found, as I expected, that there was a
mews in a lane which runs down by one wall of the garden. I lent the
ostlers a hand in rubbing down their horses, and received in exchange
twopence, a glass of half-and-half, two fills of shag tobacco, and as much
information as I could desire about Miss Adler, to say nothing of half a
dozen other people in the neighbourhood in whom I was not in the least
interested, but whose biographies I was compelled to listen to.”\par

“And what of Irene Adler?” I asked.\par

“Oh, she has turned all the men’s heads down in that part. She is the
daintiest thing under a bonnet on this planet. So say the Serpentine-mews,
to a man. She lives quietly, sings at concerts, drives out at five every
day, and returns at seven sharp for dinner. Seldom goes out at other
times, except when she sings. Has only one male visitor, but a good deal
of him. He is dark, handsome, and dashing, never calls less than once a
day, and often twice. He is a Mr. Godfrey Norton, of the Inner Temple. See
the advantages of a cabman as a confidant. They had driven him home a
dozen times from Serpentine-mews, and knew all about him. When I had
listened to all they had to tell, I began to walk up and down near Briony
Lodge once more, and to think over my plan of campaign.\par

“This Godfrey Norton was evidently an important factor in the matter. He
was a lawyer. That sounded ominous. What was the relation between them,
and what the object of his repeated visits? Was she his client, his
friend, or his mistress? If the former, she had probably transferred the
photograph to his keeping. If the latter, it was less likely. On the issue
of this question depended whether I should continue my work at Briony
Lodge, or turn my attention to the gentleman’s chambers in the Temple. It
was a delicate point, and it widened the field of my inquiry. I fear that
I bore you with these details, but I have to let you see my little
difficulties, if you are to understand the situation.”\par

“I am following you closely,” I answered.\par

“I was still balancing the matter in my mind when a hansom cab drove up to
Briony Lodge, and a gentleman sprang out. He was a remarkably handsome
man, dark, aquiline, and moustached—evidently the man of whom I had heard.
He appeared to be in a great hurry, shouted to the cabman to wait, and
brushed past the maid who opened the door with the air of a man who was
thoroughly at home.\par

“He was in the house about half an hour, and I could catch glimpses of him
in the windows of the sitting-room, pacing up and down, talking excitedly,
and waving his arms. Of her I could see nothing. Presently he emerged,
looking even more flurried than before. As he stepped up to the cab, he
pulled a gold watch from his pocket and looked at it earnestly, ‘Drive
like the devil,’ he shouted, ‘first to Gross \& Hankey’s in Regent Street,
and then to the Church of St. Monica in the Edgeware Road. Half a guinea
if you do it in twenty minutes!’\par

“Away they went, and I was just wondering whether I should not do well to
follow them when up the lane came a neat little landau, the coachman with
his coat only half-buttoned, and his tie under his ear, while all the tags
of his harness were sticking out of the buckles. It hadn’t pulled up
before she shot out of the hall door and into it. I only caught a glimpse
of her at the moment, but she was a lovely woman, with a face that a man
might die for.\par

“ ‘The Church of St. Monica, John,’ she cried, ‘and half a sovereign if
you reach it in twenty minutes.’\par

“This was quite too good to lose, Watson. I was just balancing whether I
should run for it, or whether I should perch behind her landau when a cab
came through the street. The driver looked twice at such a shabby fare,
but I jumped in before he could object. ‘The Church of St. Monica,’ said
I, ‘and half a sovereign if you reach it in twenty minutes.’ It was
twenty-five minutes to twelve, and of course it was clear enough what was
in the wind.\par

“My cabby drove fast. I don’t think I ever drove faster, but the others
were there before us. The cab and the landau with their steaming horses
were in front of the door when I arrived. I paid the man and hurried into
the church. There was not a soul there save the two whom I had followed
and a surpliced clergyman, who seemed to be expostulating with them. They
were all three standing in a knot in front of the altar. I lounged up the
side aisle like any other idler who has dropped into a church. Suddenly,
to my surprise, the three at the altar faced round to me, and Godfrey
Norton came running as hard as he could towards me.\par

“ ‘Thank God,’ he cried. ‘You’ll do. Come! Come!’\par

“ ‘What then?’ I asked.\par

“ ‘Come, man, come, only three minutes, or it won’t be legal.’\par

“I was half-dragged up to the altar, and before I knew where I was I found
myself mumbling responses which were whispered in my ear, and vouching for
things of which I knew nothing, and generally assisting in the secure
tying up of Irene Adler, spinster, to Godfrey Norton, bachelor. It was all
done in an instant, and there was the gentleman thanking me on the one
side and the lady on the other, while the clergyman beamed on me in front.
It was the most preposterous position in which I ever found myself in my
life, and it was the thought of it that started me laughing just now. It
seems that there had been some informality about their license, that the
clergyman absolutely refused to marry them without a witness of some sort,
and that my lucky appearance saved the bridegroom from having to sally out
into the streets in search of a best man. The bride gave me a sovereign,
and I mean to wear it on my watch chain in memory of the occasion.”\par

“This is a very unexpected turn of affairs,” said I; “and what then?”\par

“Well, I found my plans very seriously menaced. It looked as if the pair
might take an immediate departure, and so necessitate very prompt and
energetic measures on my part. At the church door, however, they
separated, he driving back to the Temple, and she to her own house. ‘I
shall drive out in the park at five as usual,’ she said as she left him. I
heard no more. They drove away in different directions, and I went off to
make my own arrangements.”\par

“Which are?”\par

“Some cold beef and a glass of beer,” he answered, ringing the bell. “I
have been too busy to think of food, and I am likely to be busier still
this evening. By the way, Doctor, I shall want your co-operation.”\par

“I shall be delighted.”\par

“You don’t mind breaking the law?”\par

“Not in the least.”\par

“Nor running a chance of arrest?”\par

“Not in a good cause.”\par

“Oh, the cause is excellent!”\par

“Then I am your man.”\par

“I was sure that I might rely on you.”\par

“But what is it you wish?”\par

“When Mrs. Turner has brought in the tray I will make it clear to you.
Now,” he said as he turned hungrily on the simple fare that our landlady
had provided, “I must discuss it while I eat, for I have not much time. It
is nearly five now. In two hours we must be on the scene of action. Miss
Irene, or Madame, rather, returns from her drive at seven. We must be at
Briony Lodge to meet her.”\par

“And what then?”\par

“You must leave that to me. I have already arranged what is to occur.
There is only one point on which I must insist. You must not interfere,
come what may. You understand?”\par

“I am to be neutral?”\par

“To do nothing whatever. There will probably be some small unpleasantness.
Do not join in it. It will end in my being conveyed into the house. Four
or five minutes afterwards the sitting-room window will open. You are to
station yourself close to that open window.”\par

“Yes.”\par

“You are to watch me, for I will be visible to you.”\par

“Yes.”\par

“And when I raise my hand—so—you will throw into the room what I give you
to throw, and will, at the same time, raise the cry of fire. You quite
follow me?”\par

“Entirely.”\par

“It is nothing very formidable,” he said, taking a long cigar-shaped roll
from his pocket. “It is an ordinary plumber’s smoke-rocket, fitted with a
cap at either end to make it self-lighting. Your task is confined to that.
When you raise your cry of fire, it will be taken up by quite a number of
people. You may then walk to the end of the street, and I will rejoin you
in ten minutes. I hope that I have made myself clear?”\par

“I am to remain neutral, to get near the window, to watch you, and at the
signal to throw in this object, then to raise the cry of fire, and to wait
you at the corner of the street.”\par

“Precisely.”\par

“Then you may entirely rely on me.”\par

“That is excellent. I think, perhaps, it is almost time that I prepare for
the new role I have to play.”\par

He disappeared into his bedroom and returned in a few minutes in the
character of an amiable and simple-minded Nonconformist clergyman. His
broad black hat, his baggy trousers, his white tie, his sympathetic smile,
and general look of peering and benevolent curiosity were such as Mr. John
Hare alone could have equalled. It was not merely that Holmes changed his
costume. His expression, his manner, his very soul seemed to vary with
every fresh part that he assumed. The stage lost a fine actor, even as
science lost an acute reasoner, when he became a specialist in crime.\par

It was a quarter past six when we left Baker Street, and it still wanted
ten minutes to the hour when we found ourselves in Serpentine Avenue. It
was already dusk, and the lamps were just being lighted as we paced up and
down in front of Briony Lodge, waiting for the coming of its occupant. The
house was just such as I had pictured it from Sherlock Holmes’ succinct
description, but the locality appeared to be less private than I expected.
On the contrary, for a small street in a quiet neighbourhood, it was
remarkably animated. There was a group of shabbily dressed men smoking and
laughing in a corner, a scissors-grinder with his wheel, two guardsmen who
were flirting with a nurse-girl, and several well-dressed young men who
were lounging up and down with cigars in their mouths.\par

“You see,” remarked Holmes, as we paced to and fro in front of the house,
“this marriage rather simplifies matters. The photograph becomes a
double-edged weapon now. The chances are that she would be as averse to
its being seen by Mr. Godfrey Norton, as our client is to its coming to
the eyes of his princess. Now the question is, Where are we to find the
photograph?”\par

“Where, indeed?”\par

“It is most unlikely that she carries it about with her. It is cabinet
size. Too large for easy concealment about a woman’s dress. She knows that
the King is capable of having her waylaid and searched. Two attempts of
the sort have already been made. We may take it, then, that she does not
carry it about with her.”\par

“Where, then?”\par

“Her banker or her lawyer. There is that double possibility. But I am
inclined to think neither. Women are naturally secretive, and they like to
do their own secreting. Why should she hand it over to anyone else? She
could trust her own guardianship, but she could not tell what indirect or
political influence might be brought to bear upon a business man. Besides,
remember that she had resolved to use it within a few days. It must be
where she can lay her hands upon it. It must be in her own house.”\par

“But it has twice been burgled.”\par

“Pshaw! They did not know how to look.”\par

“But how will you look?”\par

“I will not look.”\par

“What then?”\par

“I will get her to show me.”\par

“But she will refuse.”\par

“She will not be able to. But I hear the rumble of wheels. It is her
carriage. Now carry out my orders to the letter.”\par

As he spoke the gleam of the sidelights of a carriage came round the curve
of the avenue. It was a smart little landau which rattled up to the door
of Briony Lodge. As it pulled up, one of the loafing men at the corner
dashed forward to open the door in the hope of earning a copper, but was
elbowed away by another loafer, who had rushed up with the same intention.
A fierce quarrel broke out, which was increased by the two guardsmen, who
took sides with one of the loungers, and by the scissors-grinder, who was
equally hot upon the other side. A blow was struck, and in an instant the
lady, who had stepped from her carriage, was the centre of a little knot
of flushed and struggling men, who struck savagely at each other with
their fists and sticks. Holmes dashed into the crowd to protect the lady;
but, just as he reached her, he gave a cry and dropped to the ground, with
the blood running freely down his face. At his fall the guardsmen took to
their heels in one direction and the loungers in the other, while a number
of better dressed people, who had watched the scuffle without taking part
in it, crowded in to help the lady and to attend to the injured man. Irene
Adler, as I will still call her, had hurried up the steps; but she stood
at the top with her superb figure outlined against the lights of the hall,
looking back into the street.\par

“Is the poor gentleman much hurt?” she asked.\par

“He is dead,” cried several voices.\par

“No, no, there’s life in him!” shouted another. “But he’ll be gone before
you can get him to hospital.”\par

“He’s a brave fellow,” said a woman. “They would have had the lady’s purse
and watch if it hadn’t been for him. They were a gang, and a rough one,
too. Ah, he’s breathing now.”\par

“He can’t lie in the street. May we bring him in, marm?”\par

“Surely. Bring him into the sitting-room. There is a comfortable sofa.
This way, please!”\par

Slowly and solemnly he was borne into Briony Lodge and laid out in the
principal room, while I still observed the proceedings from my post by the
window. The lamps had been lit, but the blinds had not been drawn, so that
I could see Holmes as he lay upon the couch. I do not know whether he was
seized with compunction at that moment for the part he was playing, but I
know that I never felt more heartily ashamed of myself in my life than
when I saw the beautiful creature against whom I was conspiring, or the
grace and kindliness with which she waited upon the injured man. And yet
it would be the blackest treachery to Holmes to draw back now from the
part which he had intrusted to me. I hardened my heart, and took the
smoke-rocket from under my ulster. After all, I thought, we are not
injuring her. We are but preventing her from injuring another.\par

Holmes had sat up upon the couch, and I saw him motion like a man who is
in need of air. A maid rushed across and threw open the window. At the
same instant I saw him raise his hand and at the signal I tossed my rocket
into the room with a cry of “Fire!” The word was no sooner out of my mouth
than the whole crowd of spectators, well dressed and ill—gentlemen,
ostlers, and servant maids—joined in a general shriek of “Fire!” Thick
clouds of smoke curled through the room and out at the open window. I
caught a glimpse of rushing figures, and a moment later the voice of
Holmes from within assuring them that it was a false alarm. Slipping
through the shouting crowd I made my way to the corner of the street, and
in ten minutes was rejoiced to find my friend’s arm in mine, and to get
away from the scene of uproar. He walked swiftly and in silence for some
few minutes until we had turned down one of the quiet streets which lead
towards the Edgeware Road.\par

“You did it very nicely, Doctor,” he remarked. “Nothing could have been
better. It is all right.”\par

“You have the photograph?”\par

“I know where it is.”\par

“And how did you find out?”\par

“She showed me, as I told you she would.”\par

“I am still in the dark.”\par

“I do not wish to make a mystery,” said he, laughing. “The matter was
perfectly simple. You, of course, saw that everyone in the street was an
accomplice. They were all engaged for the evening.”\par

“I guessed as much.”\par

“Then, when the row broke out, I had a little moist red paint in the palm
of my hand. I rushed forward, fell down, clapped my hand to my face, and
became a piteous spectacle. It is an old trick.”\par

“That also I could fathom.”\par

“Then they carried me in. She was bound to have me in. What else could she
do? And into her sitting-room, which was the very room which I suspected.
It lay between that and her bedroom, and I was determined to see which.
They laid me on a couch, I motioned for air, they were compelled to open
the window, and you had your chance.”\par

“How did that help you?”\par

“It was all-important. When a woman thinks that her house is on fire, her
instinct is at once to rush to the thing which she values most. It is a
perfectly overpowering impulse, and I have more than once taken advantage
of it. In the case of the Darlington Substitution Scandal it was of use to
me, and also in the Arnsworth Castle business. A married woman grabs at
her baby; an unmarried one reaches for her jewel-box. Now it was clear to
me that our lady of to-day had nothing in the house more precious to her
than what we are in quest of. She would rush to secure it. The alarm of
fire was admirably done. The smoke and shouting were enough to shake
nerves of steel. She responded beautifully. The photograph is in a recess
behind a sliding panel just above the right bell-pull. She was there in an
instant, and I caught a glimpse of it as she half drew it out. When I
cried out that it was a false alarm, she replaced it, glanced at the
rocket, rushed from the room, and I have not seen her since. I rose, and,
making my excuses, escaped from the house. I hesitated whether to attempt
to secure the photograph at once; but the coachman had come in, and as he
was watching me narrowly, it seemed safer to wait. A little
over-precipitance may ruin all.”\par

“And now?” I asked.\par

“Our quest is practically finished. I shall call with the King to-morrow,
and with you, if you care to come with us. We will be shown into the
sitting-room to wait for the lady, but it is probable that when she comes
she may find neither us nor the photograph. It might be a satisfaction to
his Majesty to regain it with his own hands.”\par

“And when will you call?”\par

“At eight in the morning. She will not be up, so that we shall have a
clear field. Besides, we must be prompt, for this marriage may mean a
complete change in her life and habits. I must wire to the King without
delay.”\par

We had reached Baker Street and had stopped at the door. He was searching
his pockets for the key when someone passing said:\par

“Good-night, Mister Sherlock Holmes.”\par

There were several people on the pavement at the time, but the greeting
appeared to come from a slim youth in an ulster who had hurried by.\par

“I’ve heard that voice before,” said Holmes, staring down the dimly lit
street. “Now, I wonder who the deuce that could have been.”\par

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\section*{III.}


I slept at Baker Street that night, and we were engaged upon our toast and
coffee in the morning when the King of Bohemia rushed into the room.\par

“You have really got it!” he cried, grasping Sherlock Holmes by either
shoulder and looking eagerly into his face.\par

“Not yet.”\par

“But you have hopes?”\par

“I have hopes.”\par

“Then, come. I am all impatience to be gone.”\par

“We must have a cab.”\par

“No, my brougham is waiting.”\par

“Then that will simplify matters.” We descended and started off once more
for Briony Lodge.\par

“Irene Adler is married,” remarked Holmes.\par

“Married! When?”\par

“Yesterday.”\par

“But to whom?”\par

“To an English lawyer named Norton.”\par

“But she could not love him.”\par

“I am in hopes that she does.”\par

“And why in hopes?”\par

“Because it would spare your Majesty all fear of future annoyance. If the
lady loves her husband, she does not love your Majesty. If she does not
love your Majesty, there is no reason why she should interfere with your
Majesty’s plan.”\par

“It is true. And yet—! Well! I wish she had been of my own station! What a
queen she would have made!” He relapsed into a moody silence, which was
not broken until we drew up in Serpentine Avenue.\par

The door of Briony Lodge was open, and an elderly woman stood upon the
steps. She watched us with a sardonic eye as we stepped from the brougham.\par

“Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I believe?” said she.\par

“I am Mr. Holmes,” answered my companion, looking at her with a
questioning and rather startled gaze.\par

“Indeed! My mistress told me that you were likely to call. She left this
morning with her husband by the 5:15 train from Charing Cross for the
Continent.”\par

“What!” Sherlock Holmes staggered back, white with chagrin and surprise.
“Do you mean that she has left England?”\par

“Never to return.”\par

“And the papers?” asked the King hoarsely. “All is lost.”\par

“We shall see.” He pushed past the servant and rushed into the
drawing-room, followed by the King and myself. The furniture was scattered
about in every direction, with dismantled shelves and open drawers, as if
the lady had hurriedly ransacked them before her flight. Holmes rushed at
the bell-pull, tore back a small sliding shutter, and, plunging in his
hand, pulled out a photograph and a letter. The photograph was of Irene
Adler herself in evening dress, the letter was superscribed to “Sherlock
Holmes, Esq. To be left till called for.” My friend tore it open, and we
all three read it together. It was dated at midnight of the preceding
night and ran in this way:\par

\begin{quotation}
{\noindent}“{\scshape{My Dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes,}} —
You really did it very well. You took me in
completely. Until after the alarm of fire, I had not a suspicion. But
then, when I found how I had betrayed myself, I began to think. I had been
warned against you months ago. I had been told that, if the King employed
an agent, it would certainly be you. And your address had been given me.
Yet, with all this, you made me reveal what you wanted to know. Even after
I became suspicious, I found it hard to think evil of such a dear, kind
old clergyman. But, you know, I have been trained as an actress myself.
Male costume is nothing new to me. I often take advantage of the freedom
which it gives. I sent John, the coachman, to watch you, ran upstairs, got
into my walking clothes, as I call them, and came down just as you
departed.\par

“Well, I followed you to your door, and so made sure that I was really an
object of interest to the celebrated Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Then I, rather
imprudently, wished you good-night, and started for the Temple to see my
husband.\par

“We both thought the best resource was flight, when pursued by so
formidable an antagonist; so you will find the nest empty when you call
to-morrow. As to the photograph, your client may rest in peace. I love and
am loved by a better man than he. The King may do what he will without
hindrance from one whom he has cruelly wronged. I keep it only to
safeguard myself, and to preserve a weapon which will always secure me
from any steps which he might take in the future. I leave a photograph
which he might care to possess; and I remain, dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes,\par

“Very truly yours,\par

“Irene Norton, {\itshape{née}} Adler.”\par
\end{quotation}

“What a woman—oh, what a woman!” cried the King of Bohemia, when we had
all three read this epistle. “Did I not tell you how quick and resolute
she was? Would she not have made an admirable queen? Is it not a pity that
she was not on my level?”\par

“From what I have seen of the lady, she seems, indeed, to be on a very
different level to your Majesty,” said Holmes coldly. “I am sorry that I
have not been able to bring your Majesty’s business to a more successful
conclusion.”\par

“On the contrary, my dear sir,” cried the King; “nothing could be more
successful. I know that her word is inviolate. The photograph is now as
safe as if it were in the fire.”\par

“I am glad to hear your Majesty say so.”\par

“I am immensely indebted to you. Pray tell me in what way I can reward
you. This ring—” He slipped an emerald snake ring from his finger and held
it out upon the palm of his hand.\par

“Your Majesty has something which I should value even more highly,” said
Holmes.\par

“You have but to name it.”\par

“This photograph!”\par

The King stared at him in amazement.\par

“Irene’s photograph!” he cried. “Certainly, if you wish it.”\par

“I thank your Majesty. Then there is no more to be done in the matter. I
have the honour to wish you a very good morning.” He bowed, and, turning
away without observing the hand which the King had stretched out to him,
he set off in my company for his chambers.\par

And that was how a great scandal threatened to affect the kingdom of
Bohemia, and how the best plans of Mr. Sherlock Holmes were beaten by a
woman’s wit. He used to make merry over the cleverness of women, but I
have not heard him do it of late. And when he speaks of Irene Adler, or
when he refers to her photograph, it is always under the honourable title
of {\itshape{the}} woman.\par

\cleardoublepage
\label{the-red-headed-league}%
\hypertarget{the-red-headed-league}{}%
%
\chapter*{The Red-headed League}


I had called upon my friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, one day in the autumn of
last year and found him in deep conversation with a very stout,
florid-faced, elderly gentleman with fiery red hair. With an apology for
my intrusion, I was about to withdraw when Holmes pulled me abruptly into
the room and closed the door behind me.\par

“You could not possibly have come at a better time, my dear Watson,” he
said cordially.\par

“I was afraid that you were engaged.”\par

“So I am. Very much so.”\par

“Then I can wait in the next room.”\par

“Not at all. This gentleman, Mr. Wilson, has been my partner and helper in
many of my most successful cases, and I have no doubt that he will be of
the utmost use to me in yours also.”\par

The stout gentleman half rose from his chair and gave a bob of greeting,
with a quick little questioning glance from his small fat-encircled eyes.\par

“Try the settee,” said Holmes, relapsing into his armchair and putting his
fingertips together, as was his custom when in judicial moods. “I know, my
dear Watson, that you share my love of all that is bizarre and outside the
conventions and humdrum routine of everyday life. You have shown your
relish for it by the enthusiasm which has prompted you to chronicle, and,
if you will excuse my saying so, somewhat to embellish so many of my own
little adventures.”\par

“Your cases have indeed been of the greatest interest to me,” I observed.\par

“You will remember that I remarked the other day, just before we went into
the very simple problem presented by Miss Mary Sutherland, that for
strange effects and extraordinary combinations we must go to life itself,
which is always far more daring than any effort of the imagination.”\par

“A proposition which I took the liberty of doubting.”\par

“You did, Doctor, but none the less you must come round to my view, for
otherwise I shall keep on piling fact upon fact on you until your reason
breaks down under them and acknowledges me to be right. Now, Mr. Jabez
Wilson here has been good enough to call upon me this morning, and to
begin a narrative which promises to be one of the most singular which I
have listened to for some time. You have heard me remark that the
strangest and most unique things are very often connected not with the
larger but with the smaller crimes, and occasionally, indeed, where there
is room for doubt whether any positive crime has been committed. As far as
I have heard, it is impossible for me to say whether the present case is
an instance of crime or not, but the course of events is certainly among
the most singular that I have ever listened to. Perhaps, Mr. Wilson, you
would have the great kindness to recommence your narrative. I ask you not
merely because my friend Dr. Watson has not heard the opening part but
also because the peculiar nature of the story makes me anxious to have
every possible detail from your lips. As a rule, when I have heard some
slight indication of the course of events, I am able to guide myself by
the thousands of other similar cases which occur to my memory. In the
present instance I am forced to admit that the facts are, to the best of
my belief, unique.”\par

The portly client puffed out his chest with an appearance of some little
pride and pulled a dirty and wrinkled newspaper from the inside pocket of
his greatcoat. As he glanced down the advertisement column, with his head
thrust forward and the paper flattened out upon his knee, I took a good
look at the man and endeavoured, after the fashion of my companion, to
read the indications which might be presented by his dress or appearance.\par

I did not gain very much, however, by my inspection. Our visitor bore
every mark of being an average commonplace British tradesman, obese,
pompous, and slow. He wore rather baggy grey shepherd’s check trousers, a
not over-clean black frock-coat, unbuttoned in the front, and a drab
waistcoat with a heavy brassy Albert chain, and a square pierced bit of
metal dangling down as an ornament. A frayed top-hat and a faded brown
overcoat with a wrinkled velvet collar lay upon a chair beside him.
Altogether, look as I would, there was nothing remarkable about the man
save his blazing red head, and the expression of extreme chagrin and
discontent upon his features.\par

Sherlock Holmes’ quick eye took in my occupation, and he shook his head
with a smile as he noticed my questioning glances. “Beyond the obvious
facts that he has at some time done manual labour, that he takes snuff,
that he is a Freemason, that he has been in China, and that he has done a
considerable amount of writing lately, I can deduce nothing else.”\par

Mr. Jabez Wilson started up in his chair, with his forefinger upon the
paper, but his eyes upon my companion.\par

“How, in the name of good-fortune, did you know all that, Mr. Holmes?” he
asked. “How did you know, for example, that I did manual labour. It’s as
true as gospel, for I began as a ship’s carpenter.”\par

“Your hands, my dear sir. Your right hand is quite a size larger than your
left. You have worked with it, and the muscles are more developed.”\par

“Well, the snuff, then, and the Freemasonry?”\par

“I won’t insult your intelligence by telling you how I read that,
especially as, rather against the strict rules of your order, you use an
arc-and-compass breastpin.”\par

“Ah, of course, I forgot that. But the writing?”\par

“What else can be indicated by that right cuff so very shiny for five
inches, and the left one with the smooth patch near the elbow where you
rest it upon the desk?”\par

“Well, but China?”\par

“The fish that you have tattooed immediately above your right wrist could
only have been done in China. I have made a small study of tattoo marks
and have even contributed to the literature of the subject. That trick of
staining the fishes’ scales of a delicate pink is quite peculiar to China.
When, in addition, I see a Chinese coin hanging from your watch-chain, the
matter becomes even more simple.”\par

Mr. Jabez Wilson laughed heavily. “Well, I never!” said he. “I thought at
first that you had done something clever, but I see that there was nothing
in it after all.”\par

“I begin to think, Watson,” said Holmes, “that I make a mistake in
explaining. ‘{\itshape{Omne ignotum pro magnifico}},’ you know, and my poor little
reputation, such as it is, will suffer shipwreck if I am so candid. Can
you not find the advertisement, Mr. Wilson?”\par

“Yes, I have got it now,” he answered with his thick red finger planted
halfway down the column. “Here it is. This is what began it all. You just
read it for yourself, sir.”\par

I took the paper from him and read as follows:\par

\begin{quotation}
{\noindent}“{\scshape{To the Red-headed League:}} On account of the bequest of the late Ezekiah
Hopkins, of Lebanon, Pennsylvania, U. S. A., there is now another vacancy
open which entitles a member of the League to a salary of £4 a week for
purely nominal services. All red-headed men who are sound in body and mind
and above the age of twenty-one years, are eligible. Apply in person on
Monday, at eleven o’clock, to Duncan Ross, at the offices of the League, 7
Pope’s Court, Fleet Street.”\par
\end{quotation}

“What on earth does this mean?” I ejaculated after I had twice read over
the extraordinary announcement.\par

Holmes chuckled and wriggled in his chair, as was his habit when in high
spirits. “It is a little off the beaten track, isn’t it?” said he. “And
now, Mr. Wilson, off you go at scratch and tell us all about yourself,
your household, and the effect which this advertisement had upon your
fortunes. You will first make a note, Doctor, of the paper and the date.”\par

“It is {\itshape{The Morning Chronicle}} of April 27, 1890. Just two months ago.”\par

“Very good. Now, Mr. Wilson?”\par

“Well, it is just as I have been telling you, Mr. Sherlock Holmes,” said
Jabez Wilson, mopping his forehead; “I have a small pawnbroker’s business
at Coburg Square, near the City. It’s not a very large affair, and of late
years it has not done more than just give me a living. I used to be able
to keep two assistants, but now I only keep one; and I would have a job to
pay him but that he is willing to come for half wages so as to learn the
business.”\par

“What is the name of this obliging youth?” asked Sherlock Holmes.\par

“His name is Vincent Spaulding, and he’s not such a youth, either. It’s
hard to say his age. I should not wish a smarter assistant, Mr. Holmes;
and I know very well that he could better himself and earn twice what I am
able to give him. But, after all, if he is satisfied, why should I put
ideas in his head?”\par

“Why, indeed? You seem most fortunate in having an employé who comes under
the full market price. It is not a common experience among employers in
this age. I don’t know that your assistant is not as remarkable as your
advertisement.”\par

“Oh, he has his faults, too,” said Mr. Wilson. “Never was such a fellow
for photography. Snapping away with a camera when he ought to be improving
his mind, and then diving down into the cellar like a rabbit into its hole
to develop his pictures. That is his main fault, but on the whole he’s a
good worker. There’s no vice in him.”\par

“He is still with you, I presume?”\par

“Yes, sir. He and a girl of fourteen, who does a bit of simple cooking and
keeps the place clean—that’s all I have in the house, for I am a widower
and never had any family. We live very quietly, sir, the three of us; and
we keep a roof over our heads and pay our debts, if we do nothing more.\par

“The first thing that put us out was that advertisement. Spaulding, he
came down into the office just this day eight weeks, with this very paper
in his hand, and he says:\par

“ ‘I wish to the Lord, Mr. Wilson, that I was a red-headed man.’\par

“ ‘Why that?’ I asks.\par

“ ‘Why,’ says he, ‘here’s another vacancy on the League of the Red-headed
Men. It’s worth quite a little fortune to any man who gets it, and I
understand that there are more vacancies than there are men, so that the
trustees are at their wits’ end what to do with the money. If my hair
would only change colour, here’s a nice little crib all ready for me to
step into.’\par

“ ‘Why, what is it, then?’ I asked. You see, Mr. Holmes, I am a very
stay-at-home man, and as my business came to me instead of my having to go
to it, I was often weeks on end without putting my foot over the door-mat.
In that way I didn’t know much of what was going on outside, and I was
always glad of a bit of news.\par

“ ‘Have you never heard of the League of the Red-headed Men?’ he asked
with his eyes open.\par

“ ‘Never.’\par

“ ‘Why, I wonder at that, for you are eligible yourself for one of the
vacancies.’\par

“ ‘And what are they worth?’ I asked.\par

“ ‘Oh, merely a couple of hundred a year, but the work is slight, and it
need not interfere very much with one’s other occupations.’\par

“Well, you can easily think that that made me prick up my ears, for the
business has not been over good for some years, and an extra couple of
hundred would have been very handy.\par

“ ‘Tell me all about it,’ said I.\par

“ ‘Well,’ said he, showing me the advertisement, ‘you can see for yourself
that the League has a vacancy, and there is the address where you should
apply for particulars. As far as I can make out, the League was founded by
an American millionaire, Ezekiah Hopkins, who was very peculiar in his
ways. He was himself red-headed, and he had a great sympathy for all
red-headed men; so, when he died, it was found that he had left his
enormous fortune in the hands of trustees, with instructions to apply the
interest to the providing of easy berths to men whose hair is of that
colour. From all I hear it is splendid pay and very little to do.’\par

“ ‘But,’ said I, ‘there would be millions of red-headed men who would
apply.’\par

“ ‘Not so many as you might think,’ he answered. ‘You see it is really
confined to Londoners, and to grown men. This American had started from
London when he was young, and he wanted to do the old town a good turn.
Then, again, I have heard it is no use your applying if your hair is light
red, or dark red, or anything but real bright, blazing, fiery red. Now, if
you cared to apply, Mr. Wilson, you would just walk in; but perhaps it
would hardly be worth your while to put yourself out of the way for the
sake of a few hundred pounds.’\par

“Now, it is a fact, gentlemen, as you may see for yourselves, that my hair
is of a very full and rich tint, so that it seemed to me that if there was
to be any competition in the matter I stood as good a chance as any man
that I had ever met. Vincent Spaulding seemed to know so much about it
that I thought he might prove useful, so I just ordered him to put up the
shutters for the day and to come right away with me. He was very willing
to have a holiday, so we shut the business up and started off for the
address that was given us in the advertisement.\par

“I never hope to see such a sight as that again, Mr. Holmes. From north,
south, east, and west every man who had a shade of red in his hair had
tramped into the city to answer the advertisement. Fleet Street was choked
with red-headed folk, and Pope’s Court looked like a coster’s orange
barrow. I should not have thought there were so many in the whole country
as were brought together by that single advertisement. Every shade of
colour they were—straw, lemon, orange, brick, Irish-setter, liver, clay;
but, as Spaulding said, there were not many who had the real vivid
flame-coloured tint. When I saw how many were waiting, I would have given
it up in despair; but Spaulding would not hear of it. How he did it I
could not imagine, but he pushed and pulled and butted until he got me
through the crowd, and right up to the steps which led to the office.
There was a double stream upon the stair, some going up in hope, and some
coming back dejected; but we wedged in as well as we could and soon found
ourselves in the office.”\par

“Your experience has been a most entertaining one,” remarked Holmes as his
client paused and refreshed his memory with a huge pinch of snuff. “Pray
continue your very interesting statement.”\par

“There was nothing in the office but a couple of wooden chairs and a deal
table, behind which sat a small man with a head that was even redder than
mine. He said a few words to each candidate as he came up, and then he
always managed to find some fault in them which would disqualify them.
Getting a vacancy did not seem to be such a very easy matter, after all.
However, when our turn came the little man was much more favourable to me
than to any of the others, and he closed the door as we entered, so that
he might have a private word with us.\par

“ ‘This is Mr. Jabez Wilson,’ said my assistant, ‘and he is willing to
fill a vacancy in the League.’\par

“ ‘And he is admirably suited for it,’ the other answered. ‘He has every
requirement. I cannot recall when I have seen anything so fine.’ He took a
step backward, cocked his head on one side, and gazed at my hair until I
felt quite bashful. Then suddenly he plunged forward, wrung my hand, and
congratulated me warmly on my success.\par

“ ‘It would be injustice to hesitate,’ said he. ‘You will, however, I am
sure, excuse me for taking an obvious precaution.’ With that he seized my
hair in both his hands, and tugged until I yelled with the pain. ‘There is
water in your eyes,’ said he as he released me. ‘I perceive that all is as
it should be. But we have to be careful, for we have twice been deceived
by wigs and once by paint. I could tell you tales of cobbler’s wax which
would disgust you with human nature.’ He stepped over to the window and
shouted through it at the top of his voice that the vacancy was filled. A
groan of disappointment came up from below, and the folk all trooped away
in different directions until there was not a red-head to be seen except
my own and that of the manager.\par

“ ‘My name,’ said he, ‘is Mr. Duncan Ross, and I am myself one of the
pensioners upon the fund left by our noble benefactor. Are you a married
man, Mr. Wilson? Have you a family?’\par

“I answered that I had not.\par

“His face fell immediately.\par

“ ‘Dear me!’ he said gravely, ‘that is very serious indeed! I am sorry to
hear you say that. The fund was, of course, for the propagation and spread
of the red-heads as well as for their maintenance. It is exceedingly
unfortunate that you should be a bachelor.’\par

“My face lengthened at this, Mr. Holmes, for I thought that I was not to
have the vacancy after all; but after thinking it over for a few minutes
he said that it would be all right.\par

“ ‘In the case of another,’ said he, ‘the objection might be fatal, but we
must stretch a point in favour of a man with such a head of hair as yours.
When shall you be able to enter upon your new duties?’\par

“ ‘Well, it is a little awkward, for I have a business already,’ said I.\par

“ ‘Oh, never mind about that, Mr. Wilson!’ said Vincent Spaulding. ‘I
should be able to look after that for you.’\par

“ ‘What would be the hours?’ I asked.\par

“ ‘Ten to two.’\par

“Now a pawnbroker’s business is mostly done of an evening, Mr. Holmes,
especially Thursday and Friday evening, which is just before pay-day; so
it would suit me very well to earn a little in the mornings. Besides, I
knew that my assistant was a good man, and that he would see to anything
that turned up.\par

“ ‘That would suit me very well,’ said I. ‘And the pay?’\par

“ ‘Is £4 a week.’\par

“ ‘And the work?’\par

“ ‘Is purely nominal.’\par

“ ‘What do you call purely nominal?’\par

“ ‘Well, you have to be in the office, or at least in the building, the
whole time. If you leave, you forfeit your whole position forever. The
will is very clear upon that point. You don’t comply with the conditions
if you budge from the office during that time.’\par

“ ‘It’s only four hours a day, and I should not think of leaving,’ said I.\par

“ ‘No excuse will avail,’ said Mr. Duncan Ross; ‘neither sickness nor
business nor anything else. There you must stay, or you lose your billet.’\par

“ ‘And the work?’\par

“ ‘Is to copy out the {\itshape{Encyclopaedia Britannica}}. There is the first
volume of it in that press. You must find your own ink, pens, and
blotting-paper, but we provide this table and chair. Will you be ready
to-morrow?’\par

“ ‘Certainly,’ I answered.\par

“ ‘Then, good-bye, Mr. Jabez Wilson, and let me congratulate you once more
on the important position which you have been fortunate enough to gain.’
He bowed me out of the room and I went home with my assistant, hardly
knowing what to say or do, I was so pleased at my own good fortune.\par

“Well, I thought over the matter all day, and by evening I was in low
spirits again; for I had quite persuaded myself that the whole affair must
be some great hoax or fraud, though what its object might be I could not
imagine. It seemed altogether past belief that anyone could make such a
will, or that they would pay such a sum for doing anything so simple as
copying out the {\itshape{Encyclopaedia Britannica}}. Vincent Spaulding did what he
could to cheer me up, but by bedtime I had reasoned myself out of the
whole thing. However, in the morning I determined to have a look at it
anyhow, so I bought a penny bottle of ink, and with a quill-pen, and seven
sheets of foolscap paper, I started off for Pope’s Court.\par

“Well, to my surprise and delight, everything was as right as possible.
The table was set out ready for me, and Mr. Duncan Ross was there to see
that I got fairly to work. He started me off upon the letter A, and then
he left me; but he would drop in from time to time to see that all was
right with me. At two o’clock he bade me good-day, complimented me upon
the amount that I had written, and locked the door of the office after me.\par

“This went on day after day, Mr. Holmes, and on Saturday the manager came
in and planked down four golden sovereigns for my week’s work. It was the
same next week, and the same the week after. Every morning I was there at
ten, and every afternoon I left at two. By degrees Mr. Duncan Ross took to
coming in only once of a morning, and then, after a time, he did not come
in at all. Still, of course, I never dared to leave the room for an
instant, for I was not sure when he might come, and the billet was such a
good one, and suited me so well, that I would not risk the loss of it.\par

“Eight weeks passed away like this, and I had written about Abbots and
Archery and Armour and Architecture and Attica, and hoped with diligence
that I might get on to the B’s before very long. It cost me something in
foolscap, and I had pretty nearly filled a shelf with my writings. And
then suddenly the whole business came to an end.”\par

“To an end?”\par

“Yes, sir. And no later than this morning. I went to my work as usual at
ten o’clock, but the door was shut and locked, with a little square of
cardboard hammered on to the middle of the panel with a tack. Here it is,
and you can read for yourself.”\par

He held up a piece of white cardboard about the size of a sheet of
note-paper. It read in this fashion:\par

\begin{quotation}
\begin{container}
\begin{center}
{\scshape{{\noindent}The Red-headed League
}}\par

{\scshape{Is
}}\par

{\scshape{Dissolved.
}}\par

{\scshape{October 9, 1890.
}}\par
\end{center}
\end{container}
\end{quotation}

{\noindent}Sherlock Holmes and I surveyed this curt announcement and the rueful face
behind it, until the comical side of the affair so completely overtopped
every other consideration that we both burst out into a roar of laughter.\par

“I cannot see that there is anything very funny,” cried our client,
flushing up to the roots of his flaming head. “If you can do nothing
better than laugh at me, I can go elsewhere.”\par

“No, no,” cried Holmes, shoving him back into the chair from which he had
half risen. “I really wouldn’t miss your case for the world. It is most
refreshingly unusual. But there is, if you will excuse my saying so,
something just a little funny about it. Pray what steps did you take when
you found the card upon the door?”\par

“I was staggered, sir. I did not know what to do. Then I called at the
offices round, but none of them seemed to know anything about it. Finally,
I went to the landlord, who is an accountant living on the ground floor,
and I asked him if he could tell me what had become of the Red-headed
League. He said that he had never heard of any such body. Then I asked him
who Mr. Duncan Ross was. He answered that the name was new to him.\par

“ ‘Well,’ said I, ‘the gentleman at No. 4.’\par

“ ‘What, the red-headed man?’\par

“ ‘Yes.’\par

“ ‘Oh,’ said he, ‘his name was William Morris. He was a solicitor and was
using my room as a temporary convenience until his new premises were
ready. He moved out yesterday.’\par

“ ‘Where could I find him?’\par

“ ‘Oh, at his new offices. He did tell me the address. Yes, 17 King Edward
Street, near St. Paul’s.’\par

“I started off, Mr. Holmes, but when I got to that address it was a
manufactory of artificial knee-caps, and no one in it had ever heard of
either Mr. William Morris or Mr. Duncan Ross.”\par

“And what did you do then?” asked Holmes.\par

“I went home to Saxe-Coburg Square, and I took the advice of my assistant.
But he could not help me in any way. He could only say that if I waited I
should hear by post. But that was not quite good enough, Mr. Holmes. I did
not wish to lose such a place without a struggle, so, as I had heard that
you were good enough to give advice to poor folk who were in need of it, I
came right away to you.”\par

“And you did very wisely,” said Holmes. “Your case is an exceedingly
remarkable one, and I shall be happy to look into it. From what you have
told me I think that it is possible that graver issues hang from it than
might at first sight appear.”\par

“Grave enough!” said Mr. Jabez Wilson. “Why, I have lost four pound a
week.”\par

“As far as you are personally concerned,” remarked Holmes, “I do not see
that you have any grievance against this extraordinary league. On the
contrary, you are, as I understand, richer by some £30, to say nothing
of the minute knowledge which you have gained on every subject which comes
under the letter A. You have lost nothing by them.”\par

“No, sir. But I want to find out about them, and who they are, and what
their object was in playing this prank—if it was a prank—upon me. It was a
pretty expensive joke for them, for it cost them two and thirty pounds.”\par

“We shall endeavour to clear up these points for you. And, first, one or
two questions, Mr. Wilson. This assistant of yours who first called your
attention to the advertisement—how long had he been with you?”\par

“About a month then.”\par

“How did he come?”\par

“In answer to an advertisement.”\par

“Was he the only applicant?”\par

“No, I had a dozen.”\par

“Why did you pick him?”\par

“Because he was handy and would come cheap.”\par

“At half wages, in fact.”\par

“Yes.”\par

“What is he like, this Vincent Spaulding?”\par

“Small, stout-built, very quick in his ways, no hair on his face, though
he’s not short of thirty. Has a white splash of acid upon his forehead.”\par

Holmes sat up in his chair in considerable excitement. “I thought as
much,” said he. “Have you ever observed that his ears are pierced for
earrings?”\par

“Yes, sir. He told me that a gipsy had done it for him when he was a lad.”\par

“Hum!” said Holmes, sinking back in deep thought. “He is still with you?”\par

“Oh, yes, sir; I have only just left him.”\par

“And has your business been attended to in your absence?”\par

“Nothing to complain of, sir. There’s never very much to do of a morning.”\par

“That will do, Mr. Wilson. I shall be happy to give you an opinion upon
the subject in the course of a day or two. To-day is Saturday, and I hope
that by Monday we may come to a conclusion.”\par

“Well, Watson,” said Holmes when our visitor had left us, “what do you
make of it all?”\par

“I make nothing of it,” I answered frankly. “It is a most mysterious
business.”\par

“As a rule,” said Holmes, “the more bizarre a thing is the less mysterious
it proves to be. It is your commonplace, featureless crimes which are
really puzzling, just as a commonplace face is the most difficult to
identify. But I must be prompt over this matter.”\par

“What are you going to do, then?” I asked.\par

“To smoke,” he answered. “It is quite a three pipe problem, and I beg that
you won’t speak to me for fifty minutes.” He curled himself up in his
chair, with his thin knees drawn up to his hawk-like nose, and there he
sat with his eyes closed and his black clay pipe thrusting out like the
bill of some strange bird. I had come to the conclusion that he had
dropped asleep, and indeed was nodding myself, when he suddenly sprang out
of his chair with the gesture of a man who has made up his mind and put
his pipe down upon the mantelpiece.\par

“Sarasate plays at the St. James’s Hall this afternoon,” he remarked.
“What do you think, Watson? Could your patients spare you for a few
hours?”\par

“I have nothing to do to-day. My practice is never very absorbing.”\par

“Then put on your hat and come. I am going through the City first, and we
can have some lunch on the way. I observe that there is a good deal of
German music on the programme, which is rather more to my taste than
Italian or French. It is introspective, and I want to introspect. Come
along!”\par

We travelled by the Underground as far as Aldersgate; and a short walk
took us to Saxe-Coburg Square, the scene of the singular story which we
had listened to in the morning. It was a poky, little, shabby-genteel
place, where four lines of dingy two-storied brick houses looked out into
a small railed-in enclosure, where a lawn of weedy grass and a few clumps
of faded laurel bushes made a hard fight against a smoke-laden and
uncongenial atmosphere. Three gilt balls and a brown board with
“{\scshape{Jabez Wilson}}” in white letters, upon a corner house, announced the place where
our red-headed client carried on his business. Sherlock Holmes stopped in
front of it with his head on one side and looked it all over, with his
eyes shining brightly between puckered lids. Then he walked slowly up the
street, and then down again to the corner, still looking keenly at the
houses. Finally he returned to the pawnbroker’s, and, having thumped
vigorously upon the pavement with his stick two or three times, he went up
to the door and knocked. It was instantly opened by a bright-looking,
clean-shaven young fellow, who asked him to step in.\par

“Thank you,” said Holmes, “I only wished to ask you how you would go from
here to the Strand.”\par

“Third right, fourth left,” answered the assistant promptly, closing the
door.\par

“Smart fellow, that,” observed Holmes as we walked away. “He is, in my
judgment, the fourth smartest man in London, and for daring I am not sure
that he has not a claim to be third. I have known something of him
before.”\par

“Evidently,” said I, “Mr. Wilson’s assistant counts for a good deal in
this mystery of the Red-headed League. I am sure that you inquired your
way merely in order that you might see him.”\par

“Not him.”\par

“What then?”\par

“The knees of his trousers.”\par

“And what did you see?”\par

“What I expected to see.”\par

“Why did you beat the pavement?”\par

“My dear doctor, this is a time for observation, not for talk. We are
spies in an enemy’s country. We know something of Saxe-Coburg Square. Let
us now explore the parts which lie behind it.”\par

The road in which we found ourselves as we turned round the corner from
the retired Saxe-Coburg Square presented as great a contrast to it as the
front of a picture does to the back. It was one of the main arteries which
conveyed the traffic of the City to the north and west. The roadway was
blocked with the immense stream of commerce flowing in a double tide
inward and outward, while the footpaths were black with the hurrying swarm
of pedestrians. It was difficult to realise as we looked at the line of
fine shops and stately business premises that they really abutted on the
other side upon the faded and stagnant square which we had just quitted.\par

“Let me see,” said Holmes, standing at the corner and glancing along the
line, “I should like just to remember the order of the houses here. It is
a hobby of mine to have an exact knowledge of London. There is Mortimer’s,
the tobacconist, the little newspaper shop, the Coburg branch of the City
and Suburban Bank, the Vegetarian Restaurant, and McFarlane’s
carriage-building depot. That carries us right on to the other block. And
now, Doctor, we’ve done our work, so it’s time we had some play. A
sandwich and a cup of coffee, and then off to violin-land, where all is
sweetness and delicacy and harmony, and there are no red-headed clients to
vex us with their conundrums.”\par

My friend was an enthusiastic musician, being himself not only a very
capable performer but a composer of no ordinary merit. All the afternoon
he sat in the stalls wrapped in the most perfect happiness, gently waving
his long, thin fingers in time to the music, while his gently smiling face
and his languid, dreamy eyes were as unlike those of Holmes the
sleuth-hound, Holmes the relentless, keen-witted, ready-handed criminal
agent, as it was possible to conceive. In his singular character the dual
nature alternately asserted itself, and his extreme exactness and
astuteness represented, as I have often thought, the reaction against the
poetic and contemplative mood which occasionally predominated in him. The
swing of his nature took him from extreme languor to devouring energy;
and, as I knew well, he was never so truly formidable as when, for days on
end, he had been lounging in his armchair amid his improvisations and his
black-letter editions. Then it was that the lust of the chase would
suddenly come upon him, and that his brilliant reasoning power would rise
to the level of intuition, until those who were unacquainted with his
methods would look askance at him as on a man whose knowledge was not that
of other mortals. When I saw him that afternoon so enwrapped in the music
at St. James’s Hall I felt that an evil time might be coming upon those
whom he had set himself to hunt down.\par

“You want to go home, no doubt, Doctor,” he remarked as we emerged.\par

“Yes, it would be as well.”\par

“And I have some business to do which will take some hours. This business
at Coburg Square is serious.”\par

“Why serious?”\par

“A considerable crime is in contemplation. I have every reason to believe
that we shall be in time to stop it. But to-day being Saturday rather
complicates matters. I shall want your help to-night.”\par

“At what time?”\par

“Ten will be early enough.”\par

“I shall be at Baker Street at ten.”\par

“Very well. And, I say, Doctor, there may be some little danger, so kindly
put your army revolver in your pocket.” He waved his hand, turned on his
heel, and disappeared in an instant among the crowd.\par

I trust that I am not more dense than my neighbours, but I was always
oppressed with a sense of my own stupidity in my dealings with Sherlock
Holmes. Here I had heard what he had heard, I had seen what he had seen,
and yet from his words it was evident that he saw clearly not only what
had happened but what was about to happen, while to me the whole business
was still confused and grotesque. As I drove home to my house in
Kensington I thought over it all, from the extraordinary story of the
red-headed copier of the {\itshape{Encyclopaedia}} down to the visit to Saxe-Coburg
Square, and the ominous words with which he had parted from me. What was
this nocturnal expedition, and why should I go armed? Where were we going,
and what were we to do? I had the hint from Holmes that this smooth-faced
pawnbroker’s assistant was a formidable man—a man who might play a deep
game. I tried to puzzle it out, but gave it up in despair and set the
matter aside until night should bring an explanation.\par

It was a quarter-past nine when I started from home and made my way across
the Park, and so through Oxford Street to Baker Street. Two hansoms were
standing at the door, and as I entered the passage I heard the sound of
voices from above. On entering his room, I found Holmes in animated
conversation with two men, one of whom I recognised as Peter Jones, the
official police agent, while the other was a long, thin, sad-faced man,
with a very shiny hat and oppressively respectable frock-coat.\par

“Ha! Our party is complete,” said Holmes, buttoning up his pea-jacket and
taking his heavy hunting crop from the rack. “Watson, I think you know Mr.
Jones, of Scotland Yard? Let me introduce you to Mr. Merryweather, who is
to be our companion in to-night’s adventure.”\par

“We’re hunting in couples again, Doctor, you see,” said Jones in his
consequential way. “Our friend here is a wonderful man for starting a
chase. All he wants is an old dog to help him to do the running down.”\par

“I hope a wild goose may not prove to be the end of our chase,” observed
Mr. Merryweather gloomily.\par

“You may place considerable confidence in Mr. Holmes, sir,” said the
police agent loftily. “He has his own little methods, which are, if he
won’t mind my saying so, just a little too theoretical and fantastic, but
he has the makings of a detective in him. It is not too much to say that
once or twice, as in that business of the Sholto murder and the Agra
treasure, he has been more nearly correct than the official force.”\par

“Oh, if you say so, Mr. Jones, it is all right,” said the stranger with
deference. “Still, I confess that I miss my rubber. It is the first
Saturday night for seven-and-twenty years that I have not had my rubber.”\par

“I think you will find,” said Sherlock Holmes, “that you will play for a
higher stake to-night than you have ever done yet, and that the play will
be more exciting. For you, Mr. Merryweather, the stake will be some
£30,000; and for you, Jones, it will be the man upon whom you wish to
lay your hands.”\par

“John Clay, the murderer, thief, smasher, and forger. He’s a young man,
Mr. Merryweather, but he is at the head of his profession, and I would
rather have my bracelets on him than on any criminal in London. He’s a
remarkable man, is young John Clay. His grandfather was a royal duke, and
he himself has been to Eton and Oxford. His brain is as cunning as his
fingers, and though we meet signs of him at every turn, we never know
where to find the man himself. He’ll crack a crib in Scotland one week,
and be raising money to build an orphanage in Cornwall the next. I’ve been
on his track for years and have never set eyes on him yet.”\par

“I hope that I may have the pleasure of introducing you to-night. I’ve had
one or two little turns also with Mr. John Clay, and I agree with you that
he is at the head of his profession. It is past ten, however, and quite
time that we started. If you two will take the first hansom, Watson and I
will follow in the second.”\par

Sherlock Holmes was not very communicative during the long drive and lay
back in the cab humming the tunes which he had heard in the afternoon. We
rattled through an endless labyrinth of gas-lit streets until we emerged
into Farrington Street.\par

“We are close there now,” my friend remarked. “This fellow Merryweather is
a bank director, and personally interested in the matter. I thought it as
well to have Jones with us also. He is not a bad fellow, though an
absolute imbecile in his profession. He has one positive virtue. He is as
brave as a bulldog and as tenacious as a lobster if he gets his claws upon
anyone. Here we are, and they are waiting for us.”\par

We had reached the same crowded thoroughfare in which we had found
ourselves in the morning. Our cabs were dismissed, and, following the
guidance of Mr. Merryweather, we passed down a narrow passage and through
a side door, which he opened for us. Within there was a small corridor,
which ended in a very massive iron gate. This also was opened, and led
down a flight of winding stone steps, which terminated at another
formidable gate. Mr. Merryweather stopped to light a lantern, and then
conducted us down a dark, earth-smelling passage, and so, after opening a
third door, into a huge vault or cellar, which was piled all round with
crates and massive boxes.\par

“You are not very vulnerable from above,” Holmes remarked as he held up
the lantern and gazed about him.\par

“Nor from below,” said Mr. Merryweather, striking his stick upon the flags
which lined the floor. “Why, dear me, it sounds quite hollow!” he
remarked, looking up in surprise.\par

“I must really ask you to be a little more quiet!” said Holmes severely.
“You have already imperilled the whole success of our expedition. Might I
beg that you would have the goodness to sit down upon one of those boxes,
and not to interfere?”\par

The solemn Mr. Merryweather perched himself upon a crate, with a very
injured expression upon his face, while Holmes fell upon his knees upon
the floor and, with the lantern and a magnifying lens, began to examine
minutely the cracks between the stones. A few seconds sufficed to satisfy
him, for he sprang to his feet again and put his glass in his pocket.\par

“We have at least an hour before us,” he remarked, “for they can hardly
take any steps until the good pawnbroker is safely in bed. Then they will
not lose a minute, for the sooner they do their work the longer time they
will have for their escape. We are at present, Doctor—as no doubt you have
divined—in the cellar of the City branch of one of the principal London
banks. Mr. Merryweather is the chairman of directors, and he will explain
to you that there are reasons why the more daring criminals of London
should take a considerable interest in this cellar at present.”\par

“It is our French gold,” whispered the director. “We have had several
warnings that an attempt might be made upon it.”\par

“Your French gold?”\par

“Yes. We had occasion some months ago to strengthen our resources and
borrowed for that purpose 30,000 napoleons from the Bank of France. It has
become known that we have never had occasion to unpack the money, and that
it is still lying in our cellar. The crate upon which I sit contains 2,000
napoleons packed between layers of lead foil. Our reserve of bullion is
much larger at present than is usually kept in a single branch office, and
the directors have had misgivings upon the subject.”\par

“Which were very well justified,” observed Holmes. “And now it is time
that we arranged our little plans. I expect that within an hour matters
will come to a head. In the meantime Mr. Merryweather, we must put the
screen over that dark lantern.”\par

“And sit in the dark?”\par

“I am afraid so. I had brought a pack of cards in my pocket, and I thought
that, as we were a {\itshape{partie carrée}}, you might have your rubber after all.
But I see that the enemy’s preparations have gone so far that we cannot
risk the presence of a light. And, first of all, we must choose our
positions. These are daring men, and though we shall take them at a
disadvantage, they may do us some harm unless we are careful. I shall
stand behind this crate, and do you conceal yourselves behind those. Then,
when I flash a light upon them, close in swiftly. If they fire, Watson,
have no compunction about shooting them down.”\par

I placed my revolver, cocked, upon the top of the wooden case behind which
I crouched. Holmes shot the slide across the front of his lantern and left
us in pitch darkness—such an absolute darkness as I have never before
experienced. The smell of hot metal remained to assure us that the light
was still there, ready to flash out at a moment’s notice. To me, with my
nerves worked up to a pitch of expectancy, there was something depressing
and subduing in the sudden gloom, and in the cold dank air of the vault.\par

“They have but one retreat,” whispered Holmes. “That is back through the
house into Saxe-Coburg Square. I hope that you have done what I asked you,
Jones?”\par

“I have an inspector and two officers waiting at the front door.”\par

“Then we have stopped all the holes. And now we must be silent and wait.”\par

What a time it seemed! From comparing notes afterwards it was but an hour
and a quarter, yet it appeared to me that the night must have almost gone,
and the dawn be breaking above us. My limbs were weary and stiff, for I
feared to change my position; yet my nerves were worked up to the highest
pitch of tension, and my hearing was so acute that I could not only hear
the gentle breathing of my companions, but I could distinguish the deeper,
heavier in-breath of the bulky Jones from the thin, sighing note of the
bank director. From my position I could look over the case in the
direction of the floor. Suddenly my eyes caught the glint of a light.\par

At first it was but a lurid spark upon the stone pavement. Then it
lengthened out until it became a yellow line, and then, without any
warning or sound, a gash seemed to open and a hand appeared, a white,
almost womanly hand, which felt about in the centre of the little area of
light. For a minute or more the hand, with its writhing fingers, protruded
out of the floor. Then it was withdrawn as suddenly as it appeared, and
all was dark again save the single lurid spark which marked a chink
between the stones.\par

Its disappearance, however, was but momentary. With a rending, tearing
sound, one of the broad, white stones turned over upon its side and left a
square, gaping hole, through which streamed the light of a lantern. Over
the edge there peeped a clean-cut, boyish face, which looked keenly about
it, and then, with a hand on either side of the aperture, drew itself
shoulder-high and waist-high, until one knee rested upon the edge. In
another instant he stood at the side of the hole and was hauling after him
a companion, lithe and small like himself, with a pale face and a shock of
very red hair.\par

“It’s all clear,” he whispered. “Have you the chisel and the bags? Great
Scott! Jump, Archie, jump, and I’ll swing for it!”\par

Sherlock Holmes had sprung out and seized the intruder by the collar. The
other dived down the hole, and I heard the sound of rending cloth as Jones
clutched at his skirts. The light flashed upon the barrel of a revolver,
but Holmes’ hunting crop came down on the man’s wrist, and the pistol
clinked upon the stone floor.\par

“It’s no use, John Clay,” said Holmes blandly. “You have no chance at
all.”\par

“So I see,” the other answered with the utmost coolness. “I fancy that my
pal is all right, though I see you have got his coat-tails.”\par

“There are three men waiting for him at the door,” said Holmes.\par

“Oh, indeed! You seem to have done the thing very completely. I must
compliment you.”\par

“And I you,” Holmes answered. “Your red-headed idea was very new and
effective.”\par

“You’ll see your pal again presently,” said Jones. “He’s quicker at
climbing down holes than I am. Just hold out while I fix the derbies.”\par

“I beg that you will not touch me with your filthy hands,” remarked our
prisoner as the handcuffs clattered upon his wrists. “You may not be aware
that I have royal blood in my veins. Have the goodness, also, when you
address me always to say ‘sir’ and ‘please.’ ”\par

“All right,” said Jones with a stare and a snigger. “Well, would you
please, sir, march upstairs, where we can get a cab to carry your Highness
to the police-station?”\par

“That is better,” said John Clay serenely. He made a sweeping bow to the
three of us and walked quietly off in the custody of the detective.\par

“Really, Mr. Holmes,” said Mr. Merryweather as we followed them from the
cellar, “I do not know how the bank can thank you or repay you. There is
no doubt that you have detected and defeated in the most complete manner
one of the most determined attempts at bank robbery that have ever come
within my experience.”\par

“I have had one or two little scores of my own to settle with Mr. John
Clay,” said Holmes. “I have been at some small expense over this matter,
which I shall expect the bank to refund, but beyond that I am amply repaid
by having had an experience which is in many ways unique, and by hearing
the very remarkable narrative of the Red-headed League.”\par

“You see, Watson,” he explained in the early hours of the morning as we
sat over a glass of whisky and soda in Baker Street, “it was perfectly
obvious from the first that the only possible object of this rather
fantastic business of the advertisement of the League, and the copying of
the {\itshape{Encyclopaedia}}, must be to get this not over-bright pawnbroker out of
the way for a number of hours every day. It was a curious way of managing
it, but, really, it would be difficult to suggest a better. The method was
no doubt suggested to Clay’s ingenious mind by the colour of his
accomplice’s hair. The £4 a week was a lure which must draw him, and
what was it to them, who were playing for thousands? They put in the
advertisement, one rogue has the temporary office, the other rogue incites
the man to apply for it, and together they manage to secure his absence
every morning in the week. From the time that I heard of the assistant
having come for half wages, it was obvious to me that he had some strong
motive for securing the situation.”\par

“But how could you guess what the motive was?”\par

“Had there been women in the house, I should have suspected a mere vulgar
intrigue. That, however, was out of the question. The man’s business was a
small one, and there was nothing in his house which could account for such
elaborate preparations, and such an expenditure as they were at. It must,
then, be something out of the house. What could it be? I thought of the
assistant’s fondness for photography, and his trick of vanishing into the
cellar. The cellar! There was the end of this tangled clue. Then I made
inquiries as to this mysterious assistant and found that I had to deal
with one of the coolest and most daring criminals in London. He was doing
something in the cellar—something which took many hours a day for months
on end. What could it be, once more? I could think of nothing save that he
was running a tunnel to some other building.\par

“So far I had got when we went to visit the scene of action. I surprised
you by beating upon the pavement with my stick. I was ascertaining whether
the cellar stretched out in front or behind. It was not in front. Then I
rang the bell, and, as I hoped, the assistant answered it. We have had
some skirmishes, but we had never set eyes upon each other before. I
hardly looked at his face. His knees were what I wished to see. You must
yourself have remarked how worn, wrinkled, and stained they were. They
spoke of those hours of burrowing. The only remaining point was what they
were burrowing for. I walked round the corner, saw the City and Suburban
Bank abutted on our friend’s premises, and felt that I had solved my
problem. When you drove home after the concert I called upon Scotland Yard
and upon the chairman of the bank directors, with the result that you have
seen.”\par

“And how could you tell that they would make their attempt to-night?” I
asked.\par

“Well, when they closed their League offices that was a sign that they
cared no longer about Mr. Jabez Wilson’s presence—in other words, that
they had completed their tunnel. But it was essential that they should use
it soon, as it might be discovered, or the bullion might be removed.
Saturday would suit them better than any other day, as it would give them
two days for their escape. For all these reasons I expected them to come
to-night.”\par

“You reasoned it out beautifully,” I exclaimed in unfeigned admiration.
“It is so long a chain, and yet every link rings true.”\par

“It saved me from ennui,” he answered, yawning. “Alas! I already feel it
closing in upon me. My life is spent in one long effort to escape from the
commonplaces of existence. These little problems help me to do so.”\par

“And you are a benefactor of the race,” said I.\par

He shrugged his shoulders. “Well, perhaps, after all, it is of some little
use,” he remarked. “ ‘{\itshape{L’homme c’est rien—l’oeuvre c’est tout}},’ as
Gustave Flaubert wrote to George Sand.”\par

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%
\chapter*{A Case of Identity}


“My dear fellow,” said Sherlock Holmes as we sat on either side of the
fire in his lodgings at Baker Street, “life is infinitely stranger than
anything which the mind of man could invent. We would not dare to conceive
the things which are really mere commonplaces of existence. If we could
fly out of that window hand in hand, hover over this great city, gently
remove the roofs, and peep in at the queer things which are going on, the
strange coincidences, the plannings, the cross-purposes, the wonderful
chains of events, working through generations, and leading to the most
{\itshape{outré}} results, it would make all fiction with its conventionalities and
foreseen conclusions most stale and unprofitable.”\par

“And yet I am not convinced of it,” I answered. “The cases which come to
light in the papers are, as a rule, bald enough, and vulgar enough. We
have in our police reports realism pushed to its extreme limits, and yet
the result is, it must be confessed, neither fascinating nor artistic.”\par

“A certain selection and discretion must be used in producing a realistic
effect,” remarked Holmes. “This is wanting in the police report, where
more stress is laid, perhaps, upon the platitudes of the magistrate than
upon the details, which to an observer contain the vital essence of the
whole matter. Depend upon it, there is nothing so unnatural as the
commonplace.”\par

I smiled and shook my head. “I can quite understand your thinking so,” I
said. “Of course, in your position of unofficial adviser and helper to
everybody who is absolutely puzzled, throughout three continents, you are
brought in contact with all that is strange and bizarre. But here”—I
picked up the morning paper from the ground—“let us put it to a practical
test. Here is the first heading upon which I come. ‘A husband’s cruelty to
his wife.’ There is half a column of print, but I know without reading it
that it is all perfectly familiar to me. There is, of course, the other
woman, the drink, the push, the blow, the bruise, the sympathetic sister
or landlady. The crudest of writers could invent nothing more crude.”\par

“Indeed, your example is an unfortunate one for your argument,” said
Holmes, taking the paper and glancing his eye down it. “This is the Dundas
separation case, and, as it happens, I was engaged in clearing up some
small points in connection with it. The husband was a teetotaler, there
was no other woman, and the conduct complained of was that he had drifted
into the habit of winding up every meal by taking out his false teeth and
hurling them at his wife, which, you will allow, is not an action likely
to occur to the imagination of the average story-teller. Take a pinch of
snuff, Doctor, and acknowledge that I have scored over you in your
example.”\par

He held out his snuffbox of old gold, with a great amethyst in the centre
of the lid. Its splendour was in such contrast to his homely ways and
simple life that I could not help commenting upon it.\par

“Ah,” said he, “I forgot that I had not seen you for some weeks. It is a
little souvenir from the King of Bohemia in return for my assistance in
the case of the Irene Adler papers.”\par

“And the ring?” I asked, glancing at a remarkable brilliant which sparkled
upon his finger.\par

“It was from the reigning family of Holland, though the matter in which I
served them was of such delicacy that I cannot confide it even to you, who
have been good enough to chronicle one or two of my little problems.”\par

“And have you any on hand just now?” I asked with interest.\par

“Some ten or twelve, but none which present any feature of interest. They
are important, you understand, without being interesting. Indeed, I have
found that it is usually in unimportant matters that there is a field for
the observation, and for the quick analysis of cause and effect which
gives the charm to an investigation. The larger crimes are apt to be the
simpler, for the bigger the crime the more obvious, as a rule, is the
motive. In these cases, save for one rather intricate matter which has
been referred to me from Marseilles, there is nothing which presents any
features of interest. It is possible, however, that I may have something
better before very many minutes are over, for this is one of my clients,
or I am much mistaken.”\par

He had risen from his chair and was standing between the parted blinds
gazing down into the dull neutral-tinted London street. Looking over his
shoulder, I saw that on the pavement opposite there stood a large woman
with a heavy fur boa round her neck, and a large curling red feather in a
broad-brimmed hat which was tilted in a coquettish Duchess of Devonshire
fashion over her ear. From under this great panoply she peeped up in a
nervous, hesitating fashion at our windows, while her body oscillated
backward and forward, and her fingers fidgeted with her glove buttons.
Suddenly, with a plunge, as of the swimmer who leaves the bank, she
hurried across the road, and we heard the sharp clang of the bell.\par

“I have seen those symptoms before,” said Holmes, throwing his cigarette
into the fire. “Oscillation upon the pavement always means an {\itshape{affaire de
coeur}}. She would like advice, but is not sure that the matter is not too
delicate for communication. And yet even here we may discriminate. When a
woman has been seriously wronged by a man she no longer oscillates, and
the usual symptom is a broken bell wire. Here we may take it that there is
a love matter, but that the maiden is not so much angry as perplexed, or
grieved. But here she comes in person to resolve our doubts.”\par

As he spoke there was a tap at the door, and the boy in buttons entered to
announce Miss Mary Sutherland, while the lady herself loomed behind his
small black figure like a full-sailed merchant-man behind a tiny pilot
boat. Sherlock Holmes welcomed her with the easy courtesy for which he was
remarkable, and, having closed the door and bowed her into an armchair, he
looked her over in the minute and yet abstracted fashion which was
peculiar to him.\par

“Do you not find,” he said, “that with your short sight it is a little
trying to do so much typewriting?”\par

“I did at first,” she answered, “but now I know where the letters are
without looking.” Then, suddenly realising the full purport of his words,
she gave a violent start and looked up, with fear and astonishment upon
her broad, good-humoured face. “You’ve heard about me, Mr. Holmes,” she
cried, “else how could you know all that?”\par

“Never mind,” said Holmes, laughing; “it is my business to know things.
Perhaps I have trained myself to see what others overlook. If not, why
should you come to consult me?”\par

“I came to you, sir, because I heard of you from Mrs. Etherege, whose
husband you found so easy when the police and everyone had given him up
for dead. Oh, Mr. Holmes, I wish you would do as much for me. I’m not
rich, but still I have a hundred a year in my own right, besides the
little that I make by the machine, and I would give it all to know what
has become of Mr. Hosmer Angel.”\par

“Why did you come away to consult me in such a hurry?” asked Sherlock
Holmes, with his finger-tips together and his eyes to the ceiling.\par

Again a startled look came over the somewhat vacuous face of Miss Mary
Sutherland. “Yes, I did bang out of the house,” she said, “for it made me
angry to see the easy way in which Mr. Windibank—that is, my father—took
it all. He would not go to the police, and he would not go to you, and so
at last, as he would do nothing and kept on saying that there was no harm
done, it made me mad, and I just on with my things and came right away to
you.”\par

“Your father,” said Holmes, “your stepfather, surely, since the name is
different.”\par

“Yes, my stepfather. I call him father, though it sounds funny, too, for
he is only five years and two months older than myself.”\par

“And your mother is alive?”\par

“Oh, yes, mother is alive and well. I wasn’t best pleased, Mr. Holmes,
when she married again so soon after father’s death, and a man who was
nearly fifteen years younger than herself. Father was a plumber in the
Tottenham Court Road, and he left a tidy business behind him, which mother
carried on with Mr. Hardy, the foreman; but when Mr. Windibank came he
made her sell the business, for he was very superior, being a traveller in
wines. They got £4700 for the goodwill and interest, which wasn’t near
as much as father could have got if he had been alive.”\par

I had expected to see Sherlock Holmes impatient under this rambling and
inconsequential narrative, but, on the contrary, he had listened with the
greatest concentration of attention.\par

“Your own little income,” he asked, “does it come out of the business?”\par

“Oh, no, sir. It is quite separate and was left me by my uncle Ned in
Auckland. It is in New Zealand stock, paying 4½ per cent. Two thousand
five hundred pounds was the amount, but I can only touch the interest.”\par

“You interest me extremely,” said Holmes. “And since you draw so large a
sum as a hundred a year, with what you earn into the bargain, you no doubt
travel a little and indulge yourself in every way. I believe that a single
lady can get on very nicely upon an income of about £60.”\par

“I could do with much less than that, Mr. Holmes, but you understand that
as long as I live at home I don’t wish to be a burden to them, and so they
have the use of the money just while I am staying with them. Of course,
that is only just for the time. Mr. Windibank draws my interest every
quarter and pays it over to mother, and I find that I can do pretty well
with what I earn at typewriting. It brings me twopence a sheet, and I can
often do from fifteen to twenty sheets in a day.”\par

“You have made your position very clear to me,” said Holmes. “This is my
friend, Dr. Watson, before whom you can speak as freely as before myself.
Kindly tell us now all about your connection with Mr. Hosmer Angel.”\par

A flush stole over Miss Sutherland’s face, and she picked nervously at the
fringe of her jacket. “I met him first at the gasfitters’ ball,” she said.
“They used to send father tickets when he was alive, and then afterwards
they remembered us, and sent them to mother. Mr. Windibank did not wish us
to go. He never did wish us to go anywhere. He would get quite mad if I
wanted so much as to join a Sunday-school treat. But this time I was set
on going, and I would go; for what right had he to prevent? He said the
folk were not fit for us to know, when all father’s friends were to be
there. And he said that I had nothing fit to wear, when I had my purple
plush that I had never so much as taken out of the drawer. At last, when
nothing else would do, he went off to France upon the business of the
firm, but we went, mother and I, with Mr. Hardy, who used to be our
foreman, and it was there I met Mr. Hosmer Angel.”\par

“I suppose,” said Holmes, “that when Mr. Windibank came back from France
he was very annoyed at your having gone to the ball.”\par

“Oh, well, he was very good about it. He laughed, I remember, and shrugged
his shoulders, and said there was no use denying anything to a woman, for
she would have her way.”\par

“I see. Then at the gasfitters’ ball you met, as I understand, a gentleman
called Mr. Hosmer Angel.”\par

“Yes, sir. I met him that night, and he called next day to ask if we had
got home all safe, and after that we met him—that is to say, Mr. Holmes, I
met him twice for walks, but after that father came back again, and Mr.
Hosmer Angel could not come to the house any more.”\par

“No?”\par

“Well, you know father didn’t like anything of the sort. He wouldn’t have
any visitors if he could help it, and he used to say that a woman should
be happy in her own family circle. But then, as I used to say to mother, a
woman wants her own circle to begin with, and I had not got mine yet.”\par

“But how about Mr. Hosmer Angel? Did he make no attempt to see you?”\par

“Well, father was going off to France again in a week, and Hosmer wrote
and said that it would be safer and better not to see each other until he
had gone. We could write in the meantime, and he used to write every day.
I took the letters in in the morning, so there was no need for father to
know.”\par

“Were you engaged to the gentleman at this time?”\par

“Oh, yes, Mr. Holmes. We were engaged after the first walk that we took.
Hosmer—Mr. Angel—was a cashier in an office in Leadenhall Street—and—”\par

“What office?”\par

“That’s the worst of it, Mr. Holmes, I don’t know.”\par

“Where did he live, then?”\par

“He slept on the premises.”\par

“And you don’t know his address?”\par

“No—except that it was Leadenhall Street.”\par

“Where did you address your letters, then?”\par

“To the Leadenhall Street Post Office, to be left till called for. He said
that if they were sent to the office he would be chaffed by all the other
clerks about having letters from a lady, so I offered to typewrite them,
like he did his, but he wouldn’t have that, for he said that when I wrote
them they seemed to come from me, but when they were typewritten he always
felt that the machine had come between us. That will just show you how
fond he was of me, Mr. Holmes, and the little things that he would think
of.”\par

“It was most suggestive,” said Holmes. “It has long been an axiom of mine
that the little things are infinitely the most important. Can you remember
any other little things about Mr. Hosmer Angel?”\par

“He was a very shy man, Mr. Holmes. He would rather walk with me in the
evening than in the daylight, for he said that he hated to be conspicuous.
Very retiring and gentlemanly he was. Even his voice was gentle. He’d had
the quinsy and swollen glands when he was young, he told me, and it had
left him with a weak throat, and a hesitating, whispering fashion of
speech. He was always well dressed, very neat and plain, but his eyes were
weak, just as mine are, and he wore tinted glasses against the glare.”\par

“Well, and what happened when Mr. Windibank, your stepfather, returned to
France?”\par

“Mr. Hosmer Angel came to the house again and proposed that we should
marry before father came back. He was in dreadful earnest and made me
swear, with my hands on the Testament, that whatever happened I would
always be true to him. Mother said he was quite right to make me swear,
and that it was a sign of his passion. Mother was all in his favour from
the first and was even fonder of him than I was. Then, when they talked of
marrying within the week, I began to ask about father; but they both said
never to mind about father, but just to tell him afterwards, and mother
said she would make it all right with him. I didn’t quite like that, Mr.
Holmes. It seemed funny that I should ask his leave, as he was only a few
years older than me; but I didn’t want to do anything on the sly, so I
wrote to father at Bordeaux, where the company has its French offices, but
the letter came back to me on the very morning of the wedding.”\par

“It missed him, then?”\par

“Yes, sir; for he had started to England just before it arrived.”\par

“Ha! that was unfortunate. Your wedding was arranged, then, for the
Friday. Was it to be in church?”\par

“Yes, sir, but very quietly. It was to be at St. Saviour’s, near King’s
Cross, and we were to have breakfast afterwards at the St. Pancras Hotel.
Hosmer came for us in a hansom, but as there were two of us he put us both
into it and stepped himself into a four-wheeler, which happened to be the
only other cab in the street. We got to the church first, and when the
four-wheeler drove up we waited for him to step out, but he never did, and
when the cabman got down from the box and looked there was no one there!
The cabman said that he could not imagine what had become of him, for he
had seen him get in with his own eyes. That was last Friday, Mr. Holmes,
and I have never seen or heard anything since then to throw any light upon
what became of him.”\par

“It seems to me that you have been very shamefully treated,” said Holmes.\par

“Oh, no, sir! He was too good and kind to leave me so. Why, all the
morning he was saying to me that, whatever happened, I was to be true; and
that even if something quite unforeseen occurred to separate us, I was
always to remember that I was pledged to him, and that he would claim his
pledge sooner or later. It seemed strange talk for a wedding-morning, but
what has happened since gives a meaning to it.”\par

“Most certainly it does. Your own opinion is, then, that some unforeseen
catastrophe has occurred to him?”\par

“Yes, sir. I believe that he foresaw some danger, or else he would not
have talked so. And then I think that what he foresaw happened.”\par

“But you have no notion as to what it could have been?”\par

“None.”\par

“One more question. How did your mother take the matter?”\par

“She was angry, and said that I was never to speak of the matter again.”\par

“And your father? Did you tell him?”\par

“Yes; and he seemed to think, with me, that something had happened, and
that I should hear of Hosmer again. As he said, what interest could anyone
have in bringing me to the doors of the church, and then leaving me? Now,
if he had borrowed my money, or if he had married me and got my money
settled on him, there might be some reason, but Hosmer was very
independent about money and never would look at a shilling of mine. And
yet, what could have happened? And why could he not write? Oh, it drives
me half-mad to think of it, and I can’t sleep a wink at night.” She pulled
a little handkerchief out of her muff and began to sob heavily into it.\par

“I shall glance into the case for you,” said Holmes, rising, “and I have
no doubt that we shall reach some definite result. Let the weight of the
matter rest upon me now, and do not let your mind dwell upon it further.
Above all, try to let Mr. Hosmer Angel vanish from your memory, as he has
done from your life.”\par

“Then you don’t think I’ll see him again?”\par

“I fear not.”\par

“Then what has happened to him?”\par

“You will leave that question in my hands. I should like an accurate
description of him and any letters of his which you can spare.”\par

“I advertised for him in last Saturday’s {\itshape{Chronicle}},” said she. “Here is
the slip and here are four letters from him.”\par

“Thank you. And your address?”\par

“No. 31 Lyon Place, Camberwell.”\par

“Mr. Angel’s address you never had, I understand. Where is your father’s
place of business?”\par

“He travels for Westhouse \& Marbank, the great claret importers of
Fenchurch Street.”\par

“Thank you. You have made your statement very clearly. You will leave the
papers here, and remember the advice which I have given you. Let the whole
incident be a sealed book, and do not allow it to affect your life.”\par

“You are very kind, Mr. Holmes, but I cannot do that. I shall be true to
Hosmer. He shall find me ready when he comes back.”\par

For all the preposterous hat and the vacuous face, there was something
noble in the simple faith of our visitor which compelled our respect. She
laid her little bundle of papers upon the table and went her way, with a
promise to come again whenever she might be summoned.\par

Sherlock Holmes sat silent for a few minutes with his fingertips still
pressed together, his legs stretched out in front of him, and his gaze
directed upward to the ceiling. Then he took down from the rack the old
and oily clay pipe, which was to him as a counsellor, and, having lit it,
he leaned back in his chair, with the thick blue cloud-wreaths spinning up
from him, and a look of infinite languor in his face.\par

“Quite an interesting study, that maiden,” he observed. “I found her more
interesting than her little problem, which, by the way, is rather a trite
one. You will find parallel cases, if you consult my index, in Andover in
’77, and there was something of the sort at The Hague last year. Old as is
the idea, however, there were one or two details which were new to me. But
the maiden herself was most instructive.”\par

“You appeared to read a good deal upon her which was quite invisible to
me,” I remarked.\par

“Not invisible but unnoticed, Watson. You did not know where to look, and
so you missed all that was important. I can never bring you to realise the
importance of sleeves, the suggestiveness of thumb-nails, or the great
issues that may hang from a boot-lace. Now, what did you gather from that
woman’s appearance? Describe it.”\par

“Well, she had a slate-coloured, broad-brimmed straw hat, with a feather
of a brickish red. Her jacket was black, with black beads sewn upon it,
and a fringe of little black jet ornaments. Her dress was brown, rather
darker than coffee colour, with a little purple plush at the neck and
sleeves. Her gloves were greyish and were worn through at the right
forefinger. Her boots I didn’t observe. She had small round, hanging gold
earrings, and a general air of being fairly well-to-do in a vulgar,
comfortable, easy-going way.”\par

Sherlock Holmes clapped his hands softly together and chuckled.\par

“’Pon my word, Watson, you are coming along wonderfully. You have really
done very well indeed. It is true that you have missed everything of
importance, but you have hit upon the method, and you have a quick eye for
colour. Never trust to general impressions, my boy, but concentrate
yourself upon details. My first glance is always at a woman’s sleeve. In a
man it is perhaps better first to take the knee of the trouser. As you
observe, this woman had plush upon her sleeves, which is a most useful
material for showing traces. The double line a little above the wrist,
where the typewritist presses against the table, was beautifully defined.
The sewing-machine, of the hand type, leaves a similar mark, but only on
the left arm, and on the side of it farthest from the thumb, instead of
being right across the broadest part, as this was. I then glanced at her
face, and, observing the dint of a pince-nez at either side of her nose, I
ventured a remark upon short sight and typewriting, which seemed to
surprise her.”\par

“It surprised me.”\par

“But, surely, it was obvious. I was then much surprised and interested on
glancing down to observe that, though the boots which she was wearing were
not unlike each other, they were really odd ones; the one having a
slightly decorated toe-cap, and the other a plain one. One was buttoned
only in the two lower buttons out of five, and the other at the first,
third, and fifth. Now, when you see that a young lady, otherwise neatly
dressed, has come away from home with odd boots, half-buttoned, it is no
great deduction to say that she came away in a hurry.”\par

“And what else?” I asked, keenly interested, as I always was, by my
friend’s incisive reasoning.\par

“I noted, in passing, that she had written a note before leaving home but
after being fully dressed. You observed that her right glove was torn at
the forefinger, but you did not apparently see that both glove and finger
were stained with violet ink. She had written in a hurry and dipped her
pen too deep. It must have been this morning, or the mark would not remain
clear upon the finger. All this is amusing, though rather elementary, but
I must go back to business, Watson. Would you mind reading me the
advertised description of Mr. Hosmer Angel?”\par

I held the little printed slip to the light.\par

“Missing,” it said, “on the morning of the fourteenth, a gentleman named
Hosmer Angel. About five ft. seven in. in height; strongly built, sallow
complexion, black hair, a little bald in the centre, bushy, black
side-whiskers and moustache; tinted glasses, slight infirmity of speech.
Was dressed, when last seen, in black frock-coat faced with silk, black
waistcoat, gold Albert chain, and grey Harris tweed trousers, with brown
gaiters over elastic-sided boots. Known to have been employed in an office
in Leadenhall Street. Anybody bringing—”\par

“That will do,” said Holmes. “As to the letters,” he continued, glancing
over them, “they are very commonplace. Absolutely no clue in them to Mr.
Angel, save that he quotes Balzac once. There is one remarkable point,
however, which will no doubt strike you.”\par

“They are typewritten,” I remarked.\par

“Not only that, but the signature is typewritten. Look at the neat little
‘Hosmer Angel’ at the bottom. There is a date, you see, but no
superscription except Leadenhall Street, which is rather vague. The point
about the signature is very suggestive—in fact, we may call it
conclusive.”\par

“Of what?”\par

“My dear fellow, is it possible you do not see how strongly it bears upon
the case?”\par

“I cannot say that I do unless it were that he wished to be able to deny
his signature if an action for breach of promise were instituted.”\par

“No, that was not the point. However, I shall write two letters, which
should settle the matter. One is to a firm in the City, the other is to
the young lady’s stepfather, Mr. Windibank, asking him whether he could
meet us here at six o’clock to-morrow evening. It is just as well that we
should do business with the male relatives. And now, Doctor, we can do
nothing until the answers to those letters come, so we may put our little
problem upon the shelf for the interim.”\par

I had had so many reasons to believe in my friend’s subtle powers of
reasoning and extraordinary energy in action that I felt that he must have
some solid grounds for the assured and easy demeanour with which he
treated the singular mystery which he had been called upon to fathom. Once
only had I known him to fail, in the case of the King of Bohemia and of
the Irene Adler photograph; but when I looked back to the weird business
of the Sign of Four, and the extraordinary circumstances connected with
the Study in Scarlet, I felt that it would be a strange tangle indeed
which he could not unravel.\par

I left him then, still puffing at his black clay pipe, with the conviction
that when I came again on the next evening I would find that he held in
his hands all the clues which would lead up to the identity of the
disappearing bridegroom of Miss Mary Sutherland.\par

A professional case of great gravity was engaging my own attention at the
time, and the whole of next day I was busy at the bedside of the sufferer.
It was not until close upon six o’clock that I found myself free and was
able to spring into a hansom and drive to Baker Street, half afraid that I
might be too late to assist at the {\itshape{dénouement}} of the little mystery. I
found Sherlock Holmes alone, however, half asleep, with his long, thin
form curled up in the recesses of his armchair. A formidable array of
bottles and test-tubes, with the pungent cleanly smell of hydrochloric
acid, told me that he had spent his day in the chemical work which was so
dear to him.\par

“Well, have you solved it?” I asked as I entered.\par

“Yes. It was the bisulphate of baryta.”\par

“No, no, the mystery!” I cried.\par

“Oh, that! I thought of the salt that I have been working upon. There was
never any mystery in the matter, though, as I said yesterday, some of the
details are of interest. The only drawback is that there is no law, I
fear, that can touch the scoundrel.”\par

“Who was he, then, and what was his object in deserting Miss Sutherland?”\par

The question was hardly out of my mouth, and Holmes had not yet opened his
lips to reply, when we heard a heavy footfall in the passage and a tap at
the door.\par

“This is the girl’s stepfather, Mr. James Windibank,” said Holmes. “He has
written to me to say that he would be here at six. Come in!”\par

The man who entered was a sturdy, middle-sized fellow, some thirty years
of age, clean-shaven, and sallow-skinned, with a bland, insinuating
manner, and a pair of wonderfully sharp and penetrating grey eyes. He shot
a questioning glance at each of us, placed his shiny top-hat upon the
sideboard, and with a slight bow sidled down into the nearest chair.\par

“Good-evening, Mr. James Windibank,” said Holmes. “I think that this
typewritten letter is from you, in which you made an appointment with me
for six o’clock?”\par

“Yes, sir. I am afraid that I am a little late, but I am not quite my own
master, you know. I am sorry that Miss Sutherland has troubled you about
this little matter, for I think it is far better not to wash linen of the
sort in public. It was quite against my wishes that she came, but she is a
very excitable, impulsive girl, as you may have noticed, and she is not
easily controlled when she has made up her mind on a point. Of course, I
did not mind you so much, as you are not connected with the official
police, but it is not pleasant to have a family misfortune like this
noised abroad. Besides, it is a useless expense, for how could you
possibly find this Hosmer Angel?”\par

“On the contrary,” said Holmes quietly; “I have every reason to believe
that I will succeed in discovering Mr. Hosmer Angel.”\par

Mr. Windibank gave a violent start and dropped his gloves. “I am delighted
to hear it,” he said.\par

“It is a curious thing,” remarked Holmes, “that a typewriter has really
quite as much individuality as a man’s handwriting. Unless they are quite
new, no two of them write exactly alike. Some letters get more worn than
others, and some wear only on one side. Now, you remark in this note of
yours, Mr. Windibank, that in every case there is some little slurring
over of the ‘e,’ and a slight defect in the tail of the ‘r.’ There are
fourteen other characteristics, but those are the more obvious.”\par

“We do all our correspondence with this machine at the office, and no
doubt it is a little worn,” our visitor answered, glancing keenly at
Holmes with his bright little eyes.\par

“And now I will show you what is really a very interesting study, Mr.
Windibank,” Holmes continued. “I think of writing another little monograph
some of these days on the typewriter and its relation to crime. It is a
subject to which I have devoted some little attention. I have here four
letters which purport to come from the missing man. They are all
typewritten. In each case, not only are the ‘e’s’ slurred and the ‘r’s’
tailless, but you will observe, if you care to use my magnifying lens,
that the fourteen other characteristics to which I have alluded are there
as well.”\par

Mr. Windibank sprang out of his chair and picked up his hat. “I cannot
waste time over this sort of fantastic talk, Mr. Holmes,” he said. “If you
can catch the man, catch him, and let me know when you have done it.”\par

“Certainly,” said Holmes, stepping over and turning the key in the door.
“I let you know, then, that I have caught him!”\par

“What! where?” shouted Mr. Windibank, turning white to his lips and
glancing about him like a rat in a trap.\par

“Oh, it won’t do—really it won’t,” said Holmes suavely. “There is no
possible getting out of it, Mr. Windibank. It is quite too transparent,
and it was a very bad compliment when you said that it was impossible for
me to solve so simple a question. That’s right! Sit down and let us talk
it over.”\par

Our visitor collapsed into a chair, with a ghastly face and a glitter of
moisture on his brow. “It—it’s not actionable,” he stammered.\par

“I am very much afraid that it is not. But between ourselves, Windibank,
it was as cruel and selfish and heartless a trick in a petty way as ever
came before me. Now, let me just run over the course of events, and you
will contradict me if I go wrong.”\par

The man sat huddled up in his chair, with his head sunk upon his breast,
like one who is utterly crushed. Holmes stuck his feet up on the corner of
the mantelpiece and, leaning back with his hands in his pockets, began
talking, rather to himself, as it seemed, than to us.\par

“The man married a woman very much older than himself for her money,” said
he, “and he enjoyed the use of the money of the daughter as long as she
lived with them. It was a considerable sum, for people in their position,
and the loss of it would have made a serious difference. It was worth an
effort to preserve it. The daughter was of a good, amiable disposition,
but affectionate and warm-hearted in her ways, so that it was evident that
with her fair personal advantages, and her little income, she would not be
allowed to remain single long. Now her marriage would mean, of course, the
loss of a hundred a year, so what does her stepfather do to prevent it? He
takes the obvious course of keeping her at home and forbidding her to seek
the company of people of her own age. But soon he found that that would
not answer forever. She became restive, insisted upon her rights, and
finally announced her positive intention of going to a certain ball. What
does her clever stepfather do then? He conceives an idea more creditable
to his head than to his heart. With the connivance and assistance of his
wife he disguised himself, covered those keen eyes with tinted glasses,
masked the face with a moustache and a pair of bushy whiskers, sunk that
clear voice into an insinuating whisper, and doubly secure on account of
the girl’s short sight, he appears as Mr. Hosmer Angel, and keeps off
other lovers by making love himself.”\par

“It was only a joke at first,” groaned our visitor. “We never thought that
she would have been so carried away.”\par

“Very likely not. However that may be, the young lady was very decidedly
carried away, and, having quite made up her mind that her stepfather was
in France, the suspicion of treachery never for an instant entered her
mind. She was flattered by the gentleman’s attentions, and the effect was
increased by the loudly expressed admiration of her mother. Then Mr. Angel
began to call, for it was obvious that the matter should be pushed as far
as it would go if a real effect were to be produced. There were meetings,
and an engagement, which would finally secure the girl’s affections from
turning towards anyone else. But the deception could not be kept up
forever. These pretended journeys to France were rather cumbrous. The
thing to do was clearly to bring the business to an end in such a dramatic
manner that it would leave a permanent impression upon the young lady’s
mind and prevent her from looking upon any other suitor for some time to
come. Hence those vows of fidelity exacted upon a Testament, and hence
also the allusions to a possibility of something happening on the very
morning of the wedding. James Windibank wished Miss Sutherland to be so
bound to Hosmer Angel, and so uncertain as to his fate, that for ten years
to come, at any rate, she would not listen to another man. As far as the
church door he brought her, and then, as he could go no farther, he
conveniently vanished away by the old trick of stepping in at one door of
a four-wheeler and out at the other. I think that was the chain of events,
Mr. Windibank!”\par

Our visitor had recovered something of his assurance while Holmes had been
talking, and he rose from his chair now with a cold sneer upon his pale
face.\par

“It may be so, or it may not, Mr. Holmes,” said he, “but if you are so
very sharp you ought to be sharp enough to know that it is you who are
breaking the law now, and not me. I have done nothing actionable from the
first, but as long as you keep that door locked you lay yourself open to
an action for assault and illegal constraint.”\par

“The law cannot, as you say, touch you,” said Holmes, unlocking and
throwing open the door, “yet there never was a man who deserved punishment
more. If the young lady has a brother or a friend, he ought to lay a whip
across your shoulders. By Jove!” he continued, flushing up at the sight of
the bitter sneer upon the man’s face, “it is not part of my duties to my
client, but here’s a hunting crop handy, and I think I shall just treat
myself to—” He took two swift steps to the whip, but before he could grasp
it there was a wild clatter of steps upon the stairs, the heavy hall door
banged, and from the window we could see Mr. James Windibank running at
the top of his speed down the road.\par

“There’s a cold-blooded scoundrel!” said Holmes, laughing, as he threw
himself down into his chair once more. “That fellow will rise from crime
to crime until he does something very bad, and ends on a gallows. The case
has, in some respects, been not entirely devoid of interest.”\par

“I cannot now entirely see all the steps of your reasoning,” I remarked.\par

“Well, of course it was obvious from the first that this Mr. Hosmer Angel
must have some strong object for his curious conduct, and it was equally
clear that the only man who really profited by the incident, as far as we
could see, was the stepfather. Then the fact that the two men were never
together, but that the one always appeared when the other was away, was
suggestive. So were the tinted spectacles and the curious voice, which
both hinted at a disguise, as did the bushy whiskers. My suspicions were
all confirmed by his peculiar action in typewriting his signature, which,
of course, inferred that his handwriting was so familiar to her that she
would recognise even the smallest sample of it. You see all these isolated
facts, together with many minor ones, all pointed in the same direction.”\par

“And how did you verify them?”\par

“Having once spotted my man, it was easy to get corroboration. I knew the
firm for which this man worked. Having taken the printed description. I
eliminated everything from it which could be the result of a disguise—the
whiskers, the glasses, the voice, and I sent it to the firm, with a
request that they would inform me whether it answered to the description
of any of their travellers. I had already noticed the peculiarities of the
typewriter, and I wrote to the man himself at his business address asking
him if he would come here. As I expected, his reply was typewritten and
revealed the same trivial but characteristic defects. The same post
brought me a letter from Westhouse \& Marbank, of Fenchurch Street, to say
that the description tallied in every respect with that of their employé,
James Windibank. {\itshape{Voilà tout}}!”\par

“And Miss Sutherland?”\par

“If I tell her she will not believe me. You may remember the old Persian
saying, ‘There is danger for him who taketh the tiger cub, and danger also
for whoso snatches a delusion from a woman.’ There is as much sense in
Hafiz as in Horace, and as much knowledge of the world.”\par

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\label{the-boscombe-valley-mystery}%
\hypertarget{the-boscombe-valley-mystery}{}%
%
\chapter*{The Boscombe Valley Mystery}


We were seated at breakfast one morning, my wife and I, when the maid
brought in a telegram. It was from Sherlock Holmes and ran in this way:\par

“Have you a couple of days to spare? Have just been wired for from the
west of England in connection with Boscombe Valley tragedy. Shall be glad
if you will come with me. Air and scenery perfect. Leave Paddington by the
11:15.”\par

“What do you say, dear?” said my wife, looking across at me. “Will you
go?”\par

“I really don’t know what to say. I have a fairly long list at present.”\par

“Oh, Anstruther would do your work for you. You have been looking a little
pale lately. I think that the change would do you good, and you are always
so interested in Mr. Sherlock Holmes’ cases.”\par

“I should be ungrateful if I were not, seeing what I gained through one of
them,” I answered. “But if I am to go, I must pack at once, for I have
only half an hour.”\par

My experience of camp life in Afghanistan had at least had the effect of
making me a prompt and ready traveller. My wants were few and simple, so
that in less than the time stated I was in a cab with my valise, rattling
away to Paddington Station. Sherlock Holmes was pacing up and down the
platform, his tall, gaunt figure made even gaunter and taller by his long
grey travelling-cloak and close-fitting cloth cap.\par

“It is really very good of you to come, Watson,” said he. “It makes a
considerable difference to me, having someone with me on whom I can
thoroughly rely. Local aid is always either worthless or else biassed. If
you will keep the two corner seats I shall get the tickets.”\par

We had the carriage to ourselves save for an immense litter of papers
which Holmes had brought with him. Among these he rummaged and read, with
intervals of note-taking and of meditation, until we were past Reading.
Then he suddenly rolled them all into a gigantic ball and tossed them up
onto the rack.\par

“Have you heard anything of the case?” he asked.\par

“Not a word. I have not seen a paper for some days.”\par

“The London press has not had very full accounts. I have just been looking
through all the recent papers in order to master the particulars. It
seems, from what I gather, to be one of those simple cases which are so
extremely difficult.”\par

“That sounds a little paradoxical.”\par

“But it is profoundly true. Singularity is almost invariably a clue. The
more featureless and commonplace a crime is, the more difficult it is to
bring it home. In this case, however, they have established a very serious
case against the son of the murdered man.”\par

“It is a murder, then?”\par

“Well, it is conjectured to be so. I shall take nothing for granted until
I have the opportunity of looking personally into it. I will explain the
state of things to you, as far as I have been able to understand it, in a
very few words.\par

“Boscombe Valley is a country district not very far from Ross, in
Herefordshire. The largest landed proprietor in that part is a Mr. John
Turner, who made his money in Australia and returned some years ago to the
old country. One of the farms which he held, that of Hatherley, was let to
Mr. Charles McCarthy, who was also an ex-Australian. The men had known
each other in the colonies, so that it was not unnatural that when they
came to settle down they should do so as near each other as possible.
Turner was apparently the richer man, so McCarthy became his tenant but
still remained, it seems, upon terms of perfect equality, as they were
frequently together. McCarthy had one son, a lad of eighteen, and Turner
had an only daughter of the same age, but neither of them had wives
living. They appear to have avoided the society of the neighbouring
English families and to have led retired lives, though both the McCarthys
were fond of sport and were frequently seen at the race-meetings of the
neighbourhood. McCarthy kept two servants—a man and a girl. Turner had a
considerable household, some half-dozen at the least. That is as much as I
have been able to gather about the families. Now for the facts.\par

“On June 3rd, that is, on Monday last, McCarthy left his house at
Hatherley about three in the afternoon and walked down to the Boscombe
Pool, which is a small lake formed by the spreading out of the stream
which runs down the Boscombe Valley. He had been out with his serving-man
in the morning at Ross, and he had told the man that he must hurry, as he
had an appointment of importance to keep at three. From that appointment
he never came back alive.\par

“From Hatherley Farmhouse to the Boscombe Pool is a quarter of a mile, and
two people saw him as he passed over this ground. One was an old woman,
whose name is not mentioned, and the other was William Crowder, a
game-keeper in the employ of Mr. Turner. Both these witnesses depose that
Mr. McCarthy was walking alone. The game-keeper adds that within a few
minutes of his seeing Mr. McCarthy pass he had seen his son, Mr. James
McCarthy, going the same way with a gun under his arm. To the best of his
belief, the father was actually in sight at the time, and the son was
following him. He thought no more of the matter until he heard in the
evening of the tragedy that had occurred.\par

“The two McCarthys were seen after the time when William Crowder, the
game-keeper, lost sight of them. The Boscombe Pool is thickly wooded
round, with just a fringe of grass and of reeds round the edge. A girl of
fourteen, Patience Moran, who is the daughter of the lodge-keeper of the
Boscombe Valley estate, was in one of the woods picking flowers. She
states that while she was there she saw, at the border of the wood and
close by the lake, Mr. McCarthy and his son, and that they appeared to be
having a violent quarrel. She heard Mr. McCarthy the elder using very
strong language to his son, and she saw the latter raise up his hand as if
to strike his father. She was so frightened by their violence that she ran
away and told her mother when she reached home that she had left the two
McCarthys quarrelling near Boscombe Pool, and that she was afraid that
they were going to fight. She had hardly said the words when young Mr.
McCarthy came running up to the lodge to say that he had found his father
dead in the wood, and to ask for the help of the lodge-keeper. He was much
excited, without either his gun or his hat, and his right hand and sleeve
were observed to be stained with fresh blood. On following him they found
the dead body stretched out upon the grass beside the pool. The head had
been beaten in by repeated blows of some heavy and blunt weapon. The
injuries were such as might very well have been inflicted by the butt-end
of his son’s gun, which was found lying on the grass within a few paces of
the body. Under these circumstances the young man was instantly arrested,
and a verdict of ‘wilful murder’ having been returned at the inquest on
Tuesday, he was on Wednesday brought before the magistrates at Ross, who
have referred the case to the next Assizes. Those are the main facts of
the case as they came out before the coroner and the police-court.”\par

“I could hardly imagine a more damning case,” I remarked. “If ever
circumstantial evidence pointed to a criminal it does so here.”\par

“Circumstantial evidence is a very tricky thing,” answered Holmes
thoughtfully. “It may seem to point very straight to one thing, but if you
shift your own point of view a little, you may find it pointing in an
equally uncompromising manner to something entirely different. It must be
confessed, however, that the case looks exceedingly grave against the
young man, and it is very possible that he is indeed the culprit. There
are several people in the neighbourhood, however, and among them Miss
Turner, the daughter of the neighbouring landowner, who believe in his
innocence, and who have retained Lestrade, whom you may recollect in
connection with the Study in Scarlet, to work out the case in his
interest. Lestrade, being rather puzzled, has referred the case to me, and
hence it is that two middle-aged gentlemen are flying westward at fifty
miles an hour instead of quietly digesting their breakfasts at home.”\par

“I am afraid,” said I, “that the facts are so obvious that you will find
little credit to be gained out of this case.”\par

“There is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact,” he answered,
laughing. “Besides, we may chance to hit upon some other obvious facts
which may have been by no means obvious to Mr. Lestrade. You know me too
well to think that I am boasting when I say that I shall either confirm or
destroy his theory by means which he is quite incapable of employing, or
even of understanding. To take the first example to hand, I very clearly
perceive that in your bedroom the window is upon the right-hand side, and
yet I question whether Mr. Lestrade would have noted even so self-evident
a thing as that.”\par

“How on earth—”\par

“My dear fellow, I know you well. I know the military neatness which
characterises you. You shave every morning, and in this season you shave
by the sunlight; but since your shaving is less and less complete as we
get farther back on the left side, until it becomes positively slovenly as
we get round the angle of the jaw, it is surely very clear that that side
is less illuminated than the other. I could not imagine a man of your
habits looking at himself in an equal light and being satisfied with such
a result. I only quote this as a trivial example of observation and
inference. Therein lies my {\itshape{métier}}, and it is just possible that it may
be of some service in the investigation which lies before us. There are
one or two minor points which were brought out in the inquest, and which
are worth considering.”\par

“What are they?”\par

“It appears that his arrest did not take place at once, but after the
return to Hatherley Farm. On the inspector of constabulary informing him
that he was a prisoner, he remarked that he was not surprised to hear it,
and that it was no more than his deserts. This observation of his had the
natural effect of removing any traces of doubt which might have remained
in the minds of the coroner’s jury.”\par

“It was a confession,” I ejaculated.\par

“No, for it was followed by a protestation of innocence.”\par

“Coming on the top of such a damning series of events, it was at least a
most suspicious remark.”\par

“On the contrary,” said Holmes, “it is the brightest rift which I can at
present see in the clouds. However innocent he might be, he could not be
such an absolute imbecile as not to see that the circumstances were very
black against him. Had he appeared surprised at his own arrest, or feigned
indignation at it, I should have looked upon it as highly suspicious,
because such surprise or anger would not be natural under the
circumstances, and yet might appear to be the best policy to a scheming
man. His frank acceptance of the situation marks him as either an innocent
man, or else as a man of considerable self-restraint and firmness. As to
his remark about his deserts, it was also not unnatural if you consider
that he stood beside the dead body of his father, and that there is no
doubt that he had that very day so far forgotten his filial duty as to
bandy words with him, and even, according to the little girl whose
evidence is so important, to raise his hand as if to strike him. The
self-reproach and contrition which are displayed in his remark appear to
me to be the signs of a healthy mind rather than of a guilty one.”\par

I shook my head. “Many men have been hanged on far slighter evidence,” I
remarked.\par

“So they have. And many men have been wrongfully hanged.”\par

“What is the young man’s own account of the matter?”\par

“It is, I am afraid, not very encouraging to his supporters, though there
are one or two points in it which are suggestive. You will find it here,
and may read it for yourself.”\par

He picked out from his bundle a copy of the local Herefordshire paper, and
having turned down the sheet he pointed out the paragraph in which the
unfortunate young man had given his own statement of what had occurred. I
settled myself down in the corner of the carriage and read it very
carefully. It ran in this way:\par

“Mr. James McCarthy, the only son of the deceased, was then called and
gave evidence as follows: ‘I had been away from home for three days at
Bristol, and had only just returned upon the morning of last Monday, the
3rd. My father was absent from home at the time of my arrival, and I was
informed by the maid that he had driven over to Ross with John Cobb, the
groom. Shortly after my return I heard the wheels of his trap in the yard,
and, looking out of my window, I saw him get out and walk rapidly out of
the yard, though I was not aware in which direction he was going. I then
took my gun and strolled out in the direction of the Boscombe Pool, with
the intention of visiting the rabbit warren which is upon the other side.
On my way I saw William Crowder, the game-keeper, as he had stated in his
evidence; but he is mistaken in thinking that I was following my father. I
had no idea that he was in front of me. When about a hundred yards from
the pool I heard a cry of “Cooee!” which was a usual signal between my
father and myself. I then hurried forward, and found him standing by the
pool. He appeared to be much surprised at seeing me and asked me rather
roughly what I was doing there. A conversation ensued which led to high
words and almost to blows, for my father was a man of a very violent
temper. Seeing that his passion was becoming ungovernable, I left him and
returned towards Hatherley Farm. I had not gone more than 150 yards,
however, when I heard a hideous outcry behind me, which caused me to run
back again. I found my father expiring upon the ground, with his head
terribly injured. I dropped my gun and held him in my arms, but he almost
instantly expired. I knelt beside him for some minutes, and then made my
way to Mr. Turner’s lodge-keeper, his house being the nearest, to ask for
assistance. I saw no one near my father when I returned, and I have no
idea how he came by his injuries. He was not a popular man, being somewhat
cold and forbidding in his manners, but he had, as far as I know, no
active enemies. I know nothing further of the matter.’\par

“The Coroner: Did your father make any statement to you before he died?\par

“Witness: He mumbled a few words, but I could only catch some allusion to
a rat.\par

“The Coroner: What did you understand by that?\par

“Witness: It conveyed no meaning to me. I thought that he was delirious.\par

“The Coroner: What was the point upon which you and your father had this
final quarrel?\par

“Witness: I should prefer not to answer.\par

“The Coroner: I am afraid that I must press it.\par

“Witness: It is really impossible for me to tell you. I can assure you
that it has nothing to do with the sad tragedy which followed.\par

“The Coroner: That is for the court to decide. I need not point out to you
that your refusal to answer will prejudice your case considerably in any
future proceedings which may arise.\par

“Witness: I must still refuse.\par

“The Coroner: I understand that the cry of ‘Cooee’ was a common signal
between you and your father?\par

“Witness: It was.\par

“The Coroner: How was it, then, that he uttered it before he saw you, and
before he even knew that you had returned from Bristol?\par

“Witness (with considerable confusion): I do not know.\par

“A Juryman: Did you see nothing which aroused your suspicions when you
returned on hearing the cry and found your father fatally injured?\par

“Witness: Nothing definite.\par

“The Coroner: What do you mean?\par

“Witness: I was so disturbed and excited as I rushed out into the open,
that I could think of nothing except of my father. Yet I have a vague
impression that as I ran forward something lay upon the ground to the left
of me. It seemed to me to be something grey in colour, a coat of some
sort, or a plaid perhaps. When I rose from my father I looked round for
it, but it was gone.\par

“ ‘Do you mean that it disappeared before you went for help?’\par

“ ‘Yes, it was gone.’\par

“ ‘You cannot say what it was?’\par

“ ‘No, I had a feeling something was there.’\par

“ ‘How far from the body?’\par

“ ‘A dozen yards or so.’\par

“ ‘And how far from the edge of the wood?’\par

“ ‘About the same.’\par

“ ‘Then if it was removed it was while you were within a dozen yards of
it?’\par

“ ‘Yes, but with my back towards it.’\par

“This concluded the examination of the witness.”\par

“I see,” said I as I glanced down the column, “that the coroner in his
concluding remarks was rather severe upon young McCarthy. He calls
attention, and with reason, to the discrepancy about his father having
signalled to him before seeing him, also to his refusal to give details of
his conversation with his father, and his singular account of his father’s
dying words. They are all, as he remarks, very much against the son.”\par

Holmes laughed softly to himself and stretched himself out upon the
cushioned seat. “Both you and the coroner have been at some pains,” said
he, “to single out the very strongest points in the young man’s favour.
Don’t you see that you alternately give him credit for having too much
imagination and too little? Too little, if he could not invent a cause of
quarrel which would give him the sympathy of the jury; too much, if he
evolved from his own inner consciousness anything so {\itshape{outré}} as a dying
reference to a rat, and the incident of the vanishing cloth. No, sir, I
shall approach this case from the point of view that what this young man
says is true, and we shall see whither that hypothesis will lead us. And
now here is my pocket Petrarch, and not another word shall I say of this
case until we are on the scene of action. We lunch at Swindon, and I see
that we shall be there in twenty minutes.”\par

It was nearly four o’clock when we at last, after passing through the
beautiful Stroud Valley, and over the broad gleaming Severn, found
ourselves at the pretty little country-town of Ross. A lean, ferret-like
man, furtive and sly-looking, was waiting for us upon the platform. In
spite of the light brown dustcoat and leather-leggings which he wore in
deference to his rustic surroundings, I had no difficulty in recognising
Lestrade, of Scotland Yard. With him we drove to the Hereford Arms where a
room had already been engaged for us.\par

“I have ordered a carriage,” said Lestrade as we sat over a cup of tea. “I
knew your energetic nature, and that you would not be happy until you had
been on the scene of the crime.”\par

“It was very nice and complimentary of you,” Holmes answered. “It is
entirely a question of barometric pressure.”\par

Lestrade looked startled. “I do not quite follow,” he said.\par

“How is the glass? Twenty-nine, I see. No wind, and not a cloud in the
sky. I have a caseful of cigarettes here which need smoking, and the sofa
is very much superior to the usual country hotel abomination. I do not
think that it is probable that I shall use the carriage to-night.”\par

Lestrade laughed indulgently. “You have, no doubt, already formed your
conclusions from the newspapers,” he said. “The case is as plain as a
pikestaff, and the more one goes into it the plainer it becomes. Still, of
course, one can’t refuse a lady, and such a very positive one, too. She
has heard of you, and would have your opinion, though I repeatedly told
her that there was nothing which you could do which I had not already
done. Why, bless my soul! here is her carriage at the door.”\par

He had hardly spoken before there rushed into the room one of the most
lovely young women that I have ever seen in my life. Her violet eyes
shining, her lips parted, a pink flush upon her cheeks, all thought of her
natural reserve lost in her overpowering excitement and concern.\par

“Oh, Mr. Sherlock Holmes!” she cried, glancing from one to the other of
us, and finally, with a woman’s quick intuition, fastening upon my
companion, “I am so glad that you have come. I have driven down to tell
you so. I know that James didn’t do it. I know it, and I want you to start
upon your work knowing it, too. Never let yourself doubt upon that point.
We have known each other since we were little children, and I know his
faults as no one else does; but he is too tender-hearted to hurt a fly.
Such a charge is absurd to anyone who really knows him.”\par

“I hope we may clear him, Miss Turner,” said Sherlock Holmes. “You may
rely upon my doing all that I can.”\par

“But you have read the evidence. You have formed some conclusion? Do you
not see some loophole, some flaw? Do you not yourself think that he is
innocent?”\par

“I think that it is very probable.”\par

“There, now!” she cried, throwing back her head and looking defiantly at
Lestrade. “You hear! He gives me hopes.”\par

Lestrade shrugged his shoulders. “I am afraid that my colleague has been a
little quick in forming his conclusions,” he said.\par

“But he is right. Oh! I know that he is right. James never did it. And
about his quarrel with his father, I am sure that the reason why he would
not speak about it to the coroner was because I was concerned in it.”\par

“In what way?” asked Holmes.\par

“It is no time for me to hide anything. James and his father had many
disagreements about me. Mr. McCarthy was very anxious that there should be
a marriage between us. James and I have always loved each other as brother
and sister; but of course he is young and has seen very little of life
yet, and—and—well, he naturally did not wish to do anything like that yet.
So there were quarrels, and this, I am sure, was one of them.”\par

“And your father?” asked Holmes. “Was he in favour of such a union?”\par

“No, he was averse to it also. No one but Mr. McCarthy was in favour of
it.” A quick blush passed over her fresh young face as Holmes shot one of
his keen, questioning glances at her.\par

“Thank you for this information,” said he. “May I see your father if I
call to-morrow?”\par

“I am afraid the doctor won’t allow it.”\par

“The doctor?”\par

“Yes, have you not heard? Poor father has never been strong for years
back, but this has broken him down completely. He has taken to his bed,
and Dr. Willows says that he is a wreck and that his nervous system is
shattered. Mr. McCarthy was the only man alive who had known dad in the
old days in Victoria.”\par

“Ha! In Victoria! That is important.”\par

“Yes, at the mines.”\par

“Quite so; at the gold-mines, where, as I understand, Mr. Turner made his
money.”\par

“Yes, certainly.”\par

“Thank you, Miss Turner. You have been of material assistance to me.”\par

“You will tell me if you have any news to-morrow. No doubt you will go to
the prison to see James. Oh, if you do, Mr. Holmes, do tell him that I
know him to be innocent.”\par

“I will, Miss Turner.”\par

“I must go home now, for dad is very ill, and he misses me so if I leave
him. Good-bye, and God help you in your undertaking.” She hurried from the
room as impulsively as she had entered, and we heard the wheels of her
carriage rattle off down the street.\par

“I am ashamed of you, Holmes,” said Lestrade with dignity after a few
minutes’ silence. “Why should you raise up hopes which you are bound to
disappoint? I am not over-tender of heart, but I call it cruel.”\par

“I think that I see my way to clearing James McCarthy,” said Holmes. “Have
you an order to see him in prison?”\par

“Yes, but only for you and me.”\par

“Then I shall reconsider my resolution about going out. We have still time
to take a train to Hereford and see him to-night?”\par

“Ample.”\par

“Then let us do so. Watson, I fear that you will find it very slow, but I
shall only be away a couple of hours.”\par

I walked down to the station with them, and then wandered through the
streets of the little town, finally returning to the hotel, where I lay
upon the sofa and tried to interest myself in a yellow-backed novel. The
puny plot of the story was so thin, however, when compared to the deep
mystery through which we were groping, and I found my attention wander so
continually from the action to the fact, that I at last flung it across
the room and gave myself up entirely to a consideration of the events of
the day. Supposing that this unhappy young man’s story were absolutely
true, then what hellish thing, what absolutely unforeseen and
extraordinary calamity could have occurred between the time when he parted
from his father, and the moment when, drawn back by his screams, he rushed
into the glade? It was something terrible and deadly. What could it be?
Might not the nature of the injuries reveal something to my medical
instincts? I rang the bell and called for the weekly county paper, which
contained a verbatim account of the inquest. In the surgeon’s deposition
it was stated that the posterior third of the left parietal bone and the
left half of the occipital bone had been shattered by a heavy blow from a
blunt weapon. I marked the spot upon my own head. Clearly such a blow must
have been struck from behind. That was to some extent in favour of the
accused, as when seen quarrelling he was face to face with his father.
Still, it did not go for very much, for the older man might have turned
his back before the blow fell. Still, it might be worth while to call
Holmes’ attention to it. Then there was the peculiar dying reference to a
rat. What could that mean? It could not be delirium. A man dying from a
sudden blow does not commonly become delirious. No, it was more likely to
be an attempt to explain how he met his fate. But what could it indicate?
I cudgelled my brains to find some possible explanation. And then the
incident of the grey cloth seen by young McCarthy. If that were true the
murderer must have dropped some part of his dress, presumably his
overcoat, in his flight, and must have had the hardihood to return and to
carry it away at the instant when the son was kneeling with his back
turned not a dozen paces off. What a tissue of mysteries and
improbabilities the whole thing was! I did not wonder at Lestrade’s
opinion, and yet I had so much faith in Sherlock Holmes’ insight that I
could not lose hope as long as every fresh fact seemed to strengthen his
conviction of young McCarthy’s innocence.\par

It was late before Sherlock Holmes returned. He came back alone, for
Lestrade was staying in lodgings in the town.\par

“The glass still keeps very high,” he remarked as he sat down. “It is of
importance that it should not rain before we are able to go over the
ground. On the other hand, a man should be at his very best and keenest
for such nice work as that, and I did not wish to do it when fagged by a
long journey. I have seen young McCarthy.”\par

“And what did you learn from him?”\par

“Nothing.”\par

“Could he throw no light?”\par

“None at all. I was inclined to think at one time that he knew who had
done it and was screening him or her, but I am convinced now that he is as
puzzled as everyone else. He is not a very quick-witted youth, though
comely to look at and, I should think, sound at heart.”\par

“I cannot admire his taste,” I remarked, “if it is indeed a fact that he
was averse to a marriage with so charming a young lady as this Miss
Turner.”\par

“Ah, thereby hangs a rather painful tale. This fellow is madly, insanely,
in love with her, but some two years ago, when he was only a lad, and
before he really knew her, for she had been away five years at a
boarding-school, what does the idiot do but get into the clutches of a
barmaid in Bristol and marry her at a registry office? No one knows a word
of the matter, but you can imagine how maddening it must be to him to be
upbraided for not doing what he would give his very eyes to do, but what
he knows to be absolutely impossible. It was sheer frenzy of this sort
which made him throw his hands up into the air when his father, at their
last interview, was goading him on to propose to Miss Turner. On the other
hand, he had no means of supporting himself, and his father, who was by
all accounts a very hard man, would have thrown him over utterly had he
known the truth. It was with his barmaid wife that he had spent the last
three days in Bristol, and his father did not know where he was. Mark that
point. It is of importance. Good has come out of evil, however, for the
barmaid, finding from the papers that he is in serious trouble and likely
to be hanged, has thrown him over utterly and has written to him to say
that she has a husband already in the Bermuda Dockyard, so that there is
really no tie between them. I think that that bit of news has consoled
young McCarthy for all that he has suffered.”\par

“But if he is innocent, who has done it?”\par

“Ah! who? I would call your attention very particularly to two points. One
is that the murdered man had an appointment with someone at the pool, and
that the someone could not have been his son, for his son was away, and he
did not know when he would return. The second is that the murdered man was
heard to cry ‘Cooee!’ before he knew that his son had returned. Those are
the crucial points upon which the case depends. And now let us talk about
George Meredith, if you please, and we shall leave all minor matters until
to-morrow.”\par

There was no rain, as Holmes had foretold, and the morning broke bright
and cloudless. At nine o’clock Lestrade called for us with the carriage,
and we set off for Hatherley Farm and the Boscombe Pool.\par

“There is serious news this morning,” Lestrade observed. “It is said that
Mr. Turner, of the Hall, is so ill that his life is despaired of.”\par

“An elderly man, I presume?” said Holmes.\par

“About sixty; but his constitution has been shattered by his life abroad,
and he has been in failing health for some time. This business has had a
very bad effect upon him. He was an old friend of McCarthy’s, and, I may
add, a great benefactor to him, for I have learned that he gave him
Hatherley Farm rent free.”\par

“Indeed! That is interesting,” said Holmes.\par

“Oh, yes! In a hundred other ways he has helped him. Everybody about here
speaks of his kindness to him.”\par

“Really! Does it not strike you as a little singular that this McCarthy,
who appears to have had little of his own, and to have been under such
obligations to Turner, should still talk of marrying his son to Turner’s
daughter, who is, presumably, heiress to the estate, and that in such a
very cocksure manner, as if it were merely a case of a proposal and all
else would follow? It is the more strange, since we know that Turner
himself was averse to the idea. The daughter told us as much. Do you not
deduce something from that?”\par

“We have got to the deductions and the inferences,” said Lestrade, winking
at me. “I find it hard enough to tackle facts, Holmes, without flying away
after theories and fancies.”\par

“You are right,” said Holmes demurely; “you do find it very hard to tackle
the facts.”\par

“Anyhow, I have grasped one fact which you seem to find it difficult to
get hold of,” replied Lestrade with some warmth.\par

“And that is—”\par

“That McCarthy senior met his death from McCarthy junior and that all
theories to the contrary are the merest moonshine.”\par

“Well, moonshine is a brighter thing than fog,” said Holmes, laughing.
“But I am very much mistaken if this is not Hatherley Farm upon the left.”\par

“Yes, that is it.” It was a widespread, comfortable-looking building,
two-storied, slate-roofed, with great yellow blotches of lichen upon the
grey walls. The drawn blinds and the smokeless chimneys, however, gave it
a stricken look, as though the weight of this horror still lay heavy upon
it. We called at the door, when the maid, at Holmes’ request, showed us
the boots which her master wore at the time of his death, and also a pair
of the son’s, though not the pair which he had then had. Having measured
these very carefully from seven or eight different points, Holmes desired
to be led to the court-yard, from which we all followed the winding track
which led to Boscombe Pool.\par

Sherlock Holmes was transformed when he was hot upon such a scent as this.
Men who had only known the quiet thinker and logician of Baker Street
would have failed to recognise him. His face flushed and darkened. His
brows were drawn into two hard black lines, while his eyes shone out from
beneath them with a steely glitter. His face was bent downward, his
shoulders bowed, his lips compressed, and the veins stood out like
whipcord in his long, sinewy neck. His nostrils seemed to dilate with a
purely animal lust for the chase, and his mind was so absolutely
concentrated upon the matter before him that a question or remark fell
unheeded upon his ears, or, at the most, only provoked a quick, impatient
snarl in reply. Swiftly and silently he made his way along the track which
ran through the meadows, and so by way of the woods to the Boscombe Pool.
It was damp, marshy ground, as is all that district, and there were marks
of many feet, both upon the path and amid the short grass which bounded it
on either side. Sometimes Holmes would hurry on, sometimes stop dead, and
once he made quite a little detour into the meadow. Lestrade and I walked
behind him, the detective indifferent and contemptuous, while I watched my
friend with the interest which sprang from the conviction that every one
of his actions was directed towards a definite end.\par

The Boscombe Pool, which is a little reed-girt sheet of water some fifty
yards across, is situated at the boundary between the Hatherley Farm and
the private park of the wealthy Mr. Turner. Above the woods which lined it
upon the farther side we could see the red, jutting pinnacles which marked
the site of the rich landowner’s dwelling. On the Hatherley side of the
pool the woods grew very thick, and there was a narrow belt of sodden
grass twenty paces across between the edge of the trees and the reeds
which lined the lake. Lestrade showed us the exact spot at which the body
had been found, and, indeed, so moist was the ground, that I could plainly
see the traces which had been left by the fall of the stricken man. To
Holmes, as I could see by his eager face and peering eyes, very many other
things were to be read upon the trampled grass. He ran round, like a dog
who is picking up a scent, and then turned upon my companion.\par

“What did you go into the pool for?” he asked.\par

“I fished about with a rake. I thought there might be some weapon or other
trace. But how on earth—”\par

“Oh, tut, tut! I have no time! That left foot of yours with its inward
twist is all over the place. A mole could trace it, and there it vanishes
among the reeds. Oh, how simple it would all have been had I been here
before they came like a herd of buffalo and wallowed all over it. Here is
where the party with the lodge-keeper came, and they have covered all
tracks for six or eight feet round the body. But here are three separate
tracks of the same feet.” He drew out a lens and lay down upon his
waterproof to have a better view, talking all the time rather to himself
than to us. “These are young McCarthy’s feet. Twice he was walking, and
once he ran swiftly, so that the soles are deeply marked and the heels
hardly visible. That bears out his story. He ran when he saw his father on
the ground. Then here are the father’s feet as he paced up and down. What
is this, then? It is the butt-end of the gun as the son stood listening.
And this? Ha, ha! What have we here? Tiptoes! tiptoes! Square, too, quite
unusual boots! They come, they go, they come again—of course that was for
the cloak. Now where did they come from?” He ran up and down, sometimes
losing, sometimes finding the track until we were well within the edge of
the wood and under the shadow of a great beech, the largest tree in the
neighbourhood. Holmes traced his way to the farther side of this and lay
down once more upon his face with a little cry of satisfaction. For a long
time he remained there, turning over the leaves and dried sticks,
gathering up what seemed to me to be dust into an envelope and examining
with his lens not only the ground but even the bark of the tree as far as
he could reach. A jagged stone was lying among the moss, and this also he
carefully examined and retained. Then he followed a pathway through the
wood until he came to the highroad, where all traces were lost.\par

“It has been a case of considerable interest,” he remarked, returning to
his natural manner. “I fancy that this grey house on the right must be the
lodge. I think that I will go in and have a word with Moran, and perhaps
write a little note. Having done that, we may drive back to our luncheon.
You may walk to the cab, and I shall be with you presently.”\par

It was about ten minutes before we regained our cab and drove back into
Ross, Holmes still carrying with him the stone which he had picked up in
the wood.\par

“This may interest you, Lestrade,” he remarked, holding it out. “The
murder was done with it.”\par

“I see no marks.”\par

“There are none.”\par

“How do you know, then?”\par

“The grass was growing under it. It had only lain there a few days. There
was no sign of a place whence it had been taken. It corresponds with the
injuries. There is no sign of any other weapon.”\par

“And the murderer?”\par

“Is a tall man, left-handed, limps with the right leg, wears thick-soled
shooting-boots and a grey cloak, smokes Indian cigars, uses a
cigar-holder, and carries a blunt pen-knife in his pocket. There are
several other indications, but these may be enough to aid us in our
search.”\par

Lestrade laughed. “I am afraid that I am still a sceptic,” he said.
“Theories are all very well, but we have to deal with a hard-headed
British jury.”\par

“{\itshape{Nous verrons}},” answered Holmes calmly. “You work your own method, and I
shall work mine. I shall be busy this afternoon, and shall probably return
to London by the evening train.”\par

“And leave your case unfinished?”\par

“No, finished.”\par

“But the mystery?”\par

“It is solved.”\par

“Who was the criminal, then?”\par

“The gentleman I describe.”\par

“But who is he?”\par

“Surely it would not be difficult to find out. This is not such a populous
neighbourhood.”\par

Lestrade shrugged his shoulders. “I am a practical man,” he said, “and I
really cannot undertake to go about the country looking for a left-handed
gentleman with a game leg. I should become the laughing-stock of Scotland
Yard.”\par

“All right,” said Holmes quietly. “I have given you the chance. Here are
your lodgings. Good-bye. I shall drop you a line before I leave.”\par

Having left Lestrade at his rooms, we drove to our hotel, where we found
lunch upon the table. Holmes was silent and buried in thought with a
pained expression upon his face, as one who finds himself in a perplexing
position.\par

“Look here, Watson,” he said when the cloth was cleared “just sit down in
this chair and let me preach to you for a little. I don’t know quite what
to do, and I should value your advice. Light a cigar and let me expound.”\par

“Pray do so.”\par

“Well, now, in considering this case there are two points about young
McCarthy’s narrative which struck us both instantly, although they
impressed me in his favour and you against him. One was the fact that his
father should, according to his account, cry ‘Cooee!’ before seeing him.
The other was his singular dying reference to a rat. He mumbled several
words, you understand, but that was all that caught the son’s ear. Now
from this double point our research must commence, and we will begin it by
presuming that what the lad says is absolutely true.”\par

“What of this ‘Cooee!’ then?”\par

“Well, obviously it could not have been meant for the son. The son, as far
as he knew, was in Bristol. It was mere chance that he was within earshot.
The ‘Cooee!’ was meant to attract the attention of whoever it was that he
had the appointment with. But ‘Cooee’ is a distinctly Australian cry, and
one which is used between Australians. There is a strong presumption that
the person whom McCarthy expected to meet him at Boscombe Pool was someone
who had been in Australia.”\par

“What of the rat, then?”\par

Sherlock Holmes took a folded paper from his pocket and flattened it out
on the table. “This is a map of the Colony of Victoria,” he said. “I wired
to Bristol for it last night.” He put his hand over part of the map. “What
do you read?”\par

“ARAT,” I read.\par

“And now?” He raised his hand.\par

“BALLARAT.”\par

“Quite so. That was the word the man uttered, and of which his son only
caught the last two syllables. He was trying to utter the name of his
murderer. So and so, of Ballarat.”\par

“It is wonderful!” I exclaimed.\par

“It is obvious. And now, you see, I had narrowed the field down
considerably. The possession of a grey garment was a third point which,
granting the son’s statement to be correct, was a certainty. We have come
now out of mere vagueness to the definite conception of an Australian from
Ballarat with a grey cloak.”\par

“Certainly.”\par

“And one who was at home in the district, for the pool can only be
approached by the farm or by the estate, where strangers could hardly
wander.”\par

“Quite so.”\par

“Then comes our expedition of to-day. By an examination of the ground I
gained the trifling details which I gave to that imbecile Lestrade, as to
the personality of the criminal.”\par

“But how did you gain them?”\par

“You know my method. It is founded upon the observation of trifles.”\par

“His height I know that you might roughly judge from the length of his
stride. His boots, too, might be told from their traces.”\par

“Yes, they were peculiar boots.”\par

“But his lameness?”\par

“The impression of his right foot was always less distinct than his left.
He put less weight upon it. Why? Because he limped—he was lame.”\par

“But his left-handedness.”\par

“You were yourself struck by the nature of the injury as recorded by the
surgeon at the inquest. The blow was struck from immediately behind, and
yet was upon the left side. Now, how can that be unless it were by a
left-handed man? He had stood behind that tree during the interview
between the father and son. He had even smoked there. I found the ash of a
cigar, which my special knowledge of tobacco ashes enables me to pronounce
as an Indian cigar. I have, as you know, devoted some attention to this,
and written a little monograph on the ashes of 140 different varieties of
pipe, cigar, and cigarette tobacco. Having found the ash, I then looked
round and discovered the stump among the moss where he had tossed it. It
was an Indian cigar, of the variety which are rolled in Rotterdam.”\par

“And the cigar-holder?”\par

“I could see that the end had not been in his mouth. Therefore he used a
holder. The tip had been cut off, not bitten off, but the cut was not a
clean one, so I deduced a blunt pen-knife.”\par

“Holmes,” I said, “you have drawn a net round this man from which he
cannot escape, and you have saved an innocent human life as truly as if
you had cut the cord which was hanging him. I see the direction in which
all this points. The culprit is—”\par

“Mr. John Turner,” cried the hotel waiter, opening the door of our
sitting-room, and ushering in a visitor.\par

The man who entered was a strange and impressive figure. His slow, limping
step and bowed shoulders gave the appearance of decrepitude, and yet his
hard, deep-lined, craggy features, and his enormous limbs showed that he
was possessed of unusual strength of body and of character. His tangled
beard, grizzled hair, and outstanding, drooping eyebrows combined to give
an air of dignity and power to his appearance, but his face was of an
ashen white, while his lips and the corners of his nostrils were tinged
with a shade of blue. It was clear to me at a glance that he was in the
grip of some deadly and chronic disease.\par

“Pray sit down on the sofa,” said Holmes gently. “You had my note?”\par

“Yes, the lodge-keeper brought it up. You said that you wished to see me
here to avoid scandal.”\par

“I thought people would talk if I went to the Hall.”\par

“And why did you wish to see me?” He looked across at my companion with
despair in his weary eyes, as though his question was already answered.\par

“Yes,” said Holmes, answering the look rather than the words. “It is so. I
know all about McCarthy.”\par

The old man sank his face in his hands. “God help me!” he cried. “But I
would not have let the young man come to harm. I give you my word that I
would have spoken out if it went against him at the Assizes.”\par

“I am glad to hear you say so,” said Holmes gravely.\par

“I would have spoken now had it not been for my dear girl. It would break
her heart—it will break her heart when she hears that I am arrested.”\par

“It may not come to that,” said Holmes.\par

“What?”\par

“I am no official agent. I understand that it was your daughter who
required my presence here, and I am acting in her interests. Young
McCarthy must be got off, however.”\par

“I am a dying man,” said old Turner. “I have had diabetes for years. My
doctor says it is a question whether I shall live a month. Yet I would
rather die under my own roof than in a gaol.”\par

Holmes rose and sat down at the table with his pen in his hand and a
bundle of paper before him. “Just tell us the truth,” he said. “I shall
jot down the facts. You will sign it, and Watson here can witness it. Then
I could produce your confession at the last extremity to save young
McCarthy. I promise you that I shall not use it unless it is absolutely
needed.”\par

“It’s as well,” said the old man; “it’s a question whether I shall live to
the Assizes, so it matters little to me, but I should wish to spare Alice
the shock. And now I will make the thing clear to you; it has been a long
time in the acting, but will not take me long to tell.\par

“You didn’t know this dead man, McCarthy. He was a devil incarnate. I tell
you that. God keep you out of the clutches of such a man as he. His grip
has been upon me these twenty years, and he has blasted my life. I’ll tell
you first how I came to be in his power.\par

“It was in the early ’60’s at the diggings. I was a young chap then,
hot-blooded and reckless, ready to turn my hand at anything; I got among
bad companions, took to drink, had no luck with my claim, took to the
bush, and in a word became what you would call over here a highway robber.
There were six of us, and we had a wild, free life of it, sticking up a
station from time to time, or stopping the wagons on the road to the
diggings. Black Jack of Ballarat was the name I went under, and our party
is still remembered in the colony as the Ballarat Gang.\par

“One day a gold convoy came down from Ballarat to Melbourne, and we lay in
wait for it and attacked it. There were six troopers and six of us, so it
was a close thing, but we emptied four of their saddles at the first
volley. Three of our boys were killed, however, before we got the swag. I
put my pistol to the head of the wagon-driver, who was this very man
McCarthy. I wish to the Lord that I had shot him then, but I spared him,
though I saw his wicked little eyes fixed on my face, as though to
remember every feature. We got away with the gold, became wealthy men, and
made our way over to England without being suspected. There I parted from
my old pals and determined to settle down to a quiet and respectable life.
I bought this estate, which chanced to be in the market, and I set myself
to do a little good with my money, to make up for the way in which I had
earned it. I married, too, and though my wife died young she left me my
dear little Alice. Even when she was just a baby her wee hand seemed to
lead me down the right path as nothing else had ever done. In a word, I
turned over a new leaf and did my best to make up for the past. All was
going well when McCarthy laid his grip upon me.\par

“I had gone up to town about an investment, and I met him in Regent Street
with hardly a coat to his back or a boot to his foot.\par

“ ‘Here we are, Jack,’ says he, touching me on the arm; ‘we’ll be as good
as a family to you. There’s two of us, me and my son, and you can have the
keeping of us. If you don’t—it’s a fine, law-abiding country is England,
and there’s always a policeman within hail.’\par

“Well, down they came to the west country, there was no shaking them off,
and there they have lived rent free on my best land ever since. There was
no rest for me, no peace, no forgetfulness; turn where I would, there was
his cunning, grinning face at my elbow. It grew worse as Alice grew up,
for he soon saw I was more afraid of her knowing my past than of the
police. Whatever he wanted he must have, and whatever it was I gave him
without question, land, money, houses, until at last he asked a thing
which I could not give. He asked for Alice.\par

“His son, you see, had grown up, and so had my girl, and as I was known to
be in weak health, it seemed a fine stroke to him that his lad should step
into the whole property. But there I was firm. I would not have his cursed
stock mixed with mine; not that I had any dislike to the lad, but his
blood was in him, and that was enough. I stood firm. McCarthy threatened.
I braved him to do his worst. We were to meet at the pool midway between
our houses to talk it over.\par

“When I went down there I found him talking with his son, so I smoked a
cigar and waited behind a tree until he should be alone. But as I listened
to his talk all that was black and bitter in me seemed to come uppermost.
He was urging his son to marry my daughter with as little regard for what
she might think as if she were a slut from off the streets. It drove me
mad to think that I and all that I held most dear should be in the power
of such a man as this. Could I not snap the bond? I was already a dying
and a desperate man. Though clear of mind and fairly strong of limb, I
knew that my own fate was sealed. But my memory and my girl! Both could be
saved if I could but silence that foul tongue. I did it, Mr. Holmes. I
would do it again. Deeply as I have sinned, I have led a life of martyrdom
to atone for it. But that my girl should be entangled in the same meshes
which held me was more than I could suffer. I struck him down with no more
compunction than if he had been some foul and venomous beast. His cry
brought back his son; but I had gained the cover of the wood, though I was
forced to go back to fetch the cloak which I had dropped in my flight.
That is the true story, gentlemen, of all that occurred.”\par

“Well, it is not for me to judge you,” said Holmes as the old man signed
the statement which had been drawn out. “I pray that we may never be
exposed to such a temptation.”\par

“I pray not, sir. And what do you intend to do?”\par

“In view of your health, nothing. You are yourself aware that you will
soon have to answer for your deed at a higher court than the Assizes. I
will keep your confession, and if McCarthy is condemned I shall be forced
to use it. If not, it shall never be seen by mortal eye; and your secret,
whether you be alive or dead, shall be safe with us.”\par

“Farewell, then,” said the old man solemnly. “Your own deathbeds, when
they come, will be the easier for the thought of the peace which you have
given to mine.” Tottering and shaking in all his giant frame, he stumbled
slowly from the room.\par

“God help us!” said Holmes after a long silence. “Why does fate play such
tricks with poor, helpless worms? I never hear of such a case as this that
I do not think of Baxter’s words, and say, ‘There, but for the grace of
God, goes Sherlock Holmes.’ ”\par

James McCarthy was acquitted at the Assizes on the strength of a number of
objections which had been drawn out by Holmes and submitted to the
defending counsel. Old Turner lived for seven months after our interview,
but he is now dead; and there is every prospect that the son and daughter
may come to live happily together in ignorance of the black cloud which
rests upon their past.\par

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\chapter*{The Five Orange Pips}


When I glance over my notes and records of the Sherlock Holmes cases
between the years ’82 and ’90, I am faced by so many which present strange
and interesting features that it is no easy matter to know which to choose
and which to leave. Some, however, have already gained publicity through
the papers, and others have not offered a field for those peculiar
qualities which my friend possessed in so high a degree, and which it is
the object of these papers to illustrate. Some, too, have baffled his
analytical skill, and would be, as narratives, beginnings without an
ending, while others have been but partially cleared up, and have their
explanations founded rather upon conjecture and surmise than on that
absolute logical proof which was so dear to him. There is, however, one of
these last which was so remarkable in its details and so startling in its
results that I am tempted to give some account of it in spite of the fact
that there are points in connection with it which never have been, and
probably never will be, entirely cleared up.\par

The year ’87 furnished us with a long series of cases of greater or less
interest, of which I retain the records. Among my headings under this one
twelve months I find an account of the adventure of the Paradol Chamber,
of the Amateur Mendicant Society, who held a luxurious club in the lower
vault of a furniture warehouse, of the facts connected with the loss of
the British barque {\itshape{Sophy Anderson}}, of the singular adventures of the
Grice Patersons in the island of Uffa, and finally of the Camberwell
poisoning case. In the latter, as may be remembered, Sherlock Holmes was
able, by winding up the dead man’s watch, to prove that it had been wound
up two hours before, and that therefore the deceased had gone to bed
within that time—a deduction which was of the greatest importance in
clearing up the case. All these I may sketch out at some future date, but
none of them present such singular features as the strange train of
circumstances which I have now taken up my pen to describe.\par

It was in the latter days of September, and the equinoctial gales had set
in with exceptional violence. All day the wind had screamed and the rain
had beaten against the windows, so that even here in the heart of great,
hand-made London we were forced to raise our minds for the instant from
the routine of life and to recognise the presence of those great elemental
forces which shriek at mankind through the bars of his civilisation, like
untamed beasts in a cage. As evening drew in, the storm grew higher and
louder, and the wind cried and sobbed like a child in the chimney.
Sherlock Holmes sat moodily at one side of the fireplace cross-indexing
his records of crime, while I at the other was deep in one of Clark
Russell’s fine sea-stories until the howl of the gale from without seemed
to blend with the text, and the splash of the rain to lengthen out into
the long swash of the sea waves. My wife was on a visit to her mother’s,
and for a few days I was a dweller once more in my old quarters at Baker
Street.\par

“Why,” said I, glancing up at my companion, “that was surely the bell. Who
could come to-night? Some friend of yours, perhaps?”\par

“Except yourself I have none,” he answered. “I do not encourage visitors.”\par

“A client, then?”\par

“If so, it is a serious case. Nothing less would bring a man out on such a
day and at such an hour. But I take it that it is more likely to be some
crony of the landlady’s.”\par

Sherlock Holmes was wrong in his conjecture, however, for there came a
step in the passage and a tapping at the door. He stretched out his long
arm to turn the lamp away from himself and towards the vacant chair upon
which a newcomer must sit.\par

“Come in!” said he.\par

The man who entered was young, some two-and-twenty at the outside,
well-groomed and trimly clad, with something of refinement and delicacy in
his bearing. The streaming umbrella which he held in his hand, and his
long shining waterproof told of the fierce weather through which he had
come. He looked about him anxiously in the glare of the lamp, and I could
see that his face was pale and his eyes heavy, like those of a man who is
weighed down with some great anxiety.\par

“I owe you an apology,” he said, raising his golden pince-nez to his eyes.
“I trust that I am not intruding. I fear that I have brought some traces
of the storm and rain into your snug chamber.”\par

“Give me your coat and umbrella,” said Holmes. “They may rest here on the
hook and will be dry presently. You have come up from the south-west, I
see.”\par

“Yes, from Horsham.”\par

“That clay and chalk mixture which I see upon your toe caps is quite
distinctive.”\par

“I have come for advice.”\par

“That is easily got.”\par

“And help.”\par

“That is not always so easy.”\par

“I have heard of you, Mr. Holmes. I heard from Major Prendergast how you
saved him in the Tankerville Club scandal.”\par

“Ah, of course. He was wrongfully accused of cheating at cards.”\par

“He said that you could solve anything.”\par

“He said too much.”\par

“That you are never beaten.”\par

“I have been beaten four times—three times by men, and once by a woman.”\par

“But what is that compared with the number of your successes?”\par

“It is true that I have been generally successful.”\par

“Then you may be so with me.”\par

“I beg that you will draw your chair up to the fire and favour me with
some details as to your case.”\par

“It is no ordinary one.”\par

“None of those which come to me are. I am the last court of appeal.”\par

“And yet I question, sir, whether, in all your experience, you have ever
listened to a more mysterious and inexplicable chain of events than those
which have happened in my own family.”\par

“You fill me with interest,” said Holmes. “Pray give us the essential
facts from the commencement, and I can afterwards question you as to those
details which seem to me to be most important.”\par

The young man pulled his chair up and pushed his wet feet out towards the
blaze.\par

“My name,” said he, “is John Openshaw, but my own affairs have, as far as
I can understand, little to do with this awful business. It is a
hereditary matter; so in order to give you an idea of the facts, I must go
back to the commencement of the affair.\par

“You must know that my grandfather had two sons—my uncle Elias and my
father Joseph. My father had a small factory at Coventry, which he
enlarged at the time of the invention of bicycling. He was a patentee of
the Openshaw unbreakable tire, and his business met with such success that
he was able to sell it and to retire upon a handsome competence.\par

“My uncle Elias emigrated to America when he was a young man and became a
planter in Florida, where he was reported to have done very well. At the
time of the war he fought in Jackson’s army, and afterwards under Hood,
where he rose to be a colonel. When Lee laid down his arms my uncle
returned to his plantation, where he remained for three or four years.
About 1869 or 1870 he came back to Europe and took a small estate in
Sussex, near Horsham. He had made a very considerable fortune in the
States, and his reason for leaving them was his aversion to the negroes,
and his dislike of the Republican policy in extending the franchise to
them. He was a singular man, fierce and quick-tempered, very foul-mouthed
when he was angry, and of a most retiring disposition. During all the
years that he lived at Horsham, I doubt if ever he set foot in the town.
He had a garden and two or three fields round his house, and there he
would take his exercise, though very often for weeks on end he would never
leave his room. He drank a great deal of brandy and smoked very heavily,
but he would see no society and did not want any friends, not even his own
brother.\par

“He didn’t mind me; in fact, he took a fancy to me, for at the time when
he saw me first I was a youngster of twelve or so. This would be in the
year 1878, after he had been eight or nine years in England. He begged my
father to let me live with him and he was very kind to me in his way. When
he was sober he used to be fond of playing backgammon and draughts with
me, and he would make me his representative both with the servants and
with the tradespeople, so that by the time that I was sixteen I was quite
master of the house. I kept all the keys and could go where I liked and do
what I liked, so long as I did not disturb him in his privacy. There was
one singular exception, however, for he had a single room, a lumber-room
up among the attics, which was invariably locked, and which he would never
permit either me or anyone else to enter. With a boy’s curiosity I have
peeped through the keyhole, but I was never able to see more than such a
collection of old trunks and bundles as would be expected in such a room.\par

“One day—it was in March, 1883—a letter with a foreign stamp lay upon the
table in front of the colonel’s plate. It was not a common thing for him
to receive letters, for his bills were all paid in ready money, and he had
no friends of any sort. ‘From India!’ said he as he took it up,
‘Pondicherry postmark! What can this be?’ Opening it hurriedly, out there
jumped five little dried orange pips, which pattered down upon his plate.
I began to laugh at this, but the laugh was struck from my lips at the
sight of his face. His lip had fallen, his eyes were protruding, his skin
the colour of putty, and he glared at the envelope which he still held in
his trembling hand, ‘K. K. K.!’ he shrieked, and then, ‘My God, my God, my
sins have overtaken me!’\par

“ ‘What is it, uncle?’ I cried.\par

“ ‘Death,’ said he, and rising from the table he retired to his room,
leaving me palpitating with horror. I took up the envelope and saw
scrawled in red ink upon the inner flap, just above the gum, the letter K
three times repeated. There was nothing else save the five dried pips.
What could be the reason of his overpowering terror? I left the
breakfast-table, and as I ascended the stair I met him coming down with an
old rusty key, which must have belonged to the attic, in one hand, and a
small brass box, like a cashbox, in the other.\par

“ ‘They may do what they like, but I’ll checkmate them still,’ said he
with an oath. ‘Tell Mary that I shall want a fire in my room to-day, and
send down to Fordham, the Horsham lawyer.’\par

“I did as he ordered, and when the lawyer arrived I was asked to step up
to the room. The fire was burning brightly, and in the grate there was a
mass of black, fluffy ashes, as of burned paper, while the brass box stood
open and empty beside it. As I glanced at the box I noticed, with a start,
that upon the lid was printed the treble K which I had read in the morning
upon the envelope.\par

“ ‘I wish you, John,’ said my uncle, ‘to witness my will. I leave my
estate, with all its advantages and all its disadvantages, to my brother,
your father, whence it will, no doubt, descend to you. If you can enjoy it
in peace, well and good! If you find you cannot, take my advice, my boy,
and leave it to your deadliest enemy. I am sorry to give you such a
two-edged thing, but I can’t say what turn things are going to take.
Kindly sign the paper where Mr. Fordham shows you.’\par

“I signed the paper as directed, and the lawyer took it away with him. The
singular incident made, as you may think, the deepest impression upon me,
and I pondered over it and turned it every way in my mind without being
able to make anything of it. Yet I could not shake off the vague feeling
of dread which it left behind, though the sensation grew less keen as the
weeks passed and nothing happened to disturb the usual routine of our
lives. I could see a change in my uncle, however. He drank more than ever,
and he was less inclined for any sort of society. Most of his time he
would spend in his room, with the door locked upon the inside, but
sometimes he would emerge in a sort of drunken frenzy and would burst out
of the house and tear about the garden with a revolver in his hand,
screaming out that he was afraid of no man, and that he was not to be
cooped up, like a sheep in a pen, by man or devil. When these hot fits
were over, however, he would rush tumultuously in at the door and lock and
bar it behind him, like a man who can brazen it out no longer against the
terror which lies at the roots of his soul. At such times I have seen his
face, even on a cold day, glisten with moisture, as though it were new
raised from a basin.\par

“Well, to come to an end of the matter, Mr. Holmes, and not to abuse your
patience, there came a night when he made one of those drunken sallies
from which he never came back. We found him, when we went to search for
him, face downward in a little green-scummed pool, which lay at the foot
of the garden. There was no sign of any violence, and the water was but
two feet deep, so that the jury, having regard to his known eccentricity,
brought in a verdict of ‘suicide.’ But I, who knew how he winced from the
very thought of death, had much ado to persuade myself that he had gone
out of his way to meet it. The matter passed, however, and my father
entered into possession of the estate, and of some £14,000, which lay to
his credit at the bank.”\par

“One moment,” Holmes interposed, “your statement is, I foresee, one of the
most remarkable to which I have ever listened. Let me have the date of the
reception by your uncle of the letter, and the date of his supposed
suicide.”\par

“The letter arrived on March 10, 1883. His death was seven weeks later,
upon the night of May 2nd.”\par

“Thank you. Pray proceed.”\par

“When my father took over the Horsham property, he, at my request, made a
careful examination of the attic, which had been always locked up. We
found the brass box there, although its contents had been destroyed. On
the inside of the cover was a paper label, with the initials of K. K. K.
repeated upon it, and ‘Letters, memoranda, receipts, and a register’
written beneath. These, we presume, indicated the nature of the papers
which had been destroyed by Colonel Openshaw. For the rest, there was
nothing of much importance in the attic save a great many scattered papers
and note-books bearing upon my uncle’s life in America. Some of them were
of the war time and showed that he had done his duty well and had borne
the repute of a brave soldier. Others were of a date during the
reconstruction of the Southern states, and were mostly concerned with
politics, for he had evidently taken a strong part in opposing the
carpet-bag politicians who had been sent down from the North.\par

“Well, it was the beginning of ’84 when my father came to live at Horsham,
and all went as well as possible with us until the January of ’85. On the
fourth day after the new year I heard my father give a sharp cry of
surprise as we sat together at the breakfast-table. There he was, sitting
with a newly opened envelope in one hand and five dried orange pips in the
outstretched palm of the other one. He had always laughed at what he
called my cock-and-bull story about the colonel, but he looked very scared
and puzzled now that the same thing had come upon himself.\par

“ ‘Why, what on earth does this mean, John?’ he stammered.\par

“My heart had turned to lead. ‘It is K. K. K.,’ said I.\par

“He looked inside the envelope. ‘So it is,’ he cried. ‘Here are the very
letters. But what is this written above them?’\par

“ ‘Put the papers on the sundial,’ I read, peeping over his shoulder.\par

“ ‘What papers? What sundial?’ he asked.\par

“ ‘The sundial in the garden. There is no other,’ said I; ‘but the papers
must be those that are destroyed.’\par

“ ‘Pooh!’ said he, gripping hard at his courage. ‘We are in a civilised
land here, and we can’t have tomfoolery of this kind. Where does the thing
come from?’\par

“ ‘From Dundee,’ I answered, glancing at the postmark.\par

“ ‘Some preposterous practical joke,’ said he. ‘What have I to do with
sundials and papers? I shall take no notice of such nonsense.’\par

“ ‘I should certainly speak to the police,’ I said.\par

“ ‘And be laughed at for my pains. Nothing of the sort.’\par

“ ‘Then let me do so?’\par

“ ‘No, I forbid you. I won’t have a fuss made about such nonsense.’\par

“It was in vain to argue with him, for he was a very obstinate man. I went
about, however, with a heart which was full of forebodings.\par

“On the third day after the coming of the letter my father went from home
to visit an old friend of his, Major Freebody, who is in command of one of
the forts upon Portsdown Hill. I was glad that he should go, for it seemed
to me that he was farther from danger when he was away from home. In that,
however, I was in error. Upon the second day of his absence I received a
telegram from the major, imploring me to come at once. My father had
fallen over one of the deep chalk-pits which abound in the neighbourhood,
and was lying senseless, with a shattered skull. I hurried to him, but he
passed away without having ever recovered his consciousness. He had, as it
appears, been returning from Fareham in the twilight, and as the country
was unknown to him, and the chalk-pit unfenced, the jury had no hesitation
in bringing in a verdict of ‘death from accidental causes.’ Carefully as I
examined every fact connected with his death, I was unable to find
anything which could suggest the idea of murder. There were no signs of
violence, no footmarks, no robbery, no record of strangers having been
seen upon the roads. And yet I need not tell you that my mind was far from
at ease, and that I was well-nigh certain that some foul plot had been
woven round him.\par

“In this sinister way I came into my inheritance. You will ask me why I
did not dispose of it? I answer, because I was well convinced that our
troubles were in some way dependent upon an incident in my uncle’s life,
and that the danger would be as pressing in one house as in another.\par

“It was in January, ’85, that my poor father met his end, and two years
and eight months have elapsed since then. During that time I have lived
happily at Horsham, and I had begun to hope that this curse had passed
away from the family, and that it had ended with the last generation. I
had begun to take comfort too soon, however; yesterday morning the blow
fell in the very shape in which it had come upon my father.”\par

The young man took from his waistcoat a crumpled envelope, and turning to
the table he shook out upon it five little dried orange pips.\par

“This is the envelope,” he continued. “The postmark is London—eastern
division. Within are the very words which were upon my father’s last
message: ‘K. K. K.’; and then ‘Put the papers on the sundial.’ ”\par

“What have you done?” asked Holmes.\par

“Nothing.”\par

“Nothing?”\par

“To tell the truth”—he sank his face into his thin, white hands—“I have
felt helpless. I have felt like one of those poor rabbits when the snake
is writhing towards it. I seem to be in the grasp of some resistless,
inexorable evil, which no foresight and no precautions can guard against.”\par

“Tut! tut!” cried Sherlock Holmes. “You must act, man, or you are lost.
Nothing but energy can save you. This is no time for despair.”\par

“I have seen the police.”\par

“Ah!”\par

“But they listened to my story with a smile. I am convinced that the
inspector has formed the opinion that the letters are all practical jokes,
and that the deaths of my relations were really accidents, as the jury
stated, and were not to be connected with the warnings.”\par

Holmes shook his clenched hands in the air. “Incredible imbecility!” he
cried.\par

“They have, however, allowed me a policeman, who may remain in the house
with me.”\par

“Has he come with you to-night?”\par

“No. His orders were to stay in the house.”\par

Again Holmes raved in the air.\par

“Why did you come to me,” he cried, “and, above all, why did you not come
at once?”\par

“I did not know. It was only to-day that I spoke to Major Prendergast
about my troubles and was advised by him to come to you.”\par

“It is really two days since you had the letter. We should have acted
before this. You have no further evidence, I suppose, than that which you
have placed before us—no suggestive detail which might help us?”\par

“There is one thing,” said John Openshaw. He rummaged in his coat pocket,
and, drawing out a piece of discoloured, blue-tinted paper, he laid it out
upon the table. “I have some remembrance,” said he, “that on the day when
my uncle burned the papers I observed that the small, unburned margins
which lay amid the ashes were of this particular colour. I found this
single sheet upon the floor of his room, and I am inclined to think that
it may be one of the papers which has, perhaps, fluttered out from among
the others, and in that way has escaped destruction. Beyond the mention of
pips, I do not see that it helps us much. I think myself that it is a page
from some private diary. The writing is undoubtedly my uncle’s.”\par

Holmes moved the lamp, and we both bent over the sheet of paper, which
showed by its ragged edge that it had indeed been torn from a book. It was
headed, “March, 1869,” and beneath were the following enigmatical notices:\par

\begin{quotation}
{\noindent}“4th. Hudson came. Same old platform.\par

“7th. Set the pips on McCauley, Paramore, and John Swain, of St. Augustine.\par

“9th. McCauley cleared.\par

“10th. John Swain cleared.\par

“12th. Visited Paramore. All well.”\par
\end{quotation}

“Thank you!” said Holmes, folding up the paper and returning it to our
visitor. “And now you must on no account lose another instant. We cannot
spare time even to discuss what you have told me. You must get home
instantly and act.”\par

“What shall I do?”\par

“There is but one thing to do. It must be done at once. You must put this
piece of paper which you have shown us into the brass box which you have
described. You must also put in a note to say that all the other papers
were burned by your uncle, and that this is the only one which remains.
You must assert that in such words as will carry conviction with them.
Having done this, you must at once put the box out upon the sundial, as
directed. Do you understand?”\par

“Entirely.”\par

“Do not think of revenge, or anything of the sort, at present. I think
that we may gain that by means of the law; but we have our web to weave,
while theirs is already woven. The first consideration is to remove the
pressing danger which threatens you. The second is to clear up the mystery
and to punish the guilty parties.”\par

“I thank you,” said the young man, rising and pulling on his overcoat.
“You have given me fresh life and hope. I shall certainly do as you
advise.”\par

“Do not lose an instant. And, above all, take care of yourself in the
meanwhile, for I do not think that there can be a doubt that you are
threatened by a very real and imminent danger. How do you go back?”\par

“By train from Waterloo.”\par

“It is not yet nine. The streets will be crowded, so I trust that you may
be in safety. And yet you cannot guard yourself too closely.”\par

“I am armed.”\par

“That is well. To-morrow I shall set to work upon your case.”\par

“I shall see you at Horsham, then?”\par

“No, your secret lies in London. It is there that I shall seek it.”\par

“Then I shall call upon you in a day, or in two days, with news as to the
box and the papers. I shall take your advice in every particular.” He
shook hands with us and took his leave. Outside the wind still screamed
and the rain splashed and pattered against the windows. This strange, wild
story seemed to have come to us from amid the mad elements—blown in upon
us like a sheet of sea-weed in a gale—and now to have been reabsorbed by
them once more.\par

Sherlock Holmes sat for some time in silence, with his head sunk forward
and his eyes bent upon the red glow of the fire. Then he lit his pipe, and
leaning back in his chair he watched the blue smoke-rings as they chased
each other up to the ceiling.\par

“I think, Watson,” he remarked at last, “that of all our cases we have had
none more fantastic than this.”\par

“Save, perhaps, the Sign of Four.”\par

“Well, yes. Save, perhaps, that. And yet this John Openshaw seems to me to
be walking amid even greater perils than did the Sholtos.”\par

“But have you,” I asked, “formed any definite conception as to what these
perils are?”\par

“There can be no question as to their nature,” he answered.\par

“Then what are they? Who is this K. K. K., and why does he pursue this
unhappy family?”\par

Sherlock Holmes closed his eyes and placed his elbows upon the arms of his
chair, with his finger-tips together. “The ideal reasoner,” he remarked,
“would, when he had once been shown a single fact in all its bearings,
deduce from it not only all the chain of events which led up to it but
also all the results which would follow from it. As Cuvier could correctly
describe a whole animal by the contemplation of a single bone, so the
observer who has thoroughly understood one link in a series of incidents
should be able to accurately state all the other ones, both before and
after. We have not yet grasped the results which the reason alone can
attain to. Problems may be solved in the study which have baffled all
those who have sought a solution by the aid of their senses. To carry the
art, however, to its highest pitch, it is necessary that the reasoner
should be able to utilise all the facts which have come to his knowledge;
and this in itself implies, as you will readily see, a possession of all
knowledge, which, even in these days of free education and encyclopaedias,
is a somewhat rare accomplishment. It is not so impossible, however, that
a man should possess all knowledge which is likely to be useful to him in
his work, and this I have endeavoured in my case to do. If I remember
rightly, you on one occasion, in the early days of our friendship, defined
my limits in a very precise fashion.”\par

“Yes,” I answered, laughing. “It was a singular document. Philosophy,
astronomy, and politics were marked at zero, I remember. Botany variable,
geology profound as regards the mud-stains from any region within fifty
miles of town, chemistry eccentric, anatomy unsystematic, sensational
literature and crime records unique, violin-player, boxer, swordsman,
lawyer, and self-poisoner by cocaine and tobacco. Those, I think, were the
main points of my analysis.”\par

Holmes grinned at the last item. “Well,” he said, “I say now, as I said
then, that a man should keep his little brain-attic stocked with all the
furniture that he is likely to use, and the rest he can put away in the
lumber-room of his library, where he can get it if he wants it. Now, for
such a case as the one which has been submitted to us to-night, we need
certainly to muster all our resources. Kindly hand me down the letter K of
the {\itshape{American Encyclopaedia}} which stands upon the shelf beside you. Thank
you. Now let us consider the situation and see what may be deduced from
it. In the first place, we may start with a strong presumption that
Colonel Openshaw had some very strong reason for leaving America. Men at
his time of life do not change all their habits and exchange willingly the
charming climate of Florida for the lonely life of an English provincial
town. His extreme love of solitude in England suggests the idea that he
was in fear of someone or something, so we may assume as a working
hypothesis that it was fear of someone or something which drove him from
America. As to what it was he feared, we can only deduce that by
considering the formidable letters which were received by himself and his
successors. Did you remark the postmarks of those letters?”\par

“The first was from Pondicherry, the second from Dundee, and the third
from London.”\par

“From East London. What do you deduce from that?”\par

“They are all seaports. That the writer was on board of a ship.”\par

“Excellent. We have already a clue. There can be no doubt that the
probability—the strong probability—is that the writer was on board of a
ship. And now let us consider another point. In the case of Pondicherry,
seven weeks elapsed between the threat and its fulfilment, in Dundee it
was only some three or four days. Does that suggest anything?”\par

“A greater distance to travel.”\par

“But the letter had also a greater distance to come.”\par

“Then I do not see the point.”\par

“There is at least a presumption that the vessel in which the man or men
are is a sailing-ship. It looks as if they always send their singular
warning or token before them when starting upon their mission. You see how
quickly the deed followed the sign when it came from Dundee. If they had
come from Pondicherry in a steamer they would have arrived almost as soon
as their letter. But, as a matter of fact, seven weeks elapsed. I think
that those seven weeks represented the difference between the mail-boat
which brought the letter and the sailing vessel which brought the writer.”\par

“It is possible.”\par

“More than that. It is probable. And now you see the deadly urgency of
this new case, and why I urged young Openshaw to caution. The blow has
always fallen at the end of the time which it would take the senders to
travel the distance. But this one comes from London, and therefore we
cannot count upon delay.”\par

“Good God!” I cried. “What can it mean, this relentless persecution?”\par

“The papers which Openshaw carried are obviously of vital importance to
the person or persons in the sailing-ship. I think that it is quite clear
that there must be more than one of them. A single man could not have
carried out two deaths in such a way as to deceive a coroner’s jury. There
must have been several in it, and they must have been men of resource and
determination. Their papers they mean to have, be the holder of them who
it may. In this way you see K. K. K. ceases to be the initials of an
individual and becomes the badge of a society.”\par

“But of what society?”\par

“Have you never—” said Sherlock Holmes, bending forward and sinking his
voice—“have you never heard of the Ku Klux Klan?”\par

“I never have.”\par

Holmes turned over the leaves of the book upon his knee. “Here it is,”
said he presently:\par

“ ‘Ku Klux Klan. A name derived from the fanciful resemblance to the sound
produced by cocking a rifle. This terrible secret society was formed by
some ex-Confederate soldiers in the Southern states after the Civil War,
and it rapidly formed local branches in different parts of the country,
notably in Tennessee, Louisiana, the Carolinas, Georgia, and Florida. Its
power was used for political purposes, principally for the terrorising of
the negro voters and the murdering and driving from the country of those
who were opposed to its views. Its outrages were usually preceded by a
warning sent to the marked man in some fantastic but generally recognised
shape—a sprig of oak-leaves in some parts, melon seeds or orange pips in
others. On receiving this the victim might either openly abjure his former
ways, or might fly from the country. If he braved the matter out, death
would unfailingly come upon him, and usually in some strange and
unforeseen manner. So perfect was the organisation of the society, and so
systematic its methods, that there is hardly a case upon record where any
man succeeded in braving it with impunity, or in which any of its outrages
were traced home to the perpetrators. For some years the organisation
flourished in spite of the efforts of the United States government and of
the better classes of the community in the South. Eventually, in the year
1869, the movement rather suddenly collapsed, although there have been
sporadic outbreaks of the same sort since that date.’\par

“You will observe,” said Holmes, laying down the volume, “that the sudden
breaking up of the society was coincident with the disappearance of
Openshaw from America with their papers. It may well have been cause and
effect. It is no wonder that he and his family have some of the more
implacable spirits upon their track. You can understand that this register
and diary may implicate some of the first men in the South, and that there
may be many who will not sleep easy at night until it is recovered.”\par

“Then the page we have seen—”\par

“Is such as we might expect. It ran, if I remember right, ‘sent the pips
to A, B, and C’—that is, sent the society’s warning to them. Then there
are successive entries that A and B cleared, or left the country, and
finally that C was visited, with, I fear, a sinister result for C. Well, I
think, Doctor, that we may let some light into this dark place, and I
believe that the only chance young Openshaw has in the meantime is to do
what I have told him. There is nothing more to be said or to be done
to-night, so hand me over my violin and let us try to forget for half an
hour the miserable weather and the still more miserable ways of our fellow
men.”\par

It had cleared in the morning, and the sun was shining with a subdued
brightness through the dim veil which hangs over the great city. Sherlock
Holmes was already at breakfast when I came down.\par

“You will excuse me for not waiting for you,” said he; “I have, I foresee,
a very busy day before me in looking into this case of young Openshaw’s.”\par

“What steps will you take?” I asked.\par

“It will very much depend upon the results of my first inquiries. I may
have to go down to Horsham, after all.”\par

“You will not go there first?”\par

“No, I shall commence with the City. Just ring the bell and the maid will
bring up your coffee.”\par

As I waited, I lifted the unopened newspaper from the table and glanced my
eye over it. It rested upon a heading which sent a chill to my heart.\par

“Holmes,” I cried, “you are too late.”\par

“Ah!” said he, laying down his cup, “I feared as much. How was it done?”
He spoke calmly, but I could see that he was deeply moved.\par

“My eye caught the name of Openshaw, and the heading ‘Tragedy Near
Waterloo Bridge.’ Here is the account:\par

“ ‘Between nine and ten last night Police-Constable Cook, of the H
Division, on duty near Waterloo Bridge, heard a cry for help and a splash
in the water. The night, however, was extremely dark and stormy, so that,
in spite of the help of several passers-by, it was quite impossible to
effect a rescue. The alarm, however, was given, and, by the aid of the
water-police, the body was eventually recovered. It proved to be that of a
young gentleman whose name, as it appears from an envelope which was found
in his pocket, was John Openshaw, and whose residence is near Horsham. It
is conjectured that he may have been hurrying down to catch the last train
from Waterloo Station, and that in his haste and the extreme darkness he
missed his path and walked over the edge of one of the small
landing-places for river steamboats. The body exhibited no traces of
violence, and there can be no doubt that the deceased had been the victim
of an unfortunate accident, which should have the effect of calling the
attention of the authorities to the condition of the riverside
landing-stages.’ ”\par

We sat in silence for some minutes, Holmes more depressed and shaken than
I had ever seen him.\par

“That hurts my pride, Watson,” he said at last. “It is a petty feeling, no
doubt, but it hurts my pride. It becomes a personal matter with me now,
and, if God sends me health, I shall set my hand upon this gang. That he
should come to me for help, and that I should send him away to his
death—!” He sprang from his chair and paced about the room in
uncontrollable agitation, with a flush upon his sallow cheeks and a
nervous clasping and unclasping of his long thin hands.\par

“They must be cunning devils,” he exclaimed at last. “How could they have
decoyed him down there? The Embankment is not on the direct line to the
station. The bridge, no doubt, was too crowded, even on such a night, for
their purpose. Well, Watson, we shall see who will win in the long run. I
am going out now!”\par

“To the police?”\par

“No; I shall be my own police. When I have spun the web they may take the
flies, but not before.”\par

All day I was engaged in my professional work, and it was late in the
evening before I returned to Baker Street. Sherlock Holmes had not come
back yet. It was nearly ten o’clock before he entered, looking pale and
worn. He walked up to the sideboard, and tearing a piece from the loaf he
devoured it voraciously, washing it down with a long draught of water.\par

“You are hungry,” I remarked.\par

“Starving. It had escaped my memory. I have had nothing since breakfast.”\par

“Nothing?”\par

“Not a bite. I had no time to think of it.”\par

“And how have you succeeded?”\par

“Well.”\par

“You have a clue?”\par

“I have them in the hollow of my hand. Young Openshaw shall not long
remain unavenged. Why, Watson, let us put their own devilish trade-mark
upon them. It is well thought of!”\par

“What do you mean?”\par

He took an orange from the cupboard, and tearing it to pieces he squeezed
out the pips upon the table. Of these he took five and thrust them into an
envelope. On the inside of the flap he wrote “S. H. for J. O.” Then he
sealed it and addressed it to “Captain James Calhoun, Barque {\itshape{Lone Star}},
Savannah, Georgia.”\par

“That will await him when he enters port,” said he, chuckling. “It may
give him a sleepless night. He will find it as sure a precursor of his
fate as Openshaw did before him.”\par

“And who is this Captain Calhoun?”\par

“The leader of the gang. I shall have the others, but he first.”\par

“How did you trace it, then?”\par

He took a large sheet of paper from his pocket, all covered with dates and
names.\par

“I have spent the whole day,” said he, “over Lloyd’s registers and files
of the old papers, following the future career of every vessel which
touched at Pondicherry in January and February in ’83. There were
thirty-six ships of fair tonnage which were reported there during those
months. Of these, one, the {\itshape{Lone Star}}, instantly attracted my attention,
since, although it was reported as having cleared from London, the name is
that which is given to one of the states of the Union.”\par

“Texas, I think.”\par

“I was not and am not sure which; but I knew that the ship must have an
American origin.”\par

“What then?”\par

“I searched the Dundee records, and when I found that the barque {\itshape{Lone
Star}} was there in January, ’85, my suspicion became a certainty. I then
inquired as to the vessels which lay at present in the port of London.”\par

“Yes?”\par

“The {\itshape{Lone Star}} had arrived here last week. I went down to the Albert
Dock and found that she had been taken down the river by the early tide
this morning, homeward bound to Savannah. I wired to Gravesend and learned
that she had passed some time ago, and as the wind is easterly I have no
doubt that she is now past the Goodwins and not very far from the Isle of
Wight.”\par

“What will you do, then?”\par

“Oh, I have my hand upon him. He and the two mates, are as I learn, the
only native-born Americans in the ship. The others are Finns and Germans.
I know, also, that they were all three away from the ship last night. I
had it from the stevedore who has been loading their cargo. By the time
that their sailing-ship reaches Savannah the mail-boat will have carried
this letter, and the cable will have informed the police of Savannah that
these three gentlemen are badly wanted here upon a charge of murder.”\par

There is ever a flaw, however, in the best laid of human plans, and the
murderers of John Openshaw were never to receive the orange pips which
would show them that another, as cunning and as resolute as themselves,
was upon their track. Very long and very severe were the equinoctial gales
that year. We waited long for news of the {\itshape{Lone Star}} of Savannah, but
none ever reached us. We did at last hear that somewhere far out in the
Atlantic a shattered stern-post of a boat was seen swinging in the trough
of a wave, with the letters “L. S.” carved upon it, and that is all which
we shall ever know of the fate of the {\itshape{Lone Star}}.\par

\cleardoublepage
\label{the-man-with-the-twisted-lip}%
\hypertarget{the-man-with-the-twisted-lip}{}%
%
\chapter*{The Man with the Twisted Lip}


Isa Whitney, brother of the late Elias Whitney, D.D., Principal of the
Theological College of St. George’s, was much addicted to opium. The habit
grew upon him, as I understand, from some foolish freak when he was at
college; for having read De Quincey’s description of his dreams and
sensations, he had drenched his tobacco with laudanum in an attempt to
produce the same effects. He found, as so many more have done, that the
practice is easier to attain than to get rid of, and for many years he
continued to be a slave to the drug, an object of mingled horror and pity
to his friends and relatives. I can see him now, with yellow, pasty face,
drooping lids, and pin-point pupils, all huddled in a chair, the wreck and
ruin of a noble man.\par

One night—it was in June, ’89—there came a ring to my bell, about the hour
when a man gives his first yawn and glances at the clock. I sat up in my
chair, and my wife laid her needle-work down in her lap and made a little
face of disappointment.\par

“A patient!” said she. “You’ll have to go out.”\par

I groaned, for I was newly come back from a weary day.\par

We heard the door open, a few hurried words, and then quick steps upon the
linoleum. Our own door flew open, and a lady, clad in some dark-coloured
stuff, with a black veil, entered the room.\par

“You will excuse my calling so late,” she began, and then, suddenly losing
her self-control, she ran forward, threw her arms about my wife’s neck,
and sobbed upon her shoulder. “Oh, I’m in such trouble!” she cried; “I do
so want a little help.”\par

“Why,” said my wife, pulling up her veil, “it is Kate Whitney. How you
startled me, Kate! I had not an idea who you were when you came in.”\par

“I didn’t know what to do, so I came straight to you.” That was always the
way. Folk who were in grief came to my wife like birds to a light-house.\par

“It was very sweet of you to come. Now, you must have some wine and water,
and sit here comfortably and tell us all about it. Or should you rather
that I sent James off to bed?”\par

“Oh, no, no! I want the doctor’s advice and help, too. It’s about Isa. He
has not been home for two days. I am so frightened about him!”\par

It was not the first time that she had spoken to us of her husband’s
trouble, to me as a doctor, to my wife as an old friend and school
companion. We soothed and comforted her by such words as we could find.
Did she know where her husband was? Was it possible that we could bring
him back to her?\par

It seems that it was. She had the surest information that of late he had,
when the fit was on him, made use of an opium den in the farthest east of
the City. Hitherto his orgies had always been confined to one day, and he
had come back, twitching and shattered, in the evening. But now the spell
had been upon him eight-and-forty hours, and he lay there, doubtless among
the dregs of the docks, breathing in the poison or sleeping off the
effects. There he was to be found, she was sure of it, at the Bar of Gold,
in Upper Swandam Lane. But what was she to do? How could she, a young and
timid woman, make her way into such a place and pluck her husband out from
among the ruffians who surrounded him?\par

There was the case, and of course there was but one way out of it. Might I
not escort her to this place? And then, as a second thought, why should
she come at all? I was Isa Whitney’s medical adviser, and as such I had
influence over him. I could manage it better if I were alone. I promised
her on my word that I would send him home in a cab within two hours if he
were indeed at the address which she had given me. And so in ten minutes I
had left my armchair and cheery sitting-room behind me, and was speeding
eastward in a hansom on a strange errand, as it seemed to me at the time,
though the future only could show how strange it was to be.\par

But there was no great difficulty in the first stage of my adventure.
Upper Swandam Lane is a vile alley lurking behind the high wharves which
line the north side of the river to the east of London Bridge. Between a
slop-shop and a gin-shop, approached by a steep flight of steps leading
down to a black gap like the mouth of a cave, I found the den of which I
was in search. Ordering my cab to wait, I passed down the steps, worn
hollow in the centre by the ceaseless tread of drunken feet; and by the
light of a flickering oil-lamp above the door I found the latch and made
my way into a long, low room, thick and heavy with the brown opium smoke,
and terraced with wooden berths, like the forecastle of an emigrant ship.\par

Through the gloom one could dimly catch a glimpse of bodies lying in
strange fantastic poses, bowed shoulders, bent knees, heads thrown back,
and chins pointing upward, with here and there a dark, lack-lustre eye
turned upon the newcomer. Out of the black shadows there glimmered little
red circles of light, now bright, now faint, as the burning poison waxed
or waned in the bowls of the metal pipes. The most lay silent, but some
muttered to themselves, and others talked together in a strange, low,
monotonous voice, their conversation coming in gushes, and then suddenly
tailing off into silence, each mumbling out his own thoughts and paying
little heed to the words of his neighbour. At the farther end was a small
brazier of burning charcoal, beside which on a three-legged wooden stool
there sat a tall, thin old man, with his jaw resting upon his two fists,
and his elbows upon his knees, staring into the fire.\par

As I entered, a sallow Malay attendant had hurried up with a pipe for me
and a supply of the drug, beckoning me to an empty berth.\par

“Thank you. I have not come to stay,” said I. “There is a friend of mine
here, Mr. Isa Whitney, and I wish to speak with him.”\par

There was a movement and an exclamation from my right, and peering through
the gloom, I saw Whitney, pale, haggard, and unkempt, staring out at me.\par

“My God! It’s Watson,” said he. He was in a pitiable state of reaction,
with every nerve in a twitter. “I say, Watson, what o’clock is it?”\par

“Nearly eleven.”\par

“Of what day?”\par

“Of Friday, June 19th.”\par

“Good heavens! I thought it was Wednesday. It is Wednesday. What d’you
want to frighten a chap for?” He sank his face onto his arms and began to
sob in a high treble key.\par

“I tell you that it is Friday, man. Your wife has been waiting this two
days for you. You should be ashamed of yourself!”\par

“So I am. But you’ve got mixed, Watson, for I have only been here a few
hours, three pipes, four pipes—I forget how many. But I’ll go home with
you. I wouldn’t frighten Kate—poor little Kate. Give me your hand! Have
you a cab?”\par

“Yes, I have one waiting.”\par

“Then I shall go in it. But I must owe something. Find what I owe, Watson.
I am all off colour. I can do nothing for myself.”\par

I walked down the narrow passage between the double row of sleepers,
holding my breath to keep out the vile, stupefying fumes of the drug, and
looking about for the manager. As I passed the tall man who sat by the
brazier I felt a sudden pluck at my skirt, and a low voice whispered,
“Walk past me, and then look back at me.” The words fell quite distinctly
upon my ear. I glanced down. They could only have come from the old man at
my side, and yet he sat now as absorbed as ever, very thin, very wrinkled,
bent with age, an opium pipe dangling down from between his knees, as
though it had dropped in sheer lassitude from his fingers. I took two
steps forward and looked back. It took all my self-control to prevent me
from breaking out into a cry of astonishment. He had turned his back so
that none could see him but I. His form had filled out, his wrinkles were
gone, the dull eyes had regained their fire, and there, sitting by the
fire and grinning at my surprise, was none other than Sherlock Holmes. He
made a slight motion to me to approach him, and instantly, as he turned
his face half round to the company once more, subsided into a doddering,
loose-lipped senility.\par

“Holmes!” I whispered, “what on earth are you doing in this den?”\par

“As low as you can,” he answered; “I have excellent ears. If you would
have the great kindness to get rid of that sottish friend of yours I
should be exceedingly glad to have a little talk with you.”\par

“I have a cab outside.”\par

“Then pray send him home in it. You may safely trust him, for he appears
to be too limp to get into any mischief. I should recommend you also to
send a note by the cabman to your wife to say that you have thrown in your
lot with me. If you will wait outside, I shall be with you in five
minutes.”\par

It was difficult to refuse any of Sherlock Holmes’ requests, for they were
always so exceedingly definite, and put forward with such a quiet air of
mastery. I felt, however, that when Whitney was once confined in the cab
my mission was practically accomplished; and for the rest, I could not
wish anything better than to be associated with my friend in one of those
singular adventures which were the normal condition of his existence. In a
few minutes I had written my note, paid Whitney’s bill, led him out to the
cab, and seen him driven through the darkness. In a very short time a
decrepit figure had emerged from the opium den, and I was walking down the
street with Sherlock Holmes. For two streets he shuffled along with a bent
back and an uncertain foot. Then, glancing quickly round, he straightened
himself out and burst into a hearty fit of laughter.\par

“I suppose, Watson,” said he, “that you imagine that I have added
opium-smoking to cocaine injections, and all the other little weaknesses
on which you have favoured me with your medical views.”\par

“I was certainly surprised to find you there.”\par

“But not more so than I to find you.”\par

“I came to find a friend.”\par

“And I to find an enemy.”\par

“An enemy?”\par

“Yes; one of my natural enemies, or, shall I say, my natural prey.
Briefly, Watson, I am in the midst of a very remarkable inquiry, and I
have hoped to find a clue in the incoherent ramblings of these sots, as I
have done before now. Had I been recognised in that den my life would not
have been worth an hour’s purchase; for I have used it before now for my
own purposes, and the rascally Lascar who runs it has sworn to have
vengeance upon me. There is a trap-door at the back of that building, near
the corner of Paul’s Wharf, which could tell some strange tales of what
has passed through it upon the moonless nights.”\par

“What! You do not mean bodies?”\par

“Ay, bodies, Watson. We should be rich men if we had £1000 for every
poor devil who has been done to death in that den. It is the vilest
murder-trap on the whole riverside, and I fear that Neville St. Clair has
entered it never to leave it more. But our trap should be here.” He put
his two forefingers between his teeth and whistled shrilly—a signal which
was answered by a similar whistle from the distance, followed shortly by
the rattle of wheels and the clink of horses’ hoofs.\par

“Now, Watson,” said Holmes, as a tall dog-cart dashed up through the
gloom, throwing out two golden tunnels of yellow light from its side
lanterns. “You’ll come with me, won’t you?”\par

“If I can be of use.”\par

“Oh, a trusty comrade is always of use; and a chronicler still more so. My
room at The Cedars is a double-bedded one.”\par

“The Cedars?”\par

“Yes; that is Mr. St. Clair’s house. I am staying there while I conduct
the inquiry.”\par

“Where is it, then?”\par

“Near Lee, in Kent. We have a seven-mile drive before us.”\par

“But I am all in the dark.”\par

“Of course you are. You’ll know all about it presently. Jump up here. All
right, John; we shall not need you. Here’s half a crown. Look out for me
to-morrow, about eleven. Give her her head. So long, then!”\par

He flicked the horse with his whip, and we dashed away through the endless
succession of sombre and deserted streets, which widened gradually, until
we were flying across a broad balustraded bridge, with the murky river
flowing sluggishly beneath us. Beyond lay another dull wilderness of
bricks and mortar, its silence broken only by the heavy, regular footfall
of the policeman, or the songs and shouts of some belated party of
revellers. A dull wrack was drifting slowly across the sky, and a star or
two twinkled dimly here and there through the rifts of the clouds. Holmes
drove in silence, with his head sunk upon his breast, and the air of a man
who is lost in thought, while I sat beside him, curious to learn what this
new quest might be which seemed to tax his powers so sorely, and yet
afraid to break in upon the current of his thoughts. We had driven several
miles, and were beginning to get to the fringe of the belt of suburban
villas, when he shook himself, shrugged his shoulders, and lit up his pipe
with the air of a man who has satisfied himself that he is acting for the
best.\par

“You have a grand gift of silence, Watson,” said he. “It makes you quite
invaluable as a companion. ’Pon my word, it is a great thing for me to
have someone to talk to, for my own thoughts are not over-pleasant. I was
wondering what I should say to this dear little woman to-night when she
meets me at the door.”\par

“You forget that I know nothing about it.”\par

“I shall just have time to tell you the facts of the case before we get to
Lee. It seems absurdly simple, and yet, somehow I can get nothing to go
upon. There’s plenty of thread, no doubt, but I can’t get the end of it
into my hand. Now, I’ll state the case clearly and concisely to you,
Watson, and maybe you can see a spark where all is dark to me.”\par

“Proceed, then.”\par

“Some years ago—to be definite, in May, 1884—there came to Lee a
gentleman, Neville St. Clair by name, who appeared to have plenty of
money. He took a large villa, laid out the grounds very nicely, and lived
generally in good style. By degrees he made friends in the neighbourhood,
and in 1887 he married the daughter of a local brewer, by whom he now has
two children. He had no occupation, but was interested in several
companies and went into town as a rule in the morning, returning by the
5:14 from Cannon Street every night. Mr. St. Clair is now thirty-seven
years of age, is a man of temperate habits, a good husband, a very
affectionate father, and a man who is popular with all who know him. I may
add that his whole debts at the present moment, as far as we have been
able to ascertain, amount to £88 10*s*., while he has £220 standing to
his credit in the Capital and Counties Bank. There is no reason,
therefore, to think that money troubles have been weighing upon his mind.\par

“Last Monday Mr. Neville St. Clair went into town rather earlier than
usual, remarking before he started that he had two important commissions
to perform, and that he would bring his little boy home a box of bricks.
Now, by the merest chance, his wife received a telegram upon this same
Monday, very shortly after his departure, to the effect that a small
parcel of considerable value which she had been expecting was waiting for
her at the offices of the Aberdeen Shipping Company. Now, if you are well
up in your London, you will know that the office of the company is in
Fresno Street, which branches out of Upper Swandam Lane, where you found
me to-night. Mrs. St. Clair had her lunch, started for the City, did some
shopping, proceeded to the company’s office, got her packet, and found
herself at exactly 4:35 walking through Swandam Lane on her way back to
the station. Have you followed me so far?”\par

“It is very clear.”\par

“If you remember, Monday was an exceedingly hot day, and Mrs. St. Clair
walked slowly, glancing about in the hope of seeing a cab, as she did not
like the neighbourhood in which she found herself. While she was walking
in this way down Swandam Lane, she suddenly heard an ejaculation or cry,
and was struck cold to see her husband looking down at her and, as it
seemed to her, beckoning to her from a second-floor window. The window was
open, and she distinctly saw his face, which she describes as being
terribly agitated. He waved his hands frantically to her, and then
vanished from the window so suddenly that it seemed to her that he had
been plucked back by some irresistible force from behind. One singular
point which struck her quick feminine eye was that although he wore some
dark coat, such as he had started to town in, he had on neither collar nor
necktie.\par

“Convinced that something was amiss with him, she rushed down the
steps—for the house was none other than the opium den in which you found
me to-night—and running through the front room she attempted to ascend the
stairs which led to the first floor. At the foot of the stairs, however,
she met this Lascar scoundrel of whom I have spoken, who thrust her back
and, aided by a Dane, who acts as assistant there, pushed her out into the
street. Filled with the most maddening doubts and fears, she rushed down
the lane and, by rare good-fortune, met in Fresno Street a number of
constables with an inspector, all on their way to their beat. The
inspector and two men accompanied her back, and in spite of the continued
resistance of the proprietor, they made their way to the room in which Mr.
St. Clair had last been seen. There was no sign of him there. In fact, in
the whole of that floor there was no one to be found save a crippled
wretch of hideous aspect, who, it seems, made his home there. Both he and
the Lascar stoutly swore that no one else had been in the front room
during the afternoon. So determined was their denial that the inspector
was staggered, and had almost come to believe that Mrs. St. Clair had been
deluded when, with a cry, she sprang at a small deal box which lay upon
the table and tore the lid from it. Out there fell a cascade of children’s
bricks. It was the toy which he had promised to bring home.\par

“This discovery, and the evident confusion which the cripple showed, made
the inspector realise that the matter was serious. The rooms were
carefully examined, and results all pointed to an abominable crime. The
front room was plainly furnished as a sitting-room and led into a small
bedroom, which looked out upon the back of one of the wharves. Between the
wharf and the bedroom window is a narrow strip, which is dry at low tide
but is covered at high tide with at least four and a half feet of water.
The bedroom window was a broad one and opened from below. On examination
traces of blood were to be seen upon the windowsill, and several scattered
drops were visible upon the wooden floor of the bedroom. Thrust away
behind a curtain in the front room were all the clothes of Mr. Neville St.
Clair, with the exception of his coat. His boots, his socks, his hat, and
his watch—all were there. There were no signs of violence upon any of
these garments, and there were no other traces of Mr. Neville St. Clair.
Out of the window he must apparently have gone for no other exit could be
discovered, and the ominous bloodstains upon the sill gave little promise
that he could save himself by swimming, for the tide was at its very
highest at the moment of the tragedy.\par

“And now as to the villains who seemed to be immediately implicated in the
matter. The Lascar was known to be a man of the vilest antecedents, but
as, by Mrs. St. Clair’s story, he was known to have been at the foot of
the stair within a very few seconds of her husband’s appearance at the
window, he could hardly have been more than an accessory to the crime. His
defence was one of absolute ignorance, and he protested that he had no
knowledge as to the doings of Hugh Boone, his lodger, and that he could
not account in any way for the presence of the missing gentleman’s
clothes.\par

“So much for the Lascar manager. Now for the sinister cripple who lives
upon the second floor of the opium den, and who was certainly the last
human being whose eyes rested upon Neville St. Clair. His name is Hugh
Boone, and his hideous face is one which is familiar to every man who goes
much to the City. He is a professional beggar, though in order to avoid
the police regulations he pretends to a small trade in wax vestas. Some
little distance down Threadneedle Street, upon the left-hand side, there
is, as you may have remarked, a small angle in the wall. Here it is that
this creature takes his daily seat, cross-legged with his tiny stock of
matches on his lap, and as he is a piteous spectacle a small rain of
charity descends into the greasy leather cap which lies upon the pavement
beside him. I have watched the fellow more than once before ever I thought
of making his professional acquaintance, and I have been surprised at the
harvest which he has reaped in a short time. His appearance, you see, is
so remarkable that no one can pass him without observing him. A shock of
orange hair, a pale face disfigured by a horrible scar, which, by its
contraction, has turned up the outer edge of his upper lip, a bulldog
chin, and a pair of very penetrating dark eyes, which present a singular
contrast to the colour of his hair, all mark him out from amid the common
crowd of mendicants and so, too, does his wit, for he is ever ready with a
reply to any piece of chaff which may be thrown at him by the passers-by.
This is the man whom we now learn to have been the lodger at the opium
den, and to have been the last man to see the gentleman of whom we are in
quest.”\par

“But a cripple!” said I. “What could he have done single-handed against a
man in the prime of life?”\par

“He is a cripple in the sense that he walks with a limp; but in other
respects he appears to be a powerful and well-nurtured man. Surely your
medical experience would tell you, Watson, that weakness in one limb is
often compensated for by exceptional strength in the others.”\par

“Pray continue your narrative.”\par

“Mrs. St. Clair had fainted at the sight of the blood upon the window, and
she was escorted home in a cab by the police, as her presence could be of
no help to them in their investigations. Inspector Barton, who had charge
of the case, made a very careful examination of the premises, but without
finding anything which threw any light upon the matter. One mistake had
been made in not arresting Boone instantly, as he was allowed some few
minutes during which he might have communicated with his friend the
Lascar, but this fault was soon remedied, and he was seized and searched,
without anything being found which could incriminate him. There were, it
is true, some blood-stains upon his right shirt-sleeve, but he pointed to
his ring-finger, which had been cut near the nail, and explained that the
bleeding came from there, adding that he had been to the window not long
before, and that the stains which had been observed there came doubtless
from the same source. He denied strenuously having ever seen Mr. Neville
St. Clair and swore that the presence of the clothes in his room was as
much a mystery to him as to the police. As to Mrs. St. Clair’s assertion
that she had actually seen her husband at the window, he declared that she
must have been either mad or dreaming. He was removed, loudly protesting,
to the police-station, while the inspector remained upon the premises in
the hope that the ebbing tide might afford some fresh clue.\par

“And it did, though they hardly found upon the mud-bank what they had
feared to find. It was Neville St. Clair’s coat, and not Neville St.
Clair, which lay uncovered as the tide receded. And what do you think they
found in the pockets?”\par

“I cannot imagine.”\par

“No, I don’t think you would guess. Every pocket stuffed with pennies and
half-pennies—421 pennies and 270 half-pennies. It was no wonder that it
had not been swept away by the tide. But a human body is a different
matter. There is a fierce eddy between the wharf and the house. It seemed
likely enough that the weighted coat had remained when the stripped body
had been sucked away into the river.”\par

“But I understand that all the other clothes were found in the room. Would
the body be dressed in a coat alone?”\par

“No, sir, but the facts might be met speciously enough. Suppose that this
man Boone had thrust Neville St. Clair through the window, there is no
human eye which could have seen the deed. What would he do then? It would
of course instantly strike him that he must get rid of the tell-tale
garments. He would seize the coat, then, and be in the act of throwing it
out, when it would occur to him that it would swim and not sink. He has
little time, for he has heard the scuffle downstairs when the wife tried
to force her way up, and perhaps he has already heard from his Lascar
confederate that the police are hurrying up the street. There is not an
instant to be lost. He rushes to some secret hoard, where he has
accumulated the fruits of his beggary, and he stuffs all the coins upon
which he can lay his hands into the pockets to make sure of the coat’s
sinking. He throws it out, and would have done the same with the other
garments had not he heard the rush of steps below, and only just had time
to close the window when the police appeared.”\par

“It certainly sounds feasible.”\par

“Well, we will take it as a working hypothesis for want of a better.
Boone, as I have told you, was arrested and taken to the station, but it
could not be shown that there had ever before been anything against him.
He had for years been known as a professional beggar, but his life
appeared to have been a very quiet and innocent one. There the matter
stands at present, and the questions which have to be solved—what Neville
St. Clair was doing in the opium den, what happened to him when there,
where is he now, and what Hugh Boone had to do with his disappearance—are
all as far from a solution as ever. I confess that I cannot recall any
case within my experience which looked at the first glance so simple and
yet which presented such difficulties.”\par

While Sherlock Holmes had been detailing this singular series of events,
we had been whirling through the outskirts of the great town until the
last straggling houses had been left behind, and we rattled along with a
country hedge upon either side of us. Just as he finished, however, we
drove through two scattered villages, where a few lights still glimmered
in the windows.\par

“We are on the outskirts of Lee,” said my companion. “We have touched on
three English counties in our short drive, starting in Middlesex, passing
over an angle of Surrey, and ending in Kent. See that light among the
trees? That is The Cedars, and beside that lamp sits a woman whose anxious
ears have already, I have little doubt, caught the clink of our horse’s
feet.”\par

“But why are you not conducting the case from Baker Street?” I asked.\par

“Because there are many inquiries which must be made out here. Mrs. St.
Clair has most kindly put two rooms at my disposal, and you may rest
assured that she will have nothing but a welcome for my friend and
colleague. I hate to meet her, Watson, when I have no news of her husband.
Here we are. Whoa, there, whoa!”\par

We had pulled up in front of a large villa which stood within its own
grounds. A stable-boy had run out to the horse’s head, and springing down,
I followed Holmes up the small, winding gravel-drive which led to the
house. As we approached, the door flew open, and a little blonde woman
stood in the opening, clad in some sort of light mousseline de soie, with
a touch of fluffy pink chiffon at her neck and wrists. She stood with her
figure outlined against the flood of light, one hand upon the door, one
half-raised in her eagerness, her body slightly bent, her head and face
protruded, with eager eyes and parted lips, a standing question.\par

“Well?” she cried, “well?” And then, seeing that there were two of us, she
gave a cry of hope which sank into a groan as she saw that my companion
shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.\par

“No good news?”\par

“None.”\par

“No bad?”\par

“No.”\par

“Thank God for that. But come in. You must be weary, for you have had a
long day.”\par

“This is my friend, Dr. Watson. He has been of most vital use to me in
several of my cases, and a lucky chance has made it possible for me to
bring him out and associate him with this investigation.”\par

“I am delighted to see you,” said she, pressing my hand warmly. “You will,
I am sure, forgive anything that may be wanting in our arrangements, when
you consider the blow which has come so suddenly upon us.”\par

“My dear madam,” said I, “I am an old campaigner, and if I were not I can
very well see that no apology is needed. If I can be of any assistance,
either to you or to my friend here, I shall be indeed happy.”\par

“Now, Mr. Sherlock Holmes,” said the lady as we entered a well-lit
dining-room, upon the table of which a cold supper had been laid out, “I
should very much like to ask you one or two plain questions, to which I
beg that you will give a plain answer.”\par

“Certainly, madam.”\par

“Do not trouble about my feelings. I am not hysterical, nor given to
fainting. I simply wish to hear your real, real opinion.”\par

“Upon what point?”\par

“In your heart of hearts, do you think that Neville is alive?”\par

Sherlock Holmes seemed to be embarrassed by the question. “Frankly, now!”
she repeated, standing upon the rug and looking keenly down at him as he
leaned back in a basket-chair.\par

“Frankly, then, madam, I do not.”\par

“You think that he is dead?”\par

“I do.”\par

“Murdered?”\par

“I don’t say that. Perhaps.”\par

“And on what day did he meet his death?”\par

“On Monday.”\par

“Then perhaps, Mr. Holmes, you will be good enough to explain how it is
that I have received a letter from him to-day.”\par

Sherlock Holmes sprang out of his chair as if he had been galvanised.\par

“What!” he roared.\par

“Yes, to-day.” She stood smiling, holding up a little slip of paper in the
air.\par

“May I see it?”\par

“Certainly.”\par

He snatched it from her in his eagerness, and smoothing it out upon the
table he drew over the lamp and examined it intently. I had left my chair
and was gazing at it over his shoulder. The envelope was a very coarse one
and was stamped with the Gravesend postmark and with the date of that very
day, or rather of the day before, for it was considerably after midnight.\par

“Coarse writing,” murmured Holmes. “Surely this is not your husband’s
writing, madam.”\par

“No, but the enclosure is.”\par

“I perceive also that whoever addressed the envelope had to go and inquire
as to the address.”\par

“How can you tell that?”\par

“The name, you see, is in perfectly black ink, which has dried itself. The
rest is of the greyish colour, which shows that blotting-paper has been
used. If it had been written straight off, and then blotted, none would be
of a deep black shade. This man has written the name, and there has then
been a pause before he wrote the address, which can only mean that he was
not familiar with it. It is, of course, a trifle, but there is nothing so
important as trifles. Let us now see the letter. Ha! there has been an
enclosure here!”\par

“Yes, there was a ring. His signet-ring.”\par

“And you are sure that this is your husband’s hand?”\par

“One of his hands.”\par

“One?”\par

“His hand when he wrote hurriedly. It is very unlike his usual writing,
and yet I know it well.”\par

“ ‘Dearest do not be frightened. All will come well. There is a huge error
which it may take some little time to rectify. Wait in patience. — {\scshape{Neville}}.’
Written in pencil upon the fly-leaf of a book, octavo size, no water-mark.
Hum! Posted to-day in Gravesend by a man with a dirty thumb. Ha! And the
flap has been gummed, if I am not very much in error, by a person who had
been chewing tobacco. And you have no doubt that it is your husband’s
hand, madam?”\par

“None. Neville wrote those words.”\par

“And they were posted to-day at Gravesend. Well, Mrs. St. Clair, the
clouds lighten, though I should not venture to say that the danger is
over.”\par

“But he must be alive, Mr. Holmes.”\par

“Unless this is a clever forgery to put us on the wrong scent. The ring,
after all, proves nothing. It may have been taken from him.”\par

“No, no; it is, it is his very own writing!”\par

“Very well. It may, however, have been written on Monday and only posted
to-day.”\par

“That is possible.”\par

“If so, much may have happened between.”\par

“Oh, you must not discourage me, Mr. Holmes. I know that all is well with
him. There is so keen a sympathy between us that I should know if evil
came upon him. On the very day that I saw him last he cut himself in the
bedroom, and yet I in the dining-room rushed upstairs instantly with the
utmost certainty that something had happened. Do you think that I would
respond to such a trifle and yet be ignorant of his death?”\par

“I have seen too much not to know that the impression of a woman may be
more valuable than the conclusion of an analytical reasoner. And in this
letter you certainly have a very strong piece of evidence to corroborate
your view. But if your husband is alive and able to write letters, why
should he remain away from you?”\par

“I cannot imagine. It is unthinkable.”\par

“And on Monday he made no remarks before leaving you?”\par

“No.”\par

“And you were surprised to see him in Swandam Lane?”\par

“Very much so.”\par

“Was the window open?”\par

“Yes.”\par

“Then he might have called to you?”\par

“He might.”\par

“He only, as I understand, gave an inarticulate cry?”\par

“Yes.”\par

“A call for help, you thought?”\par

“Yes. He waved his hands.”\par

“But it might have been a cry of surprise. Astonishment at the unexpected
sight of you might cause him to throw up his hands?”\par

“It is possible.”\par

“And you thought he was pulled back?”\par

“He disappeared so suddenly.”\par

“He might have leaped back. You did not see anyone else in the room?”\par

“No, but this horrible man confessed to having been there, and the Lascar
was at the foot of the stairs.”\par

“Quite so. Your husband, as far as you could see, had his ordinary clothes
on?”\par

“But without his collar or tie. I distinctly saw his bare throat.”\par

“Had he ever spoken of Swandam Lane?”\par

“Never.”\par

“Had he ever showed any signs of having taken opium?”\par

“Never.”\par

“Thank you, Mrs. St. Clair. Those are the principal points about which I
wished to be absolutely clear. We shall now have a little supper and then
retire, for we may have a very busy day to-morrow.”\par

A large and comfortable double-bedded room had been placed at our
disposal, and I was quickly between the sheets, for I was weary after my
night of adventure. Sherlock Holmes was a man, however, who, when he had
an unsolved problem upon his mind, would go for days, and even for a week,
without rest, turning it over, rearranging his facts, looking at it from
every point of view until he had either fathomed it or convinced himself
that his data were insufficient. It was soon evident to me that he was now
preparing for an all-night sitting. He took off his coat and waistcoat,
put on a large blue dressing-gown, and then wandered about the room
collecting pillows from his bed and cushions from the sofa and armchairs.
With these he constructed a sort of Eastern divan, upon which he perched
himself cross-legged, with an ounce of shag tobacco and a box of matches
laid out in front of him. In the dim light of the lamp I saw him sitting
there, an old briar pipe between his lips, his eyes fixed vacantly upon
the corner of the ceiling, the blue smoke curling up from him, silent,
motionless, with the light shining upon his strong-set aquiline features.
So he sat as I dropped off to sleep, and so he sat when a sudden
ejaculation caused me to wake up, and I found the summer sun shining into
the apartment. The pipe was still between his lips, the smoke still curled
upward, and the room was full of a dense tobacco haze, but nothing
remained of the heap of shag which I had seen upon the previous night.\par

“Awake, Watson?” he asked.\par

“Yes.”\par

“Game for a morning drive?”\par

“Certainly.”\par

“Then dress. No one is stirring yet, but I know where the stable-boy
sleeps, and we shall soon have the trap out.” He chuckled to himself as he
spoke, his eyes twinkled, and he seemed a different man to the sombre
thinker of the previous night.\par

As I dressed I glanced at my watch. It was no wonder that no one was
stirring. It was twenty-five minutes past four. I had hardly finished when
Holmes returned with the news that the boy was putting in the horse.\par

“I want to test a little theory of mine,” said he, pulling on his boots.
“I think, Watson, that you are now standing in the presence of one of the
most absolute fools in Europe. I deserve to be kicked from here to Charing
Cross. But I think I have the key of the affair now.”\par

“And where is it?” I asked, smiling.\par

“In the bathroom,” he answered. “Oh, yes, I am not joking,” he continued,
seeing my look of incredulity. “I have just been there, and I have taken
it out, and I have got it in this Gladstone bag. Come on, my boy, and we
shall see whether it will not fit the lock.”\par

We made our way downstairs as quietly as possible, and out into the bright
morning sunshine. In the road stood our horse and trap, with the half-clad
stable-boy waiting at the head. We both sprang in, and away we dashed down
the London Road. A few country carts were stirring, bearing in vegetables
to the metropolis, but the lines of villas on either side were as silent
and lifeless as some city in a dream.\par

“It has been in some points a singular case,” said Holmes, flicking the
horse on into a gallop. “I confess that I have been as blind as a mole,
but it is better to learn wisdom late than never to learn it at all.”\par

In town the earliest risers were just beginning to look sleepily from
their windows as we drove through the streets of the Surrey side. Passing
down the Waterloo Bridge Road we crossed over the river, and dashing up
Wellington Street wheeled sharply to the right and found ourselves in Bow
Street. Sherlock Holmes was well known to the force, and the two
constables at the door saluted him. One of them held the horse’s head
while the other led us in.\par

“Who is on duty?” asked Holmes.\par

“Inspector Bradstreet, sir.”\par

“Ah, Bradstreet, how are you?” A tall, stout official had come down the
stone-flagged passage, in a peaked cap and frogged jacket. “I wish to have
a quiet word with you, Bradstreet.” “Certainly, Mr. Holmes. Step into my
room here.” It was a small, office-like room, with a huge ledger upon the
table, and a telephone projecting from the wall. The inspector sat down at
his desk.\par

“What can I do for you, Mr. Holmes?”\par

“I called about that beggarman, Boone—the one who was charged with being
concerned in the disappearance of Mr. Neville St. Clair, of Lee.”\par

“Yes. He was brought up and remanded for further inquiries.”\par

“So I heard. You have him here?”\par

“In the cells.”\par

“Is he quiet?”\par

“Oh, he gives no trouble. But he is a dirty scoundrel.”\par

“Dirty?”\par

“Yes, it is all we can do to make him wash his hands, and his face is as
black as a tinker’s. Well, when once his case has been settled, he will
have a regular prison bath; and I think, if you saw him, you would agree
with me that he needed it.”\par

“I should like to see him very much.”\par

“Would you? That is easily done. Come this way. You can leave your bag.”\par

“No, I think that I’ll take it.”\par

“Very good. Come this way, if you please.” He led us down a passage,
opened a barred door, passed down a winding stair, and brought us to a
whitewashed corridor with a line of doors on each side.\par

“The third on the right is his,” said the inspector. “Here it is!” He
quietly shot back a panel in the upper part of the door and glanced
through.\par

“He is asleep,” said he. “You can see him very well.”\par

We both put our eyes to the grating. The prisoner lay with his face
towards us, in a very deep sleep, breathing slowly and heavily. He was a
middle-sized man, coarsely clad as became his calling, with a coloured
shirt protruding through the rent in his tattered coat. He was, as the
inspector had said, extremely dirty, but the grime which covered his face
could not conceal its repulsive ugliness. A broad wheal from an old scar
ran right across it from eye to chin, and by its contraction had turned up
one side of the upper lip, so that three teeth were exposed in a perpetual
snarl. A shock of very bright red hair grew low over his eyes and
forehead.\par

“He’s a beauty, isn’t he?” said the inspector.\par

“He certainly needs a wash,” remarked Holmes. “I had an idea that he
might, and I took the liberty of bringing the tools with me.” He opened
the Gladstone bag as he spoke, and took out, to my astonishment, a very
large bath-sponge.\par

“He! he! You are a funny one,” chuckled the inspector.\par

“Now, if you will have the great goodness to open that door very quietly,
we will soon make him cut a much more respectable figure.”\par

“Well, I don’t know why not,” said the inspector. “He doesn’t look a
credit to the Bow Street cells, does he?” He slipped his key into the
lock, and we all very quietly entered the cell. The sleeper half turned,
and then settled down once more into a deep slumber. Holmes stooped to the
water-jug, moistened his sponge, and then rubbed it twice vigorously
across and down the prisoner’s face.\par

“Let me introduce you,” he shouted, “to Mr. Neville St. Clair, of Lee, in
the county of Kent.”\par

Never in my life have I seen such a sight. The man’s face peeled off under
the sponge like the bark from a tree. Gone was the coarse brown tint!
Gone, too, was the horrid scar which had seamed it across, and the twisted
lip which had given the repulsive sneer to the face! A twitch brought away
the tangled red hair, and there, sitting up in his bed, was a pale,
sad-faced, refined-looking man, black-haired and smooth-skinned, rubbing
his eyes and staring about him with sleepy bewilderment. Then suddenly
realising the exposure, he broke into a scream and threw himself down with
his face to the pillow.\par

“Great heavens!” cried the inspector, “it is, indeed, the missing man. I
know him from the photograph.”\par

The prisoner turned with the reckless air of a man who abandons himself to
his destiny. “Be it so,” said he. “And pray what am I charged with?”\par

“With making away with Mr. Neville St.— Oh, come, you can’t be charged
with that unless they make a case of attempted suicide of it,” said the
inspector with a grin. “Well, I have been twenty-seven years in the force,
but this really takes the cake.”\par

“If I am Mr. Neville St. Clair, then it is obvious that no crime has been
committed, and that, therefore, I am illegally detained.”\par

“No crime, but a very great error has been committed,” said Holmes. “You
would have done better to have trusted your wife.”\par

“It was not the wife; it was the children,” groaned the prisoner. “God
help me, I would not have them ashamed of their father. My God! What an
exposure! What can I do?”\par

Sherlock Holmes sat down beside him on the couch and patted him kindly on
the shoulder.\par

“If you leave it to a court of law to clear the matter up,” said he, “of
course you can hardly avoid publicity. On the other hand, if you convince
the police authorities that there is no possible case against you, I do
not know that there is any reason that the details should find their way
into the papers. Inspector Bradstreet would, I am sure, make notes upon
anything which you might tell us and submit it to the proper authorities.
The case would then never go into court at all.”\par

“God bless you!” cried the prisoner passionately. “I would have endured
imprisonment, ay, even execution, rather than have left my miserable
secret as a family blot to my children.\par

“You are the first who have ever heard my story. My father was a
schoolmaster in Chesterfield, where I received an excellent education. I
travelled in my youth, took to the stage, and finally became a reporter on
an evening paper in London. One day my editor wished to have a series of
articles upon begging in the metropolis, and I volunteered to supply them.
There was the point from which all my adventures started. It was only by
trying begging as an amateur that I could get the facts upon which to base
my articles. When an actor I had, of course, learned all the secrets of
making up, and had been famous in the green-room for my skill. I took
advantage now of my attainments. I painted my face, and to make myself as
pitiable as possible I made a good scar and fixed one side of my lip in a
twist by the aid of a small slip of flesh-coloured plaster. Then with a
red head of hair, and an appropriate dress, I took my station in the
business part of the city, ostensibly as a match-seller but really as a
beggar. For seven hours I plied my trade, and when I returned home in the
evening I found to my surprise that I had received no less than 26*s*.
4*d*.\par

“I wrote my articles and thought little more of the matter until, some
time later, I backed a bill for a friend and had a writ served upon me for
£25. I was at my wit’s end where to get the money, but a sudden idea
came to me. I begged a fortnight’s grace from the creditor, asked for a
holiday from my employers, and spent the time in begging in the City under
my disguise. In ten days I had the money and had paid the debt.\par

“Well, you can imagine how hard it was to settle down to arduous work at
£2 a week when I knew that I could earn as much in a day by smearing my
face with a little paint, laying my cap on the ground, and sitting still.
It was a long fight between my pride and the money, but the dollars won at
last, and I threw up reporting and sat day after day in the corner which I
had first chosen, inspiring pity by my ghastly face and filling my pockets
with coppers. Only one man knew my secret. He was the keeper of a low den
in which I used to lodge in Swandam Lane, where I could every morning
emerge as a squalid beggar and in the evenings transform myself into a
well-dressed man about town. This fellow, a Lascar, was well paid by me
for his rooms, so that I knew that my secret was safe in his possession.\par

“Well, very soon I found that I was saving considerable sums of money. I
do not mean that any beggar in the streets of London could earn £700 a
year—which is less than my average takings—but I had exceptional
advantages in my power of making up, and also in a facility of repartee,
which improved by practice and made me quite a recognised character in the
City. All day a stream of pennies, varied by silver, poured in upon me,
and it was a very bad day in which I failed to take £2.\par

“As I grew richer I grew more ambitious, took a house in the country, and
eventually married, without anyone having a suspicion as to my real
occupation. My dear wife knew that I had business in the City. She little
knew what.\par

“Last Monday I had finished for the day and was dressing in my room above
the opium den when I looked out of my window and saw, to my horror and
astonishment, that my wife was standing in the street, with her eyes fixed
full upon me. I gave a cry of surprise, threw up my arms to cover my face,
and, rushing to my confidant, the Lascar, entreated him to prevent anyone
from coming up to me. I heard her voice downstairs, but I knew that she
could not ascend. Swiftly I threw off my clothes, pulled on those of a
beggar, and put on my pigments and wig. Even a wife’s eyes could not
pierce so complete a disguise. But then it occurred to me that there might
be a search in the room, and that the clothes might betray me. I threw
open the window, reopening by my violence a small cut which I had
inflicted upon myself in the bedroom that morning. Then I seized my coat,
which was weighted by the coppers which I had just transferred to it from
the leather bag in which I carried my takings. I hurled it out of the
window, and it disappeared into the Thames. The other clothes would have
followed, but at that moment there was a rush of constables up the stair,
and a few minutes after I found, rather, I confess, to my relief, that
instead of being identified as Mr. Neville St. Clair, I was arrested as
his murderer.\par

“I do not know that there is anything else for me to explain. I was
determined to preserve my disguise as long as possible, and hence my
preference for a dirty face. Knowing that my wife would be terribly
anxious, I slipped off my ring and confided it to the Lascar at a moment
when no constable was watching me, together with a hurried scrawl, telling
her that she had no cause to fear.”\par

“That note only reached her yesterday,” said Holmes.\par

“Good God! What a week she must have spent!”\par

“The police have watched this Lascar,” said Inspector Bradstreet, “and I
can quite understand that he might find it difficult to post a letter
unobserved. Probably he handed it to some sailor customer of his, who
forgot all about it for some days.”\par

“That was it,” said Holmes, nodding approvingly; “I have no doubt of it.
But have you never been prosecuted for begging?”\par

“Many times; but what was a fine to me?”\par

“It must stop here, however,” said Bradstreet. “If the police are to hush
this thing up, there must be no more of Hugh Boone.”\par

“I have sworn it by the most solemn oaths which a man can take.”\par

“In that case I think that it is probable that no further steps may be
taken. But if you are found again, then all must come out. I am sure, Mr.
Holmes, that we are very much indebted to you for having cleared the
matter up. I wish I knew how you reach your results.”\par

“I reached this one,” said my friend, “by sitting upon five pillows and
consuming an ounce of shag. I think, Watson, that if we drive to Baker
Street we shall just be in time for breakfast.”\par

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\hypertarget{the-adventure-of-the-blue-carbuncle}{}%
%
\chapter*{The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle}


I had called upon my friend Sherlock Holmes upon the second morning after
Christmas, with the intention of wishing him the compliments of the
season. He was lounging upon the sofa in a purple dressing-gown, a
pipe-rack within his reach upon the right, and a pile of crumpled morning
papers, evidently newly studied, near at hand. Beside the couch was a
wooden chair, and on the angle of the back hung a very seedy and
disreputable hard-felt hat, much the worse for wear, and cracked in
several places. A lens and a forceps lying upon the seat of the chair
suggested that the hat had been suspended in this manner for the purpose
of examination.\par

“You are engaged,” said I; “perhaps I interrupt you.”\par

“Not at all. I am glad to have a friend with whom I can discuss my
results. The matter is a perfectly trivial one”—he jerked his thumb in the
direction of the old hat—“but there are points in connection with it which
are not entirely devoid of interest and even of instruction.”\par

I seated myself in his armchair and warmed my hands before his crackling
fire, for a sharp frost had set in, and the windows were thick with the
ice crystals. “I suppose,” I remarked, “that, homely as it looks, this
thing has some deadly story linked on to it—that it is the clue which will
guide you in the solution of some mystery and the punishment of some
crime.”\par

“No, no. No crime,” said Sherlock Holmes, laughing. “Only one of those
whimsical little incidents which will happen when you have four million
human beings all jostling each other within the space of a few square
miles. Amid the action and reaction of so dense a swarm of humanity, every
possible combination of events may be expected to take place, and many a
little problem will be presented which may be striking and bizarre without
being criminal. We have already had experience of such.”\par

“So much so,” I remarked, “that of the last six cases which I have added
to my notes, three have been entirely free of any legal crime.”\par

“Precisely. You allude to my attempt to recover the Irene Adler papers, to
the singular case of Miss Mary Sutherland, and to the adventure of the man
with the twisted lip. Well, I have no doubt that this small matter will
fall into the same innocent category. You know Peterson, the
commissionaire?”\par

“Yes.”\par

“It is to him that this trophy belongs.”\par

“It is his hat.”\par

“No, no, he found it. Its owner is unknown. I beg that you will look upon
it not as a battered billycock but as an intellectual problem. And, first,
as to how it came here. It arrived upon Christmas morning, in company with
a good fat goose, which is, I have no doubt, roasting at this moment in
front of Peterson’s fire. The facts are these: about four o’clock on
Christmas morning, Peterson, who, as you know, is a very honest fellow,
was returning from some small jollification and was making his way
homeward down Tottenham Court Road. In front of him he saw, in the
gaslight, a tallish man, walking with a slight stagger, and carrying a
white goose slung over his shoulder. As he reached the corner of Goodge
Street, a row broke out between this stranger and a little knot of roughs.
One of the latter knocked off the man’s hat, on which he raised his stick
to defend himself and, swinging it over his head, smashed the shop window
behind him. Peterson had rushed forward to protect the stranger from his
assailants; but the man, shocked at having broken the window, and seeing
an official-looking person in uniform rushing towards him, dropped his
goose, took to his heels, and vanished amid the labyrinth of small streets
which lie at the back of Tottenham Court Road. The roughs had also fled at
the appearance of Peterson, so that he was left in possession of the field
of battle, and also of the spoils of victory in the shape of this battered
hat and a most unimpeachable Christmas goose.”\par

“Which surely he restored to their owner?”\par

“My dear fellow, there lies the problem. It is true that ‘For Mrs. Henry
Baker’ was printed upon a small card which was tied to the bird’s left
leg, and it is also true that the initials ‘H. B.’ are legible upon the
lining of this hat, but as there are some thousands of Bakers, and some
hundreds of Henry Bakers in this city of ours, it is not easy to restore
lost property to any one of them.”\par

“What, then, did Peterson do?”\par

“He brought round both hat and goose to me on Christmas morning, knowing
that even the smallest problems are of interest to me. The goose we
retained until this morning, when there were signs that, in spite of the
slight frost, it would be well that it should be eaten without unnecessary
delay. Its finder has carried it off, therefore, to fulfil the ultimate
destiny of a goose, while I continue to retain the hat of the unknown
gentleman who lost his Christmas dinner.”\par

“Did he not advertise?”\par

“No.”\par

“Then, what clue could you have as to his identity?”\par

“Only as much as we can deduce.”\par

“From his hat?”\par

“Precisely.”\par

“But you are joking. What can you gather from this old battered felt?”\par

“Here is my lens. You know my methods. What can you gather yourself as to
the individuality of the man who has worn this article?”\par

I took the tattered object in my hands and turned it over rather ruefully.
It was a very ordinary black hat of the usual round shape, hard and much
the worse for wear. The lining had been of red silk, but was a good deal
discoloured. There was no maker’s name; but, as Holmes had remarked, the
initials “H. B.” were scrawled upon one side. It was pierced in the brim
for a hat-securer, but the elastic was missing. For the rest, it was
cracked, exceedingly dusty, and spotted in several places, although there
seemed to have been some attempt to hide the discoloured patches by
smearing them with ink.\par

“I can see nothing,” said I, handing it back to my friend.\par

“On the contrary, Watson, you can see everything. You fail, however, to
reason from what you see. You are too timid in drawing your inferences.”\par

“Then, pray tell me what it is that you can infer from this hat?”\par

He picked it up and gazed at it in the peculiar introspective fashion
which was characteristic of him. “It is perhaps less suggestive than it
might have been,” he remarked, “and yet there are a few inferences which
are very distinct, and a few others which represent at least a strong
balance of probability. That the man was highly intellectual is of course
obvious upon the face of it, and also that he was fairly well-to-do within
the last three years, although he has now fallen upon evil days. He had
foresight, but has less now than formerly, pointing to a moral
retrogression, which, when taken with the decline of his fortunes, seems
to indicate some evil influence, probably drink, at work upon him. This
may account also for the obvious fact that his wife has ceased to love
him.”\par

“My dear Holmes!”\par

“He has, however, retained some degree of self-respect,” he continued,
disregarding my remonstrance. “He is a man who leads a sedentary life,
goes out little, is out of training entirely, is middle-aged, has grizzled
hair which he has had cut within the last few days, and which he anoints
with lime-cream. These are the more patent facts which are to be deduced
from his hat. Also, by the way, that it is extremely improbable that he
has gas laid on in his house.”\par

“You are certainly joking, Holmes.”\par

“Not in the least. Is it possible that even now, when I give you these
results, you are unable to see how they are attained?”\par

“I have no doubt that I am very stupid, but I must confess that I am
unable to follow you. For example, how did you deduce that this man was
intellectual?”\par

For answer Holmes clapped the hat upon his head. It came right over the
forehead and settled upon the bridge of his nose. “It is a question of
cubic capacity,” said he; “a man with so large a brain must have something
in it.”\par

“The decline of his fortunes, then?”\par

“This hat is three years old. These flat brims curled at the edge came in
then. It is a hat of the very best quality. Look at the band of ribbed
silk and the excellent lining. If this man could afford to buy so
expensive a hat three years ago, and has had no hat since, then he has
assuredly gone down in the world.”\par

“Well, that is clear enough, certainly. But how about the foresight and
the moral retrogression?”\par

Sherlock Holmes laughed. “Here is the foresight,” said he putting his
finger upon the little disc and loop of the hat-securer. “They are never
sold upon hats. If this man ordered one, it is a sign of a certain amount
of foresight, since he went out of his way to take this precaution against
the wind. But since we see that he has broken the elastic and has not
troubled to replace it, it is obvious that he has less foresight now than
formerly, which is a distinct proof of a weakening nature. On the other
hand, he has endeavoured to conceal some of these stains upon the felt by
daubing them with ink, which is a sign that he has not entirely lost his
self-respect.”\par

“Your reasoning is certainly plausible.”\par

“The further points, that he is middle-aged, that his hair is grizzled,
that it has been recently cut, and that he uses lime-cream, are all to be
gathered from a close examination of the lower part of the lining. The
lens discloses a large number of hair-ends, clean cut by the scissors of
the barber. They all appear to be adhesive, and there is a distinct odour
of lime-cream. This dust, you will observe, is not the gritty, grey dust
of the street but the fluffy brown dust of the house, showing that it has
been hung up indoors most of the time, while the marks of moisture upon
the inside are proof positive that the wearer perspired very freely, and
could therefore, hardly be in the best of training.”\par

“But his wife—you said that she had ceased to love him.”\par

“This hat has not been brushed for weeks. When I see you, my dear Watson,
with a week’s accumulation of dust upon your hat, and when your wife
allows you to go out in such a state, I shall fear that you also have been
unfortunate enough to lose your wife’s affection.”\par

“But he might be a bachelor.”\par

“Nay, he was bringing home the goose as a peace-offering to his wife.
Remember the card upon the bird’s leg.”\par

“You have an answer to everything. But how on earth do you deduce that the
gas is not laid on in his house?”\par

“One tallow stain, or even two, might come by chance; but when I see no
less than five, I think that there can be little doubt that the individual
must be brought into frequent contact with burning tallow—walks upstairs
at night probably with his hat in one hand and a guttering candle in the
other. Anyhow, he never got tallow-stains from a gas-jet. Are you
satisfied?”\par

“Well, it is very ingenious,” said I, laughing; “but since, as you said
just now, there has been no crime committed, and no harm done save the
loss of a goose, all this seems to be rather a waste of energy.”\par

Sherlock Holmes had opened his mouth to reply, when the door flew open,
and Peterson, the commissionaire, rushed into the apartment with flushed
cheeks and the face of a man who is dazed with astonishment.\par

“The goose, Mr. Holmes! The goose, sir!” he gasped.\par

“Eh? What of it, then? Has it returned to life and flapped off through the
kitchen window?” Holmes twisted himself round upon the sofa to get a
fairer view of the man’s excited face.\par

“See here, sir! See what my wife found in its crop!” He held out his hand
and displayed upon the centre of the palm a brilliantly scintillating blue
stone, rather smaller than a bean in size, but of such purity and radiance
that it twinkled like an electric point in the dark hollow of his hand.\par

Sherlock Holmes sat up with a whistle. “By Jove, Peterson!” said he, “this
is treasure trove indeed. I suppose you know what you have got?”\par

“A diamond, sir? A precious stone. It cuts into glass as though it were
putty.”\par

“It’s more than a precious stone. It is {\itshape{the}} precious stone.”\par

“Not the Countess of Morcar’s blue carbuncle!” I ejaculated.\par

“Precisely so. I ought to know its size and shape, seeing that I have read
the advertisement about it in {\itshape{The Times}} every day lately. It is
absolutely unique, and its value can only be conjectured, but the reward
offered of £1000 is certainly not within a twentieth part of the market
price.”\par

“A thousand pounds! Great Lord of mercy!” The commissionaire plumped down
into a chair and stared from one to the other of us.\par

“That is the reward, and I have reason to know that there are sentimental
considerations in the background which would induce the Countess to part
with half her fortune if she could but recover the gem.”\par

“It was lost, if I remember aright, at the Hotel Cosmopolitan,” I
remarked.\par

“Precisely so, on December 22nd, just five days ago. John Horner, a
plumber, was accused of having abstracted it from the lady’s jewel-case.
The evidence against him was so strong that the case has been referred to
the Assizes. I have some account of the matter here, I believe.” He
rummaged amid his newspapers, glancing over the dates, until at last he
smoothed one out, doubled it over, and read the following paragraph:\par

“Hotel Cosmopolitan Jewel Robbery. John Horner, 26, plumber, was brought
up upon the charge of having upon the 22nd inst., abstracted from the
jewel-case of the Countess of Morcar the valuable gem known as the blue
carbuncle. James Ryder, upper-attendant at the hotel, gave his evidence to
the effect that he had shown Horner up to the dressing-room of the
Countess of Morcar upon the day of the robbery in order that he might
solder the second bar of the grate, which was loose. He had remained with
Horner some little time, but had finally been called away. On returning,
he found that Horner had disappeared, that the bureau had been forced
open, and that the small morocco casket in which, as it afterwards
transpired, the Countess was accustomed to keep her jewel, was lying empty
upon the dressing-table. Ryder instantly gave the alarm, and Horner was
arrested the same evening; but the stone could not be found either upon
his person or in his rooms. Catherine Cusack, maid to the Countess,
deposed to having heard Ryder’s cry of dismay on discovering the robbery,
and to having rushed into the room, where she found matters as described
by the last witness. Inspector Bradstreet, B division, gave evidence as to
the arrest of Horner, who struggled frantically, and protested his
innocence in the strongest terms. Evidence of a previous conviction for
robbery having been given against the prisoner, the magistrate refused to
deal summarily with the offence, but referred it to the Assizes. Horner,
who had shown signs of intense emotion during the proceedings, fainted
away at the conclusion and was carried out of court.”\par

“Hum! So much for the police-court,” said Holmes thoughtfully, tossing
aside the paper. “The question for us now to solve is the sequence of
events leading from a rifled jewel-case at one end to the crop of a goose
in Tottenham Court Road at the other. You see, Watson, our little
deductions have suddenly assumed a much more important and less innocent
aspect. Here is the stone; the stone came from the goose, and the goose
came from Mr. Henry Baker, the gentleman with the bad hat and all the
other characteristics with which I have bored you. So now we must set
ourselves very seriously to finding this gentleman and ascertaining what
part he has played in this little mystery. To do this, we must try the
simplest means first, and these lie undoubtedly in an advertisement in all
the evening papers. If this fail, I shall have recourse to other methods.”\par

“What will you say?”\par

“Give me a pencil and that slip of paper. Now, then: ‘Found at the corner
of Goodge Street, a goose and a black felt hat. Mr. Henry Baker can have
the same by applying at 6:30 this evening at 221B, Baker Street.’ That is
clear and concise.”\par

“Very. But will he see it?”\par

“Well, he is sure to keep an eye on the papers, since, to a poor man, the
loss was a heavy one. He was clearly so scared by his mischance in
breaking the window and by the approach of Peterson that he thought of
nothing but flight, but since then he must have bitterly regretted the
impulse which caused him to drop his bird. Then, again, the introduction
of his name will cause him to see it, for everyone who knows him will
direct his attention to it. Here you are, Peterson, run down to the
advertising agency and have this put in the evening papers.”\par

“In which, sir?”\par

“Oh, in the {\itshape{Globe}}, {\itshape{Star}}, {\itshape{Pall Mall}}, {\itshape{St. James’s}}, {\itshape{Evening News}},
{\itshape{Standard}}, {\itshape{Echo}}, and any others that occur to you.”\par

“Very well, sir. And this stone?”\par

“Ah, yes, I shall keep the stone. Thank you. And, I say, Peterson, just
buy a goose on your way back and leave it here with me, for we must have
one to give to this gentleman in place of the one which your family is now
devouring.”\par

When the commissionaire had gone, Holmes took up the stone and held it
against the light. “It’s a bonny thing,” said he. “Just see how it glints
and sparkles. Of course it is a nucleus and focus of crime. Every good
stone is. They are the devil’s pet baits. In the larger and older jewels
every facet may stand for a bloody deed. This stone is not yet twenty
years old. It was found in the banks of the Amoy River in southern China
and is remarkable in having every characteristic of the carbuncle, save
that it is blue in shade instead of ruby red. In spite of its youth, it
has already a sinister history. There have been two murders, a
vitriol-throwing, a suicide, and several robberies brought about for the
sake of this forty-grain weight of crystallised charcoal. Who would think
that so pretty a toy would be a purveyor to the gallows and the prison?
I’ll lock it up in my strong box now and drop a line to the Countess to
say that we have it.”\par

“Do you think that this man Horner is innocent?”\par

“I cannot tell.”\par

“Well, then, do you imagine that this other one, Henry Baker, had anything
to do with the matter?”\par

“It is, I think, much more likely that Henry Baker is an absolutely
innocent man, who had no idea that the bird which he was carrying was of
considerably more value than if it were made of solid gold. That, however,
I shall determine by a very simple test if we have an answer to our
advertisement.”\par

“And you can do nothing until then?”\par

“Nothing.”\par

“In that case I shall continue my professional round. But I shall come
back in the evening at the hour you have mentioned, for I should like to
see the solution of so tangled a business.”\par

“Very glad to see you. I dine at seven. There is a woodcock, I believe. By
the way, in view of recent occurrences, perhaps I ought to ask Mrs. Hudson
to examine its crop.”\par

I had been delayed at a case, and it was a little after half-past six when
I found myself in Baker Street once more. As I approached the house I saw
a tall man in a Scotch bonnet with a coat which was buttoned up to his
chin waiting outside in the bright semicircle which was thrown from the
fanlight. Just as I arrived the door was opened, and we were shown up
together to Holmes’ room.\par

“Mr. Henry Baker, I believe,” said he, rising from his armchair and
greeting his visitor with the easy air of geniality which he could so
readily assume. “Pray take this chair by the fire, Mr. Baker. It is a cold
night, and I observe that your circulation is more adapted for summer than
for winter. Ah, Watson, you have just come at the right time. Is that your
hat, Mr. Baker?”\par

“Yes, sir, that is undoubtedly my hat.”\par

He was a large man with rounded shoulders, a massive head, and a broad,
intelligent face, sloping down to a pointed beard of grizzled brown. A
touch of red in nose and cheeks, with a slight tremor of his extended
hand, recalled Holmes’ surmise as to his habits. His rusty black
frock-coat was buttoned right up in front, with the collar turned up, and
his lank wrists protruded from his sleeves without a sign of cuff or
shirt. He spoke in a slow staccato fashion, choosing his words with care,
and gave the impression generally of a man of learning and letters who had
had ill-usage at the hands of fortune.\par

“We have retained these things for some days,” said Holmes, “because we
expected to see an advertisement from you giving your address. I am at a
loss to know now why you did not advertise.”\par

Our visitor gave a rather shamefaced laugh. “Shillings have not been so
plentiful with me as they once were,” he remarked. “I had no doubt that
the gang of roughs who assaulted me had carried off both my hat and the
bird. I did not care to spend more money in a hopeless attempt at
recovering them.”\par

“Very naturally. By the way, about the bird, we were compelled to eat it.”\par

“To eat it!” Our visitor half rose from his chair in his excitement.\par

“Yes, it would have been of no use to anyone had we not done so. But I
presume that this other goose upon the sideboard, which is about the same
weight and perfectly fresh, will answer your purpose equally well?”\par

“Oh, certainly, certainly,” answered Mr. Baker with a sigh of relief.\par

“Of course, we still have the feathers, legs, crop, and so on of your own
bird, so if you wish—”\par

The man burst into a hearty laugh. “They might be useful to me as relics
of my adventure,” said he, “but beyond that I can hardly see what use the
{\itshape{disjecta membra}} of my late acquaintance are going to be to me. No, sir,
I think that, with your permission, I will confine my attentions to the
excellent bird which I perceive upon the sideboard.”\par

Sherlock Holmes glanced sharply across at me with a slight shrug of his
shoulders.\par

“There is your hat, then, and there your bird,” said he. “By the way,
would it bore you to tell me where you got the other one from? I am
somewhat of a fowl fancier, and I have seldom seen a better grown goose.”\par

“Certainly, sir,” said Baker, who had risen and tucked his newly gained
property under his arm. “There are a few of us who frequent the Alpha Inn,
near the Museum—we are to be found in the Museum itself during the day,
you understand. This year our good host, Windigate by name, instituted a
goose club, by which, on consideration of some few pence every week, we
were each to receive a bird at Christmas. My pence were duly paid, and the
rest is familiar to you. I am much indebted to you, sir, for a Scotch
bonnet is fitted neither to my years nor my gravity.” With a comical
pomposity of manner he bowed solemnly to both of us and strode off upon
his way.\par

“So much for Mr. Henry Baker,” said Holmes when he had closed the door
behind him. “It is quite certain that he knows nothing whatever about the
matter. Are you hungry, Watson?”\par

“Not particularly.”\par

“Then I suggest that we turn our dinner into a supper and follow up this
clue while it is still hot.”\par

“By all means.”\par

It was a bitter night, so we drew on our ulsters and wrapped cravats about
our throats. Outside, the stars were shining coldly in a cloudless sky,
and the breath of the passers-by blew out into smoke like so many pistol
shots. Our footfalls rang out crisply and loudly as we swung through the
doctors’ quarter, Wimpole Street, Harley Street, and so through Wigmore
Street into Oxford Street. In a quarter of an hour we were in Bloomsbury
at the Alpha Inn, which is a small public-house at the corner of one of
the streets which runs down into Holborn. Holmes pushed open the door of
the private bar and ordered two glasses of beer from the ruddy-faced,
white-aproned landlord.\par

“Your beer should be excellent if it is as good as your geese,” said he.\par

“My geese!” The man seemed surprised.\par

“Yes. I was speaking only half an hour ago to Mr. Henry Baker, who was a
member of your goose club.”\par

“Ah! yes, I see. But you see, sir, them’s not {\itshape{our}} geese.”\par

“Indeed! Whose, then?”\par

“Well, I got the two dozen from a salesman in Covent Garden.”\par

“Indeed? I know some of them. Which was it?”\par

“Breckinridge is his name.”\par

“Ah! I don’t know him. Well, here’s your good health landlord, and
prosperity to your house. Good-night.”\par

“Now for Mr. Breckinridge,” he continued, buttoning up his coat as we came
out into the frosty air. “Remember, Watson that though we have so homely a
thing as a goose at one end of this chain, we have at the other a man who
will certainly get seven years’ penal servitude unless we can establish
his innocence. It is possible that our inquiry may but confirm his guilt;
but, in any case, we have a line of investigation which has been missed by
the police, and which a singular chance has placed in our hands. Let us
follow it out to the bitter end. Faces to the south, then, and quick
march!”\par

We passed across Holborn, down Endell Street, and so through a zigzag of
slums to Covent Garden Market. One of the largest stalls bore the name of
Breckinridge upon it, and the proprietor a horsey-looking man, with a
sharp face and trim side-whiskers was helping a boy to put up the
shutters.\par

“Good-evening. It’s a cold night,” said Holmes.\par

The salesman nodded and shot a questioning glance at my companion.\par

“Sold out of geese, I see,” continued Holmes, pointing at the bare slabs
of marble.\par

“Let you have five hundred to-morrow morning.”\par

“That’s no good.”\par

“Well, there are some on the stall with the gas-flare.”\par

“Ah, but I was recommended to you.”\par

“Who by?”\par

“The landlord of the Alpha.”\par

“Oh, yes; I sent him a couple of dozen.”\par

“Fine birds they were, too. Now where did you get them from?”\par

To my surprise the question provoked a burst of anger from the salesman.\par

“Now, then, mister,” said he, with his head cocked and his arms akimbo,
“what are you driving at? Let’s have it straight, now.”\par

“It is straight enough. I should like to know who sold you the geese which
you supplied to the Alpha.”\par

“Well then, I shan’t tell you. So now!”\par

“Oh, it is a matter of no importance; but I don’t know why you should be
so warm over such a trifle.”\par

“Warm! You’d be as warm, maybe, if you were as pestered as I am. When I
pay good money for a good article there should be an end of the business;
but it’s ‘Where are the geese?’ and ‘Who did you sell the geese to?’ and
‘What will you take for the geese?’ One would think they were the only
geese in the world, to hear the fuss that is made over them.”\par

“Well, I have no connection with any other people who have been making
inquiries,” said Holmes carelessly. “If you won’t tell us the bet is off,
that is all. But I’m always ready to back my opinion on a matter of fowls,
and I have a fiver on it that the bird I ate is country bred.”\par

“Well, then, you’ve lost your fiver, for it’s town bred,” snapped the
salesman.\par

“It’s nothing of the kind.”\par

“I say it is.”\par

“I don’t believe it.”\par

“D’you think you know more about fowls than I, who have handled them ever
since I was a nipper? I tell you, all those birds that went to the Alpha
were town bred.”\par

“You’ll never persuade me to believe that.”\par

“Will you bet, then?”\par

“It’s merely taking your money, for I know that I am right. But I’ll have
a sovereign on with you, just to teach you not to be obstinate.”\par

The salesman chuckled grimly. “Bring me the books, Bill,” said he.\par

The small boy brought round a small thin volume and a great greasy-backed
one, laying them out together beneath the hanging lamp.\par

“Now then, Mr. Cocksure,” said the salesman, “I thought that I was out of
geese, but before I finish you’ll find that there is still one left in my
shop. You see this little book?”\par

“Well?”\par

“That’s the list of the folk from whom I buy. D’you see? Well, then, here
on this page are the country folk, and the numbers after their names are
where their accounts are in the big ledger. Now, then! You see this other
page in red ink? Well, that is a list of my town suppliers. Now, look at
that third name. Just read it out to me.”\par

“Mrs. Oakshott, 117, Brixton Road—249,” read Holmes.\par

“Quite so. Now turn that up in the ledger.”\par

Holmes turned to the page indicated. “Here you are, ‘Mrs. Oakshott, 117,
Brixton Road, egg and poultry supplier.’ ”\par

“Now, then, what’s the last entry?”\par

“ ‘December 22nd. Twenty-four geese at 7*s*. 6*d*.’ ”\par

“Quite so. There you are. And underneath?”\par

“ ‘Sold to Mr. Windigate of the Alpha, at 12*s*.’ ”\par

“What have you to say now?”\par

Sherlock Holmes looked deeply chagrined. He drew a sovereign from his
pocket and threw it down upon the slab, turning away with the air of a man
whose disgust is too deep for words. A few yards off he stopped under a
lamp-post and laughed in the hearty, noiseless fashion which was peculiar
to him.\par

“When you see a man with whiskers of that cut and the ’Pink ’un’
protruding out of his pocket, you can always draw him by a bet,” said he.
“I daresay that if I had put £100 down in front of him, that man would
not have given me such complete information as was drawn from him by the
idea that he was doing me on a wager. Well, Watson, we are, I fancy,
nearing the end of our quest, and the only point which remains to be
determined is whether we should go on to this Mrs. Oakshott to-night, or
whether we should reserve it for to-morrow. It is clear from what that
surly fellow said that there are others besides ourselves who are anxious
about the matter, and I should—”\par

His remarks were suddenly cut short by a loud hubbub which broke out from
the stall which we had just left. Turning round we saw a little rat-faced
fellow standing in the centre of the circle of yellow light which was
thrown by the swinging lamp, while Breckinridge, the salesman, framed in
the door of his stall, was shaking his fists fiercely at the cringing
figure.\par

“I’ve had enough of you and your geese,” he shouted. “I wish you were all
at the devil together. If you come pestering me any more with your silly
talk I’ll set the dog at you. You bring Mrs. Oakshott here and I’ll answer
her, but what have you to do with it? Did I buy the geese off you?”\par

“No; but one of them was mine all the same,” whined the little man.\par

“Well, then, ask Mrs. Oakshott for it.”\par

“She told me to ask you.”\par

“Well, you can ask the King of Proosia, for all I care. I’ve had enough of
it. Get out of this!” He rushed fiercely forward, and the inquirer flitted
away into the darkness.\par

“Ha! this may save us a visit to Brixton Road,” whispered Holmes. “Come
with me, and we will see what is to be made of this fellow.” Striding
through the scattered knots of people who lounged round the flaring
stalls, my companion speedily overtook the little man and touched him upon
the shoulder. He sprang round, and I could see in the gas-light that every
vestige of colour had been driven from his face.\par

“Who are you, then? What do you want?” he asked in a quavering voice.\par

“You will excuse me,” said Holmes blandly, “but I could not help
overhearing the questions which you put to the salesman just now. I think
that I could be of assistance to you.”\par

“You? Who are you? How could you know anything of the matter?”\par

“My name is Sherlock Holmes. It is my business to know what other people
don’t know.”\par

“But you can know nothing of this?”\par

“Excuse me, I know everything of it. You are endeavouring to trace some
geese which were sold by Mrs. Oakshott, of Brixton Road, to a salesman
named Breckinridge, by him in turn to Mr. Windigate, of the Alpha, and by
him to his club, of which Mr. Henry Baker is a member.”\par

“Oh, sir, you are the very man whom I have longed to meet,” cried the
little fellow with outstretched hands and quivering fingers. “I can hardly
explain to you how interested I am in this matter.”\par

Sherlock Holmes hailed a four-wheeler which was passing. “In that case we
had better discuss it in a cosy room rather than in this wind-swept
market-place,” said he. “But pray tell me, before we go farther, who it is
that I have the pleasure of assisting.”\par

The man hesitated for an instant. “My name is John Robinson,” he answered
with a sidelong glance.\par

“No, no; the real name,” said Holmes sweetly. “It is always awkward doing
business with an alias.”\par

A flush sprang to the white cheeks of the stranger. “Well then,” said he,
“my real name is James Ryder.”\par

“Precisely so. Head attendant at the Hotel Cosmopolitan. Pray step into
the cab, and I shall soon be able to tell you everything which you would
wish to know.”\par

The little man stood glancing from one to the other of us with
half-frightened, half-hopeful eyes, as one who is not sure whether he is
on the verge of a windfall or of a catastrophe. Then he stepped into the
cab, and in half an hour we were back in the sitting-room at Baker Street.
Nothing had been said during our drive, but the high, thin breathing of
our new companion, and the claspings and unclaspings of his hands, spoke
of the nervous tension within him.\par

“Here we are!” said Holmes cheerily as we filed into the room. “The fire
looks very seasonable in this weather. You look cold, Mr. Ryder. Pray take
the basket-chair. I will just put on my slippers before we settle this
little matter of yours. Now, then! You want to know what became of those
geese?”\par

“Yes, sir.”\par

“Or rather, I fancy, of that goose. It was one bird, I imagine in which
you were interested—white, with a black bar across the tail.”\par

Ryder quivered with emotion. “Oh, sir,” he cried, “can you tell me where
it went to?”\par

“It came here.”\par

“Here?”\par

“Yes, and a most remarkable bird it proved. I don’t wonder that you should
take an interest in it. It laid an egg after it was dead—the bonniest,
brightest little blue egg that ever was seen. I have it here in my
museum.”\par

Our visitor staggered to his feet and clutched the mantelpiece with his
right hand. Holmes unlocked his strong-box and held up the blue carbuncle,
which shone out like a star, with a cold, brilliant, many-pointed
radiance. Ryder stood glaring with a drawn face, uncertain whether to
claim or to disown it.\par

“The game’s up, Ryder,” said Holmes quietly. “Hold up, man, or you’ll be
into the fire! Give him an arm back into his chair, Watson. He’s not got
blood enough to go in for felony with impunity. Give him a dash of brandy.
So! Now he looks a little more human. What a shrimp it is, to be sure!”\par

For a moment he had staggered and nearly fallen, but the brandy brought a
tinge of colour into his cheeks, and he sat staring with frightened eyes
at his accuser.\par

“I have almost every link in my hands, and all the proofs which I could
possibly need, so there is little which you need tell me. Still, that
little may as well be cleared up to make the case complete. You had heard,
Ryder, of this blue stone of the Countess of Morcar’s?”\par

“It was Catherine Cusack who told me of it,” said he in a crackling voice.\par

“I see—her ladyship’s waiting-maid. Well, the temptation of sudden wealth
so easily acquired was too much for you, as it has been for better men
before you; but you were not very scrupulous in the means you used. It
seems to me, Ryder, that there is the making of a very pretty villain in
you. You knew that this man Horner, the plumber, had been concerned in
some such matter before, and that suspicion would rest the more readily
upon him. What did you do, then? You made some small job in my lady’s
room—you and your confederate Cusack—and you managed that he should be the
man sent for. Then, when he had left, you rifled the jewel-case, raised
the alarm, and had this unfortunate man arrested. You then—”\par

Ryder threw himself down suddenly upon the rug and clutched at my
companion’s knees. “For God’s sake, have mercy!” he shrieked. “Think of my
father! Of my mother! It would break their hearts. I never went wrong
before! I never will again. I swear it. I’ll swear it on a Bible. Oh,
don’t bring it into court! For Christ’s sake, don’t!”\par

“Get back into your chair!” said Holmes sternly. “It is very well to
cringe and crawl now, but you thought little enough of this poor Horner in
the dock for a crime of which he knew nothing.”\par

“I will fly, Mr. Holmes. I will leave the country, sir. Then the charge
against him will break down.”\par

“Hum! We will talk about that. And now let us hear a true account of the
next act. How came the stone into the goose, and how came the goose into
the open market? Tell us the truth, for there lies your only hope of
safety.”\par

Ryder passed his tongue over his parched lips. “I will tell you it just as
it happened, sir,” said he. “When Horner had been arrested, it seemed to
me that it would be best for me to get away with the stone at once, for I
did not know at what moment the police might not take it into their heads
to search me and my room. There was no place about the hotel where it
would be safe. I went out, as if on some commission, and I made for my
sister’s house. She had married a man named Oakshott, and lived in Brixton
Road, where she fattened fowls for the market. All the way there every man
I met seemed to me to be a policeman or a detective; and, for all that it
was a cold night, the sweat was pouring down my face before I came to the
Brixton Road. My sister asked me what was the matter, and why I was so
pale; but I told her that I had been upset by the jewel robbery at the
hotel. Then I went into the back yard and smoked a pipe and wondered what
it would be best to do.\par

“I had a friend once called Maudsley, who went to the bad, and has just
been serving his time in Pentonville. One day he had met me, and fell into
talk about the ways of thieves, and how they could get rid of what they
stole. I knew that he would be true to me, for I knew one or two things
about him; so I made up my mind to go right on to Kilburn, where he lived,
and take him into my confidence. He would show me how to turn the stone
into money. But how to get to him in safety? I thought of the agonies I
had gone through in coming from the hotel. I might at any moment be seized
and searched, and there would be the stone in my waistcoat pocket. I was
leaning against the wall at the time and looking at the geese which were
waddling about round my feet, and suddenly an idea came into my head which
showed me how I could beat the best detective that ever lived.\par

“My sister had told me some weeks before that I might have the pick of her
geese for a Christmas present, and I knew that she was always as good as
her word. I would take my goose now, and in it I would carry my stone to
Kilburn. There was a little shed in the yard, and behind this I drove one
of the birds—a fine big one, white, with a barred tail. I caught it, and
prying its bill open, I thrust the stone down its throat as far as my
finger could reach. The bird gave a gulp, and I felt the stone pass along
its gullet and down into its crop. But the creature flapped and struggled,
and out came my sister to know what was the matter. As I turned to speak
to her the brute broke loose and fluttered off among the others.\par

“ ‘Whatever were you doing with that bird, Jem?’ says she.\par

“ ‘Well,’ said I, ‘you said you’d give me one for Christmas, and I was
feeling which was the fattest.’\par

“ ‘Oh,’ says she, ‘we’ve set yours aside for you—Jem’s bird, we call it.
It’s the big white one over yonder. There’s twenty-six of them, which
makes one for you, and one for us, and two dozen for the market.’\par

“ ‘Thank you, Maggie,’ says I; ‘but if it is all the same to you, I’d
rather have that one I was handling just now.’\par

“ ‘The other is a good three pound heavier,’ said she, ‘and we fattened it
expressly for you.’\par

“ ‘Never mind. I’ll have the other, and I’ll take it now,’ said I.\par

“ ‘Oh, just as you like,’ said she, a little huffed. ‘Which is it you
want, then?’\par

“ ‘That white one with the barred tail, right in the middle of the flock.’\par

“ ‘Oh, very well. Kill it and take it with you.’\par

“Well, I did what she said, Mr. Holmes, and I carried the bird all the way
to Kilburn. I told my pal what I had done, for he was a man that it was
easy to tell a thing like that to. He laughed until he choked, and we got
a knife and opened the goose. My heart turned to water, for there was no
sign of the stone, and I knew that some terrible mistake had occurred. I
left the bird, rushed back to my sister’s, and hurried into the back yard.
There was not a bird to be seen there.\par

“ ‘Where are they all, Maggie?’ I cried.\par

“ ‘Gone to the dealer’s, Jem.’\par

“ ‘Which dealer’s?’\par

“ ‘Breckinridge, of Covent Garden.’\par

“ ‘But was there another with a barred tail?’ I asked, ‘the same as the
one I chose?’\par

“ ‘Yes, Jem; there were two barred-tailed ones, and I could never tell
them apart.’\par

“Well, then, of course I saw it all, and I ran off as hard as my feet
would carry me to this man Breckinridge; but he had sold the lot at once,
and not one word would he tell me as to where they had gone. You heard him
yourselves to-night. Well, he has always answered me like that. My sister
thinks that I am going mad. Sometimes I think that I am myself. And
now—and now I am myself a branded thief, without ever having touched the
wealth for which I sold my character. God help me! God help me!” He burst
into convulsive sobbing, with his face buried in his hands.\par

There was a long silence, broken only by his heavy breathing and by the
measured tapping of Sherlock Holmes’ finger-tips upon the edge of the
table. Then my friend rose and threw open the door.\par

“Get out!” said he.\par

“What, sir! Oh, Heaven bless you!”\par

“No more words. Get out!”\par

And no more words were needed. There was a rush, a clatter upon the
stairs, the bang of a door, and the crisp rattle of running footfalls from
the street.\par

“After all, Watson,” said Holmes, reaching up his hand for his clay pipe,
“I am not retained by the police to supply their deficiencies. If Horner
were in danger it would be another thing; but this fellow will not appear
against him, and the case must collapse. I suppose that I am commuting a
felony, but it is just possible that I am saving a soul. This fellow will
not go wrong again; he is too terribly frightened. Send him to gaol now,
and you make him a gaol-bird for life. Besides, it is the season of
forgiveness. Chance has put in our way a most singular and whimsical
problem, and its solution is its own reward. If you will have the goodness
to touch the bell, Doctor, we will begin another investigation, in which,
also a bird will be the chief feature.”\par

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\hypertarget{the-adventure-of-the-speckled-band}{}%
%
\chapter*{The Adventure of the Speckled Band}


On glancing over my notes of the seventy odd cases in which I have during
the last eight years studied the methods of my friend Sherlock Holmes, I
find many tragic, some comic, a large number merely strange, but none
commonplace; for, working as he did rather for the love of his art than
for the acquirement of wealth, he refused to associate himself with any
investigation which did not tend towards the unusual, and even the
fantastic. Of all these varied cases, however, I cannot recall any which
presented more singular features than that which was associated with the
well-known Surrey family of the Roylotts of Stoke Moran. The events in
question occurred in the early days of my association with Holmes, when we
were sharing rooms as bachelors in Baker Street. It is possible that I
might have placed them upon record before, but a promise of secrecy was
made at the time, from which I have only been freed during the last month
by the untimely death of the lady to whom the pledge was given. It is
perhaps as well that the facts should now come to light, for I have
reasons to know that there are widespread rumours as to the death of Dr.
Grimesby Roylott which tend to make the matter even more terrible than the
truth.\par

It was early in April in the year ’83 that I woke one morning to find
Sherlock Holmes standing, fully dressed, by the side of my bed. He was a
late riser, as a rule, and as the clock on the mantelpiece showed me that
it was only a quarter-past seven, I blinked up at him in some surprise,
and perhaps just a little resentment, for I was myself regular in my
habits.\par

“Very sorry to knock you up, Watson,” said he, “but it’s the common lot
this morning. Mrs. Hudson has been knocked up, she retorted upon me, and I
on you.”\par

“What is it, then—a fire?”\par

“No; a client. It seems that a young lady has arrived in a considerable
state of excitement, who insists upon seeing me. She is waiting now in the
sitting-room. Now, when young ladies wander about the metropolis at this
hour of the morning, and knock sleepy people up out of their beds, I
presume that it is something very pressing which they have to communicate.
Should it prove to be an interesting case, you would, I am sure, wish to
follow it from the outset. I thought, at any rate, that I should call you
and give you the chance.”\par

“My dear fellow, I would not miss it for anything.”\par

I had no keener pleasure than in following Holmes in his professional
investigations, and in admiring the rapid deductions, as swift as
intuitions, and yet always founded on a logical basis with which he
unravelled the problems which were submitted to him. I rapidly threw on my
clothes and was ready in a few minutes to accompany my friend down to the
sitting-room. A lady dressed in black and heavily veiled, who had been
sitting in the window, rose as we entered.\par

“Good-morning, madam,” said Holmes cheerily. “My name is Sherlock Holmes.
This is my intimate friend and associate, Dr. Watson, before whom you can
speak as freely as before myself. Ha! I am glad to see that Mrs. Hudson
has had the good sense to light the fire. Pray draw up to it, and I shall
order you a cup of hot coffee, for I observe that you are shivering.”\par

“It is not cold which makes me shiver,” said the woman in a low voice,
changing her seat as requested.\par

“What, then?”\par

“It is fear, Mr. Holmes. It is terror.” She raised her veil as she spoke,
and we could see that she was indeed in a pitiable state of agitation, her
face all drawn and grey, with restless frightened eyes, like those of some
hunted animal. Her features and figure were those of a woman of thirty,
but her hair was shot with premature grey, and her expression was weary
and haggard. Sherlock Holmes ran her over with one of his quick,
all-comprehensive glances.\par

“You must not fear,” said he soothingly, bending forward and patting her
forearm. “We shall soon set matters right, I have no doubt. You have come
in by train this morning, I see.”\par

“You know me, then?”\par

“No, but I observe the second half of a return ticket in the palm of your
left glove. You must have started early, and yet you had a good drive in a
dog-cart, along heavy roads, before you reached the station.”\par

The lady gave a violent start and stared in bewilderment at my companion.\par

“There is no mystery, my dear madam,” said he, smiling. “The left arm of
your jacket is spattered with mud in no less than seven places. The marks
are perfectly fresh. There is no vehicle save a dog-cart which throws up
mud in that way, and then only when you sit on the left-hand side of the
driver.”\par

“Whatever your reasons may be, you are perfectly correct,” said she. “I
started from home before six, reached Leatherhead at twenty past, and came
in by the first train to Waterloo. Sir, I can stand this strain no longer;
I shall go mad if it continues. I have no one to turn to—none, save only
one, who cares for me, and he, poor fellow, can be of little aid. I have
heard of you, Mr. Holmes; I have heard of you from Mrs. Farintosh, whom
you helped in the hour of her sore need. It was from her that I had your
address. Oh, sir, do you not think that you could help me, too, and at
least throw a little light through the dense darkness which surrounds me?
At present it is out of my power to reward you for your services, but in a
month or six weeks I shall be married, with the control of my own income,
and then at least you shall not find me ungrateful.”\par

Holmes turned to his desk and, unlocking it, drew out a small case-book,
which he consulted.\par

“Farintosh,” said he. “Ah yes, I recall the case; it was concerned with an
opal tiara. I think it was before your time, Watson. I can only say,
madam, that I shall be happy to devote the same care to your case as I did
to that of your friend. As to reward, my profession is its own reward; but
you are at liberty to defray whatever expenses I may be put to, at the
time which suits you best. And now I beg that you will lay before us
everything that may help us in forming an opinion upon the matter.”\par

“Alas!” replied our visitor, “the very horror of my situation lies in the
fact that my fears are so vague, and my suspicions depend so entirely upon
small points, which might seem trivial to another, that even he to whom of
all others I have a right to look for help and advice looks upon all that
I tell him about it as the fancies of a nervous woman. He does not say so,
but I can read it from his soothing answers and averted eyes. But I have
heard, Mr. Holmes, that you can see deeply into the manifold wickedness of
the human heart. You may advise me how to walk amid the dangers which
encompass me.”\par

“I am all attention, madam.”\par

“My name is Helen Stoner, and I am living with my stepfather, who is the
last survivor of one of the oldest Saxon families in England, the Roylotts
of Stoke Moran, on the western border of Surrey.”\par

Holmes nodded his head. “The name is familiar to me,” said he.\par

“The family was at one time among the richest in England, and the estates
extended over the borders into Berkshire in the north, and Hampshire in
the west. In the last century, however, four successive heirs were of a
dissolute and wasteful disposition, and the family ruin was eventually
completed by a gambler in the days of the Regency. Nothing was left save a
few acres of ground, and the two-hundred-year-old house, which is itself
crushed under a heavy mortgage. The last squire dragged out his existence
there, living the horrible life of an aristocratic pauper; but his only
son, my stepfather, seeing that he must adapt himself to the new
conditions, obtained an advance from a relative, which enabled him to take
a medical degree and went out to Calcutta, where, by his professional
skill and his force of character, he established a large practice. In a
fit of anger, however, caused by some robberies which had been perpetrated
in the house, he beat his native butler to death and narrowly escaped a
capital sentence. As it was, he suffered a long term of imprisonment and
afterwards returned to England a morose and disappointed man.\par

“When Dr. Roylott was in India he married my mother, Mrs. Stoner, the
young widow of Major-General Stoner, of the Bengal Artillery. My sister
Julia and I were twins, and we were only two years old at the time of my
mother’s re-marriage. She had a considerable sum of money—not less than
£1000 a year—and this she bequeathed to Dr. Roylott entirely while we
resided with him, with a provision that a certain annual sum should be
allowed to each of us in the event of our marriage. Shortly after our
return to England my mother died—she was killed eight years ago in a
railway accident near Crewe. Dr. Roylott then abandoned his attempts to
establish himself in practice in London and took us to live with him in
the old ancestral house at Stoke Moran. The money which my mother had left
was enough for all our wants, and there seemed to be no obstacle to our
happiness.\par

“But a terrible change came over our stepfather about this time. Instead
of making friends and exchanging visits with our neighbours, who had at
first been overjoyed to see a Roylott of Stoke Moran back in the old
family seat, he shut himself up in his house and seldom came out save to
indulge in ferocious quarrels with whoever might cross his path. Violence
of temper approaching to mania has been hereditary in the men of the
family, and in my stepfather’s case it had, I believe, been intensified by
his long residence in the tropics. A series of disgraceful brawls took
place, two of which ended in the police-court, until at last he became the
terror of the village, and the folks would fly at his approach, for he is
a man of immense strength, and absolutely uncontrollable in his anger.\par

“Last week he hurled the local blacksmith over a parapet into a stream,
and it was only by paying over all the money which I could gather together
that I was able to avert another public exposure. He had no friends at all
save the wandering gipsies, and he would give these vagabonds leave to
encamp upon the few acres of bramble-covered land which represent the
family estate, and would accept in return the hospitality of their tents,
wandering away with them sometimes for weeks on end. He has a passion also
for Indian animals, which are sent over to him by a correspondent, and he
has at this moment a cheetah and a baboon, which wander freely over his
grounds and are feared by the villagers almost as much as their master.\par

“You can imagine from what I say that my poor sister Julia and I had no
great pleasure in our lives. No servant would stay with us, and for a long
time we did all the work of the house. She was but thirty at the time of
her death, and yet her hair had already begun to whiten, even as mine
has.”\par

“Your sister is dead, then?”\par

“She died just two years ago, and it is of her death that I wish to speak
to you. You can understand that, living the life which I have described,
we were little likely to see anyone of our own age and position. We had,
however, an aunt, my mother’s maiden sister, Miss Honoria Westphail, who
lives near Harrow, and we were occasionally allowed to pay short visits at
this lady’s house. Julia went there at Christmas two years ago, and met
there a half-pay major of marines, to whom she became engaged. My
stepfather learned of the engagement when my sister returned and offered
no objection to the marriage; but within a fortnight of the day which had
been fixed for the wedding, the terrible event occurred which has deprived
me of my only companion.”\par

Sherlock Holmes had been leaning back in his chair with his eyes closed
and his head sunk in a cushion, but he half opened his lids now and
glanced across at his visitor.\par

“Pray be precise as to details,” said he.\par

“It is easy for me to be so, for every event of that dreadful time is
seared into my memory. The manor-house is, as I have already said, very
old, and only one wing is now inhabited. The bedrooms in this wing are on
the ground floor, the sitting-rooms being in the central block of the
buildings. Of these bedrooms the first is Dr. Roylott’s, the second my
sister’s, and the third my own. There is no communication between them,
but they all open out into the same corridor. Do I make myself plain?”\par

“Perfectly so.”\par

“The windows of the three rooms open out upon the lawn. That fatal night
Dr. Roylott had gone to his room early, though we knew that he had not
retired to rest, for my sister was troubled by the smell of the strong
Indian cigars which it was his custom to smoke. She left her room,
therefore, and came into mine, where she sat for some time, chatting about
her approaching wedding. At eleven o’clock she rose to leave me, but she
paused at the door and looked back.\par

“ ‘Tell me, Helen,’ said she, ‘have you ever heard anyone whistle in the
dead of the night?’\par

“ ‘Never,’ said I.\par

“ ‘I suppose that you could not possibly whistle, yourself, in your
sleep?’\par

“ ‘Certainly not. But why?’\par

“ ‘Because during the last few nights I have always, about three in the
morning, heard a low, clear whistle. I am a light sleeper, and it has
awakened me. I cannot tell where it came from—perhaps from the next room,
perhaps from the lawn. I thought that I would just ask you whether you had
heard it.’\par

“ ‘No, I have not. It must be those wretched gipsies in the plantation.’\par

“ ‘Very likely. And yet if it were on the lawn, I wonder that you did not
hear it also.’\par

“ ‘Ah, but I sleep more heavily than you.’\par

“ ‘Well, it is of no great consequence, at any rate.’ She smiled back at
me, closed my door, and a few moments later I heard her key turn in the
lock.”\par

“Indeed,” said Holmes. “Was it your custom always to lock yourselves in at
night?”\par

“Always.”\par

“And why?”\par

“I think that I mentioned to you that the doctor kept a cheetah and a
baboon. We had no feeling of security unless our doors were locked.”\par

“Quite so. Pray proceed with your statement.”\par

“I could not sleep that night. A vague feeling of impending misfortune
impressed me. My sister and I, you will recollect, were twins, and you
know how subtle are the links which bind two souls which are so closely
allied. It was a wild night. The wind was howling outside, and the rain
was beating and splashing against the windows. Suddenly, amid all the
hubbub of the gale, there burst forth the wild scream of a terrified
woman. I knew that it was my sister’s voice. I sprang from my bed, wrapped
a shawl round me, and rushed into the corridor. As I opened my door I
seemed to hear a low whistle, such as my sister described, and a few
moments later a clanging sound, as if a mass of metal had fallen. As I ran
down the passage, my sister’s door was unlocked, and revolved slowly upon
its hinges. I stared at it horror-stricken, not knowing what was about to
issue from it. By the light of the corridor-lamp I saw my sister appear at
the opening, her face blanched with terror, her hands groping for help,
her whole figure swaying to and fro like that of a drunkard. I ran to her
and threw my arms round her, but at that moment her knees seemed to give
way and she fell to the ground. She writhed as one who is in terrible
pain, and her limbs were dreadfully convulsed. At first I thought that she
had not recognised me, but as I bent over her she suddenly shrieked out in
a voice which I shall never forget, ‘Oh, my God! Helen! It was the band!
The speckled band!’ There was something else which she would fain have
said, and she stabbed with her finger into the air in the direction of the
doctor’s room, but a fresh convulsion seized her and choked her words. I
rushed out, calling loudly for my stepfather, and I met him hastening from
his room in his dressing-gown. When he reached my sister’s side she was
unconscious, and though he poured brandy down her throat and sent for
medical aid from the village, all efforts were in vain, for she slowly
sank and died without having recovered her consciousness. Such was the
dreadful end of my beloved sister.”\par

“One moment,” said Holmes, “are you sure about this whistle and metallic
sound? Could you swear to it?”\par

“That was what the county coroner asked me at the inquiry. It is my strong
impression that I heard it, and yet, among the crash of the gale and the
creaking of an old house, I may possibly have been deceived.”\par

“Was your sister dressed?”\par

“No, she was in her night-dress. In her right hand was found the charred
stump of a match, and in her left a match-box.”\par

“Showing that she had struck a light and looked about her when the alarm
took place. That is important. And what conclusions did the coroner come
to?”\par

“He investigated the case with great care, for Dr. Roylott’s conduct had
long been notorious in the county, but he was unable to find any
satisfactory cause of death. My evidence showed that the door had been
fastened upon the inner side, and the windows were blocked by
old-fashioned shutters with broad iron bars, which were secured every
night. The walls were carefully sounded, and were shown to be quite solid
all round, and the flooring was also thoroughly examined, with the same
result. The chimney is wide, but is barred up by four large staples. It is
certain, therefore, that my sister was quite alone when she met her end.
Besides, there were no marks of any violence upon her.”\par

“How about poison?”\par

“The doctors examined her for it, but without success.”\par

“What do you think that this unfortunate lady died of, then?”\par

“It is my belief that she died of pure fear and nervous shock, though what
it was that frightened her I cannot imagine.”\par

“Were there gipsies in the plantation at the time?”\par

“Yes, there are nearly always some there.”\par

“Ah, and what did you gather from this allusion to a band—a speckled
band?”\par

“Sometimes I have thought that it was merely the wild talk of delirium,
sometimes that it may have referred to some band of people, perhaps to
these very gipsies in the plantation. I do not know whether the spotted
handkerchiefs which so many of them wear over their heads might have
suggested the strange adjective which she used.”\par

Holmes shook his head like a man who is far from being satisfied.\par

“These are very deep waters,” said he; “pray go on with your narrative.”\par

“Two years have passed since then, and my life has been until lately
lonelier than ever. A month ago, however, a dear friend, whom I have known
for many years, has done me the honour to ask my hand in marriage. His
name is Armitage—Percy Armitage—the second son of Mr. Armitage, of Crane
Water, near Reading. My stepfather has offered no opposition to the match,
and we are to be married in the course of the spring. Two days ago some
repairs were started in the west wing of the building, and my bedroom wall
has been pierced, so that I have had to move into the chamber in which my
sister died, and to sleep in the very bed in which she slept. Imagine,
then, my thrill of terror when last night, as I lay awake, thinking over
her terrible fate, I suddenly heard in the silence of the night the low
whistle which had been the herald of her own death. I sprang up and lit
the lamp, but nothing was to be seen in the room. I was too shaken to go
to bed again, however, so I dressed, and as soon as it was daylight I
slipped down, got a dog-cart at the Crown Inn, which is opposite, and
drove to Leatherhead, from whence I have come on this morning with the one
object of seeing you and asking your advice.”\par

“You have done wisely,” said my friend. “But have you told me all?”\par

“Yes, all.”\par

“Miss Roylott, you have not. You are screening your stepfather.”\par

“Why, what do you mean?”\par

For answer Holmes pushed back the frill of black lace which fringed the
hand that lay upon our visitor’s knee. Five little livid spots, the marks
of four fingers and a thumb, were printed upon the white wrist.\par

“You have been cruelly used,” said Holmes.\par

The lady coloured deeply and covered over her injured wrist. “He is a hard
man,” she said, “and perhaps he hardly knows his own strength.”\par

There was a long silence, during which Holmes leaned his chin upon his
hands and stared into the crackling fire.\par

“This is a very deep business,” he said at last. “There are a thousand
details which I should desire to know before I decide upon our course of
action. Yet we have not a moment to lose. If we were to come to Stoke
Moran to-day, would it be possible for us to see over these rooms without
the knowledge of your stepfather?”\par

“As it happens, he spoke of coming into town to-day upon some most
important business. It is probable that he will be away all day, and that
there would be nothing to disturb you. We have a housekeeper now, but she
is old and foolish, and I could easily get her out of the way.”\par

“Excellent. You are not averse to this trip, Watson?”\par

“By no means.”\par

“Then we shall both come. What are you going to do yourself?”\par

“I have one or two things which I would wish to do now that I am in town.
But I shall return by the twelve o’clock train, so as to be there in time
for your coming.”\par

“And you may expect us early in the afternoon. I have myself some small
business matters to attend to. Will you not wait and breakfast?”\par

“No, I must go. My heart is lightened already since I have confided my
trouble to you. I shall look forward to seeing you again this afternoon.”
She dropped her thick black veil over her face and glided from the room.\par

“And what do you think of it all, Watson?” asked Sherlock Holmes, leaning
back in his chair.\par

“It seems to me to be a most dark and sinister business.”\par

“Dark enough and sinister enough.”\par

“Yet if the lady is correct in saying that the flooring and walls are
sound, and that the door, window, and chimney are impassable, then her
sister must have been undoubtedly alone when she met her mysterious end.”\par

“What becomes, then, of these nocturnal whistles, and what of the very
peculiar words of the dying woman?”\par

“I cannot think.”\par

“When you combine the ideas of whistles at night, the presence of a band
of gipsies who are on intimate terms with this old doctor, the fact that
we have every reason to believe that the doctor has an interest in
preventing his stepdaughter’s marriage, the dying allusion to a band, and,
finally, the fact that Miss Helen Stoner heard a metallic clang, which
might have been caused by one of those metal bars that secured the
shutters falling back into its place, I think that there is good ground to
think that the mystery may be cleared along those lines.”\par

“But what, then, did the gipsies do?”\par

“I cannot imagine.”\par

“I see many objections to any such theory.”\par

“And so do I. It is precisely for that reason that we are going to Stoke
Moran this day. I want to see whether the objections are fatal, or if they
may be explained away. But what in the name of the devil!”\par

The ejaculation had been drawn from my companion by the fact that our door
had been suddenly dashed open, and that a huge man had framed himself in
the aperture. His costume was a peculiar mixture of the professional and
of the agricultural, having a black top-hat, a long frock-coat, and a pair
of high gaiters, with a hunting-crop swinging in his hand. So tall was he
that his hat actually brushed the cross bar of the doorway, and his
breadth seemed to span it across from side to side. A large face, seared
with a thousand wrinkles, burned yellow with the sun, and marked with
every evil passion, was turned from one to the other of us, while his
deep-set, bile-shot eyes, and his high, thin, fleshless nose, gave him
somewhat the resemblance to a fierce old bird of prey.\par

“Which of you is Holmes?” asked this apparition.\par

“My name, sir; but you have the advantage of me,” said my companion
quietly.\par

“I am Dr. Grimesby Roylott, of Stoke Moran.”\par

“Indeed, Doctor,” said Holmes blandly. “Pray take a seat.”\par

“I will do nothing of the kind. My stepdaughter has been here. I have
traced her. What has she been saying to you?”\par

“It is a little cold for the time of the year,” said Holmes.\par

“What has she been saying to you?” screamed the old man furiously.\par

“But I have heard that the crocuses promise well,” continued my companion
imperturbably.\par

“Ha! You put me off, do you?” said our new visitor, taking a step forward
and shaking his hunting-crop. “I know you, you scoundrel! I have heard of
you before. You are Holmes, the meddler.”\par

My friend smiled.\par

“Holmes, the busybody!”\par

His smile broadened.\par

“Holmes, the Scotland Yard Jack-in-office!”\par

Holmes chuckled heartily. “Your conversation is most entertaining,” said
he. “When you go out close the door, for there is a decided draught.”\par

“I will go when I have said my say. Don’t you dare to meddle with my
affairs. I know that Miss Stoner has been here. I traced her! I am a
dangerous man to fall foul of! See here.” He stepped swiftly forward,
seized the poker, and bent it into a curve with his huge brown hands.\par

“See that you keep yourself out of my grip,” he snarled, and hurling the
twisted poker into the fireplace he strode out of the room.\par

“He seems a very amiable person,” said Holmes, laughing. “I am not quite
so bulky, but if he had remained I might have shown him that my grip was
not much more feeble than his own.” As he spoke he picked up the steel
poker and, with a sudden effort, straightened it out again.\par

“Fancy his having the insolence to confound me with the official detective
force! This incident gives zest to our investigation, however, and I only
trust that our little friend will not suffer from her imprudence in
allowing this brute to trace her. And now, Watson, we shall order
breakfast, and afterwards I shall walk down to Doctors’ Commons, where I
hope to get some data which may help us in this matter.”\par

It was nearly one o’clock when Sherlock Holmes returned from his
excursion. He held in his hand a sheet of blue paper, scrawled over with
notes and figures.\par

“I have seen the will of the deceased wife,” said he. “To determine its
exact meaning I have been obliged to work out the present prices of the
investments with which it is concerned. The total income, which at the
time of the wife’s death was little short of £1100, is now, through the
fall in agricultural prices, not more than £750. Each daughter can claim
an income of £250, in case of marriage. It is evident, therefore, that
if both girls had married, this beauty would have had a mere pittance,
while even one of them would cripple him to a very serious extent. My
morning’s work has not been wasted, since it has proved that he has the
very strongest motives for standing in the way of anything of the sort.
And now, Watson, this is too serious for dawdling, especially as the old
man is aware that we are interesting ourselves in his affairs; so if you
are ready, we shall call a cab and drive to Waterloo. I should be very
much obliged if you would slip your revolver into your pocket. An Eley’s
No. 2 is an excellent argument with gentlemen who can twist steel pokers
into knots. That and a tooth-brush are, I think, all that we need.”\par

At Waterloo we were fortunate in catching a train for Leatherhead, where
we hired a trap at the station inn and drove for four or five miles
through the lovely Surrey lanes. It was a perfect day, with a bright sun
and a few fleecy clouds in the heavens. The trees and wayside hedges were
just throwing out their first green shoots, and the air was full of the
pleasant smell of the moist earth. To me at least there was a strange
contrast between the sweet promise of the spring and this sinister quest
upon which we were engaged. My companion sat in the front of the trap, his
arms folded, his hat pulled down over his eyes, and his chin sunk upon his
breast, buried in the deepest thought. Suddenly, however, he started,
tapped me on the shoulder, and pointed over the meadows.\par

“Look there!” said he.\par

A heavily timbered park stretched up in a gentle slope, thickening into a
grove at the highest point. From amid the branches there jutted out the
grey gables and high roof-tree of a very old mansion.\par

“Stoke Moran?” said he.\par

“Yes, sir, that be the house of Dr. Grimesby Roylott,” remarked the
driver.\par

“There is some building going on there,” said Holmes; “that is where we
are going.”\par

“There’s the village,” said the driver, pointing to a cluster of roofs
some distance to the left; “but if you want to get to the house, you’ll
find it shorter to get over this stile, and so by the foot-path over the
fields. There it is, where the lady is walking.”\par

“And the lady, I fancy, is Miss Stoner,” observed Holmes, shading his
eyes. “Yes, I think we had better do as you suggest.”\par

We got off, paid our fare, and the trap rattled back on its way to
Leatherhead.\par

“I thought it as well,” said Holmes as we climbed the stile, “that this
fellow should think we had come here as architects, or on some definite
business. It may stop his gossip. Good-afternoon, Miss Stoner. You see
that we have been as good as our word.”\par

Our client of the morning had hurried forward to meet us with a face which
spoke her joy. “I have been waiting so eagerly for you,” she cried,
shaking hands with us warmly. “All has turned out splendidly. Dr. Roylott
has gone to town, and it is unlikely that he will be back before evening.”\par

“We have had the pleasure of making the doctor’s acquaintance,” said
Holmes, and in a few words he sketched out what had occurred. Miss Stoner
turned white to the lips as she listened.\par

“Good heavens!” she cried, “he has followed me, then.”\par

“So it appears.”\par

“He is so cunning that I never know when I am safe from him. What will he
say when he returns?”\par

“He must guard himself, for he may find that there is someone more cunning
than himself upon his track. You must lock yourself up from him to-night.
If he is violent, we shall take you away to your aunt’s at Harrow. Now, we
must make the best use of our time, so kindly take us at once to the rooms
which we are to examine.”\par

The building was of grey, lichen-blotched stone, with a high central
portion and two curving wings, like the claws of a crab, thrown out on
each side. In one of these wings the windows were broken and blocked with
wooden boards, while the roof was partly caved in, a picture of ruin. The
central portion was in little better repair, but the right-hand block was
comparatively modern, and the blinds in the windows, with the blue smoke
curling up from the chimneys, showed that this was where the family
resided. Some scaffolding had been erected against the end wall, and the
stone-work had been broken into, but there were no signs of any workmen at
the moment of our visit. Holmes walked slowly up and down the ill-trimmed
lawn and examined with deep attention the outsides of the windows.\par

“This, I take it, belongs to the room in which you used to sleep, the
centre one to your sister’s, and the one next to the main building to Dr.
Roylott’s chamber?”\par

“Exactly so. But I am now sleeping in the middle one.”\par

“Pending the alterations, as I understand. By the way, there does not seem
to be any very pressing need for repairs at that end wall.”\par

“There were none. I believe that it was an excuse to move me from my
room.”\par

“Ah! that is suggestive. Now, on the other side of this narrow wing runs
the corridor from which these three rooms open. There are windows in it,
of course?”\par

“Yes, but very small ones. Too narrow for anyone to pass through.”\par

“As you both locked your doors at night, your rooms were unapproachable
from that side. Now, would you have the kindness to go into your room and
bar your shutters?”\par

Miss Stoner did so, and Holmes, after a careful examination through the
open window, endeavoured in every way to force the shutter open, but
without success. There was no slit through which a knife could be passed
to raise the bar. Then with his lens he tested the hinges, but they were
of solid iron, built firmly into the massive masonry. “Hum!” said he,
scratching his chin in some perplexity, “my theory certainly presents some
difficulties. No one could pass these shutters if they were bolted. Well,
we shall see if the inside throws any light upon the matter.”\par

A small side door led into the whitewashed corridor from which the three
bedrooms opened. Holmes refused to examine the third chamber, so we passed
at once to the second, that in which Miss Stoner was now sleeping, and in
which her sister had met with her fate. It was a homely little room, with
a low ceiling and a gaping fireplace, after the fashion of old
country-houses. A brown chest of drawers stood in one corner, a narrow
white-counterpaned bed in another, and a dressing-table on the left-hand
side of the window. These articles, with two small wicker-work chairs,
made up all the furniture in the room save for a square of Wilton carpet
in the centre. The boards round and the panelling of the walls were of
brown, worm-eaten oak, so old and discoloured that it may have dated from
the original building of the house. Holmes drew one of the chairs into a
corner and sat silent, while his eyes travelled round and round and up and
down, taking in every detail of the apartment.\par

“Where does that bell communicate with?” he asked at last pointing to a
thick bell-rope which hung down beside the bed, the tassel actually lying
upon the pillow.\par

“It goes to the housekeeper’s room.”\par

“It looks newer than the other things?”\par

“Yes, it was only put there a couple of years ago.”\par

“Your sister asked for it, I suppose?”\par

“No, I never heard of her using it. We used always to get what we wanted
for ourselves.”\par

“Indeed, it seemed unnecessary to put so nice a bell-pull there. You will
excuse me for a few minutes while I satisfy myself as to this floor.” He
threw himself down upon his face with his lens in his hand and crawled
swiftly backward and forward, examining minutely the cracks between the
boards. Then he did the same with the wood-work with which the chamber was
panelled. Finally he walked over to the bed and spent some time in staring
at it and in running his eye up and down the wall. Finally he took the
bell-rope in his hand and gave it a brisk tug.\par

“Why, it’s a dummy,” said he.\par

“Won’t it ring?”\par

“No, it is not even attached to a wire. This is very interesting. You can
see now that it is fastened to a hook just above where the little opening
for the ventilator is.”\par

“How very absurd! I never noticed that before.”\par

“Very strange!” muttered Holmes, pulling at the rope. “There are one or
two very singular points about this room. For example, what a fool a
builder must be to open a ventilator into another room, when, with the
same trouble, he might have communicated with the outside air!”\par

“That is also quite modern,” said the lady.\par

“Done about the same time as the bell-rope?” remarked Holmes.\par

“Yes, there were several little changes carried out about that time.”\par

“They seem to have been of a most interesting character—dummy bell-ropes,
and ventilators which do not ventilate. With your permission, Miss Stoner,
we shall now carry our researches into the inner apartment.”\par

Dr. Grimesby Roylott’s chamber was larger than that of his step-daughter,
but was as plainly furnished. A camp-bed, a small wooden shelf full of
books, mostly of a technical character, an armchair beside the bed, a
plain wooden chair against the wall, a round table, and a large iron safe
were the principal things which met the eye. Holmes walked slowly round
and examined each and all of them with the keenest interest.\par

“What’s in here?” he asked, tapping the safe.\par

“My stepfather’s business papers.”\par

“Oh! you have seen inside, then?”\par

“Only once, some years ago. I remember that it was full of papers.”\par

“There isn’t a cat in it, for example?”\par

“No. What a strange idea!”\par

“Well, look at this!” He took up a small saucer of milk which stood on the
top of it.\par

“No; we don’t keep a cat. But there is a cheetah and a baboon.”\par

“Ah, yes, of course! Well, a cheetah is just a big cat, and yet a saucer
of milk does not go very far in satisfying its wants, I daresay. There is
one point which I should wish to determine.” He squatted down in front of
the wooden chair and examined the seat of it with the greatest attention.\par

“Thank you. That is quite settled,” said he, rising and putting his lens
in his pocket. “Hullo! Here is something interesting!”\par

The object which had caught his eye was a small dog lash hung on one
corner of the bed. The lash, however, was curled upon itself and tied so
as to make a loop of whipcord.\par

“What do you make of that, Watson?”\par

“It’s a common enough lash. But I don’t know why it should be tied.”\par

“That is not quite so common, is it? Ah, me! it’s a wicked world, and when
a clever man turns his brains to crime it is the worst of all. I think
that I have seen enough now, Miss Stoner, and with your permission we
shall walk out upon the lawn.”\par

I had never seen my friend’s face so grim or his brow so dark as it was
when we turned from the scene of this investigation. We had walked several
times up and down the lawn, neither Miss Stoner nor myself liking to break
in upon his thoughts before he roused himself from his reverie.\par

“It is very essential, Miss Stoner,” said he, “that you should absolutely
follow my advice in every respect.”\par

“I shall most certainly do so.”\par

“The matter is too serious for any hesitation. Your life may depend upon
your compliance.”\par

“I assure you that I am in your hands.”\par

“In the first place, both my friend and I must spend the night in your
room.”\par

Both Miss Stoner and I gazed at him in astonishment.\par

“Yes, it must be so. Let me explain. I believe that that is the village
inn over there?”\par

“Yes, that is the Crown.”\par

“Very good. Your windows would be visible from there?”\par

“Certainly.”\par

“You must confine yourself to your room, on pretence of a headache, when
your stepfather comes back. Then when you hear him retire for the night,
you must open the shutters of your window, undo the hasp, put your lamp
there as a signal to us, and then withdraw quietly with everything which
you are likely to want into the room which you used to occupy. I have no
doubt that, in spite of the repairs, you could manage there for one
night.”\par

“Oh, yes, easily.”\par

“The rest you will leave in our hands.”\par

“But what will you do?”\par

“We shall spend the night in your room, and we shall investigate the cause
of this noise which has disturbed you.”\par

“I believe, Mr. Holmes, that you have already made up your mind,” said
Miss Stoner, laying her hand upon my companion’s sleeve.\par

“Perhaps I have.”\par

“Then, for pity’s sake, tell me what was the cause of my sister’s death.”\par

“I should prefer to have clearer proofs before I speak.”\par

“You can at least tell me whether my own thought is correct, and if she
died from some sudden fright.”\par

“No, I do not think so. I think that there was probably some more tangible
cause. And now, Miss Stoner, we must leave you for if Dr. Roylott returned
and saw us our journey would be in vain. Good-bye, and be brave, for if
you will do what I have told you, you may rest assured that we shall soon
drive away the dangers that threaten you.”\par

Sherlock Holmes and I had no difficulty in engaging a bedroom and
sitting-room at the Crown Inn. They were on the upper floor, and from our
window we could command a view of the avenue gate, and of the inhabited
wing of Stoke Moran Manor House. At dusk we saw Dr. Grimesby Roylott drive
past, his huge form looming up beside the little figure of the lad who
drove him. The boy had some slight difficulty in undoing the heavy iron
gates, and we heard the hoarse roar of the doctor’s voice and saw the fury
with which he shook his clinched fists at him. The trap drove on, and a
few minutes later we saw a sudden light spring up among the trees as the
lamp was lit in one of the sitting-rooms.\par

“Do you know, Watson,” said Holmes as we sat together in the gathering
darkness, “I have really some scruples as to taking you to-night. There is
a distinct element of danger.”\par

“Can I be of assistance?”\par

“Your presence might be invaluable.”\par

“Then I shall certainly come.”\par

“It is very kind of you.”\par

“You speak of danger. You have evidently seen more in these rooms than was
visible to me.”\par

“No, but I fancy that I may have deduced a little more. I imagine that you
saw all that I did.”\par

“I saw nothing remarkable save the bell-rope, and what purpose that could
answer I confess is more than I can imagine.”\par

“You saw the ventilator, too?”\par

“Yes, but I do not think that it is such a very unusual thing to have a
small opening between two rooms. It was so small that a rat could hardly
pass through.”\par

“I knew that we should find a ventilator before ever we came to Stoke
Moran.”\par

“My dear Holmes!”\par

“Oh, yes, I did. You remember in her statement she said that her sister
could smell Dr. Roylott’s cigar. Now, of course that suggested at once
that there must be a communication between the two rooms. It could only be
a small one, or it would have been remarked upon at the coroner’s inquiry.
I deduced a ventilator.”\par

“But what harm can there be in that?”\par

“Well, there is at least a curious coincidence of dates. A ventilator is
made, a cord is hung, and a lady who sleeps in the bed dies. Does not that
strike you?”\par

“I cannot as yet see any connection.”\par

“Did you observe anything very peculiar about that bed?”\par

“No.”\par

“It was clamped to the floor. Did you ever see a bed fastened like that
before?”\par

“I cannot say that I have.”\par

“The lady could not move her bed. It must always be in the same relative
position to the ventilator and to the rope—or so we may call it, since it
was clearly never meant for a bell-pull.”\par

“Holmes,” I cried, “I seem to see dimly what you are hinting at. We are
only just in time to prevent some subtle and horrible crime.”\par

“Subtle enough and horrible enough. When a doctor does go wrong he is the
first of criminals. He has nerve and he has knowledge. Palmer and
Pritchard were among the heads of their profession. This man strikes even
deeper, but I think, Watson, that we shall be able to strike deeper still.
But we shall have horrors enough before the night is over; for goodness’
sake let us have a quiet pipe and turn our minds for a few hours to
something more cheerful.”\par

About nine o’clock the light among the trees was extinguished, and all was
dark in the direction of the Manor House. Two hours passed slowly away,
and then, suddenly, just at the stroke of eleven, a single bright light
shone out right in front of us.\par

“That is our signal,” said Holmes, springing to his feet; “it comes from
the middle window.”\par

As we passed out he exchanged a few words with the landlord, explaining
that we were going on a late visit to an acquaintance, and that it was
possible that we might spend the night there. A moment later we were out
on the dark road, a chill wind blowing in our faces, and one yellow light
twinkling in front of us through the gloom to guide us on our sombre
errand.\par

There was little difficulty in entering the grounds, for unrepaired
breaches gaped in the old park wall. Making our way among the trees, we
reached the lawn, crossed it, and were about to enter through the window
when out from a clump of laurel bushes there darted what seemed to be a
hideous and distorted child, who threw itself upon the grass with writhing
limbs and then ran swiftly across the lawn into the darkness.\par

“My God!” I whispered; “did you see it?”\par

Holmes was for the moment as startled as I. His hand closed like a vice
upon my wrist in his agitation. Then he broke into a low laugh and put his
lips to my ear.\par

“It is a nice household,” he murmured. “That is the baboon.”\par

I had forgotten the strange pets which the doctor affected. There was a
cheetah, too; perhaps we might find it upon our shoulders at any moment. I
confess that I felt easier in my mind when, after following Holmes’
example and slipping off my shoes, I found myself inside the bedroom. My
companion noiselessly closed the shutters, moved the lamp onto the table,
and cast his eyes round the room. All was as we had seen it in the
daytime. Then creeping up to me and making a trumpet of his hand, he
whispered into my ear again so gently that it was all that I could do to
distinguish the words:\par

“The least sound would be fatal to our plans.”\par

I nodded to show that I had heard.\par

“We must sit without light. He would see it through the ventilator.”\par

I nodded again.\par

“Do not go asleep; your very life may depend upon it. Have your pistol
ready in case we should need it. I will sit on the side of the bed, and
you in that chair.”\par

I took out my revolver and laid it on the corner of the table.\par

Holmes had brought up a long thin cane, and this he placed upon the bed
beside him. By it he laid the box of matches and the stump of a candle.
Then he turned down the lamp, and we were left in darkness.\par

How shall I ever forget that dreadful vigil? I could not hear a sound, not
even the drawing of a breath, and yet I knew that my companion sat
open-eyed, within a few feet of me, in the same state of nervous tension
in which I was myself. The shutters cut off the least ray of light, and we
waited in absolute darkness.\par

From outside came the occasional cry of a night-bird, and once at our very
window a long drawn catlike whine, which told us that the cheetah was
indeed at liberty. Far away we could hear the deep tones of the parish
clock, which boomed out every quarter of an hour. How long they seemed,
those quarters! Twelve struck, and one and two and three, and still we sat
waiting silently for whatever might befall.\par

Suddenly there was the momentary gleam of a light up in the direction of
the ventilator, which vanished immediately, but was succeeded by a strong
smell of burning oil and heated metal. Someone in the next room had lit a
dark-lantern. I heard a gentle sound of movement, and then all was silent
once more, though the smell grew stronger. For half an hour I sat with
straining ears. Then suddenly another sound became audible—a very gentle,
soothing sound, like that of a small jet of steam escaping continually
from a kettle. The instant that we heard it, Holmes sprang from the bed,
struck a match, and lashed furiously with his cane at the bell-pull.\par

“You see it, Watson?” he yelled. “You see it?”\par

But I saw nothing. At the moment when Holmes struck the light I heard a
low, clear whistle, but the sudden glare flashing into my weary eyes made
it impossible for me to tell what it was at which my friend lashed so
savagely. I could, however, see that his face was deadly pale and filled
with horror and loathing. He had ceased to strike and was gazing up at the
ventilator when suddenly there broke from the silence of the night the
most horrible cry to which I have ever listened. It swelled up louder and
louder, a hoarse yell of pain and fear and anger all mingled in the one
dreadful shriek. They say that away down in the village, and even in the
distant parsonage, that cry raised the sleepers from their beds. It struck
cold to our hearts, and I stood gazing at Holmes, and he at me, until the
last echoes of it had died away into the silence from which it rose.\par

“What can it mean?” I gasped.\par

“It means that it is all over,” Holmes answered. “And perhaps, after all,
it is for the best. Take your pistol, and we will enter Dr. Roylott’s
room.”\par

With a grave face he lit the lamp and led the way down the corridor. Twice
he struck at the chamber door without any reply from within. Then he
turned the handle and entered, I at his heels, with the cocked pistol in
my hand.\par

It was a singular sight which met our eyes. On the table stood a
dark-lantern with the shutter half open, throwing a brilliant beam of
light upon the iron safe, the door of which was ajar. Beside this table,
on the wooden chair, sat Dr. Grimesby Roylott clad in a long grey
dressing-gown, his bare ankles protruding beneath, and his feet thrust
into red heelless Turkish slippers. Across his lap lay the short stock
with the long lash which we had noticed during the day. His chin was
cocked upward and his eyes were fixed in a dreadful, rigid stare at the
corner of the ceiling. Round his brow he had a peculiar yellow band, with
brownish speckles, which seemed to be bound tightly round his head. As we
entered he made neither sound nor motion.\par

“The band! the speckled band!” whispered Holmes.\par

I took a step forward. In an instant his strange headgear began to move,
and there reared itself from among his hair the squat diamond-shaped head
and puffed neck of a loathsome serpent.\par

“It is a swamp adder!” cried Holmes; “the deadliest snake in India. He has
died within ten seconds of being bitten. Violence does, in truth, recoil
upon the violent, and the schemer falls into the pit which he digs for
another. Let us thrust this creature back into its den, and we can then
remove Miss Stoner to some place of shelter and let the county police know
what has happened.”\par

As he spoke he drew the dog-whip swiftly from the dead man’s lap, and
throwing the noose round the reptile’s neck he drew it from its horrid
perch and, carrying it at arm’s length, threw it into the iron safe, which
he closed upon it.\par

Such are the true facts of the death of Dr. Grimesby Roylott, of Stoke
Moran. It is not necessary that I should prolong a narrative which has
already run to too great a length by telling how we broke the sad news to
the terrified girl, how we conveyed her by the morning train to the care
of her good aunt at Harrow, of how the slow process of official inquiry
came to the conclusion that the doctor met his fate while indiscreetly
playing with a dangerous pet. The little which I had yet to learn of the
case was told me by Sherlock Holmes as we travelled back next day.\par

“I had,” said he, “come to an entirely erroneous conclusion which shows,
my dear Watson, how dangerous it always is to reason from insufficient
data. The presence of the gipsies, and the use of the word ‘band,’ which
was used by the poor girl, no doubt, to explain the appearance which she
had caught a hurried glimpse of by the light of her match, were sufficient
to put me upon an entirely wrong scent. I can only claim the merit that I
instantly reconsidered my position when, however, it became clear to me
that whatever danger threatened an occupant of the room could not come
either from the window or the door. My attention was speedily drawn, as I
have already remarked to you, to this ventilator, and to the bell-rope
which hung down to the bed. The discovery that this was a dummy, and that
the bed was clamped to the floor, instantly gave rise to the suspicion
that the rope was there as a bridge for something passing through the hole
and coming to the bed. The idea of a snake instantly occurred to me, and
when I coupled it with my knowledge that the doctor was furnished with a
supply of creatures from India, I felt that I was probably on the right
track. The idea of using a form of poison which could not possibly be
discovered by any chemical test was just such a one as would occur to a
clever and ruthless man who had had an Eastern training. The rapidity with
which such a poison would take effect would also, from his point of view,
be an advantage. It would be a sharp-eyed coroner, indeed, who could
distinguish the two little dark punctures which would show where the
poison fangs had done their work. Then I thought of the whistle. Of course
he must recall the snake before the morning light revealed it to the
victim. He had trained it, probably by the use of the milk which we saw,
to return to him when summoned. He would put it through this ventilator at
the hour that he thought best, with the certainty that it would crawl down
the rope and land on the bed. It might or might not bite the occupant,
perhaps she might escape every night for a week, but sooner or later she
must fall a victim.\par

“I had come to these conclusions before ever I had entered his room. An
inspection of his chair showed me that he had been in the habit of
standing on it, which of course would be necessary in order that he should
reach the ventilator. The sight of the safe, the saucer of milk, and the
loop of whipcord were enough to finally dispel any doubts which may have
remained. The metallic clang heard by Miss Stoner was obviously caused by
her stepfather hastily closing the door of his safe upon its terrible
occupant. Having once made up my mind, you know the steps which I took in
order to put the matter to the proof. I heard the creature hiss as I have
no doubt that you did also, and I instantly lit the light and attacked
it.”\par

“With the result of driving it through the ventilator.”\par

“And also with the result of causing it to turn upon its master at the
other side. Some of the blows of my cane came home and roused its snakish
temper, so that it flew upon the first person it saw. In this way I am no
doubt indirectly responsible for Dr. Grimesby Roylott’s death, and I
cannot say that it is likely to weigh very heavily upon my conscience.”\par

\cleardoublepage
\label{the-adventure-of-the-engineer-s-thumb}%
\hypertarget{the-adventure-of-the-engineer-s-thumb}{}%
%
\chapter*{The Adventure of the Engineer’s Thumb}


Of all the problems which have been submitted to my friend, Mr. Sherlock
Holmes, for solution during the years of our intimacy, there were only two
which I was the means of introducing to his notice—that of Mr. Hatherley’s
thumb, and that of Colonel Warburton’s madness. Of these the latter may
have afforded a finer field for an acute and original observer, but the
other was so strange in its inception and so dramatic in its details that
it may be the more worthy of being placed upon record, even if it gave my
friend fewer openings for those deductive methods of reasoning by which he
achieved such remarkable results. The story has, I believe, been told more
than once in the newspapers, but, like all such narratives, its effect is
much less striking when set forth {\itshape{en bloc}} in a single half-column of
print than when the facts slowly evolve before your own eyes, and the
mystery clears gradually away as each new discovery furnishes a step which
leads on to the complete truth. At the time the circumstances made a deep
impression upon me, and the lapse of two years has hardly served to weaken
the effect.\par

It was in the summer of ’89, not long after my marriage, that the events
occurred which I am now about to summarise. I had returned to civil
practice and had finally abandoned Holmes in his Baker Street rooms,
although I continually visited him and occasionally even persuaded him to
forgo his Bohemian habits so far as to come and visit us. My practice had
steadily increased, and as I happened to live at no very great distance
from Paddington Station, I got a few patients from among the officials.
One of these, whom I had cured of a painful and lingering disease, was
never weary of advertising my virtues and of endeavouring to send me on
every sufferer over whom he might have any influence.\par

One morning, at a little before seven o’clock, I was awakened by the maid
tapping at the door to announce that two men had come from Paddington and
were waiting in the consulting-room. I dressed hurriedly, for I knew by
experience that railway cases were seldom trivial, and hastened
downstairs. As I descended, my old ally, the guard, came out of the room
and closed the door tightly behind him.\par

“I’ve got him here,” he whispered, jerking his thumb over his shoulder;
“he’s all right.”\par

“What is it, then?” I asked, for his manner suggested that it was some
strange creature which he had caged up in my room.\par

“It’s a new patient,” he whispered. “I thought I’d bring him round myself;
then he couldn’t slip away. There he is, all safe and sound. I must go
now, Doctor; I have my dooties, just the same as you.” And off he went,
this trusty tout, without even giving me time to thank him.\par

I entered my consulting-room and found a gentleman seated by the table. He
was quietly dressed in a suit of heather tweed with a soft cloth cap which
he had laid down upon my books. Round one of his hands he had a
handkerchief wrapped, which was mottled all over with bloodstains. He was
young, not more than five-and-twenty, I should say, with a strong,
masculine face; but he was exceedingly pale and gave me the impression of
a man who was suffering from some strong agitation, which it took all his
strength of mind to control.\par

“I am sorry to knock you up so early, Doctor,” said he, “but I have had a
very serious accident during the night. I came in by train this morning,
and on inquiring at Paddington as to where I might find a doctor, a worthy
fellow very kindly escorted me here. I gave the maid a card, but I see
that she has left it upon the side-table.”\par

I took it up and glanced at it. “Mr. Victor Hatherley, hydraulic engineer,
16A, Victoria Street (3rd floor).” That was the name, style, and abode of
my morning visitor. “I regret that I have kept you waiting,” said I,
sitting down in my library-chair. “You are fresh from a night journey, I
understand, which is in itself a monotonous occupation.”\par

“Oh, my night could not be called monotonous,” said he, and laughed. He
laughed very heartily, with a high, ringing note, leaning back in his
chair and shaking his sides. All my medical instincts rose up against that
laugh.\par

“Stop it!” I cried; “pull yourself together!” and I poured out some water
from a caraffe.\par

It was useless, however. He was off in one of those hysterical outbursts
which come upon a strong nature when some great crisis is over and gone.
Presently he came to himself once more, very weary and pale-looking.\par

“I have been making a fool of myself,” he gasped.\par

“Not at all. Drink this.” I dashed some brandy into the water, and the
colour began to come back to his bloodless cheeks.\par

“That’s better!” said he. “And now, Doctor, perhaps you would kindly
attend to my thumb, or rather to the place where my thumb used to be.”\par

He unwound the handkerchief and held out his hand. It gave even my
hardened nerves a shudder to look at it. There were four protruding
fingers and a horrid red, spongy surface where the thumb should have been.
It had been hacked or torn right out from the roots.\par

“Good heavens!” I cried, “this is a terrible injury. It must have bled
considerably.”\par

“Yes, it did. I fainted when it was done, and I think that I must have
been senseless for a long time. When I came to I found that it was still
bleeding, so I tied one end of my handkerchief very tightly round the
wrist and braced it up with a twig.”\par

“Excellent! You should have been a surgeon.”\par

“It is a question of hydraulics, you see, and came within my own
province.”\par

“This has been done,” said I, examining the wound, “by a very heavy and
sharp instrument.”\par

“A thing like a cleaver,” said he.\par

“An accident, I presume?”\par

“By no means.”\par

“What! a murderous attack?”\par

“Very murderous indeed.”\par

“You horrify me.”\par

I sponged the wound, cleaned it, dressed it, and finally covered it over
with cotton wadding and carbolised bandages. He lay back without wincing,
though he bit his lip from time to time.\par

“How is that?” I asked when I had finished.\par

“Capital! Between your brandy and your bandage, I feel a new man. I was
very weak, but I have had a good deal to go through.”\par

“Perhaps you had better not speak of the matter. It is evidently trying to
your nerves.”\par

“Oh, no, not now. I shall have to tell my tale to the police; but, between
ourselves, if it were not for the convincing evidence of this wound of
mine, I should be surprised if they believed my statement, for it is a
very extraordinary one, and I have not much in the way of proof with which
to back it up; and, even if they believe me, the clues which I can give
them are so vague that it is a question whether justice will be done.”\par

“Ha!” cried I, “if it is anything in the nature of a problem which you
desire to see solved, I should strongly recommend you to come to my
friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, before you go to the official police.”\par

“Oh, I have heard of that fellow,” answered my visitor, “and I should be
very glad if he would take the matter up, though of course I must use the
official police as well. Would you give me an introduction to him?”\par

“I’ll do better. I’ll take you round to him myself.”\par

“I should be immensely obliged to you.”\par

“We’ll call a cab and go together. We shall just be in time to have a
little breakfast with him. Do you feel equal to it?”\par

“Yes; I shall not feel easy until I have told my story.”\par

“Then my servant will call a cab, and I shall be with you in an instant.”
I rushed upstairs, explained the matter shortly to my wife, and in five
minutes was inside a hansom, driving with my new acquaintance to Baker
Street.\par

Sherlock Holmes was, as I expected, lounging about his sitting-room in his
dressing-gown, reading the agony column of {\itshape{The Times}} and smoking his
before-breakfast pipe, which was composed of all the plugs and dottles
left from his smokes of the day before, all carefully dried and collected
on the corner of the mantelpiece. He received us in his quietly genial
fashion, ordered fresh rashers and eggs, and joined us in a hearty meal.
When it was concluded he settled our new acquaintance upon the sofa,
placed a pillow beneath his head, and laid a glass of brandy and water
within his reach.\par

“It is easy to see that your experience has been no common one, Mr.
Hatherley,” said he. “Pray, lie down there and make yourself absolutely at
home. Tell us what you can, but stop when you are tired and keep up your
strength with a little stimulant.”\par

“Thank you,” said my patient, “but I have felt another man since the
doctor bandaged me, and I think that your breakfast has completed the
cure. I shall take up as little of your valuable time as possible, so I
shall start at once upon my peculiar experiences.”\par

Holmes sat in his big armchair with the weary, heavy-lidded expression
which veiled his keen and eager nature, while I sat opposite to him, and
we listened in silence to the strange story which our visitor detailed to
us.\par

“You must know,” said he, “that I am an orphan and a bachelor, residing
alone in lodgings in London. By profession I am a hydraulic engineer, and
I have had considerable experience of my work during the seven years that
I was apprenticed to Venner \& Matheson, the well-known firm, of Greenwich.
Two years ago, having served my time, and having also come into a fair sum
of money through my poor father’s death, I determined to start in business
for myself and took professional chambers in Victoria Street.\par

“I suppose that everyone finds his first independent start in business a
dreary experience. To me it has been exceptionally so. During two years I
have had three consultations and one small job, and that is absolutely all
that my profession has brought me. My gross takings amount to £27 10*s*.
Every day, from nine in the morning until four in the afternoon, I waited
in my little den, until at last my heart began to sink, and I came to
believe that I should never have any practice at all.\par

“Yesterday, however, just as I was thinking of leaving the office, my
clerk entered to say there was a gentleman waiting who wished to see me
upon business. He brought up a card, too, with the name of ‘Colonel
Lysander Stark’ engraved upon it. Close at his heels came the colonel
himself, a man rather over the middle size, but of an exceeding thinness.
I do not think that I have ever seen so thin a man. His whole face
sharpened away into nose and chin, and the skin of his cheeks was drawn
quite tense over his outstanding bones. Yet this emaciation seemed to be
his natural habit, and due to no disease, for his eye was bright, his step
brisk, and his bearing assured. He was plainly but neatly dressed, and his
age, I should judge, would be nearer forty than thirty.\par

“ ‘Mr. Hatherley?’ said he, with something of a German accent. ‘You have
been recommended to me, Mr. Hatherley, as being a man who is not only
proficient in his profession but is also discreet and capable of
preserving a secret.’\par

“I bowed, feeling as flattered as any young man would at such an address.
‘May I ask who it was who gave me so good a character?’\par

“ ‘Well, perhaps it is better that I should not tell you that just at this
moment. I have it from the same source that you are both an orphan and a
bachelor and are residing alone in London.’\par

“ ‘That is quite correct,’ I answered; ‘but you will excuse me if I say
that I cannot see how all this bears upon my professional qualifications.
I understand that it was on a professional matter that you wished to speak
to me?’\par

“ ‘Undoubtedly so. But you will find that all I say is really to the
point. I have a professional commission for you, but absolute secrecy is
quite essential—absolute secrecy, you understand, and of course we may
expect that more from a man who is alone than from one who lives in the
bosom of his family.’\par

“ ‘If I promise to keep a secret,’ said I, ‘you may absolutely depend upon
my doing so.’\par

“He looked very hard at me as I spoke, and it seemed to me that I had
never seen so suspicious and questioning an eye.\par

“ ‘Do you promise, then?’ said he at last.\par

“ ‘Yes, I promise.’\par

“ ‘Absolute and complete silence before, during, and after? No reference
to the matter at all, either in word or writing?’\par

“ ‘I have already given you my word.’\par

“ ‘Very good.’ He suddenly sprang up, and darting like lightning across
the room he flung open the door. The passage outside was empty.\par

“ ‘That’s all right,’ said he, coming back. ‘I know that clerks are
sometimes curious as to their master’s affairs. Now we can talk in
safety.’ He drew up his chair very close to mine and began to stare at me
again with the same questioning and thoughtful look.\par

“A feeling of repulsion, and of something akin to fear had begun to rise
within me at the strange antics of this fleshless man. Even my dread of
losing a client could not restrain me from showing my impatience.\par

“ ‘I beg that you will state your business, sir,’ said I; ‘my time is of
value.’ Heaven forgive me for that last sentence, but the words came to my
lips.\par

“ ‘How would fifty guineas for a night’s work suit you?’ he asked.\par

“ ‘Most admirably.’\par

“ ‘I say a night’s work, but an hour’s would be nearer the mark. I simply
want your opinion about a hydraulic stamping machine which has got out of
gear. If you show us what is wrong we shall soon set it right ourselves.
What do you think of such a commission as that?’\par

“ ‘The work appears to be light and the pay munificent.’\par

“ ‘Precisely so. We shall want you to come to-night by the last train.’\par

“ ‘Where to?’\par

“ ‘To Eyford, in Berkshire. It is a little place near the borders of
Oxfordshire, and within seven miles of Reading. There is a train from
Paddington which would bring you there at about 11:15.’\par

“ ‘Very good.’\par

“ ‘I shall come down in a carriage to meet you.’\par

“ ‘There is a drive, then?’\par

“ ‘Yes, our little place is quite out in the country. It is a good seven
miles from Eyford Station.’\par

“ ‘Then we can hardly get there before midnight. I suppose there would be
no chance of a train back. I should be compelled to stop the night.’\par

“ ‘Yes, we could easily give you a shake-down.’\par

“ ‘That is very awkward. Could I not come at some more convenient hour?’\par

“ ‘We have judged it best that you should come late. It is to recompense
you for any inconvenience that we are paying to you, a young and unknown
man, a fee which would buy an opinion from the very heads of your
profession. Still, of course, if you would like to draw out of the
business, there is plenty of time to do so.’\par

“I thought of the fifty guineas, and of how very useful they would be to
me. ‘Not at all,’ said I, ‘I shall be very happy to accommodate myself to
your wishes. I should like, however, to understand a little more clearly
what it is that you wish me to do.’\par

“ ‘Quite so. It is very natural that the pledge of secrecy which we have
exacted from you should have aroused your curiosity. I have no wish to
commit you to anything without your having it all laid before you. I
suppose that we are absolutely safe from eavesdroppers?’\par

“ ‘Entirely.’\par

“ ‘Then the matter stands thus. You are probably aware that fuller’s-earth
is a valuable product, and that it is only found in one or two places in
England?’\par

“ ‘I have heard so.’\par

“ ‘Some little time ago I bought a small place—a very small place—within
ten miles of Reading. I was fortunate enough to discover that there was a
deposit of fuller’s-earth in one of my fields. On examining it, however, I
found that this deposit was a comparatively small one, and that it formed
a link between two very much larger ones upon the right and left—both of
them, however, in the grounds of my neighbours. These good people were
absolutely ignorant that their land contained that which was quite as
valuable as a gold-mine. Naturally, it was to my interest to buy their
land before they discovered its true value, but unfortunately I had no
capital by which I could do this. I took a few of my friends into the
secret, however, and they suggested that we should quietly and secretly
work our own little deposit and that in this way we should earn the money
which would enable us to buy the neighbouring fields. This we have now
been doing for some time, and in order to help us in our operations we
erected a hydraulic press. This press, as I have already explained, has
got out of order, and we wish your advice upon the subject. We guard our
secret very jealously, however, and if it once became known that we had
hydraulic engineers coming to our little house, it would soon rouse
inquiry, and then, if the facts came out, it would be good-bye to any
chance of getting these fields and carrying out our plans. That is why I
have made you promise me that you will not tell a human being that you are
going to Eyford to-night. I hope that I make it all plain?’\par

“ ‘I quite follow you,’ said I. ‘The only point which I could not quite
understand was what use you could make of a hydraulic press in excavating
fuller’s-earth, which, as I understand, is dug out like gravel from a
pit.’\par

“ ‘Ah!’ said he carelessly, ‘we have our own process. We compress the
earth into bricks, so as to remove them without revealing what they are.
But that is a mere detail. I have taken you fully into my confidence now,
Mr. Hatherley, and I have shown you how I trust you.’ He rose as he spoke.
‘I shall expect you, then, at Eyford at 11:15.’\par

“ ‘I shall certainly be there.’\par

“ ‘And not a word to a soul.’ He looked at me with a last long,
questioning gaze, and then, pressing my hand in a cold, dank grasp, he
hurried from the room.\par

“Well, when I came to think it all over in cool blood I was very much
astonished, as you may both think, at this sudden commission which had
been intrusted to me. On the one hand, of course, I was glad, for the fee
was at least tenfold what I should have asked had I set a price upon my
own services, and it was possible that this order might lead to other
ones. On the other hand, the face and manner of my patron had made an
unpleasant impression upon me, and I could not think that his explanation
of the fuller’s-earth was sufficient to explain the necessity for my
coming at midnight, and his extreme anxiety lest I should tell anyone of
my errand. However, I threw all fears to the winds, ate a hearty supper,
drove to Paddington, and started off, having obeyed to the letter the
injunction as to holding my tongue.\par

“At Reading I had to change not only my carriage but my station. However,
I was in time for the last train to Eyford, and I reached the little
dim-lit station after eleven o’clock. I was the only passenger who got out
there, and there was no one upon the platform save a single sleepy porter
with a lantern. As I passed out through the wicket gate, however, I found
my acquaintance of the morning waiting in the shadow upon the other side.
Without a word he grasped my arm and hurried me into a carriage, the door
of which was standing open. He drew up the windows on either side, tapped
on the wood-work, and away we went as fast as the horse could go.”\par

“One horse?” interjected Holmes.\par

“Yes, only one.”\par

“Did you observe the colour?”\par

“Yes, I saw it by the side-lights when I was stepping into the carriage.
It was a chestnut.”\par

“Tired-looking or fresh?”\par

“Oh, fresh and glossy.”\par

“Thank you. I am sorry to have interrupted you. Pray continue your most
interesting statement.”\par

“Away we went then, and we drove for at least an hour. Colonel Lysander
Stark had said that it was only seven miles, but I should think, from the
rate that we seemed to go, and from the time that we took, that it must
have been nearer twelve. He sat at my side in silence all the time, and I
was aware, more than once when I glanced in his direction, that he was
looking at me with great intensity. The country roads seem to be not very
good in that part of the world, for we lurched and jolted terribly. I
tried to look out of the windows to see something of where we were, but
they were made of frosted glass, and I could make out nothing save the
occasional bright blur of a passing light. Now and then I hazarded some
remark to break the monotony of the journey, but the colonel answered only
in monosyllables, and the conversation soon flagged. At last, however, the
bumping of the road was exchanged for the crisp smoothness of a
gravel-drive, and the carriage came to a stand. Colonel Lysander Stark
sprang out, and, as I followed after him, pulled me swiftly into a porch
which gaped in front of us. We stepped, as it were, right out of the
carriage and into the hall, so that I failed to catch the most fleeting
glance of the front of the house. The instant that I had crossed the
threshold the door slammed heavily behind us, and I heard faintly the
rattle of the wheels as the carriage drove away.\par

“It was pitch dark inside the house, and the colonel fumbled about looking
for matches and muttering under his breath. Suddenly a door opened at the
other end of the passage, and a long, golden bar of light shot out in our
direction. It grew broader, and a woman appeared with a lamp in her hand,
which she held above her head, pushing her face forward and peering at us.
I could see that she was pretty, and from the gloss with which the light
shone upon her dark dress I knew that it was a rich material. She spoke a
few words in a foreign tongue in a tone as though asking a question, and
when my companion answered in a gruff monosyllable she gave such a start
that the lamp nearly fell from her hand. Colonel Stark went up to her,
whispered something in her ear, and then, pushing her back into the room
from whence she had come, he walked towards me again with the lamp in his
hand.\par

“ ‘Perhaps you will have the kindness to wait in this room for a few
minutes,’ said he, throwing open another door. It was a quiet, little,
plainly furnished room, with a round table in the centre, on which several
German books were scattered. Colonel Stark laid down the lamp on the top
of a harmonium beside the door. ‘I shall not keep you waiting an instant,’
said he, and vanished into the darkness.\par

“I glanced at the books upon the table, and in spite of my ignorance of
German I could see that two of them were treatises on science, the others
being volumes of poetry. Then I walked across to the window, hoping that I
might catch some glimpse of the country-side, but an oak shutter, heavily
barred, was folded across it. It was a wonderfully silent house. There was
an old clock ticking loudly somewhere in the passage, but otherwise
everything was deadly still. A vague feeling of uneasiness began to steal
over me. Who were these German people, and what were they doing living in
this strange, out-of-the-way place? And where was the place? I was ten
miles or so from Eyford, that was all I knew, but whether north, south,
east, or west I had no idea. For that matter, Reading, and possibly other
large towns, were within that radius, so the place might not be so
secluded, after all. Yet it was quite certain, from the absolute
stillness, that we were in the country. I paced up and down the room,
humming a tune under my breath to keep up my spirits and feeling that I
was thoroughly earning my fifty-guinea fee.\par

“Suddenly, without any preliminary sound in the midst of the utter
stillness, the door of my room swung slowly open. The woman was standing
in the aperture, the darkness of the hall behind her, the yellow light
from my lamp beating upon her eager and beautiful face. I could see at a
glance that she was sick with fear, and the sight sent a chill to my own
heart. She held up one shaking finger to warn me to be silent, and she
shot a few whispered words of broken English at me, her eyes glancing
back, like those of a frightened horse, into the gloom behind her.\par

“ ‘I would go,’ said she, trying hard, as it seemed to me, to speak
calmly; ‘I would go. I should not stay here. There is no good for you to
do.’\par

“ ‘But, madam,’ said I, ‘I have not yet done what I came for. I cannot
possibly leave until I have seen the machine.’\par

“ ‘It is not worth your while to wait,’ she went on. ‘You can pass through
the door; no one hinders.’ And then, seeing that I smiled and shook my
head, she suddenly threw aside her constraint and made a step forward,
with her hands wrung together. ‘For the love of Heaven!’ she whispered,
‘get away from here before it is too late!’\par

“But I am somewhat headstrong by nature, and the more ready to engage in
an affair when there is some obstacle in the way. I thought of my
fifty-guinea fee, of my wearisome journey, and of the unpleasant night
which seemed to be before me. Was it all to go for nothing? Why should I
slink away without having carried out my commission, and without the
payment which was my due? This woman might, for all I knew, be a
monomaniac. With a stout bearing, therefore, though her manner had shaken
me more than I cared to confess, I still shook my head and declared my
intention of remaining where I was. She was about to renew her entreaties
when a door slammed overhead, and the sound of several footsteps was heard
upon the stairs. She listened for an instant, threw up her hands with a
despairing gesture, and vanished as suddenly and as noiselessly as she had
come.\par

“The newcomers were Colonel Lysander Stark and a short thick man with a
chinchilla beard growing out of the creases of his double chin, who was
introduced to me as Mr. Ferguson.\par

“ ‘This is my secretary and manager,’ said the colonel. ‘By the way, I was
under the impression that I left this door shut just now. I fear that you
have felt the draught.’\par

“ ‘On the contrary,’ said I, ‘I opened the door myself because I felt the
room to be a little close.’\par

“He shot one of his suspicious looks at me. ‘Perhaps we had better proceed
to business, then,’ said he. ‘Mr. Ferguson and I will take you up to see
the machine.’\par

“ ‘I had better put my hat on, I suppose.’\par

“ ‘Oh, no, it is in the house.’\par

“ ‘What, you dig fuller’s-earth in the house?’\par

“ ‘No, no. This is only where we compress it. But never mind that. All we
wish you to do is to examine the machine and to let us know what is wrong
with it.’\par

“We went upstairs together, the colonel first with the lamp, the fat
manager and I behind him. It was a labyrinth of an old house, with
corridors, passages, narrow winding staircases, and little low doors, the
thresholds of which were hollowed out by the generations who had crossed
them. There were no carpets and no signs of any furniture above the ground
floor, while the plaster was peeling off the walls, and the damp was
breaking through in green, unhealthy blotches. I tried to put on as
unconcerned an air as possible, but I had not forgotten the warnings of
the lady, even though I disregarded them, and I kept a keen eye upon my
two companions. Ferguson appeared to be a morose and silent man, but I
could see from the little that he said that he was at least a
fellow-countryman.\par

“Colonel Lysander Stark stopped at last before a low door, which he
unlocked. Within was a small, square room, in which the three of us could
hardly get at one time. Ferguson remained outside, and the colonel ushered
me in.\par

“ ‘We are now,’ said he, ‘actually within the hydraulic press, and it
would be a particularly unpleasant thing for us if anyone were to turn it
on. The ceiling of this small chamber is really the end of the descending
piston, and it comes down with the force of many tons upon this metal
floor. There are small lateral columns of water outside which receive the
force, and which transmit and multiply it in the manner which is familiar
to you. The machine goes readily enough, but there is some stiffness in
the working of it, and it has lost a little of its force. Perhaps you will
have the goodness to look it over and to show us how we can set it right.’\par

“I took the lamp from him, and I examined the machine very thoroughly. It
was indeed a gigantic one, and capable of exercising enormous pressure.
When I passed outside, however, and pressed down the levers which
controlled it, I knew at once by the whishing sound that there was a
slight leakage, which allowed a regurgitation of water through one of the
side cylinders. An examination showed that one of the india-rubber bands
which was round the head of a driving-rod had shrunk so as not quite to
fill the socket along which it worked. This was clearly the cause of the
loss of power, and I pointed it out to my companions, who followed my
remarks very carefully and asked several practical questions as to how
they should proceed to set it right. When I had made it clear to them, I
returned to the main chamber of the machine and took a good look at it to
satisfy my own curiosity. It was obvious at a glance that the story of the
fuller’s-earth was the merest fabrication, for it would be absurd to
suppose that so powerful an engine could be designed for so inadequate a
purpose. The walls were of wood, but the floor consisted of a large iron
trough, and when I came to examine it I could see a crust of metallic
deposit all over it. I had stooped and was scraping at this to see exactly
what it was when I heard a muttered exclamation in German and saw the
cadaverous face of the colonel looking down at me.\par

“ ‘What are you doing there?’ he asked.\par

“I felt angry at having been tricked by so elaborate a story as that which
he had told me. ‘I was admiring your fuller’s-earth,’ said I; ‘I think
that I should be better able to advise you as to your machine if I knew
what the exact purpose was for which it was used.’\par

“The instant that I uttered the words I regretted the rashness of my
speech. His face set hard, and a baleful light sprang up in his grey eyes.\par

“ ‘Very well,’ said he, ‘you shall know all about the machine.’ He took a
step backward, slammed the little door, and turned the key in the lock. I
rushed towards it and pulled at the handle, but it was quite secure, and
did not give in the least to my kicks and shoves. ‘Hullo!’ I yelled.
‘Hullo! Colonel! Let me out!’\par

“And then suddenly in the silence I heard a sound which sent my heart into
my mouth. It was the clank of the levers and the swish of the leaking
cylinder. He had set the engine at work. The lamp still stood upon the
floor where I had placed it when examining the trough. By its light I saw
that the black ceiling was coming down upon me, slowly, jerkily, but, as
none knew better than myself, with a force which must within a minute
grind me to a shapeless pulp. I threw myself, screaming, against the door,
and dragged with my nails at the lock. I implored the colonel to let me
out, but the remorseless clanking of the levers drowned my cries. The
ceiling was only a foot or two above my head, and with my hand upraised I
could feel its hard, rough surface. Then it flashed through my mind that
the pain of my death would depend very much upon the position in which I
met it. If I lay on my face the weight would come upon my spine, and I
shuddered to think of that dreadful snap. Easier the other way, perhaps;
and yet, had I the nerve to lie and look up at that deadly black shadow
wavering down upon me? Already I was unable to stand erect, when my eye
caught something which brought a gush of hope back to my heart.\par

“I have said that though the floor and ceiling were of iron, the walls
were of wood. As I gave a last hurried glance around, I saw a thin line of
yellow light between two of the boards, which broadened and broadened as a
small panel was pushed backward. For an instant I could hardly believe
that here was indeed a door which led away from death. The next instant I
threw myself through, and lay half-fainting upon the other side. The panel
had closed again behind me, but the crash of the lamp, and a few moments
afterwards the clang of the two slabs of metal, told me how narrow had
been my escape.\par

“I was recalled to myself by a frantic plucking at my wrist, and I found
myself lying upon the stone floor of a narrow corridor, while a woman bent
over me and tugged at me with her left hand, while she held a candle in
her right. It was the same good friend whose warning I had so foolishly
rejected.\par

“ ‘Come! come!’ she cried breathlessly. ‘They will be here in a moment.
They will see that you are not there. Oh, do not waste the so-precious
time, but come!’\par

“This time, at least, I did not scorn her advice. I staggered to my feet
and ran with her along the corridor and down a winding stair. The latter
led to another broad passage, and just as we reached it we heard the sound
of running feet and the shouting of two voices, one answering the other
from the floor on which we were and from the one beneath. My guide stopped
and looked about her like one who is at her wit’s end. Then she threw open
a door which led into a bedroom, through the window of which the moon was
shining brightly.\par

“ ‘It is your only chance,’ said she. ‘It is high, but it may be that you
can jump it.’\par

“As she spoke a light sprang into view at the further end of the passage,
and I saw the lean figure of Colonel Lysander Stark rushing forward with a
lantern in one hand and a weapon like a butcher’s cleaver in the other. I
rushed across the bedroom, flung open the window, and looked out. How
quiet and sweet and wholesome the garden looked in the moonlight, and it
could not be more than thirty feet down. I clambered out upon the sill,
but I hesitated to jump until I should have heard what passed between my
saviour and the ruffian who pursued me. If she were ill-used, then at any
risks I was determined to go back to her assistance. The thought had
hardly flashed through my mind before he was at the door, pushing his way
past her; but she threw her arms round him and tried to hold him back.\par

“ ‘Fritz! Fritz!’ she cried in English, ‘remember your promise after the
last time. You said it should not be again. He will be silent! Oh, he will
be silent!’\par

“ ‘You are mad, Elise!’ he shouted, struggling to break away from her.
‘You will be the ruin of us. He has seen too much. Let me pass, I say!’ He
dashed her to one side, and, rushing to the window, cut at me with his
heavy weapon. I had let myself go, and was hanging by the hands to the
sill, when his blow fell. I was conscious of a dull pain, my grip
loosened, and I fell into the garden below.\par

“I was shaken but not hurt by the fall; so I picked myself up and rushed
off among the bushes as hard as I could run, for I understood that I was
far from being out of danger yet. Suddenly, however, as I ran, a deadly
dizziness and sickness came over me. I glanced down at my hand, which was
throbbing painfully, and then, for the first time, saw that my thumb had
been cut off and that the blood was pouring from my wound. I endeavoured
to tie my handkerchief round it, but there came a sudden buzzing in my
ears, and next moment I fell in a dead faint among the rose-bushes.\par

“How long I remained unconscious I cannot tell. It must have been a very
long time, for the moon had sunk, and a bright morning was breaking when I
came to myself. My clothes were all sodden with dew, and my coat-sleeve
was drenched with blood from my wounded thumb. The smarting of it recalled
in an instant all the particulars of my night’s adventure, and I sprang to
my feet with the feeling that I might hardly yet be safe from my pursuers.
But to my astonishment, when I came to look round me, neither house nor
garden were to be seen. I had been lying in an angle of the hedge close by
the highroad, and just a little lower down was a long building, which
proved, upon my approaching it, to be the very station at which I had
arrived upon the previous night. Were it not for the ugly wound upon my
hand, all that had passed during those dreadful hours might have been an
evil dream.\par

“Half dazed, I went into the station and asked about the morning train.
There would be one to Reading in less than an hour. The same porter was on
duty, I found, as had been there when I arrived. I inquired of him whether
he had ever heard of Colonel Lysander Stark. The name was strange to him.
Had he observed a carriage the night before waiting for me? No, he had
not. Was there a police-station anywhere near? There was one about three
miles off.\par

“It was too far for me to go, weak and ill as I was. I determined to wait
until I got back to town before telling my story to the police. It was a
little past six when I arrived, so I went first to have my wound dressed,
and then the doctor was kind enough to bring me along here. I put the case
into your hands and shall do exactly what you advise.”\par

We both sat in silence for some little time after listening to this
extraordinary narrative. Then Sherlock Holmes pulled down from the shelf
one of the ponderous commonplace books in which he placed his cuttings.\par

“Here is an advertisement which will interest you,” said he. “It appeared
in all the papers about a year ago. Listen to this: ‘Lost, on the 9th
inst., Mr. Jeremiah Hayling, aged twenty-six, a hydraulic engineer. Left
his lodgings at ten o’clock at night, and has not been heard of since. Was
dressed in,’ etc., etc. Ha! That represents the last time that the colonel
needed to have his machine overhauled, I fancy.”\par

“Good heavens!” cried my patient. “Then that explains what the girl said.”\par

“Undoubtedly. It is quite clear that the colonel was a cool and desperate
man, who was absolutely determined that nothing should stand in the way of
his little game, like those out-and-out pirates who will leave no survivor
from a captured ship. Well, every moment now is precious, so if you feel
equal to it we shall go down to Scotland Yard at once as a preliminary to
starting for Eyford.”\par

Some three hours or so afterwards we were all in the train together, bound
from Reading to the little Berkshire village. There were Sherlock Holmes,
the hydraulic engineer, Inspector Bradstreet, of Scotland Yard, a
plain-clothes man, and myself. Bradstreet had spread an ordnance map of
the county out upon the seat and was busy with his compasses drawing a
circle with Eyford for its centre.\par

“There you are,” said he. “That circle is drawn at a radius of ten miles
from the village. The place we want must be somewhere near that line. You
said ten miles, I think, sir.”\par

“It was an hour’s good drive.”\par

“And you think that they brought you back all that way when you were
unconscious?”\par

“They must have done so. I have a confused memory, too, of having been
lifted and conveyed somewhere.”\par

“What I cannot understand,” said I, “is why they should have spared you
when they found you lying fainting in the garden. Perhaps the villain was
softened by the woman’s entreaties.”\par

“I hardly think that likely. I never saw a more inexorable face in my
life.”\par

“Oh, we shall soon clear up all that,” said Bradstreet. “Well, I have
drawn my circle, and I only wish I knew at what point upon it the folk
that we are in search of are to be found.”\par

“I think I could lay my finger on it,” said Holmes quietly.\par

“Really, now!” cried the inspector, “you have formed your opinion! Come,
now, we shall see who agrees with you. I say it is south, for the country
is more deserted there.”\par

“And I say east,” said my patient.\par

“I am for west,” remarked the plain-clothes man. “There are several quiet
little villages up there.”\par

“And I am for north,” said I, “because there are no hills there, and our
friend says that he did not notice the carriage go up any.”\par

“Come,” cried the inspector, laughing; “it’s a very pretty diversity of
opinion. We have boxed the compass among us. Who do you give your casting
vote to?”\par

“You are all wrong.”\par

“But we can’t all be.”\par

“Oh, yes, you can. This is my point.” He placed his finger in the centre
of the circle. “This is where we shall find them.”\par

“But the twelve-mile drive?” gasped Hatherley.\par

“Six out and six back. Nothing simpler. You say yourself that the horse
was fresh and glossy when you got in. How could it be that if it had gone
twelve miles over heavy roads?”\par

“Indeed, it is a likely ruse enough,” observed Bradstreet thoughtfully.
“Of course there can be no doubt as to the nature of this gang.”\par

“None at all,” said Holmes. “They are coiners on a large scale, and have
used the machine to form the amalgam which has taken the place of silver.”\par

“We have known for some time that a clever gang was at work,” said the
inspector. “They have been turning out half-crowns by the thousand. We
even traced them as far as Reading, but could get no farther, for they had
covered their traces in a way that showed that they were very old hands.
But now, thanks to this lucky chance, I think that we have got them right
enough.”\par

But the inspector was mistaken, for those criminals were not destined to
fall into the hands of justice. As we rolled into Eyford Station we saw a
gigantic column of smoke which streamed up from behind a small clump of
trees in the neighbourhood and hung like an immense ostrich feather over
the landscape.\par

“A house on fire?” asked Bradstreet as the train steamed off again on its
way.\par

“Yes, sir!” said the station-master.\par

“When did it break out?”\par

“I hear that it was during the night, sir, but it has got worse, and the
whole place is in a blaze.”\par

“Whose house is it?”\par

“Dr. Becher’s.”\par

“Tell me,” broke in the engineer, “is Dr. Becher a German, very thin, with
a long, sharp nose?”\par

The station-master laughed heartily. “No, sir, Dr. Becher is an
Englishman, and there isn’t a man in the parish who has a better-lined
waistcoat. But he has a gentleman staying with him, a patient, as I
understand, who is a foreigner, and he looks as if a little good Berkshire
beef would do him no harm.”\par

The station-master had not finished his speech before we were all
hastening in the direction of the fire. The road topped a low hill, and
there was a great widespread whitewashed building in front of us, spouting
fire at every chink and window, while in the garden in front three
fire-engines were vainly striving to keep the flames under.\par

“That’s it!” cried Hatherley, in intense excitement. “There is the
gravel-drive, and there are the rose-bushes where I lay. That second
window is the one that I jumped from.”\par

“Well, at least,” said Holmes, “you have had your revenge upon them. There
can be no question that it was your oil-lamp which, when it was crushed in
the press, set fire to the wooden walls, though no doubt they were too
excited in the chase after you to observe it at the time. Now keep your
eyes open in this crowd for your friends of last night, though I very much
fear that they are a good hundred miles off by now.”\par

And Holmes’ fears came to be realised, for from that day to this no word
has ever been heard either of the beautiful woman, the sinister German, or
the morose Englishman. Early that morning a peasant had met a cart
containing several people and some very bulky boxes driving rapidly in the
direction of Reading, but there all traces of the fugitives disappeared,
and even Holmes’ ingenuity failed ever to discover the least clue as to
their whereabouts.\par

The firemen had been much perturbed at the strange arrangements which they
had found within, and still more so by discovering a newly severed human
thumb upon a window-sill of the second floor. About sunset, however, their
efforts were at last successful, and they subdued the flames, but not
before the roof had fallen in, and the whole place been reduced to such
absolute ruin that, save some twisted cylinders and iron piping, not a
trace remained of the machinery which had cost our unfortunate
acquaintance so dearly. Large masses of nickel and of tin were discovered
stored in an out-house, but no coins were to be found, which may have
explained the presence of those bulky boxes which have been already
referred to.\par

How our hydraulic engineer had been conveyed from the garden to the spot
where he recovered his senses might have remained forever a mystery were
it not for the soft mould, which told us a very plain tale. He had
evidently been carried down by two persons, one of whom had remarkably
small feet and the other unusually large ones. On the whole, it was most
probable that the silent Englishman, being less bold or less murderous
than his companion, had assisted the woman to bear the unconscious man out
of the way of danger.\par

“Well,” said our engineer ruefully as we took our seats to return once
more to London, “it has been a pretty business for me! I have lost my
thumb and I have lost a fifty-guinea fee, and what have I gained?”\par

“Experience,” said Holmes, laughing. “Indirectly it may be of value, you
know; you have only to put it into words to gain the reputation of being
excellent company for the remainder of your existence.”\par

\cleardoublepage
\label{the-adventure-of-the-noble-bachelor}%
\hypertarget{the-adventure-of-the-noble-bachelor}{}%
%
\chapter*{The Adventure of the Noble Bachelor}


The Lord St. Simon marriage, and its curious termination, have long ceased
to be a subject of interest in those exalted circles in which the
unfortunate bridegroom moves. Fresh scandals have eclipsed it, and their
more piquant details have drawn the gossips away from this four-year-old
drama. As I have reason to believe, however, that the full facts have
never been revealed to the general public, and as my friend Sherlock
Holmes had a considerable share in clearing the matter up, I feel that no
memoir of him would be complete without some little sketch of this
remarkable episode.\par

It was a few weeks before my own marriage, during the days when I was
still sharing rooms with Holmes in Baker Street, that he came home from an
afternoon stroll to find a letter on the table waiting for him. I had
remained indoors all day, for the weather had taken a sudden turn to rain,
with high autumnal winds, and the Jezail bullet which I had brought back
in one of my limbs as a relic of my Afghan campaign throbbed with dull
persistence. With my body in one easy-chair and my legs upon another, I
had surrounded myself with a cloud of newspapers until at last, saturated
with the news of the day, I tossed them all aside and lay listless,
watching the huge crest and monogram upon the envelope upon the table and
wondering lazily who my friend’s noble correspondent could be.\par

“Here is a very fashionable epistle,” I remarked as he entered. “Your
morning letters, if I remember right, were from a fish-monger and a
tide-waiter.”\par

“Yes, my correspondence has certainly the charm of variety,” he answered,
smiling, “and the humbler are usually the more interesting. This looks
like one of those unwelcome social summonses which call upon a man either
to be bored or to lie.”\par

He broke the seal and glanced over the contents.\par

“Oh, come, it may prove to be something of interest, after all.”\par

“Not social, then?”\par

“No, distinctly professional.”\par

“And from a noble client?”\par

“One of the highest in England.”\par

“My dear fellow, I congratulate you.”\par

“I assure you, Watson, without affectation, that the status of my client
is a matter of less moment to me than the interest of his case. It is just
possible, however, that that also may not be wanting in this new
investigation. You have been reading the papers diligently of late, have
you not?”\par

“It looks like it,” said I ruefully, pointing to a huge bundle in the
corner. “I have had nothing else to do.”\par

“It is fortunate, for you will perhaps be able to post me up. I read
nothing except the criminal news and the agony column. The latter is
always instructive. But if you have followed recent events so closely you
must have read about Lord St. Simon and his wedding?”\par

“Oh, yes, with the deepest interest.”\par

“That is well. The letter which I hold in my hand is from Lord St. Simon.
I will read it to you, and in return you must turn over these papers and
let me have whatever bears upon the matter. This is what he says:\par

\begin{quotation}
{\noindent}“ ‘{\scshape{My Dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes:}} —
Lord Backwater tells me that I may place
implicit reliance upon your judgment and discretion. I have determined,
therefore, to call upon you and to consult you in reference to the very
painful event which has occurred in connection with my wedding. Mr.
Lestrade, of Scotland Yard, is acting already in the matter, but he
assures me that he sees no objection to your co-operation, and that he
even thinks that it might be of some assistance. I will call at four
o’clock in the afternoon, and, should you have any other engagement at
that time, I hope that you will postpone it, as this matter is of
paramount importance. Yours faithfully,\par

\begin{quotation}
{\noindent}“ ‘St. Simon.’\par
\end{quotation}
\end{quotation}

“It is dated from Grosvenor Mansions, written with a quill pen, and the
noble lord has had the misfortune to get a smear of ink upon the outer
side of his right little finger,” remarked Holmes as he folded up the
epistle.\par

“He says four o’clock. It is three now. He will be here in an hour.”\par

“Then I have just time, with your assistance, to get clear upon the
subject. Turn over those papers and arrange the extracts in their order of
time, while I take a glance as to who our client is.” He picked a
red-covered volume from a line of books of reference beside the
mantelpiece. “Here he is,” said he, sitting down and flattening it out
upon his knee. “ ‘Lord Robert Walsingham de Vere St. Simon, second son of
the Duke of Balmoral.’ Hum! ‘Arms: Azure, three caltrops in chief over a
fess sable. Born in 1846.’ He’s forty-one years of age, which is mature
for marriage. Was Under-Secretary for the colonies in a late
administration. The Duke, his father, was at one time Secretary for
Foreign Affairs. They inherit Plantagenet blood by direct descent, and
Tudor on the distaff side. Ha! Well, there is nothing very instructive in
all this. I think that I must turn to you Watson, for something more
solid.”\par

“I have very little difficulty in finding what I want,” said I, “for the
facts are quite recent, and the matter struck me as remarkable. I feared
to refer them to you, however, as I knew that you had an inquiry on hand
and that you disliked the intrusion of other matters.”\par

“Oh, you mean the little problem of the Grosvenor Square furniture van.
That is quite cleared up now—though, indeed, it was obvious from the
first. Pray give me the results of your newspaper selections.”\par

“Here is the first notice which I can find. It is in the personal column
of the {\itshape{Morning Post}}, and dates, as you see, some weeks back: ‘A marriage
has been arranged,’ it says, ‘and will, if rumour is correct, very shortly
take place, between Lord Robert St. Simon, second son of the Duke of
Balmoral, and Miss Hatty Doran, the only daughter of Aloysius Doran. Esq.,
of San Francisco, Cal., U.S.A.’ That is all.”\par

“Terse and to the point,” remarked Holmes, stretching his long, thin legs
towards the fire.\par

“There was a paragraph amplifying this in one of the society papers of the
same week. Ah, here it is: ‘There will soon be a call for protection in
the marriage market, for the present free-trade principle appears to tell
heavily against our home product. One by one the management of the noble
houses of Great Britain is passing into the hands of our fair cousins from
across the Atlantic. An important addition has been made during the last
week to the list of the prizes which have been borne away by these
charming invaders. Lord St. Simon, who has shown himself for over twenty
years proof against the little god’s arrows, has now definitely announced
his approaching marriage with Miss Hatty Doran, the fascinating daughter
of a California millionaire. Miss Doran, whose graceful figure and
striking face attracted much attention at the Westbury House festivities,
is an only child, and it is currently reported that her dowry will run to
considerably over the six figures, with expectancies for the future. As it
is an open secret that the Duke of Balmoral has been compelled to sell his
pictures within the last few years, and as Lord St. Simon has no property
of his own save the small estate of Birchmoor, it is obvious that the
Californian heiress is not the only gainer by an alliance which will
enable her to make the easy and common transition from a Republican lady
to a British peeress.’ ”\par

“Anything else?” asked Holmes, yawning.\par

“Oh, yes; plenty. Then there is another note in the {\itshape{Morning Post}} to say
that the marriage would be an absolutely quiet one, that it would be at
St. George’s, Hanover Square, that only half a dozen intimate friends
would be invited, and that the party would return to the furnished house
at Lancaster Gate which has been taken by Mr. Aloysius Doran. Two days
later—that is, on Wednesday last—there is a curt announcement that the
wedding had taken place, and that the honeymoon would be passed at Lord
Backwater’s place, near Petersfield. Those are all the notices which
appeared before the disappearance of the bride.”\par

“Before the what?” asked Holmes with a start.\par

“The vanishing of the lady.”\par

“When did she vanish, then?”\par

“At the wedding breakfast.”\par

“Indeed. This is more interesting than it promised to be; quite dramatic,
in fact.”\par

“Yes; it struck me as being a little out of the common.”\par

“They often vanish before the ceremony, and occasionally during the
honeymoon; but I cannot call to mind anything quite so prompt as this.
Pray let me have the details.”\par

“I warn you that they are very incomplete.”\par

“Perhaps we may make them less so.”\par

“Such as they are, they are set forth in a single article of a morning
paper of yesterday, which I will read to you. It is headed, ‘Singular
Occurrence at a Fashionable Wedding’:\par

“ ‘The family of Lord Robert St. Simon has been thrown into the greatest
consternation by the strange and painful episodes which have taken place
in connection with his wedding. The ceremony, as shortly announced in the
papers of yesterday, occurred on the previous morning; but it is only now
that it has been possible to confirm the strange rumours which have been
so persistently floating about. In spite of the attempts of the friends to
hush the matter up, so much public attention has now been drawn to it that
no good purpose can be served by affecting to disregard what is a common
subject for conversation.\par

“ ‘The ceremony, which was performed at St. George’s, Hanover Square, was
a very quiet one, no one being present save the father of the bride, Mr.
Aloysius Doran, the Duchess of Balmoral, Lord Backwater, Lord Eustace and
Lady Clara St. Simon (the younger brother and sister of the bridegroom),
and Lady Alicia Whittington. The whole party proceeded afterwards to the
house of Mr. Aloysius Doran, at Lancaster Gate, where breakfast had been
prepared. It appears that some little trouble was caused by a woman, whose
name has not been ascertained, who endeavoured to force her way into the
house after the bridal party, alleging that she had some claim upon Lord
St. Simon. It was only after a painful and prolonged scene that she was
ejected by the butler and the footman. The bride, who had fortunately
entered the house before this unpleasant interruption, had sat down to
breakfast with the rest, when she complained of a sudden indisposition and
retired to her room. Her prolonged absence having caused some comment, her
father followed her, but learned from her maid that she had only come up
to her chamber for an instant, caught up an ulster and bonnet, and hurried
down to the passage. One of the footmen declared that he had seen a lady
leave the house thus apparelled, but had refused to credit that it was his
mistress, believing her to be with the company. On ascertaining that his
daughter had disappeared, Mr. Aloysius Doran, in conjunction with the
bridegroom, instantly put themselves in communication with the police, and
very energetic inquiries are being made, which will probably result in a
speedy clearing up of this very singular business. Up to a late hour last
night, however, nothing had transpired as to the whereabouts of the
missing lady. There are rumours of foul play in the matter, and it is said
that the police have caused the arrest of the woman who had caused the
original disturbance, in the belief that, from jealousy or some other
motive, she may have been concerned in the strange disappearance of the
bride.’ ”\par

“And is that all?”\par

“Only one little item in another of the morning papers, but it is a
suggestive one.”\par

“And it is—”\par

“That Miss Flora Millar, the lady who had caused the disturbance, has
actually been arrested. It appears that she was formerly a {\itshape{danseuse}} at
the Allegro, and that she has known the bridegroom for some years. There
are no further particulars, and the whole case is in your hands now—so far
as it has been set forth in the public press.”\par

“And an exceedingly interesting case it appears to be. I would not have
missed it for worlds. But there is a ring at the bell, Watson, and as the
clock makes it a few minutes after four, I have no doubt that this will
prove to be our noble client. Do not dream of going, Watson, for I very
much prefer having a witness, if only as a check to my own memory.”\par

“Lord Robert St. Simon,” announced our page-boy, throwing open the door. A
gentleman entered, with a pleasant, cultured face, high-nosed and pale,
with something perhaps of petulance about the mouth, and with the steady,
well-opened eye of a man whose pleasant lot it had ever been to command
and to be obeyed. His manner was brisk, and yet his general appearance
gave an undue impression of age, for he had a slight forward stoop and a
little bend of the knees as he walked. His hair, too, as he swept off his
very curly-brimmed hat, was grizzled round the edges and thin upon the
top. As to his dress, it was careful to the verge of foppishness, with
high collar, black frock-coat, white waistcoat, yellow gloves,
patent-leather shoes, and light-coloured gaiters. He advanced slowly into
the room, turning his head from left to right, and swinging in his right
hand the cord which held his golden eyeglasses.\par

“Good-day, Lord St. Simon,” said Holmes, rising and bowing. “Pray take the
basket-chair. This is my friend and colleague, Dr. Watson. Draw up a
little to the fire, and we will talk this matter over.”\par

“A most painful matter to me, as you can most readily imagine, Mr. Holmes.
I have been cut to the quick. I understand that you have already managed
several delicate cases of this sort, sir, though I presume that they were
hardly from the same class of society.”\par

“No, I am descending.”\par

“I beg pardon.”\par

“My last client of the sort was a king.”\par

“Oh, really! I had no idea. And which king?”\par

“The King of Scandinavia.”\par

“What! Had he lost his wife?”\par

“You can understand,” said Holmes suavely, “that I extend to the affairs
of my other clients the same secrecy which I promise to you in yours.”\par

“Of course! Very right! very right! I’m sure I beg pardon. As to my own
case, I am ready to give you any information which may assist you in
forming an opinion.”\par

“Thank you. I have already learned all that is in the public prints,
nothing more. I presume that I may take it as correct—this article, for
example, as to the disappearance of the bride.”\par

Lord St. Simon glanced over it. “Yes, it is correct, as far as it goes.”\par

“But it needs a great deal of supplementing before anyone could offer an
opinion. I think that I may arrive at my facts most directly by
questioning you.”\par

“Pray do so.”\par

“When did you first meet Miss Hatty Doran?”\par

“In San Francisco, a year ago.”\par

“You were travelling in the States?”\par

“Yes.”\par

“Did you become engaged then?”\par

“No.”\par

“But you were on a friendly footing?”\par

“I was amused by her society, and she could see that I was amused.”\par

“Her father is very rich?”\par

“He is said to be the richest man on the Pacific slope.”\par

“And how did he make his money?”\par

“In mining. He had nothing a few years ago. Then he struck gold, invested
it, and came up by leaps and bounds.”\par

“Now, what is your own impression as to the young lady’s—your wife’s
character?”\par

The nobleman swung his glasses a little faster and stared down into the
fire. “You see, Mr. Holmes,” said he, “my wife was twenty before her
father became a rich man. During that time she ran free in a mining camp
and wandered through woods or mountains, so that her education has come
from Nature rather than from the schoolmaster. She is what we call in
England a tomboy, with a strong nature, wild and free, unfettered by any
sort of traditions. She is impetuous—volcanic, I was about to say. She is
swift in making up her mind and fearless in carrying out her resolutions.
On the other hand, I would not have given her the name which I have the
honour to bear”—he gave a little stately cough—“had I not thought her to
be at bottom a noble woman. I believe that she is capable of heroic
self-sacrifice and that anything dishonourable would be repugnant to her.”\par

“Have you her photograph?”\par

“I brought this with me.” He opened a locket and showed us the full face
of a very lovely woman. It was not a photograph but an ivory miniature,
and the artist had brought out the full effect of the lustrous black hair,
the large dark eyes, and the exquisite mouth. Holmes gazed long and
earnestly at it. Then he closed the locket and handed it back to Lord St.
Simon.\par

“The young lady came to London, then, and you renewed your acquaintance?”\par

“Yes, her father brought her over for this last London season. I met her
several times, became engaged to her, and have now married her.”\par

“She brought, I understand, a considerable dowry?”\par

“A fair dowry. Not more than is usual in my family.”\par

“And this, of course, remains to you, since the marriage is a {\itshape{fait
accompli}}?”\par

“I really have made no inquiries on the subject.”\par

“Very naturally not. Did you see Miss Doran on the day before the
wedding?”\par

“Yes.”\par

“Was she in good spirits?”\par

“Never better. She kept talking of what we should do in our future lives.”\par

“Indeed! That is very interesting. And on the morning of the wedding?”\par

“She was as bright as possible—at least until after the ceremony.”\par

“And did you observe any change in her then?”\par

“Well, to tell the truth, I saw then the first signs that I had ever seen
that her temper was just a little sharp. The incident however, was too
trivial to relate and can have no possible bearing upon the case.”\par

“Pray let us have it, for all that.”\par

“Oh, it is childish. She dropped her bouquet as we went towards the
vestry. She was passing the front pew at the time, and it fell over into
the pew. There was a moment’s delay, but the gentleman in the pew handed
it up to her again, and it did not appear to be the worse for the fall.
Yet when I spoke to her of the matter, she answered me abruptly; and in
the carriage, on our way home, she seemed absurdly agitated over this
trifling cause.”\par

“Indeed! You say that there was a gentleman in the pew. Some of the
general public were present, then?”\par

“Oh, yes. It is impossible to exclude them when the church is open.”\par

“This gentleman was not one of your wife’s friends?”\par

“No, no; I call him a gentleman by courtesy, but he was quite a
common-looking person. I hardly noticed his appearance. But really I think
that we are wandering rather far from the point.”\par

“Lady St. Simon, then, returned from the wedding in a less cheerful frame
of mind than she had gone to it. What did she do on re-entering her
father’s house?”\par

“I saw her in conversation with her maid.”\par

“And who is her maid?”\par

“Alice is her name. She is an American and came from California with her.”\par

“A confidential servant?”\par

“A little too much so. It seemed to me that her mistress allowed her to
take great liberties. Still, of course, in America they look upon these
things in a different way.”\par

“How long did she speak to this Alice?”\par

“Oh, a few minutes. I had something else to think of.”\par

“You did not overhear what they said?”\par

“Lady St. Simon said something about ‘jumping a claim.’ She was accustomed
to use slang of the kind. I have no idea what she meant.”\par

“American slang is very expressive sometimes. And what did your wife do
when she finished speaking to her maid?”\par

“She walked into the breakfast-room.”\par

“On your arm?”\par

“No, alone. She was very independent in little matters like that. Then,
after we had sat down for ten minutes or so, she rose hurriedly, muttered
some words of apology, and left the room. She never came back.”\par

“But this maid, Alice, as I understand, deposes that she went to her room,
covered her bride’s dress with a long ulster, put on a bonnet, and went
out.”\par

“Quite so. And she was afterwards seen walking into Hyde Park in company
with Flora Millar, a woman who is now in custody, and who had already made
a disturbance at Mr. Doran’s house that morning.”\par

“Ah, yes. I should like a few particulars as to this young lady, and your
relations to her.”\par

Lord St. Simon shrugged his shoulders and raised his eyebrows. “We have
been on a friendly footing for some years—I may say on a {\itshape{very}} friendly
footing. She used to be at the Allegro. I have not treated her
ungenerously, and she had no just cause of complaint against me, but you
know what women are, Mr. Holmes. Flora was a dear little thing, but
exceedingly hot-headed and devotedly attached to me. She wrote me dreadful
letters when she heard that I was about to be married, and, to tell the
truth, the reason why I had the marriage celebrated so quietly was that I
feared lest there might be a scandal in the church. She came to Mr.
Doran’s door just after we returned, and she endeavoured to push her way
in, uttering very abusive expressions towards my wife, and even
threatening her, but I had foreseen the possibility of something of the
sort, and I had two police fellows there in private clothes, who soon
pushed her out again. She was quiet when she saw that there was no good in
making a row.”\par

“Did your wife hear all this?”\par

“No, thank goodness, she did not.”\par

“And she was seen walking with this very woman afterwards?”\par

“Yes. That is what Mr. Lestrade, of Scotland Yard, looks upon as so
serious. It is thought that Flora decoyed my wife out and laid some
terrible trap for her.”\par

“Well, it is a possible supposition.”\par

“You think so, too?”\par

“I did not say a probable one. But you do not yourself look upon this as
likely?”\par

“I do not think Flora would hurt a fly.”\par

“Still, jealousy is a strange transformer of characters. Pray what is your
own theory as to what took place?”\par

“Well, really, I came to seek a theory, not to propound one. I have given
you all the facts. Since you ask me, however, I may say that it has
occurred to me as possible that the excitement of this affair, the
consciousness that she had made so immense a social stride, had the effect
of causing some little nervous disturbance in my wife.”\par

“In short, that she had become suddenly deranged?”\par

“Well, really, when I consider that she has turned her back—I will not say
upon me, but upon so much that many have aspired to without success—I can
hardly explain it in any other fashion.”\par

“Well, certainly that is also a conceivable hypothesis,” said Holmes,
smiling. “And now, Lord St. Simon, I think that I have nearly all my data.
May I ask whether you were seated at the breakfast-table so that you could
see out of the window?”\par

“We could see the other side of the road and the Park.”\par

“Quite so. Then I do not think that I need to detain you longer. I shall
communicate with you.”\par

“Should you be fortunate enough to solve this problem,” said our client,
rising.\par

“I have solved it.”\par

“Eh? What was that?”\par

“I say that I have solved it.”\par

“Where, then, is my wife?”\par

“That is a detail which I shall speedily supply.”\par

Lord St. Simon shook his head. “I am afraid that it will take wiser heads
than yours or mine,” he remarked, and bowing in a stately, old-fashioned
manner he departed.\par

“It is very good of Lord St. Simon to honour my head by putting it on a
level with his own,” said Sherlock Holmes, laughing. “I think that I shall
have a whisky and soda and a cigar after all this cross-questioning. I had
formed my conclusions as to the case before our client came into the
room.”\par

“My dear Holmes!”\par

“I have notes of several similar cases, though none, as I remarked before,
which were quite as prompt. My whole examination served to turn my
conjecture into a certainty. Circumstantial evidence is occasionally very
convincing, as when you find a trout in the milk, to quote Thoreau’s
example.”\par

“But I have heard all that you have heard.”\par

“Without, however, the knowledge of pre-existing cases which serves me so
well. There was a parallel instance in Aberdeen some years back, and
something on very much the same lines at Munich the year after the
Franco-Prussian War. It is one of these cases—but, hullo, here is
Lestrade! Good-afternoon, Lestrade! You will find an extra tumbler upon
the sideboard, and there are cigars in the box.”\par

The official detective was attired in a pea-jacket and cravat, which gave
him a decidedly nautical appearance, and he carried a black canvas bag in
his hand. With a short greeting he seated himself and lit the cigar which
had been offered to him.\par

“What’s up, then?” asked Holmes with a twinkle in his eye. “You look
dissatisfied.”\par

“And I feel dissatisfied. It is this infernal St. Simon marriage case. I
can make neither head nor tail of the business.”\par

“Really! You surprise me.”\par

“Who ever heard of such a mixed affair? Every clue seems to slip through
my fingers. I have been at work upon it all day.”\par

“And very wet it seems to have made you,” said Holmes laying his hand upon
the arm of the pea-jacket.\par

“Yes, I have been dragging the Serpentine.”\par

“In heaven’s name, what for?”\par

“In search of the body of Lady St. Simon.”\par

Sherlock Holmes leaned back in his chair and laughed heartily.\par

“Have you dragged the basin of Trafalgar Square fountain?” he asked.\par

“Why? What do you mean?”\par

“Because you have just as good a chance of finding this lady in the one as
in the other.”\par

Lestrade shot an angry glance at my companion. “I suppose you know all
about it,” he snarled.\par

“Well, I have only just heard the facts, but my mind is made up.”\par

“Oh, indeed! Then you think that the Serpentine plays no part in the
matter?”\par

“I think it very unlikely.”\par

“Then perhaps you will kindly explain how it is that we found this in it?”
He opened his bag as he spoke, and tumbled onto the floor a wedding-dress
of watered silk, a pair of white satin shoes and a bride’s wreath and
veil, all discoloured and soaked in water. “There,” said he, putting a new
wedding-ring upon the top of the pile. “There is a little nut for you to
crack, Master Holmes.”\par

“Oh, indeed!” said my friend, blowing blue rings into the air. “You
dragged them from the Serpentine?”\par

“No. They were found floating near the margin by a park-keeper. They have
been identified as her clothes, and it seemed to me that if the clothes
were there the body would not be far off.”\par

“By the same brilliant reasoning, every man’s body is to be found in the
neighbourhood of his wardrobe. And pray what did you hope to arrive at
through this?”\par

“At some evidence implicating Flora Millar in the disappearance.”\par

“I am afraid that you will find it difficult.”\par

“Are you, indeed, now?” cried Lestrade with some bitterness. “I am afraid,
Holmes, that you are not very practical with your deductions and your
inferences. You have made two blunders in as many minutes. This dress does
implicate Miss Flora Millar.”\par

“And how?”\par

“In the dress is a pocket. In the pocket is a card-case. In the card-case
is a note. And here is the very note.” He slapped it down upon the table
in front of him. “Listen to this: ‘You will see me when all is ready. Come
at once. F. H. M.’ Now my theory all along has been that Lady St. Simon
was decoyed away by Flora Millar, and that she, with confederates, no
doubt, was responsible for her disappearance. Here, signed with her
initials, is the very note which was no doubt quietly slipped into her
hand at the door and which lured her within their reach.”\par

“Very good, Lestrade,” said Holmes, laughing. “You really are very fine
indeed. Let me see it.” He took up the paper in a listless way, but his
attention instantly became riveted, and he gave a little cry of
satisfaction. “This is indeed important,” said he.\par

“Ha! you find it so?”\par

“Extremely so. I congratulate you warmly.”\par

Lestrade rose in his triumph and bent his head to look. “Why,” he
shrieked, “you’re looking at the wrong side!”\par

“On the contrary, this is the right side.”\par

“The right side? You’re mad! Here is the note written in pencil over
here.”\par

“And over here is what appears to be the fragment of a hotel bill, which
interests me deeply.”\par

“There’s nothing in it. I looked at it before,” said Lestrade. “ ‘Oct.
4th, rooms 8*s*., breakfast 2*s*. 6*d*., cocktail 1*s*., lunch 2*s*.
6*d*., glass sherry, 8*d*.’ I see nothing in that.”\par

“Very likely not. It is most important, all the same. As to the note, it
is important also, or at least the initials are, so I congratulate you
again.”\par

“I’ve wasted time enough,” said Lestrade, rising. “I believe in hard work
and not in sitting by the fire spinning fine theories. Good-day, Mr.
Holmes, and we shall see which gets to the bottom of the matter first.” He
gathered up the garments, thrust them into the bag, and made for the door.\par

“Just one hint to you, Lestrade,” drawled Holmes before his rival
vanished; “I will tell you the true solution of the matter. Lady St. Simon
is a myth. There is not, and there never has been, any such person.”\par

Lestrade looked sadly at my companion. Then he turned to me, tapped his
forehead three times, shook his head solemnly, and hurried away.\par

He had hardly shut the door behind him when Holmes rose to put on his
overcoat. “There is something in what the fellow says about outdoor work,”
he remarked, “so I think, Watson, that I must leave you to your papers for
a little.”\par

It was after five o’clock when Sherlock Holmes left me, but I had no time
to be lonely, for within an hour there arrived a confectioner’s man with a
very large flat box. This he unpacked with the help of a youth whom he had
brought with him, and presently, to my very great astonishment, a quite
epicurean little cold supper began to be laid out upon our humble
lodging-house mahogany. There were a couple of brace of cold woodcock, a
pheasant, a {\itshape{pâté de foie gras}} pie with a group of ancient and cobwebby
bottles. Having laid out all these luxuries, my two visitors vanished
away, like the genii of the Arabian Nights, with no explanation save that
the things had been paid for and were ordered to this address.\par

Just before nine o’clock Sherlock Holmes stepped briskly into the room.
His features were gravely set, but there was a light in his eye which made
me think that he had not been disappointed in his conclusions.\par

“They have laid the supper, then,” he said, rubbing his hands.\par

“You seem to expect company. They have laid for five.”\par

“Yes, I fancy we may have some company dropping in,” said he. “I am
surprised that Lord St. Simon has not already arrived. Ha! I fancy that I
hear his step now upon the stairs.”\par

It was indeed our visitor of the afternoon who came bustling in, dangling
his glasses more vigorously than ever, and with a very perturbed
expression upon his aristocratic features.\par

“My messenger reached you, then?” asked Holmes.\par

“Yes, and I confess that the contents startled me beyond measure. Have you
good authority for what you say?”\par

“The best possible.”\par

Lord St. Simon sank into a chair and passed his hand over his forehead.\par

“What will the Duke say,” he murmured, “when he hears that one of the
family has been subjected to such humiliation?”\par

“It is the purest accident. I cannot allow that there is any humiliation.”\par

“Ah, you look on these things from another standpoint.”\par

“I fail to see that anyone is to blame. I can hardly see how the lady
could have acted otherwise, though her abrupt method of doing it was
undoubtedly to be regretted. Having no mother, she had no one to advise
her at such a crisis.”\par

“It was a slight, sir, a public slight,” said Lord St. Simon, tapping his
fingers upon the table.\par

“You must make allowance for this poor girl, placed in so unprecedented a
position.”\par

“I will make no allowance. I am very angry indeed, and I have been
shamefully used.”\par

“I think that I heard a ring,” said Holmes. “Yes, there are steps on the
landing. If I cannot persuade you to take a lenient view of the matter,
Lord St. Simon, I have brought an advocate here who may be more
successful.” He opened the door and ushered in a lady and gentleman. “Lord
St. Simon,” said he “allow me to introduce you to Mr. and Mrs. Francis Hay
Moulton. The lady, I think, you have already met.”\par

At the sight of these newcomers our client had sprung from his seat and
stood very erect, with his eyes cast down and his hand thrust into the
breast of his frock-coat, a picture of offended dignity. The lady had
taken a quick step forward and had held out her hand to him, but he still
refused to raise his eyes. It was as well for his resolution, perhaps, for
her pleading face was one which it was hard to resist.\par

“You’re angry, Robert,” said she. “Well, I guess you have every cause to
be.”\par

“Pray make no apology to me,” said Lord St. Simon bitterly.\par

“Oh, yes, I know that I have treated you real bad and that I should have
spoken to you before I went; but I was kind of rattled, and from the time
when I saw Frank here again I just didn’t know what I was doing or saying.
I only wonder I didn’t fall down and do a faint right there before the
altar.”\par

“Perhaps, Mrs. Moulton, you would like my friend and me to leave the room
while you explain this matter?”\par

“If I may give an opinion,” remarked the strange gentleman, “we’ve had
just a little too much secrecy over this business already. For my part, I
should like all Europe and America to hear the rights of it.” He was a
small, wiry, sunburnt man, clean-shaven, with a sharp face and alert
manner.\par

“Then I’ll tell our story right away,” said the lady. “Frank here and I
met in ’84, in McQuire’s camp, near the Rockies, where Pa was working a
claim. We were engaged to each other, Frank and I; but then one day father
struck a rich pocket and made a pile, while poor Frank here had a claim
that petered out and came to nothing. The richer Pa grew the poorer was
Frank; so at last Pa wouldn’t hear of our engagement lasting any longer,
and he took me away to ’Frisco. Frank wouldn’t throw up his hand, though;
so he followed me there, and he saw me without Pa knowing anything about
it. It would only have made him mad to know, so we just fixed it all up
for ourselves. Frank said that he would go and make his pile, too, and
never come back to claim me until he had as much as Pa. So then I promised
to wait for him to the end of time and pledged myself not to marry anyone
else while he lived. ‘Why shouldn’t we be married right away, then,’ said
he, ‘and then I will feel sure of you; and I won’t claim to be your
husband until I come back?’ Well, we talked it over, and he had fixed it
all up so nicely, with a clergyman all ready in waiting, that we just did
it right there; and then Frank went off to seek his fortune, and I went
back to Pa.\par

“The next I heard of Frank was that he was in Montana, and then he went
prospecting in Arizona, and then I heard of him from New Mexico. After
that came a long newspaper story about how a miners’ camp had been
attacked by Apache Indians, and there was my Frank’s name among the
killed. I fainted dead away, and I was very sick for months after. Pa
thought I had a decline and took me to half the doctors in ’Frisco. Not a
word of news came for a year and more, so that I never doubted that Frank
was really dead. Then Lord St. Simon came to ’Frisco, and we came to
London, and a marriage was arranged, and Pa was very pleased, but I felt
all the time that no man on this earth would ever take the place in my
heart that had been given to my poor Frank.\par

“Still, if I had married Lord St. Simon, of course I’d have done my duty
by him. We can’t command our love, but we can our actions. I went to the
altar with him with the intention to make him just as good a wife as it
was in me to be. But you may imagine what I felt when, just as I came to
the altar rails, I glanced back and saw Frank standing and looking at me
out of the first pew. I thought it was his ghost at first; but when I
looked again there he was still, with a kind of question in his eyes, as
if to ask me whether I were glad or sorry to see him. I wonder I didn’t
drop. I know that everything was turning round, and the words of the
clergyman were just like the buzz of a bee in my ear. I didn’t know what
to do. Should I stop the service and make a scene in the church? I glanced
at him again, and he seemed to know what I was thinking, for he raised his
finger to his lips to tell me to be still. Then I saw him scribble on a
piece of paper, and I knew that he was writing me a note. As I passed his
pew on the way out I dropped my bouquet over to him, and he slipped the
note into my hand when he returned me the flowers. It was only a line
asking me to join him when he made the sign to me to do so. Of course I
never doubted for a moment that my first duty was now to him, and I
determined to do just whatever he might direct.\par

“When I got back I told my maid, who had known him in California, and had
always been his friend. I ordered her to say nothing, but to get a few
things packed and my ulster ready. I know I ought to have spoken to Lord
St. Simon, but it was dreadful hard before his mother and all those great
people. I just made up my mind to run away and explain afterwards. I
hadn’t been at the table ten minutes before I saw Frank out of the window
at the other side of the road. He beckoned to me and then began walking
into the Park. I slipped out, put on my things, and followed him. Some
woman came talking something or other about Lord St. Simon to me—seemed to
me from the little I heard as if he had a little secret of his own before
marriage also—but I managed to get away from her and soon overtook Frank.
We got into a cab together, and away we drove to some lodgings he had
taken in Gordon Square, and that was my true wedding after all those years
of waiting. Frank had been a prisoner among the Apaches, had escaped, came
on to ’Frisco, found that I had given him up for dead and had gone to
England, followed me there, and had come upon me at last on the very
morning of my second wedding.”\par

“I saw it in a paper,” explained the American. “It gave the name and the
church but not where the lady lived.”\par

“Then we had a talk as to what we should do, and Frank was all for
openness, but I was so ashamed of it all that I felt as if I should like
to vanish away and never see any of them again—just sending a line to Pa,
perhaps, to show him that I was alive. It was awful to me to think of all
those lords and ladies sitting round that breakfast-table and waiting for
me to come back. So Frank took my wedding-clothes and things and made a
bundle of them, so that I should not be traced, and dropped them away
somewhere where no one could find them. It is likely that we should have
gone on to Paris to-morrow, only that this good gentleman, Mr. Holmes,
came round to us this evening, though how he found us is more than I can
think, and he showed us very clearly and kindly that I was wrong and that
Frank was right, and that we should be putting ourselves in the wrong if
we were so secret. Then he offered to give us a chance of talking to Lord
St. Simon alone, and so we came right away round to his rooms at once.
Now, Robert, you have heard it all, and I am very sorry if I have given
you pain, and I hope that you do not think very meanly of me.”\par

Lord St. Simon had by no means relaxed his rigid attitude, but had
listened with a frowning brow and a compressed lip to this long narrative.\par

“Excuse me,” he said, “but it is not my custom to discuss my most intimate
personal affairs in this public manner.”\par

“Then you won’t forgive me? You won’t shake hands before I go?”\par

“Oh, certainly, if it would give you any pleasure.” He put out his hand
and coldly grasped that which she extended to him.\par

“I had hoped,” suggested Holmes, “that you would have joined us in a
friendly supper.”\par

“I think that there you ask a little too much,” responded his Lordship. “I
may be forced to acquiesce in these recent developments, but I can hardly
be expected to make merry over them. I think that with your permission I
will now wish you all a very good-night.” He included us all in a sweeping
bow and stalked out of the room.\par

“Then I trust that you at least will honour me with your company,” said
Sherlock Holmes. “It is always a joy to meet an American, Mr. Moulton, for
I am one of those who believe that the folly of a monarch and the
blundering of a minister in far-gone years will not prevent our children
from being some day citizens of the same world-wide country under a flag
which shall be a quartering of the Union Jack with the Stars and Stripes.”\par

“The case has been an interesting one,” remarked Holmes when our visitors
had left us, “because it serves to show very clearly how simple the
explanation may be of an affair which at first sight seems to be almost
inexplicable. Nothing could be more natural than the sequence of events as
narrated by this lady, and nothing stranger than the result when viewed,
for instance, by Mr. Lestrade of Scotland Yard.”\par

“You were not yourself at fault at all, then?”\par

“From the first, two facts were very obvious to me, the one that the lady
had been quite willing to undergo the wedding ceremony, the other that she
had repented of it within a few minutes of returning home. Obviously
something had occurred during the morning, then, to cause her to change
her mind. What could that something be? She could not have spoken to
anyone when she was out, for she had been in the company of the
bridegroom. Had she seen someone, then? If she had, it must be someone
from America because she had spent so short a time in this country that
she could hardly have allowed anyone to acquire so deep an influence over
her that the mere sight of him would induce her to change her plans so
completely. You see we have already arrived, by a process of exclusion, at
the idea that she might have seen an American. Then who could this
American be, and why should he possess so much influence over her? It
might be a lover; it might be a husband. Her young womanhood had, I knew,
been spent in rough scenes and under strange conditions. So far I had got
before I ever heard Lord St. Simon’s narrative. When he told us of a man
in a pew, of the change in the bride’s manner, of so transparent a device
for obtaining a note as the dropping of a bouquet, of her resort to her
confidential maid, and of her very significant allusion to
claim-jumping—which in miners’ parlance means taking possession of that
which another person has a prior claim to—the whole situation became
absolutely clear. She had gone off with a man, and the man was either a
lover or was a previous husband—the chances being in favour of the
latter.”\par

“And how in the world did you find them?”\par

“It might have been difficult, but friend Lestrade held information in his
hands the value of which he did not himself know. The initials were, of
course, of the highest importance, but more valuable still was it to know
that within a week he had settled his bill at one of the most select
London hotels.”\par

“How did you deduce the select?”\par

“By the select prices. Eight shillings for a bed and eightpence for a
glass of sherry pointed to one of the most expensive hotels. There are not
many in London which charge at that rate. In the second one which I
visited in Northumberland Avenue, I learned by an inspection of the book
that Francis H. Moulton, an American gentleman, had left only the day
before, and on looking over the entries against him, I came upon the very
items which I had seen in the duplicate bill. His letters were to be
forwarded to 226 Gordon Square; so thither I travelled, and being
fortunate enough to find the loving couple at home, I ventured to give
them some paternal advice and to point out to them that it would be better
in every way that they should make their position a little clearer both to
the general public and to Lord St. Simon in particular. I invited them to
meet him here, and, as you see, I made him keep the appointment.”\par

“But with no very good result,” I remarked. “His conduct was certainly not
very gracious.”\par

“Ah, Watson,” said Holmes, smiling, “perhaps you would not be very
gracious either, if, after all the trouble of wooing and wedding, you
found yourself deprived in an instant of wife and of fortune. I think that
we may judge Lord St. Simon very mercifully and thank our stars that we
are never likely to find ourselves in the same position. Draw your chair
up and hand me my violin, for the only problem we have still to solve is
how to while away these bleak autumnal evenings.”\par

\cleardoublepage
\label{the-adventure-of-the-beryl-coronet}%
\hypertarget{the-adventure-of-the-beryl-coronet}{}%
%
\chapter*{The Adventure of the Beryl Coronet}


“Holmes,” said I as I stood one morning in our bow-window looking down the
street, “here is a madman coming along. It seems rather sad that his
relatives should allow him to come out alone.”\par

My friend rose lazily from his armchair and stood with his hands in the
pockets of his dressing-gown, looking over my shoulder. It was a bright,
crisp February morning, and the snow of the day before still lay deep upon
the ground, shimmering brightly in the wintry sun. Down the centre of
Baker Street it had been ploughed into a brown crumbly band by the
traffic, but at either side and on the heaped-up edges of the foot-paths
it still lay as white as when it fell. The grey pavement had been cleaned
and scraped, but was still dangerously slippery, so that there were fewer
passengers than usual. Indeed, from the direction of the Metropolitan
Station no one was coming save the single gentleman whose eccentric
conduct had drawn my attention.\par

He was a man of about fifty, tall, portly, and imposing, with a massive,
strongly marked face and a commanding figure. He was dressed in a sombre
yet rich style, in black frock-coat, shining hat, neat brown gaiters, and
well-cut pearl-grey trousers. Yet his actions were in absurd contrast to
the dignity of his dress and features, for he was running hard, with
occasional little springs, such as a weary man gives who is little
accustomed to set any tax upon his legs. As he ran he jerked his hands up
and down, waggled his head, and writhed his face into the most
extraordinary contortions.\par

“What on earth can be the matter with him?” I asked. “He is looking up at
the numbers of the houses.”\par

“I believe that he is coming here,” said Holmes, rubbing his hands.\par

“Here?”\par

“Yes; I rather think he is coming to consult me professionally. I think
that I recognise the symptoms. Ha! did I not tell you?” As he spoke, the
man, puffing and blowing, rushed at our door and pulled at our bell until
the whole house resounded with the clanging.\par

A few moments later he was in our room, still puffing, still
gesticulating, but with so fixed a look of grief and despair in his eyes
that our smiles were turned in an instant to horror and pity. For a while
he could not get his words out, but swayed his body and plucked at his
hair like one who has been driven to the extreme limits of his reason.
Then, suddenly springing to his feet, he beat his head against the wall
with such force that we both rushed upon him and tore him away to the
centre of the room. Sherlock Holmes pushed him down into the easy-chair
and, sitting beside him, patted his hand and chatted with him in the easy,
soothing tones which he knew so well how to employ.\par

“You have come to me to tell your story, have you not?” said he. “You are
fatigued with your haste. Pray wait until you have recovered yourself, and
then I shall be most happy to look into any little problem which you may
submit to me.”\par

The man sat for a minute or more with a heaving chest, fighting against
his emotion. Then he passed his handkerchief over his brow, set his lips
tight, and turned his face towards us.\par

“No doubt you think me mad?” said he.\par

“I see that you have had some great trouble,” responded Holmes.\par

“God knows I have!—a trouble which is enough to unseat my reason, so
sudden and so terrible is it. Public disgrace I might have faced, although
I am a man whose character has never yet borne a stain. Private affliction
also is the lot of every man; but the two coming together, and in so
frightful a form, have been enough to shake my very soul. Besides, it is
not I alone. The very noblest in the land may suffer unless some way be
found out of this horrible affair.”\par

“Pray compose yourself, sir,” said Holmes, “and let me have a clear
account of who you are and what it is that has befallen you.”\par

“My name,” answered our visitor, “is probably familiar to your ears. I am
Alexander Holder, of the banking firm of Holder \& Stevenson, of
Threadneedle Street.”\par

The name was indeed well known to us as belonging to the senior partner in
the second largest private banking concern in the City of London. What
could have happened, then, to bring one of the foremost citizens of London
to this most pitiable pass? We waited, all curiosity, until with another
effort he braced himself to tell his story.\par

“I feel that time is of value,” said he; “that is why I hastened here when
the police inspector suggested that I should secure your co-operation. I
came to Baker Street by the Underground and hurried from there on foot,
for the cabs go slowly through this snow. That is why I was so out of
breath, for I am a man who takes very little exercise. I feel better now,
and I will put the facts before you as shortly and yet as clearly as I
can.\par

“It is, of course, well known to you that in a successful banking business
as much depends upon our being able to find remunerative investments for
our funds as upon our increasing our connection and the number of our
depositors. One of our most lucrative means of laying out money is in the
shape of loans, where the security is unimpeachable. We have done a good
deal in this direction during the last few years, and there are many noble
families to whom we have advanced large sums upon the security of their
pictures, libraries, or plate.\par

“Yesterday morning I was seated in my office at the bank when a card was
brought in to me by one of the clerks. I started when I saw the name, for
it was that of none other than—well, perhaps even to you I had better say
no more than that it was a name which is a household word all over the
earth—one of the highest, noblest, most exalted names in England. I was
overwhelmed by the honour and attempted, when he entered, to say so, but
he plunged at once into business with the air of a man who wishes to hurry
quickly through a disagreeable task.\par

“ ‘Mr. Holder,’ said he, ‘I have been informed that you are in the habit
of advancing money.’\par

“ ‘The firm does so when the security is good.’ I answered.\par

“ ‘It is absolutely essential to me,’ said he, ‘that I should have
£50,000 at once. I could, of course, borrow so trifling a sum ten times
over from my friends, but I much prefer to make it a matter of business
and to carry out that business myself. In my position you can readily
understand that it is unwise to place one’s self under obligations.’\par

“ ‘For how long, may I ask, do you want this sum?’ I asked.\par

“ ‘Next Monday I have a large sum due to me, and I shall then most
certainly repay what you advance, with whatever interest you think it
right to charge. But it is very essential to me that the money should be
paid at once.’\par

“ ‘I should be happy to advance it without further parley from my own
private purse,’ said I, ‘were it not that the strain would be rather more
than it could bear. If, on the other hand, I am to do it in the name of
the firm, then in justice to my partner I must insist that, even in your
case, every businesslike precaution should be taken.’\par

“ ‘I should much prefer to have it so,’ said he, raising up a square,
black morocco case which he had laid beside his chair. ‘You have doubtless
heard of the Beryl Coronet?’\par

“ ‘One of the most precious public possessions of the empire,’ said I.\par

“ ‘Precisely.’ He opened the case, and there, imbedded in soft,
flesh-coloured velvet, lay the magnificent piece of jewellery which he had
named. ‘There are thirty-nine enormous beryls,’ said he, ‘and the price of
the gold chasing is incalculable. The lowest estimate would put the worth
of the coronet at double the sum which I have asked. I am prepared to
leave it with you as my security.’\par

“I took the precious case into my hands and looked in some perplexity from
it to my illustrious client.\par

“ ‘You doubt its value?’ he asked.\par

“ ‘Not at all. I only doubt—’\par

“ ‘The propriety of my leaving it. You may set your mind at rest about
that. I should not dream of doing so were it not absolutely certain that I
should be able in four days to reclaim it. It is a pure matter of form. Is
the security sufficient?’\par

“ ‘Ample.’\par

“ ‘You understand, Mr. Holder, that I am giving you a strong proof of the
confidence which I have in you, founded upon all that I have heard of you.
I rely upon you not only to be discreet and to refrain from all gossip
upon the matter but, above all, to preserve this coronet with every
possible precaution because I need not say that a great public scandal
would be caused if any harm were to befall it. Any injury to it would be
almost as serious as its complete loss, for there are no beryls in the
world to match these, and it would be impossible to replace them. I leave
it with you, however, with every confidence, and I shall call for it in
person on Monday morning.’\par

“Seeing that my client was anxious to leave, I said no more but, calling
for my cashier, I ordered him to pay over fifty £1000 notes. When I was
alone once more, however, with the precious case lying upon the table in
front of me, I could not but think with some misgivings of the immense
responsibility which it entailed upon me. There could be no doubt that, as
it was a national possession, a horrible scandal would ensue if any
misfortune should occur to it. I already regretted having ever consented
to take charge of it. However, it was too late to alter the matter now, so
I locked it up in my private safe and turned once more to my work.\par

“When evening came I felt that it would be an imprudence to leave so
precious a thing in the office behind me. Bankers’ safes had been forced
before now, and why should not mine be? If so, how terrible would be the
position in which I should find myself! I determined, therefore, that for
the next few days I would always carry the case backward and forward with
me, so that it might never be really out of my reach. With this intention,
I called a cab and drove out to my house at Streatham, carrying the jewel
with me. I did not breathe freely until I had taken it upstairs and locked
it in the bureau of my dressing-room.\par

“And now a word as to my household, Mr. Holmes, for I wish you to
thoroughly understand the situation. My groom and my page sleep out of the
house, and may be set aside altogether. I have three maid-servants who
have been with me a number of years and whose absolute reliability is
quite above suspicion. Another, Lucy Parr, the second waiting-maid, has
only been in my service a few months. She came with an excellent
character, however, and has always given me satisfaction. She is a very
pretty girl and has attracted admirers who have occasionally hung about
the place. That is the only drawback which we have found to her, but we
believe her to be a thoroughly good girl in every way.\par

“So much for the servants. My family itself is so small that it will not
take me long to describe it. I am a widower and have an only son, Arthur.
He has been a disappointment to me, Mr. Holmes—a grievous disappointment.
I have no doubt that I am myself to blame. People tell me that I have
spoiled him. Very likely I have. When my dear wife died I felt that he was
all I had to love. I could not bear to see the smile fade even for a
moment from his face. I have never denied him a wish. Perhaps it would
have been better for both of us had I been sterner, but I meant it for the
best.\par

“It was naturally my intention that he should succeed me in my business,
but he was not of a business turn. He was wild, wayward, and, to speak the
truth, I could not trust him in the handling of large sums of money. When
he was young he became a member of an aristocratic club, and there, having
charming manners, he was soon the intimate of a number of men with long
purses and expensive habits. He learned to play heavily at cards and to
squander money on the turf, until he had again and again to come to me and
implore me to give him an advance upon his allowance, that he might settle
his debts of honour. He tried more than once to break away from the
dangerous company which he was keeping, but each time the influence of his
friend, Sir George Burnwell, was enough to draw him back again.\par

“And, indeed, I could not wonder that such a man as Sir George Burnwell
should gain an influence over him, for he has frequently brought him to my
house, and I have found myself that I could hardly resist the fascination
of his manner. He is older than Arthur, a man of the world to his
finger-tips, one who had been everywhere, seen everything, a brilliant
talker, and a man of great personal beauty. Yet when I think of him in
cold blood, far away from the glamour of his presence, I am convinced from
his cynical speech and the look which I have caught in his eyes that he is
one who should be deeply distrusted. So I think, and so, too, thinks my
little Mary, who has a woman’s quick insight into character.\par

“And now there is only she to be described. She is my niece; but when my
brother died five years ago and left her alone in the world I adopted her,
and have looked upon her ever since as my daughter. She is a sunbeam in my
house—sweet, loving, beautiful, a wonderful manager and housekeeper, yet
as tender and quiet and gentle as a woman could be. She is my right hand.
I do not know what I could do without her. In only one matter has she ever
gone against my wishes. Twice my boy has asked her to marry him, for he
loves her devotedly, but each time she has refused him. I think that if
anyone could have drawn him into the right path it would have been she,
and that his marriage might have changed his whole life; but now, alas! it
is too late—forever too late!\par

“Now, Mr. Holmes, you know the people who live under my roof, and I shall
continue with my miserable story.\par

“When we were taking coffee in the drawing-room that night after dinner, I
told Arthur and Mary my experience, and of the precious treasure which we
had under our roof, suppressing only the name of my client. Lucy Parr, who
had brought in the coffee, had, I am sure, left the room; but I cannot
swear that the door was closed. Mary and Arthur were much interested and
wished to see the famous coronet, but I thought it better not to disturb
it.\par

“ ‘Where have you put it?’ asked Arthur.\par

“ ‘In my own bureau.’\par

“ ‘Well, I hope to goodness the house won’t be burgled during the night.’
said he.\par

“ ‘It is locked up,’ I answered.\par

“ ‘Oh, any old key will fit that bureau. When I was a youngster I have
opened it myself with the key of the box-room cupboard.’\par

“He often had a wild way of talking, so that I thought little of what he
said. He followed me to my room, however, that night with a very grave
face.\par

“ ‘Look here, dad,’ said he with his eyes cast down, ‘can you let me have
£200?’\par

“ ‘No, I cannot!’ I answered sharply. ‘I have been far too generous with
you in money matters.’\par

“ ‘You have been very kind,’ said he, ‘but I must have this money, or else
I can never show my face inside the club again.’\par

“ ‘And a very good thing, too!’ I cried.\par

“ ‘Yes, but you would not have me leave it a dishonoured man,’ said he. ‘I
could not bear the disgrace. I must raise the money in some way, and if
you will not let me have it, then I must try other means.’\par

“I was very angry, for this was the third demand during the month. ‘You
shall not have a farthing from me,’ I cried, on which he bowed and left
the room without another word.\par

“When he was gone I unlocked my bureau, made sure that my treasure was
safe, and locked it again. Then I started to go round the house to see
that all was secure—a duty which I usually leave to Mary but which I
thought it well to perform myself that night. As I came down the stairs I
saw Mary herself at the side window of the hall, which she closed and
fastened as I approached.\par

“ ‘Tell me, dad,’ said she, looking, I thought, a little disturbed, ‘did
you give Lucy, the maid, leave to go out to-night?’\par

“ ‘Certainly not.’\par

“ ‘She came in just now by the back door. I have no doubt that she has
only been to the side gate to see someone, but I think that it is hardly
safe and should be stopped.’\par

“ ‘You must speak to her in the morning, or I will if you prefer it. Are
you sure that everything is fastened?’\par

“ ‘Quite sure, dad.’\par

“ ‘Then, good-night.’ I kissed her and went up to my bedroom again, where
I was soon asleep.\par

“I am endeavouring to tell you everything, Mr. Holmes, which may have any
bearing upon the case, but I beg that you will question me upon any point
which I do not make clear.”\par

“On the contrary, your statement is singularly lucid.”\par

“I come to a part of my story now in which I should wish to be
particularly so. I am not a very heavy sleeper, and the anxiety in my mind
tended, no doubt, to make me even less so than usual. About two in the
morning, then, I was awakened by some sound in the house. It had ceased
ere I was wide awake, but it had left an impression behind it as though a
window had gently closed somewhere. I lay listening with all my ears.
Suddenly, to my horror, there was a distinct sound of footsteps moving
softly in the next room. I slipped out of bed, all palpitating with fear,
and peeped round the corner of my dressing-room door.\par

“ ‘Arthur!’ I screamed, ‘you villain! you thief! How dare you touch that
coronet?’\par

“The gas was half up, as I had left it, and my unhappy boy, dressed only
in his shirt and trousers, was standing beside the light, holding the
coronet in his hands. He appeared to be wrenching at it, or bending it
with all his strength. At my cry he dropped it from his grasp and turned
as pale as death. I snatched it up and examined it. One of the gold
corners, with three of the beryls in it, was missing.\par

“ ‘You blackguard!’ I shouted, beside myself with rage. ‘You have
destroyed it! You have dishonoured me forever! Where are the jewels which
you have stolen?’\par

“ ‘Stolen!’ he cried.\par

“ ‘Yes, thief!’ I roared, shaking him by the shoulder.\par

“ ‘There are none missing. There cannot be any missing,’ said he.\par

“ ‘There are three missing. And you know where they are. Must I call you a
liar as well as a thief? Did I not see you trying to tear off another
piece?’\par

“ ‘You have called me names enough,’ said he, ‘I will not stand it any
longer. I shall not say another word about this business, since you have
chosen to insult me. I will leave your house in the morning and make my
own way in the world.’\par

“ ‘You shall leave it in the hands of the police!’ I cried half-mad with
grief and rage. ‘I shall have this matter probed to the bottom.’\par

“ ‘You shall learn nothing from me,’ said he with a passion such as I
should not have thought was in his nature. ‘If you choose to call the
police, let the police find what they can.’\par

“By this time the whole house was astir, for I had raised my voice in my
anger. Mary was the first to rush into my room, and, at the sight of the
coronet and of Arthur’s face, she read the whole story and, with a scream,
fell down senseless on the ground. I sent the house-maid for the police
and put the investigation into their hands at once. When the inspector and
a constable entered the house, Arthur, who had stood sullenly with his
arms folded, asked me whether it was my intention to charge him with
theft. I answered that it had ceased to be a private matter, but had
become a public one, since the ruined coronet was national property. I was
determined that the law should have its way in everything.\par

“ ‘At least,’ said he, ‘you will not have me arrested at once. It would be
to your advantage as well as mine if I might leave the house for five
minutes.’\par

“ ‘That you may get away, or perhaps that you may conceal what you have
stolen,’ said I. And then, realising the dreadful position in which I was
placed, I implored him to remember that not only my honour but that of one
who was far greater than I was at stake; and that he threatened to raise a
scandal which would convulse the nation. He might avert it all if he would
but tell me what he had done with the three missing stones.\par

“ ‘You may as well face the matter,’ said I; ‘you have been caught in the
act, and no confession could make your guilt more heinous. If you but make
such reparation as is in your power, by telling us where the beryls are,
all shall be forgiven and forgotten.’\par

“ ‘Keep your forgiveness for those who ask for it,’ he answered, turning
away from me with a sneer. I saw that he was too hardened for any words of
mine to influence him. There was but one way for it. I called in the
inspector and gave him into custody. A search was made at once not only of
his person but of his room and of every portion of the house where he
could possibly have concealed the gems; but no trace of them could be
found, nor would the wretched boy open his mouth for all our persuasions
and our threats. This morning he was removed to a cell, and I, after going
through all the police formalities, have hurried round to you to implore
you to use your skill in unravelling the matter. The police have openly
confessed that they can at present make nothing of it. You may go to any
expense which you think necessary. I have already offered a reward of
£1000. My God, what shall I do! I have lost my honour, my gems, and my
son in one night. Oh, what shall I do!”\par

He put a hand on either side of his head and rocked himself to and fro,
droning to himself like a child whose grief has got beyond words.\par

Sherlock Holmes sat silent for some few minutes, with his brows knitted
and his eyes fixed upon the fire.\par

“Do you receive much company?” he asked.\par

“None save my partner with his family and an occasional friend of
Arthur’s. Sir George Burnwell has been several times lately. No one else,
I think.”\par

“Do you go out much in society?”\par

“Arthur does. Mary and I stay at home. We neither of us care for it.”\par

“That is unusual in a young girl.”\par

“She is of a quiet nature. Besides, she is not so very young. She is
four-and-twenty.”\par

“This matter, from what you say, seems to have been a shock to her also.”\par

“Terrible! She is even more affected than I.”\par

“You have neither of you any doubt as to your son’s guilt?”\par

“How can we have when I saw him with my own eyes with the coronet in his
hands.”\par

“I hardly consider that a conclusive proof. Was the remainder of the
coronet at all injured?”\par

“Yes, it was twisted.”\par

“Do you not think, then, that he might have been trying to straighten it?”\par

“God bless you! You are doing what you can for him and for me. But it is
too heavy a task. What was he doing there at all? If his purpose were
innocent, why did he not say so?”\par

“Precisely. And if it were guilty, why did he not invent a lie? His
silence appears to me to cut both ways. There are several singular points
about the case. What did the police think of the noise which awoke you
from your sleep?”\par

“They considered that it might be caused by Arthur’s closing his bedroom
door.”\par

“A likely story! As if a man bent on felony would slam his door so as to
wake a household. What did they say, then, of the disappearance of these
gems?”\par

“They are still sounding the planking and probing the furniture in the
hope of finding them.”\par

“Have they thought of looking outside the house?”\par

“Yes, they have shown extraordinary energy. The whole garden has already
been minutely examined.”\par

“Now, my dear sir,” said Holmes, “is it not obvious to you now that this
matter really strikes very much deeper than either you or the police were
at first inclined to think? It appeared to you to be a simple case; to me
it seems exceedingly complex. Consider what is involved by your theory.
You suppose that your son came down from his bed, went, at great risk, to
your dressing-room, opened your bureau, took out your coronet, broke off
by main force a small portion of it, went off to some other place,
concealed three gems out of the thirty-nine, with such skill that nobody
can find them, and then returned with the other thirty-six into the room
in which he exposed himself to the greatest danger of being discovered. I
ask you now, is such a theory tenable?”\par

“But what other is there?” cried the banker with a gesture of despair. “If
his motives were innocent, why does he not explain them?”\par

“It is our task to find that out,” replied Holmes; “so now, if you please,
Mr. Holder, we will set off for Streatham together, and devote an hour to
glancing a little more closely into details.”\par

My friend insisted upon my accompanying them in their expedition, which I
was eager enough to do, for my curiosity and sympathy were deeply stirred
by the story to which we had listened. I confess that the guilt of the
banker’s son appeared to me to be as obvious as it did to his unhappy
father, but still I had such faith in Holmes’ judgment that I felt that
there must be some grounds for hope as long as he was dissatisfied with
the accepted explanation. He hardly spoke a word the whole way out to the
southern suburb, but sat with his chin upon his breast and his hat drawn
over his eyes, sunk in the deepest thought. Our client appeared to have
taken fresh heart at the little glimpse of hope which had been presented
to him, and he even broke into a desultory chat with me over his business
affairs. A short railway journey and a shorter walk brought us to
Fairbank, the modest residence of the great financier.\par

Fairbank was a good-sized square house of white stone, standing back a
little from the road. A double carriage-sweep, with a snow-clad lawn,
stretched down in front to two large iron gates which closed the entrance.
On the right side was a small wooden thicket, which led into a narrow path
between two neat hedges stretching from the road to the kitchen door, and
forming the tradesmen’s entrance. On the left ran a lane which led to the
stables, and was not itself within the grounds at all, being a public,
though little used, thoroughfare. Holmes left us standing at the door and
walked slowly all round the house, across the front, down the tradesmen’s
path, and so round by the garden behind into the stable lane. So long was
he that Mr. Holder and I went into the dining-room and waited by the fire
until he should return. We were sitting there in silence when the door
opened and a young lady came in. She was rather above the middle height,
slim, with dark hair and eyes, which seemed the darker against the
absolute pallor of her skin. I do not think that I have ever seen such
deadly paleness in a woman’s face. Her lips, too, were bloodless, but her
eyes were flushed with crying. As she swept silently into the room she
impressed me with a greater sense of grief than the banker had done in the
morning, and it was the more striking in her as she was evidently a woman
of strong character, with immense capacity for self-restraint.
Disregarding my presence, she went straight to her uncle and passed her
hand over his head with a sweet womanly caress.\par

“You have given orders that Arthur should be liberated, have you not,
dad?” she asked.\par

“No, no, my girl, the matter must be probed to the bottom.”\par

“But I am so sure that he is innocent. You know what woman’s instincts
are. I know that he has done no harm and that you will be sorry for having
acted so harshly.”\par

“Why is he silent, then, if he is innocent?”\par

“Who knows? Perhaps because he was so angry that you should suspect him.”\par

“How could I help suspecting him, when I actually saw him with the coronet
in his hand?”\par

“Oh, but he had only picked it up to look at it. Oh, do, do take my word
for it that he is innocent. Let the matter drop and say no more. It is so
dreadful to think of our dear Arthur in prison!”\par

“I shall never let it drop until the gems are found—never, Mary! Your
affection for Arthur blinds you as to the awful consequences to me. Far
from hushing the thing up, I have brought a gentleman down from London to
inquire more deeply into it.”\par

“This gentleman?” she asked, facing round to me.\par

“No, his friend. He wished us to leave him alone. He is round in the
stable lane now.”\par

“The stable lane?” She raised her dark eyebrows. “What can he hope to find
there? Ah! this, I suppose, is he. I trust, sir, that you will succeed in
proving, what I feel sure is the truth, that my cousin Arthur is innocent
of this crime.”\par

“I fully share your opinion, and I trust, with you, that we may prove it,”
returned Holmes, going back to the mat to knock the snow from his shoes.
“I believe I have the honour of addressing Miss Mary Holder. Might I ask
you a question or two?”\par

“Pray do, sir, if it may help to clear this horrible affair up.”\par

“You heard nothing yourself last night?”\par

“Nothing, until my uncle here began to speak loudly. I heard that, and I
came down.”\par

“You shut up the windows and doors the night before. Did you fasten all
the windows?”\par

“Yes.”\par

“Were they all fastened this morning?”\par

“Yes.”\par

“You have a maid who has a sweetheart? I think that you remarked to your
uncle last night that she had been out to see him?”\par

“Yes, and she was the girl who waited in the drawing-room, and who may
have heard uncle’s remarks about the coronet.”\par

“I see. You infer that she may have gone out to tell her sweetheart, and
that the two may have planned the robbery.”\par

“But what is the good of all these vague theories,” cried the banker
impatiently, “when I have told you that I saw Arthur with the coronet in
his hands?”\par

“Wait a little, Mr. Holder. We must come back to that. About this girl,
Miss Holder. You saw her return by the kitchen door, I presume?”\par

“Yes; when I went to see if the door was fastened for the night I met her
slipping in. I saw the man, too, in the gloom.”\par

“Do you know him?”\par

“Oh, yes! he is the green-grocer who brings our vegetables round. His name
is Francis Prosper.”\par

“He stood,” said Holmes, “to the left of the door—that is to say, farther
up the path than is necessary to reach the door?”\par

“Yes, he did.”\par

“And he is a man with a wooden leg?”\par

Something like fear sprang up in the young lady’s expressive black eyes.
“Why, you are like a magician,” said she. “How do you know that?” She
smiled, but there was no answering smile in Holmes’ thin, eager face.\par

“I should be very glad now to go upstairs,” said he. “I shall probably
wish to go over the outside of the house again. Perhaps I had better take
a look at the lower windows before I go up.”\par

He walked swiftly round from one to the other, pausing only at the large
one which looked from the hall onto the stable lane. This he opened and
made a very careful examination of the sill with his powerful magnifying
lens. “Now we shall go upstairs,” said he at last.\par

The banker’s dressing-room was a plainly furnished little chamber, with a
grey carpet, a large bureau, and a long mirror. Holmes went to the bureau
first and looked hard at the lock.\par

“Which key was used to open it?” he asked.\par

“That which my son himself indicated—that of the cupboard of the
lumber-room.”\par

“Have you it here?”\par

“That is it on the dressing-table.”\par

Sherlock Holmes took it up and opened the bureau.\par

“It is a noiseless lock,” said he. “It is no wonder that it did not wake
you. This case, I presume, contains the coronet. We must have a look at
it.” He opened the case, and taking out the diadem he laid it upon the
table. It was a magnificent specimen of the jeweller’s art, and the
thirty-six stones were the finest that I have ever seen. At one side of
the coronet was a cracked edge, where a corner holding three gems had been
torn away.\par

“Now, Mr. Holder,” said Holmes, “here is the corner which corresponds to
that which has been so unfortunately lost. Might I beg that you will break
it off.”\par

The banker recoiled in horror. “I should not dream of trying,” said he.\par

“Then I will.” Holmes suddenly bent his strength upon it, but without
result. “I feel it give a little,” said he; “but, though I am
exceptionally strong in the fingers, it would take me all my time to break
it. An ordinary man could not do it. Now, what do you think would happen
if I did break it, Mr. Holder? There would be a noise like a pistol shot.
Do you tell me that all this happened within a few yards of your bed and
that you heard nothing of it?”\par

“I do not know what to think. It is all dark to me.”\par

“But perhaps it may grow lighter as we go. What do you think, Miss
Holder?”\par

“I confess that I still share my uncle’s perplexity.”\par

“Your son had no shoes or slippers on when you saw him?”\par

“He had nothing on save only his trousers and shirt.”\par

“Thank you. We have certainly been favoured with extraordinary luck during
this inquiry, and it will be entirely our own fault if we do not succeed
in clearing the matter up. With your permission, Mr. Holder, I shall now
continue my investigations outside.”\par

He went alone, at his own request, for he explained that any unnecessary
footmarks might make his task more difficult. For an hour or more he was
at work, returning at last with his feet heavy with snow and his features
as inscrutable as ever.\par

“I think that I have seen now all that there is to see, Mr. Holder,” said
he; “I can serve you best by returning to my rooms.”\par

“But the gems, Mr. Holmes. Where are they?”\par

“I cannot tell.”\par

The banker wrung his hands. “I shall never see them again!” he cried. “And
my son? You give me hopes?”\par

“My opinion is in no way altered.”\par

“Then, for God’s sake, what was this dark business which was acted in my
house last night?”\par

“If you can call upon me at my Baker Street rooms to-morrow morning
between nine and ten I shall be happy to do what I can to make it clearer.
I understand that you give me {\itshape{carte blanche}} to act for you, provided
only that I get back the gems, and that you place no limit on the sum I
may draw.”\par

“I would give my fortune to have them back.”\par

“Very good. I shall look into the matter between this and then. Good-bye;
it is just possible that I may have to come over here again before
evening.”\par

It was obvious to me that my companion’s mind was now made up about the
case, although what his conclusions were was more than I could even dimly
imagine. Several times during our homeward journey I endeavoured to sound
him upon the point, but he always glided away to some other topic, until
at last I gave it over in despair. It was not yet three when we found
ourselves in our rooms once more. He hurried to his chamber and was down
again in a few minutes dressed as a common loafer. With his collar turned
up, his shiny, seedy coat, his red cravat, and his worn boots, he was a
perfect sample of the class.\par

“I think that this should do,” said he, glancing into the glass above the
fireplace. “I only wish that you could come with me, Watson, but I fear
that it won’t do. I may be on the trail in this matter, or I may be
following a will-o’-the-wisp, but I shall soon know which it is. I hope
that I may be back in a few hours.” He cut a slice of beef from the joint
upon the sideboard, sandwiched it between two rounds of bread, and
thrusting this rude meal into his pocket he started off upon his
expedition.\par

I had just finished my tea when he returned, evidently in excellent
spirits, swinging an old elastic-sided boot in his hand. He chucked it
down into a corner and helped himself to a cup of tea.\par

“I only looked in as I passed,” said he. “I am going right on.”\par

“Where to?”\par

“Oh, to the other side of the West End. It may be some time before I get
back. Don’t wait up for me in case I should be late.”\par

“How are you getting on?”\par

“Oh, so so. Nothing to complain of. I have been out to Streatham since I
saw you last, but I did not call at the house. It is a very sweet little
problem, and I would not have missed it for a good deal. However, I must
not sit gossiping here, but must get these disreputable clothes off and
return to my highly respectable self.”\par

I could see by his manner that he had stronger reasons for satisfaction
than his words alone would imply. His eyes twinkled, and there was even a
touch of colour upon his sallow cheeks. He hastened upstairs, and a few
minutes later I heard the slam of the hall door, which told me that he was
off once more upon his congenial hunt.\par

I waited until midnight, but there was no sign of his return, so I retired
to my room. It was no uncommon thing for him to be away for days and
nights on end when he was hot upon a scent, so that his lateness caused me
no surprise. I do not know at what hour he came in, but when I came down
to breakfast in the morning there he was with a cup of coffee in one hand
and the paper in the other, as fresh and trim as possible.\par

“You will excuse my beginning without you, Watson,” said he, “but you
remember that our client has rather an early appointment this morning.”\par

“Why, it is after nine now,” I answered. “I should not be surprised if
that were he. I thought I heard a ring.”\par

It was, indeed, our friend the financier. I was shocked by the change
which had come over him, for his face which was naturally of a broad and
massive mould, was now pinched and fallen in, while his hair seemed to me
at least a shade whiter. He entered with a weariness and lethargy which
was even more painful than his violence of the morning before, and he
dropped heavily into the armchair which I pushed forward for him.\par

“I do not know what I have done to be so severely tried,” said he. “Only
two days ago I was a happy and prosperous man, without a care in the
world. Now I am left to a lonely and dishonoured age. One sorrow comes
close upon the heels of another. My niece, Mary, has deserted me.”\par

“Deserted you?”\par

“Yes. Her bed this morning had not been slept in, her room was empty, and
a note for me lay upon the hall table. I had said to her last night, in
sorrow and not in anger, that if she had married my boy all might have
been well with him. Perhaps it was thoughtless of me to say so. It is to
that remark that she refers in this note:\par

\begin{quotation}
{\noindent}“ ‘{\scshape{My Dearest Uncle:}} —
I feel that I have brought trouble upon you, and that
if I had acted differently this terrible misfortune might never have
occurred. I cannot, with this thought in my mind, ever again be happy
under your roof, and I feel that I must leave you forever. Do not worry
about my future, for that is provided for; and, above all, do not search
for me, for it will be fruitless labour and an ill-service to me. In life
or in death, I am ever your loving\par

“ ‘Mary.’\par
\end{quotation}

“What could she mean by that note, Mr. Holmes? Do you think it points to
suicide?”\par

“No, no, nothing of the kind. It is perhaps the best possible solution. I
trust, Mr. Holder, that you are nearing the end of your troubles.”\par

“Ha! You say so! You have heard something, Mr. Holmes; you have learned
something! Where are the gems?”\par

“You would not think £1000 apiece an excessive sum for them?”\par

“I would pay ten.”\par

“That would be unnecessary. Three thousand will cover the matter. And
there is a little reward, I fancy. Have you your check-book? Here is a
pen. Better make it out for £4000.”\par

With a dazed face the banker made out the required check. Holmes walked
over to his desk, took out a little triangular piece of gold with three
gems in it, and threw it down upon the table.\par

With a shriek of joy our client clutched it up.\par

“You have it!” he gasped. “I am saved! I am saved!”\par

The reaction of joy was as passionate as his grief had been, and he hugged
his recovered gems to his bosom.\par

“There is one other thing you owe, Mr. Holder,” said Sherlock Holmes
rather sternly.\par

“Owe!” He caught up a pen. “Name the sum, and I will pay it.”\par

“No, the debt is not to me. You owe a very humble apology to that noble
lad, your son, who has carried himself in this matter as I should be proud
to see my own son do, should I ever chance to have one.”\par

“Then it was not Arthur who took them?”\par

“I told you yesterday, and I repeat to-day, that it was not.”\par

“You are sure of it! Then let us hurry to him at once to let him know that
the truth is known.”\par

“He knows it already. When I had cleared it all up I had an interview with
him, and finding that he would not tell me the story, I told it to him, on
which he had to confess that I was right and to add the very few details
which were not yet quite clear to me. Your news of this morning, however,
may open his lips.”\par

“For heaven’s sake, tell me, then, what is this extraordinary mystery!”\par

“I will do so, and I will show you the steps by which I reached it. And
let me say to you, first, that which it is hardest for me to say and for
you to hear: there has been an understanding between Sir George Burnwell
and your niece Mary. They have now fled together.”\par

“My Mary? Impossible!”\par

“It is unfortunately more than possible; it is certain. Neither you nor
your son knew the true character of this man when you admitted him into
your family circle. He is one of the most dangerous men in England—a
ruined gambler, an absolutely desperate villain, a man without heart or
conscience. Your niece knew nothing of such men. When he breathed his vows
to her, as he had done to a hundred before her, she flattered herself that
she alone had touched his heart. The devil knows best what he said, but at
least she became his tool and was in the habit of seeing him nearly every
evening.”\par

“I cannot, and I will not, believe it!” cried the banker with an ashen
face.\par

“I will tell you, then, what occurred in your house last night. Your
niece, when you had, as she thought, gone to your room, slipped down and
talked to her lover through the window which leads into the stable lane.
His footmarks had pressed right through the snow, so long had he stood
there. She told him of the coronet. His wicked lust for gold kindled at
the news, and he bent her to his will. I have no doubt that she loved you,
but there are women in whom the love of a lover extinguishes all other
loves, and I think that she must have been one. She had hardly listened to
his instructions when she saw you coming downstairs, on which she closed
the window rapidly and told you about one of the servants’ escapade with
her wooden-legged lover, which was all perfectly true.\par

“Your boy, Arthur, went to bed after his interview with you but he slept
badly on account of his uneasiness about his club debts. In the middle of
the night he heard a soft tread pass his door, so he rose and, looking
out, was surprised to see his cousin walking very stealthily along the
passage until she disappeared into your dressing-room. Petrified with
astonishment, the lad slipped on some clothes and waited there in the dark
to see what would come of this strange affair. Presently she emerged from
the room again, and in the light of the passage-lamp your son saw that she
carried the precious coronet in her hands. She passed down the stairs, and
he, thrilling with horror, ran along and slipped behind the curtain near
your door, whence he could see what passed in the hall beneath. He saw her
stealthily open the window, hand out the coronet to someone in the gloom,
and then closing it once more hurry back to her room, passing quite close
to where he stood hid behind the curtain.\par

“As long as she was on the scene he could not take any action without a
horrible exposure of the woman whom he loved. But the instant that she was
gone he realised how crushing a misfortune this would be for you, and how
all-important it was to set it right. He rushed down, just as he was, in
his bare feet, opened the window, sprang out into the snow, and ran down
the lane, where he could see a dark figure in the moonlight. Sir George
Burnwell tried to get away, but Arthur caught him, and there was a
struggle between them, your lad tugging at one side of the coronet, and
his opponent at the other. In the scuffle, your son struck Sir George and
cut him over the eye. Then something suddenly snapped, and your son,
finding that he had the coronet in his hands, rushed back, closed the
window, ascended to your room, and had just observed that the coronet had
been twisted in the struggle and was endeavouring to straighten it when
you appeared upon the scene.”\par

“Is it possible?” gasped the banker.\par

“You then roused his anger by calling him names at a moment when he felt
that he had deserved your warmest thanks. He could not explain the true
state of affairs without betraying one who certainly deserved little
enough consideration at his hands. He took the more chivalrous view,
however, and preserved her secret.”\par

“And that was why she shrieked and fainted when she saw the coronet,”
cried Mr. Holder. “Oh, my God! what a blind fool I have been! And his
asking to be allowed to go out for five minutes! The dear fellow wanted to
see if the missing piece were at the scene of the struggle. How cruelly I
have misjudged him!”\par

“When I arrived at the house,” continued Holmes, “I at once went very
carefully round it to observe if there were any traces in the snow which
might help me. I knew that none had fallen since the evening before, and
also that there had been a strong frost to preserve impressions. I passed
along the tradesmen’s path, but found it all trampled down and
indistinguishable. Just beyond it, however, at the far side of the kitchen
door, a woman had stood and talked with a man, whose round impressions on
one side showed that he had a wooden leg. I could even tell that they had
been disturbed, for the woman had run back swiftly to the door, as was
shown by the deep toe and light heel marks, while Wooden-leg had waited a
little, and then had gone away. I thought at the time that this might be
the maid and her sweetheart, of whom you had already spoken to me, and
inquiry showed it was so. I passed round the garden without seeing
anything more than random tracks, which I took to be the police; but when
I got into the stable lane a very long and complex story was written in
the snow in front of me.\par

“There was a double line of tracks of a booted man, and a second double
line which I saw with delight belonged to a man with naked feet. I was at
once convinced from what you had told me that the latter was your son. The
first had walked both ways, but the other had run swiftly, and as his
tread was marked in places over the depression of the boot, it was obvious
that he had passed after the other. I followed them up and found they led
to the hall window, where Boots had worn all the snow away while waiting.
Then I walked to the other end, which was a hundred yards or more down the
lane. I saw where Boots had faced round, where the snow was cut up as
though there had been a struggle, and, finally, where a few drops of blood
had fallen, to show me that I was not mistaken. Boots had then run down
the lane, and another little smudge of blood showed that it was he who had
been hurt. When he came to the highroad at the other end, I found that the
pavement had been cleared, so there was an end to that clue.\par

“On entering the house, however, I examined, as you remember, the sill and
framework of the hall window with my lens, and I could at once see that
someone had passed out. I could distinguish the outline of an instep where
the wet foot had been placed in coming in. I was then beginning to be able
to form an opinion as to what had occurred. A man had waited outside the
window; someone had brought the gems; the deed had been overseen by your
son; he had pursued the thief; had struggled with him; they had each
tugged at the coronet, their united strength causing injuries which
neither alone could have effected. He had returned with the prize, but had
left a fragment in the grasp of his opponent. So far I was clear. The
question now was, who was the man and who was it brought him the coronet?\par

“It is an old maxim of mine that when you have excluded the impossible,
whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. Now, I knew that
it was not you who had brought it down, so there only remained your niece
and the maids. But if it were the maids, why should your son allow himself
to be accused in their place? There could be no possible reason. As he
loved his cousin, however, there was an excellent explanation why he
should retain her secret—the more so as the secret was a disgraceful one.
When I remembered that you had seen her at that window, and how she had
fainted on seeing the coronet again, my conjecture became a certainty.\par

“And who could it be who was her confederate? A lover evidently, for who
else could outweigh the love and gratitude which she must feel to you? I
knew that you went out little, and that your circle of friends was a very
limited one. But among them was Sir George Burnwell. I had heard of him
before as being a man of evil reputation among women. It must have been he
who wore those boots and retained the missing gems. Even though he knew
that Arthur had discovered him, he might still flatter himself that he was
safe, for the lad could not say a word without compromising his own
family.\par

“Well, your own good sense will suggest what measures I took next. I went
in the shape of a loafer to Sir George’s house, managed to pick up an
acquaintance with his valet, learned that his master had cut his head the
night before, and, finally, at the expense of six shillings, made all sure
by buying a pair of his cast-off shoes. With these I journeyed down to
Streatham and saw that they exactly fitted the tracks.”\par

“I saw an ill-dressed vagabond in the lane yesterday evening,” said Mr.
Holder.\par

“Precisely. It was I. I found that I had my man, so I came home and
changed my clothes. It was a delicate part which I had to play then, for I
saw that a prosecution must be avoided to avert scandal, and I knew that
so astute a villain would see that our hands were tied in the matter. I
went and saw him. At first, of course, he denied everything. But when I
gave him every particular that had occurred, he tried to bluster and took
down a life-preserver from the wall. I knew my man, however, and I clapped
a pistol to his head before he could strike. Then he became a little more
reasonable. I told him that we would give him a price for the stones he
held—£1000 apiece. That brought out the first signs of grief that he had
shown. ‘Why, dash it all!’ said he, ‘I’ve let them go at six hundred for
the three!’ I soon managed to get the address of the receiver who had
them, on promising him that there would be no prosecution. Off I set to
him, and after much chaffering I got our stones at £1000 apiece. Then I
looked in upon your son, told him that all was right, and eventually got
to my bed about two o’clock, after what I may call a really hard day’s
work.”\par

“A day which has saved England from a great public scandal,” said the
banker, rising. “Sir, I cannot find words to thank you, but you shall not
find me ungrateful for what you have done. Your skill has indeed exceeded
all that I have heard of it. And now I must fly to my dear boy to
apologise to him for the wrong which I have done him. As to what you tell
me of poor Mary, it goes to my very heart. Not even your skill can inform
me where she is now.”\par

“I think that we may safely say,” returned Holmes, “that she is wherever
Sir George Burnwell is. It is equally certain, too, that whatever her sins
are, they will soon receive a more than sufficient punishment.”\par

\cleardoublepage
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\hypertarget{the-adventure-of-the-copper-beeches}{}%
%
\chapter*{The Adventure of the Copper Beeches}


“To the man who loves art for its own sake,” remarked Sherlock Holmes,
tossing aside the advertisement sheet of the {\itshape{Daily Telegraph}}, “it is
frequently in its least important and lowliest manifestations that the
keenest pleasure is to be derived. It is pleasant to me to observe,
Watson, that you have so far grasped this truth that in these little
records of our cases which you have been good enough to draw up, and, I am
bound to say, occasionally to embellish, you have given prominence not so
much to the many {\itshape{causes célèbres}} and sensational trials in which I have
figured but rather to those incidents which may have been trivial in
themselves, but which have given room for those faculties of deduction and
of logical synthesis which I have made my special province.”\par

“And yet,” said I, smiling, “I cannot quite hold myself absolved from the
charge of sensationalism which has been urged against my records.”\par

“You have erred, perhaps,” he observed, taking up a glowing cinder with
the tongs and lighting with it the long cherry-wood pipe which was wont to
replace his clay when he was in a disputatious rather than a meditative
mood—“you have erred perhaps in attempting to put colour and life into
each of your statements instead of confining yourself to the task of
placing upon record that severe reasoning from cause to effect which is
really the only notable feature about the thing.”\par

“It seems to me that I have done you full justice in the matter,” I
remarked with some coldness, for I was repelled by the egotism which I had
more than once observed to be a strong factor in my friend’s singular
character.\par

“No, it is not selfishness or conceit,” said he, answering, as was his
wont, my thoughts rather than my words. “If I claim full justice for my
art, it is because it is an impersonal thing—a thing beyond myself. Crime
is common. Logic is rare. Therefore it is upon the logic rather than upon
the crime that you should dwell. You have degraded what should have been a
course of lectures into a series of tales.”\par

It was a cold morning of the early spring, and we sat after breakfast on
either side of a cheery fire in the old room at Baker Street. A thick fog
rolled down between the lines of dun-coloured houses, and the opposing
windows loomed like dark, shapeless blurs through the heavy yellow
wreaths. Our gas was lit and shone on the white cloth and glimmer of china
and metal, for the table had not been cleared yet. Sherlock Holmes had
been silent all the morning, dipping continuously into the advertisement
columns of a succession of papers until at last, having apparently given
up his search, he had emerged in no very sweet temper to lecture me upon
my literary shortcomings.\par

“At the same time,” he remarked after a pause, during which he had sat
puffing at his long pipe and gazing down into the fire, “you can hardly be
open to a charge of sensationalism, for out of these cases which you have
been so kind as to interest yourself in, a fair proportion do not treat of
crime, in its legal sense, at all. The small matter in which I endeavoured
to help the King of Bohemia, the singular experience of Miss Mary
Sutherland, the problem connected with the man with the twisted lip, and
the incident of the noble bachelor, were all matters which are outside the
pale of the law. But in avoiding the sensational, I fear that you may have
bordered on the trivial.”\par

“The end may have been so,” I answered, “but the methods I hold to have
been novel and of interest.”\par

“Pshaw, my dear fellow, what do the public, the great unobservant public,
who could hardly tell a weaver by his tooth or a compositor by his left
thumb, care about the finer shades of analysis and deduction! But, indeed,
if you are trivial, I cannot blame you, for the days of the great cases
are past. Man, or at least criminal man, has lost all enterprise and
originality. As to my own little practice, it seems to be degenerating
into an agency for recovering lost lead pencils and giving advice to young
ladies from boarding-schools. I think that I have touched bottom at last,
however. This note I had this morning marks my zero-point, I fancy. Read
it!” He tossed a crumpled letter across to me.\par

It was dated from Montague Place upon the preceding evening, and ran thus:\par

\begin{quotation}
{\noindent}“{\scshape{Dear Mr. Holmes:}} —
I am very anxious to consult you as to whether I should
or should not accept a situation which has been offered to me as
governess. I shall call at half-past ten to-morrow if I do not
inconvenience you. Yours faithfully,\par

“Violet Hunter.”\par
\end{quotation}

“Do you know the young lady?” I asked.\par

“Not I.”\par

“It is half-past ten now.”\par

“Yes, and I have no doubt that is her ring.”\par

“It may turn out to be of more interest than you think. You remember that
the affair of the blue carbuncle, which appeared to be a mere whim at
first, developed into a serious investigation. It may be so in this case,
also.”\par

“Well, let us hope so. But our doubts will very soon be solved, for here,
unless I am much mistaken, is the person in question.”\par

As he spoke the door opened and a young lady entered the room. She was
plainly but neatly dressed, with a bright, quick face, freckled like a
plover’s egg, and with the brisk manner of a woman who has had her own way
to make in the world.\par

“You will excuse my troubling you, I am sure,” said she, as my companion
rose to greet her, “but I have had a very strange experience, and as I
have no parents or relations of any sort from whom I could ask advice, I
thought that perhaps you would be kind enough to tell me what I should
do.”\par

“Pray take a seat, Miss Hunter. I shall be happy to do anything that I can
to serve you.”\par

I could see that Holmes was favourably impressed by the manner and speech
of his new client. He looked her over in his searching fashion, and then
composed himself, with his lids drooping and his finger-tips together, to
listen to her story.\par

“I have been a governess for five years,” said she, “in the family of
Colonel Spence Munro, but two months ago the colonel received an
appointment at Halifax, in Nova Scotia, and took his children over to
America with him, so that I found myself without a situation. I
advertised, and I answered advertisements, but without success. At last
the little money which I had saved began to run short, and I was at my
wit’s end as to what I should do.\par

“There is a well-known agency for governesses in the West End called
Westaway’s, and there I used to call about once a week in order to see
whether anything had turned up which might suit me. Westaway was the name
of the founder of the business, but it is really managed by Miss Stoper.
She sits in her own little office, and the ladies who are seeking
employment wait in an anteroom, and are then shown in one by one, when she
consults her ledgers and sees whether she has anything which would suit
them.\par

“Well, when I called last week I was shown into the little office as
usual, but I found that Miss Stoper was not alone. A prodigiously stout
man with a very smiling face and a great heavy chin which rolled down in
fold upon fold over his throat sat at her elbow with a pair of glasses on
his nose, looking very earnestly at the ladies who entered. As I came in
he gave quite a jump in his chair and turned quickly to Miss Stoper.\par

“ ‘That will do,’ said he; ‘I could not ask for anything better. Capital!
capital!’ He seemed quite enthusiastic and rubbed his hands together in
the most genial fashion. He was such a comfortable-looking man that it was
quite a pleasure to look at him.\par

“ ‘You are looking for a situation, miss?’ he asked.\par

“ ‘Yes, sir.’\par

“ ‘As governess?’\par

“ ‘Yes, sir.’\par

“ ‘And what salary do you ask?’\par

“ ‘I had £4 a month in my last place with Colonel Spence Munro.’\par

“ ‘Oh, tut, tut! sweating—rank sweating!’ he cried, throwing his fat hands
out into the air like a man who is in a boiling passion. ‘How could anyone
offer so pitiful a sum to a lady with such attractions and
accomplishments?’\par

“ ‘My accomplishments, sir, may be less than you imagine,’ said I. ‘A
little French, a little German, music, and drawing—’\par

“ ‘Tut, tut!’ he cried. ‘This is all quite beside the question. The point
is, have you or have you not the bearing and deportment of a lady? There
it is in a nutshell. If you have not, you are not fitted for the rearing
of a child who may some day play a considerable part in the history of the
country. But if you have why, then, how could any gentleman ask you to
condescend to accept anything under the three figures? Your salary with
me, madam, would commence at £100 a year.’\par

“You may imagine, Mr. Holmes, that to me, destitute as I was, such an
offer seemed almost too good to be true. The gentleman, however, seeing
perhaps the look of incredulity upon my face, opened a pocket-book and
took out a note.\par

“ ‘It is also my custom,’ said he, smiling in the most pleasant fashion
until his eyes were just two little shining slits amid the white creases
of his face, ‘to advance to my young ladies half their salary beforehand,
so that they may meet any little expenses of their journey and their
wardrobe.’\par

“It seemed to me that I had never met so fascinating and so thoughtful a
man. As I was already in debt to my tradesmen, the advance was a great
convenience, and yet there was something unnatural about the whole
transaction which made me wish to know a little more before I quite
committed myself.\par

“ ‘May I ask where you live, sir?’ said I.\par

“ ‘Hampshire. Charming rural place. The Copper Beeches, five miles on the
far side of Winchester. It is the most lovely country, my dear young lady,
and the dearest old country-house.’\par

“ ‘And my duties, sir? I should be glad to know what they would be.’\par

“ ‘One child—one dear little romper just six years old. Oh, if you could
see him killing cockroaches with a slipper! Smack! smack! smack! Three
gone before you could wink!’ He leaned back in his chair and laughed his
eyes into his head again.\par

“I was a little startled at the nature of the child’s amusement, but the
father’s laughter made me think that perhaps he was joking.\par

“ ‘My sole duties, then,’ I asked, ‘are to take charge of a single child?’\par

“ ‘No, no, not the sole, not the sole, my dear young lady,’ he cried.
‘Your duty would be, as I am sure your good sense would suggest, to obey
any little commands my wife might give, provided always that they were
such commands as a lady might with propriety obey. You see no difficulty,
heh?’\par

“ ‘I should be happy to make myself useful.’\par

“ ‘Quite so. In dress now, for example. We are faddy people, you
know—faddy but kind-hearted. If you were asked to wear any dress which we
might give you, you would not object to our little whim. Heh?’\par

“ ‘No,’ said I, considerably astonished at his words.\par

“ ‘Or to sit here, or sit there, that would not be offensive to you?’\par

“ ‘Oh, no.’\par

“ ‘Or to cut your hair quite short before you come to us?’\par

“I could hardly believe my ears. As you may observe, Mr. Holmes, my hair
is somewhat luxuriant, and of a rather peculiar tint of chestnut. It has
been considered artistic. I could not dream of sacrificing it in this
offhand fashion.\par

“ ‘I am afraid that that is quite impossible,’ said I. He had been
watching me eagerly out of his small eyes, and I could see a shadow pass
over his face as I spoke.\par

“ ‘I am afraid that it is quite essential,’ said he. ‘It is a little fancy
of my wife’s, and ladies’ fancies, you know, madam, ladies’ fancies must
be consulted. And so you won’t cut your hair?’\par

“ ‘No, sir, I really could not,’ I answered firmly.\par

“ ‘Ah, very well; then that quite settles the matter. It is a pity,
because in other respects you would really have done very nicely. In that
case, Miss Stoper, I had best inspect a few more of your young ladies.’\par

“The manageress had sat all this while busy with her papers without a word
to either of us, but she glanced at me now with so much annoyance upon her
face that I could not help suspecting that she had lost a handsome
commission through my refusal.\par

“ ‘Do you desire your name to be kept upon the books?’ she asked.\par

“ ‘If you please, Miss Stoper.’\par

“ ‘Well, really, it seems rather useless, since you refuse the most
excellent offers in this fashion,’ said she sharply. ‘You can hardly
expect us to exert ourselves to find another such opening for you.
Good-day to you, Miss Hunter.’ She struck a gong upon the table, and I was
shown out by the page.\par

“Well, Mr. Holmes, when I got back to my lodgings and found little enough
in the cupboard, and two or three bills upon the table, I began to ask
myself whether I had not done a very foolish thing. After all, if these
people had strange fads and expected obedience on the most extraordinary
matters, they were at least ready to pay for their eccentricity. Very few
governesses in England are getting £100 a year. Besides, what use was my
hair to me? Many people are improved by wearing it short and perhaps I
should be among the number. Next day I was inclined to think that I had
made a mistake, and by the day after I was sure of it. I had almost
overcome my pride so far as to go back to the agency and inquire whether
the place was still open when I received this letter from the gentleman
himself. I have it here and I will read it to you:\par

\begin{quotation}
{\noindent}“ ‘The Copper Beeches, near Winchester.\par

“ ‘{\scshape{Dear Miss Hunter:}} —
Miss Stoper has very kindly given me your address,
and I write from here to ask you whether you have reconsidered your
decision. My wife is very anxious that you should come, for she has been
much attracted by my description of you. We are willing to give £30 a
quarter, or £120 a year, so as to recompense you for any little
inconvenience which our fads may cause you. They are not very exacting,
after all. My wife is fond of a particular shade of electric blue and
would like you to wear such a dress indoors in the morning. You need not,
however, go to the expense of purchasing one, as we have one belonging to
my dear daughter Alice (now in Philadelphia), which would, I should think,
fit you very well. Then, as to sitting here or there, or amusing yourself
in any manner indicated, that need cause you no inconvenience. As regards
your hair, it is no doubt a pity, especially as I could not help remarking
its beauty during our short interview, but I am afraid that I must remain
firm upon this point, and I only hope that the increased salary may
recompense you for the loss. Your duties, as far as the child is
concerned, are very light. Now do try to come, and I shall meet you with
the dog-cart at Winchester. Let me know your train. Yours faithfully,\par

“ ‘Jephro Rucastle.’\par
\end{quotation}

“That is the letter which I have just received, Mr. Holmes, and my mind is
made up that I will accept it. I thought, however, that before taking the
final step I should like to submit the whole matter to your
consideration.”\par

“Well, Miss Hunter, if your mind is made up, that settles the question,”
said Holmes, smiling.\par

“But you would not advise me to refuse?”\par

“I confess that it is not the situation which I should like to see a
sister of mine apply for.”\par

“What is the meaning of it all, Mr. Holmes?”\par

“Ah, I have no data. I cannot tell. Perhaps you have yourself formed some
opinion?”\par

“Well, there seems to me to be only one possible solution. Mr. Rucastle
seemed to be a very kind, good-natured man. Is it not possible that his
wife is a lunatic, that he desires to keep the matter quiet for fear she
should be taken to an asylum, and that he humours her fancies in every way
in order to prevent an outbreak?”\par

“That is a possible solution—in fact, as matters stand, it is the most
probable one. But in any case it does not seem to be a nice household for
a young lady.”\par

“But the money, Mr. Holmes, the money!”\par

“Well, yes, of course the pay is good—too good. That is what makes me
uneasy. Why should they give you £120 a year, when they could have their
pick for £40? There must be some strong reason behind.”\par

“I thought that if I told you the circumstances you would understand
afterwards if I wanted your help. I should feel so much stronger if I felt
that you were at the back of me.”\par

“Oh, you may carry that feeling away with you. I assure you that your
little problem promises to be the most interesting which has come my way
for some months. There is something distinctly novel about some of the
features. If you should find yourself in doubt or in danger—”\par

“Danger! What danger do you foresee?”\par

Holmes shook his head gravely. “It would cease to be a danger if we could
define it,” said he. “But at any time, day or night, a telegram would
bring me down to your help.”\par

“That is enough.” She rose briskly from her chair with the anxiety all
swept from her face. “I shall go down to Hampshire quite easy in my mind
now. I shall write to Mr. Rucastle at once, sacrifice my poor hair
to-night, and start for Winchester to-morrow.” With a few grateful words
to Holmes she bade us both good-night and bustled off upon her way.\par

“At least,” said I as we heard her quick, firm steps descending the
stairs, “she seems to be a young lady who is very well able to take care
of herself.”\par

“And she would need to be,” said Holmes gravely. “I am much mistaken if we
do not hear from her before many days are past.”\par

It was not very long before my friend’s prediction was fulfilled. A
fortnight went by, during which I frequently found my thoughts turning in
her direction and wondering what strange side-alley of human experience
this lonely woman had strayed into. The unusual salary, the curious
conditions, the light duties, all pointed to something abnormal, though
whether a fad or a plot, or whether the man were a philanthropist or a
villain, it was quite beyond my powers to determine. As to Holmes, I
observed that he sat frequently for half an hour on end, with knitted
brows and an abstracted air, but he swept the matter away with a wave of
his hand when I mentioned it. “Data! data! data!” he cried impatiently. “I
can’t make bricks without clay.” And yet he would always wind up by
muttering that no sister of his should ever have accepted such a
situation.\par

The telegram which we eventually received came late one night just as I
was thinking of turning in and Holmes was settling down to one of those
all-night chemical researches which he frequently indulged in, when I
would leave him stooping over a retort and a test-tube at night and find
him in the same position when I came down to breakfast in the morning. He
opened the yellow envelope, and then, glancing at the message, threw it
across to me.\par

“Just look up the trains in Bradshaw,” said he, and turned back to his
chemical studies.\par

The summons was a brief and urgent one.\par

\begin{quotation}
{\noindent}“Please be at the Black Swan Hotel at Winchester at midday to-morrow,” it
said. “Do come! I am at my wit’s end.\par

“Hunter.”\par
\end{quotation}

“Will you come with me?” asked Holmes, glancing up.\par

“I should wish to.”\par

“Just look it up, then.”\par

“There is a train at half-past nine,” said I, glancing over my Bradshaw.
“It is due at Winchester at 11:30.”\par

“That will do very nicely. Then perhaps I had better postpone my analysis
of the acetones, as we may need to be at our best in the morning.”\par

By eleven o’clock the next day we were well upon our way to the old
English capital. Holmes had been buried in the morning papers all the way
down, but after we had passed the Hampshire border he threw them down and
began to admire the scenery. It was an ideal spring day, a light blue sky,
flecked with little fleecy white clouds drifting across from west to east.
The sun was shining very brightly, and yet there was an exhilarating nip
in the air, which set an edge to a man’s energy. All over the countryside,
away to the rolling hills around Aldershot, the little red and grey roofs
of the farm-steadings peeped out from amid the light green of the new
foliage.\par

“Are they not fresh and beautiful?” I cried with all the enthusiasm of a
man fresh from the fogs of Baker Street.\par

But Holmes shook his head gravely.\par

“Do you know, Watson,” said he, “that it is one of the curses of a mind
with a turn like mine that I must look at everything with reference to my
own special subject. You look at these scattered houses, and you are
impressed by their beauty. I look at them, and the only thought which
comes to me is a feeling of their isolation and of the impunity with which
crime may be committed there.”\par

“Good heavens!” I cried. “Who would associate crime with these dear old
homesteads?”\par

“They always fill me with a certain horror. It is my belief, Watson,
founded upon my experience, that the lowest and vilest alleys in London do
not present a more dreadful record of sin than does the smiling and
beautiful countryside.”\par

“You horrify me!”\par

“But the reason is very obvious. The pressure of public opinion can do in
the town what the law cannot accomplish. There is no lane so vile that the
scream of a tortured child, or the thud of a drunkard’s blow, does not
beget sympathy and indignation among the neighbours, and then the whole
machinery of justice is ever so close that a word of complaint can set it
going, and there is but a step between the crime and the dock. But look at
these lonely houses, each in its own fields, filled for the most part with
poor ignorant folk who know little of the law. Think of the deeds of
hellish cruelty, the hidden wickedness which may go on, year in, year out,
in such places, and none the wiser. Had this lady who appeals to us for
help gone to live in Winchester, I should never have had a fear for her.
It is the five miles of country which makes the danger. Still, it is clear
that she is not personally threatened.”\par

“No. If she can come to Winchester to meet us she can get away.”\par

“Quite so. She has her freedom.”\par

“What {\itshape{can}} be the matter, then? Can you suggest no explanation?”\par

“I have devised seven separate explanations, each of which would cover the
facts as far as we know them. But which of these is correct can only be
determined by the fresh information which we shall no doubt find waiting
for us. Well, there is the tower of the cathedral, and we shall soon learn
all that Miss Hunter has to tell.”\par

The Black Swan is an inn of repute in the High Street, at no distance from
the station, and there we found the young lady waiting for us. She had
engaged a sitting-room, and our lunch awaited us upon the table.\par

“I am so delighted that you have come,” she said earnestly. “It is so very
kind of you both; but indeed I do not know what I should do. Your advice
will be altogether invaluable to me.”\par

“Pray tell us what has happened to you.”\par

“I will do so, and I must be quick, for I have promised Mr. Rucastle to be
back before three. I got his leave to come into town this morning, though
he little knew for what purpose.”\par

“Let us have everything in its due order.” Holmes thrust his long thin
legs out towards the fire and composed himself to listen.\par

“In the first place, I may say that I have met, on the whole, with no
actual ill-treatment from Mr. and Mrs. Rucastle. It is only fair to them
to say that. But I cannot understand them, and I am not easy in my mind
about them.”\par

“What can you not understand?”\par

“Their reasons for their conduct. But you shall have it all just as it
occurred. When I came down, Mr. Rucastle met me here and drove me in his
dog-cart to the Copper Beeches. It is, as he said, beautifully situated,
but it is not beautiful in itself, for it is a large square block of a
house, whitewashed, but all stained and streaked with damp and bad
weather. There are grounds round it, woods on three sides, and on the
fourth a field which slopes down to the Southampton highroad, which curves
past about a hundred yards from the front door. This ground in front
belongs to the house, but the woods all round are part of Lord
Southerton’s preserves. A clump of copper beeches immediately in front of
the hall door has given its name to the place.\par

“I was driven over by my employer, who was as amiable as ever, and was
introduced by him that evening to his wife and the child. There was no
truth, Mr. Holmes, in the conjecture which seemed to us to be probable in
your rooms at Baker Street. Mrs. Rucastle is not mad. I found her to be a
silent, pale-faced woman, much younger than her husband, not more than
thirty, I should think, while he can hardly be less than forty-five. From
their conversation I have gathered that they have been married about seven
years, that he was a widower, and that his only child by the first wife
was the daughter who has gone to Philadelphia. Mr. Rucastle told me in
private that the reason why she had left them was that she had an
unreasoning aversion to her stepmother. As the daughter could not have
been less than twenty, I can quite imagine that her position must have
been uncomfortable with her father’s young wife.\par

“Mrs. Rucastle seemed to me to be colourless in mind as well as in
feature. She impressed me neither favourably nor the reverse. She was a
nonentity. It was easy to see that she was passionately devoted both to
her husband and to her little son. Her light grey eyes wandered
continually from one to the other, noting every little want and
forestalling it if possible. He was kind to her also in his bluff,
boisterous fashion, and on the whole they seemed to be a happy couple. And
yet she had some secret sorrow, this woman. She would often be lost in
deep thought, with the saddest look upon her face. More than once I have
surprised her in tears. I have thought sometimes that it was the
disposition of her child which weighed upon her mind, for I have never met
so utterly spoiled and so ill-natured a little creature. He is small for
his age, with a head which is quite disproportionately large. His whole
life appears to be spent in an alternation between savage fits of passion
and gloomy intervals of sulking. Giving pain to any creature weaker than
himself seems to be his one idea of amusement, and he shows quite
remarkable talent in planning the capture of mice, little birds, and
insects. But I would rather not talk about the creature, Mr. Holmes, and,
indeed, he has little to do with my story.”\par

“I am glad of all details,” remarked my friend, “whether they seem to you
to be relevant or not.”\par

“I shall try not to miss anything of importance. The one unpleasant thing
about the house, which struck me at once, was the appearance and conduct
of the servants. There are only two, a man and his wife. Toller, for that
is his name, is a rough, uncouth man, with grizzled hair and whiskers, and
a perpetual smell of drink. Twice since I have been with them he has been
quite drunk, and yet Mr. Rucastle seemed to take no notice of it. His wife
is a very tall and strong woman with a sour face, as silent as Mrs.
Rucastle and much less amiable. They are a most unpleasant couple, but
fortunately I spend most of my time in the nursery and my own room, which
are next to each other in one corner of the building.\par

“For two days after my arrival at the Copper Beeches my life was very
quiet; on the third, Mrs. Rucastle came down just after breakfast and
whispered something to her husband.\par

“ ‘Oh, yes,’ said he, turning to me, ‘we are very much obliged to you,
Miss Hunter, for falling in with our whims so far as to cut your hair. I
assure you that it has not detracted in the tiniest iota from your
appearance. We shall now see how the electric-blue dress will become you.
You will find it laid out upon the bed in your room, and if you would be
so good as to put it on we should both be extremely obliged.’\par

“The dress which I found waiting for me was of a peculiar shade of blue.
It was of excellent material, a sort of beige, but it bore unmistakable
signs of having been worn before. It could not have been a better fit if I
had been measured for it. Both Mr. and Mrs. Rucastle expressed a delight
at the look of it, which seemed quite exaggerated in its vehemence. They
were waiting for me in the drawing-room, which is a very large room,
stretching along the entire front of the house, with three long windows
reaching down to the floor. A chair had been placed close to the central
window, with its back turned towards it. In this I was asked to sit, and
then Mr. Rucastle, walking up and down on the other side of the room,
began to tell me a series of the funniest stories that I have ever
listened to. You cannot imagine how comical he was, and I laughed until I
was quite weary. Mrs. Rucastle, however, who has evidently no sense of
humour, never so much as smiled, but sat with her hands in her lap, and a
sad, anxious look upon her face. After an hour or so, Mr. Rucastle
suddenly remarked that it was time to commence the duties of the day, and
that I might change my dress and go to little Edward in the nursery.\par

“Two days later this same performance was gone through under exactly
similar circumstances. Again I changed my dress, again I sat in the
window, and again I laughed very heartily at the funny stories of which my
employer had an immense {\itshape{répertoire}}, and which he told inimitably. Then
he handed me a yellow-backed novel, and moving my chair a little sideways,
that my own shadow might not fall upon the page, he begged me to read
aloud to him. I read for about ten minutes, beginning in the heart of a
chapter, and then suddenly, in the middle of a sentence, he ordered me to
cease and to change my dress.\par

“You can easily imagine, Mr. Holmes, how curious I became as to what the
meaning of this extraordinary performance could possibly be. They were
always very careful, I observed, to turn my face away from the window, so
that I became consumed with the desire to see what was going on behind my
back. At first it seemed to be impossible, but I soon devised a means. My
hand-mirror had been broken, so a happy thought seized me, and I concealed
a piece of the glass in my handkerchief. On the next occasion, in the
midst of my laughter, I put my handkerchief up to my eyes, and was able
with a little management to see all that there was behind me. I confess
that I was disappointed. There was nothing. At least that was my first
impression. At the second glance, however, I perceived that there was a
man standing in the Southampton Road, a small bearded man in a grey suit,
who seemed to be looking in my direction. The road is an important
highway, and there are usually people there. This man, however, was
leaning against the railings which bordered our field and was looking
earnestly up. I lowered my handkerchief and glanced at Mrs. Rucastle to
find her eyes fixed upon me with a most searching gaze. She said nothing,
but I am convinced that she had divined that I had a mirror in my hand and
had seen what was behind me. She rose at once.\par

“ ‘Jephro,’ said she, ‘there is an impertinent fellow upon the road there
who stares up at Miss Hunter.’\par

“ ‘No friend of yours, Miss Hunter?’ he asked.\par

“ ‘No, I know no one in these parts.’\par

“ ‘Dear me! How very impertinent! Kindly turn round and motion to him to
go away.’\par

“ ‘Surely it would be better to take no notice.’\par

“ ‘No, no, we should have him loitering here always. Kindly turn round and
wave him away like that.’\par

“I did as I was told, and at the same instant Mrs. Rucastle drew down the
blind. That was a week ago, and from that time I have not sat again in the
window, nor have I worn the blue dress, nor seen the man in the road.”\par

“Pray continue,” said Holmes. “Your narrative promises to be a most
interesting one.”\par

“You will find it rather disconnected, I fear, and there may prove to be
little relation between the different incidents of which I speak. On the
very first day that I was at the Copper Beeches, Mr. Rucastle took me to a
small outhouse which stands near the kitchen door. As we approached it I
heard the sharp rattling of a chain, and the sound as of a large animal
moving about.\par

“ ‘Look in here!’ said Mr. Rucastle, showing me a slit between two planks.
‘Is he not a beauty?’\par

“I looked through and was conscious of two glowing eyes, and of a vague
figure huddled up in the darkness.\par

“ ‘Don’t be frightened,’ said my employer, laughing at the start which I
had given. ‘It’s only Carlo, my mastiff. I call him mine, but really old
Toller, my groom, is the only man who can do anything with him. We feed
him once a day, and not too much then, so that he is always as keen as
mustard. Toller lets him loose every night, and God help the trespasser
whom he lays his fangs upon. For goodness’ sake don’t you ever on any
pretext set your foot over the threshold at night, for it’s as much as
your life is worth.’\par

“The warning was no idle one, for two nights later I happened to look out
of my bedroom window about two o’clock in the morning. It was a beautiful
moonlight night, and the lawn in front of the house was silvered over and
almost as bright as day. I was standing, rapt in the peaceful beauty of
the scene, when I was aware that something was moving under the shadow of
the copper beeches. As it emerged into the moonshine I saw what it was. It
was a giant dog, as large as a calf, tawny tinted, with hanging jowl,
black muzzle, and huge projecting bones. It walked slowly across the lawn
and vanished into the shadow upon the other side. That dreadful sentinel
sent a chill to my heart which I do not think that any burglar could have
done.\par

“And now I have a very strange experience to tell you. I had, as you know,
cut off my hair in London, and I had placed it in a great coil at the
bottom of my trunk. One evening, after the child was in bed, I began to
amuse myself by examining the furniture of my room and by rearranging my
own little things. There was an old chest of drawers in the room, the two
upper ones empty and open, the lower one locked. I had filled the first
two with my linen, and as I had still much to pack away I was naturally
annoyed at not having the use of the third drawer. It struck me that it
might have been fastened by a mere oversight, so I took out my bunch of
keys and tried to open it. The very first key fitted to perfection, and I
drew the drawer open. There was only one thing in it, but I am sure that
you would never guess what it was. It was my coil of hair.\par

“I took it up and examined it. It was of the same peculiar tint, and the
same thickness. But then the impossibility of the thing obtruded itself
upon me. How could my hair have been locked in the drawer? With trembling
hands I undid my trunk, turned out the contents, and drew from the bottom
my own hair. I laid the two tresses together, and I assure you that they
were identical. Was it not extraordinary? Puzzle as I would, I could make
nothing at all of what it meant. I returned the strange hair to the
drawer, and I said nothing of the matter to the Rucastles as I felt that I
had put myself in the wrong by opening a drawer which they had locked.\par

“I am naturally observant, as you may have remarked, Mr. Holmes, and I
soon had a pretty good plan of the whole house in my head. There was one
wing, however, which appeared not to be inhabited at all. A door which
faced that which led into the quarters of the Tollers opened into this
suite, but it was invariably locked. One day, however, as I ascended the
stair, I met Mr. Rucastle coming out through this door, his keys in his
hand, and a look on his face which made him a very different person to the
round, jovial man to whom I was accustomed. His cheeks were red, his brow
was all crinkled with anger, and the veins stood out at his temples with
passion. He locked the door and hurried past me without a word or a look.\par

“This aroused my curiosity, so when I went out for a walk in the grounds
with my charge, I strolled round to the side from which I could see the
windows of this part of the house. There were four of them in a row, three
of which were simply dirty, while the fourth was shuttered up. They were
evidently all deserted. As I strolled up and down, glancing at them
occasionally, Mr. Rucastle came out to me, looking as merry and jovial as
ever.\par

“ ‘Ah!’ said he, ‘you must not think me rude if I passed you without a
word, my dear young lady. I was preoccupied with business matters.’\par

“I assured him that I was not offended. ‘By the way,’ said I, ‘you seem to
have quite a suite of spare rooms up there, and one of them has the
shutters up.’\par

“He looked surprised and, as it seemed to me, a little startled at my
remark.\par

“ ‘Photography is one of my hobbies,’ said he. ‘I have made my dark room
up there. But, dear me! what an observant young lady we have come upon.
Who would have believed it? Who would have ever believed it?’ He spoke in
a jesting tone, but there was no jest in his eyes as he looked at me. I
read suspicion there and annoyance, but no jest.\par

“Well, Mr. Holmes, from the moment that I understood that there was
something about that suite of rooms which I was not to know, I was all on
fire to go over them. It was not mere curiosity, though I have my share of
that. It was more a feeling of duty—a feeling that some good might come
from my penetrating to this place. They talk of woman’s instinct; perhaps
it was woman’s instinct which gave me that feeling. At any rate, it was
there, and I was keenly on the lookout for any chance to pass the
forbidden door.\par

“It was only yesterday that the chance came. I may tell you that, besides
Mr. Rucastle, both Toller and his wife find something to do in these
deserted rooms, and I once saw him carrying a large black linen bag with
him through the door. Recently he has been drinking hard, and yesterday
evening he was very drunk; and when I came upstairs there was the key in
the door. I have no doubt at all that he had left it there. Mr. and Mrs.
Rucastle were both downstairs, and the child was with them, so that I had
an admirable opportunity. I turned the key gently in the lock, opened the
door, and slipped through.\par

“There was a little passage in front of me, unpapered and uncarpeted,
which turned at a right angle at the farther end. Round this corner were
three doors in a line, the first and third of which were open. They each
led into an empty room, dusty and cheerless, with two windows in the one
and one in the other, so thick with dirt that the evening light glimmered
dimly through them. The centre door was closed, and across the outside of
it had been fastened one of the broad bars of an iron bed, padlocked at
one end to a ring in the wall, and fastened at the other with stout cord.
The door itself was locked as well, and the key was not there. This
barricaded door corresponded clearly with the shuttered window outside,
and yet I could see by the glimmer from beneath it that the room was not
in darkness. Evidently there was a skylight which let in light from above.
As I stood in the passage gazing at the sinister door and wondering what
secret it might veil, I suddenly heard the sound of steps within the room
and saw a shadow pass backward and forward against the little slit of dim
light which shone out from under the door. A mad, unreasoning terror rose
up in me at the sight, Mr. Holmes. My overstrung nerves failed me
suddenly, and I turned and ran—ran as though some dreadful hand were
behind me clutching at the skirt of my dress. I rushed down the passage,
through the door, and straight into the arms of Mr. Rucastle, who was
waiting outside.\par

“ ‘So,’ said he, smiling, ‘it was you, then. I thought that it must be
when I saw the door open.’\par

“ ‘Oh, I am so frightened!’ I panted.\par

“ ‘My dear young lady! my dear young lady!’—you cannot think how caressing
and soothing his manner was—‘and what has frightened you, my dear young
lady?’\par

“But his voice was just a little too coaxing. He overdid it. I was keenly
on my guard against him.\par

“ ‘I was foolish enough to go into the empty wing,’ I answered. ‘But it is
so lonely and eerie in this dim light that I was frightened and ran out
again. Oh, it is so dreadfully still in there!’\par

“ ‘Only that?’ said he, looking at me keenly.\par

“ ‘Why, what did you think?’ I asked.\par

“ ‘Why do you think that I lock this door?’\par

“ ‘I am sure that I do not know.’\par

“ ‘It is to keep people out who have no business there. Do you see?’ He
was still smiling in the most amiable manner.\par

“ ‘I am sure if I had known—’\par

“ ‘Well, then, you know now. And if you ever put your foot over that
threshold again’—here in an instant the smile hardened into a grin of
rage, and he glared down at me with the face of a demon—‘I’ll throw you to
the mastiff.’\par

“I was so terrified that I do not know what I did. I suppose that I must
have rushed past him into my room. I remember nothing until I found myself
lying on my bed trembling all over. Then I thought of you, Mr. Holmes. I
could not live there longer without some advice. I was frightened of the
house, of the man, of the woman, of the servants, even of the child. They
were all horrible to me. If I could only bring you down all would be well.
Of course I might have fled from the house, but my curiosity was almost as
strong as my fears. My mind was soon made up. I would send you a wire. I
put on my hat and cloak, went down to the office, which is about half a
mile from the house, and then returned, feeling very much easier. A
horrible doubt came into my mind as I approached the door lest the dog
might be loose, but I remembered that Toller had drunk himself into a
state of insensibility that evening, and I knew that he was the only one
in the household who had any influence with the savage creature, or who
would venture to set him free. I slipped in in safety and lay awake half
the night in my joy at the thought of seeing you. I had no difficulty in
getting leave to come into Winchester this morning, but I must be back
before three o’clock, for Mr. and Mrs. Rucastle are going on a visit, and
will be away all the evening, so that I must look after the child. Now I
have told you all my adventures, Mr. Holmes, and I should be very glad if
you could tell me what it all means, and, above all, what I should do.”\par

Holmes and I had listened spellbound to this extraordinary story. My
friend rose now and paced up and down the room, his hands in his pockets,
and an expression of the most profound gravity upon his face.\par

“Is Toller still drunk?” he asked.\par

“Yes. I heard his wife tell Mrs. Rucastle that she could do nothing with
him.”\par

“That is well. And the Rucastles go out to-night?”\par

“Yes.”\par

“Is there a cellar with a good strong lock?”\par

“Yes, the wine-cellar.”\par

“You seem to me to have acted all through this matter like a very brave
and sensible girl, Miss Hunter. Do you think that you could perform one
more feat? I should not ask it of you if I did not think you a quite
exceptional woman.”\par

“I will try. What is it?”\par

“We shall be at the Copper Beeches by seven o’clock, my friend and I. The
Rucastles will be gone by that time, and Toller will, we hope, be
incapable. There only remains Mrs. Toller, who might give the alarm. If
you could send her into the cellar on some errand, and then turn the key
upon her, you would facilitate matters immensely.”\par

“I will do it.”\par

“Excellent! We shall then look thoroughly into the affair. Of course there
is only one feasible explanation. You have been brought there to personate
someone, and the real person is imprisoned in this chamber. That is
obvious. As to who this prisoner is, I have no doubt that it is the
daughter, Miss Alice Rucastle, if I remember right, who was said to have
gone to America. You were chosen, doubtless, as resembling her in height,
figure, and the colour of your hair. Hers had been cut off, very possibly
in some illness through which she has passed, and so, of course, yours had
to be sacrificed also. By a curious chance you came upon her tresses. The
man in the road was undoubtedly some friend of hers—possibly her
{\itshape{fiancé}}—and no doubt, as you wore the girl’s dress and were so like her,
he was convinced from your laughter, whenever he saw you, and afterwards
from your gesture, that Miss Rucastle was perfectly happy, and that she no
longer desired his attentions. The dog is let loose at night to prevent
him from endeavouring to communicate with her. So much is fairly clear.
The most serious point in the case is the disposition of the child.”\par

“What on earth has that to do with it?” I ejaculated.\par

“My dear Watson, you as a medical man are continually gaining light as to
the tendencies of a child by the study of the parents. Don’t you see that
the converse is equally valid. I have frequently gained my first real
insight into the character of parents by studying their children. This
child’s disposition is abnormally cruel, merely for cruelty’s sake, and
whether he derives this from his smiling father, as I should suspect, or
from his mother, it bodes evil for the poor girl who is in their power.”\par

“I am sure that you are right, Mr. Holmes,” cried our client. “A thousand
things come back to me which make me certain that you have hit it. Oh, let
us lose not an instant in bringing help to this poor creature.”\par

“We must be circumspect, for we are dealing with a very cunning man. We
can do nothing until seven o’clock. At that hour we shall be with you, and
it will not be long before we solve the mystery.”\par

We were as good as our word, for it was just seven when we reached the
Copper Beeches, having put up our trap at a wayside public-house. The
group of trees, with their dark leaves shining like burnished metal in the
light of the setting sun, were sufficient to mark the house even had Miss
Hunter not been standing smiling on the door-step.\par

“Have you managed it?” asked Holmes.\par

A loud thudding noise came from somewhere downstairs. “That is Mrs. Toller
in the cellar,” said she. “Her husband lies snoring on the kitchen rug.
Here are his keys, which are the duplicates of Mr. Rucastle’s.”\par

“You have done well indeed!” cried Holmes with enthusiasm. “Now lead the
way, and we shall soon see the end of this black business.”\par

We passed up the stair, unlocked the door, followed on down a passage, and
found ourselves in front of the barricade which Miss Hunter had described.
Holmes cut the cord and removed the transverse bar. Then he tried the
various keys in the lock, but without success. No sound came from within,
and at the silence Holmes’ face clouded over.\par

“I trust that we are not too late,” said he. “I think, Miss Hunter, that
we had better go in without you. Now, Watson, put your shoulder to it, and
we shall see whether we cannot make our way in.”\par

It was an old rickety door and gave at once before our united strength.
Together we rushed into the room. It was empty. There was no furniture
save a little pallet bed, a small table, and a basketful of linen. The
skylight above was open, and the prisoner gone.\par

“There has been some villainy here,” said Holmes; “this beauty has guessed
Miss Hunter’s intentions and has carried his victim off.”\par

“But how?”\par

“Through the skylight. We shall soon see how he managed it.” He swung
himself up onto the roof. “Ah, yes,” he cried, “here’s the end of a long
light ladder against the eaves. That is how he did it.”\par

“But it is impossible,” said Miss Hunter; “the ladder was not there when
the Rucastles went away.”\par

“He has come back and done it. I tell you that he is a clever and
dangerous man. I should not be very much surprised if this were he whose
step I hear now upon the stair. I think, Watson, that it would be as well
for you to have your pistol ready.”\par

The words were hardly out of his mouth before a man appeared at the door
of the room, a very fat and burly man, with a heavy stick in his hand.
Miss Hunter screamed and shrunk against the wall at the sight of him, but
Sherlock Holmes sprang forward and confronted him.\par

“You villain!” said he, “where’s your daughter?”\par

The fat man cast his eyes round, and then up at the open skylight.\par

“It is for me to ask you that,” he shrieked, “you thieves! Spies and
thieves! I have caught you, have I? You are in my power. I’ll serve you!”
He turned and clattered down the stairs as hard as he could go.\par

“He’s gone for the dog!” cried Miss Hunter.\par

“I have my revolver,” said I.\par

“Better close the front door,” cried Holmes, and we all rushed down the
stairs together. We had hardly reached the hall when we heard the baying
of a hound, and then a scream of agony, with a horrible worrying sound
which it was dreadful to listen to. An elderly man with a red face and
shaking limbs came staggering out at a side door.\par

“My God!” he cried. “Someone has loosed the dog. It’s not been fed for two
days. Quick, quick, or it’ll be too late!”\par

Holmes and I rushed out and round the angle of the house, with Toller
hurrying behind us. There was the huge famished brute, its black muzzle
buried in Rucastle’s throat, while he writhed and screamed upon the
ground. Running up, I blew its brains out, and it fell over with its keen
white teeth still meeting in the great creases of his neck. With much
labour we separated them and carried him, living but horribly mangled,
into the house. We laid him upon the drawing-room sofa, and having
dispatched the sobered Toller to bear the news to his wife, I did what I
could to relieve his pain. We were all assembled round him when the door
opened, and a tall, gaunt woman entered the room.\par

“Mrs. Toller!” cried Miss Hunter.\par

“Yes, miss. Mr. Rucastle let me out when he came back before he went up to
you. Ah, miss, it is a pity you didn’t let me know what you were planning,
for I would have told you that your pains were wasted.”\par

“Ha!” said Holmes, looking keenly at her. “It is clear that Mrs. Toller
knows more about this matter than anyone else.”\par

“Yes, sir, I do, and I am ready enough to tell what I know.”\par

“Then, pray, sit down, and let us hear it for there are several points on
which I must confess that I am still in the dark.”\par

“I will soon make it clear to you,” said she; “and I’d have done so before
now if I could ha’ got out from the cellar. If there’s police-court
business over this, you’ll remember that I was the one that stood your
friend, and that I was Miss Alice’s friend too.\par

“She was never happy at home, Miss Alice wasn’t, from the time that her
father married again. She was slighted like and had no say in anything,
but it never really became bad for her until after she met Mr. Fowler at a
friend’s house. As well as I could learn, Miss Alice had rights of her own
by will, but she was so quiet and patient, she was, that she never said a
word about them but just left everything in Mr. Rucastle’s hands. He knew
he was safe with her; but when there was a chance of a husband coming
forward, who would ask for all that the law would give him, then her
father thought it time to put a stop on it. He wanted her to sign a paper,
so that whether she married or not, he could use her money. When she
wouldn’t do it, he kept on worrying her until she got brain-fever, and for
six weeks was at death’s door. Then she got better at last, all worn to a
shadow, and with her beautiful hair cut off; but that didn’t make no
change in her young man, and he stuck to her as true as man could be.”\par

“Ah,” said Holmes, “I think that what you have been good enough to tell us
makes the matter fairly clear, and that I can deduce all that remains. Mr.
Rucastle then, I presume, took to this system of imprisonment?”\par

“Yes, sir.”\par

“And brought Miss Hunter down from London in order to get rid of the
disagreeable persistence of Mr. Fowler.”\par

“That was it, sir.”\par

“But Mr. Fowler being a persevering man, as a good seaman should be,
blockaded the house, and having met you succeeded by certain arguments,
metallic or otherwise, in convincing you that your interests were the same
as his.”\par

“Mr. Fowler was a very kind-spoken, free-handed gentleman,” said Mrs.
Toller serenely.\par

“And in this way he managed that your good man should have no want of
drink, and that a ladder should be ready at the moment when your master
had gone out.”\par

“You have it, sir, just as it happened.”\par

“I am sure we owe you an apology, Mrs. Toller,” said Holmes, “for you have
certainly cleared up everything which puzzled us. And here comes the
country surgeon and Mrs. Rucastle, so I think, Watson, that we had best
escort Miss Hunter back to Winchester, as it seems to me that our {\itshape{locus
standi}} now is rather a questionable one.”\par

And thus was solved the mystery of the sinister house with the copper
beeches in front of the door. Mr. Rucastle survived, but was always a
broken man, kept alive solely through the care of his devoted wife. They
still live with their old servants, who probably know so much of
Rucastle’s past life that he finds it difficult to part from them. Mr.
Fowler and Miss Rucastle were married, by special license, in Southampton
the day after their flight, and he is now the holder of a government
appointment in the island of Mauritius. As to Miss Violet Hunter, my
friend Holmes, rather to my disappointment, manifested no further interest
in her when once she had ceased to be the centre of one of his problems,
and she is now the head of a private school at Walsall, where I believe
that she has met with considerable success.\par

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\end{english}
\bookmark[level=1,dest=id1]{Contents}
\bookmark[level=2,dest=a-scandal-in-bohemia]{A Scandal in Bohemia}
\bookmark[level=2,dest=the-red-headed-league]{The Red-headed League}
\bookmark[level=2,dest=a-case-of-identity]{A Case of Identity}
\bookmark[level=2,dest=the-boscombe-valley-mystery]{The Boscombe Valley Mystery}
\bookmark[level=2,dest=the-five-orange-pips]{The Five Orange Pips}
\bookmark[level=2,dest=the-man-with-the-twisted-lip]{The Man with the Twisted Lip}
\bookmark[level=2,dest=the-adventure-of-the-blue-carbuncle]{The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle}
\bookmark[level=2,dest=the-adventure-of-the-speckled-band]{The Adventure of the Speckled Band}
\bookmark[level=2,dest=the-adventure-of-the-engineer-s-thumb]{The Adventure of the Engineer’s Thumb}
\bookmark[level=2,dest=the-adventure-of-the-noble-bachelor]{The Adventure of the Noble Bachelor}
\bookmark[level=2,dest=the-adventure-of-the-beryl-coronet]{The Adventure of the Beryl Coronet}
\bookmark[level=2,dest=the-adventure-of-the-copper-beeches]{The Adventure of the Copper Beeches}
\hbox{}
\end{english}

\end{document}

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