Bot-S: The Complete Sherlock Holmes Short Stories

The Red-Headed League

had called upon my friend, Mr. Sher-
lock Holmes, one day in the autumn of
last year and found him in deep conver-
sation with a very stout, florid-faced, el-
derly gentleman with fiery red hair. With an apol-
ogy for my intrusion, I was about to withdraw
when Holmes pulled me abruptly into the room
and closed the door behind me.

"You could not possibly have come at a better
time, my dear Watson," he said cordially.

"I was afraid that you were engaged."

"So I am. Very much so."

"Then I can wait in the next room."

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

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

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

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

"You will remember that I remarked the other
day, just before we went into the very simple prob-
lem presented by Miss Mary Sutherland, that for
strange effects and extraordinary combinations we
must go to life itself, which is always far more dar-
ing than any effort of the imagination."

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

"You did. Doctor, but none the less you must
come round to my view, for otherwise I shall keep
on piling fact upon fact on you until your reason
breaks down under them and acknowledges me
to be right. Now, Mr. Jabez Wilson here has been
good enough to call upon me this morning, and to
begin a narrative which promises to be one of the
most singular which I have listened to for some
time. You have heard me remark that the strangest
and most unique things are very often connected
not with the larger but with the smaller crimes,
and occasionally, indeed, where there is room for

doubt whether any positive crime has been com-
mitted. 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 cer-
tainly among the most singular that I have ever
listened to. Perhaps, Mr. Wilson, you would have
the great kindness to recommence your narrative. I
ask you not merely because my friend Dr. Watson
has not heard the opening part but also because
the peculiar nature of the story makes me anxious
to have every possible detail from your lips. As a
rule, when I have heard some slight indication of
the course of events, I am able to guide myself by
the thousands of other similar cases which occur
to my memory. In the present instance I am forced
to admit that the facts are, to the best of my belief,
unique."

The portly client puffed out his chest with an
appearance of some little pride and pulled a dirty
and wrinkled newspaper from the inside pocket of
his greatcoat. As he glanced down the advertise-
ment 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 appear-
ance.

I did not gain very much, however, by my in-
spection. 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 ex-
treme chagrin and discontent upon his features.

Sherlock Holmes' quick eye took in my occu-
pation, and he shook his head with a smile as he
noticed my questioning glances. "Beyond the ob-
vious 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 de-
duce nothing else."

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

"How, in the name of good-fortune, did you
know all that, Mr. Holmes?" he asked. "How did

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The Red-Headed League

you know, for example, that I did manual labour.
It's as true as gospel, for I began as a ship's car-
penter."

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

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

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

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

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

"Well, but China?"

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

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

"I begin to think, Watson," said Holmes, "that
I make a mistake in explaining. ‘Omne ignotum pro
magnifico,' you know, and my poor little reputa-
tion, such as it is, will suffer shipwreck if I am so
candid. Can you not find the advertisement, Mr.
Wilson?"

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

I took the paper from him and read as follows:

"To the Red-headed League: On ac-
count of the bequest of the late Ezekiah
Hopkins, of Lebanon, Pennsylvania,

U. S. A., there is now another va-
cancy 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 Dun-
can Ross, at the offices of the League, 7
Pope's Court, Fleet Street."

"What on earth does this mean?" I ejaculated
after I had twice read over the extraordinary an-
nouncement.

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

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

"Very good. Now, Mr. Wilson?"

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

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

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

"Why, indeed? You seem most fortunate in
having an employee 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 adver-
tisement."

"Oh, he has his faults, too," said Mr. Wilson.
"Never was such a fellow for photography. Snap-
ping away with a camera when he ought to be im-
proving his mind, and then diving down into the
cellar like a rabbit into its hole to develop his pic-
tures. That is his main fault, but on the whole he's
a good worker. There's no vice in him."

"He is still with you, I presume?"

"Yes, sir. He and a girl of fourteen, who
does a bit of simple cooking and keeps the place
clean — that's all I have in the house, for I am a
widower and never had any family. We live very
quietly, sir, the three of us; and we keep a roof

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The Red-Headed League

over our heads and pay our debts, if we do noth-
ing more.

"The first thing that put us out was that adver-
tisement. Spaulding, he came down into the office
just this day eight weeks, with this very paper in
his hand, and he says:

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

" 'Why that?' I asks.

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

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

"'Have you never heard of the League of the
Red-headed Men?' he asked with his eyes open.

" 'Never.'

" 'Why, I wonder at that, for you are eligible
yourself for one of the vacancies.'

" 'And what are they worth?' I asked.

" 'Oh, merely a couple of hundred a year, but
the work is slight, and it need not interfere very
much with one's other occupations.'

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

" 'Tell me all about it,' said I.

" 'Well,' said he, showing me the advertise-
ment, '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 mil-
lionaire, Ezekiah Hopkins, who was very peculiar
in his ways. He was himself red-headed, and he
had a great sympathy for all red-headed men; so
when he died it was found that he had left his
enormous fortune in the hands of trustees, with
instructions to apply the interest to the providing
of easy berths to men whose hair is of that colour.
From all I hear it is splendid pay and very little to
do.'

" 'But,' said I, 'there would be millions of red-
headed men who would apply.'

" 'Not so many as you might think,' he an-
swered. 'You see it is really confined to London-
ers, 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, blaz-
ing, fiery red. Now, if you cared to apply, Mr. Wil-
son, you would just walk in; but perhaps it would
hardly be worth your while to put yourself out of
the way for the sake of a few hundred pounds.'

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

"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 advertise-
ment. Fleet Street was choked with red-headed
folk, and Pope's Court looked like a coster's or-
ange barrow. I should not have thought there were
so many in the whole country as were brought to-
gether 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 wait-
ing, I would have given it up in despair; but
Spaulding would not hear of it. How he did it
I could not imagine, but he pushed and pulled
and butted until he got me through the crowd, and
right up to the steps which led to the office. There
was a double stream upon the stair, some going
up in hope, and some coming back dejected; but
we wedged in as well as we could and soon found
ourselves in the office."

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

"There was nothing in the office but a couple of
wooden chairs and a deal table, behind which sat a
small man with a head that was even redder than

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The Red-Headed League

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 pri-
vate word with us.

"'This is Mr. Jabez Wilson/ said my assistant,
'and he is willing to fill a vacancy in the League.'

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

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

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

"I answered that I had not.

"His face fell immediately.

" 'Dear me!' he said gravely, 'that is very se-
rious 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 main-
tenance. It is exceedingly unfortunate that you
should be a bachelor.'

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

"'In the case of another/ said he, 'the objec-
tion might be fatal, but we must stretch a point in
favour of a man with such a head of hair as yours.

When shall you be able to enter upon your new
duties?'

" 'Well, it is a little awkward, for I have a busi-
ness already/ said I.

" 'Oh, never mind about that, Mr. Wilson!' said
Vincent Spaulding. 'I should be able to look after
that for you.'

" 'What would be the hours?' I asked.

" 'Ten to two.'

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

" 'That would suit me very well/ said I. 'And
the pay?'

" 'Is £4 a week.'

" 'And the work?'

" 'Is purely nominal.'

" 'What do you call purely nominal?'

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

" 'It's only four hours a day, and I should not
think of leaving/ said I.

" 'No excuse will avail/ said Mr. Duncan Ross;
'neither sickness nor business nor anything else.
There you must stay, or you lose your billet.'

" 'And the work?'

" 'Is to copy out the "Encyclopaedia Britan-
nica." There is the first volume of it in that press.
You must find your own ink, pens, and blotting-
paper, but we provide this table and chair. Will
you be ready to-morrow?'

" 'Certainly,' I answered.

" 'Then, good-bye, Mr. Jabez Wilson, and let me
congratulate you once more on the important po-
sition 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 for-
tune.

"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 ob-
ject might be I could not imagine. It seemed al-
together past belief that anyone could make such

140

The Red-Headed League

a will, or that they would pay such a sum for do-
ing anything so simple as copying out the 'Ency-
clopaedia Britannica.' Vincent Spaulding did what
he could to cheer me up, but by bedtime I had rea-
soned myself out of the whole thing. However, in
the morning I determined to have a look at it any-
how, so I bought a penny bottle of ink, and with
a quill-pen, and seven sheets of foolscap paper, I
started off for Pope's Court.

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

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

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

"To an end?"

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

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

The Red-headed League
is

Dissolved
October 9, 1890.

Sherlock Holmes and I surveyed this curt an-
nouncement and the rueful face behind it, until the
comical side of the affair so completely overtopped
every other consideration that we both burst out
into a roar of laughter.

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

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

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

" 'Well/ said I, 'the gentleman at No. 4.'

" 'What, the red-headed man?'

" 'Yes.'

" 'Oh/ said he, 'his name was William Mor-
ris. He was a solicitor and was using my room as
a temporary convenience until his new premises
were ready. He moved out yesterday.'

" 'Where could I find him?'

" 'Oh, at his new offices. He did tell me the ad-
dress. Yes, 17 King Edward Street, near St. Paul's.'

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

"And what did you do then?" asked Holmes.

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

"And you did very wisely," said Holmes.
"Your case is an exceedingly remarkable one, and I

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The Red-Headed League

shall be happy to look into it. From what you have
told me I think that it is possible that graver issues
hang from it than might at first sight appear."

"Grave enough!" said Mr. Jabez Wilson. "Why,
I have lost four pound a week."

"As far as you are personally concerned," re-
marked 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."

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

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

"About a month then."

"How did he come?"

"In answer to an advertisement."

"Was he the only applicant?"

"No, I had a dozen."

"Why did you pick him?"

"Because he was handy and would come
cheap."

"At half-wages, in fact."

"Yes."

"What is he like, this Vincent Spaulding?"

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

Holmes sat up in his chair in considerable ex-
citement. "I thought as much," said he. "Have
you ever observed that his ears are pierced for ear-
rings?"

"Yes, sir. He told me that a gipsy had done it
for him when he was a lad."

"Hum!" said Holmes, sinking back in deep
thought. "He is still with you?"

"Oh, yes, sir; I have only just left him."

"And has your business been attended to in
your absence?"

"Nothing to complain of, sir. There's never
very much to do of a morning."

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

"Well, Watson," said Holmes when our visitor
had left us, "what do you make of it all?"

"I make nothing of it," I answered frankly. "It
is a most mysterious business."

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

"What are you going to do, then?" I asked.

"To smoke," he answered. "It is quite a three
pipe problem, and I beg that you won't speak to
me for fifty minutes." He curled himself up in his
chair, with his thin knees drawn up to his hawk-
like nose, and there he sat with his eyes closed
and his black clay pipe thrusting out like the bill
of some strange bird. I had come to the conclusion
that he had dropped asleep, and indeed was nod-
ding 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 mantel-
piece.

"Sarasate plays at the St. James's Hall this after-
noon," he remarked. "What do you think, Watson?
Could your patients spare you for a few hours?"

"I have nothing to do to-day. My practice is
never very absorbing."

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

We travelled by the Underground as far as
Aldersgate; and a short walk took us to Saxe-
Coburg Square, the scene of the singular story
which we had listened to in the morning. It was
a poky, little, shabby-genteel place, where four
lines of dingy two-storied brick houses looked out
into a small railed-in enclosure, where a lawn of
weedy grass and a few clumps of faded laurel-
bushes made a hard fight against a smoke-laden
and uncongenial atmosphere. Three gilt balls and
a brown board with "Jabez Wilson" in white let-
ters, upon a corner house, announced the place
where our red-headed client carried on his busi-
ness. Sherlock Holmes stopped in front of it with
his head on one side and looked it all over, with

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The Red-Headed League

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 pawnbro-
ker's, and, having thumped vigorously upon the
pavement with his stick two or three times, he
went up to the door and knocked. It was instantly
opened by a bright-looking, clean-shaven young
fellow, who asked him to step in.

"Thank you," said Holmes, "I only wished
to ask you how you would go from here to the
Strand."

"Third right, fourth left," answered the assis-
tant promptly, closing the door.

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

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

"Not him."

"What then?"

"The knees of his trousers."

"And what did you see?"

"What I expected to see."

"Why did you beat the pavement?"

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

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

"Let me see," said Holmes, standing at the cor-
ner 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 Lon-
don. There is Mortimer's, the tobacconist, the little

newspaper shop, the Coburg branch of the City
and Suburban Bank, the Vegetarian Restaurant,
and McFarlane's carriage-building depot. That
carries us right on to the other block. And now.
Doctor, we've done our work, so it's time we
had some play. A sandwich and a cup of coffee,
and then off to violin-land, where all is sweetness
and delicacy and harmony, and there are no red-
headed clients to vex us with their conundrums."

My friend was an enthusiastic musician, being
himself not only a very capable performer but a
composer of no ordinary merit. All the afternoon
he sat in the stalls wrapped in the most perfect
happiness, gently waving his long, thin fingers in
time to the music, while his gently smiling face
and his languid, dreamy eyes were as unlike those
of Holmes the sleuth-hound. Holmes the relent-
less, keen-witted, ready-handed criminal agent, as
it was possible to conceive. In his singular charac-
ter 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 occasion-
ally predominated in him. The swing of his nature
took him from extreme languor to devouring en-
ergy; 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 un-
acquainted with his methods would look askance
at him as on a man whose knowledge was not that
of other mortals. When I saw him that afternoon
so enwrapped in the music at St. James's Hall I
felt that an evil time might be coming upon those
whom he had set himself to hunt down.

"You want to go home, no doubt. Doctor," he
remarked as we emerged.

"Yes, it would be as well."

"And I have some business to do which will
take some hours. This business at Coburg Square
is serious."

"Why serious?"

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

"At what time?"

"Ten will be early enough."

"I shall be at Baker Street at ten."

143

The Red-Headed League

"Very well. And, I say. Doctor, there may be
some little danger, so kindly put your army re-
volver in your pocket." He waved his hand, turned
on his heel, and disappeared in an instant among
the crowd.

I trust that I am not more dense than my neigh-
bours, 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 hap-
pen, while to me the whole business was still con-
fused and grotesque. As I drove home to my house
in Kensington I thought over it all, from the ex-
traordinary story of the red-headed copier of the
"Encyclopaedia" down to the visit to Saxe-Coburg
Square, and the ominous words with which he had
parted from me. What was this nocturnal expedi-
tion, 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 pawn-
broker's assistant was a formidable man — a man
who might play a deep game. I tried to puzzle it
out, but gave it up in despair and set the matter
aside until night should bring an explanation.

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

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

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

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

"You may place considerable confidence in Mr.
Holmes, sir," said the police agent loftily. "He has
his own little methods, which are, if he won't mind

my saying so, just a little too theoretical and fan-
tastic, but he has the makings of a detective in him.
It is not too much to say that once or twice, as in
that business of the Sholto murder and the Agra
treasure, he has been more nearly correct than the
official force."

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

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

"John Clay, the murderer, thief, smasher, and
forger. He's a young man, Mr. Merryweather, but
he is at the head of his profession, and I would
rather have my bracelets on him than on any crim-
inal 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 Scot-
land one week, and be raising money to build an
orphanage in Cornwall the next. I've been on his
track for years and have never set eyes on him yet."

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

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

"We are close there now," my friend remarked.
"This fellow Merryweather is a bank director, and
personally interested in the matter. I thought it as
well to have Jones with us also. He is not a bad
fellow, though an absolute imbecile in his profes-
sion. 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."

144

The Red-Headed League

We had reached the same crowded thorough-
fare in which we had found ourselves in the morn-
ing. 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 cor-
ridor, 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 open-
ing a third door, into a huge vault or cellar, which
was piled all round with crates and massive boxes.

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

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

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

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

"We have at least an hour before us," he re-
marked, "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 es-
cape. 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. Merry-
weather 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 consid-
erable interest in this cellar at present."

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

"Your French gold?"

"Yes. We had occasion some months ago to
strengthen our resources and borrowed for that
purpose 30,000 napoleons from the Bank of France.

It has become known that we have never had occa-
sion 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 sub-
ject."

"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. Mer-
ryweather, we must put the screen over that dark
lantern."

"And sit in the dark?"

"I am afraid so. I had brought a pack of cards
in my pocket, and I thought that, as we were a par-
tie carree, 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 un-
less we are careful. I shall stand behind this crate,
and do you conceal yourselves behind those. Then,
when I flash a light upon them, close in swiftly.
If they fire, Watson, have no compunction about
shooting them down."

I placed my revolver, cocked, upon the top
of the wooden case behind which I crouched.
Holmes shot the slide across the front of his
lantern and left us in pitch darkness — such an ab-
solute 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 mo-
ment's notice. To me, with my nerves worked up
to a pitch of expectancy, there was something de-
pressing and subduing in the sudden gloom, and
in the cold dank air of the vault.

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

"I have an inspector and two officers waiting at
the front door."

"Then we have stopped all the holes. And now
we must be silent and wait."

What a time it seemed! From comparing notes
afterwards it was but an hour and a quarter, yet it
appeared to me that the night must have almost
gone and the dawn be breaking above us. My
limbs were weary and stiff, for I feared to change
my position; yet my nerves were worked up to the

145

The Red-Headed League

highest pitch of tension, and my hearing was so
acute that I could not only hear the gentle breath-
ing 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 di-
rection of the floor. Suddenly my eyes caught the
glint of a light.

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

Its disappearance, however, was but momen-
tary. 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 aper-
ture, drew itself shoulder-high and waist-high, un-
til one knee rested upon the edge. In another in-
stant he stood at the side of the hole and was haul-
ing after him a companion, lithe and small like
himself, with a pale face and a shock of very red
hair.

"It's all clear," he whispered. "Have you the
chisel and the bags? Great Scott! Jump, Archie,
jump, and I'll swing for it!"

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

"It's no use, John Clay," said Holmes blandly.
"You have no chance at all."

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

"There are three men waiting for him at the
door," said Holmes.

"Oh, indeed! You seem to have done the thing
very completely. I must compliment you."

"And I you," Holmes answered. "Your red-
headed idea was very new and effective."

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

"I beg that you will not touch me with your
filthy hands," remarked our prisoner as the hand-
cuffs clattered upon his wrists. "You may not be
aware that I have royal blood in my veins. Have
the goodness, also, when you address me always
to say 'sir' and 'please.'"

"All right," said Jones with a stare and a snig-
ger. "Well, would you please, sir, march upstairs,
where we can get a cab to carry your Highness to
the police-station?"

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

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

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

"You see, Watson," he explained in the early
hours of the morning as we sat over a glass of
whisky and soda in Baker Street, "it was perfectly
obvious from the first that the only possible object
of this rather fantastic business of the advertise-
ment of the League, and the copying of the 'En-
cyclopaedia,' 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 bet-
ter. 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 in-
cites 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."

146

"But how could you guess what the motive
was?"

"Had there been women in the house, I should
have suspected a mere vulgar intrigue. That, how-
ever, was out of the question. The man's busi-
ness was a small one, and there was nothing in
his house which could account for such elabo-
rate 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 assis-
tant'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 crim-
inals in London. He was doing something in the
cellar — something which took many hours a day
for months on end. What could it be, once more?
I could think of nothing save that he was running
a tunnel to some other building.

"So far I had got when we went to visit the
scene of action. I surprised you by beating upon
the pavement with my stick. I was ascertaining
whether the cellar stretched out in front or behind.
It was not in front. Then I rang the bell, and, as
I hoped, the assistant answered it. We have had
some skirmishes, but we had never set eyes upon
each other before. I hardly looked at his face.
His knees were what I wished to see. You must
yourself have remarked how worn, wrinkled, and
stained they were. They spoke of those hours of
burrowing. The only remaining point was what

they were burrowing for. I walked round the cor-
ner, saw the City and Suburban Bank abutted on
our friend's premises, and felt that I had solved my
problem. When you drove home after the concert I
called upon Scotland Yard and upon the chairman
of the bank directors, with the result that you have
seen."

"And how could you tell that they would make
their attempt to-night?" I asked.

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

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

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

"And you are a benefactor of the race," said I.

He shrugged his shoulders. "Well, perhaps,
after all, it is of some little use," he remarked.
" 'L'homme c'est rien — V oeuvre c'est tout,' as Gustave
Flaubert wrote to George Sand."

The Adventure of the Dying Detective

S rs. Hudson, the landlady of Sherlock
Holmes, was a long-suffering woman.
Not only was her first-floor flat invaded
at all hours by throngs of singular and
often undesirable characters but her remarkable
lodger showed an eccentricity and irregularity in
his life which must have sorely tried her patience.
His incredible untidiness, his addiction to music
at strange hours, his occasional revolver practice
within doors, his weird and often malodorous sci-
entific experiments, and the atmosphere of vio-
lence and danger which hung around him made
him the very worst tenant in London. On the other
hand, his payments were princely. I have no doubt
that the house might have been purchased at the
price which Holmes paid for his rooms during the
years that I was with him.

The landlady stood in the deepest awe of him
and never dared to interfere with him, however
outrageous his proceedings might seem. She was
fond of him, too, for he had a remarkable gentle-
ness and courtesy in his dealings with women. He
disliked and distrusted the sex, but he was always
a chivalrous opponent. Knowing how genuine was
her regard for him, I listened earnestly to her story
when she came to my rooms in the second year of
my married life and told me of the sad condition
to which my poor friend was reduced.

"He's dying. Dr. Watson," said she. "For three
days he has been sinking, and I doubt if he will
last the day. He would not let me get a doctor.
This morning when I saw his bones sticking out
of his face and his great bright eyes looking at me
I could stand no more of it. 'With your leave or
without it, Mr. Holmes, I am going for a doctor
this very hour/ said I. 'Let it be Watson, then/ said
he. I wouldn't waste an hour in coming to him, sir,
or you may not see him alive."

I was horrified for I had heard nothing of his
illness. I need not say that I rushed for my coat
and my hat. As we drove back I asked for the de-
tails.

"There is little I can tell you, sir. He has been
working at a case down at Rotherhithe, in an alley
near the river, and he has brought this illness back
with him. He took to his bed on Wednesday after-
noon and has never moved since. For these three
days neither food nor drink has passed his lips."

"Good God! Why did you not call in a doctor?"

"He wouldn't have it, sir. You know how mas-
terful he is. I didn't dare to disobey him. But he's
not long for this world, as you'll see for yourself
the moment that you set eyes on him."

He was indeed a deplorable spectacle. In the
dim light of a foggy November day the sick room
was a gloomy spot, but it was that gaunt, wasted
face staring at me from the bed which sent a chill
to my heart. His eyes had the brightness of fever,
there was a hectic flush upon either cheek, and
dark crusts clung to his lips; the thin hands upon
the coverlet twitched incessantly, his voice was
croaking and spasmodic. He lay listlessly as I
entered the room, but the sight of me brought a
gleam of recognition to his eyes.

"Well, Watson, we seem to have fallen upon
evil days," said he in a feeble voice, but with some-
thing of his old carelessness of manner.

"My dear fellow!" I cried, approaching him.

"Stand back! Stand right back!" said he with
the sharp imperiousness which I had associated
only with moments of crisis. "If you approach me,
Watson, I shall order you out of the house."

"But why?"

"Because it is my desire. Is that not enough?"

Yes, Mrs. Hudson was right. He was more mas-
terful than ever. It was pitiful, however, to see his
exhaustion.

"I only wished to help," I explained.

"Exactly! You will help best by doing what you
are told."

"Certainly, Holmes."

He relaxed the austerity of his manner.

"You are not angry?" he asked, gasping for
breath.

Poor devil, how could I be angry when I saw
him lying in such a plight before me?

"It's for your own sake, Watson," he croaked.

"For my sake?"

"I know what is the matter with me. It is
a coolie disease from Sumatra — a thing that the
Dutch know more about than we, though they
have made little of it up to date. One thing only
is certain. It is infallibly deadly, and it is horribly
contagious."

He spoke now with a feverish energy, the long
hands twitching and jerking as he motioned me
away.

"Contagious by touch, Watson — that's it, by
touch. Keep your distance and all is well."

"Good heavens. Holmes! Do you suppose that
such a consideration weighs with me of an instant?
It would not affect me in the case of a stranger. Do
you imagine it would prevent me from doing my
duty to so old a friend?"

Again I advanced, but he repulsed me with a
look of furious anger.

805

The Adventure of the Dying Detective

"If you will stand there I will talk. If you do
not you must leave the room."

I have so deep a respect for the extraordi-
nary qualities of Holmes that I have always de-
ferred to his wishes, even when I least understood
them. But now all my professional instincts were
aroused. Let him be my master elsewhere, I at
least was his in a sick room.

"Holmes," said I, "you are not yourself. A sick
man is but a child, and so I will treat you. Whether
you like it or not, I will examine your symptoms
and treat you for them."

He looked at me with venomous eyes.

"If I am to have a doctor whether I will or not,
let me at least have someone in whom I have con-
fidence," said he.

"Then you have none in me?"

"In your friendship, certainly. But facts are
facts, Watson, and, after all, you are only a gen-
eral practitioner with very limited experience and
mediocre qualifications. It is painful to have to say
these things, but you leave me no choice."

I was bitterly hurt.

"Such a remark is unworthy of you. Holmes.
It shows me very clearly the state of your own
nerves. But if you have no confidence in me I
would not intrude my services. Let me bring Sir
Jasper Meek or Penrose Fisher, or any of the best
men in London. But someone you must have, and
that is final. If you think that I am going to stand
here and see you die without either helping you
myself or bringing anyone else to help you, then
you have mistaken your man."

"You mean well, Watson," said the sick man
with something between a sob and a groan. "Shall
I demonstrate your own ignorance? What do you
know, pray, of Tapanuli fever? What do you know
of the black Formosa corruption?"

"I have never heard of either."

"There are many problems of disease, many
strange pathological possibilities, in the East, Wat-
son." He paused after each sentence to collect his
failing strength. "I have learned so much dur-
ing some recent researches which have a medico-
criminal aspect. It was in the course of them that I
contracted this complaint. You can do nothing."

"Possibly not. But I happen to know that Dr.
Ainstree, the greatest living authority upon trop-
ical disease, is now in London. All remonstrance
is useless. Holmes, I am going this instant to fetch
him." I turned resolutely to the door.

Never have I had such a shock! In an instant,
with a tiger-spring, the dying man had intercepted
me. I heard the sharp snap of a twisted key. The
next moment he had staggered back to his bed,
exhausted and panting after his one tremendous
outflame of energy.

"You won't take the key from be by force, Wat-
son, I've got you, my friend. Here you are, and
here you will stay until I will otherwise. But I'll
humour you." (All this in little gasps, with terrible
struggles for breath between.) "You've only my
own good at heart. Of course I know that very
well. You shall have your way, but give me time to
get my strength. Not now, Watson, not now. It's
four o'clock. At six you can go."

"This is insanity. Holmes."

"Only two hours, Watson. I promise you will
go at six. Are you content to wait?"

"I seem to have no choice."

"None in the world, Watson. Thank you, I need
no help in arranging the clothes. You will please
keep your distance. Now, Watson, there is one
other condition that I would make. You will seek
help, not from the man you mention, but from the
one that I choose."

"By all means."

"The first three sensible words that you have
uttered since you entered this room, Watson. You
will find some books over there. I am somewhat
exhausted; I wonder how a battery feels when it
pours electricity into a non-conductor? At six,
Watson, we resume our conversation."

But it was destined to be resumed long before
that hour, and in circumstances which gave me a
shock hardly second to that caused by his spring
to the door. I had stood for some minutes look-
ing at the silent figure in the bed. His face was
almost covered by the clothes and he appeared to
be asleep. Then, unable to settle down to read-
ing, I walked slowly round the room, examining
the pictures of celebrated criminals with which
every wall was adorned. Finally, in my aimless
perambulation, I came to the mantelpiece. A lit-
ter of pipes, tobacco-pouches, syringes, penknives,
revolver-cartridges, and other debris was scattered
over it. In the midst of these was a small black
and white ivory box with a sliding lid. It was a
neat little thing, and I had stretched out my hand
to examine it more closely when —

It was a dreadful cry that he gave — a yell which
might have been heard down the street. My skin
went cold and my hair bristled at that horrible

806

The Adventure of the Dying Detective

scream. As I turned I caught a glimpse of a con-
vulsed face and frantic eyes. I stood paralyzed,
with the little box in my hand.

"Put it down! Down, this instant, Watson — this
instant, I say!" His head sank back upon the pil-
low and he gave a deep sigh of relief as I replaced
the box upon the mantelpiece. "I hate to have
my things touched, Watson. You know that I hate
it. You fidget me beyond endurance. You, a doc-
tor — you are enough to drive a patient into an asy-
lum. Sit down, man, and let me have my rest!"

The incident left a most unpleasant impression
upon my mind. The violent and causeless excite-
ment, followed by this brutality of speech, so far
removed from his usual suavity, showed me how
deep was the disorganization of his mind. Of all
ruins, that of a noble mind is the most deplorable.
I sat in silent dejection until the stipulated time
had passed. He seemed to have been watching the
clock as well as I, for it was hardly six before he
began to talk with the same feverish animation as
before.

"Now, Watson," said he. "Have you any
change in your pocket?"

"Yes."

"Any silver?"

"A good deal."

"How many half-crowns?"

"I have five."

"Ah, too few! Too few! How very unfortunate,
Watson! However, such as they are you can put
them in your watchpocket. And all the rest of your
money in your left trouser pocket. Thank you. It
will balance you so much better like that."

This was raving insanity. He shuddered, and
again made a sound between a cough and a sob.

"You will now light the gas, Watson, but you
will be very careful that not for one instant shall
it be more than half on. I implore you to be care-
ful, Watson. Thank you, that is excellent. No, you
need not draw the blind. Now you will have the
kindness to place some letters and papers upon
this table within my reach. Thank you. Now some
of that litter from the mantelpiece. Excellent, Wat-
son! There is a sugar-tongs there. Kindly raise
that small ivory box with its assistance. Place it
here among the papers. Good! You can now go
and fetch Mr. Culverton Smith, of 13 Lower Burke
Street."

To tell the truth, my desire to fetch a doctor had
somewhat weakened, for poor Holmes was so ob-
viously delirious that it seemed dangerous to leave

him. However, he was as eager now to consult the
person named as he had been obstinate in refus-
ing.

"I never heard the name," said I.

"Possibly not, my good Watson. It may sur-
prise you to know that the man upon earth who
is best versed in this disease is not a medical man,
but a planter. Mr. Culverton Smith is a well-known
resident of Sumatra, now visiting London. An out-
break of the disease upon his plantation, which
was distant from medical aid, caused him to study
it himself, with some rather far-reaching conse-
quences. He is a very methodical person, and I
did not desire you to start before six, because I
was well aware that you would not find him in his
study. If you could persuade him to come here
and give us the benefit of his unique experience
of this disease, the investigation of which has been
his dearest hobby, I cannot doubt that he could
help me."

I gave Holmes's remarks as a consecutive
whole and will not attempt to indicate how they
were interrupted by gaspings for breath and those
clutchings of his hands which indicated the pain
from which he was suffering. His appearance had
changed for the worse during the few hours that I
had been with him. Those hectic spots were more
pronounced, the eyes shone more brightly out of
darker hollows, and a cold sweat glimmered upon
his brow. He still retained, however, the jaunty
gallantry of his speech. To the last gasp he would
always be the master.

"You will tell him exactly how you have left
me," said he. "You will convey the very impres-
sion which is in your own mind — a dying man — a
dying and delirious man. Indeed, I cannot think
why the whole bed of the ocean is not one solid
mass of oysters, so prolific the creatures seem. Ah,
I am wondering! Strange how the brain controls
the brain! What was I saying, Watson?"

"My directions for Mr. Culverton Smith."

"Ah, yes, I remember. My life depends upon it.
Plead with him, Watson. There is no good feeling
between us. His nephew, Watson — I had suspi-
cions of foul play and I allowed him to see it. The
boy died horribly. He has a grudge against me.
You will soften him, Watson. Beg him, pray him,
get him here by any means. He can save me — only
he!"

"I will bring him in a cab, if I have to carry him
down to it."

"You will do nothing of the sort. You will per-
suade him to come. And then you will return in

807

The Adventure of the Dying Detective

front of him. Make any excuse so as not to come
with him. Don't forget, Watson. You won't fail me.
You never did fail me. No doubt there are natural
enemies which limit the increase of the creatures.
You and I, Watson, we have done our part. Shall
the world, then, be overrun by oysters? No, no;
horrible! You'll convey all that is in your mind."

I left him full of the image of this magnifi-
cent intellect babbling like a foolish child. He had
handed me the key, and with a happy thought I
took it with me lest he should lock himself in. Mrs.
Hudson was waiting, trembling and weeping, in
the passage. Behind me as I passed from the flat I
heard Holmes's high, thin voice in some delirious
chant. Below, as I stood whistling for a cab, a man
came on me through the fog.

"How is Mr. Holmes, sir?" he asked.

It was an old acquaintance. Inspector Morton,
of Scotland Yard, dressed in unofficial tweeds.

"He is very ill," I answered.

He looked at me in a most singular fashion.
Had it not been too fiendish, I could have imag-
ined that the gleam of the fanlight showed exulta-
tion in his face.

"I heard some rumour of it," said he.

The cab had driven up, and I left him.

Lower Burke Street proved to be a line of fine
houses lying in the vague borderland between
Notting Hill and Kensington. The particular one
at which my cabman pulled up had an air of smug
and demure respectability in its old-fashioned iron
railings, its massive folding-door, and its shining
brasswork. All was in keeping with a solemn but-
ler who appeared framed in the pink radiance of a
tinted electrical light behind him.

"Yes, Mr. Culverton Smith is in. Dr. Watson!
Very good, sir, I will take up your card."

My humble name and title did not appear to
impress Mr. Culverton Smith. Through the half-
open door I heard a high, petulant, penetrating
voice.

"Who is this person? What does he want? Dear
me. Staples, how often have I said that I am not to
be disturbed in my hours of study?"

There came a gentle flow of soothing explana-
tion from the butler.

"Well, I won't see him. Staples. I can't have my
work interrupted like this. I am not at home. Say
so. Tell him to come in the morning if he really
must see me."

Again the gentle murmur.

"Well, well, give him that message. He can
come in the morning, or he can stay away. My
work must not be hindered."

I thought of Holmes tossing upon his bed of
sickness and counting the minutes, perhaps, un-
til I could bring help to him. It was not a time
to stand upon ceremony. His life depended upon
my promptness. Before the apologetic butler had
delivered his message I had pushed past him and
was in the room.

With a shrill cry of anger a man rose from a
reclining chair beside the fire. I saw a great yel-
low face, coarse-grained and greasy, with heavy,
double-chin, and two sullen, menacing gray eyes
which glared at me from under tufted and sandy
brows. A high bald head had a small velvet
smoking-cap poised coquettishly upon one side of
its pink curve. The skull was of enormous capac-
ity, and yet as I looked down I saw to my amaze-
ment that the figure of the man was small and frail,
twisted in the shoulders and back like one who has
suffered from rickets in his childhood.

"What's this?" he cried in a high, screaming
voice. "What is the meaning of this intrusion?
Didn't I send you word that I would see you to-
morrow morning?"

"I am sorry," said I, "but the matter cannot be
delayed. Mr. Sherlock Holmes — "

The mention of my friend's name had an ex-
traordinary effect upon the little man. The look
of anger passed in an instant from his face. His
features became tense and alert.

"Have you come from Holmes?" he asked.

"I have just left him."

"What about Holmes? How is he?"

"He is desperately ill. That is why I have
come."

The man motioned me to a chair, and turned to
resume his own. As he did so I caught a glimpse
of his face in the mirror over the mantelpiece. I
could have sworn that it was set in a malicious and
abominable smile. Yet I persuaded myself that it
must have been some nervous contraction which I
had surprised, for he turned to me an instant later
with genuine concern upon his features.

"I am sorry to hear this," said he. "I only
know Mr. Holmes through some business dealings
which we have had, but I have every respect for
his talents and his character. He is an amateur of
crime, as I am of disease. For him the villain, for
me the microbe. There are my prisons," he con-
tinued, pointing to a row of bottles and jars which

808

The Adventure of the Dying Detective

stood upon a side table. "Among those gelatine
cultivations some of the very worst offenders in
the world are now doing time."

"It was on account of your special knowledge
that Mr. Holmes desired to see you. He has a high
opinion of you and thought that you were the one
man in London who could help him."

The little man started, and the jaunty smoking-
cap slid to the floor.

"Why?" he asked. "Why should Mr. Homes
think that I could help him in his trouble?"

"Because of your knowledge of Eastern dis-
eases."

"But why should he think that this disease
which he has contracted is Eastern?"

"Because, in some professional inquiry, he has
been working among Chinese sailors down in the
docks."

Mr. Culverton Smith smiled pleasantly and
picked up his smoking-cap.

"Oh, that's it — is it?" said he. "I trust the mat-
ter is not so grave as you suppose. How long has
he been ill?"

"About three days."

"Is he delirious?"

"Occasionally."

"Tut, tut! This sounds serious. It would be in-
human not to answer his call. I very much resent
any interruption to my work. Dr. Watson, but this
case is certainly exceptional. I will come with you
at once."

I remembered Holmes's injunction.

"I have another appointment," said I.

"Very good. I will go alone. I have a note of
Mr. Holmes's address. You can rely upon my be-
ing there within half an hour at most."

It was with a sinking heart that I reentered
Holmes's bedroom. For all that I knew the worst
might have happened in my absence. To my enor-
mous relief, he had improved greatly in the inter-
val. His appearance was as ghastly as ever, but all
trace of delirium had left him and he spoke in a
feeble voice, it is true, but with even more than his
usual crispness and lucidity.

"Well, did you see him, Watson?"

"Yes; he is coming."

"Admirable, Watson! Admirable! You are the
best of messengers."

"He wished to return with me."

"That would never do, Watson. That would be
obviously impossible. Did he ask what ailed me?"

"I told him about the Chinese in the East End."

"Exactly! Well, Watson, you have done all that
a good friend could. You can now disappear from
the scene."

"I must wait and hear his opinion. Holmes."

"Of course you must. But I have reasons to
suppose that this opinion would be very much
more frank and valuable if he imagines that we
are alone. There is just room behind the head of
my bed, Watson."

"My dear Holmes!"

"I fear there is no alternative, Watson. The
room does not lend itself to concealment, which
is as well, as it is the less likely to arouse suspi-
cion. But just there, Watson, I fancy that it could
be done." Suddenly he sat up with a rigid intent-
ness upon his haggard face. "There are the wheels,
Watson. Quick, man, if you love me! And don't
budge, whatever happens — whatever happens, do
you hear? Don't speak! Don't move! Just listen
with all your ears." Then in an instant his sud-
den access of strength departed, and his masterful,
purposeful talk droned away into the low, vague
murmurings of a semi-delirious man.

From the hiding-place into which I had been
so swiftly hustled I heard the footfalls upon the
stair, with the opening and the closing of the bed-
room door. Then, to my surprise, there came a
long silence, broken only by the heavy breathings
and gaspings of the sick man. I could imagine that
our visitor was standing by the bedside and look-
ing down at the sufferer. At last that strange hush
was broken.

"Holmes!" he cried. "Holmes!" in the insistent
tone of one who awakens a sleeper. "Can't you
hear me. Holmes?" There was a rustling, as if he
had shaken the sick man roughly by the shoulder.

"Is that you, Mr. Smith?" Holmes whispered.
"I hardly dared hope that you would come."

The other laughed.

"I should imagine not," he said. "And yet, you
see, I am here. Coals of fire. Holmes — coals of
fire!"

"It is very good of you — very noble of you. I
appreciate your special knowledge."

Our visitor sniggered.

"You do. You are, fortunately, the only man
in London who does. Do you know what is the
matter with you?"

809

The Adventure of the Dying Detective

"The same," said Holmes.

"Ah! You recognize the symptoms?"

"Only too well."

"Well, I shouldn't be surprised. Holmes. I
shouldn't be surprised if it were the same. A bad
lookout for you if it is. Poor Victor was a dead man
on the fourth day — a strong, hearty young fellow.
It was certainly, as you said, very surprising that
he should have contracted and out-of-the-way Asi-
atic disease in the heart of London — a disease, too,
of which I had made such a very special study.
Singular coincidence. Holmes. Very smart of you
to notice it, but rather uncharitable to suggest that
it was cause and effect."

"I knew that you did it."

"Oh, you did, did you? Well, you couldn't
prove it, anyhow. But what do you think of your-
self spreading reports about me like that, and then
crawling to me for help the moment you are in
trouble? What sort of a game is that — eh?"

I heard the rasping, laboured breathing of the
sick man. "Give me the water!" he gasped.

"You're precious near your end, my friend, but
I don't want you to go till I have had a word with
you. That's why I give you water. There, don't
slop it about! That's right. Can you understand
what I say?"

Holmes groaned.

"Do what you can for me. Let bygones be by-
gones," he whispered. "I'll put the words out of
my head — I swear I will. Only cure me, and I'll
forget it."

"Forget what?"

"Well, about Victor Savage's death. You as
good as admitted just now that you had done it.
I'll forget it."

"You can forget it or remember it, just as you
like. I don't see you in the witnessbox. Quite an-
other shaped box, my good Holmes, I assure you.
It matters nothing to me that you should know
how my nephew died. It's not him we are talk-
ing about. It's you."

"Yes, yes."

"The fellow who came for me — I've forgotten
his name — said that you contracted it down in the
East End among the sailors."

"I could only account for it so."

"You are proud of your brains. Holmes, are you
not? Think yourself smart, don't you? You came
across someone who was smarter this time. Now

cast your mind back. Holmes. Can you think of no
other way you could have got this thing?"

"I can't think. My mind is gone. For heaven's
sake help me!"

"Yes, I will help you. I'll help you to under-
stand just where you are and how you got there.
I'd like you to know before you die."

"Give me something to ease my pain."

"Painful, is it? Yes, the coolies used to do some
squealing towards the end. Takes you as cramp, I
fancy."

"Yes, yes; it is cramp."

"Well, you can hear what I say, anyhow. Listen
now! Can you remember any unusual incident in
your life just about the time your symptoms be-
gan?"

"No, no; nothing."

"Think again."

"I'm too ill to think."

"Well, then. I'll help you. Did anything come
by post?"

"By post?"

"A box by chance?"

"I'm fainting — I'm gone!"

"Listen, Holmes!" There was a sound as if he
was shaking the dying man, and it was all that I
could do to hold myself quiet in my hiding-place.
"You must hear me. You shall hear me. Do you re-
member a box — an ivory box? It came on Wednes-
day. You opened it — do you remember?"

"Yes, yes, I opened it. There was a sharp spring
inside it. Some joke — "

"It was no joke, as you will find to your cost.
You fool, you would have it and you have got it.
Who asked you to cross my path? If you had left
me alone I would not have hurt you."

"I remember," Holmes gasped. "The spring! It
drew blood. This box — this on the table."

"The very one, by George! And it may as well
leave the room in my pocket. There goes your last
shred of evidence. But you have the truth now.
Holmes, and you can die with the knowledge that
I killed you. You knew too much of the fate of Vic-
tor Savage, so I have sent you to share it. You are
very near your end. Holmes. I will sit here and I
will watch you die."

Holmes's voice had sunk to an almost inaudi-
ble whisper.

"What is that?" said Smith. "Turn up the gas?
Ah, the shadows begin to fall, do they? Yes, I

810

The Adventure of the Dying Detective

will turn it up, that I may see you the better." He
crossed the room and the light suddenly bright-
ened. "Is there any other little service that I can do
you, my friend?"

"A match and a cigarette."

I nearly called out in my joy and my amaze-
ment. He was speaking in his natural voice — a lit-
tle weak, perhaps, but the very voice I knew. There
was a long pause, and I felt that Culverton Smith
was standing in silent amazement looking down
at his companion.

"What's the meaning of this?" I heard him say
at last in a dry, rasping tone.

"The best way of successfully acting a part is to
be it," said Holmes. "I give you my word that for
three days I have tasted neither food nor drink un-
til you were good enough to pour me out that glass
of water. But it is the tobacco which I find most
irksome. Ah, here are some cigarettes." I heard
the striking of a match. "That is very much better.
Halloa! halloa! Do I hear the step of a friend?"

There were footfalls outside, the door opened,
and Inspector Morton appeared.

"All is in order and this is your man," said
Holmes.

The officer gave the usual cautions.

"I arrest you on the charge of the murder of
one Victor Savage," he concluded.

"And you might add of the attempted mur-
der of one Sherlock Holmes," remarked my friend
with a chuckle. "To save an invalid trouble. Inspec-
tor, Mr. Culverton Smith was good enough to give
our signal by turning up the gas. By the way, the
prisoner has a small box in the right-hand pocket
of his coat which it would be as well to remove.
Thank you. I would handle it gingerly if I were
you. Put it down here. It may play its part in the
trial."

There was a sudden rush and a scuffle, fol-
lowed by the clash of iron and a cry of pain.

"You'll only get yourself hurt," said the inspec-
tor. "Stand still, will you?" There was the click of
the closing handcuffs.

"A nice trap!" cried the high, snarling voice. "It
will bring you into the dock. Holmes, not me. He
asked me to come here to cure him. I was sorry
for him and I came. Now he will pretend, no
doubt, that I have said anything which he may in-
vent which will corroborate his insane suspicions.
You can lie as you like. Holmes. My word is al-
ways as good as yours."

"Good heavens!" cried Holmes. "I had totally
forgotten him. My dear Watson, I owe you a
thousand apologies. To think that I should have
overlooked you! I need not introduce you to Mr.
Culverton Smith, since I understand that you met
somewhat earlier in the evening. Have you the cab
below? I will follow you when I am dressed, for I
may be of some use at the station.

"I never needed it more," said Holmes as he
refreshed himself with a glass of claret and some
biscuits in the intervals of his toilet. "However, as
you know, my habits are irregular, and such a feat
means less to me than to most men. It was very
essential that I should impress Mrs. Hudson with
the reality of my condition, since she was to con-
vey it to you, and you in turn to him. You won't
be offended, Watson? You will realize that among
your many talents dissimulation finds no place,
and that if you had shared my secret you would
never have been able to impress Smith with the ur-
gent necessity of his presence, which was the vital
point of the whole scheme. Knowing his vindic-
tive nature, I was perfectly certain that he would
come to look upon his handiwork."

"But your appearance. Holmes — your ghastly
face?"

"Three days of absolute fast does not improve
one's beauty, Watson. For the rest, there is nothing
which a sponge may not cure. With vaseline upon
one's forehead, belladonna in one's eyes, rouge
over the cheek-bones, and crusts of beeswax round
one's lips, a very satisfying effect can be produced.
Malingering is a subject upon which I have some-
times thought of writing a monograph. A little
occasional talk about half-crowns, oysters, or any
other extraneous subject produces a pleasing effect
of delirium."

"But why would you not let me near you, since
there was in truth no infection?"

"Can you ask, my dear Watson? Do you imag-
ine that I have no respect for your medical talents?
Could I fancy that your astute judgment would
pass a dying man who, however weak, had no rise
of pulse or temperature? At four yards, I could
deceive you. If I failed to do so, who would bring
my Smith within my grasp? No, Watson, I would
not touch that box. You can just see if you look at
it sideways where the sharp spring like a viper's
tooth emerges as you open it. I dare say it was
by some such device that poor Savage, who stood
between this monster and a reversion, was done
to death. My correspondence, however, is, as you
know, a varied one, and I am somewhat upon my
guard against any packages which reach me. It

811

was clear to me, however, that by pretending that
he had really succeeded in his design I might sur-
prise a confession. That pretence I have carried
out with the thoroughness of the true artist. Thank

you, Watson, you must help me on with my coat.
When we have finished at the police-station I think
that something nutritious at Simpson's would not
be out of place."

The Final Problem

t is with a heavy heart that I take up
my pen to write these the last words
in which I shall ever record the singu-
• | ar gifts by which my friend Mr. Sher-
lock Holmes was distinguished. In an incoher-
ent and, as I deeply feel, an entirely inadequate
fashion, I have endeavored to give some account
of my strange experiences in his company from
the chance which first brought us together at the
period of the "Study in Scarlet," up to the time
of his interference in the matter of the "Naval
Treaty" — an interference which had the unques-
tionable effect of preventing a serious international
complication. It was my intention to have stopped
there, and to have said nothing of that event which
has created a void in my life which the lapse of
two years has done little to fill. My hand has
been forced, however, by the recent letters in which
Colonel James Moriarty defends the memory of his
brother, and I have no choice but to lay the facts
before the public exactly as they occurred. I alone
know the absolute truth of the matter, and I am
satisfied that the time has come when no good pur-
pose is to be served by its suppression. As far as
I know, there have been only three accounts in the
public press: that in the Journal de Geneve on May
6th, 1891, the Reuter's despatch in the English pa-
pers on May 7th, and finally the recent letters to
which I have alluded. Of these the first and sec-
ond were extremely condensed, while the last is,
as I shall now show, an absolute perversion of the
facts. It lies with me to tell for the first time what
really took place between Professor Moriarty and
Mr. Sherlock Holmes.

It may be remembered that after my marriage,
and my subsequent start in private practice, the
very intimate relations which had existed between
Holmes and myself became to some extent modi-
fied. He still came to me from time to time when
he desired a companion in his investigation, but
these occasions grew more and more seldom, un-
til I find that in the year 1890 there were only
three cases of which I retain any record. Dur-
ing the winter of that year and the early spring
of 1891, I saw in the papers that he had been
engaged by the French government upon a mat-
ter of supreme importance, and I received two
notes from Holmes, dated from Narbonne and
from Nimes, from which I gathered that his stay
in France was likely to be a long one. It was with
some surprise, therefore, that I saw him walk into
my consulting-room upon the evening of April
24th. It struck me that he was looking even paler
and thinner than usual.

"Yes, I have been using myself up rather too

freely," he remarked, in answer to my look rather
than to my words; "I have been a little pressed of
late. Have you any objection to my closing your
shutters?"

The only light in the room came from the
lamp upon the table at which I had been reading.
Holmes edged his way round the wall and flinging
the shutters together, he bolted them securely.

"You are afraid of something?" I asked.

"Well, I am."

"Of what?"

"Of air-guns."

"My dear Holmes, what do you mean?"

"I think that you know me well enough, Wat-
son, to understand that I am by no means a ner-
vous man. At the same time, it is stupidity rather
than courage to refuse to recognize danger when
it is close upon you. Might I trouble you for a
match?" He drew in the smoke of his cigarette as
if the soothing influence was grateful to him.

"I must apologize for calling so late," said he,
"and I must further beg you to be so unconven-
tional as to allow me to leave your house presently
by scrambling over your back garden wall."

"But what does it all mean?" I asked.

He held out his hand, and I saw in the light of
the lamp that two of his knuckles were burst and
bleeding.

"It is not an airy nothing, you see," said he,
smiling. "On the contrary, it is solid enough for a
man to break his hand over. Is Mrs. Watson in?"

"She is away upon a visit."

"Indeed! You are alone?"

"Quite."

"Then it makes it the easier for me to propose
that you should come away with me for a week to
the Continent."

"Where?"

"Oh, anywhere. It's all the same to me."

There was something very strange in all this. It
was not Holmes's nature to take an aimless holi-
day, and something about his pale, worn face told
me that his nerves were at their highest tension.
He saw the question in my eyes, and, putting his
finger-tips together and his elbows upon his knees,
he explained the situation.

"You have probably never heard of Professor
Moriarty?" said he.

"Never."

"Aye, there's the genius and the wonder of the
thing!" he cried. "The man pervades London, and
no one has heard of him. That's what puts him

405

The Final Problem

on a pinnacle in the records of crime. I tell you,
Watson, in all seriousness, that if I could beat that
man, if I could free society of him, I should feel
that my own career had reached its summit, and
I should be prepared to turn to some more placid
line in life. Between ourselves, the recent cases in
which I have been of assistance to the royal family
of Scandinavia, and to the French republic, have
left me in such a position that I could continue to
live in the quiet fashion which is most congenial
to me, and to concentrate my attention upon my
chemical researches. But I could not rest, Watson,
I could not sit quiet in my chair, if I thought that
such a man as Professor Moriarty were walking
the streets of London unchallenged."

"What has he done, then?"

"Flis career has been an extraordinary one. Fie
is a man of good birth and excellent education, en-
dowed by nature with a phenomenal mathematical
faculty. At the age of twenty-one he wrote a trea-
tise upon the Binomial Theorem, which has had
a European vogue. On the strength of it he won
the Mathematical Chair at one of our smaller uni-
versities, and had, to all appearance, a most bril-
liant career before him. But the man had hered-
itary tendencies of the most diabolical kind. A
criminal strain ran in his blood, which, instead of
being modified, was increased and rendered in-
finitely more dangerous by his extraordinary men-
tal powers. Dark rumors gathered round him in
the university town, and eventually he was com-
pelled to resign his chair and to come down to
London, where he set up as an army coach. So
much is known to the world, but what I am telling
you now is what I have myself discovered.

"As you are aware, Watson, there is no one
who knows the higher criminal world of London
so well as I do. For years past I have continually
been conscious of some power behind the male-
factor, some deep organizing power which forever
stands in the way of the law, and throws its shield
over the wrong-doer. Again and again in cases of
the most varying sorts — forgery cases, robberies,
murders — I have felt the presence of this force, and
I have deduced its action in many of those undis-
covered crimes in which I have not been personally
consulted. For years I have endeavored to break
through the veil which shrouded it, and at last
the time came when I seized my thread and fol-
lowed it, until it led me, after a thousand cunning
windings, to ex-Professor Moriarty of mathemati-
cal celebrity.

"Fie is the Napoleon of crime, Watson. Fie is
the organizer of half that is evil and of nearly all

that is undetected in this great city. Fie is a genius,
a philosopher, an abstract thinker. Fie has a brain
of the first order. Fie sits motionless, like a spider
in the center of its web, but that web has a thou-
sand radiations, and he knows well every quiver
of each of them. Fie does little himself. Fie only
plans. But his agents are numerous and splen-
didly organized. Is there a crime to be done, a
paper to be abstracted, we will say, a house to be
rifled, a man to be removed — the word is passed
to the Professor, the matter is organized and car-
ried out. The agent may be caught. In that case
money is found for his bail or his defence. But
the central power which uses the agent is never
caught — never so much as suspected. This was the
organization which I deduced, Watson, and which
I devoted my whole energy to exposing and break-
ing up.

"But the Professor was fenced round with
safeguards so cunningly devised that, do what I
would, it seemed impossible to get evidence which
would convict in a court of law. You know my
powers, my dear Watson, and yet at the end of
three months I was forced to confess that I had
at last met an antagonist who was my intellec-
tual equal. My horror at his crimes was lost in
my admiration at his skill. But at last he made a
trip — only a little, little trip — but it was more than
he could afford when I was so close upon him.
I had my chance, and, starting from that point, I
have woven my net round him until now it is all
ready to close. In three days — that is to say, on
Monday next — matters will be ripe, and the Pro-
fessor, with all the principal members of his gang,
will be in the hands of the police. Then will come
the greatest criminal trial of the century, the clear-
ing up of over forty mysteries, and the rope for all
of them; but if we move at all prematurely, you un-
derstand, they may slip out of our hands even at
the last moment.

"Now, if I could have done this without the
knowledge of Professor Moriarty, all would have
been well. But he was too wily for that. Fie saw
every step which I took to draw my toils round
him. Again and again he strove to break away, but
I as often headed him off. I tell you, my friend, that
if a detailed account of that silent contest could be
written, it would take its place as the most brilliant
bit of thrust-and-parry work in the history of de-
tection. Never have I risen to such a height, and
never have I been so hard pressed by an opponent.
He cut deep, and yet I just undercut him. This
morning the last steps were taken, and three days
only were wanted to complete the business. I was
sitting in my room thinking the matter over, when

406

The Final Problem

the door opened and Professor Moriarty stood be-
fore me.

"My nerves are fairly proof, Watson, but I must
confess to a start when I saw the very man who
had been so much in my thoughts standing there
on my threshold. His appearance was quite famil-
iar to me. He is extremely tall and thin, his fore-
head domes out in a white curve, and his two eyes
are deeply sunken in his head. He is clean-shaven,
pale, and ascetic-looking, retaining something of
the professor in his features. His shoulders are
rounded from much study, and his face protrudes
forward, and is forever slowly oscillating from side
to side in a curiously reptilian fashion. He peered
at me with great curiosity in his puckered eyes.

" 'You have less frontal development that I
should have expected/ said he, at last. 'It is a
dangerous habit to finger loaded firearms in the
pocket of one's dressing-gown.'

"The fact is that upon his entrance I had in-
stantly recognized the extreme personal danger
in which I lay. The only conceivable escape for
him lay in silencing my tongue. In an instant I
had slipped the revolver from the drawer into my
pocket, and was covering him through the cloth.
At his remark I drew the weapon out and laid
it cocked upon the table. He still smiled and
blinked, but there was something about his eyes
which made me feel very glad that I had it there.

" 'You evidently don't now me,' said he.

" 'On the contrary/ I answered, 'I think it is
fairly evident that I do. Pray take a chair. I can
spare you five minutes if you have anything to say.'

" 'All that I have to say has already crossed
your mind,' said he.

" 'Then possibly my answer has crossed yours/
I replied.

" 'You stand fast?'

" 'Absolutely.'

"He clapped his hand into his pocket, and I
raised the pistol from the table. But he merely
drew out a memorandum-book in which he had
scribbled some dates.

" 'You crossed my patch on the 4th of January/
said he. 'Qn the 23d you incommoded me; by
the middle of February I was seriously inconve-
nienced by you; at the end of March I was ab-
solutely hampered in my plans; and now, at the
close of April, I find myself placed in such a posi-
tion through your continual persecution that I am
in positive danger of losing my liberty. The situa-
tion is becoming an impossible one.'

" 'Have you any suggestion to make?' I asked.

" 'You must drop it, Mr. Holmes/ said he,
swaying his face about. 'You really must, you
know.'

" 'After Monday/ said I.

" 'Tut, tut/ said he. 'I am quite sure that a man
of your intelligence will see that there can be but
one outcome to this affair. It is necessary that you
should withdraw. You have worked things in such
a fashion that we have only one resource left. It
has been an intellectual treat to me to see the way
in which you have grappled with this affair, and I
say, unaffectedly, that it would be a grief to me to
be forced to take any extreme measure. You smile,
sir, abut I assure you that it really would.'

" 'Danger is part of my trade/ I remarked.

" 'That is not danger,' said he. 'It is inevitable
destruction. You stand in the way not merely of
an individual, but of a mighty organization, the
full extent of which you, with all your cleverness,
have been unable to realize. You must stand clear,
Mr. Holmes, or be trodden under foot.'

" 'I am afraid/ said I, rising, 'that in the plea-
sure of this conversation I am neglecting business
of importance which awaits me elsewhere.'

"He rose also and looked at me in silence, shak-
ing his head sadly.

" 'Well, well,' said he, at last. 'It seems a pity,
but I have done what I could. I know every move
of your game. You can do nothing before Mon-
day. It has been a duel between you and me, Mr.
Holmes. You hope to place me in the dock. I tell
you that I will never stand in the dock. You hope
to beat me. I tell you that you will never beat me.
If you are clever enough to bring destruction upon
me, rest assured that I shall do as much to you.'

" 'You have paid me several compliments, Mr.
Moriarty/ said I. 'Let me pay you one in return
when I say that if I were assured of the former
eventuality I would, in the interests of the public,
cheerfully accept the latter.'

" 'I can promise you the one, but not the other/
he snarled, and so turned his rounded back upon
me, and went peering and blinking out of the
room.

"That was my singular interview with Profes-
sor Moriarty. I confess that it left an unpleasant
effect upon my mind. His soft, precise fashion
of speech leaves a conviction of sincerity which
a mere bully could not produce. Of course, you
will say: 'Why not take police precautions against
him?' the reason is that I am well convinced that

407

The Final Problem

it is from his agents the blow will fall. I have the
best proofs that it would be so."

"You have already been assaulted?"

"My dear Watson, Professor Moriarty is not a
man who lets the grass grow under his feet. I
went out about mid-day to transact some business
in Oxford Street. As I passed the corner which
leads from Bentinck Street on to the Welbeck Street
crossing a two-horse van furiously driven whizzed
round and was on me like a flash. I sprang for the
foot-path and saved myself by the fraction of a sec-
ond. The van dashed round by Marylebone Lane
and was gone in an instant. I kept to the pave-
ment after that, Watson, but as I walked down Vere
Street a brick came down from the roof of one of
the houses, and was shattered to fragments at my
feet. I called the police and had the place exam-
ined. There were slates and bricks piled up on the
roof preparatory to some repairs, and they would
have me believe that the wind had toppled over
one of these. Of course I knew better, but I could
prove nothing. I took a cab after that and reached
my brother's rooms in Pall Mall, where I spent the
day. Now I have come round to you, and on my
way I was attacked by a rough with a bludgeon.
I knocked him down, and the police have him in
custody; but I can tell you with the most absolute
confidence that no possible connection will ever be
traced between the gentleman upon whose front
teeth I have barked my knuckles and the retiring
mathematical coach, who is, I dare say, working
out problems upon a black-board ten miles away.
You will not wonder, Watson, that my first act on
entering your rooms was to close your shutters,
and that I have been compelled to ask your permis-
sion to leave the house by some less conspicuous
exit than the front door."

I had often admired my friend's courage, but
never more than now, as he sat quietly checking off
a series of incidents which must have combined to
make up a day of horror.

"You will spend the night here?" I said.

"No, my friend, you might find me a danger-
ous guest. I have my plans laid, and all will be
well. Matters have gone so far now that they can
move without my help as far as the arrest goes,
though my presence is necessary for a conviction.
It is obvious, therefore, that I cannot do better than
get away for the few days which remain before the
police are at liberty to act. It would be a great plea-
sure to me, therefore, if you could come on to the
Continent with me."

"The practice is quiet," said I, "and I have an
accommodating neighbor. I should be glad to
come."

"And to start to-morrow morning?"

"If necessary."

"Oh yes, it is most necessary. Then these are
your instructions, and I beg, my dear Watson, that
you will obey them to the letter, for you are now
playing a double-handed game with me against
the cleverest rogue and the most powerful syndi-
cate of criminals in Europe. Now listen! You will
dispatch whatever luggage you intend to take by a
trusty messenger unaddressed to Victoria to-night.
In the morning you will send for a hansom, de-
siring your man to take neither the first nor the
second which may present itself. Into this hansom
you will jump, and you will drive to the Strand
end of the Lowther Arcade, handling the address
to the cabman upon a slip of paper, with a request
that he will not throw it away. Have your fare
ready, and the instant that your cab stops, dash
through the Arcade, timing yourself to reach the
other side at a quarter-past nine. You will find a
small brougham waiting close to the curb, driven
by a fellow with a heavy black cloak tipped at the
collar with red. Into this you will step, and you
will reach Victoria in time for the Continental ex-
press."

"Where shall I meet you?"

"At the station. The second first-class carriage
from the front will be reserved for us."

"The carriage is our rendezvous, then?"

"Yes."

It was in vain that I asked Holmes to remain for
the evening. It was evident to me that he thought
he might bring trouble to the roof he was under,
and that that was the motive which impelled him
to go. With a few hurried words as to our plans for
the morrow he rose and came out with me into the
garden, clambering over the wall which leads into
Mortimer Street, and immediately whistling for a
hansom, in which I heard him drive away.

In the morning I obeyed Holmes's injunctions
to the letter. A hansom was procured with such
precaution as would prevent its being one which
was placed ready for us, and I drove immediately
after breakfast to the Lowther Arcade, through
which I hurried at the top of my speed. A
brougham was waiting with a very massive driver
wrapped in a dark cloak, who, the instant that I
had stepped in, whipped up the horse and rattled
off to Victoria Station. On my alighting there he

408

The Final Problem

turned the carriage, and dashed away again with-
out so much as a look in my direction.

So far all had gone admirably My luggage was
waiting for me, and I had no difficulty in find-
ing the carriage which Holmes had indicated, the
less so as it was the only one in the train which
was marked "Engaged." My only source of anxi-
ety now was the non-appearance of Holmes. The
station clock marked only seven minutes from the
time when we were due to start. In vain I searched
among the groups of travellers and leave-takers for
the lithe figure of my friend. There was no sign of
him. I spent a few minutes in assisting a venera-
ble Italian priest, who was endeavoring to make a
porter understand, in his broken English, that his
luggage was to be booked through to Paris. Then,
having taken another look round, I returned to my
carriage, where I found that the porter, in spite of
the ticket, had given me my decrepit Italian friend
as a traveling companion. It was useless for me to
explain to him that his presence was an intrusion,
for my Italian was even more limited than his En-
glish, so I shrugged my shoulders resignedly, and
continued to look out anxiously for my friend. A
chill of fear had come over me, as I thought that
his absence might mean that some blow had fallen
during the night. Already the doors had all been
shut and the whistle blown, when —

"My dear Watson," said a voice, "you have not
even condescended to say good-morning."

I turned in uncontrollable astonishment. The
aged ecclesiastic had turned his face towards me.
For an instant the wrinkles were smoothed away,
the nose drew away from the chin, the lower lip
ceased to protrude and the mouth to mumble, the
dull eyes regained their fire, the drooping figure
expanded. The next the whole frame collapsed
again, and Holmes had gone as quickly as he had
come.

"Good heavens!" I cried; "how you startled
me!"

"Every precaution is still necessary," he whis-
pered. "I have reason to think that they are hot
upon our trail. Ah, there is Moriarty himself."

The train had already begun to move as
Holmes spoke. Glancing back, I saw a tall man
pushing his way furiously through the crowd, and
waving his hand as if he desired to have the train
stopped. It was too late, however, for we were
rapidly gathering momentum, and an instant later
had shot clear of the station.

"With all our precautions, you see that we have
cut it rather fine," said Holmes, laughing. He rose.

and throwing off the black cassock and hat which
had formed his disguise, he packed them away in
a hand-bag.

"Have you seen the morning paper, Watson?"

"No."

"You haven't seen about Baker Street, then?"

"Baker Street?"

"They set fire to our rooms last night. No great
harm was done."

"Good heavens. Holmes, this is intolerable!"

"They must have lost my track completely after
their bludgeon-man was arrested. Otherwise they
could not have imagined that I had returned to my
rooms. They have evidently taken the precaution
of watching you, however, and that is what has
brought Moriarty to Victoria. You could not have
made any slip in coming?"

"I did exactly what you advised."

"Did you find your brougham?"

"Yes, it was waiting."

"Did you recognize your coachman?"

"No."

"It was my brother Mycroft. It is an advantage
to get about in such a case without taking a merce-
nary into your confidence. But we must plan what
we are to do about Moriarty now."

"As this is an express, and as the boat runs in
connection with it, I should think we have shaken
him off very effectively."

"My dear Watson, you evidently did not real-
ize my meaning when I said that this man may be
taken as being quite on the same intellectual plane
as myself. You do not imagine that if I were the
pursuer I should allow myself to be baffled by so
slight an obstacle. Why, then, should you think so
meanly of him?"

"What will he do?"

"What I should do?"

"What would you do, then?"

"Engage a special."

"But it must be late."

"By no means. This train stops at Canterbury;
and there is always at least a quarter of an hour's
delay at the boat. He will catch us there."

"One would think that we were the criminals.
Let us have him arrested on his arrival."

"It would be to ruin the work of three months.
We should get the big fish, but the smaller would
dart right and left out of the net. On Monday we
should have them all. No, an arrest is inadmissi-
ble."

"What then?"

409

The Final Problem

"We shall get out at Canterbury."

"And then?"

"Well, then we must make a cross-country jour-
ney to Newhaven, and so over to Dieppe. Moriarty
will again do what I should do. He will get on to
Paris, mark down our luggage, and wait for two
days at the depot. In the meantime we shall treat
ourselves to a couple of carpet-bags, encourage
the manufactures of the countries through which
we travel, and make our way at our leisure into
Switzerland, via Luxembourg and Basle."

At Canterbury, therefore, we alighted, only to
find that we should have to wait an hour before we
could get a train to Newhaven.

I was still looking rather ruefully after the
rapidly disappearing luggage-van which con-
tained my wardrobe, when Holmes pulled my
sleeve and pointed up the line.

"Already, you see," said he.

Far away, from among the Kentish woods there
rose a thin spray of smoke. A minute later a car-
riage and engine could be seen flying along the
open curve which leads to the station. We had
hardly time to take our place behind a pile of lug-
gage when it passed with a rattle and a roar, beat-
ing a blast of hot air into our faces.

"There he goes," said Holmes, as we watched
the carriage swing and rock over the point. "There
are limits, you see, to our friend's intelligence. It
would have been a conp-de-maitre had he deduced
what I would deduce and acted accordingly."

"And what would he have done had he over-
taken us?"

"There cannot be the least doubt that he would
have made a murderous attack upon me. It is,
however, a game at which two may play. The ques-
tion, now is whether we should take a premature
lunch here, or run our chance of starving before
we reach the buffet at Newhaven."

We made our way to Brussels that night and
spent two days there, moving on upon the third
day as far as Strasburg. On the Monday morning
Holmes had telegraphed to the London police, and
in the evening we found a reply waiting for us at
our hotel. Holmes tore it open, and then with a
bitter curse hurled it into the grate.

"I might have known it!" he groaned. "He has
escaped!"

"Moriarty?"

"They have secured the whole gang with the
exception of him. He has given them the slip. Of
course, when I had left the country there was no

one to cope with him. But I did think that I had
put the game in their hands. I think that you had
better return to England, Watson."

"Why?"

"Because you will find me a dangerous com-
panion now. This man's occupation is gone. He is
lost if he returns to London. If I read his character
right he will devote his whole energies to reveng-
ing himself upon me. He said as much in our short
interview, and I fancy that he meant it. I should
certainly recommend you to return to your prac-
tice."

It was hardly an appeal to be successful with
one who was an old campaigner as well as an old
friend. We sat in the Strasbourg salle-a-manger ar-
guing the question for half an hour, but the same
night we had resumed our journey and were well
on our way to Geneva.

For a charming week we wandered up the Val-
ley of the Rhone, and then, branching off at Leuk,
we made our way over the Gemmi Pass, still deep
in snow, and so, by way of Interlaken, to Meirin-
gen. It was a lovely trip, the dainty green of the
spring below, the virgin white of the winter above;
but it was clear to me that never for one instant
did Holmes forget the shadow which lay across
him. In the homely Alpine villages or in the lonely
mountain passes, I could tell by his quick glanc-
ing eyes and his sharp scrutiny of every face that
passed us, that he was well convinced that, walk
where we would, we could not walk ourselves
clear of the danger which was dogging our foot-
steps.

Once, I remember, as we passed over the
Gemmi, and walked along the border of the
melancholy Daubensee, a large rock which had
been dislodged from the ridge upon our right clat-
tered down and roared into the lake behind us. In
an instant Holmes had raced up on to the ridge,
and, standing upon a lofty pinnacle, craned his
neck in every direction. It was in vain that our
guide assured him that a fall of stones was a com-
mon chance in the spring-time at that spot. He
said nothing, but he smiled at me with the air of a
man who sees the fulfillment of that which he had
expected.

And yet for all his watchfulness he was never
depressed. On the contrary, I can never recollect
having seen him in such exuberant spirits. Again
and again he recurred to the fact that if he could
be assured that society was freed from Professor
Moriarty he would cheerfully bring his own career
to a conclusion.

410

The Final Problem

"I think that I may go so far as to say, Wat-
son, that I have not lived wholly in vain," he re-
marked. "If my record were closed to-night I could
still survey it with equanimity The air of London
is the sweeter for my presence. In over a thou-
sand cases I am not aware that I have ever used
my powers upon the wrong side. Of late I have
been tempted to look into the problems furnished
by nature rather than those more superficial ones
for which our artificial state of society is respon-
sible. Your memoirs will draw to an end, Watson,
upon the day that I crown my career by the capture
or extinction of the most dangerous and capable
criminal in Europe."

I shall be brief, and yet exact, in the little which
remains for me to tell. It is not a subject on which I
would willingly dwell, and yet I am conscious that
a duty devolves upon me to omit no detail.

It was on the third of May that we reached the
little village of Meiringen, where we put up at the
Englischer Hof, then kept by Peter Steiler the el-
der. Our landlord was an intelligent man, and
spoke excellent English, having served for three
years as waiter at the Grosvenor Hotel in London.
At his advice, on the afternoon of the fourth we set
off together, with the intention of crossing the hills
and spending the night at the hamlet of Rosenlaui.
We had strict injunctions, however, on no account
to pass the falls of Reichenbach, which are about
half-way up the hill, without making a small de-
tour to see them.

It is, indeed, a fearful place. The torrent,
swollen by the melting snow, plunges into a
tremendous abyss, from which the spray rolls up
like the smoke from a burning house. The shaft
into which the river hurls itself is an immense
chasm, lined by glistening coal-black rock, and
narrowing into a creaming, boiling pit of incal-
culable depth, which brims over and shoots the
stream onward over its jagged lip. The long sweep
of green water roaring forever down, and the thick
flickering curtain of spray hissing forever upward,
turn a man giddy with their constant whirl and
clamor. We stood near the edge peering down
at the gleam of the breaking water far below us
against the black rocks, and listening to the half-
human shout which came booming up with the
spray out of the abyss.

The path has been cut half-way round the fall
to afford a complete view, but it ends abruptly,
and the traveler has to return as he came. We had
turned to do so, when we saw a Swiss lad come
running along it with a letter in his hand. It bore
the mark of the hotel which we had just left, and

was addressed to me by the landlord. It appeared
that within a very few minutes of our leaving,
an English lady had arrived who was in the last
stage of consumption. She had wintered at Davos
Platz, and was journeying now to join her friends
at Lucerne, when a sudden hemorrhage had over-
taken her. It was thought that she could hardly
live a few hours, but it would be a great consola-
tion to her to see an English doctor, and, if I would
only return, etc. The good Steiler assured me in
a postscript that he would himself look upon my
compliance as a very great favor, since the lady ab-
solutely refused to see a Swiss physician, and he
could not but feel that he was incurring a great
responsibility.

The appeal was one which could not be ig-
nored. It was impossible to refuse the request of
a fellow-countrywoman dying in a strange land.
Yet I had my scruples about leaving Holmes. It
was finally agreed, however, that he should retain
the young Swiss messenger with him as guide and
companion while I returned to Meiringen. My
friend would stay some little time at the fall, he
said, and would then walk slowly over the hill
to Rosenlaui, where I was to rejoin him in the
evening. As I turned away I saw Holmes, with
his back against a rock and his arms folded, gaz-
ing down at the rush of the waters. It was the last
that I was ever destined to see of him in this world.

When I was near the bottom of the descent I
looked back. It was impossible, from that posi-
tion, to see the fall, but I could see the curving
path which winds over the shoulder of the hill and
leads to it. Along this a man was, I remember,
walking very rapidly.

I could see his black figure clearly outlined
against the green behind him. I noted him, and
the energy with which he walked but he passed
from my mind again as I hurried on upon my er-
rand.

It may have been a little over an hour before I
reached Meiringen. Old Steiler was standing at the
porch of his hotel.

"Well," said I, as I came hurrying up, "I trust
that she is no worse?"

A look of surprise passed over his face, and at
the first quiver of his eyebrows my heart turned to
lead in my breast.

"You did not write this?" I said, pulling the let-
ter from my pocket. "There is no sick English-
woman in the hotel?"

"Certainly not!" he cried. "But it has the hotel
mark upon it! Ha, it must have been written by

4 11

The Final Problem

that tall Englishman who came in after you had
gone. He said — "

But I waited for none of the landlord's expla-
nations. In a tingle of fear I was already running
down the village street, and making for the path
which I had so lately descended. It had taken me
an hour to come down. For all my efforts two more
had passed before I found myself at the fall of Re-
ichenbach once more. There was Holmes's Alpine-
stock still leaning against the rock by which I had
left him. But there was no sign of him, and it was
in vain that I shouted. My only answer was my
own voice reverberating in a rolling echo from the
cliffs around me.

It was the sight of that Alpine-stock which
turned me cold and sick. He had not gone to
Rosenlaui, then. He had remained on that three-
foot path, with sheer wall on one side and sheer
drop on the other, until his enemy had overtaken
him. The young Swiss had gone too. He had prob-
ably been in the pay of Moriarty, and had left the
two men together. And then what had happened?
Who was to tell us what had happened then?

I stood for a minute or two to collect myself,
for I was dazed with the horror of the thing. Then
I began to think of Holmes's own methods and
to try to practise them in reading this tragedy. It
was, alas, only too easy to do. During our con-
versation we had not gone to the end of the path,
and the Alpine-stock marked the place where we
had stood. The blackish soil is kept forever soft
by the incessant drift of spray, and a bird would
leave its tread upon it. Two lines of footmarks
were clearly marked along the farther end of the
path, both leading away from me. There were
none returning. A few yards from the end the
soil was all ploughed up into a patch of mud, and
the branches and ferns which fringed the chasm
were torn and bedraggled. I lay upon my face and
peered over with the spray spouting up all around
me. It had darkened since I left, and now I could
only see here and there the glistening of moisture
upon the black walls, and far away down at the
end of the shaft the gleam of the broken water. I
shouted; but only the same half-human cry of the
fall was borne back to my ears.

But it was destined that I should after all have
a last word of greeting from my friend and com-
rade. I have said that his Alpine-stock had been
left leaning against a rock which jutted on to the
path. From the top of this bowlder the gleam of
something bright caught my eye, and, raising my
hand, I found that it came from the silver cigarette-
case which he used to carry. As I took it up a small

square of paper upon which it had lain fluttered
down on to the ground. Unfolding it, I found that
it consisted of three pages torn from his note-book
and addressed to me. It was characteristic of the
man that the direction was as precise, and the writ-
ing as firm and clear, as though it had been written
in his study.

My dear Watson [it said]:

I write these few lines through the
courtesy of Mr. Moriarty, who awaits
my convenience for the final discussion
of those questions which lie between
us. He has been giving me a sketch
of the methods by which he avoided
the English police and kept himself in-
formed of our movements. They cer-
tainly confirm the very high opinion
which I had formed of his abilities. I
am pleased to think that I shall be able
to free society from any further effects
of his presence, though I fear that it is
at a cost which will give pain to my
friends, and especially, my dear Wat-
son, to you. I have already explained
to you, however, that my career had in
any case reached its crisis, and that no
possible conclusion to it could be more
congenial to me than this. Indeed, if
I may make a full confession to you,

I was quite convinced that the letter
from Meiringen was a hoax, and I al-
lowed you to depart on that errand un-
der the persuasion that some develop-
ment of this sort would follow. Tell In-
spector Patterson that the papers which
he needs to convict the gang are in pi-
geonhole M., done up in a blue enve-
lope and inscribed "Moriarty." I made
every disposition of my property be-
fore leaving England, and handed it
to my brother Mycroft. Pray give my
greetings to Mrs. Watson, and believe
me to be, my dear fellow.

Very sincerely yours,
Sherlock Holmes

A few words may suffice to tell the little that
remains. An examination by experts leaves lit-
tle doubt that a personal contest between the two
men ended, as it could hardly fail to end in such
a situation, in their reeling over, locked in each
other's arms. Any attempt at recovering the bod-
ies was absolutely hopeless, and there, deep down
in that dreadful cauldron of swirling water and

412

seething foam, will lie for all time the most dan-
gerous criminal and the foremost champion of the
law of their generation. The Swiss youth was never
found again, and there can be no doubt that he was
one of the numerous agents whom Moriarty kept
in his employ As to the gang, it will be within
the memory of the public how completely the ev-
idence which Holmes had accumulated exposed
their organization, and how heavily the hand of

the dead man weighed upon them. Of their terri-
ble chief few details came out during the proceed-
ings, and if I have now been compelled to make a
clear statement of his career it is due to those inju-
dicious champions who have endeavored to clear
his memory by attacks upon him whom I shall
ever regard as the best and the wisest man whom
I have ever known.

ACT I

Drawing-room at the LARRABEES. Evening.

The scene represents the drawing-room at Edelweiss Lodge, an old house, gloomy and decayed,
situated in a lonely district in a little-frequented part of London.

The furniture is old and decayed, with the exception of the piano — a baby-grand. The desk is very
solid. The ceiling is heavily beamed. Many places out of repair in the walls and ceilings. Carvings
broken here and there.

The music stops an instant before rise of curtain. A short pause after curtain is up. Curtain rises in
darkness — lights come up. MADGE LARRABEE is discovered anxiously waiting. A strikingly
handsome woman, but with a somewhat hard face. Black hair. Richly dressed.

Enter FORMAN with evening paper. He is a quiet perfectly trained servant. He is met by MADGE who
takes the paper from him quickly.

FORMAN ( speaks always very quietly ): Pardon, ma’am, but one of the maids wishes to speak with you.
(MADGE is scanning the paper eagerly and sinks on to seat at the foot of the piano )

MADGE {not looking from paper): I can’t spare the time now.

FORMAN: Very well, ma’am {Turns to go.)

MADGE {without looking up from paper): Which maid was it?

FORMAN {turning towards MADGE again): Terese, ma’am.

MADGE {looking up. Very slight surprise in her tone): Terese!

FORMAN: Yes, ma’am

MADGE: Have you any idea what she wants?

FORMAN: Not the least, ma’am

MADGE: She must tell you. I’m very busy, and can’t see her unless 1 know.

FORMAN: I’ll say so, ma’am

(Turns and goes out, carefully and quietly closing the door after him — immediately coming in again
and watching MADGE, who is busy with paper. Finds what she has been looking for and starts eagerly
to read it. As if not seeing the print well, she leans near light and resumes reading with the greatest
avidity. FORMAN quietly shuts door. He stands at the door looking at MADGE as she reads the paper.
This is prolonged somewhat, so that it may be seen that he is not waiting for her to finish from mere
politeness. His eyes are upon her sharply and intensely, yet he does not assume any expression
otherwise. She finishes and angrily rises, casting the paper violently down on the piano. She turns and

goes near the large heavy desk. Pauses there. Then turns away angrily. Sees FORMAN, calms herselj
at once. Just as MADGEturns, FORMAN seems to be coming into room.)

I could get nothing from her, ma’am. She insists that she must speak to you herself.

MADGE: Tell her to wait till to-morrow.

FORMAN: 1 asked her to do that, ma’am, and she said that she would not be here to-morrow.

(MADGE turns toward FORMAN with some surprise.)

MADGE: What does she mean by that?

FORMAN: Pardon me for mentioning it, ma’am, but she is a bit singular, as 1 take it.

MADGE: Tell her to come here — (FORMAN bows and turns to go. MADGE goes toward the piano,
near where the paper lies. She sees it. Stops with hand on piano.)

Oh — Judson!

(FORMAN stops and comes down. Everything quiet, subdued, cat-like in his methods.)

How did you happen to imagine that 1 would be interested in this marriage announcement? ( Takes up
paper and sits in seat below the piano.)

FORMAN: 1 could ‘ardly help it, ma’am

(MADGE turns and looks hard at him an instant. FORMANS' tands deferentially.)

MADGE: 1 suppose you have overheard certain references to the matter — between myself and my
brother?

FORMAN: 1 ‘ave, ma’am, but 1 would never have referred to it in the least if 1 did not think it might be of
some importance to you ma’am to know it.

MADGE: Oh no — of no special importance! We know the parties concerned and are naturally interested
in the event. Of course, you do not imagine there is anything more {She does not look at him as she says
this)

FORMAN {not looking at MADGE — eyes front): Certainly not, ma’am Anyway if I did imagine there
was something more I’m sure you’d find it to your interest ma’am to remember my faithful services in
helpin’ to keep it quiet.

MADGE (after slight pause, during which she looks steadily in front): Judson, what sort of a fool are
you?

(FORMAN turns to her with feigned astonishment)

{Speaks with sharp, caustic utterances, almost between her teeth. Turns to him.) Do you imagine I
would take a house, and bring this girl and her mother here and keep up the establishment for nearly two
years without protecting myself against the chance of petty blackmail by my own servants?

FORMAN (protestingly ) Ah — ma’am — you misunderstand me — I

MADGE {rising — throws paper on to the piano ) I understand too well! And now 1 beg you to
understand me. I have had a trifle of experience in the selection of my servants and can recognize certain
things when I see them! It was quite evident from your behaviour you had been in something yourself and
it didn’t take me long to get it out of you. You are a self-confessed forger.

FORMAN {quick movement of apprehension ): No! {Apprehensive look around) Don’t speak out like
that! {Recovers a little ) It — it was in confidence — I told you in confidence ma’am

MADGE: Well, I’m telling you in confidence that at the first sign of any underhand conduct on your part
this little episode of yours will —

FORMAN {hurriedly — to prevent her from speaking it): Yes, yes! I — will bear it in mind, ma’am I
will bear it in mind!

MADGE {after a sharp look at him as if satisfying herself that he is now reduced to proper condition ):
Very well . . . Now, as to the maid — Terese —

(FORMAN inclines head for instruction .)

Do you think of anything which might explain her assertion that she will not be here to-morrow?

FORMAN {his eyes turned away from MADGE. Speaking in low tones, and behaviour subdued as ij
completely humiliated ): It has occurred to me, ma’am, since you first asked me regarding the matter, that
she may have taken exceptions to some occurrences which she thinks she ‘as seen going on in this ‘ouse.

MADGE: I’ll raise her wages if I find it necessary; tell her so. If it isn’t money that she wants — I’ll see
her myself.

FORMAN: Very well, ma’am {He turns and goes out quietly.)

(MADGE stands motionless a moment. There is a sound of a heavy door opening and closing. MADGE
gives a quick motion of listening. Hurries to look off. Enter JIM LARRABEE, through archway, in
some excitement. He is a tall, heavily-built man, with a hard face. Full of determination and a strong
character. He is well dressed, and attractive in some respects. A fine looking man. Dark hair and eyes,
but the hard sinister look of a criminal.)

MADGE: Didn’t you find him? I

LARRABEE: No. {Goes to the heavy desk and throws open the wooden doors of lower part, showing
the iron and combination lock of a safe or strong-box. Gives knob a turn or two nervously, and works
at it.)

(MADGE follows, watching him.)

He wasn’t there! {Rises from desk.) We’ll have to get a lock smith in.

MADGE {quickly): No, no! We can’t do that! It isn’t safe!

LARRABEE: We’ve got to do something, haven’t we? {Stoops down quickly before door of safe again,
and nervously tries it.) I wish to God I knew a bit about these things. {Business at safe.) There’s no time
to waste, either! They’ve put Holmes on the case!

MADGE: Sherlock Holmes?

LARRABEE: Yes. {At safe, trying knob.)

MADGE: How do you know?

LARRABEE: 1 heard it at Leary’s. They keep track of him down there, and every time he’s put on
something they give notice round.

MADGE: What could he do?

LARRABEE {rises and faces her): 1 don’t know — but he’ll make some move — he never waits long! It
may be any minute! {Moves about restlessly but stops when MADGE speaks.)

MADGE: Can’t you think of someone else — as we can’t find Sid?

LARRABEE: He may turn up yet. 1 left word with Billy Rounds, and he’s on the hunt for him. {Between
his teeth) Oh! it’s damnable. After holding on for two good years just for this and now the time comes
and she’s blocked us! {Goes to and looks off and up stairway. Looks at MADGE. Goes to her.) Look
here! I’ll just get at her for a minute. {Starting to go out.) I have an idea I can change her mind.

MADGE {quickly): Yes — but wait, Jim.

(LARRABEE stops and turns to her.)

{She goes near him) What’s the use of hurting the girl? We’ve tried all that!

LARRABEE: Well, I’ll try something else! {Turns and goes to archway.)

MADGE {quick, half whisper): Jim! (LARRABEE turns , MADGE approaches him.) Remember —
nothing that’ll show! No marks! We might get into trouble.

LARRABEE {going doggedly): I’ll look out for that.

(LARRABEE goes out, running upstairs in haste. As MADGE/ ooks after him with a trifle of anxiety
standing in archway, enterYDRESE. She is a quiet-looking French maid with a pleasant face. She
stands near the door. MADGE turns into the room and sees her. Stands an instant. She seats herself in
the arm-chair.)

MADGE: Come here.

(TERESE comes down a little way — with slight hesitation.)

What is it?

TERESE: Meester Judson said I vas to come.

MADGE: I told Judson to arrange with you himself.

TERESE: He could not, madame. I do not veesh longer to remain.

MADGE: What is it? You must give me some reason!

TERESE: It is zat I wish to go.

MADGE: You’ve been here months, and have made no complaint.

TERESE: Ah, madame — it is not so before! It is now beginning zat I do not like.

MADGE {rising): What? What is it you do not like?

TERESE {with some little spirit but low voice): I do not like eet, madame — eet — here — zis place —
what you do — ze young lady you have up zere! I cannot remain to see! {Indicating above.) Eet ees not
well! I cannot remain to see!

MADGE: You know nothing about it! The young lady is ill. She is not right here — {Touching forehead .)
She is a great trouble to us, but we take every care of her, and treat her with the utmost kindness and —

{A piercing scream, as if muffled by something, heard in distant part of house above.)

{Music on scream. Very pianissimo. Agitato.)

{Pause. Both motionless. TERESE does not assume a horrified expression; she simply stands
motionless. After quite a pause, MRS. FAULKNER comes down stairway rapidly, a white-haired lady,
dressed in an old black gown.)

MRS. FAULKNER: My child! my child! They’re hurting my child!

(MRS. FAULKNER stands just within archway, looking vacantly, helplessly, at MADGE. MADGE
turns, sees her and goes quickly to her.)

MADGE {between her teeth): What are you doing here? Didn’t I tell you never to come down!

{The old lady simply stares vacantly, but a vague expression of trouble is upon her face.)

Come with me! {Taking MRS. FAULKNER by the arm and drawing her towards stairs.)

{The old lady hangs back in a frightened way.)

Come, I say! {The scream again — more muffled — from above. Sudden change. Tenderly.) Don’t be
alarmed, dear, your poor daughter’s head is bad to-day. She’ll be better soon! {Turns to TERESE.)
Terese — come to me in the morning. {To old lady.) Come along, dear. ( Then angrily in low threatening
voice.) Do you hear me? Come!

{Takes MRS. FAULKNER off with some force up the stairs. TERESE stands looking after them. Enter
FORMANc/w/etf/v. He looks a moment toward where MADGE has just taken the old lady off. TERESE
is looking also the same way. FORMAN goes down to TERESE. They look at one another an instant in
silence. Then he speaks to her in a low voice. Just before FORMAN speaks the music stops)

FORMAN: She’s made it quite satisfactory, I suppose.

(TERESE looks at FORMAN.)

You will not leave her — now?

TERESE: Leave her now? More zan evaire before! Do you hear young lady? What is eet they make to

her?

FORMAN (low voice): It may be she is ill.

TERESE: Indeed, I think it is so zat zey make her eel! I weel not remain to see! ( Turning a little.) I can
find another place; eet eez not so difficult.

FORMAN: Not so difficult if you know where to go!

TERESE: Ah — zhat eez it!

FORMAN: I have one address —

TERESE ( turns to him quickly): Bien — you know one?

(FORMAN nods.)

Est-ce serieux? What you call re-li-ah-ble?

FORMAN (moves to her): Here — on this card — (Quickly takes card from pocket and pushes it into
her hands.) Go to that address! Don’t let anyone see it!

TERESE (quickly looking at card while FORMAN looks away — begins slowly to read): Meester —
Sheer — lock —

FORMAN (with a quick warning exclamation and sudden turn, seizes her, covering her mouth with one
hand; they stand a moment, he looks slowly round): Some one might hear you! Go to that address in the
morning.

(The front door bell rings. FORMAN motions her off with quick, short motion. She goes out. FORMAN
goes out to open the house door — quickly. Sound of house door opening — a solid, heavy sound —
not sharp. Enter SID PRINCE, walking in quickly. He is a short, stoutish, dapper little fellow. He
carries a small black satchel, wears overcoat and hat, gloves, etc., and is well dressed and jaunty. He
wears diamond scarf pin, rings, etc., is quick in movements and always on the alert. FORMAN follows
him on, standing near archway.)

PRINCE (going across towards piano): Don’t waste toime, you fool; tell ‘em I’m ‘ere, can’t yer?
FORMAN: Did you wish to see Mr. Chetwood, sir, or was it Miss Chetwood?

PRINCE (stopping and turning to FORMAN): Well, I’ll be blowed! You act as if I’d never been ‘ere
before! ‘Ow do you know but I was born in this ‘ere ‘ouse? Go on and tell ‘em as it’s Mr. Sidney Prince,
Esq. (He puts satchel, which is apparently heavy, on seat at foot of piano.)

FORMAN: Oh yes, sir — I beg your pardon! I’ll announce you immediate, sir. (Goes out upstairs.)

(PRINCE takes off hat, gloves, etc., laying them so as to cover the satchel. Looks about room. Walks
over to the heavy desk and glances at it. Swings door of the desk open in easy business-like way.)

PRINCE: Ah! (As if he had found what he was looking for. Not an exclamation of surprise. Drops on
one knee and gives the lock a turn. Rises and goes over to his satchel — which he uncovers and opens.
Feels about for something.)

(MADGE and LARRABEE come downstairs and enter. PRINCE sees them, but does not stop what he is
doing.)

MADGE {going across to PRINCE): Oh, is that you, Sid? Em so glad you’ve come.

LARRABEE: Hallo, Sid! . . . Did you get my note?

PRINCE {going right on with what he is doing): Well, Em ‘ere, ain’t I? {Business at satchel.) . . . That’s
what it is, 1 take it? {Motion of head towards desk.)

MADGE: Yes ... We’re awfully glad you turned up, Sid. We might have had to get in some stranger to do
it. {Going across to below piano in front o/PRINCE.)

PRINCE {standing up and looking at LARRABEE andWiADGE): That would be nice now, wouldn’t it?
If your game ‘appens to be anything off colour — ! ! !

LARRABEE: Oh — it isn’t so specially dark.

PRINCE: That different. {Goes across to desk with tools from satchel.) I say, Larrabee —

{Quick “Sh!” from MADGE just behind him.)

LARRABEE {at same time): Shut up!

( They look round. PRINCE looks up surprised.)

For Heaven’s sake, Sid, remember — my name is Chetwood here.

PRINCE: Beg your pardon. My mistake. Old times when we was learnin’ the trade together — eh!
LARRABEE: Yes, yes!

PRINCE: I ‘ardly expected you’d be doin’ the ‘igh tone thing over ‘ere, wen I first come up with you
workin’ the Sound Steamer Line out O’ New York.

LARRABEE: Come! Don’t let’s go into that now.

PRINCE: Well, you needn’t get so ‘uffy about it! You wouldn’t a’ been over ‘ere at all, if it ‘adn’t been
for me ... An’ youd a’ never met Madge ‘ere neither — and a devil of a life of it you might a’ been
leadin’.

LARRABEE: Yes, yes.

MADGE: We know all that, Sid — but can’t you open that box for us now? We’ve no time to lose.

PRINCE: Open it! I should say I could! It’s one o’ those things it’ll fall open if you let it alone long
enough! Ed really like to know where you picked up such a relic as this ‘ere box! It’s an old timer and no
mistake! {About to try some tools on lock, looks about.) All clear, you say, no danger lurking?

LARRABEE {shaking head): Not the least!

(MADGE moves away a little, glancing cautiously about. PRINCE tries tools. LARRABEE remains
near piano. Both watch him as he tries tools in the lock.)

PRINCE {at lock): You’re not robbing yourselves, I trust?

LARRABEE {near PRINCE): It does look a little like it!

PRINCE: I knew you was on some rum lay — squatting down in this place for over a year; but I never
could seem to — ( business ) get a line on you. {He works a moment, then crosses to get a tool out oj
satchel, and goes near light on piano and begins to adjust it. This must bring him where he commands
stage. Stopping and looking sharply at MADGEand LARRABEE.) What do we get here? Oof, I trust?

LARRABEE: Sorry to disappoint you, but it isn’t.

PRINCE: That’s too bad!

MADGE {shakes head): Only a bundle of papers, Sid.

(PRINCE works at tool an instant before speaking.)

PRINCE: Pipers!

LARRABEE: Um! {Grunt of assent.)

PRINCE: Realise, I trust?

MADGE: We can’t tell — it may be something — it may be nothing.

PRINCE: Well, if it’s something, I’m in it, I hope.

MADGE: Why, of course, Sid — whatever you think is due for opening the box.

PRINCE: Fair enough. {As if it was all settled to go on.) Now ‘ere. {Glances round quickly.) Before we
starts ‘er goin’ what’s the general surroundin’s?

LARRABEE: What’s the good of wasting time on — {Going near PRINCE.)

PRINCE {up to him): If I’m in this, I’m in it, ain’t I? An’ I want to know wot I’m in.

MADGE: Why don’t you tell him, Jimmie?

PRINCE: If anything ‘appened, ‘ow’d I let the office know ‘oo to look out for?

LARRABEE: Well — I’m willing to give him an idea of what it is but I won’t give the name of the —
{Hesitates.)

(MADGE goes up to arch.)

PRINCE: That’s all I ask — wot it is. I don’t want no names.

LARRABEE {nearer PRINCE and speaking lower): You know we’ve been working the Continent.
Pleasure places and all that.

PRINCE: So I’ve ‘eard.

(MADGE motions them to wait. Looking off quietly. Nods them to proceed.)

LARRABEE: It was over there — Homburg was the place. We ran across a young girl who’d been
havin’ trouble. Sister just died. Mother seemed wrong here. ( Touches forehead .)

PRINCE: Well — you run across ‘er.

LARRABEE: Madge took hold and found that this sister of hers had been having some kind of love affair
with a — well — with a foreign gentleman of exceedingly high rank — or at least — expectations that
way.

PRINCE: A foreign gentleman?

LARRABEE: That’s what I said.

PRINCE: I don’t so much care about that, yer know. My lay’s ‘ere at home.

LARRABEE: Well, this is good enough for me.

PRINCE: ‘Ow much was there to it?

LARRABEE: Promise of marriage.

PRINCE: Broke it, of course.

LARRABEE: Yes — and her heart with it. I don’t know what more she expected — anyway, she did
expect more. She and her child died together.

PRINCE: Oh — dead!

LARRABEE: Yes, but the case isn’t; there are evidences — letters, photographs, jewellery with
inscriptions that he gave her. The sister’s been keeping them ... (A glance about.) We’ve been keeping the
sister . . . You see?

PRINCE (whistles): Oh, it’s the sister you’ve got ‘ere? An’ what’s ‘er little game?

LARRABEE: To get even.

PRINCE: Ah! To get back on ‘im for the way ‘e treated ‘er sister?

LARRABEE: Precisely.

PRINCE: She don’t want money?

LARRABEE: No.

PRINCE: An’ your little game?

LARRABEE ( shrug of shoulders): Whatever there is in it.

PRINCE: These papers an’ things ought to be worth a little Something!

LARRABEE: I tell you it wouldn’t be safe for him to marry until he gets them out of the way! He knows
it very well. But what’s more, the family knows it!

PRINCE: Oh — family! . . . Rich, I take it.

LARRABEE: Rich isn’t quite the word. They’re something else.

PRINCE: You don’t mean —

(LARRABEE moves nearer PRINCE and whispers a name in his ear.)

My Gawd! Which of ‘em?

LARRABEE ( shakes head): I don’t tell you that.

PRINCE: Well, we are a-movin’ among the swells now, ain’t we? But this ‘ere girl — the sister o’ the
one that died — ’ow did you manage to get ‘er into it?

MADGE: I picked her up, of course, and sympathized and consoled. I invited her to stay with me at my
house in London. Jimmy came over and took this place — and when I brought her along a week later it
was all ready — and a private desk safe for the letters and jewellery.

LARRABEE {turning): Yes — combination lock and all ... Everything worked smooth until a couple of
weeks ago, when we began to hear from a firm of London solicitors, some veiled proposals were made
— which showed that the time was coming. They wanted the things out of the way. Suddenly all
negotiations on their side stopped. The next thing for me to do was to threaten. I wanted the letters for this,
but when I went to get them — I found that in some way the girl had managed to change the lock on us.
The numbers were wrong — and we couldn’t frighten or starve her into opening the thing.

PRINCE: Oh — I see it now. You’ve got the stuff in there! {Indicating safe.)

LARRABEE: That’s what I’m telling you! It’s in there, and we can’t get it out! She’s juggled the lock.

PRINCE {going at once to safe): Oh, well, it won’t take long ta rectify that triflin’ error. {Stops.) But wot
gets me is the w’y they broke off with their offers that way — can you make head or tail of that?

LARRABEE: Yes. {Goes nearer to PRINCE.) It’s simple enough.

(PRINCE turns to him for explanation.)

They’ve given it up themselves, and have got in Sherlock Holmes on the case.

PRINCE {suddenly starting): Wot’s that! {Pause.) Is ‘Olmes in this?

LARRABEE: That’s what they told me!

MADGE: But what can he do, Sid? We haven’t —

PRINCE: ‘Ere, don’t stand talking about that — I’ll get the box open. {Goes to piano in front oj
LARRABEE.) You send a telegram, that’s all I want! {Tears page out of his note-book and writes
hurriedly The other two watch him, LARRABEE a little suspiciously. Silence for a few moments while
he writes.) Where’s your nearest telegraph office?

MADGE: Round the corner. {Going to above piano.)

PRINCE {down to LARRABEE and giving him the telegram he has written): Run for it! Mind what I say

run for it.

(LARRABEE is looking at him hard.)

That’s to Alf Bassick. He’s Professor Moriarty’s confidential man. Moriarty is king of ‘em all in London.
He runs everything that’s shady — an’ ‘Olmes ‘as been settin’ lines all round ‘im for months — and he
didn’t know it — an’ now he’s beginnin’ to find out that ‘Olmes is trackin’ ‘im down — and there’s the
devil to pay. ‘E wants any cases ‘Olmes is on — it’s a dead fight between ‘em! ‘E’ll take the case just to
get at ‘Olmes! ‘E’ll kill ‘im before ‘e’s finished with ‘im, you can lay all you’ve got on it.

LARRABEE: What are you telling him?

PRINCE: Nothing whatever, except I’ve got a job on as I wants to see ‘im about in the mornin’ . . . Read it
yourself.

(LARRABEE looks at what PRINCE has written.)

But don’t take all night over it! You cawn’t tell wot might ‘appen. ( Crosses to safe.)

MADGE: Go on, Jim!

(LARRABEE crosses, MADGE following him.)

LARRABEE {to MADGE near archway ): Keep your eyes open.

MADGE {to LARRABEE): Don’t you worry!

(LARRABEE goes out.)

(MADGE is looking after him. Quick sound of door closing. PRINCE drops down to work — real work
now — at desk. Short pause. MADGE stands watching PRINCE a moment. She moves over to near
piano and picks up a book carelessly, which she glances at with perfect nonchalance. After a time she
speaks without taking eyes from book.)

I’ve heard of this Professor Moriarty.

PRINCE: If you ‘aven’t you must’ve been out in the woods.

MADGE: You say he’s king of them all.

PRINCE {working): Bloomin’ Hemperor — that’s wot I call ‘im.

MADGE: He must be a good many different things.

PRINCE: You might see it that way if you looked around an’ didn’t breathe too ‘ard!

MADGE: What does he do?

PRINCE: I’ll tell you one thing he does! {Turns to her and rests a moment from work) He sits at ‘ome —
quiet and easy — an runs nearly every big operation that’s on. All the clever boys are under him one way
or another — an’ he ‘olds them in ‘is ‘and without moving a muscle! An’ if there’s a slip and the police
get wind of it there ain’t never any ‘old on ‘im. They can’t touch him. And wot’s more, they wouldn’t
want to if they could.

MADGE: Why not?

PRINCE: Because they’ve tried it — that’s w’y — an’ the men as did try it was found shortly after a-
floatin’ in the river — that is, if they was found at all! The moment a man’s marked there ain’t a street
that’s safe for ‘im! No — nor yet an alley. ( Resumes drilling .)

MADGE (after pause): What’s the idea of telling him about this? He might not want —

PRINCE ( turning to her ,): 1 tell yer, ‘e’ll come into anything that gives ‘im a chance at ‘Olmes — he
wants ter trap ‘im — that’s wot is an just what he’ll do (Resumes work)

(PRINCE works rapidly, drill going in suddenly as if he had one hole sunk. He tries a few tools in it
and quickly starts another hole with drills. MADGE starts forward at business of drill.)

MADGE (recovering to careless ): Have you got it, Sid?

PRINCE: Not yet — but I’ll be there soon. (Works.) 1 know where 1 am now.

(Sound of door closing outside. Enter LARRABEE hurriedly. He is breathless from running.)

LARRABEE: Well, Sid. How goes it?

PRINCE (working): So-so.

LARRABEE: Now about this Professor Moriarty? (Gets chair from near piano and sits behind
PRINCE.)

PRINCE (working): Ask ‘er.

MADGE: It’s all right, Jim. It was the proper thing to do.

(Music. Melodramatic, very pp. Hardly audible.)

(MADGE and LARRABEE move near PRINCE, looking over him eagerly. He quickly introduces small
punch and hammers rapidly; sound of bolts, etc., falling inside lock as if loosened. Eagerness of all
three increases with final sound of loose iron work inside lock, and PRINCE at once pulls open the
iron doors. All three give a quick look within. MADGE and LARRABEE start back with subdued
exclamation. PRINCE looks in more carefully, then turns to them. Pause. LARRABEE in moving back
pushes chair along with him. Pause. Music stops.)

MADGE (turning to LARRABEE): Gone!

LARRABEE (to MADGE): She’s taken ‘emout.

PRINCE (rising to his feet): What do you mean?

LARRABEE: The girl!

(MADGE stops and goes quickly to safe in front of PRINCEr/zzc/ dropping down feels carefully about
inside. Others watch her closely. PRINCE gives back a little for her.)

(NOTE. — Their dialogue since opening of safe has dropped to low excited tones, almost whispers, as

they would if it were a robbery. Force of habit in their intense excitement .)

MADGE (rises and turns to LARRABEE): She’s got them!

PRINCE: ‘Ow can you tell as she ‘asn’t done the trick already?

LARRABEE ( quick turn on PRINCE): What’s that?

PRINCE: She wants to get even, you say.

MADGE: Yes! yes!

PRINCE: Well, then, if she’s got the thing out of the box there — ain’t it quite likely she’s sent ‘em along
to the girl as ‘e wants to marry. (Brief pause.)

MADGE: No! She hasn’t had the chance.

LARRABEE: She couldn’t get them out of this room We’ve Watched her too close for that.

MADGE: Wait! (Turns and looks rapidly about piano, etc.)

(LARRABEE hurriedly looks about under cushions.)

LARRABEE: Here! (Strides towards archway.) I’ll get her down She’ll tell us where they are or strangle
for it! (Turns hurriedly) Wait here! When I get her in, don’t give her time to think!

(LARRABEE goes out. PRINCE comes to the end of the piano looking off after LARRABEE.)

(Music. Very pp.)

(Brief pause. MADGE glances nervously.)

PRINCE: Wot’s he goin’ to do?

MADGE: There’s only one thing, Sid. We’ve got to get it out of her or the whole two years’ work is
wasted.

(Muffled cry of pain from ALICE in distance. Pause.)

PRINCE (glances off anxiously ): Look ‘ere, I don’t so much fancy this sort of thing. (Goes to safe and
collects tools.)

MADGE: Don’t you worry, we’ll attend to it!

(Sound of LARRABEE approaching outside and speaking angrily Nearer and nearer. Footsteps heard
just before entrance. LARRABEE drags ALICE FAULKNER on, jerking her across him.)

LARRABEE (as he brings ALICE on): Now, we’ll see whether you will or not! (Pause for an instant.)

(NOTE. — This scene should be played well up stage.)

(Music stops.)

(Coming down.) Now tell her what we want.

ALICE (low voice — slight shake of head): You needn’t tell me, I know well enough.

MADGE ( drawing nearer to ALICE with quiet cat-like glide. Smiling ) Oh no dear you don’t know. It
isn’t anything about locks, or keys, or numbers this time. (Points slowly to the open safe.) We want to
know what you’ve done with them!

(Pause. ALICE looks at MADGE calmly. No defiance or suffering in her expression.)

(Comes closer and speaks with set teeth.) Do you hear! We want to know what you’ve done with them
ALICE (low voice — but clear and distinct ): You will not know from me.

LARRABEE (sudden violence, yet subdued, as if not wishing servants to overhear): We will know
from you — and we’ll know before — (As if to cross MADGE to ALICE.)

MADGE (motioning him): Wait, Jim! (Moves down with him a little.)

LARRABEE (to MADGE, violently): I tell you, they’re in this room — she couldn’t have got them out —
and I’m going to make her — (As if to seize ALICE.)

MADGE (detaining him): No! Let me speak to her first!

(LARRABEE after an instant’s sullen pause, turns and walks up stage. Watches from above sullenly.
MADGE turns to ALlCEagain.)

Don’t you think, dear, it’s about time to remember that you owe us a little consideration? Wasn’t it
something, just a little something, that we found you friendless and ill in Homburg and befriended you?

ALICE: It was only to rob me.

MADGE: Wasn’t it something that we brought you and your mother across to England with us — that we
kept you here — in our own home — and supported and cared for you —

ALICE: So that you could rob me.

MADGE: My dear child — you have nothing of value. That package of letters wouldn’t bring you
sixpence.

ALICE: Then why do you want it? Why do you persecute me and starve me to get it? (Pause — MADGE
looking at her cruelly.) All your friendship to me and my mother was a pretence — a sham. It was only to
get what you wanted away from me when the time came.

MADGE: Why, we have no idea of such a thing!

ALICE (turning slightly on MADGE): I don’t believe you.

LARRABEE (who has controlled himself with difficulty): Well, believe me, then.

(ALICE turns to him, frightened but calm. No forced expressions of pain and despair anywhere in the
scene.)

(Moves towards her.) You’re going to tell us what you’ve done with that package before you leave this

room to-night!

(MADGE backs away a step or two.)

ALICE: Not if you kill me.

LARRABEE ( seizing ALICE violently by the arms or wrists at back of her): It isn’t killing that’s going
to do it — it’s something else.

{Music melodramatic and pathetic.)

(LARRABEE gets ALICE’S arms behind her, and holds her as if wrenching or twisting them from
behind. She gives slight cry of pain. MADGE comes to her. PRINCE looks away during following —
appearing not to like the scene but not moving.)

MADGE {sharp hard voice): Tell us where it is! Tell us and he’ll stop.

LARRABEE {a little behind — business of gripping as if wrenching her arms): Out with it!

ALICE {suppressed cry or moan): Oh!

(NOTE. — ALICE has little expression of pain on her face. The idea is to be game.)

MADGE: Where is it?

LARRABEE: Speak quick now! I’ll give you a turn next time that’ll take it out of you.

MADGE {low voice): Be careful, Jimmie!

LARRABEE {angry): Is this any time to be careful? I tell you we’ve got to get it out of her — and we’ll
do it too! {Business.) Will you tell? {Business.) Will you tell? {Business.) Will you —

{Loud ringing of door bell in distant part of house.)

(NOTE. — This must on no account be close at hand.)

{After bell music stops.)

PRINCE {quick turn on ring. Short sharp whisper as he starts up): Lookout!

{All stand listening an instant. ALICE, however, heard nothing, as the pain has made her faint, though
not unconscious. LA R R A B E E/; us h es ALICE into chair facing fire-place. He then hides her. MADGE
goes quickly and cautiously draws picture from a small concealed window. LARRABEE stands near
ALICEr7o.se up to her. Steps heard outside. LARRABEE turns quickly, hearing steps. Make these steps
distinct — slow — not loud.)

LARRABEE {speaking off): Here!

{Enter FORMAN. He stands waiting.)

Don’t go to that door; see who it is.

(FORMAN simply waits — no surprise on his face. MADGEturning and speaking in low but clear
voice. LARRABEE stands so that FORMAN will not see ALICE.)

MADGE (; standing on ottoman ): Tall, slim man in a long coat — soft hat — smooth face — carries ... an
ebony cane — {Short, quick exclamation from PRINCE.)

PRINCE {breaks in with quick exclamation under breath.MADGE stopped by PRINCE’S exclamation ):
Sherlock ‘Olmes! He’s ‘ere!

{Pause. PRINCE quickly conceals his satchel above safe — also closing door of safe. Music
melodramatic, very pp.)

LARRABEE {moving towards piano, turns out lamp): We won’t answer the bell.

PRINCE {turning from tools, etc., and stopping him quickly): Now that won’t do, ye know! Looks
crooked at the start!

LARRABEE: You’re right! We’ll have him in — and come the easy innocent. {He turns up the lamp
again.)

MADGE : There ’ s the girl !

PRINCE {at piano): Get her away — quick!

(ALICE is beginning to notice what goes on in a dreamy way.)

LARRABEE: Take her up the back stairway!

(MADGE takes ALICE quickly and forces her to door as they speak.)

MADGE {stopping to speak to LARRABEE and speaking out very distinctly): She’s in poor health and
can’t see anyone — you understand.

LARRABEE: Yes ! yes ! Lock her in the room — and stay by the door.

(MADGE and ALICE quickly go out. LARRABEEc/o^^ door at once and stands an instant, uncertain.
Then he goes to and opens lid of box on wall seat, and gets a loaded club — an ugly looking weapon —
and shoves it into PRINCE’S hand.)

You get out there! {Indicating.) Keep quiet there till he gets in the house — then come round to the front.
PRINCE: I come round to the front after ‘e’s in the ‘ouse — that plain.

LARRABEE: Be ready for ‘im when he comes out! If he’s got the things in spite of us, I’ll give you two
sharp whistles! If you don’t hear it, let him pass.

PRINCE: But if I do ‘ear the two whistles — ?

LARRABEE: Then let ‘im have it.

(PRINCE gets off at window, which he closes at once. LA R R A B E Emo ves rapidly, kicking door of desk
shut as he passes. Stands at piano, leaning on it carelessly. Turns to FORMAN.)

Go on, answer the bell.

(FORMAN bows slightly and goes. LARRABEE strolls about trying to get into an assumption oj

coolness. Picks up book off piano. Sound of heavy door closing outside. Brief pause. Enter
SHERLOCKHOLMES, hat and stick in hand — wearing a long coat or ulster, and gloves. He lingers
in the archway, apparently seem nothing in particular, and slowly drawing off gloves. Then moves to
the wall seat close at hand and sits.)

{Music stops.)

{After quite a time LARRABEE turns, throws book on piano, and saunters towards HOLMES in rather
an ostentatious manner.)

Mr. Holmes, I believe.

HOLMES {rises and turning to LARRABEE as if mildly surprised.) Yes, sir.

LARRABEE: Who did you wish to see, Mr. Holmes?

HOLMES {looking steadily at LARRABEE an instant. Speaks very quietly ): Thank you so much — 1
sent my card — by the butler.

LARRABEE {stands motionless an instant — after an instant pause): Oh — very well.

{Long pause. Enter FORMAN down stairs. LA R R A B E Emo ves up near piano and turns to hear what
FORMAN says.)

FORMAN {to HOLMES): Miss Faulkner begs Mr. Holmes to excuse her. She is not well enough to see
anyone this evening.

(HOLMES takes out note-book and pencil and writes a word or two on a card or leaf of the book. Tears
it out of book. Pulls out watch and glances at it. Hands the card to FORMAN, taking off coat first.)

HOLMES: Hand Miss Faulkner this — and say that 1 have —

LARRABEE: I beg your pardon, Mr. Holmes, but it’s quite useless — really.

HOLMES: Oh — Em so sorry to hear it.

(HOLMES turns quietly to LARRABEE and looks at him. LARRABEE is a trifle affected by
HOLMES 'quiet scrutiny.)

LARRABEE: Yes — Miss Faulkner is — I regret to say — quite an invalid. She is unable to see anyone
— her health is so poor.

HOLMES: Did it ever occur to you that she might be confined to the house too much?

{An instant s pause.)

LARRABEE {suddenly in low threatening tone, but not too violent): How does that concern you?
HOLMES {easily): It doesn’t ... I simply made the suggestion.

{The two look at one another an instant. HOLMES turns quietly to FORMAN.)

That’s all. {Motions him slightly.) Go on. Take it up. (FORMANgoes out up stairway. After a moment

LARRABEE turns, breaking into hearty laughter .)

LARRABEE: Ha! ha! This is really too good. (< Strolling about laughing.) Why, of course he can take up
your card — or your note — or whatever it is, if you wish it so much; I was only trying to save You the
trouble.

HOLMES (who has been watching him through foregoing speech ): Thanks — hardly any trouble at all
to send a card. ( Seats himself in an easy languid way — picks up Punch.)

LARRABEE ( endeavours to be easy, careless and patronizing) Do you know, Mr. Holmes, you interest
me very much.

HOLMES (easily)-. Ah!

LARRABEE: Upon my word, yes! We’ve all heard of your wonderful methods. (Coming towards
HOLMES.) Your marvellous insight — your ingenuity in picking up and following clues — an the
astonishing manner in which you gain information from the most trifling details . . . Now, I dare say — in
this brief moment or two you’ve discovered any number of things about me.

HOLMES: Nothing of consequence, Mr. Chetwood — I have scarcely more than asked myself why you
rushed off and sent that telegram in such a frightened hurry — what possible excuse you could have had
for gulping down that tumbler of raw brandy at the “Lion’s Head” on the way back — why your friend
with the auburn hair left so suddenly by the terrace window — and what there can possibly be about the
safe in the lower part of that desk to cause you such painful anxiety.

(Pause. LARRABEE standing motionless looking « /HOLMES. HOLMES picks up paper and reads.)

LARRABEE: Ha! ha! very good! Very good indeed! If those things were only true now, I’d be
wonderfully impressed. It would absolutely —

(He breaks off as FORMAN enters — coming down stairs. He quietly crosses to LARRABEE, who is
watching him, and extends salver with a note upon it. HOLMES is looking over paper languidly.
LARRABEE takes note. FORMAN retires .)

You’ll excuse me, I trust.

(HOLMES remains silent, glancing over paper and looking quietly at FORMAN. LARRABEE reads
the note hastily.)

(First a seconds thought after reading, as he sees that HOLME S/s not observing him — then
speaking.) Ah — it’s from — er — Faulkner! Well really! She begs to be allowed to see — Mr. Holmes.
She absolutely implores it! (HOLMES looks slowly up as though scarcely interested .) Well, I suppose I
shall have to give way. (Turns to FORMAN.) Judson!

FORMAN: Sir.

LARRABEE (emphasizing words in italics ): Ask Miss Faulkner to come down to the drawing-room
Say that Mr. Holmes is waiting to see her.

FORMAN: Yes, sir. (Bows and goes out upstairs.)

LARRABEE (trying to get on the free and easy style again)'. It’s quite remarkable, upon my soul! May I

ask — (turns toward HOLMES) — if it’s not an impertinent question, what message you sent up that
could have so aroused Miss Faulkner’s desire to come down?

HOLMES ( looking up at LARRABEE innocently ): Merely that if she wasn’t down here in five minutes
I’d go up.

LARRABEE (slightly knocked ): Oh, that was it!

HOLMES: Quite so. (Rises and takes his watch out.) And unless 1 am greatly mistaken 1 hear the young
lady on the stairs. In which case she has a minute and a half to spare. (Moving by piano — taking
opportunity to look at keys, music, etc.)

(Enter MADGE LARRABEE downstairs as if not quite strong. She has made her face pale, and
steadies herself a little by columns, side of arch, furniture, etc., as she comes on, but not overdoing
this. She gives the impression of a person a little weak, but endeavouring not to let it be seen.)

LARRABEE (advancing to MADGE): Alice — or — that is, Miss Faulkner, let me introduce Mr.
Sherlock Holmes.

(HOLMES is near piano. MADGE goes a step to him with extended hand. HOLMES meets MADGE
and takes her hand in the utmost confidence.)

MADGE: Mr. Holmes! (Coming toward him with extended hand.)

HOLMES (meeting MADGE): Miss Faulkner!

MADGE: I’m really most charmed to meet you — although it does look as if you had made me come
down in spite of myself, doesn’t it? But it isn’t so at all, Mr. Holmes. I was more than anxious to come,
only the doctor has forbidden me seeing anyone — but when Cousin Freddie said I might come, of course
that fixed the responsibility on him, so I have a perfectly clear conscience.

HOLMES: I thank you very much for consenting to see me, Miss Faulkner, but regret that you were put to
the trouble of making such a very rapid change of dress.

(MADGE slightest possible start, and recover at once.)

MADGE: Ye — yes! I did hurry a trifle, I confess. (Crosses toward LARRABEE.) Mr. Holmes is quite
living up to his reputation, isn’t he, Freddie?

LARRABEE: Yes . . . But he didn’t quite live up to it a moment ago.

MADGE: Oh, didn’t he! I’m so sorry. (Sits on seat at foot of piano.)

LARRABEE: No. He’s been telling me the most astonishing things.

MADGE: And they weren’t true?

LARRABEE: Well hardly! (HOLMES sits in arm-chair.) He wanted to know what there was about the
safe in the lower part that desk that caused me such horrible anxiety! Ha! ha! ha!

MADGE (above LARRABEE’S laugh — to HOLMES): Why, this isn’t anything. (To LARRABEE.) Is
there?

LARRABEE: That’s just it! Ha! ha! ha! ( With a quick motion swings back the doors ) There’s a safe
there, but nothing in it.

(MADGE joins him in laughter.)

MADGE {as she laughs ): Really Mr. Holmes, that’s too grotesque, ha! ha!

(HOLMES, seated in arm-chair among the cushions, regards MADGEand LARRABEE with a peculiar
whimsical look.)

LARRABEE {laughing): Perhaps you’ll do better next time! {Closes safe door.)

MADGE: Yes, next time — (HOLMES is looking at them.) You might try on me, Mr. Holmes. {Looking
playfully at HOLMES, greatly enjoying the lark.)

LARRABEE: Yes, what do you think of her?

HOLMES: It is very easy to discern one thing about Miss Faulkner — and that is, that she is particularly
fond of the piano that her touch is exquisite, her expression wonderful, and her technique extraordinary.
While she likes light music very well, she is extremely fond of some of the great masters, among whom
are Chopin, Liszt. She plays a great deal indeed; I see it is her chief diversion — which makes it all the
more remarkable that she has not touched the piano for three days.

{Pause.)

MADGE {turning to LARRABEE — a trifle disconcerted by HOLMES’S last words, but nearly hiding
it with success): Why that’s quite surprising, isn’t it?

LARRABEE: Certainly better than he did for me.

HOLMES {rising..): I am glad to somewhat repair my shattered reputation, and as a reward, will Miss
Faulkner be so good as to play me something of which I am particularly fond?

MADGE: I shall be delighted — if I can. {Looks questioningly at HOLMES.)

HOLMES: If you can! Something tells me that Chopin’s Prelude Number Fifteen is at your finger ends.

MADGE: Oh yes! {Rising and forgetting her illness, and going to keyboard — crossing in front oj
piano): I can give you that.

HOLMES: It will please me so much.

MADGE {stopping suddenly as she is about to sit at piano): But tell me, Mr. Holmes, how did you
know so much about my playing — my expression — technique?

HOLMES: Your hands.

MADGE: And my preference for the composers you mentioned?

HOLMES: Your music-rack.

MADGE: How simple! But you said I hadn’t played for three days. How did —

HOLMES: The keys.

MADGE: The keys?

HOLMES: A light layer of dust.

MADGE: Dust! Oh dear! ( Quick business with handkerchief on keyboard .) I never knew Terese to forget
before. (ToHOLMES.) You must think us very untidy I’m sure.

HOLMES: Quite the reverse. 1 see from many things that you are not untidy in the least, and therefore 1
am compelled to conclude that the failure of Terese is due to something else.

MADGE {a little under breath — and hesitatingly — yet compelled by HOLMES’ pointed statement to
ask ) : Wh — what?

HOLMES: To some unusual excitement or disturbance that has recently taken place in this house.

MADGE {after an instant’s pause): You’re doing very well, Mr. Holmes, and you deserve your Chopin.
(Sits, makes preparation to play rather hurriedly in order to change the subject.)

HOLMES: Thanks.

(LARRABEE looks toward safe, far from easy in his mind, and leans on piano, giving HOLMES a
glance as he turns to MADGE. MADGE strikes a few preliminary chords during above business and
soon begins to play the composition spoken of Shortly after the music begins, and while LARRABEE
is looking to front or elsewhere, HOLMES reaches quietly back and pulls the bell crank. No sound oj
bell heard, the music supposed to make it inaudible. He then sinks into seat just at bell. After a short
time FORMANentens 1 and stands waiting just in the archway. LARRABEE does not see FORMAN at
first, but happening to turn discovers him standing there and speaks a warning word to MADGE under
his breath. MADGE, hearing LARRABEE speak, looks up and sees FORMAN. She stops playing in
the midst of a bar — a hesitating stop. Looks at FORMAN a moment.)

MADGE: What are you doing here, Judson?

(Brief pause because FORMAN seems surprised.)

FORMAN: 1 came to see what was wanted, ma’am

(Brief pause.)

MADGE: What was wanted?

(Brief pause.)

LARRABEE: Nobody asked you to come here.

FORMAN: 1 beg pardon, sir. 1 answered the bell.

LARRABEE (becoming savage): What bell?

FORMAN: The drawing-room bell, sir.

LARRABEE ( threateningly ): What do you mean, you blockhead!

FORMAN: Em quite sure it rang, sir.

LARRABEE ( loud voice): Well, I tell you it did not ring!

{Pause. The LARRABEES look angrily at FORMAN.)

HOLMES ( quietly — after slight pause — clear incisive voice.): Your butler is right Mr. Chetwood —
the bell did ring.

{Brief pause. LARRABEE and MADGE looking at HOLMES.)

LARRABEE: How do you know?

HOLMES: 1 rang it.

(MADGE rises.)

LARRABEE {roughly): What do you want?

(HOLMES rises, takes card from case or pocket.)

HOLMES: 1 want to send my card to Miss Faulkner. {Gives card to FORMAN.)

(FORMAN stands apparently paralysed.)

LARRABEE {angrily — approaching HOLMES): What right have you to ring for servants and give
orders in my house?

HOLMES {turning on LARRABEE): What right have you to prevent my cards from reaching their
destination — and how does it happen that you and this woman are resorting to trickery and deceit to
prevent me from seeing Alice Faulkner? (T he situation is held an instant and then he turns quietly to
FORMAN.) Through some trifling oversight, Judson, neither of the cards 1 handed you have been
delivered. See that this error — does not occur again.

(FORMAN stands, apparently uncertain what to do.)

FORMAN: My orders, sir —

HOLMES {quick — sharp): Ah! you have orders! {A sudden sharp glance at LARRABEE and back in
an instant.)

FORMAN: 1 can’t say, sir, as 1 —

HOLMES {quickly breaking in): You were told not to deliver my card!

LARRABEE {step or two up): What business is this of yours, I’d like to know?

HOLMES: 1 shall satisfy your curiosity on that point in a very short time.

LARRABEE: Yes — and you’ll find out in a very short time that it isn’t safe to meddle with me! It
wouldn’t be any trouble at all for me to throw you out into the street.

HOLMES {sauntering easily towards him — shaking finger ominously ): Possibly not — but trouble
would swiftly follow such an experiment on your part.

LARRABEE: It’s a cursed lucky thing for you I’m not armed.

HOLMES: Yes — well, when Miss Faulkner comes down you can go and arm yourself.

LARRABEE: Arm myself! I’ll call the police! And what’s more, I’ll do it now.

(HOLMES steps down and faces LARRABEE)

HOLMES: You will not do it now. You will remain where you are until the lady I came here to see has
entered this room.

LARRABEE: What makes you so sure of that?

HOLMES {in his face) Because you will infinitely prefer to avoid an investigation of your very
suspicious conduct Mr. James Larrabee —

{A sharp start from both LARRABEE and MADGE0/7 hearing HOLMES address the former by his
proper name.)

— an investigation that shall certainly take place if you or your wife presume further to interfere with my
business {Turns to FORMAN.) As for you, my man — it gives me great pleasure recall the features of an
old acquaintance. Your recent connection with the signing of another man’s name to a small piece of paper
has made your presence at Bow Street much desired. You either deliver that card to Miss Faulkner at once

— or you sleep in the police station to night. It is a matter of small consequence to me which you do.
{Turns and strolls near fire, picking book from mantelpiece — and sits)

(FORMAN stands motionless but torn with conflicting fears)

FORMAN {finally in a low painful voice — whispers hoarse ): Shall I go sir?

(MADGE moves to near LARRABEE, at piano.)

LARRABEE: Go on. Take up the card — it makes no difference to me.

MADGE {quick sharp aside to LARRABEE): If she comes down can’t he get them away from her?
LARRABEE {to MADGE) If he does Sid Prince is waiting for him outside.

(FORMAN appearing to be greatly relieved, turns and goes out up stairs with HOLMES’ card.)
{Pathetic music, very pp.)

{A pause — no one moves.)

{Enter ALICE FAULKNER. She comes down a little — very weak — looking at LARRABEE, then
seeing HOLMES for first time.)

{Stop music.)

HOLMES {on seeing ALICE, rises and puts book on mantel. After a brief pause, turns and comes down

to LARRABEE): A short time since you displayed an acute anxiety to leave the room. Pray do not let me
detain you or your wife — any longer.

{The LARRABEES do not move. After a brief pause, HOLMES shrugs shoulders slightly and goes over
to ALICE. HOLMES and ALICE regard each other a moment .)

ALICE: This is Mr. Holmes?

HOLMES: Yes.

ALICE: You wished to see me?

HOLMES: Very much indeed, Miss Faulkner, but I am sorry to see — {placing chair near her ) — you
are far from well.

ALICE {a step. LARRABEE gives a quick glance across at her, threateningly, and a gesture oj
warning, but keeping it down): Oh no — {Stops as she catches LARRABEE’S angry glance.)

HOLMES {pausing as he is about to place chair, and looking at her): No? {Lets go of his chair.) I beg
your pardon — but — {Goes to her and takes her hand delicately — looks at red marks on her wrist.
Looking up at her.) What does this mean?

ALICE {shrinking a little. Sees LARRABEE’S cruel glance): Oh — nothing.

(HOLMES looks steadily at her an instant.)

HOLMES: Nothing?

ALICE {shaking head): No!

HOLMES: And the — {pointing lightly) — mark here on your neck. Plainly showing the clutch of a
man’s fingers? {Indicating a place on her neck where more marks appear.) Does that mean nothing also?

{Pause. ALICE turns slightly away without answering.)

{Looking straight before him to front.) It occurs to me that I would like to have an explanation of this . . .
Possibly — {turns slowly towards LARRABEE) — you can furnish one, Mr. Larrabee?

{Pause.)

LARRABEE {doggedly): How should I know?

HOLMES: It seems to have occurred in your house.

LARRABEE {advancing a little, becoming violently angry): What if it did? You’d better understand that
it isn’t healthy for you or anyone else to interfere with my business.

HOLMES {quickly — incisively): Ah! Then it is your business. We have that much at least.

(LARRABEE stops suddenly and holds himself in.)

{Turning to ALICE.) Pray be seated, Miss Faulkner. {Placing chair as if not near enough.)

(ALICE hesitates an instant — then decides to remain standing for the present. LARRABEE stands

watching and listening to interview between HOLMES and ALICE.)

ALICE: I don’t know who you are, Mr. Holmes, or why you are here.

HOLMES: I shall be very glad to explain. So far as the question of my identity is concerned, you have my
name and address as well as the announcement of my profession upon the card, which I observe you still
hold clasped tightly in the fingers of your left hand.

(ALICE at once looks at the card in her hand.)

ALICE {a look at him): A — detective! (Sits on ottoman, looking at HOLMES.)

HOLMES (draws near her and sits): Quite so. And my business is this. I have been consulted as to the
possibility of obtaining from you certain letters and other things which are supposed to be in your
possession, and which — I need not tell you — are the source of the greatest anxiety.

ALICE (her manner changing and no longer timid and shrinking): It is quite true I have such letters, Mr.
Holmes, but it will be impossible to get them from me; others — have tried — and failed.

HOLMES: What others have or have not done, while possibly instructive in certain directions, can in no
way affect my conduct, Miss Faulkner. I have come to you frankly and directly, to beg you to pity and
forgive.

ALICE: There are some things, Mr. Holmes, beyond pity — beyond forgiveness.

HOLMES: But there are other things that are not. (ALlCElooks at him.) I am able to assure you of the
sincere penitence — the deep regret — of the one who inflicted the injury, and of his earnest desire to
make — any reparation in his power.

ALICE: How can reparation be made to the dead?

HOLMES: How indeed! And for that very reason, whatever injury you yourself may be able to inflict by
means of these things can be no reparation — no satisfaction — no indemnity to the one no longer here.
You will be acting for the living — not the dead. For your own satisfaction. Miss Faulkner, your own
gratification, your own revenge!

(ALICE starts slightly at the idea suggested and rises. Pause. HOLMES rises, moves his chair back a
little, standing with his hand on it.)

ALICE (stands a moment, very quiet low voice): I know — from this and from other things that have
happened — that a — a marriage is — contemplated.

HOLMES: It is quite true.

ALICE: I cannot give up what I intend to do, Mr. Holmes. There are other things beside revenge — there
is punishment. If I am not able to communicate with the family — to which this man proposes to ally
himself — in time to prevent such a thing — the punishment will come later — but you may be perfectly
sure it will come. (HOLMES is about to speak. She motions him not to speak.) There is nothing more to
say!

(HOLMES gives a signal.)

{She looks at HOLMES an instant .) Good night, Mr. Holmes. {She turns and starts to go.)

HOLMES: But my dear Miss Faulkner, before you —

{A confused noise of shouting and terrified screams from below followed by sounds of people running
up a stairway and through the halls.)

HOLMES: What’s that?

{All stop and listen. Noise louder. Enter FORMAN, breathless and white. At same time smoke pours in
through archway.)

FORMAN {gasping): Mr. Chetwood! Mr. Chetwood!

MADGE and LARRABEE: What is it?

(HOLMES keeps his eyes sharply on ALICE. ALlCEstands back alarmed.)

FORMAN: The lamp — in the kitchen, sir! It fell off the table — an’ everything down there is blazin’, sir.

MADGE: The house — is on fire! {She gives a glance towards safe, forgetting that the package is gone
— but instantly recovers.)

(LARRABEE hurriedly goes out, MADGE after /z/m. FORMAN disappears. Noise of people running
downstairs, etc. ALICE, on cue “Blazin ’, sir, ” gives a scream and looks quickly at chair, at the same
time making an involuntary start toward it. She stops upon seeing HOLMES and stands. Noises grow
less and die away outside and below.)

HOLMES: Don’t alarm yourself, Miss Faulkner — {slight shake of head) — there is no fire.

ALICE {shows by tone that she fears something): No fire! {Stands, dreading what may come.)
HOLMES: The smoke was all arranged for by me. {Slight pause)

ALICE: Arranged for? {Looks at HOLMES.)

(HOLMES quickly moves to large upholstered chair which ALICE glanced at and made start towards a
moment since.)

What does it mean, Mr. Holmes?

(HOLMES feels rapidly over chair. Rips away upholstery. ALlCEattempts to stop him — but is too
late, and backs to piano almost in a fainting condition. HOLMES stands erect with a package in

hand.)

HOLMES: That I wanted this package of letters, Miss Faulkner.

(ALICE stands looking at HOLMES speechless — motionless — meets HOLMES’ gaze for a moment,
and then covers her face with her hands, and very slight motion of convulsive sob or two. HOLMES
with a quick motion steps quickly in a business-like way to the seat where his coat, hat and cane are,
and picks up coat, throwing it over his arm as if to go at once. As he is about to take his hat, he catches
sight of ALICE’S face and stops dead where he is.)

{Music. Very pp. Scarcely audible .)

(HOLMES stands looking at her, motionless. She soon looks up at him again, brushing hand across
face as if to clear away any sign of crying. The tableau of the two looking at one another is held a
moment or two. HOLMES’ eyes leave her face and he looks down an instant. After a moment he lays
his coat, hat and cane back on seat. Pauses an instant. Turns toward her.)

HOLMES {low voice. Brief pause): I won’t take them. Miss Faulkner. {He looks down an instant. Her
eyes are upon his face steadily.) As you — {still looking down) — as you — very likely conjecture, the
alarm of fire was only to make you betray their hiding-place — which you did . . . and 1 — availed myself
of that betrayal — as you see. But now that 1 witness your great distress — 1 find that 1 cannot keep them
— unless — {looking up at her ) — you can possibly — change your mind and let me have them — of
your own free will . . . {He looks at her a moment. She shakes her head very slightly.) 1 hardly supposed
you could. {Looks down a moment. Looks up.) 1 will therefore — return it to you. {Very slight pause, and
he is about to start toward her as if to hand her the Package.)

{Sound of quick footsteps outside. Enter LARRABEE, with a revolver in his hand, followed by
MADGE.)

{Stop music.)

LARRABEE: So! You’ve got them, have you? And now, I suppose we’re going to see you walk out of the
house with them. {Handles revolver with meaning.)

(HOLMES looks quietly at LARRABEE an instant.)

HOLMES: On the contrary, you’re going to see me return them to their rightful owner.

LARRABEE {with revolver) Yes — I think that’ll be the safest thing for Mr. Sherlock Holmes to do.

(HOLMES stops dead and looks at LARRABEE and walks quietly down facing him)

HOLMES: You flatter yourself Mr. Larrabee. The reason 1 did not leave the house with this package of
papers is not because of you, or what you may do — or say — or think — or feel! It is on account of this
young lady! 1 care that for your cheap bravado {Looks at revolver and smiles) Really? {He looks quietly
in LARRABEE’S eyes an instant, then turns and goes to ALICE.) Miss Faulkner permit me to place this
in your hands {Gives her the package.)

(ALICE takes the package with sudden eagerness — then turns and keeps her eyes steadily on
HOLMES)

Should you ever change your mind and be so generous, forgiving as to wish to return these letters to the
one who wrote them, you have my address. In any event, rest assured there will be no more cruelty, no
more persecution in this house. You are perfectly safe with your property now — for I shall so arrange
that your faintest cry of distress will be heard! And if that cry is heard — it will be a very unfortunate
thing for those who are responsible. Good night Miss Faulkner {Pause — turns toLARRABEE and
MADGE. Coming to them) As for you sir and you, madam, I beg you to understand that you continue your
persecution of that young lady at your peril

(ALICE looks at HOLMES an instant, uncertain what to do. He makes a slight motion indicating her to

go. ALICE, after slight pause crosses in front of HOLMES and goes out LARRABEE makes slight
move towards ALICE, but is checked by a look from HOLMES. HOLMES waits motionless eyes on
ALICE until exit. Then he looks after her for a moment. Then turns and takes his coat and hat. Looks
at them an instant .)

Good evening — ( Walks out and the sound of heavy door closing is heard outside )

( Pause LARRABEE and MADGE stand vv/zereHOLMES left them. Sound of window opening
SIDPRINCE hurries in at window )

PRINCE {sharp but subdued ): Well! ‘E didn’t get it, did ‘e?

(LARRABEE shakes head. PRINCE looks at him, puzzled, and then turns towards MADGE.)

Well — wot is it? Wot’s the pay if ‘e didn’t?

MADGE: He gave it to her.

PRINCE: What!— ’e found it?

(MADGE indicates “Yes ’’ by slight movement .)

An’ gave it to the girl?

(MADGE repeats slight affirmative motion .)

Well ‘ere — I say! Wot are you waiting for? Now’s the chance — before she ‘ides it again! {Starting as if
to go.)

MADGE {stopping PRINCE): No! Wait! {Glances round nervously .)

PRINCE: Wot’s the matter! {Going to LARRABEE.) Do you want to lose it?

LARRABEE: No! you’re right! It’s all a cursed bluff! {Starting as if to gof
MADGE {meeting them, as if to stop them ): No, no, Jim!

LARRABEE: I tell you we will! Now’s our chance to get a hold of it! {Pushing her aside.)

PRINCE: Well, I should say so!

{Three knocks are heard just as PRINCE and LA RR AB EEreuc/z archway. A distant sound of three
heavy blows, as if struck from underneath up against the floor, reverberates through the house. All stop
motionless.)

{Pause.)

{Music, melodramatic agitato, very pp. till Curtain.)

LARRABEE (in a low voice): What’s that?

MADGE: Someone at the door.

LARRABEE {low voice): No — it was on that side!

(PRINCE glances round alarmed. MADGE rings bell. Enter FORMAN All stand easily as if nothing
out of the usual.)

MADGE: I think someone knocked, Judson.

(FORMAN at once goes out quietly but quickly. Sound of door outside closing again. FORMAN re-
enters.)

FORMAN: I beg pardon, ma’am, there’s no one at the door.

MADGE: That’s all.

(FORMAN goes.)

PRINCE {speaks almost in a whisper from above the piano) ‘E’s got us watched! Wot we want to do is
to leave it alone an the Hemperor ‘ave it!

MADGE {low voice — taking a step or two toward PRINCE): Do you mean — Professor Moriarty?

PRINCE: That’s ‘oo I mean. Once let ‘im get at it and ‘e’ll settle it with ‘Olmes pretty quick {Turns to
LARRABEE). Meet me at Leary’s — nine sharp — in the morning. Don’t you worry a minute. I tell you
the Professor’ll get at ‘im before to-morrow night! ‘E don’t wait long either! An’ w’en he strikes — it
means death. {He goes out at window)

{Brief pause. After PRINCE goes MADGE looks after him. LARRABEE, with a despairing look on his
face, leans on chair — looks round puzzled. His eyes meet MADGE’ Sas lights fade away.)

CURTAIN.

ACT II

SCENE 1

PROFESSOR MORIARTY’S Underground Office. Morning

SCENE 1 — This scene is built inside the Second. PROFESSOR MORIARTY’S underground office. A
large vault-like room, with rough masonry walls and vaulted ceiling. The general idea of this place is
that it has been converted from a cellar room of a warehouse into a fairly comfortable office or head-
quarters. There are no windows.

The colour or tone of this set must not be similar to the third Act set, which is a gloomy and dark
bluish-brown. The effect in this set should be of masonry that has long ago been whitewashed and is
now old, stained and grimy. Maps on wall of England, France, Germany, Russia, etc. Also a marked
map of London — heavy spots upon certain localities. Many charts of buildings, plans of floors —
possible tunnellings, etc. Many books about — on impoverished shelves, etc.

PROFESSOR ROBERT MORIARTY is seated at a large circular desk facing the front. He is looking
over letters, telegrams, papers, etc., as if morning mail. He is a middle-aged man, with massive head
and grey hair, and a face full of character, overhanging brow, heavy jaw. A man of great intellectual
force, extremely tall and thin. His forehead domes out in a white curve, and his two eyes are deeply
sunken in his head. Clean-shaven, pale, ascetic-looking. Shoulders rounded, and face protruding
forward, and for ever oscillating from side to side in a curiously reptilian fashion. Deep hollow voice.

The room is dark, with light showing on his face, as if from lamp. Pause. MORIARTY rings a gong at
desk, which has a Peculiar sound. In a second, buzzer outside door replies twice. He Picks up a
speaking tube and puts it to his mouth.

MORIARTY (speaking into tube in a low voice): Number. (He Places tube to his ear and listens, then
speaks into it again.) Correct. (Drops tube. He moves a lever up against wall and the bolt of the door
slides back with a solid heavy sound.)

( Enter JOHN noiselessly. No sound of steps. He stands just within the door in the half darkness.)

Has any report come in from Chibley?

JOHN: Nothing yet sir.

MORIARTY: All the others are heard from?

JOHN: Yes, sir.

MORIARTY: I was afraid we’d have trouble there. If anything happened we lose Hickson — one of our
best men. Send Bassick.

(JOHN goes out. Bolt slides back. Buzzer outside door rings twice. MORIARTY picks up tube and
speaks into it)

{Speaking into tube.) Number. {Listens. Speaks into tube again.) Correct. (He slides back bolt of door.)

{Enter BASSICK noiselessly Bolt of door slides back. BAS SICK goes to MORIARTY’ S desk at once
and stands. MORIARTY motions to sit. He does so )

Before we go into anything else, I want to refer to Davidson.

BASSICK: I’ve made a note of him myself, sir; he’s holding bad money.

MORIARTY: Something like six hundred short on that last haul, isn’t it?

BASSICK: Certainly as much as that.

MORIARTY: Have him attended to. Craigin is the one to do it. (BASSICK writes a memo quickly) And
see that his disappearance is noticed. Have it spoken of. That finishes Davidson . . . Now as to this
Blaisdell matter — did you learn anything more?

BASSICK: The whole thing was a trap.

MORIARTY : What do you mean?

BASSICK: Set and baited by an expert.

MORIARTY : But those letters and papers of instructions — you brought them back, or destroyed them, I
trust?

BASSICK: I could not do it, sir — Manning has disappeared and the papers are gone!

{Music melodramatic. Cue, as MORIARTY looks at BASSICK.)

MORIARTY: Gone! Sherlock Holmes again. That’s bad for the Underwood trial.

BASSICK: I thought Shackleford was going to get a postponement.

MORIARTY : He tried to — and found he was blocked.

BASSICK: Who could have done it?

(MORIARTY turns and looks at BASSICK almost hypnotically — his head vibrating from side to side
as if making him speak the name.)

Sherlock Holmes?

MORIARTY: Sherlock Holmes again. (His eyes still on BASSICK.)

BASSICK (as if fascinated by MORIARTY. Slight affirmative motion.) He’s got hold of between twenty
and thirty papers and instructions in as many different jobs, and some as to putting a man or two out of the
way — and he’s gradually completing chains of evidence which, if we let him go on, will reach to me as
sure as the sun will rise. Reach to me! — Ha! (Sneer.) He’s playing rather a dangerous game! Inspector
Wilson tried it seven years ago. Wilson is dead. Two years later Henderson took it up. We haven’t heard

anything of Henderson lately, eh?

BASSICK (, shaking head): Not a thing, sir.

MORIARTY: Ha! {Sneer.) This Holmes is rather a talented man. He hopes to drag me in at the
Underwood trial, but he doesn’t realise what can happen between now and Monday. He doesn’t know that
there isn’t a street in London that’ll be safe for him if 1 whisper his name to Craigin — 1 might even make
him a little call myself — just for the satisfaction of it — {business of head swaying, etc.) — just for the
satisfaction of it. (BASSICK watches MORIARTY with some anxiety.) Baker Street, isn’t it? His place

— Baker Street — eh?

BASSICK: Baker Street, sir.

MORIARTY: We could make it safe. We could make it absolutely secure for three streets each way.
BASSICK: Yes, sir, but —

MORIARTY: We could. We’ve done it over and over again elsewhere — Police decoyed. Men in every
doorway. {Sudden turn to him.) Do this to-night — in Baker Street! At nine o’clock call his attendants out
on one pretext and another, and keep them out — you understand! I’ll see this Sherlock Holmes myself —
I’ll give him a chance for his life. If he declines to treat with me —

{He takes a savage-looking bulldog revolver from under desk and examines it carefully, slowly placing
it in breast pocket. Ring of telephone bell is heard, but not until the revolver business is finished.)

{The music stops.)

(MORIARTY gives a nod to BASSICK, indicating him to attend to phone. BASSICK rises and goes to
and picks up telephone. MORIARTY resumes business of examining papers on his desk.)

BASSICK {speaks into receiver and listens as indicated): Yes — yes — Bassick — What name did you
say? Oh, Prince, yes. He’ll have to wait — Yes — I got his telegram last night — Well, tell him to come
and speak to me at the phone. {Longer wait.) Yes — I got your telegram. Prince, but I have an important
matter on. You’ll have to wait — Who? {Suddenly becomes very interested .) What sort of a game is it?

— Where is he now? Wait a moment. {To MORIARTY.) Here’s something, sir. Sid Prince has come

here over some job, and he says he’s got Holmes fighting against him.

MORIARTY {quickly turning to BASSICK) Eh? Ask him what it is. Ask him what it is. (BASSICK is
about to speak through the telephone. Quickly.) Wait! (BASSICK stops.) Let him come here. (BASSICK
turns in surprise.)

BASSICK: No one sees you — no one knows you. That has meant safety for years.

MORIARTY : No one sees me now. You talk with him — T 11 listen from the next room (BASSICK looks
at him hesitatingly an instant.) This is your office — you understand — your office — I’ll be there.

(BASSICK turns to telephone.)

BASSICK {speaking into telephone): Is that you. Prince? — Yes, I find I can’t come out — but I’ll see
you here — What interest have they got? What’s the name? {Listening a moment. Looks round to
MORIARTY.) He says there’s two with him — a man and a woman named Larrabee. They won’t consent

to any interview unless they’re present.
MORIARTY: Send them in.

BASSICK (; speaking into telephone ): Eh, Prince — ask Beads to come to the telephone — Beads — eh
— ? ( Lower voice.) Those people with Prince, do they seem to be all right? Look close

yes? — Well — take them out through the warehouse and down by the circular stairway and then bring
them up here by the long tunnel — Yes, here — Look them over as you go along to see they’re not carrying
anything — and watch that no one sees you come down — Yes — {Hangs up ear-piece, turns and looks
at MORIARTY.) 1 don’t like this, sir!

MORIARTY (rises): You don’t like this! You don’t like this! 1 tell you it’s certain death unless we can
settle with this man Holmes.

(The buzzer rings three times.)

(Moves towards opening.) Your office, you understand — your office.

(BASSICK looks at MORIARTY. MORIARTY goes out. BASSICK, after MORIARTY is well off, goes
and takes MORIARTY’ S place at the back of the desk. Rings gong at desk. Buzzer replies twice from
outside.)

BASSICK (speaking into tube): Send John here.

(BASSICK pushes back bolt. Enter JOHN noiselessly. He stands just within door. Bolt of door slides
back when door shuts.)

There are some people coming in here, you stand over there, and keep your eye on them from behind. If
you see anything suspicious, drop your handkerchief. If it’s the woman pick it up — if it’s the man leave it
on the floor.

(Three knocks are distinctly heard on door from outside. On last knock JOHN goes near wall.)

(Picks up tube and speaks into it.) Number. (Listens — speaking into tube.) Are the three waiting with
you? (Listens — drops tube and pushes lever back, and the bolt slides back from the door. The door
slowly swings open.)

(Enter SID P RING E, fol l o wed by MADGE and LARRABEE. The door Closes and the bolts slide back
with a clang. At the sound of the bolts LARRABEE looks round at door very sharply, realising that
they are all locked in. BASSICK motions MADGE to chair. MADGE Sits. LARRABEE is suspicious,
and does not like the look of the place. PRINCE remains standing. BASSICK sits behind desk. JOHN is
in the dark, watching LARRABEE and MADGE, with a handkerchief in hand.)

I understand you to say — through our private telephone — that you’ve got something with Sherlock
Holmes against you.

PRINCE: Yes, sir — we ‘ave.

BASSICK: Kindly let me have the particulars.

(LARRABEE gives “H’m, ” indicating that he wants to hear.)

PRINCE: Jim and Madge Larrabee here, which you used to know in early days, they have picked up a girl
at ‘Omburg, where her sister had been havin’ a strong affair of the ‘eart with a very ‘igh young foreign
nob who promised to marry ‘er — but the family stepped in and threw the whole thing down. ‘E be’aved
very bad to ‘er an had let ‘imself out an written her letters an given her rings and tokens, yer see — and
there was photographs too. Now as these various things showed how ‘e’d deceived and betrayed ‘er, they
wouldn’t look nice at all considerin’ who the young man was, an’ wot ‘igh titles he was cornin’ into. So
when this girl up an’ dies of it all, these letters and things all fall into the ‘ands of the sister — which is
the one my friends ‘ere has been nursin’ all along — together with ‘er mother.

BASSICK {to LARRABEE): Where have you had the people?

LARRABEE: We took a house up the Norrington Road.

BASSICK: How long have you been there?

LARRABEE: Two years, the fourteenth of next month.

BASSICK: And those letters and — other evidences of the young man’s misconduct — when will they
reach their full value?

(LARRABEE is about to answer, but PRINCE jumps in quickly .)

PRINCE: It’s now, don’t you see. It’s now — There’s a marriage cornin’ on, an’ there’s been offers, an’
the problem is to get the papers in our ‘ands.

BASSICK: Where are they?

PRINCE: Why, the girl’s got ‘old of ‘em, sir!

(BASSICK turns for explanation of this to LARRABEE)

LARRABEE: We had a safe for her to keep them in, supposing that when the time came we could open it,
but the lock was out of order and we got Prince in to help us. He opened it last night, and the package
containing the things was gone — she had taken them out herself.

BASSICK: What did you do when you discovered this?

PRINCE: Do — I ‘adn’t any more than got the box open, sir, an’ given one look at it, when Sherlock
Holmes rings the front door bell.

BASSICK {intent): There — at your house?

LARRABEE: At my house.

BASSICK: He didn’t get those letters?

LARRABEE: Well, he did get them, but he passed them back to the Faulkner girl.

BASSICK {rises — in surprise ): Passed them back, eh? What did that mean? {Goes down a little,
thinking.)

LARRABEE {slight shrug of shoulders ): There’s another thing that puzzles me. There was an accident

below in the kitchen — a lamp fell off the table and scattered burning oil about, the butler came running
up, yelling fire. We ran down there, and a few buckets of water put it out.

(MORIARTY suddenly appears at his desk. Lights on his face.)

MORIARTY: 1 have a suggestion to make. (All turn in surprise and look at MORIARTY.) The first thing
we must do is to get rid of your butler — not discharge him — get rid of him. (To BASSICK.) Craigin for
that! To-day! As soon as it’s dark. Give him two others to help — Mr. Larrabee will send the man into the
cellar for something — they’ll be ready for him there. Doul ton’s van will get the body to the river.
(MADGE shudders slightly.) It need not inconvenience you at all, Madam, we do these things quietly.

(BASSICK is writing orders.)

(To BASSICK.) What’s the Seraph doing?

BASSICK: He’s on the Reading job to-morrow night.

MORIARTY: Put him with Craigin to-day to help with that butler. But there’s something else we want.
Have you seen those letters, the photographs, and whatever else there may be? Have you seen them? Do
you know what they’re like?

MADGE: I have, sir. I’ve looked them through carefully several times

MORIARTY: Could you make me a counterfeit set of these things and tie them up so that they will look
exactly like the package Sherlock Holmes held in his hand last night?

MADGE: I could manage the letters — but —

MORIARTY: If you manage the letters, I’ll send some one who can manage the rest — from your
description. Bassick — that old German artist — eh —

BASSICK: Leuftner.

MORIARTY: Precisely! Send Leuftner to Mrs. Larrabee at eleven. (Looks at watch.) Quarter past ten —
that gives you three quarters of an hour to reach home. I shall want that counterfeit packet an eleven to-
night — twelve hours to make it.

MADGE: It will be ready, sir.

MORIARTY : Good! Bassick — notify the Lascar that I may require the Gas Chamber at Stepney to-night.
BASSICK: The Gas Chamber?

MORIARTY: Yes. The one backing over the river — and have Craigin there a quarter before twelve
with two others. Mr. Larrabee — ( turning slightly to him) — I shall want you to write a letter to Mr.
Sherlock Holmes which I shall dictate — and tonight I may require a little assistance from you both.
(Taking in PRINCE with his glance.) Meet me here at eleven.

LARRABEE: This is all very well, sir, but you have said nothing about — the business arrangements.
I’m not sure that! —

MORIARTY (turning front): You have no choice.

LARRABEE: No choice. {Looks fiercely to MORIARTY.)

(MADGE rises to quiet him. JOHN drops handkerchief. Pause.)

MORIARTY {looking at him): No choice. (PRINCE aghast.) I do what I please. It pleases me to take
hold of this case.

LARRABEE {angry — crossing to desk): Well, what about pleasing me?

(BASSICK looks across at LARRABEE.)

MORIARTY {perfectly quiet — looks at LARRABEE an instant ): I am not so sure but I shall be able to
do that as well. I will obtain the original letters from Miss Faulkner and negotiate the for much more than
you could possibly obtain. In addition — you will have an opportunity to sell the counterfeit package to
Holmes tonight, for a good round sum And the money obtained from both these sources shall be divided
as follows: you will take one hundred per cent, and I — nothing.

{Brief pause of astonishment.)

LARRABEE: Nothing!

MORIARTY: Nothing!

(LARRABEE moves to PRINCE.)

BASSICK: But we cannot negotiate those letters until we know who they incriminate. Mr. Larrabee has
not yet informed us.

MORIARTY: Mr. Larrabee — (LARRABEE looks round to MORIARTY) — is wise in exercising
caution. He values the keystone to his arch. But he will consent to let me know.

(LARRABEE goes to MADGE.)

MADGE {going across to MORIARTY): Professor Moriarty, that information we would like to give —
only to you. {Looking toward BASSICK).

(MORIARTY motions BASSICK away. BASSICK moves a little. MORIARTY hands a card and pencil
to MADGE from desk. MADGE writes a name and hands it to MORIARTY. He glances at name on
card, then looks more closely. Looks up at MADGE astonished.)

MORIARTY: This is an absolute certainty.

LARRABEE: Absolute.

MORIARTY : It means that you have a fortune.

(PRINCE drinks in every word and look.)

Had 1 known this, you should hardly have had such terms.

LARRABEE: Oh well — we don’t object to a —

MORIARTY ( interrupting ): The arrangement is made, Mr. Larrabee —

I bid you good morning. {Bowing

with dignity and Pulling lever back.)

(LARRABEE, PRINCE and MADGE move toward door. Bolts, etc., slide back on door. BAS SICK
motions JOHN, who stands ready to conduct the party. BASSICK crosses to door. All bow a little and
go out, followed by JOHN — business of door closing, bolts, etc. BASSICK turns at door and looks at
MORIARTY.)

Bassick, place your men at nine to-night for Sherlock Holmes house in Baker Street.

BASSICK: You will go there yourself sir!

MORIARTY: I will go there myself — myself {Revolver out) I am the one to attend to this.

BASSICK: But this meeting to-night at twelve, to trap Holmes in the Gas Chamber in Swandem Lane.

MORIARTY: If I fail to kill him in Baker Street, we’ll trap him to-night in Swandem Lane. Either way I
have him, Bassick. I have him I have him

{Lights off gradually but not too slow on this act, and leave light on MORIARTY’ S face last.)

{Music. Swell out forte for change.)

DARK CHANGE

SCENE 2

SHERLOCK HOLMES’S Apartments in Baker Street. Evening

SCENE II. — In SHERLOCK HOLMES’ rooms in Baker Street — the large drawing-room of his
apartments. An open, cheerful room, but not too much decorated. Rather plain. The walls are a plain
tint, the ceiling ditto. The furniture is comfortable and goody but not elegant. Books, music, violins,
tobacco pouches, pipes, tobacco, etc., are scattered in places about the room with some disorder.
Various odd things are hung about. Some very choice pictures and etchings hang on the walls here and
there, but the pictures do not have heavy gilt frames. All rather simple. The room gives more an
impression of an artist’s studio. A wide door up right side to hall (and thus by stairway to street door).
Door communicating with bedroom or dining-room. A fireplace with cheerful grate fire burning,
throwing a red glow into room. Through a large arch can be seen a laboratory and a table with
chemicals and various knick-knacks. The lighting should be arranged so that after the dark change the
first thing that becomes visible — even before the rest of the room — is the glow of the fire, the blue
flame of the spirit lamp — and SHERLOCK HOLMES seated among cushions on the floor before the
fire. Light gradually on, but still leaving the effect of only firelight.

Music stops, just as lights up.

SHERLOCK HOLMES is discovered on the floor before the fire. He is in a dressing-gown and slippers
and has his pipe. HOLMES leans against the chesterfield. A violin is upon the chesterfield, and the
bow near it, as if recently laid down. Other things Scattered about him. He sits smoking awhile in deep
thought. Enter BILLY, the boy page, or buttons. He comes down to back of table.

BILLY: Mrs. ‘Udson’s compliments, sir, an’ she wants to know if she can see you?

HOLMES ( without moving, looking into fire thoughtfully ): Where is Mrs. Hudson?

BILLY : Downstairs in the back kitchen, sir.

HOLMES: My compliments and I don’t think she can — from where she is.

BILLY: She’ll be very sorry, sir.

HOLMES: Our regret will be mutual.

(BILLY hesitates.)

BILLY: She says it was terribly important, sir, as she wants to know what you’ll have for your breakfast
in the mornin’ .

HOLMES: Same.

(Slight pause.)

BILLY : Same as when, sir?

HOLMES: This morning.

BILLY : You didn’t ‘ave nothing, sir — you wasn’t ‘ere.

HOLMES: Quite so — I won’t be here tomorrow.

BILLY: Yes, sir. Was that all, sir?

HOLMES: Quite so.

BILLY : Thank you, sir.

(BILLY goes out. After long pause bell rings off. Enter BILLY.)

It’s Doctor Watson, sir. You told me as I could always show ‘imup.

HOLMES: Well! I should think so. ( Rises and meets WATSON.)

BILLY: Yes, sir, thank you, sir. Dr. Watson, sir!

{Enter DR. WATSON. BILLY, grinning with pleasure as he passes in, goes out at once.)

HOLMES {extending left hand to WATSON): Ah, Watson, dear fellow.

WATSON {going to HOLMES and taking his hand): How are you, Holmes?

HOLMES: I’m delighted to see you, my dear fellow, perfectly delighted, upon my word — but — I’m
sorry to observe that your wife has left you in this way.

WATSON {laughing): She has gone on a little visit. {Puts hat on chair between bookcases.) But how did
you know?

HOLMES {goes to laboratory table and puts spirit lamp out, then turns up lamp on table. All lights
up): How do I know? Now, Watson, how absurd for you to ask me such a question as that. How do I
know anything? {Comes down a little way. Gives a very little sniff an instant, smelling something.) How
do I know that you’ve opened a consulting room and resumed the practice of medicine without letting me
hear a word about it? How do I know that you’ve been getting yourself very wet lately? That you have an
extremely careless servant girl — and that you’ve moved your dressing-table to the other side of your
room?

WATSON {turning and looking at HOLMES in astonishment): Holmes, if you’d lived a few centuries
ago, they’d have burned you alive. {Sits.)

HOLMES: Such a conflagration would have saved no considerable trouble and expense. {Strolls over to
near fire.)

WATSON: Tell me, how did you know all that?

HOLMES {pointing ): Too simple to talk about. {Pointing at WATSON’S shoe.) Scratches and clumsy
cuts — on the side of shoe there just where the fire strikes it, somebody scraped away crusted mud — and
did it badly — badly. There’s your wet feet and careless servant all on one foot. Lace badly shaved on
one side — used to be on left — light must have come from other side — couldn’t well move your
window — must have moved your dressing-table. {Goes to mantel and gets cocaine, etc.)

WATSON: Yes, by Jove! But my medical practice — I don’t see how you —

HOLMES ( glancing up grieved)-. Now, Watson! How perfectly absurd of you to come marching in here,
fairly reeking with the odour of iodoform, and with the black mark of nitrate of silver on the inner side of
your right forefinger and ask me how 1 know —

WATSON ( interrupting with a laugh): Ha! ha! of course. But how the deuce did you know my wife was
away and —

HOLMES ( breaking in): Where the deuce is your second Waistcoat button, and what the deuce is
yesterday’s boutonniere doing in to-day’s lapel — and why the deuce do you wear the expression of a —

WATSON ( toying with a cigarette and laughing): Ha, ha, ha!

HOLMES: Ho! {Sneer.) Elementary! The child’s play of deduction!

(HOLMES has a neat morocco case and a phial in hand, which he brings to the table and lays
carefully upon it. As WATSON sees HOLMES with the open case he looks restless and apparently

annoyed at what HOLMES is about to do, throwing cigarette on table. HOLMES opens the case and
takes therefrom a hypodermic syringe, carefully adjusting the needle. Fills from phial. Then back left
cuff of shirt a little. Pauses, looks at arm or wrist a moment. Inserts needle. Presses piston home.)

{Music. A weird bar or two — keeping on a strange pulsation on one note for cocaine business. Begin
as HOLMES fills syringe.)

(WATSON has watched him with an expression of deep anxiety but with effort to restrain himself from
speaking.)

WATSON {as HOLMES puts needle in case again. Finally speaks.) Which is it to-day? Cocaine or
morphine or —

HOLMES: Cocaine, my dear fellow. I’m back to my old love. A seven per cent, solution. {Offering
syringe and phial.) Woud you like to try some?

WATSON {emphatically — rise) Certainly not.

HOLMES {as if surprised): Oh! I’m sorry!

WATSON: I have no wish to break my system down before time.

{Pause.)

HOLMES: Quite right, my dear Watson — quite right — but, see, my time has come. {Goes to mantel and
replaces case thereon. Throws himself languidly into chesterfield and leans back in luxurious
enjoyment of the drug.)

WATSON (goes to table, resting hand on upper corner, looking at HOLMES seriously): Holmes, for
months I have seen you use these deadly drugs — in ever-increasing doses. When they lay hold of you
there is no end. It must go on, and on — until the finish.

HOLMES (lying back dreamily): So must you go on and on eating your breakfast — until the finish.

WATSON ( t approaches HOLMES): Breakfast is food. These are poisons — slow but certain. They
involve tissue changes of a most serious nature.

HOLMES: Just what 1 want. Em bored to death with my present tissues, and Em trying to get a brand-new
lot.

WATSON {going near HOLMES — putting hand on HOLMES’ shoulder ) Ah Holmes — I am trying to
save you.

HOLMES {earnest at once — places right hand on WATSON’S arm): You can’t do it, old fellow — so
don’t waste your time.

{Music stops.)

{They look at one another an instant. WATSON sees cigarette on table — picks it up and sits.)

Watson, to change the subject a little. In the enthusiasm which has prompted you to chronicle and — if you
will excuse my saying so, to somewhat embellish — a few of my little — adventures, you have
occasionally committed the error — or indiscretion — of giving them a certain tinge of romance which
struck me as being a trifle out of place. Something like working an elopement into the fifth proposition of
Euclid. I merely refer to this in case you should see fit at some future time — to chronicle the most
important and far-reaching case in my career — one upon which I have laboured for nearly fourteen
months, and which is now rapidly approaching a singularly diverting climax — the case of Professor
Robert Moriarty.

WATSON: Moriarty! I don’t remember ever having heard of the fellow.

HOLMES: The Napoleon of crime. The Napoleon! Sitting motionless like an ugly venomous spider in the
centre of his web — but that web having a thousand radiations and the spider knowing every quiver of
every one of them

WATSON: Really! This is very interesting. {Turns chair facing HOLMES.)

HOLMES: Ah — but the real interest will come when the Professor begins to realise his position —
which he cannot fail to do shortly. By ten o’clock to-morrow night the time will be ripe for the arrests.
Then the greatest criminal trial of the century ... the clearing up of over forty mysteries . . . and the rope
for every one.

WATSON: Good! What will he do when he sees that you have him?

HOLMES: Do? He will do me the honour, my dear Watson, of turning every resource of his wonderful
organization of criminals to the one purpose of my destruction.

WATSON: Why, Holmes, this is a dangerous thing. {Rises.)

HOLMES: Dear Watson, it’s perfectly delightful! It saves me any number of doses of those deadly drugs
upon which you occasionally favour me with your medical views! My whole life is spent in a series of
frantic endeavours to escape from the dreary common places of existence! For a brief period I escape!
You should congratulate me!

WATSON: But you could escape them without such serious risks! Your other cases have not been so

dangerous, and they were even more interesting. Now, the one you spoke of — the last time 1 saw you —
the recovery of those damaging letters and gifts from a young girl who —

(HOLMES suddenly rises — stands motionless. WATSON looks at him surprised. Brief pause. Then
WATSON sits in arm-chair .)

A most peculiar affair as 1 remember it. You were going to try an experiment of making her betray their
hiding-place by an alarm of fire in her own house — and after that —

HOLMES: Precisely — after that.

{Pause.)

WATSON: Didn’t the plan succeed?

HOLMES: Yes — as far as I’ve gone.

WATSON: You got Forman into the house as butler?

HOLMES {nods): Forman was in as butler.

WATSON: And upon your signal he overturned a lamp in the kitchen — (HOLMES moves up and down)
— scattered the smoke balls and gave an alarm of fire?

(HOLMES nods and mutters “Yes ’’ under his breath)

And the young lady — did she —

HOLMES {turning and interrupting ): Yes, she did, Watson. {Going down near him as if he had
recovered himself) The young lady did. It all transpired precisely as planned. I took the packet of
papers from its hiding-place — and as I told you I would handed it back to Miss Faulkner.

WATSON: But you never told me why you proposed to hand it back.

HOLMES For a very simple reason my dear Watson That would have been theft for me to take it. The
contents of the packet were the absolute property of the young lady.

WATSON: What did you gain by this?

HOLMES: Her confidence, and so far as I was able to secure it, her regard. As it was impossible for me
to take possession of the letters, photographs and jewellery in that packet without her consent, my only
alternative is to obtain that consent — to induce her to give it to me of her own free will. Its return to her
after I had laid hands on it was the first move in this direction. The second will depend entirely upon what
transpires to-day. 1 expect Forman here to report in half an hour.

{Light hurried footsteps outside. Short quick knock at door and enter TERESE in great haste and
excitement. WATSON rises and turns and faces her near table. HOLMES turns towards fire-place.)

TERESE: I beg you to pardon me, sir, ze boy he say to come right up as soon as I come.

HOLMES: Quite right! quite right!

TERESE: Ah! I fear me zere is trouble — Messieurs — ze butlair — you assesstant — ze one who sent

me to you —

HOLMES: Forman? ( Turning to her.)

TERESE: Heem! Forman. Zere ees somesing done to heem! I fear to go down to see.

HOLMES: Down where?

(WATSON watches .)

TERESE: Ze down. {Gesture.) Ze cellaire of zat house. Eet ees a dreadful place. He deed not come
back. He went down — he deed not return. {Business of anguish.)

(HOLMES goes to table — rings bell and takes revolver from drawer and slides it into his hip pocket,
at same time unfastening dressing-gown.)

HOLMES {during business ): Who sent him down?

TERESE: M’sjeur ofze house, M’sieur Chetwood.

HOLMES: Larrabee?

TERESE: Yes.

HOLMES {during business ): Has he been down there long?

TERESE: No — for 1 soon suspect — ze dreadful noise was heard. Oh — {covers face) — ze noise! Ze
noise!

HOLMES: What noise? {Goes to her and seizes her arm.)

TERESE: Ze noise!

HOLMES: Try to be calm and answer me. What did it sound like?

TERESE: Ze dreadful cry of a man who eez struck down by a deadly seeng.

{Enter BILLY)

HOLMES: Billy! Coat — boots, and order a cab — quick! {Back again to table, takes a second
revolver out.)

BILLY {darting off at door) Yes, sir.

HOLMES {to TERESE) Did anyone follow him down?

(BILLY is back in a second.)

TERESE: I did not see.

HOLMES: Don’t wait. The cab.

(BILLY shoots off having placed coat over chesterfield and boots on floor)

Take this Watson and come with me. ( Handing WATSON a revolver. WATSON advances a step to meet
HOLMES and takes revolver.)

TERESE: I had not better go also?

HOLMES: No . . . Wait here! ( Ready to go. About to take off dressing gown)

{Hurried footsteps heard outside)

{Pause.) Ha! I hear Forman coming now.

{Enter FORMAN.)

TERESE {seeing FORMAN — under her breath) Ah! {Backing a little)

(FORMAN coming rapidly on is covered with black coal stains, and his clothing otherwise stained. He
has a bad bruise on forehead. But he must not be made to look grotesque. There must be no suspicion
of comedy about his entrance. Also he must not be torn, as BILLY is later in the scene. HOLMES just
above table stops taking off his dressing gown, slips it back on shoulders again.)

FORMAN {to HOLMES in an entirely matter of fact tone ): Nothing more last night, sir. After you left,
Prince came in, they made a start for her room to get the package away, but I gave the three knocks with an
axe on the floor beams as you directed, and they didn’t go any farther. This morning, a little after nine —

HOLMES: One moment.

FORMAN: Yes, sir?

HOLMES {quietly turns to TERESE): Mademoiselle — step into that room and rest yourself. {Indicating
bedroom door.)

TERESE {who has been deeply interested in FORMAN’S report ): Ah! {Shaking head.) I am not tired,
Monsieur.

HOLMES: Step in and walk about, then. I’ll let you know when you are required.

TERESE {after an instant s pause sees it): Oui, Monsieur. {Goes out.)

(HOLMES goes over and quickly closes the door after her — he then turns to WATSON, but remains
at the door with right ear alert to catch any sound from within.)

HOLMES: Take a look at his head, Watson. {Listens at door.)

(WATSON at once goes to FORMAN.)

FORMAN: It’s nothing at all.

HOLMES: Take a look at his head, Watson.

WATSON: An ugly bruise, but not dangerous. {Examining head.)

(WATSON goes quickly and stands near end of chesterfield facing around to FORMAN.)

HOLMES: Very well ... At a little after nine, you say — (HOLMES has attention on door, where

TERESE went off while listening to FORMAN — but not in such a marked way as to take the attention
off from what he says, and after a few seconds sits on chesterfield)

FORMAN: Yes, sir! ( Coming down a little.) This morning a little after nine, Larrabee and his wife
drove away and she returned about eleven without him. A little later, old Leuftner came and the two went
to work in the library. I got a look at them from the outside and found they were making up a counterfeit of
the Package we’re working for! You’ll have to watch for some sharp trick, sir.

HOLMES: They’ll have to watch for the trick, my dear Forman. And Larrabee what of him?

FORMAN: He came back a little after three

HOLMES: How did he seem?

FORMAN: Under great excitement, sir.

HOLMES: Any marked resentment towards you?

FORMAN: I think there was, sir — though he tried not to show it.

HOLMES: He has consulted some one outside. Was the Larrabee woman’s behaviour different also?
FORMAN: Now 1 come to think of it, she gave me an ugly look as she came in.

HOLMES: Ah, an ugly look. She was present at the consultation. They were advised to get you out of the
way. He sent you into the cellar on some pretext. You were attacked in the dark by two men — possibly
three — and received a bad blow from a sand club. You managed to strike down one of your assailants
with a stone or piece of timber and escaped from the others in the dark crawling out through a coal
grating.

FORMAN That’s what took place sir.

HOLMES: They’ve taken in a partner, and a dangerous one at that. He not only directed this conspiracy
against you, but he advised the making of the counterfeit package as well. Within a very short time I shall
receive an offer from Larrabee to sell the package of letters. He will indicate that Miss Faulkner changed
her mind, and has concluded to get what she can for them He will desire to meet me on the subject —
and will then endeavour to sell me his bogus package for a large sum of money. After that —

{Enter BILLY with a letter)

BILLY: Letter, sir! Most important letter, sir! {After giving HOLMES letter, he stands waiting.)

HOLMES: Unless I am greatly mistaken — the said communication is at hand. ( Lightly waves letter
across before face once getting the scent.) It is. Read it, Watson, there’s a good fellow, my eyes — {With
a motion across eyes. Half smile.) You know, cocaine — and all those things you like so much.

(BILLY goes with letter to WATSON. WATSON takes letter and up to lamp.)

WATSON {opens letter and reads): “Dear Sir.”

{After WATSON is at lamp, FORMAN waits.)

HOLMES: Who — thus — addresses me? {Slides further on to chesterfield, supporting head on

pillows.)

WATSON {glances at signature): “James Larrabee.”

HOLMES {whimsically): What a surprise! And what has James to say this evening?

WATSON: “Dear Sir.”

HOLMES: I hope he won’t say that again.

WATSON: “I have the honour to inform you that Miss Faulkner has changed her mind regarding the letters,
etc., which you wish to obtain, and has decided to dispose of them for a monetary consideration. She has
placed them in my hands for this purpose, and if you are in a position to offer a good round sum, and to
pay it down at once in cash, the entire lot is yours. If you wish to negotiate, however, it must be to-night,
at the house of a friend of mine, in the city. At eleven o’clock you will be at the Guards’ Monument at the
foot of Waterloo Place. You will see a cab with wooden shutters to the windows. Enter it and the driver
will bring you to my friend’s house. If you have the cab followed, or try any other underhand trick, you
won’t get what you want. Let me know your decision. Yours truly, James Larrabee.”

(HOLMES during the reading of the letter begins to write something in a perfectly leisurely way. The
light of the fire is upon him, shining across the room — on his left — as he writes.)

HOLMES: Now see if I have the points. To-night, eleven o’clock — Guards’ Monument — cab with
wooden shutters. No one to come with me. No one to follow cab — or I don’t get what I want.

WATSON: Quite right.

HOLMES: Ah!

WATSON: But this cab with the wooden shutters. {Coming down and placing letter on table.)

HOLMES: A little device to keep me from seeing where I am driven. Billy!

BILLY {going to HOLMES at once): Yes, sir.

HOLMES {reaching out letter to BILLY back of him without looking): Who brought it?

BILLY : It was a woman, sir.

HOLMES {slight dead stop as he is handing letter): Ah — old young? {He does not look round for
these questions, but faces the was front or nearly so)

BILLY : Werry old sir.

HOLMES: In a cab?

BIT TY: Yes, sir.

HOLMES: Seen the driver before?

BILLY : Yes sir — but I cant think where.

HOLMES {rising): Hand this over to the old lady — apologize for the delay and look at the driver again.

BILLY ( takes letter ): Yes sir. ( Goes out)

WATSON: My dear Holmes — you did not say you would go?

HOLMES Certainly I did.

WATSON But it is the counterfeit.

HOLMES (j moves towards bedroom door) The counterfeit is what I want.

WATSON: Why so?

HOLMES ( turning to WATSON an instant) Because with it I shall obtain the original ( Turns and speaks
off at door.) Mademoiselle! ( Turns back)

WATSON: But this fellow means mischief.

{Enter TERESE She comes into and stands a little way inside the room)

HOLMES {facing WATSON — touching himself lightly): This fellow means the same.

{As HOLMES turns away to TERESE, WATSON crosses and stands with back to fire)

{To TERESE) Be so good Mademoiselle as to listen to every word. To-night at twelve o’clock I meet Mr.
Larrabee and purchase from him the false bundle of letters to which you just now heard us refer, as you
were listening at the keyhole of the door.

TERESE {slightly confused but staring blankly) Oui, Monsieur.

HOLMES: I wish Miss Faulkner to know at once that I propose to buy this package to night.

TERESE: I will tell her, Monsieur.

HOLMES: That is my wish. But do not tell her that I know this packet and its contents to be counterfeit.
She is to suppose that I think I am buying the genuine.

TERESE: Oui, Monsieur, je comprends. When you purchase you think you have the real.

HOLMES: Precisely. {Motions her up to door and moving towards door with her.) One thing more.
Tomorrow evening I shall want you to accompany her to this place, here. Sir Edward Leighton and Count
von Stalburg will be here to receive the package from me. However, you will receive further instructions
as to this in the morning.

TERESE: Oui, Monsieur. {Turns and goes out at once.)

HOLMES: Forman.

FORMAN: Yes, sir.

HOLMES: Change to your beggar disguise No. 14 and go through every place in the Riverside District.
Don’t stop till you get a clue to this new partner of the Larrabees. I must have that. {Turns away towards
WATSON.) I must have that.

FORMAN: Very well, sir. ( Just about to go.)

(j E nter BILLY.)

BILLY: If you please, sir, there’s a man a- waitin’ at the street door — and ‘e says ‘e must speak to Mr.
Forman, sir, as quick as ‘e can.

(HOLMES — who was moving — stops suddenly and stands motionless — eyes front. Pause.)

{Music. Danger. Melodramatic. Very low. Agitato. B String.)

HOLMES {after a pause): We’d better have a look at that man, Billy, show him up.

BILLY: ‘E can’t come up, sir — ’e’s a-watchin’ a man in the Street. ‘E says ‘e’s from Scotland Yard.
FORMAN {going toward door): I’d better see what it is, sir.

HOLMES: No!

(FORMAN stops. Pause. Music heard throughout this pause, but without swelling forte in the least.
HOLMES stands motionless a moment)

Well — {a motion indicating FORMAN to go) — take a look at first. Be ready for anything.

FORMAN: Trust me for that, sir. {Goes out.)

HOLMES: Billy, see what he does.

BILLY: Yes, sir.

(HOLMES stands an instant thinking)

WATSON: This is becoming interesting.

(HOLMES does not reply He goes up to near door and listens then moves to window and glances down
to street then turns goes down to table)

Look here Holmes you’ve been so kind as to give me a half look into this case —

HOLMES {looking up at him): What case?

WATSON: This strange case of — Miss —

HOLMES: Quite so. One moment my dear fellow {Rings bell.)

{After slight wait enter BILLY )

Mr. Forman — is he there still?

BILLY: No, sir — ’e’s gone. {Second’s pause.)

HOLMES: That’s all.

BILLY: Yes sir. Thank you sir. {Goes out)

( Music stops )

HOLMES: As you were saying, Watson. {Eyes front.) strange case — of — {Stops but does not change
position. As if listening or thinking)

WATSON: Of Miss Faulkner.

HOLMES {abandoning further anxiety and giving attention to WATSON): Precisely. This strange case
of Miss Faulkner. {Eyes down an instant as he recalls it)

WATSON: You’ve given me some idea of it. Now don’t you it would be only fair to let me have the rest?
(HOLMES looks at him)

HOLMES: What shall 1 tell you?

WATSON: Tell me what you propose to do with that counterfeit package — which you are going to risk
your life to obtain.

(HOLMES looks at WATSON an instant before speaking.)

HOLMES: 1 intend, with the aid of the counterfeit, to make her willingly hand me the genuine. 1 shall
accomplish this by a piece of trickery and deceit of which 1 am heartily ashamed — and which I would
never have undertaken if I — if I had known her — as 1 do now {Looks to the front absently.) It’s too
bad. She’s — she’s rather a nice girl, Watson. {Goes over to mantel and gets a pipe.)

WATSON {following HOLMES with his eyes): Nice girl, is she?

(HOLMES nods “Yes” to WATSON. Brief pause. He turns with pipe in hands and glances towards
WATSON, then down.)

Then you think that possibly —

{Enter BILLY quickly.)

BILLY: I beg pardon, sir, Mr. Forman’s just sent over from the chemist’s on the corner to say ‘is ‘ead is
a-painin’ ‘ima bit, an’ would Dr. Watson —

(WATSON, on hearing his name, turns and looks in direction o/BILLY)

— kindly step over and get ‘im something to put on it.

WATSON {moving at once towards door): Yes — certainly — I’ll go at once. {Picking up hat off chair.)
That’s singular. {Stands puzzled.) It didn’t look like anything serious. {At door.) I’ll be back in a minute,
Holmes. {Goes out.)

(HOLMES says nothing.)

HOLMES: Billy.

BILLY: Yes, sir.

HOLMES: Who brought that message from Forman?

BILLY: Boy from the chemist’s, sir.

HOLMES: Yes, of course, but which boy?

BILLY: Must-a-bin a new one, sir — I ain’t never seen ‘im before.

{Music. Danger. Melodramatic. Very low. Agitato.)

HOLMES: Quick, Billy, run down and look after the doctor. If the boy’s gone and there’s a man with him
it means mischief. Let me know, quick. Don’t stop to come up, ring the door bell. I’ll hear it. Ring it loud.
Quick now.

BILLY: Yes, sir. {Goes out quickly.)

(HOLMES waits motionless a moment, listening.)

{Music heard very faintly.)

(HOLMES moves quickly towards door. When half-way to the door he stops suddenly, listening; then
begins to glide backward toward table, stops and listens — eyes to the front; turns towards door
listening. Pipe in left hand — waits — sees pipe in hand — picks up match — lights pipe, listening,
and suddenly shouts of warning from BILLY — turns — at the same time picking up revolver from off
table and puts in pocket of dressing-gown, with his hand clasping it. HOLMES at once assumes easy
attitude, but keeps eyes on door. Enter MORIARTY. He walks in at door very quietly and deliberately.
Stops just within doorway, and looks fixedly at HOLMES, then moves forward a little way. His right
hand behind his back. As MORIARTY moves forward, HOLMES makes slight motion for the purpose
of keeping him covered with revolver in his pocket. MORIARTY, seeing what HOLMES is doing,
stops.)

MORIARTY {very quiet low voice): It is a dangerous habit to finger loaded firearms in the pocket of
one’s dressing-gown.

HOLMES: You’ll be taken from here to the hospital if you keep that hand behind you.

{After slight pause MORIARTY slowly takes his hand from behind his back and holds it with the other
in front of him.)

In that case, the table will do quite as well. {Places his revolver on the table.)

MORIARTY : You evidently don’t know me.

HOLMES {takes pipe out of mouth, holding it. With very slight motion toward revolver): I think it quite
evident that I do. Please take a chair, Professor. {Indicating arm-chair.) I can spare five minutes — if you
have anything to say.

( Very slight pause — then MORIARTY moves his right hand as if to take something from inside his
coat. Stops instantly on HOLMES covering him with revolver, keeping hand exactly where it was
stopping.)

What were you about to do?

MORIARTY: Look at my watch.

HOLMES: I’ll tell you when the five minutes is up.

(Slight pause. MORIARTY comes slowly forward. He advances to back of arm-chair. Stands
motionless there an instant, his eyes on HOLMES. He then takes off his hat, and stoops slowly, putting
it on floor, eyeing HOLMES the while. He then moves down a little to right of chair, by its side.
HOLMES now places revolver on table, but before he has quite let go of it, MORIARTY raises his
right hand, whereupon HOLMES quietly takes the revolver back and holds it at his side. MORIARTY
has stopped with right hand near his throat, seeing HOLMES’ business with revolver. He now slowly
pulls away a woolen muffler from his throat and stands again with hands down before him. HOLMES’
forefinger motionless on table. MORIARTY moves a little in front of chair. This movement is only a
step or two. As he makes it HOLMES moves simultaneously on the other side of the table so that he
keeps the revolver between them on the table. That is the object of this business.)

MORIARTY: All that I have to say has already crossed your mind.

HOLMES: My answer thereto has already crossed yours.

MORIARTY : It is your intention to pursue this case against me?

HOLMES: That is my intention to the very end.

MORIARTY : I regret this — not so much on my own account — but on yours.

HOLMES: I share your regrets, Professor, but solely because of the rather uncomfortable position it will
cause you to occupy.

MORIARTY : May I inquire to what position you are pleased to allude, Mr. Holmes?

(HOLMES motions a man being hanged with his left hand — slight Pause. A tremor of passion.
MORIARTY slowly advances towards HOLMES. He stops instantly as HOLMES’ hand goes to his
revolver, having only approached him a step or two.)

And have you the faintest idea that you would be permitted to live to see the day?

HOLMES: As to that, I do not particularly care, so that I might bring you to see it.

(MORIARTY makes a sudden impulsive start towards HOLMES, but stops on being covered with
revolver. He has now come close to the table on the other side of HOLMES. This tableau is held
briefly.)

MORIARTY (passionately but in a low tone): You will never bring me to see it. You will find — (He
stops, recollecting himself as HOLMES looks at him — changes to quieter tone.) Ah! you are a bold
man Mr. Holmes to insinuate such a thing to my face — (turning towards front) — but it is the boldness
born of ignorance. (Turning still further away from HOLMES in order to get his back to him and after
doing so suddenly raising his right hand to breast he is again stopped with hand close to pocket by
hearing the noise of HOLMES’S revolver behind him. He holds that position for a moment then passes
the matter off by feeling muffler as if adjusting it. He mutters to himself)

You’ll never bring me to see it, you’ll never bring me to see it (Then begins to move in front of table still

keeping his back towards HOLMES. Business as he moves forward of stopping suddenly on hearing the
noise of revolver sliding along table then when in front of table slowly turns so that he brings his
hands into view o/ HOLMES then a slight salute with hand and bow and back slowly with dignity into
chair )

{Business of HOLMES seating himself on stool opposite MORIARTY, revolver business and coming
motionless)

{After HOLMES’S business.) I tell you it is the boldness born of ignorance. Do you think that I would be
here if I had not made the streets quite safe in every respect?

HOLMES {shaking head): Oh no! 1 could never so grossly overestimate your courage as that.
MORIARTY: Do you imagine that your friend the doctor, and your man Forman will soon return?
HOLMES: Possibly not.

MORIARTY: So it leaves us quite alone — doesn’t it, Mr. Holmes — quite alone — so that we can talk
the matter over quietly and not be disturbed. In the first place I wish to call your attention to a few
memoranda which I have jotted down — {suddenly put both hands to breast pocket) — which you will
find —

HOLMES: Look out! Take your hands away.

{Music: Danger pp)

(MORIARTY again stopped with his hands at breast pocket )

Get your hands down.

(MORIARTY does not lower his hands at first request.)

A little further away from the memorandum book you are talking about.

MORIARTY {lowers hands to his lap. Slight pause, raising hands again slowly as he speaks): Why, I
was merely about to —

HOLMES: Well, merely don’t do it.

MORIARTY {remonstratingly — his hands still up near breast): But I would like to show you a —
HOLMES: I don’t want to see it.

MORIARTY: But if you will allow me —

HOLMES: I don’t care for it at all. I don’t require any notebooks. If you want it so badly we’ll have
someone get it for you.

(MORIARTY slowly lowers hands again.)

{Rings bell on table with left hand.) I always like to save my guests unnecessary trouble.

MORIARTY {after quite a pause): I observe that your boy does not answer the bell.

HOLMES: No. But I have an idea that he will before long.

MORIARTY ( leaning towards HOLMES and speaking with subdued rage and significance ): It may
possibly be longer than you think, Mr. Holmes.

HOLMES ( intensely ): What! That boy!

MORIARTY ( hissing at HOLMES): Yes, your boy.

{Hold the tableau for a moment, the two men scowling at each other. HOLMES slowly reaching left
hand out to ring bell again. MORIARTY begins to raise right hand slowly towards breast pocket,
keeping it concealed beneath his muffler as far as possible. On slight motion of HOLMES’ left hand,
he lowers it again, giving up the attempt this time.)

HOLMES: At least we will try the bell once more, Professor. {Rings bell. )

{Short wait.)

MORIARTY {after pause): Doesn’t it occur to you that he may Possibly have been detained, Mr.
Holmes?

HOLMES: It does. But I also observe that you are in very much the same predicament. {Pause)

(HOLMES rings bell for the third time. Noise on stairway outside. Enter BILLY with part of his coat,
and with sleeves of shirt and waistcoat badly torn)

{Music stops)

BILLY {up near door): I beg pardon, sir — someone tried to ‘old me sir! {Panting for breath)

HOLMES: It is quite evident however that he failed to do so.

BILLY: Yes sir — ’e’s got my coat sir but ‘e ‘asn’t got me!

HOLMES: Billy!

BILLY {cheerfully): Yes sir {Still out of breath)

HOLMES: The gentleman I am pointing out to you with this six-shooter desires to have us get something
out of his left hand coat pocket.

(MORIARTY gives a very slight start or movement of right hand to breast pocket, getting it almost to
his pocket, then recollecting himself, seeing that HOLMES has got him covered)

Ah, I thought so. Left-hand coat pocket. As he is not feeling quite himself to-day, and the exertion might
prove injurious, suppose you attend to it.

BILLY: Yes sir {He goes quickly to MORIARTY puts hand in his pocket and draws out a bull dog
revolver) Is this it sir?

HOLMES: It has the general outline of being it. Quite so. Put it on the table.
(MORIARTY makes a grab for it)

Not there Billy. Look out. Push it a little further this way.

(BILLY does so placing it so that it is within easy reach o/HOLMES.)

HOLMES: That’s more like it.

BILLY: Shall I see if he’s got another sir?

HOLMES: Why, Billy, you surprise me, after the gentleman has taken the trouble to inform you that he
hasn’t.

BILLY: When sir?

HOLMES: When he made a snatch for this one. Now that we have your little memorandum book,
Professor, do you think of anything else you’d like before Billy goes?

(MORIARTY does not reply.)

Any little thing that you’ve got, that you want? No! Ah, I am sorry that’s all, Billy.

{pause. MORIARTY motionless, eyes on HOLMES. HOLMES puts his own revolver in his pocket
quietly. MORIARTY remains motionless, his eyes on HOLMES, waiting for a chance .)

BILLY: Thank you, sir. {Goes out.)

(HOLMES carelessly picks up MORIARTY’ S weapon, turns it over in his hands a little below table for
a moment, then tosses it back on table again — during which business MORIARTY looks front
savagely.)

HOLMES {tapping revolver with pipe): Rather a rash project of yours Moriarty — even though you have
made the street quite safe in every respect — to make use of that thing — so early in the evening and in
this part of the town.

MORIARTY: Listen to me. On the 4th of January you crossed my path — on the 23rd you incommoded
me. And now, at the close of April, I find myself placed in such a position through your continual
interference that I am in positive danger of losing my liberty.

HOLMES: Have you any suggestion to make?

MORIARTY {head swaying from side to side): No! {Pause and look fiercely at HOLMES.) I have no
suggestion to make. I have a fact to state. If you do not drop it at once your life is not worth that. {Snap oj
finger.)

HOLMES: I shall be pleased to drop it — at ten o’clock to-morrow night.

MORIARTY: Why then?

HOLMES: Because at that hour, Moriarty . . . your life will not be worth that, {A snap of finger.) You will
be under arrest.

MORIARTY: At that hour, Sherlock Holmes, your eyes will be closed in death.

(Both look at one another motionless an instant.)

HOLMES (rising as if rather bored): I am afraid, Professor, that in the pleasure of this conversation I am
neglecting more important business. (Turns away to mantel and business of looking for match, etc.)

(MORIARTY rises slowly, picks up hat, keeping his eyes on HOLMES. Suddenly catches sight oj
revolver on table — pause — and putting hat on table.)

MORIARTY (nearing HOLMES and looking towards door): I came here this evening to see if peace
could not be arranged between us.

HOLMES: Ah yes (Smiling pleasantly and pressing tobacco in pipe.) I saw that. That’s rather good.

MORIARTY (passionately): You have seen fit not only to reject my proposals, but to make insulting
references coupled with threats of arrest.

HOLMES: Quite so! Quite so! (Lights match and holds it to pipe)

MORIARTY (moving a little so as to be nearer table): Well (slyly picking up revolver) — you have
been warned of your danger — you do not heed that warning — perhaps you will heed this!

(Making a sudden plunge and aiming at HOLMES’ head rapidly snaps the revolver in quick attempt to
fire)

(HOLMES turns quietly toward him still holding match to pipe so that the last snap of hammer is
directly in his face. Very slight pause on MORIARTY being unable to fire — and back up at same time
boiling with rage.)

HOLMES: Oh! ha! — here! (As if recollecting something. Tosses away match and feeling quickly in left
pocket of dressing gown brings out some cartridges and tosses them carelessly on table towards
MORIARTY.) I didn’t suppose you’d want to use that thing again, so I took all your cartridges out and put
them in my pocket. You’ll find them all there, Professor. (Reaches over and rings bell on table with
right hand.)

(Enter BILLY)

Billy!

BILLY: Yes, sir!

HOLMES: Show this gentleman nicely to the door.

BILLY: Yes sir! This way sir! (Standing within door)

(PROFESSOR MORIARTY looks at HOLMES a moment, then flings revolver down and across the
table, clenches fist in HOLMES’ face, turns boiling with rage, picks hat up, and exits quickly at door,
muttering aloud as he goes.)

HOLMES (after exit o/ MORIARTY): Billy! Come here!

BILLY: Yes, sir! (BILLY comes quickly down.)

HOLMES: Billy! You’re a good boy!

BILLY: Yes, sir! Thank you, sir! {Stands grinning up at HOLMES.)
{The lights go out suddenly.)

{No music at end of this Act.)

CURTAIN

ACT III

The Stepney Gas Chamber. Midnight.

SCENE. — The Gas Chamber at Stepney. A large, dark, grimy room on an upper floor of an old
building backing on wharves etc. Plaster cracking off, masonry piers or chimney showing. As uncanny
and gruesome appearance as possible. Heavy beams and timbers showing. Door leads to the landing
and then to the entrance. Another door leads to a small cupboard. The walls of the cupboard can be
seen when the door is opened. Large window, closed. Grimy and dirty glass so nothing can be seen
through it. The window is nailed with spike nails securely shut. Black backing — no light behind.
Strong bars outside back of windows, to show when window is broken. These bars must not be seen
through the glass. Trash all over the room. The only light in the room on the rise of the curtain is from
a dim lantern — carried on by McTAGUE.

Characteristic Music for Curtain.

CRAIGIN and LEARY are discovered. CRAIGIN is sitting on a box. He sits glum and motionless,
waiting. LEARY is sitting on table his feet on the chair in front of it.

McTAGUE enters with safety lamp. He stops just within a moment, glancing around in the dimness.
Soon moves up near a masonry pier, a little above the door, and leans against it, waiting. CRAIGIN,
LEARY and McTAGUE are dressed in dark clothes and wear felt -soled shoes.

LEARY : What’s McTague doing ‘ere?

McTAGUE: I was sent ‘ere.

(All dialogue in this part of Act in low tones, but distinct, to give a weird effect, echoing through the
large grimy room among the deep shadows .)

EE ARY : I thought the Seraph was with us in this job.

CRAIGIN: ‘E ain’t.

LEARY : Who was the last you put the gas on?

(Pause.)

CRAIGIN: I didn’t ‘ear ‘is name. (Pause.) ‘E’d been ‘oldin’ back money on a ‘aul out some railway
place.

(Pause.)

McTAGUE: What’s this ‘ere job he wants done? (Sits on box, placing lamp on floor by his side.)
(Pause.)

CRAIGIN: I ain’t been told.

{Pause.)

LEARY: As long as it’s ‘ere we know what it’s likely to be.

{Door opens slowly and hesitatingly. Enter SID PRINCE. He stands just within door, and looks about a
little suspiciously as if uncertain what to do. Pause. He notices that the door is slowly closing behind
him and quietly holds it back. But he must not burlesque this movement with funny business.
McTAGUE holds lantern up to see who it is, at the same time rising and coming down near PRINCE.)

PRINCE: Does any one of you blokes know if this is the place where 1 meet Alf Bassick?

{Pause. Neither of the other men take notice 0 / PRINCE. McTAGUE goes back to where he was sitting
before PRINCE’S entrance.)

{After waiting a moment.) From wot you say, 1 take it you don’t.

CRAIGIN: We ain’t knowin’ no such man. ‘E may be ‘ere and ‘e may not.

PRINCE: Oh! {Comes a little farther into room and lets the door close.) It’s quite right then, thank you.
{Pause. No one speaks.) Nice old place to find, this ‘ere is. {No one answers him.) And when you do
find it — {looks about) — I can’t say it’s any too cheerful. {He thereupon pulls out a cigarette-case,
puts a cigarette in his mouth, and feels in pocket for matches. Finds one. About to light it. Has moved a
few steps during this.)

CRAIGIN: Here! ...

(PRINCE stops.)

Don’t light that! ... It ain’t safe!

(PRINCE stops motionless, where above speech caught him, for an instant. Pause. PRINCE begins to
turn his head slowly and only a little way, glances carefully about, as if expecting to see tins of nitro-
glycerine. He sees nothing on either side, and finally turns towards CRAIGIN.)

PRINCE: If it ain’t askin’ too much wot’s the matter with the place? It looks all roight to me.

CRAIGIN: Well don’t light no matches, and it’ll stay lookin’ the same.

{Pause. Door opens, and BASSICK enters hurriedly. He looks quickly about.)

BASSICK: Oh, Prince, you’re here. I was looking for you outside.

PRINCE: You told me to be ‘ere, sir. That was ‘ow the last arrangement stood.

BASSICK: Very well! {Going across PRINCE and glancing about to see that the other men are
present.) You’ve got the rope Craigin?

{Voices are still kept low.)

CRAIGIN {pointing to bunch of loose rope on floor near him): It’s ‘ere.

BASSICK: That you, Leary?

LEARY: ‘Ere, sir!

BASSICK: AndMcTague?

McTAGUE: ‘Ere, sir!

BASSICK: You want to be very careful with it to-night — you’ve got a tough one.

CRAIGIN: You ain’t said who, as I’ve ‘eard.

BASSICK (low voice): Sherlock Holmes.

(Brief pause.)

CRAIGIN (after the pause): You mean that, sir?

BASSICK: Indeed, I do!

CRAIGIN: We’re goin’ to count ‘imout.

BASSICK: Well, if you don’t and he gets away — I’m sorry for you, that’s all.

CRAIGIN: I’ll be cursed glad to put the gas on ‘im — I tell you that.

LE ARY : I say the same myself.

(Sound o/MORIARTY and LARRABEE coming.)

BASSICK: Sh! Professor Moriarty’s coming.

(McTAGUE places lamp on box.)

LE ARY : Not the guv ’nor?

BASSICK: Yes. He wanted to see this.

(The three men retire a little up stage, waiting. BASSICK moves to meet MORIARTY. PRINCE moves
up out of way. Door opens. Enter MORIARTY, followed by LARRABEE. Door slowly closes behind
them. LARRABEE waits a moment near door and then retires up near PRINCE. They watch the
following scene. All speeches low — quiet — in undertone.)

MORIARTY: Where’s Craigin?

(CRAIGIN steps forward.)

Have you got your men?

CRAIGIN: All ‘ere, sir.

MORIARTY: No mistakes to-night.

CRAIGIN: I’ll be careful o’ that.

MORIARTY {quick glance about): That door, Bassick. {Points up, back to audience .)

BASSICK: A small cupboard, sir. {Goes quickly up and opens the door wide to show it.)

(LEARY catches up lantern and swings it near the cupboard door.)

MORIARTY: No outlet?

BASSICK: None whatever, sir.

(LEARY swings lantern almost inside cupboard to let MORIARTY See. All this dialogue in very low
tones, but distinct and Impressive. BASSICK closes door after lantern business.)

MORIARTY {turns and points ): That window?

BASSICK {moving over a little): Nailed down, sir!

(LEARY turns and swings the lantern near window so that MORIARTY can see.)

MORIARTY : A man might break the glass.

BASSICK: If he did that he’d come against heavy iron bars outside.

CRAIGIN: We’ll ‘ave ‘imtied down afore ‘e could break any glass sir.

MORIARTY {who has turned to CRAIGIN): Ah! You’ve used it before. Of course you know if it’s
airtight?

BASSICK: Every crevice is caulked sir.

MORIARTY {turns and points as if at something directly over footlights) And that door?

(LEARY comes down and gives lantern a quick swing as if lighting place indicated)

BASSICK {from same position): The opening is planked up solid sir as you can see and double thickness.

MORIARTY: Ah! {Satisfaction. Glances at door through which he entered) When the men turn the gas
on him they leave by that door?

BASSICK: Yes sir.

MORIARTY : It can be made quite secure?

BASSICK: Heavy bolts on the outside sir and solid bars over all.

MORIARTY : Let me see how quick you can operate them.

BASSICK: They tie the man down, sir — there’s no need to hurry.

MORIARTY {same voice) Let me see how quick you can operate them.

BASSICK {quick order): Leary! {Motions him to door)

LEARY {handing lamp to CRAIGIN): Yes sir! {He jumps to and goes out closing it at once and

immediately the sound of sliding bolts and the dropping of bars are heard from outside)

(This is a very important effect as it is repeated at the end of the Act. CRAIGIN places lamp on box )

MORIARTY: That s all.

(Sounds of bolts withdrawn and LEARY enters and waits)

(Goes to CRAIGIN.) Craigin — you’ll take your men outside that door and wait till Mr. Larrabee has had
a little business interview with the gentleman. Take them up the passage to the left so Holmes does not see
them as he comes in. (To BAS SICK) Who’s driving the cab to night?

BASSICK: I sent O’Hagan. His orders are to drive him about for an hour so he doesn’t know the distance
or the direction he’s going, and then stop at the small door at upper Swandem Lane. He’s going to get him
out there and show him to this door.

MORIARTY : The cab windows were covered, of course?

BASSICK: Wooden shutters, sir, bolted and secure. There isn’t a place he can see through the size of a
pin.

MORIARTY (satisfied): Ah! . . . (Looks about.) We must have a lamp here.

BASSICK: Better not, sir — there might be some gas left.

MORIARTY: You’ve got a light there. (Pointing to miner ’s safety lamp on box.)

BASSICK: It’s a safety lamp, sir.

MORIARTY: A safety lamp! You mustn’t have that here! The moment he sees that he’ll know what you’re
doing and make trouble. (Sniffs.) There’s hardly any gas. Go and tell Lascar we must have a good lamp.

(BASSICK goes out.)

(Looks about.) Bring that table over here.

(CRAIGIN and McTAGUE bring table.)

Now, Craigin — and the rest of you — One thing remember. No shooting to-night! Not a single shot. It can
be heard in the alley below. The first thing is to get his revolver away before he has a chance to use it.
Two of you attract his attention in front — the other come up on him from behind and snatch it out of his
pocket. Then you have him. Arrange that, Craigin.

CRAIGIN: I’ll attend to it, sir.

(The three men retire. Enter BASSICK with large lamp. Glass shade to lamp of whitish colour.
BASSICK crosses to table and Places lamp on it.)

BASSICK (to McTAGUE): Put out that lamp.
(McTAGUE is about to pick up lamp.)
CRAIGIN: Stop!

(McTAGUE waits.)

We’ll want it when the other’s taken away.

BAS SICK: He mustn’t see it, understand.

MORIARTY : Don’t put it out — cover it with something.

CRAIGIN: Here! {He goes up, takes lantern, and pulling out a large box from several others places
lantern within and pushes the open side against the wall so that no light from lantern can be seen from
front.)

MORIARTY: That will do.

BASSICK {approaching MORIARTY): You mustn’t stay longer, sir. O’Hagan might be a little early.
MORIARTY : Mr. Larrabee — {Moving a step forward .) You understand! — they wait for you.
LARRABEE {low — quiet): I understand, sir.

MORIARTY: I give you this opportunity to get what you can for your trouble. But anything that is found
on him after you have finished — is subject — {glances at CRAIGIN and others) — to the usual
division.

LARRABEE: That’s all I want.

MORIARTY: When you have quite finished and got your money suppose you blow that little whistle
which I observe hanging from your watch chain — and these gentlemen will take their turn.

(BASSICK holds door open for MORIARTY. LARRABEE moves up out of way as MORIARTY
crosses.)

{Crosses to door. At door, turning to CRAIGIN.) And, Craigin —

(CRAIGIN crosses to MORIARTY.)

At the proper moment present my compliments to Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and say that I wish him a pleasant
journey to the other side. {Goes out, followed by BASSICK.)

(LARRABEE glances about critically. As MORIARTY goes, PRINCE throws cigarette on floor in
disgust, which LEARY picks up as he goes later, putting it in his pocket.)

LARRABEE: You’d better put that rope out of sight.

(CRAIGIN picks up rope, which he carries with him until he goes out later. LEARY and McTAGUE
move across noiselessly at back. CRAIGIN stops an instant up stage to examine the window, looking
at the caulking, etc., and shaking the frames to see that they are securely spiked. Others wait near
door. He finishes at window. LARRABEE is examining package near lamp, which he has taken from
his pocket. As LEARY crosses he picks up rope which was lying up centre and hides it in barrel.
McTAGUE in crossing bumps up against PRINCE, and both look momentarily at each other very much
annoyed.)

CRAIGIN {joins LE ARY and McTAGUE at door. Speaks to LARRABEE from door): You understand,
sir, we’re on this floor just around the far turn of the passage — so ‘e won’t see us as ‘e’s commin’ up.

LARRABEE: I understand. {Turning to CRAIGIN.)

CRAIGIN: An’ it’s w’en we ‘ears that whistle, eh?

LARRABEE: When you hear this whistle.

(CRAIGIN, LEARY and McTAGUE go out noiselessly. Pause. Door remains open. PRINCE, who has
been very quiet during foregoing scene, begins to move a little nervously and looks about. He looks at
his watch and then glances about again. LARRABEE is still near lamp, looking at package of papers
which he took from his pocket .)

PRINCE {coming down in a grumpy manner, head down, not looking at LARRABEE): Look ‘ere, Jim,
this sort of thing ain’t so much in my line.

LARRABEE {at table): I suppose not.

PRINCE {still eyes about without looking at LARRABEE): When it comes to a shy at a safe or drillin’
into bank vaults, I feels perfectly at ‘ome, but I don’t care so much to see a man — {Stops — hesitates.)
Well, it ain’t my line!

LARRABEE {turning): Here! {Going to him and urging him toward door and putting package away.)
All I want of you is to go down on the corner below and let me know when he comes.

PRINCE {stops and turns to LARRABEE): ‘Ow will I let you know?

LARRABEE: Have you got a whistle?

PRINCE {pulls one out of pocket): Cert’nly.

LARRABEE: Well when you see O’Hagan driving with him Come down the alley there and blow it
twice. {Urging PRINCE a little nearer door.)

PRINCE: Yes — but ain’t it quite loikely to call a cab at the same time?

LARRABEE: What more do you want — take the cab and go home.

PRINCE: Oh, then you won’t need me ‘ere again.

LARRABEE: No.

(PRINCE turns to go.)

PRINCE {going to door — very much relieved): Oh, very well — then I’ll tear myself away. {Goes out.)
{Music. Pathetic, melodramatic, agitato, pp.)

(LARRABEE crosses to table and looks at lamp, gets two chairs and places them on either side oj
table; As he places second chair he stops dead as if having heard a noise outside, listens, and is
satisfied all is well. Then thinking of the best way to conduct negotiations with Holmes, takes out
cigar, and holds it a moment unlighted as he thinks. Then takes out match and is about to light it when

ALICE FAULKNER enters. He starts up and looks at her. She stands looking at him, frightened and
excited .)

{Music stops.)

LARRABEE: What do you want?

ALICE: It’s true, then?

LARRABEE: How did you get to this place?

ALICE: I followed you — in a cab.

LARRABEE: What have you been doing since I came up here? Informing the police, perhaps.

ALICE: No — I was afraid he’d come — so I waited.

LARRABEE: Oh — to warn him very likely?

ALICE: Yes. {Pause.) To warn him {Looks about room.)

LARRABEE: Then it’s just as well you came up.

ALICE: I came to make sure — {Glances about.)

LARRABEE: Of what?

ALICE: That something else — is not going to be done besides — what they told me.

LARRABEE: Ah — somebody told you that something else was going to be done?

ALICE: Yes.

LARRABEE: So! We’ve got another spy in the house.

ALICE: You’re going to swindle and deceive him — I know that. Is there anything more? {Advancing to
him a little.)

LARRABEE: What could you do if there was?

ALICE: I could buy you off Such men as you are always open to sale.

LARABEE: How much would you give?

ALICE: The genuine package — the real ones. All the proofs — everything

LARRABEE {advancing above table, quietly but with quick interest): Have you got it with you?

ALICE: No, but I can get it.

LARRABEE: Oh — {Going to table. Slightly disappointed.) So you’ll do all that for this man? You
think he’s your friend, I suppose?

ALICE: I haven’t thought of it.

LARRABEE: Look what he’s doing now. Coming here to buy those things off me.

ALICE: They’re false. They’re counterfeit.

LARRABEE: He thinks they’re genuine, doesn’t he? He’d hardly come here to buy them if he didn’t.
ALICE: He may ask my permission still.

LARRABEE: Ha! ( Sneer — turning away.) He won’t get the chance.

ALICE (, suspicious again): Won’t get the chance. Then there is something else.

LARRABEE: Something else! ( Turning to her.) Why, you see me here myself, don’t you? I’m going to
talk to him on a little business. How could I do him any harm?

ALICE {advancing): Where are those men who came up here?

LARRABEE: What men?

ALICE: Three villainous looking men — I saw them go in at the street door —

LARRABEE: Oh — those men. They went up the other stairway. {Pointing over shoulder.) You can see
them in the next building — if you look out of this window. {Indicating window.)

(ALICE at once goes rapidly toward the window and making a hesitating pause near table as she sees
LARRABEE crossing above her but moving on again quickly LARRABEE at same time crosses well
up stage, keeping his eye on ALICE as she moves towards the window and tries to look out, but finding
she cannot she turns at once to LARRABEE. He is standing near door.)

{Music. Melodramatic. Danger. Keep down, pp Agitato)

{Hold this an instant where they stand looking at one another, ALICE beginning to see she has been
trapped.)

ALICE {starting toward door): I’ll look in the passage-way, if you please.

LARRABEE {taking one step down before door, quietly): Yes — but I don’t please.

ALICE {stops before him): You wouldn’t dare to keep me here.

LARRABEE: I might dare — but I won’t. You’d be in the way.

ALICE: Where are those men?

LARRABEE: Stay where you are and you’ll see them very soon.

(LARRABEE goes to door and blows whistle as quietly as possible. Short pause. No footsteps heard,
as the men move noiselessly. Enter CRAIGIN, McTAGUE and LEARY, appearing suddenly
noiselessly. They stand looking in some astonishment at ALICE.)

{Music stops.)

ALICE: I knew it. {Moving back a step, seeing from this that they are going to attack Holmes.) Ah!

( Under breath. After pause she turns and hurries to window, trying to look out or give an alarm. Then
runs to cupboard door. LARRABEE watching her movements. Desperately.) You’re going to do him
some harm.

LARRABEE: Oh no, it’s only a little joke — at his expense.

ALICE (j moving toward him a little ): You wanted the letters, the package I had in the safe! I’ll get it for
you. Let me go and I’ll bring it here — or whatever you tell me — (LARRABEE sneers meaningly.)

I’ll give you my word not to say anything to anyone — not to him — not to the policemen — not anyone!

LARRABEE ( without moving ): You needn’t take the trouble to get it — but you can tell me where it is —
and you’ll have to be quick about it too —

ALICE: Yes — if you’ll promise not to go on with this.

LARRABEE: Of course! That’s understood.

ALICE ( excitedly ): You promise!

LARRABEE: Certainly I promise. Now where is it?

ALICE: Just outside my bedroom window — just outside on the left, fastened between the shutter and the
wall — you can easily find it.

LARRABEE: Yes — I can easily find it.

ALICE: Now tell them — tell them to go.

LARRABEE {going down to men): Tie her up so she can’t make a noise. Keep her out there until we have
Holmes in here, and then let O’Hagan keep her in his cab. She mustn’t get back to the house

— not till I’ve been there.

(ALICE listens dazed, astonished.)

CRAIGIN {speaks low): Go an’ get a hold, Leary. Hand me a piece of that rope.

(McTAGUE brings rope from under his coat. Business of getting rapidly ready to gag and tie ALICE.
Much time must not be spent on this; quick, business-like. McTAGUE takes handkerchief from pocket
to use as gag.)

LARRABEE {taking a step or two down before ALICE so as to attract her attention front): Now then,
my pretty bird — (ALICE begins to move back in alarm and looking at LARRABEE.)

ALICE: You said — you said if I told you —

LARRABEE: Well — we haven’t done him any harm yet, have we?

(LEARY is moving quietly round behind her.)

ALICE: Then send them away.

LARRABEE: Certainly. Go away now, boys, there’s no more work for you to-night.

ALICE ( looking at them terrified ): They don’t obey you. They are —

(LEARY seizes her. She screams and resists, but CRAIGIN and McTAGUE come at once, so that she is
quickly subdued and gagged with handkerchief, etc., and her hands tied. As the Struggle takes place,
men work up to near cupboard with ALICE. LARRABEE also eagerly watching them tie ALICE up.
This is not prolonged more than is absolutely necessary. Just as they finish, a shrill whistle is heard in
distance outside at back, as if from street far below. All stop — listening — picture .)

CRAIGIN: Now out of the door with her — (* Starting to door )

{The prolonged shrill whistle is heard again)

LARRABEE: By God, he’s here.

CRAIGIN: What!

LARRABEE: That’s Sid Prince, I put him on the watch.

CRAIGIN: We won’t have time to get her out.

LARRABEE: Shut her in there {Pointing to cupboard)

LEARY: Yes — that’ll do.

CRAIGIN: In with her.

(LEARY and CRAIGIN, almost on the word, take her to cup board. McTAGUE goes and keeps watch
at door.)

{As he holds ALICE.) Open that door! Open that door!

(LEARY goes and opens cupboard door. As LEARY leaves she breaks away from CRAIGIN and gets
almost to right when CRAIGIN catches her again. As he takes hold of her she faints, and he throws her
into cupboard in a helpless condition. LEARY closes cupboard door and they stand before it.)

LEARY {still at cupboard door. Others have turned so as to avoid suspicion if Holmes comes in on
them)'. There ain’t no lock on this ‘ere door.

LARRABEE: No lock!

LEARY: No.

LARRABEE: Drive something in.

CRAIGIN: Here, this knife. {Hands LEARY a large clasp-knife, opened ready.)

LARRABEE: A knife won’t hold it.

CRAIGIN: Yes, it will. Drive it in strong.

(LEARY drives blade in door frame with all his force)

LEARY: ‘E’ll have to find us ‘ere.

CRAIGIN: Yes — and he won’t either — we’ll go on and do ‘imup. ( Going to door)

LARRABEE: No, you won’t.

{Men stop. Pause.)

I’ll see him first, if you please.

(CRAIGIN and LARRABEE facing each other savagely an instant well down stage.)

McTAGUE: Them was orders, Craigin.

LEARY: So it was.

McTAGUE: There might be time to get back in the passage. {He listens at door and cautiously looks off
— turns back into room.) They ain’t got up one flight yet.

LEARY : Quick then. {Moving toward door.)

(McTAGUE, LEARY and CRAIGIN go out. Door does not close. LARRABEE glances at door
anxiously. Makes a quick dash up to it, and forces knife in with all his strength. Quickly pulls off coat
and hat, throwing them on boxes, and sits quietly chewing an end of cigar. Enter SHERLOCK
HOLMES at door, walking easily as though on some ordinary business.)

{Stop music.)

HOLMES {seeing the apartment with a glance as he enters and Pausing, disappointed. His little laugh,
with no smile): How the devil is it that you crooks always manage to hit on the same places for your
scoundrelly business? {Chuckles of amusement.) Well! I certainly thought, after all this driving about in a
closed cab you’d show me something new.

LARRABEE {looking up nonchalantly ): Seen it before, have you?

HOLMES {standing still): Well, I should think so! {Moves easily about recalling dear old times.) I
nabbed a friend of yours in this place while he was trying to drop himself out of that window. Ned
Colvin, the cracksman.

LARRABEE: Colvin. I never heard of him before.

HOLMES: No? Ha! ha! Well, you certainly never heard of him after. A brace of counterfeiters used these
regal chambers in the spring of ‘90. One of them hid in the cupboard. We pulled him out by the heels.

LARRABEE {trying to get in on the nonchalance): Ah! Did you? And the other?

HOLMES: The other? He was more fortunate.

LARRABEE: Ah — he got away, I suppose.

HOLMES: Yes, he got away. We took his remains out through that door to the street. {Indicating door.)
LARRABEE: Quite interesting. {Drawled a little — looks at end of his cigar.)

(HOLMES is looking about.)

Times have changed since then.

(HOLMES darts a lightning glance at LARRABEE. Instantly easy again and glancing about as
before.)

HOLMES ( dropping down near LARRABEE): So they have, Mr. Larrabee — so they have. (A little
confidentially.) Then it was only cracksmen, counterfeiters, and petty swindlers of various kinds — Now
— {Pause, looking at LARRABEE.)

(LARRABEE turns and looks at HOLMES.)

LARRABEE: Well? What now?

HOLMES: Well — {Mysteriously.) Between you and me, Larrabee — we’ve heard some not altogether
agreeable rumors; rumours of some pretty shady work not far from here — a murder or two of a very
peculiar kind — and Eve always had a suspicion — {Stops. Sniffs very delicately. Motionless pause.
Nods ominously to LARRABEE, who is looking about, and gets over towards window. When within
reach he runs his hand lightly along the frame) My surmise was correct — it is.

LARRABEE {turning to HOLMES) It is what?

HOLMES: Caulked.

LARRABEE: What does that signify to us?

HOLMES: Nothing to us, Mr. Larrabee, nothing to us, but it might signify a good deal to some poor devil
who’s been caught in this trap.

LARRABEE: Well if it’s nothing to us suppose we leave it and get to business. My time is limited.

HOLMES: Quite so, of course. 1 should have realised that reflections could not possibly appeal to you.
But it so happens 1 take a deep interest in anything that pertains to what are known as the criminal classes
and this same interest makes me rather curious to know — {looking straight at LARRABEE, who looks
up at him) — how you happened to select such a singularly gruesome place for an ordinary business
transaction.

LARRABEE {looking at HOLMES across the table): 1 selected this places Mr. Holmes, because 1
thought you might not be disposed to take such liberties here as you practised in my own house last night.

HOLMES: Quite so, quite so. {Looks innocently at LARRABEE.) But why not?

{They look at one another an instant.)

LARRABEE: ( significantly ): You might not feel quite so much at home.

HOLMES: Oh — ha! {A little laugh.) You’ve made a singular miscalculation. 1 feel perfectly at home,
Mr. Larrabee! Perfectly! {He seats himself at table in languid and leisurely manner, takes cigar from
pocket and lights it.)

LARRABEE {looks at him an instant): Well, I’m very glad to hear it.

(LARRABEE now takes out the counterfeit package of papers, etc., and tosses it on the table before

them. HOLMES looks on floor slightly by light of match, unobserved by LARRABEE.)

Here is the little packet which is the object of this meeting. {He glances at HOLMES to see effect of its
production .)

(HOLMES looks at it calmly as he smokes .)

I haven’t opened it yet, but Miss Faulkner tells me everything is there.

HOLMES: Then there is no need of opening it, Mr. Larrabee.

LARRABEE: Oh, well — 1 want to see you satisfied.

HOLMES: That is precisely the condition in which you now behold me. Miss Faulkner is a truthful young
lady. Her word is sufficient.

LARRABEE: Very well. Now what shall we say, Mr. Holmes? {Pause.) Of course, we want a pretty
large price for this. Miss Faulkner is giving up everything. She would not be satisfied unless the result
justified it.

HOLMES {pointedly ): Suppose, Mr. Larrabee, that as Miss Faulkner knows nothing whatever about this
affair, we omit her name from the discussion.

{Slight pause of two seconds .)

LARRABEE: Who told you she doesn’t know?

HOLMES: You did. Every look, tone, gesture — everything you have said and done since I have been in
this room has informed me that she has never consented to this transaction. It is a little speculation of your
own. {Tapping his fingers on end of table.)

LARRABEE: Ha! {Sneer.) I suppose you think you can read me like a book.

HOLMES: No — like a primer.

LARRABEE: Well, let that pass. How much’ll you give?

HOLMES: A thousand pounds.

LARRABEE: I couldn’t take it.

HOLMES: What do you ask?

LARRABEE: Five thousand.

HOLMES {shakes head): I couldn’t give it.

LARRABEE: Very well — {Rises.) We’ve had all this trouble for nothing. {As if about to put up the
packet.)

HOLMES {leaning back in chair and remonstrating ): Oh — don’t say that, Mr. Larrabee! To me the
occasion has been doubly interesting. I have not only had the pleasure of meeting you again but I have also
availed myself of the opportunity of making observations regarding this place which may not come amiss.

(LARRABEE looks at HOLMES contemptuously. He places chair under table.)

LARRABEE: Why, Eve been offered four thousand for this little —

HOLMES: Why didn’t you take it?

LARRABEE: Because 1 intend to get more.

HOLMES: That’s too bad.

LARRABEE: If they offered four thousand they’ll give five.

HOLMES: They won’t give anything.

LARRABEE: Why not?

HOLMES: They’ve turned the case over to me.

LARRABEE: Will you give three thousand?

HOLMES (rising): Mr. Larrabee, strange as it may appear, my time is limited as well as yours. 1 have
brought with me the sum of One thousand pounds, which is all that I wish to pay. If it is your desire to sell
at this figure kindly appraise me of the fact at once. If not, permit me to wish you a very good evening.

(Pause. LARRABEE looks at him.)

LARRABEE (after the pause glances nervously round once, fearing he heard something): Go on!
(Tosses packet on table.) You can have them. It’s too small a matter to haggle over.

(HOLMES reseats himself at once, back of table, and takes wallet from his pocket, from which he
produces a bunch of bank notes. LARRABEE stands watching him with glittering eye. HOLMES
counts out ten one hundred pound notes and lays the remainder of the notes on the table with elbow on
them, while he counts the first over again.)

(Sneeringly.) Oh — I thought you said you had brought just a thousand.

HOLMES (not looking up; counting the notes): I did. This is it.

LARRABEE: You brought a trifle more, I see.

HOLMES (counting notes): Quite so. I didn’t say I hadn’t brought any more.

LARRABEE: Ha! (Sneers.) You can do your little tricks when it comes to it, can’t you?

HOLMES: It depends on who I’m dealing with. (Hands LARRABEE one thousand pounds in notes.)

(LARRABEE takes money and keeps a close watch at same time on the remaining pile of notes lying at
HOLMES’ left. HOLMES, after handing the notes to LARRABEE, lays cigar he was smoking on the
table, picks up packet which he puts in his pocket with his right hand, and is almost at the same time
reaching with his left hand for the notes he placed upon the table when LARRABEE makes a Sudden
lunge and snatches the pile of bank notes, jumping back On the instant. HOLMES springs to his feet at
the same time.)

Now I’ve got you where I want you, Jim Larrabee! You’ve been so cunning and so cautious and so wise,
we couldn’t find a thing to hold you for — but this little slip will get you in for robbery —

LARRABEE: Oh! You’ll have me in, will you? {Short sneering laugh) What are your views about being
able to get away from here yourself?

HOLMES: I do not anticipate any particular difficulty.

LARRABEE (, significantly ): Perhaps you’ll change your mind about that.

HOLMES: Whether 1 change my mind or not, 1 certainly shall leave this place, and your arrest will shortly
follow.

LARRABEE: My arrest? Ha, ha! Robbery, eh — Why, even if you got away from here you haven’t got a
witness. Not a witness to your name.

HOLMES {slowly backing, keeping his eyes sharply on LARRABEE as he does so): I’m not so sure of
that, Mr. Larrabee! — Do you usually fasten that door with a knife? {Pointing toward door with left arm
and hand, but eyes on LARRABEE.)

(LARRABEE turns front as if bewildered. Tableau an instant. Very faint moan from within cupboard.
HOLMES listens motionless an instant, then makes quick dash to door and seizing knife wrenches it
out and flings it on the floor. LARRABEE seeing HOLMES start toward door of cupboard springs up
to head him off)

LARRABEE: Come away from that door.

{But HOLMES has the door torn open and ALICE FAULKNER out before LARRABEE gets near.)

HOLMES: Stand back! {Turning to LARRABEE, supporting ALICE at same time.) You contemptible
scoundrel! What does this mean!

LARRABEE: I’ll show you what it means cursed quick. {Taking a step or two, blows the little silver
whistle attached to his watch chain.)

HOLMES {untying ALICE quickly) I’m afraid you’re badly hurt Miss Faulkner.

{Enter CRAIGIN. He stands there a moment near door, watching HOLMES. He makes a signal with
hand to others outside door and then moves noiselessly. McTAGUE enters noiselessly, and remains a
little behind CRAIGIN below door. ALICE shakes her head quickly, thinking of what she sees, and
tries to call HOLMES attention to CRAIGIN and McTAGUE.)

ALICE: No! — Mr. Holmes. {Pointing to CRAIGIN and McTAGUE.)

HOLMES {glances round): Ah, Craigin — delighted to see you.

(CRAIGIN gives slight start.)

And you too McTague. I infer from your presence here at this particular juncture that I am not dealing with
Mr. Larrabee alone.

LARRABEE: Your inference is quite correct, Mr. Holmes.

HOLMES: It is not difficult to imagine who is at the bottom of such a conspiracy as this.

(CRAIGIN begins to steal across noiselessly. McTAGUE remains before door, HOLMES turns to
ALICE again.)

I hope you’re beginning to feel a little more yourself, Miss Faulkner — because we shall leave here very
soon.

ALICE ( who has been shrinking from the sight of CRAIGIN and McTAGUE): Oh yes — do let us go,
Mr. Holmes.

CRAIGIN {low, deep voice, intense ): You’ll ‘ave to wait a bit, Mr. ‘Olmes. We ‘ave a little matter of
business we’d like to talk over.

(HOLMES turning to CRAIGIN.)

{Enter LEARY and glides up side in the shadow and begins to move towards HOLMES. In
approaching from corner he glides behind door of cupboard as it stands open and from there down on
HOLMES at cue. As HOLMES turns to CRAIGIN, ALICE leans against wall of cupboard .)

HOLMES: All right, Craigin, I’ll see you to-morrow morning in your cell at Bow Street.

CRAIGIN ( threateningly ): Werry sorry sir but I cawn’t wait till morning Its got to be settled to night.

HOLMES {looks at CRAIGIN an instant ): All right, Craigin, we’ll settle it to-night.

CRAIGIN: It’s so werry himportant, Mr. ‘Olmes — so werry important indeed that you’ll ‘ave to ‘tend to
it now.

{At this instant ALICE sees LEARY approaching rapidly from behind and screams. HOLMES turns,
but LEARY is upon him at the same time. There is a very short struggle and HOLMES throws LEARY
violently off, but LEARY has got HOLMES’ revolver. As they struggle ALICE steps back to side oj
room up stage. A short deadly pause. HOLMES motionless, regarding the men. ALICE’S back against
wall. After the pause LEARY begins to revive.)

{Low voice to LEARY.) ‘Ave you got his revolver?

LEARY {showing revolver ): ‘Ere it is. {Getting slowly to his feet.)

HOLMES {recognizing LEARY in the dim light): Ah, Leary! It is a pleasure indeed. It needed only your
blithe personality to make the party complete. {Sits and writes rapidly on pocket pad, pushing lamp
away a little and picking up cigar which he had left on the table, and which he keeps in his mouth as
he writes.) There is only one other I could wish to welcome here, and that is the talented author of this
midnight carnival. We shall have him however, by to-morrow night.

CRAIGIN: Though ‘e ain’t ‘ere, Mr. ‘Olmes, ‘e gave me a message for yer. ‘E presented his koindest
compliments wished yer a pleasant trip across.

HOLMES {writing — cigar in mouth): That’s very kind of him. I’m sure. {Writes.)

LARRABEE {sneeringly): You’re writing your will, I suppose?

HOLMES ( writing — with quick glances at the rest) No {Shakes head.) Only a brief description of one
or two of you gentlemen for the police. We know the rest.

LEARY: And when will you give it ‘em, Mr. ‘Olmes?

HOLMES {writes): In nine or nine and a half minutes, Leary.

LARRABEE: Oh, you expect to leave here in nine minutes, eh?

HOLMES: No. ( Writing .) In one. It will take me eight minutes to find a policeman. This is a dangerous
neighbourhood.

LARRABEE: Well, when you’re ready to start, let us know.

HOLMES {rising and putting pad in pocket ): Em ready {Buttoning up coat.)

(CRAIGIN. McTAGUE and LEARY suddenly brace themselves for action, and stand ready to make a
run for HOLMES. LARRABEE also is ready to join in the struggle if necessary. HOLMES moves
backward from table a little to ALICE — she drops down a step towards HOLMES)

CRAIGIN: Wait a bit. You’d better listen to me, Mr. ‘Olmes. We’re going to tie yer down nice and tight to
the top o’ that table.

HOLMES: Well, by Jove! I don’t think you will, That’s my idea, you know.

CRAIGIN: An’ you’ll save yourself a deal of trouble if ye submit quiet and easy like — because if ye
don’t ye moight get knocked about a bit —

ALICE {under her breath): Oh — Mr. Holmes! {Coming closer to HOLMES.)

LARRABEE {to ALICE): Come away from him! Come over here if you don’t want to get hurt.

{Love music.)

HOLMES {to ALICE, without looking round, but reaching her with left hand): My child, if you don’t
want to get hurt, don’t leave me for a second.

(ALICE moves closer to HOLMES.)

LARRABEE: Aren’t you coming?

ALICE {breathlessly): No!

CRAIGIN: You’d better look out, Miss — he might get killed.

ALICE: Then you can kill me too.

(HOLMES makes a quick turn to her, with sudden exclamation under breath. For an instant only he
looks in her face — then a quick turn back to CRAIGIN and men.)

HOLMES {low voice — not taking eyes from men before him): I’m afraid you don’t mean that, Miss
Faulkner.

ALICE: Yes, Ido.

HOLMES (eyes on men — though they shift about rapidly, but never toward ALICE): No. (Shakes head
a trifle .) You would not say it — at another time or place.

ALICE: I would say it anywhere — always.

(Music stops.)

CRAIGIN: So you’ll ‘ave it out with us, eh?

HOLMES: Do you imagine for one moment, Craigin, that I won’t have it out with you?

CRAIGIN: Well then — I’ll ‘ave to give you one — same as I did yer right- ’and man this afternoon.
(Approaching HOLMES.)

HOLMES (to ALICE without turning — intense, rapid): Ah!

(CRAIGIN stops dead.)

You heard him say that. Same as he did my right-hand man this afternoon.

ALICE (under breath ): Yes! yes!

HOLMES: Don’t forget that face. (Pointing to CRAIGIN.) In three days I shall ask you to identify it in the
prisoner’s dock.

CRAIGIN (enraged): Ha! (Turning away as if to hide his face.)

HOLMES (very sharp — rapid): Yes — and the rest of you with him You surprise me, gentlemen —
thinking you’re sure of anybody in this room, and never once taking the trouble to look at that window. If
you wanted to make it perfectly safe, you should have had those missing bars put in.

(HOLMES whispers something to ALICE, indicating her to make for door.)

(Music till end of Act.)

(CRAIGIN, LEARY, McTAGUE and LARRABEE make very slight move and say “Eh?” but instantly
at tension again, and all motionless, ready to spring on HOLMES. HOLMES and ALICE motionless,
facing them. This is held an instant.)

LARRABEE: Bars or no bars, you’re not going to get out of here as easy as you expect.

(HOLMES moves easily down near table.)

HOLMES: There are so many ways, Mr. Larrabee, I hardly know which to choose.

CRAIGIN (louder — advancing): Well, you’d better choose quick — I can tell you that.

HOLMES (sudden — strong — sharp): I’ll choose at once, Mr. Craigin — and my choice — (quickly
seizing chair) — falls on this. (On the word he brings the chair down upon the lamp frightful crash,
extinguishing light instantly.)

(Every light out. Only the glow o/HOLMES’ cigar remains where he stands at the table. He at once

begins to move toward window keeping cigar so that it will show to men and to front.)

CRAIGIN ( loud sharp voice to others ): Trace ‘im by the cigar. {Moving at once toward window .)
Follow the cigar.

LARRABEE: Look out. He’s going for the window.

(LEARY goes quickly to window. McTAGUE goes and is ready by safety lamp. HOLMES quickly fixes
cigar in a crack or joint at side of window so that it is still seen — smash of the window glass is heard.
Instantly glides across, well up stage, and down side to the door where he finds ALICE. On crash oj
window CRAIGIN and LEARY give quick shout of exclamation — they spring up stage toward the
light of cigar — sound of quick scuffle and blows in darkness.)

LARRABEE: Get that light.

CRAIGIN {clear and distinct ): The safety lamp. Where is it?

{Make this shout for lantern very strong and audible to front. McTAGUE kicks over box which
concealed the safety lamp — lights up. HOLMES and ALICE at door. ALICE just going out.)

HOLMES {turning at door and pointing to window ): You’ll find that cigar in a crevice by the window.

{All start towards HOLMES with exclamations, oaths, etc. He makes quick exit with ALICE and slams
door after him. Sounds of heavy bolts outside sliding quickly into place, and heavy bars dropping into
position. CRAIGIN, McTAGUE and LEARY rush against door and make violent efforts to open it.
After the first excited effort they turn quickly back. As McTAGUE crosses he throws safely lamp on
table. LARRABEE, who has stopped near when he saw door closed, turns front with a look of hatred
on his face and mad with rage.)

CURTAIN

ACT IV

Doctor Watson’s Consulting Room, Kensington.
The following evening.

The place is London.

SCENE. — DR. WATSON’S house in Kensington. The consulting room. Oak panelling. Solid furniture.
Wide double-doors opening to the hall and street door. Door communicating with doctor’s inner
medicine room. Another door, center, opens to private hallway of house. The windows are supposed to
open at side of house upon an area which faces the street. These windows have shades or blinds on
rollers which can quickly be drawn down. At the opening of the Act they are down, so that no one could
see into the room from the street.

There is a large operating chair with high back, cushions, etc. Music for curtain, which stops an
instant before rise.

DR. WATSON is seated behind his desk and MRS. SMEEDLEY, a seedy-looking middle-aged woman,
is seated in the chair next to the desk with a medicine bottle in her hand.

WATSON: Be careful to make no mistake about the medicine. If she’s no better to-morrow I’ll call. You
will let me know, of course.

MRS. SMEEDLEY: Oh yes, indeed I will. Good evening, sir.

WATSON: Good night, Mrs. Smeedley.

(MRS. SMEEDLEY goes out. Sound of door closing heard after she is off. Pause. The doctor turns to
his desk, and ringing bell, busies himself with papers.)

{Enter PARSONS — a servant.)

Parsons!

(PARSONS comes a little towards WATSON.)

{Lower voice.) That woman who just left — do you know her?

PARSONS {trying to recollect): I can’t say as I recollect ‘avin’ seen ‘er before. Was there anything — ?

WATSON: Oh no! Acted a little strange, that’s all. I thought I saw her looking about the hall before she
went out.

PARSONS: Yes sir, she did give a look. I saw that myself, sir.

WATSON {after an instant’s thought ): Oh well — I dare say it was nothing. Is there anyone waiting,
Parsons?

PARSONS: There’s one person in the waiting-room, sir — a gentleman.

WATSON ( looks at watch): I’ll see him, but I’ve only a short time left. If any more come you must send
them over to Doctor Anstruther. 1 spoke to him this afternoon about taking my cases. 1 have an important
appointment at nine.

PARSONS: Very well, sir. Then you’ll see this gentleman, sir?

WATSON: Yes.

(PARSONS goes out. Short pause. WATSON busy at desk. PARSONS opens door and shows in SID
PRINCE. He comes in a little way and pauses. PARSONS all through this Act closes the door after his
exit, or after showing anyone in. WATSON looks up.)

PRINCE (; speaking in the most dreadful husky whisper ): Good evenin’, sir!

WATSON: Good evening. ( Indicating chair.) Pray be seated.

PRINCE ( same voice all through ): Thanks, I don’t mind if I do. ( Coughs , then sits in chair near desk.)

WATSON (looking at him with professional interest): What seems to be the trouble?

PRINCE: Throat, sir. (Indicating his throat to assist in making himself understood.) Most dreadful sore
throat.

WATSON: Sore throat, eh? ( Glancing about for an instrument.)

PRINCE: Well, I should think it is. It’s the most ‘arrowing thing I ever ‘ad! It pains me that much to
swallow that I —

WATSON: Hurts you to swallow, does it? (Finding and picking up an instrument on the desk.)

PRINCE: Indeed it does. Why, I can ‘ardly get a bit of food down.

(WATSON rises and goes to cabinet, pushes gas burner out into position and lights it.)

WATSON: Just step this way a moment, please. (PRINCE rises and goes up to WATSON, who adjusts
reflector over eye, etc. He has an instrument in his hand which he wipes with a napkin.) Now, mouth
open — wide as possible. (PRINCE opens mouth and WATSON places tongue holder on his tongue.)
That’s it. (Picks up dentist’s mirror and warms it over gas burner.)

PRINCE (WATSON is about to examine throat when PRINCE sees instrument and is a trifle alarmed):
Eh!

(Business of WATSON putting in tongue holder and looking down PRINCES throat — looking
carefully this way and that)

WATSON: Say “Ah!”

PRINCE (husky voice): Ah! (Steps away and places handkerchief to mouth as if the attempt to say Ah!
hurt him)

(WATSON discontinues, and takes instrument out o/PRINCE’S mouth.)

WATSON (< a slight incredulity in his manner ): Where do you feel this pain?

PRINCE ( indicating with his finger): Just about there, doctor. Inside about there.

WATSON: That’s singular. I don’t find anything wrong. ( gas burner back to usual position — and
placing instrument on cabinet.)

PRINCE: You may not foind anything wrong, but I feel it wrong. If you would only give me something to
take away this awful agony.

WATSON: That’s nothing. It’ll pass away in a few hours. {Reflectively.) Singular thing it would have
affected your voice in this way. Well, I’ll give you a gargle — it may help you a little.

PRINCE: Yes — if you only would, doctor.

(WATSON goes into surgery PRINCE watching him like a cat. Music. Dramatic agitato, very pp.
WATSON does not close the door of the room, but pushes it part way so that it is open about a foot.
PRINCE moves toward door, watching WATSON through it. Stops near door. Seems to watch for his
chance, for he suddenly turns and goes quickly down and runs up blinds of both windows and moves
back quickly, watching WATSON through the door again. Seeing that he still has time to spare, he
goes to centre door and opens it, looking and listening off. Distant sound of a when door is open which
stops when it is closed. PRINCE quickly turns back and goes off a little way at centre door, leaving it
open so that he is seen peering up above and listening. Turns to come back, but just at the door he sees
WATSON coming on and stops. WATSON suddenly enters and sees PRINCE in centre door and stops,
with a bottle in his hand, and looks at PRINCE.)

{Music stops.)

WATSON: What are you doing there?

PRINCE: Why, nothing at all, doctor. I felt such a draught on the back o’ my neck, don’t yer know, that I
opened the door to see where it came from!

(WATSON goes down and rings bell on his desk, placing bottle on papers. Pause. Enter PARSONS.)
WATSON: Parsons, show this man the shortest way to the street door and close the door after him.
PRINCE: But, doctor, ye don’t understand.

WATSON: I understand quite enough. Good evening.

PRINCE: Yer know, the draught plays hell with my throat, sir — and seems to affect my —

WATSON: Good evening. {He sits and pays no further attention to PRINCE.)

PARSONS: This way, sir, if you please.

PRINCE: I consider that you’ve treated me damned outrageous, that’s wot I do, and ye won’t hear the last
of this very soon.

PARSONS {approaching him): Come, none o’ that now. {Takes PRINCE by the arm.)

PRINCE (as he walks toward door with PARSONS, turns head back and speaks oyer his shoulder,
shouting out in his natural voice): Yer call yerself a doctor an’ treats sick people as comes to see yer
this ‘ere way. (Goes out with PARSONS and continues talking until slam of door outside .) Yer call
yerself a doctor! A bloomin’ foine doctor you are! (Etc.)

(PARSONS has forced PRINCE out by the arm during foregoing speech. Door closes after PRINCE.
Sound of outside door closing follows shortly. WATSON, after short pause, looks round room, not
observing that window shades are up. He rings bell. Enter PARSONS)

WATSON (rises and gathers up a few things as if to go): I shall be at Mr. Holmes’s in Baker Street. If
there’s anything special, you’ll know where to send for me. The appointment was for nine. (Looks at
watch.) It’s fifteen minutes past eight now — I’m going to walk over.

PARSONS: Very well, sir.

(Bell of outside door rings. PARSONS looks at WATSON, who shakes his head.)

WATSON: No. I won’t see any more to-night. They must go to Doctor Anstruther.

PARSONS: Yes, sir. (He starts towards door to answer bell.)

(WATSON looks and sees blinds up.)

WATSON: Parsons! (PARSONS turns.) Why aren’t those blinds down?

PARSONS: They was down a few minutes ago, sir!

WATSON: That’s strange! Well, you’d better pull them down now.

PARSONS: Yes, sir.

(Bell rings twice as PARSONS pulls second blind down. He goes out to answer bell. Pause. Then enter
PARSONS in a peculiar manner.)

If you please, sir, it isn’t a patient at all, sir.

WATSON: Well, what is it?

PARSONS: A lady sir — (WATSON looks up) — and she wants to see you most particular, sir!
WATSON: What does she want to see me about?

PARSONS: She didn’t say sir. Only she said it was of the hutmost himportance to ‘er, if you could see
‘er, sir.

WATSON: Is she there in the hall?

PARSONS: Yes sir.

WATSON: Very well — I was going to walk for the exercise — I can take a cab.

PARSONS: Then you’ll see the lady, sir.

WATSON: Yes. (PARSONS turns to go. WATSON continues his preparations .) And call a cab for me at
the same time — have it wait.

PARSONS: Yes, sir.

(PARSONS goes out. Pause. PARSONS appears, ushering in a lady — and goes when she has entered.
Enter MADGE LARRABEE. Her manner is entirely different from that of the former scenes. She is an
impetuous gushing society lady with trouble on her mind)

MADGE (as she comes inf. Ah! Doctor — it’s awfully good of you to see me. 1 know what a busy man
you must be but I’m in such trouble — oh, it’s really too dreadful — You’ll excuse my troubling you in
this way, won’t you?

WATSON: Don’t speak of it, madam.

MADGE: Oh, thank you so much! For it did look frightful my coming in like this — but I’m not alone —
oh no! — 1 left my maid in the cab — Em Mrs. H. de Witte Seaton — (Trying to find card-case .) Dear
me — 1 didn’t bring my card-case — or if I did 1 lost it.

WATSON: Don’t trouble about a card, Mrs. Seaton. (With gesture to indicate chair.)

MADGE: Oh, thank you. (Sitting as she continues to talk.) You don’t know what I’ve been through this
evening — trying to find some one who could tell me what to do. (WATSON sits in chair at desk.) It’s
something that’s happened, doctor — it has just simply happened — 1 know that it wasn’t his fault! 1 know
it!

WATSON: Whose fault?

MADGE: My brother’s — my poor, dear, youngest brother — he couldn’t have done such a thing, he
simply couldn’t and —

WATSON: Such a thing as what, Mrs. Seaton?

MADGE: As to take the plans of our defences at Gibraltar from the Admiralty Offices. They think he
stole them, doctor — and they’ve arrested him for it — you see, he works there. He was the only one who
knew about them in the whole office — because they trusted him so. He was to make copies and — Oh,
doctor, it’s really too dreadful! (Overcome, she takes out her handkerchief and wipes her eyes. This
must all be perfectly natural, and not in the least particular overdone.)

WATSON: I’m very sorry, Mrs. Seaton —

MADGE (mixed up with sobs): Oh, thank you so much! They said you were Mr. Holmes’s friend —
several people told me that, several — they advised me to ask you where 1 could find him — and
everything depends on it, doctor — everything.

WATSON: Holmes, of course. He’s just the one you want.

MADGE: That’s it! He’s just the one — and there’s hardly any time left! They’ll take my poor brother
away to prison to-morrow! (Shows signs of breaking down again.)

WATSON: There, there, Mrs. Seaton — pray control yourself.

MADGE ( choking down sobs): Now what would you advise me to do?

WATSON: I’d go to Mr. Holmes at once.

MADGE: But Eve been. I’ve been and he wasn’t there!

WATSON: You went to his house?

MADGE: Yes — in Baker Street. That’s why I came to you! They said he might be here!

WATSON: No — he isn’t here! ( Turns away slightly )

(MADGE looks deeply discouraged)

MADGE: But don’t you expect him some time this evening?

WATSON: No {Shaking head) There’s no possibility of his coming — so far as I know.

MADGE: But couldn’t you get him to come? {Pause) It would be such a great favour to me — I’m almost
worn out with going about — and with this dreadful anxiety! If you could get word to him — {sees that
WATSON is looking at her strangely and sharply) — to come.

{Brief pause)

WATSON {rising — rather hard voice): I could not get him to come madam. And I beg you to excuse me
I am going out myself — {looks at watch) — on urgent business. {Rings bell.)

MADGE {rising) Oh certainly! Don t let me detain you! And you think I had better call at his house again?
WATSON {coldly): That will be the wisest thing to do.

MADGE: Oh, thank you so much. {Extends her hand.) You don t know how you’ve encouraged me!
(WATSON withdraws his hand as he still looks at her. Enter PARSONS He stands at door)

Well — good night doctor

(WATSON simply bows coldly. MADGE turns to go. The crash of a capsizing vehicle followed by
excited shouts of men is heard. This effect must be as if outside the house with doors closed and not
close at hand. MADGE stops suddenly on hearing the crash and all shouts. WATSON looks at
PARSONS.)

WATSON: What’s that Parsons?

PARSONS: I really can’t say sir but it sounded to me like a haccident.

MADGE {turning to WATSON): Oh dear! I do hope it isn’t anything serious! It affects me terribly to
know that anyone is hurt.

WATSON: Probably nothing more than a broken-down cab. See what it is, Parsons.

{Bell and knock. MADGE turns and looks toward door again, anxiously PARSONS turns to go. Sudden
vigorous ringing of door bell, followed by the sound of a knocker violently used.)

PARSONS: There’s the bell, sir! There’s somebody ‘urt, sir, an’ they’re a-wantin’ you!

WATSON: Well, don’t allow anybody to come in! {Looks at watch.) 1 have no more time. {Hurriedly
gathers papers up.)

PARSONS: Very well, sir. {Goes leaving door open.)

(MADGE turns from looking off at door, and looks at WATSON anxiously. Looks toward door again.)
MADGE: But they’re coming in, doctor. {Retreats backward.)

WATSON {moving toward door): Parsons! Parsons!

{Sound of voices. Following speeches outside are not in rotation, but jumbled together, so that it is all
over very quickly.)

VOICE {outside): We ‘ad to bring ‘imin, man.

VOICE {outside): There’s nowhere else to go!

PARSONS {outside): The doctor can’t see anybody.

VOICE {outside): Well let the old gent lay ‘ere awhile can’t yer. It’s common decency. Wot ‘ave yer got a
red lamp ‘angin’ outside yer bloomin’ door for?

VOICE {outside)-. Yes! yes! let him stay.

{Enter PARSONS at door. Door closes and noise stops.)

PARSONS: They would bring ‘im in, sir. It’s an old gentleman as was ‘urt a bit w’en the cab upset!
MADGE: Oh!

{Sound of groans, etc. outside, and the old gentleman whining out complaints and threats.)

WATSON: Let them put him here. {Indicating operating chair.) And send at once for Doctor Anstruther.
PARSONS: Yes, sir!

WATSON: Help him in Parsons.

(PARSONS goes out)

MADGE: Oh doctor isn’t it frightful.

WATSON {turning to centre door): Mrs Seaton if you will be so good as to step this way, you can reach
the hall, by taking the first door to your left.

MADGE {hesitating): But I — I may be of some use doctor.

WATSON ( with a trifle of impatience) None whatever {Holds door open.)

MADGE: But doctor — I must see the poor fellow — I haven’t the power to go!

WATSON (facing MADGE): Madam, I believe you have some ulterior motive in coming here! You will
kindly —

(Enter at door a white-haired old gentleman in black clerical clothes, white tie, etc., assisted by
PARSONS and the DRIVER. He limps as though his leg were hurt. His coat is soiled. His hat is soiled
as if it had rolled in the street. MADGE has retired above desk and watches old gent closely from
there without moving. WATSON turns toward the party as they come in.)

HOLMES (as he comes in): Oh, oh! (He limps so that he hardly touches his right foot to floor)

PARSONS (as he helps HOLMES in): This way, sir! Be careful of the sill, sir! That’s it. (Etc.)

DRIVER (as he comes in, and also beginning outside before entrance): Now we’ll go in ‘ere. You’ll
see the doctor an’ it’ll be all right.

HOLMES: No, it won’t be all right.

DRIVER: It was a haccident. You cawn’t ‘elp a haccident.

HOLMES: Yes, you can.

DRIVER: He was on the wrong side of the street. I turned hup — (Etc.)

PARSONS: Now over to this chair. (Indicating operating chair).

HOLMES (pushing back and trying to stop at the desk chair) No, I’ll sit here.

PARSONS: No, this is the chair, sir.

HOLMES: Don’t I know where I want to sit?

DRIVER (impatiently): You’ll sit ‘ere. (They lead him up to operating chair.)

DRIVER (as they lead him up): Now, the doctor’ll have a look at ye. ‘Ere’s the doctor.

HOLMES: That isn’t a doctor.

DRIVER: It is a doctor. (Seeing WATSON.) ‘Ere, doctor, will you just come and have a look at this old
gent? (HOLMES trying to stop him.) He’s hurt ‘isself a little, an’ — an’ —

HOLMES (trying to stop DRIVER): Wait, wait, wait!

DRIVER: Well, well?

HOLMES (still standing back to audience and turned to DRIVER): Are you the driver?

DRIVER: Yes, I’m the driver.

HOLMES: Well, I’ll have you arrested for this.

DRIVER: Arrested?

HOLMES: Arrested, arrested, arrested!

DRIVER: You cawn’t arrest me.

HOLMES: I can’t, but somebody else can.

DRIVER: ‘Ere, ‘ere. ( Trying to urge HOLMES to chair.)

HOLMES: You are a very disagreeable man! You are totally uninformed on every subject! I wonder you
are able to live in the same house with yourself.

{The DRIVER is trying to talk back and make HOLMES sit down. HOLMES turns suddenly on
PARSONS. WATSON is trying to attract PARSONS’ attention .)

Are you a driver?

PARSONS: No, sir!

HOLMES: Well, what are you?

PARSONS: I’m the butler, sir.

HOLMES: Butler! Butler!

DRIVER: He’s the doctor’s servant.

HOLMES: Who’d have such a looking butler as you! What fool would —

DRIVER {turning HOLMES toward him roughly): He is the doctor’s servant!

HOLMES: Who asked you who he was?

DRIVER: Never mind who asked me — I’m telling you.

HOLMES: Well, go and tell somebody else.

DRIVER {trying to push HOLMES into chair): Sit down here. Sit down and be quiet
WATSON {to PARSONS): Have a cab ready for me. I must see if he’s badly hurt.

PARSONS: Yes, sir. {Goes.)

HOLMES {resisting): Quiet! quiet! Where’s my hat? My hat! My hat!

DRIVER: Never mind your ‘at.

HOLMES: 1 will mind my hat! and I hold you responsible —

DRIVER: There’s your hat in your ‘and.

HOLMES {looks at hat): That isn’t my hat! Here! (DRIVER trying to push him into chair.) You’re
responsible. {In chair.) I’ll have you arrested. {Clinging to DRIVER’S coat tail as he tries to get away

to door) Here come back {Choking with rage)

DRIVER {first wrenching away coat from HOLMES’ grasp at door): I cawn’t stay around ‘ere, you

know! Some one’ll pinching my cab. {Exit.)

HOLMES {screaming after him): Then bring your cab in here. 1 want — {Lapses into groans and
remonstrances.) Why didn’t somebody stop him? These cabmen! What did he bring me in for? 1 know
where I am, it’s a conspiracy. I won’t stay in this place. If I ever get out of here alive — {Etc.)

WATSON {steps quickly to door, speaking off): Parsons — that man’s number {quickly to old gent) Now
sir if you’ll be quiet for one moment, I’ll have a look at you! {Crosses to end of cabinet as if to look for
instrument.)

(MADGE advances near to the old gentleman, looking at him closely. She suddenly seems to be
satisfied of something, backs away, and reaching out as if to get to the window and give signal, then
coming face to face with WATSON as he turns, and smiling pleasantly at him. Business with glove. She
begins to glide down stage, making a sweep around toward door as if to get out. She shows by her
expression that she has recognized HOLMES, but is instantly herself again, thinking possibly that
HOLMES is watch her, and she wishes to evade suspicion regarding her determination to get off at
door. Quick as a flash the old gentleman springs to the door and stands facing her. She stops suddenly
on finding him facing her, then wheels quickly about and goes rapidly across toward window)

HOLMES {sharp): Don’t let her get to that window.

(WATSON, who had moved up a little above windows, instantly springs before the windows. MADGE
stops on being headed off in that direction.)

WATSON: Is that you, Holmes?

(MADGE stands motionless .)

HOLMES: Quite so. {Takes off his wig, etc.)

WATSON: What do you want me to do?

HOLMES {easily): That’s all, you’ve done it. Don’t do anything more just now.

(MADGE gives a sharp look at them, then goes very slowly for a few steps and suddenly turns and
makes a dash for centre door.)

WATSON: Look out, Holmes! She can get out that way. {A step or two up.)

(MADGE runs off. HOLMES is unmoved.)

HOLMES: I don’t think so. {Saunters over to above WATSON’S desk.) Well, well, what remarkable
weather we’re having, doctor, eh? {Suddenly seeing cigarettes on desk.) Ah! I’m glad to see that you
keep a few prescriptions carefully done up. {Picks up a cigarette and sits on desk.) Good for the nerves!
(HOLMES finds matches and lights cigarette.) Have you ever observed, Watson, that those people are
always making —

{Enter the DRIVER.)

FORMAN {speaking at once — so as to break in on HOLMES): I’ve got her, sir!

{Very brief pause.)

WATSON: Good heavens! Is that Forman?

(HOLMES nods “Yes. ”)

HOLMES: Yes, that’s Forman all right. Has Inspector Bradstreet Come with his men?

FORMAN: Yes, sir. One of ‘em’s in the hall there ‘olding her. The others are in the kitchen garden. They
came in over the back Wall from Mortimer Street.

HOLMES: One moment. (Sits in thought .) Watson, my dear fellow — (WATSON moves toward
HOLMES at desk.) As you doubtless gather from the little episode that has just taken place we are making
the arrests. The scoundrels are hot on my track. To get me out of the way is the one chance left to them —
and I taking advantage of their mad pursuit to draw them where we quietly lay our hands on them — one
by one. We’ve made a pretty good haul already — four last night in the gas chamber — seven this
afternoon in various places, and one more just now, but I regret to say that up to this time the Professor
himself has so far not risen to the bait.

WATSON: Where do you think he is now?

HOLMES: In the open streets — under some clever disguise — watching for a chance to get at me.
WATSON: And was this woman sent in here to —

HOLMES: Quite so. A spy — to let them know by some signal, probably at that window — (pointing ) —
if she found me in the house. And it has Just occurred to me that it might not be such a bad idea to try the
Professor with that bait. Forman! (Motions him to come down.)

FORMAN: Yes, sir!

HOLMES (voice lower) One moment (Business) Bring that Larrabee woman back here for a moment, and
when I light a fresh cigarette — let go your hold on her — carelessly — as if your attention was attracted
to something else. Get hold of her again when I tell you.

FORMAN: Very well sir.

(Goes quickly to re-enter bringing in MADGE LARRABEE. They stop. MADGE calm, but looks at
HOLMES with the utmost hatred. Brief pause.)

HOLMES: My dear Mrs. Larrabee — (MADGE, who has looked away, turns to him angrily) — I took
the liberty of having you brought in for a moment — (puffs cigarette, which he has nearly finished) — in
order to convey to you in a few fitting words — my sincere sympathy in your rather — unpleasant —
predicament,

MADGE (hissing it out angrily between her teeth): It’s a lie! It’s a lie! There’s no predicament.

HOLMES: Ah — I’m charmed to gather — from your rather forcible observation — that you do not
regard it as such. Quite right, too. Our prisons are so well conducted now. Many consider them quite as
comfortable as most of the hotels. Quieter and more orderly.

MADGE: How the prisons are conducted is no concern of mine! There is nothing they can hold me for —
nothing.

HOLMES: Oh — to be sure. {Putting fresh cigarette in mouth.) There maybe something in that. Still —
it occurred to me that you might prefer to be near your unfortunate husband — eh? {Rises from table and
goes to gas burner. Slight good-natured chuckle.) We hear a great deal about the heroic devotion of
wives, and all that — {lights cigarette at gas) — rubbish. You know, Mrs. Larrabee, when we come right
down to it — (FORMAN carelessly relinquishes his hold on MADGE’S arm, and seems to have his
attention called to door. Stands as if listening to something outside. MADGE gives a quick glance
about and at HOLMES who is lighting a cigarette at the gas, and apparently not noticing anything.
She makes a sudden dash for the window, quickly snaps up blind and makes a rapid motion up and
down before window with right hand — then turns quickly, facing HOLMES with triumphant defiance.
HOLMES is still lighting cigarette.)

Many thanks. {To FORMAN.) That’s all, Forman. Pick her up again.

(FORMAN at once goes to MADGE and turns her and waits in front of window — holding her right
wrist.)

Doctor, would you kindly pull the blind down once more. I don’t care to be shot from the street.

(WATSON instantly pulls down blind.)

(NOTE — Special care must be exercised regarding these window blinds. They must be made specially
strong and solid, so that no failure to operate is possible.)

MADGE {in triumph ): Ah! It’s too late.

HOLMES: Too late, eh? {Strolling a little.)

MADGE: The signal is given. You will hear from him soon.

HOLMES: It wouldn’t surprise me at all.

{Door bell rings.)

{Voices o/BILLY and PARSONS outside. Door at once opened, BILLY on a little way, but held back by
PARSONS for an instant. He breaks away from PARSONS. All very quick, BILLY dressed as a street
gamin and carrying a bunch of evening papers)

{As BILLY comes.) I think I shall hear from him now. {Shout.) Let — (BILLY stands panting) — him go,
Parsons. Quick, Billy.

(BILLY comes close to HOLMES.)

BILLY : He’s just come sir.

HOLMES: From where?

BILLY: The house across the street; he was in there a-watchin’ these windows. He must ‘ave seen
something for he’s just come out — {Breathlessly.) There was a cab waitin’ in the street for the doctor —
and he’s changed places with the driver.

HOLMES: Where did the driver go?

BILLY: He slunk away in the dark, sir, but he ain’t gone far, there’s two or three more ‘angin’ about.

HOLMES (, slight motion of the head towards FORMAN): another driver to-night.

BILLY: They’re all in it, sir, an’ they’re a-layin’ to get you in that cab w’en you come out, sir! But don’t
you do it, sir!

HOLMES: On the contrary, sir, I’ll have that new driver in here sir! Get out again quick, Billy, and keep
your eyes on him!

BILLY: Yes, sir — thank you, sir! (Goes.)

HOLMES: Yes, sir! Watson, can you let me have a heavy portmanteau for a few moments — ?

(MADGE now watching for another chance to get at the window.)

WATSON: Parsons — my large Gladstone — bring it here!

PARSONS: Yes, sir. ( Goes out.)

WATSON: I’m afraid it’s a pretty shabby looking —

(MADGE suddenly tries to break loose from FORMAN and attempt to make a dash for window.
FORMAN turns and pulls her a step or two away. Slight pause.)

HOLMES: Many thanks, Mrs. Larrabee, but your first signal is all that we require. By it you informed
your friend Moriarty that I was here in the house. You are now aware of the fact that he is impersonating a
driver, and that it is my intention to have him in here. You wish to signal that there is danger. There is
danger, Mrs. Larrabee, but we don’t care to have you let him know it. Take her out, Forman, and make her
comfortable and happy.

(FORMAN leads MADGE up to centre door as if to take her out. She pulls him to a stop and gives
HOLMES a look of the most violent hatred.)

And by the way, you might tell the inspector to wait a few moments. I may send him another lot. You can’t
tell!

FORMAN: Come along now! ( Takes her off)

(As MADGE is pulled up, she snaps her fingers in HOLMES’S face and goes off laughing
hysterically.)

HOLMES: Fine woman!

(Enter PARSONS, carrying a large portmanteau or Gladstone valise.)

Put it down there. (Pointing down before him at floor.) Thank you so much.

(PARSONS puts portmanteau down as indicated.)

Parsons, you ordered a cab for the doctor a short time ago. It has been waiting, I believe.

PARSONS: Yes, sir, I think it ‘as.

HOLMES: Be so good as to tell the driver, the one you’ll now find there, to come in here and get a valise.
See that he comes in himself When he comes tell him that’s the one.

(PARSONS goes.)

WATSON: But surely he won’t come in.

HOLMES: Surely he will! It’s his only chance to get me into that cab! He’ll take almost any risk for that.
(Goes to above desk.) In times like this you should tell your man never to take the first cab that comes on
a call — {smokes) — nor yet the second — the third may be safe!

WATSON: But in this case —

HOLMES: My dear fellow, I admit that in this case I have it to my advantage, but I speak for your future
guidance.

{Music Melodramatic danger agitato very subdued)

{Door opens. PARSONS enters, pointing the portmanteau out to some one who is following.)
PARSONS: ‘Ere it is — right in, this way.

HOLMES {goes to WATSON above table. In rather a loud voice to WATSON): Well, good-bye, old
fellow! {Shakes hands with him warmly and bringing him down left a little.) I’ll write you from Paris
— and I hope you’ll keep me fully informed of the progress of events.

(MORIARTY enters in the disguise of a cabman and goes at once to valise which PARSONS points out,
trying to hurry it through and keeping face away from HOLMES but fidgeting about, not touching
valise. PARSONS goes out.)

{Speaks right on, apparently paying no attention to MORIARTY) As for these papers I’ll attend to them
personally. Here my man — {to MORIARTY) — just help me to tighten up these straps and bit — {He
slides over to valise and kneels, pulling at strap, and MORIARTY bending over and doing same.)
There are a few little things in this bag — {business) — that I wouldn’t like to lose — {business) — and
its Just as well to — Eh — {looking round for instant) — who’s that at the window?

(MORIARTY quickly looks up without lifting hands from valise and at the same instant the snap oj
handcuffs is heard, and he springs up with the irons on his wrists, making two or three violent efforts
to break loose. He then stands motionless. HOLMES drops into chair, a cigarette in his mouth.
MORIARTY in rising knocks his hat off and stands facing audience.)

{Music stops.)

{In a very quiet tone.) Doctor, will you kindly strike the bell two or three times in rapid succession.
(WATSON steps to desk and gives several rapid strokes of the bell.)

Thanks!

{Enter FORMAN. FORMAN goes down to MORIARTY and fastens handcuffs which he has on his own
wrists to chain attached to that of MORIARTY’ S. This is held an instant — the two men looking at

each other.)

Forman!

FORMAN: Yes, sir.

HOLMES: Got a man there with you?

FORMAN: Yes, sir, the inspector came in himself.

HOLMES: Ah — the inspector himself. We shall read graphic accounts in to-morrow’s papers of a very
difficult arrest he succeeded in making at Dr. Watson’s house in Kensington. Take him out, Forman, and
introduce him to the inspector — they’ll be pleased to meet.

(FORMAN starts to force MORIARTY o// MORIARTY hangs back and endeavours to get at HOLMES
— a very slight struggle.)

Here! Wait! Let’s see what he wants!

MORIARTY (low voice to HOLMES): Do you imagine, Sherlock Holmes, that this is the end.

HOLMES: I ventured to dream that it might be.

MORIARTY: Are you quite sure the police will be able to hold me?

HOLMES: I am quite sure of nothing.

MORIARTY: Ah! (Slight pause.) I have heard that you are planning to take a little trip — you and your
friend here — a little trip on the Continent.

HOLMES: And if I do?

MORIARTY (a step to HOLMES): I shall meet you there. (Slight pause.)

HOLMES: That’s all, Forman.

(FORMAN moves up to door, quietly with MORIARTY.)

MORIARTY (stopping at door): I shall meet you there. You will Change your course — you will try to
elude me — but whichever way you turn — there will be eyes that see and wires that tell. I shall meet you
there — and you know it. You know it! — and you know it. (Goes with FORMAN.)

(Pause.)

HOLMES: Did you hear that, Watson?

WATSON: Yes — but surely you don’t place any importance on such —

HOLMES (stopping him with wave of hand): Oh! no importance. But I have a fancy that he spoke the
truth.

WATSON: We’ll give up the trip.

HOLMES (a negative wave of the hand at WATSON): It would be quite the same. What matters it here

or there — if it must come (Sits meditative)

WATSON (calling): Parsons!

(PARSONS comes in WATSON points to the valise PARSONS removes it and goes.)

HOLMES: Watson, my dear fellow — (smokes ) — it’s too bad. Now that this is all over, 1 suppose you
imagine that your room will no longer be required. Let me assure — let me assure you (voice trembles)
— that the worst is yet to come.

WATSON (stands in front of desk): The worst to — (Suddenly thinks of something. Pulls out watch
hurriedly.) Why, heavens Holmes we have barely five minutes.

HOLMES (looks up innocently at him) For what?

WATSON: To get to Baker Street — your rooms!

(HOLMES still looks at him.)

Your appointment with Sir Edward and the Count! They were to receive that packet of letters from you.
HOLMES (nods assent): They’re coming here.

(Pause. WATSON looking at HOLMES.)

WATSON: Here!

HOLMES: That is — if you will be so good as to permit it.

WATSON Certainly — but why not there?

HOLMES: The police wouldn’t allow us inside the ropes.

WATSON: Police! Ropes!

HOLMES: Police — ropes — ladders — hose — crowds — engines —

WATSON: Why, you don’t mean that —

HOLMES (nods): Quite so — the devils have burned me out.

WATSON: Good heavens — burned you —

(Pause. HOLMES nods.)

Oh, that’s too bad. What did you lose?

HOLMES: Everything! — everything! I’m so glad of it! I’ve had enough. This one thing — (right hand
strong gesture of emphasis — he stops in midst of sentence — a frown upon his face as he thinks —
then in a lower voice) — ends it! This one thing — that 1 shall do — here in a few moments — is the
finish. (HOLMES rises.)

WATSON: You mean — Miss Faulkner?

(HOLMES nods slightly in affirmative without turning to WATSON.)
(_ Love music. Very pp .)

HOLMES ( turning suddenly to WATSON): Watson — she trusted me! She — clung to me! There were
four to one against me! They said “Come here,” I said “Stay close to me,” and she did! She clung to me —
1 could feel her heart beating against mine — and 1 was playing a game! — ( lower — parenthetical ) — a
dangerous game — but 1 was playing it! — It will be the same to-night! She’ll be there — I’ll be here!
She’ll listen — she’ll believe — and she’ll trust me — and I’ll — be playing — a game. No more — I’ve
had enough! It’s my last case!

(WATSON has been watching him narrowly.)

Oh well! what does it matter? Life is a small affair at the most — a little while — a few sunrises and
sunsets — the warm breath of a few summers — the cold chill of a few winters — ( Looking down on
floor a little way before him in meditation.) And then — {Pause.)

WATSON: And then— ?

(HOLMES glances up at him. Upward toss of hand before speaking.)

HOLMES: And then.

{The music stops.)

WATSON {going to HOLMES): My dear Holmes — I’m afraid that plan of — gaining her confidence and
regard went a little further than you intended —

(HOLMES nods assent slightly)

HOLMES {mutters after nodding ): A trifle!

WATSON: Lor — her — or for you?

HOLMES: Lor her — {looks up at WATSON slowly) — and for me.

WATSON {astonished. After an instant s pause): But — if you both love each other —

HOLMES {putting hand on WATSON to stop him sharply): Sh — ! Don’t say it! {Pause.) You mustn’t
tempt me — with such a thought. That girl! — young — exquisite — just beginning her sweet life — 1 —
seared, drugged, poisoned, almost at an end! No! no! I must cure her! I must stop it, now — while there’s
time! {Pause.) She’s coming here.

WATSON: She won’t come alone?

HOLMES: No, Terese will be with her.

(HOLMES turns and goes to door to surgery, getting a book on the way, and placing it in the way oj
door closing. Turns to WATSON)

When she comes let her wait in that room. You can manage that, I’m quite sure.

WATSON: Certainly — Do you intend to leave that book there

HOLMES ( nods “ Yes ”): To keep that door from closing. She is to overhear.

WATSON: I see.

HOLMES: Sir Edward and the Count are very likely to become excited. 1 shall endeavour to make them
so. You must not be alarmed old fellow.

{Bell of outside door rings HOLMES and WATSON look at one another .)

{Going to centre door.) She may be there now. I’ll go to your dressing-room, if you’ll allow me, and
brush away some of this dust.

WATSON: By all means! {Goes to door.) My wife is in the drawing-room Do look in on her a moment —
it will please her so much.

HOLMES {at door): My dear fellow, it will more than please me! {Opens door. Piano heard off when
the door is opened.) Mrs. Watson! Home! Love! Life! Ah, Watson! {Eyes glance about thinking. He
sighs a little absently, suddenly turns and goes out.)

(WATSON turns and goes to his desk — not to sit. Enter PARSONS.)

PARSONS: A lady sir, wants to know if she can speak to you. If there’s anyone ‘ere she won’t come in.
WATSON: Any-name?

PARSONS: No, sir. I asked her and she said it was unnecessary — as you wouldn’t know ‘er. She ‘as ‘er
maid with ‘er, sir.

WATSON: Then it must be — Show her in.

(PARSONS turns to go.)

And Parsons — (PARSONS stops and turns.)

{Lower voice.) Two gentlemen. Count von Stalburg and Sir Edward Leighton will call. Bring them here to
this room at once, and then tell Mr. Holmes. You’ll find him in my dressing-room.

PARSONS: Yes, sir.

WATSON: Send everybody else away — I’ll see that lady.

PARSONS: Yes, sir.

{He goes, leaving door open. Brief pause. PARSONS appears outside door, showing some one to the
room. Enter ALICE FAULKNER. ALICE glances apprehensively about, fearing she will see HOLMES.
Seeing that WATSON is alone, she is much relieved and goes towards him. PARSONS closes door from
outside.)

ALICE {with some timidity): Is this — is this Doctor Watson’s room?

WATSON {encouragingly — and advancing a step or two): Yes, and I am Doctor Watson.

ALICE: Is — would you mind telling me if Mr. Holmes — Mr. — Sherlock Holmes — is here?

WATSON: He will be before long, Miss — er —

ALICE: My name is Alice Faulkner.

WATSON: Miss Faulkner. He came a short time ago, but has gone upstairs for a few moments.

AFICE: Oh! — (with an apprehensive look ) — and is he coming down — soon?

WATSON: Well the fact is Miss Faulkner he has an appointment with two gentlemen here and I was to let
him know as soon as they arrived.

AFICE: Do you suppose I could wait — without troubling you too much — and see him — afterwards?
WATSON: Why certainly

AFICE: Thank you — and I — I don’t want him to know — that — I — that I came.

WATSON: Of course, if you wish, there’s no need of my telling him.

AFICE: It’s — very important indeed that you don’t, Dr Watson. I can explain it all to you afterwards.
WATSON: No explanation is necessary Miss Faulkner.

AFICE: Thank you ( Glances about ) I suppose there is a waiting room for patients?

WATSON: Yes or you could sit in there (Indicating surgery door) You’ll be less likely to be disturbed.

AFICE: Yes, thank you. (AFICE glances toward door.) I think I would rather be — where its entirely
quiet.

(Bell of front door outside rings)

WATSON (going to surgery door): Then step this way. I think the gentlemen have arrived.

AFICE (goes to door and turns): And when the business between the gentlemen is over would you please
have some one tell me?

WATSON: I’ll tell you myself Miss Faulkner.

AFICE: Thank you (She goes)

(PARSONS enters)

PARSONS: Count von Stalburg. Sir Edward Feighton.

(Enter SIR EDWARD and COUNT VON STALBURG. PARSONS goes, closing door after him)
WATSON: Count — Sir Edward — (Bowing and coming forward)

SIR EDWARD: Dr Watson (Bows) Good evening (Placing hat on pedestal.)

(VON STALBURG bows slightly and stands)

Our appointment with Mr. Holmes was changed to your house, I believe

WATSON: Quite right, Sir Edward. Pray be seated, gentlemen.

(SIR EDWARD and WATSON sit.)

VON ST AE BIJRG: Mr. Holmes is a trifle late. (Sits.)

WATSON: He has already arrived, Count. I have sent for him
VON STALBURG: Ugh!

(Slight pause.)

SIR EDWARD: It was quite a surprise to receive his message an hour ago changing the place of meeting.
We should otherwise have gone to his house in Baker Street.

WATSON: You would have found it in ashes, Sir Edward.

SIR EDWARD: What! Really!

VON STALBURG: Ugh!

(Both looking at WATSON.)

SIR EDWARD: The — the house burnt!

WATSON: Burning now, probably.

SIR EDWARD: Em very sorry to hear this. It must be a severe blow to him.

WATSON: No, he minds it very little.

SIR EDWARD (surprised): Really! I should hardly have thought it.

VON STALBURG: Did I understand you to say, doctor, that you had sent for Mr. Holmes?

WATSON: Yes, Count, and he’ll be here shortly. Indeed, I think I hear him on the stairs now.

(Pause. Enter HOLMES at centre door. He is very pale. His clothing is re-arranged and cleansed,
though he still, of course, wears the clerical suit, white tie, etc. He stands near door a moment. SIR
EDWARD and COUNT rise and turn to him. WATSON rises and goes to desk, where he soon seats
himself in chair behind desk. SIR EDWARD and the COUNT stand looking at HOLMES. Brief Pause.)

HOLMES ( coming forward and speaking in a low clear voice, entirely calm, but showing some
suppressed feeling or anxiety at the back of it): Gentlemen, be seated again, I beg.

(Brief pause. SIR EDWARD and the COUNT reseat themselves. HOLMES remains standing. He stands
looking down before him for quite a while, others looking at him. He finally begins to speak in a low
voice without first looking up)

Our business to-night can be quickly disposed of. I need not tell you, gentlemen — for I have already told
you — that the part I play in it is more than painful to me. But business is business — and the sooner it is
over the better. You were notified to come here this evening in order that I might — (pause) — deliver
into your hands the packet which you engaged me — on behalf of your exalted client —

(COUNT and SIR EDWARD bow slightly at “exalted client. ” )

— to recover. Let me say, injustice to myself, that but for that agreement on my part, and the consequent
steps which you took upon the basis of it, I would never have continued with the work. As it was,
however, I felt bound to do so, and therefore pursued the matter — to the very end — and I now have the
honor to deliver it into your hands.

(HOLMES goes toward SIR EDWARD with the packet. SIR EDWARD rises and meets him. HOLMES
places the packet in his hands, COUNT VON STALBURG rises and stands at his chair.)

SIR EDWARD (formally): Permit me to congratulate you, Holmes, upon the marvellous skill you have
displayed, and the promptness with which you have fulfilled your agreement.

(HOLMES bows slightly and turns away. SIR EDWARD at once breaks the seals of the packet and
looks at the contents. He begins to show some surprise as he glances at one or two letters or papers
and at once looks closer. He quickly motions to COUNT, who goes at once to him. He whispers
something to him, and they both look at two or three things together .) ,

VON STALBURG: Oh! No! No!

SIR EDWARD {stopping examination and looking across to HOLMES): What does this mean? {Pause.)
(HOLMES turns to SIR EDWARD in apparent surprise.)

These letters! And these — other things. Where did you get them?

HOLMES: I purchased them — last night.

SIR EDWARD: Purchased them?

HOLMES: Quite so — quite so.

VON STALBURG: From whom — if I may ask?

HOLMES: From whom? From the parties interested — by consent of Miss Faulkner.

SIR EDWARD: You have been deceived.

HOLMES: What!

(WATSON rises and stands at his desk.)

SIR EDWARD ( excitedly ): This packet contains nothing — not a single letter or paper that we wanted.
All clever imitations! The photographs are of another person! You have been duped. With all your
supposed cleverness, they have tricked you! Ha! ha! ha!

VON STALBURG: Most decidedly duped, Mr. Holmes!

(HOLMES turns quickly to SIR EDWARD.)

HOLMES: Why, this is terrible! {Turns back to WATSON. Stands looking in his face.)

SIR EDWARD {astonished): Terrible! Surely, sir, you do not mean by that, that there is a possibility you

may not be able to recover them!

{Enter ALICE and stands listening.)

HOLMES: It’s quite true!

SIR EDWARD: After your positive assurance! After the steps we have taken in the matter by your advice!
Why — why, this is — {Turns to COUNT, too indignant to speak.)

VON STALBURG ( indignantly ): Surely, sir, you don’t mean there is no hope of it?

HOLMES: None whatever, Count. It is too late now! I can’t begin all over again!

SIR EDWARD: Why, this is scandalous! It is criminal, sir! You had no right to mislead us in this way, and
you shall certainly suffer the consequences. I shall see that you are brought into court to answer for it, Mr.
Holmes. It will be such a blow to your reputation that you —

HOLMES: There is nothing to do, Sir Edward — lam ruined — ruined —

ALICE {coming forward): He is not ruined, Sir Edward, {quiet voice, perfectly calm and self-
possessed; she draws the genuine packet from her dress.) It is entirely owing to him and what he said to
me that I now wish to give you the — {Starting toward SIR EDWARD as if to hand him the packet.)

(HOLMES steps forward and intercepts her with left hand extended. She stops surprised.)

HOLMES: One moment — {Pause.) Allow me. {He takes packet from her hand)

(WATSON stands looking at the scene. Pause. HOLMES stands with the package in his hand looking
down for a moment. He raises his head, as if he overcame weakness — glances at his watch, and turns
to SIR EDWARD and the COUNT. He speaks quietly as if the climax of the tragedy were passed — the
deed done. ALICE’S questioning gaze he plainly avoids.)

Gentlemen — {putting watch back in pocket) — I notified you in my letter of this morning that the
package should be produced at a quarter-past nine. It is barely fourteen past — and this is it. The one you
have there, as you have already discovered, is a counterfeit.

{Love music.)

(HOLMES turns a little, sees ALICE, stands looking at her. ALICE is looking at HOLMES with
astonishment and horror. She moves back a little involuntarily.)

SIR EDWARD and VON STALBURG {staring up with admiration and delight as they perceive the
trick): Ah! excellent! Admirable, Mr. Holmes! It is all clear now! Really marvellous! {To one another,
etc.) Yes — upon my word!

{On SIR EDWARD and COUNT breaking into expressions of admiration, WATSON quickly moves up
to them, and stops them with a quick “Sh!” All stand motionless. HOLMES and ALICE looking at one
another. HOLMES goes quickly to ALICE and puts the package into her hands.)

HOLMES {as he does this): Take this, Miss Faulkner. Take it away from me, quick! It is yours. Never
give it up. Use it only for what you wish!

(Stop music.)

SIR EDWARD (, springing forward with a mild exclamation ): What! We are not to have it? ( Throwing
other package up stage.)

(VON STALBURG gives an exclamation or look with foregoing.)

HOLMES ( turning from ALICE — but keeping left hand back upon her hands into which he put the
package — as if to make her keep it. Strong — breathless — not loud — with emphatic shake of head):
No, you are not to have it.

SIR EDWARD: After all this?

HOLMES: After all this.

VON STALBURG: But, my dear sir —

SIR EDWARD: This is outrageous! Your agreement?

HOLMES: I break it! Do what you please — warrants — summons — arrests — will find me here!
(Turns up and says under his breath to WATSON.) Get them out! Get them away! (Stands by
WATSON’S desk, his back to the audience.)

(Brief pause. WATSON moves toward SIR EDWARD and the COUNT at the back o/' HOLMES.)
WATSON: I’m sure, gentlemen, that you will appreciate the fact

ALICE (stepping forward — interrupting): Wait a moment, Doctor Watson! (Going to SIR EDWARD.)
Here is the package, Sir Edward! (Hands it to SIR EDWARD at once.)

(WATSON motions to PARSONS, off to come on.)

HOLMES (turning to ALICE): No!

ALICE (to HOLMES): Yes — (Turning to HOLMES. Pause.) I much prefer that he should have them
Since you last came that night and asked me to give them to you, I have thought of what you said. You
were right — it was revenge. (She looks down a moment, then suddenly turns away.)

(HOLMES stands motionless, near corner of desk, his eyes down. PARSONS enters and stands waiting
with SIR EDWARD’S hat in his hand, which he took from off pedestal.)

SIR EDWARD: We are greatly indebted to you, Miss Faulkner —

(Looks at VON STALBURG.)

VON STALBURG: To be sure!

SIR EDWARD: And to you, too, Mr. Holmes — if this was a part of the game. (Motionless pause all
round. Examining papers carefully. COUNT looking at them also.) It was certainly an extraordinary
method of obtaining possession of valuable papers — but we won’t quarrel with the method as long as it
accomplished the desired result! Eh, Count? (Placing package in breast pocket and buttoning coat.)

VON STALBURG: Certainly not, Sir Edward.

SIR EDWARD ( turning to HOLMES): You have only to notify me of the charge for your services —
(ALICE gives a little look of bitterness at the word “charge”) — Mr. Holmes, and you will receive a
cheque I have the honour to wish you — good night.

{Music till end of Act)

{Bowing punctiliously.) Dr. Watson. {Bowing at WATSON.) This way, Count.

(WATSON bows and follows them to door. HOLMES does not move. COUNT VON STALBURG bows
to HOLMES and to WATSON and goes, followed by SIR EDWARD. PARSONS exits after giving SIR
EDWARD his hat. WATSON quietly turns and sees HOLMES beckoning to him. WATSON goes to
HOLMES, who whispers to him after which he quietly goes. HOLMES after a moment’s pause, looks at
ALICE.)

HOLMES {speaks hurriedly ): Now that you think it over, Miss Faulkner, you are doubtless beginning to
realise the series of tricks by which I sought to deprive you of your property. I couldn’t take it out of the
house that night like a straightforward thief — because it could have been recovered at law, and for that
reason I resorted to a cruel and cowardly device which should induce you to relinquish it.

ALICE {not looking at him): But you — you did not give it to them —

{Pause.)

HOLMES {in a forced cynical hard voice): No — I preferred that you should do as you did.

(ALICE looks suddenly up at him in surprise and pain, with a breathless “ What?” scarcely audible.
HOLMES meets her look without a tremor.)

{Slowly, distinctly.) You see, Miss Faulkner, it was a trick — a deception — to the very — end.

(ALICE looks in his face a moment longer and then down.)

Your maid is waiting.

ALICE {stopping him by speech — no action): And was it — a trick last night — when they tried to kill
you?

HOLMES {hearing ALICE, stops dead): I went there to purchase the counterfeit package — to use as you
have seen.

ALICE: And — did you know I would come?

{Pause.)

HOLMES: No.

(ALICE gives a subdued breath of relief)

But it fell in with my plans notwithstanding. Now that you see me in my true light, Miss Faulkner, we have
nothing left to say but good night — and good-bye — which you ought to be very glad to do. Believe me, I
meant no harm to you — it was purely business — with me. For that you see I would sacrifice everything.
Even my supposed — friendship for you — was a pretense — a sham — everything that you —

{She has slowly turned away to the front during his speech. She turns and looks him in the face.)

ALICE {quietly but distinctly ): I don’t believe it.

{They look at one another .)

HOLMES {after a while): Why not?

ALICE: From the way you speak — from the way you — look — from all sorts of things ! — {With a very
slight smile.) You’re not the only one — who can tell things — from small details.

HOLMES {coming a step closer to her): Your faculty — of observation is — is somewhat remarkable,
Miss Faulkner — and your deduction is quite correct! I suppose — indeed 1 know — that I love you. I
love you. But I know as well what I am — and what you are —

(ALICE begins to draw nearer to him gradually, but with her face turned front.)

I know that no such person as I should ever dream of being a part of your sweet life! It would be a crime
for me to think of such a thing! There is every reason why I should say good-bye and farewell! There is
every reason —

(ALICE gently places her right hand on HOLMES’ breast, which stops him from continuing speech. He
suddenly stops. After an instant he begins slowly to look down into her face. His left arm gradually
steals about her. He presses her head close to him and the lights fade away with ALICE resting in
HOLMES’ arms, her head on his breast.)

{Music swells gradually.)

CURTAIN

THE FIELD BAZAAR

"I should certainly do it,” said Sherlock Holmes.

I started at the interruption, for my companion had been eating his breakfast with his attention entirely centred upon the paper that was propped up by the coffee
pot. Now I looked across at him to find his eyes fastened upon me with the half-amused, half-questioning expression that he usually assumed when he felt he had
made an intellectual point. "Do what?" I asked.

He smiled as he took his slipper from the mantelpiece and drew from it enough shag tobacco to fill the old clay pipe with which he invariably rounded off his
breakfast. "A most characteristic question of yours, Watson," said he. "You'll not, I’m sure, be offended if I say that any reputation for sharpness that I may
possess has been entirely gained by the admirable foil that you've made for me. Haven't I heard of debutantes who have insisted upon plainness in their
chaperones? There is a certain analogy."

Our long companionship in the Baker Street rooms had left us on those easy terms of intimacy when much may be said without offence. Yet I acknowledged that I
was nettled at his remark. "I may be very obtuse," said I, "but I confess that I am unable to see how you've managed to know that I was... I was..."

"Asked to help in the Edinburgh University Bazaar..."

"Precisely. The letter's only just come to hand and I've not spoken to you since."

"In spite of that," said Holmes, leaning back in his chair and putting his fingertips together, "I would even venture to suggest that the object of the bazaar is to
enlarge the University cricket field."

I looked at him in such bewilderment that he vibrated with silent laughter. "The fact's, my dear Watson, that you're an excellent subject," said he. "You're never
blase. You respond instantly to any external stimulus. Your mental processes may be slow but they are never obscure, and I found during breakfast that you were
easier reading than the leader in the Times in front of me."

"I should be glad to know how your arrived at your conclusions," said I.

"I fear that my good nature in giving explanations has seriously compromised my reputation," said Holmes. "But in this case the train of reasoning is based upon
such obvious facts that no credit can be claimed for it. You entered the room with a thoughtful expression, the expression of a man who is debating some point in
his mind. In your hand you held a solitary letter. Now last night you retired in the best of spirits, so it was clear that it was this letter in your hand which had caused
the change in you."

"This is obvious."

"It is all obvious when it is explained to you. I naturally asked myself what the letter could contain which might have this affect upon you. As you walked you held
the flap side of the envelope towards me, and I saw upon it the same shield-shaped device that I have observed upon your old college cricket cap. It was clear,
then, that the request came from Edinburgh University - or from some club connected with the University. When you reached the table you laid down the letter
beside your plate with the address uppermost, and you walked over to look at the framed photograph upon the left of the mantelpiece."

It amazed me to see the accuracy with which he had observed my movements. "What next?" I asked.

"I began by glancing at the address, and I could tell, even at the distance of six feet, that it was an unofficial communication. This I gathered from the use of the
word 'Doctor 1 upon the address, to which, as a Bachelor of Medicine, you have no legal claim. I knew that University officials are pedantic in their correct use of
titles, and I was thus enabled to say with certainty that your letter was unofficial. When on your return to the table you turned over your letter and allowed me to
perceive that the enclosure was a printed one, the idea of a bazaar first occurred to me. I had already weighed the possibility of its being a political
communication, but this seemed improbable in the present stagnant conditions of politics.

"When you returned to the table your face still retained its expression and it was evident that your examination of the photograph had not changed the current of
your thoughts. In that case, it must itself bear upon the subject in question. I turned my attention to the photograph, therefore, and saw at once that it consisted of
you as a member of the Edinburgh University Eleven, with the pavilion and cricket field in the background. My small experience of cricket clubs has taught me that
next to churches and cavalry ensigns they are the most debt-laden things upon earth. When upon your return to the table I saw you take out your pencil and draw
lines upon the envelope, I was convinced that your were endeavouring to realise some projected improvement which was to be brought about by a bazaar. Your
face still showed some indecision, so that I was able to break in upon you with my advice that you should assist in so good an object."

I could not help smiling at the extreme simplicity of his explanation.

"Of course, it was as easy as possible," said I.

My remark appeared to nettle him.

"I may add," said he, "that the particular help which you have been asked to give was that you should write in their album, and that you have already made up your
mind that the present incident will be the subject of your article."

"But how - 1" I cried.

"It is as easy as possible," said he, "and I leave its solution to your own ingenuity. In the meantime," he added, rasing his paper, "you will excuse me if I return to
this very interesting article upon the trees of Cremona, and the exact reasons for the pre-eminence in the manufacture of violins. It is one of those small outlying
problems to which I am sometimes tempted to direct my attention."

The Man with the Watches

There are many who will still bear in mind the singular circumstances that, under the heading of the Rugby Mystery, filled many columns of the daily Press in the
spring of the year 1892. Coming as it did at a period of exceptional dullness, it attracted perhaps rather more attention than it deserved, but it offered to the public
that mixture of the whimsical and the tragic which is most stimulating to the popular imagination. Interest drooped, however, when, after weeks of fruitless
investigation, it was found that no final explanation of the facts was forthcoming, and the tragedy seemed from that time to the present to have finally taken its
place in the dark catalogue of inexplicable and unexpiated crimes. A recent communication (the authenticity of which appears to be above question) has, however,
thrown some new and clear light upon the matter. Before laying it before the public, it would be as well, perhaps, that I should refresh their memories as to the
singular facts upon which this commentary is founded. These facts were briefly as follows:

At five o'clock on the evening of the 18th of March in the year already mentioned a train left Euston Station for Manchester. It was a rainy, squally day, which grew
wilder as it progressed, so it was by no means the weather in which anyone would travel who was not driven to do so by necessity. The train, however, is a
favourite one among Manchester business men who are returning from town, for it does the journey in four hours and twenty minutes, with only three stoppages
upon the way. In spite of the inclement evening it was, therefore, fairly well filled upon the occasion of which I speak. The guard of the train was a tried servant of
the company— a man who had worked for twenty-two years without a blemish or complaint. His name was John Palmer.

The station clock was upon the stroke of five, and the guard was about to give the customary signal to the engine-driver when he observed two belated
passengers hurrying down the platform. The one was an exceptionally tall man, dressed in a long black overcoat with astrakhan collar and cuffs. I have already
said that the evening was an inclement one, and the tall traveller had the high, warm collar turned up to protect his throat against the bitter March wind. He
appeared, as far as the guard could judge by so hurried an inspection, to be a man between fifty and sixty years of age, who had retained a good deal of the
vigour and activity of his youth. In one hand he carried a brown leather Gladstone bag. His companion was a lady, tall and erect, walking with a vigorous step
which outpaced the gentleman beside her. She wore a long, fawn-coloured dust-cloak, a black, close-fitting toque, and a dark veil which concealed the greater
part of her face. The two might very well have passed as father and daughter. They walked swiftly down the line of carriages, glancing in at the windows, until the
guard, John Palmer, overtook them.

"Now then, sir, look sharp, the train is going," said he.

"First-class," the man answered.

The guard turned the handle of the nearest door. In the carriage that he had opened, there sat a small man with a cigar in his mouth. His appearance seems to
have impressed itself upon the guard's memory, for he was prepared, afterwards, to describe or to identify him. He was a man of thirty-four or thirty-five years of
age, dressed in some grey material, sharp-nosed, alert, with a ruddy, weather-beaten face, and a small, closely cropped, black beard. He glanced up as the door
was opened. The tall man paused with his foot upon the step.

"This is a smoking compartment. The lady dislikes smoke," said he, looking round at the guard.

"All right! Here you are, sir!" said John Palmer. He slammed the door of the smoking carriage, opened that of the next one, which was empty, and thrust the two
travellers in. At the same moment he sounded his whistle and the wheels of the train began to move. The man with the cigar was at the window of his carriage,
and said something to the guard as he rolled past him, but the words were lost in the bustle of the departure. Palmer stepped into the guard's van, as it came up to
him, and thought no more of the incident.

Twelve minutes after its departure the train reached Willesden Junction, where it stopped for a very short interval. An examination of the tickets has made it
certain that no one either joined or left it at this time, and no passenger was seen to alight upon the platform. At 5:14 the journey to Manchester was resumed, and
Rugby was reached at 6:50, the express being five minutes late.

At Rugby the attention of the station officials was drawn to the fact that the door of one of the first-class carriages was open. An examination of that compartment,
and of its neighbour, disclosed a remarkable state of affairs.

The smoking carriage in which the short, red-faced man with the black beard had been seen was now empty. Save for a half-smoked cigar, there was no trace
whatever of its recent occupant. The door of this carriage was fastened. In the next compartment, to which attention had been originally drawn, there was no sign
either of the gentleman with the astrakhan collar or of the young lady who accompanied him. All three passengers had disappeared. On the other hand, there was
found upon the floor of this carriage— the one in which the tall traveller and the lady had been— a young man fashionably dressed and of elegant appearance. He
lay with his knees drawn up, and his head resting against the farther door, an elbow upon either seat. A bullet had penetrated his heart and his death must have
been instantaneous. No one had seen such a man enter the train, and no railway ticket was found in his pocket, neither were there any markings upon his linen,
nor papers nor personal property which might help to identify him. Who he was, whence he had come, and how he had met his end were each as great a mystery
as what had occurred to the three people who had started an hour and a half before from Willesden in those two compartments.

I have said that there was no personal property which might help to identify him, but it is true that there was one peculiarity about this unknown young man which
was much commented upon at the time. In his pockets were found no fewer than six valuable gold watches, three in the various pockets of his waist-coat, one in
his ticket-pocket, one in his breast-pocket, and one small one set in a leather strap and fastened round his left wrist. The obvious explanation that the man was a
pickpocket, and that this was his plunder, was discounted by the fact that all six were of American make and of a type which is rare in England. Three of them
bore the mark of the Rochester Watchmaking Company; one was by Mason, of Elmira; one was unmarked; and the small one, which was highly jewelled and
ornamented, was from Tiffany, of New York. The other contents of his pocket consisted of an ivory knife with a corkscrew by Rodgers, of Sheffield; a small,
circular mirror, one inch in diameter; a readmission slip to the Lyceum Theatre; a silver box full of vesta matches, and a brown leather cigar-case containing two
cheroots— also two pounds fourteen shillings in money. It was clear, then, that whatever motives may have led to his death, robbery was not among them. As
already mentioned, there were no markings upon the man's linen, which appeared to be new, and no tailor's name upon his coat. In appearance he was young,
short, smooth-cheeked, and delicately featured. One of his front teeth was conspicuously stopped with gold.

On the discovery of the tragedy an examination was instantly made of the tickets of all passengers, and the number of the passengers themselves was counted. It
was found that only three tickets were unaccounted for, corresponding to the three travellers who were missing. The express was then allowed to proceed, but a
new guard was sent with it, and John Palmer was detained as a witness at Rugby. The carriage which included the two compartments in question was uncoupled
and side-tracked. Then, on the arrival of Inspector Vane, of Scotland Yard, and of Mr. Henderson, a detective in the service of the railway company, an exhaustive
inquiry was made into all the circumstances.

That crime had been committed was certain. The bullet, which appeared to have come from a small pistol or revolver, had been fired from some little distance, as
there was no scorching of the clothes. No weapon was found in the compartment (which finally disposed of the theory of suicide), nor was there any sign of the
brown leather bag which the guard had seen in the hand of the tall gentleman. A lady's parasol was found upon the rack, but no other trace was to be seen of the
travellers in either of the sections. Apart from the crime, the question of how or why three passengers (one of them a lady) could get out of the train, and one other
get in during the unbroken run between Willesden and Rugby, was one which excited the utmost curiosity among the general public, and gave rise to much
speculation in the London Press.

John Palmer, the guard was able at the inquest to give some evidence which threw a little light upon the matter. There was a spot between Tring and
Cheddington, according to his statement, where, on account of some repairs to the line, the train had for a few minutes slowed down to a pace not exceeding
eight or ten miles an hour. At that place it might be possible for a man, or even for an exceptionally active woman, to have left the train without serious injury. It
was true that a gang of platelayers was there, and that they had seen nothing, but it was their custom to stand in the middle between the metals, and the open
carriage door was upon the far side, so that it was conceivable that someone might have alighted unseen, as the darkness would by that time be drawing in. A
steep embankment would instantly screen anyone who sprang out from the observation of the navvies.

The guard also deposed that there was a good deal of movement upon the platform at Willesden Junction, and that though it was certain that no one had either
joined or left the train there, it was still quite possible that some of the passengers might have changed unseen from one compartment to another. It was by no
means uncommon for a gentleman to finish his cigar in a smoking carriage and then to change to a clearer atmosphere. Supposing that the man with the black
beard had done so at Willesden (and the half-smoked cigar upon the floor seemed to favour the supposition), he would naturally go into the nearest section, which
would bring him into the company of the two other actors in this drama. Thus the first stage of the affair might be surmised without any great breach of probability.
But what the second stage had been, or how the final one had been arrived at, neither the guard nor the experienced detective officers could suggest.

A careful examination of the line between Willesden and Rugby resulted in one discovery which might or might not have a bearing upon the tragedy. Near Tring,
at the very place where the train slowed down, there was found at the bottom of the embankment a small pocket Testament, very shabby and worn. It was printed
by the Bible Society of London, and bore an inscription: "From John to Alice. Jan. 13th, 1856," upon the fly-leaf. Underneath was written: "James. July 4th, 1859,"
and beneath that again: "Edward. Nov. 1st, 1869," all the entries being in the same handwriting. This was the only clue, if it could be called a clue, which the police
obtained, and the coroner's verdict of "Murder by a person or persons unknown" was the unsatisfactory ending of a singular case. Advertisement, rewards, and
inquiries proved equally fruitless, and nothing could be found which was solid enough to form the basis for a profitable investigation.

It would be a mistake, however, to suppose that no theories were formed to account for the facts. On the contrary, the Press, both in England and in America,
teemed with suggestions and suppositions, most of which were obviously absurd. The fact that the watches were of American make, and some peculiarities in
connection with the gold stopping of his front tooth, appeared to indicate that the deceased was a citizen of the United States, though his linen, clothes and boots
were undoubtedly of British manufacture. It was surmised, by some, that he was concealed under the seat, and that, being discovered, he was for some reason,
possibly because he had overheard their guilty secrets, put to death by his fellow-passengers. When coupled with generalities as to the ferocity and cunning of
anarchical and other secret societies, this theory sounded as plausible as any.

The fact that he should be without a ticket would be consistent with the idea of concealment, and it was well known that women played a prominent part in the
Nihilistic propaganda. On the other hand, it was clear, from the guard's statement, that the man must have been hidden there BEFORE the others arrived, and
how unlikely the coincidence that conspirators should stray exactly into the very compartment in which a spy was already concealed! Besides, this explanation
ignored the man in the smoking carriage, and gave no reason at all for his simultaneous disappearance. The police had little difficulty in showing that such a
theory would not cover the facts, but they were unprepared in the absence of evidence to advance any alternative explanation.

There was a letter in the Daily Gazette, over the signature of a well-known criminal investigator, which gave rise to considerable discussion at the time. He had
formed a hypothesis which had at least ingenuity to recommend it, and I cannot do better than append it in his own words.

"Whatever may be the truth," said he, "it must depend upon some bizarre and rare combination of events, so we need have no hesitation in postulating such
events in our explanation. In the absence of data we must abandon the analytic or scientific method of investigation, and must approach it in the synthetic fashion.
In a word, instead of taking known events and deducing from them what has occurred, we must build up a fanciful explanation if it will only be consistent with
known events. We can then test this explanation by any fresh facts which may arise. If they all fit into their places, the probability is that we are upon the right
track, and with each fresh fact this probability increases in a geometrical progression until the evidence becomes final and convincing.

"Now, there is one most remarkable and suggestive fact which has not met with the attention which it deserves. There is a local train running through Harrow and
King's Langley, which is timed in such a way that the express must have overtaken it at or about the period when it eased down its speed to eight miles an hour on
account of the repairs of the line. The two trains would at that time be travelling in the same direction at a similar rate of speed and upon parallel lines. It is within
every one's experience how, under such circumstances, the occupant of each carriage can see very plainly the passengers in the other carriages opposite to him.
The lamps of the express had been lit at Willesden, so that each compartment was brightly illuminated, and most visible to an observer from outside.

"Now, the sequence of events as I reconstruct them would be after this fashion. This young man with the abnormal number of watches was alone in the carriage
of the slow train. His ticket, with his papers and gloves and other things, was, we will suppose, on the seat beside him. He was probably an American, and also
probably a man of weak intellect. The excessive wearing of jewellery is an early symptom in some forms of mania.

"As he sat watching the carriages of the express which were (on account of the state of the line) going at the same pace as himself, he suddenly saw some people
in it whom he knew. We will suppose for the sake of our theory that these people were a woman whom he loved and a man whom he hated— and who in return
hated him. The young man was excitable and impulsive. He opened the door of his carriage, stepped from the footboard of the local train to the footboard of the
express, opened the other door, and made his way into the presence of these two people. The feat (on the supposition that the trains were going at the same
pace) is by no means so perilous as it might appear.

"Having now got our young man, without his ticket, into the carriage in which the elder man and the young woman are travelling, it is not difficult to imagine that a
violent scene ensued. It is possible that the pair were also Americans, which is the more probable as the man carried a weapon— an unusual thing in England. If
our supposition of incipient mania is correct, the young man is likely to have assaulted the other. As the upshot of the quarrel the elder man shot the intruder, and
then made his escape from the carriage, taking the young lady with him. We will suppose that all this happened very rapidly, and that the train was still going at so
slow a pace that it was not difficult for them to leave it. A woman might leave a train going at eight miles an hour. As a matter of fact, we know that this woman DID
do so.

"And now we have to fit in the man in the smoking carriage. Presuming that we have, up to this point, reconstructed the tragedy correctly, we shall find nothing in
this other man to cause us to reconsider our conclusions. According to my theory, this man saw the young fellow cross from one train to the other, saw him open
the door, heard the pistol-shot, saw the two fugitives spring out on to the line, realized that murder had been done, and sprang out himself in pursuit. Why he has
never been heard of since— whether he met his own death in the pursuit, or whether, as is more likely, he was made to realize that it was not a case for his
interference— is a detail which we have at present no means of explaining. I acknowledge that there are some difficulties in the way. At first sight, it might seem
improbable that at such a moment a murderer would burden himself in his flight with a brown leather bag. My answer is that he was well aware that if the bag were
found his identity would be established. It was absolutely necessary for him to take it with him. My theory stands or falls upon one point, and I call upon the railway
company to make strict inquiry as to whether a ticket was found unclaimed in the local train through Harrow and King's Langley upon the 18th of March. If such a
ticket were found my case is proved. If not, my theory may still be the correct one, for it is conceivable either that he travelled without a ticket or that his ticket was
lost."

To this elaborate and plausible hypothesis the answer of the police and of the company was, first, that no such ticket was found; secondly, that the slow train
would never run parallel to the express; and, thirdly, that the local train had been stationary in King's Langley Station when the express, going at fifty miles an
hour, had flashed past it. So perished the only satisfying explanation, and five years have elapsed without supplying a new one. Now, at last, there comes a
statement which covers all the facts, and which must be regarded as authentic. It took the shape of a letter dated from New York, and addressed to the same
criminal investigator whose theory I have quoted. It is given here in extenso, with the exception of the two opening paragraphs, which are personal in their nature:
"You'll excuse me if I'm not very free with names. There's less reason now than there was five years ago when mother was still living. But for all that, I had rather
cover up our tracks all I can. But I owe you an explanation, for if your idea of it was wrong, it was a mighty ingenious one all the same. I'll have to go back a little
so as you may understand all about it.

"My people came from Bucks, England, and emigrated to the States in the early fifties. They settled in Rochester, in the State of New York, where my father ran a
large dry goods store. There were only two sons: myself, James, and my brother, Edward. I was ten years older than my brother, and after my father died I sort of
took the place of a father to him, as an elder brother would. He was a bright, spirited boy, and just one of the most beautiful creatures that ever lived. But there
was always a soft spot in him, and it was like mould in cheese, for it spread and spread, and nothing that you could do would stop it. Mother saw it just as clearly

as I did, but she went on spoiling him all the same, for he had such a way with him that you could refuse him nothing. I did all I could to hold him in, and he hated
me for my pains.

"At last he fairly got his head, and nothing that we could do would stop him. He got off into New York, and went rapidly from bad to worse. At first he was only fast,
and then he was criminal; and then, at the end of a year or two, he was one of the most notorious young crooks in the city. He had formed a friendship with
Sparrow MacCoy, who was at the head of his profession as a bunco-steerer, green goodsman and general rascal. They took to card-sharping, and frequented
some of the best hotels in New York. My brother was an excellent actor (he might have made an honest name for himself if he had chosen), and he would take
the parts of a young Englishman of title, of a simple lad from the West, or of a college undergraduate, whichever suited Sparrow MacCoy's purpose. And then one
day he dressed himself as a girl, and he carried it off so well, and made himself such a valuable decoy, that it was their favourite game afterwards. They had made
it right with Tammany and with the police, so it seemed as if nothing could ever stop them, for those were in the days before the Lexow Commission, and if you
only had a pull, you could do pretty nearly everything you wanted.

"And nothing would have stopped them if they had only stuck to cards and New York, but they must needs come up Rochester way, and forge a name upon a
cheque. It was my brother that did it, though everyone knew that it was under the influence of Sparrow MacCoy. I bought up that cheque, and a pretty sum it cost
me. Then I went to my brother, laid it before him on the table, and swore to him that I would prosecute if he did not clear out of the country. At first he simply
laughed. I could not prosecute, he said, without breaking our mother's heart, and he knew that I would not do that. I made him understand, however, that our
mother's heart was being broken in any case, and that I had set firm on the point that I would rather see him in Rochester gaol than in a New York hotel. So at last
he gave in, and he made me a solemn promise that he would see Sparrow MacCoy no more, that he would go to Europe, and that he would turn his hand to any
honest trade that I helped him to get. I took him down right away to an old family friend, Joe Willson, who is an exporter of American watches and clocks, and I got
him to give Edward an agency in London, with a small salary and a 15 per cent commission on all business. His manner and appearance were so good that he
won the old man over at once, and within a week he was sent off to London with a case full of samples.

"It seemed to me that this business of the cheque had really given my brother a fright, and that there was some chance of his settling down into an honest line of
life. My mother had spoken with him, and what she said had touched him, for she had always been the best of mothers to him and he had been the great sorrow
of her life. But I knew that this man Sparrow MacCoy had a great influence over Edward and my chance of keeping the lad straight lay in breaking the connection
between them. I had a friend in the New York detective force, and through him I kept a watch upon MacCoy. When, within a fortnight of my brother's sailing, I
heard that MacCoy had taken a berth in the Etruria, I was as certain as if he had told me that he was going over to England for the purpose of coaxing Edward
back again into the ways that he had left. In an instant I had resolved to go also, and to pit my influence against MacCoy's. I knew it was a losing fight, but I
thought, and my mother thought, that it was my duty. We passed the last night together in prayer for my success, and she gave me her own Testament that my
father had given her on the day of their marriage in the Old Country, so that I might always wear it next my heart.

"I was a fellow-traveller, on the steamship, with Sparrow MacCoy, and at least I had the satisfaction of spoiling his little game for the voyage. The very first night I
went into the smoking-room, and found him at the head of a card-table, with a half a dozen young fellows who were carrying their full purses and their empty skulls
over to Europe. He was settling down for his harvest, and a rich one it would have been. But I soon changed all that.

"'Gentlemen,' said I, 'are you aware whom you are playing with?'

"'What's that to you? You mind your own business!' said he, with an oath.

"’Who is it, anyway ?' asked one of the dudes.

"’He’s Sparrow MacCoy, the most notorious card-sharper in the States.’

"Up he jumped with a bottle in his hand, but he remembered that he was under the flag of the effete Old Country, where law and order run, and Tammany has no
pull. Gaol and the gallows wait for violence and murder, and there's no slipping out by the back door on board an ocean liner.

"'Prove your words, you !' said he.

"'I will!' said I . 'If you will turn up your right shirt-sleeve to the shoulder, I will either prove my words or I will eat them.'

"He turned white and said not a word. You see, I knew something of his ways, and I was aware of that part of the mechanism which he and all such sharpers use
consists of an elastic down the arm with a clip just above the wrist. It is by means of this clip that they withdraw from their hands the cards which they do not want,
while they substitute other cards from another hiding place. I reckoned on it being there, and it was. He cursed me, slunk out of the saloon, and was hardly seen
again during the voyage. For once, at any rate, I got level with Mister Sparrow MacCoy.

"But he soon had his revenge upon me, for when it came to influencing my brother he outweighed me every time. Edward had kept himself straight in London for
the first few weeks, and had done some business with his American watches, until this villain came across his path once more. I did my best, but the best was little
enough. The next thing I heard there had been a scandal at one of the Northumberland Avenue hotels: a traveller had been fleeced of a large sum by two
confederate card-sharpers, and the matter was in the hands of Scotland Yard. The first I learned of it was in the evening paper, and I was at once certain that my
brother and MacCoy were back at their old games. I hurried at once to Edward's lodgings. They told me that he and a tall gentleman (whom I recognized as
MacCoy) had gone off together, and that he had left the lodgings and taken his things with him. The landlady had heard them give several directions to the
cabman, ending with Euston Station, and she had accidentally overheard the tall gentleman saying something about Manchester. She believed that that was their
destination.

"A glance at the time-table showed me that the most likely train was at five, though there was another at 4:35 which they might have caught. I had only time to get
the later one, but found no sign of them either at the depot or in the train. They must have gone on by the earlier one, so I determined to follow them to
Manchester and search for them in the hotels there. One last appeal to my brother by all that he owed to my mother might even now be the salvation of him. My
nerves were overstrung, and I lit a cigar to steady them. At that moment, just as the train was moving off, the door of my compartment was flung open, and there
were MacCoy and my brother on the platform.

"They were both disguised, and with good reason, for they knew that the London police were after them. MacCoy had a great astrakhan collar drawn up, so that
only his eyes and nose were showing. My brother was dressed like a woman, with a black veil half down his face, but of course it did not deceive me for an
instant, nor would it have done so even if I had not known that he had often used such a dress before. I started up, and as I did so MacCoy recognized me. He
said something, the conductor slammed the door, and they were shown into the next compartment. I tried to stop the train so as to follow them, but the wheels
were already moving, and it was too late.

"When we stopped at Willesden, I instantly changed my carriage. It appears that I was not seen to do so, which is not surprising, as the station was crowded with
people. MacCoy, of course, was expecting me, and he had spent the time between Euston and Willesden in saying all he could to harden my brother's heart and
set him against me. That is what I fancy, for I had never found him so impossible to soften or to move. I tried this way and I tried that: I pictured his future in an
English gaol; I described the sorrow of his mother when I came back with the news; I said everything to touch his heart, but all to no purpose. He sat there with a
fixed sneer upon his handsome face, while every now and then Sparrow MacCoy would throw in a taunt at me, or some word of encouragement to hold my
brother to his resolutions.

"'Why don't you run a Sunday-school?' he would say to me, and then, in the same breath: 'He thinks you have no will of your own. He thinks you are just the baby
brother and that he can lead you where he likes. He's only just finding out that you are a man as well as he.'

"It was those words of his which set me talking bitterly. We had left Willesden, you understand, for all this took some time. My temper got the better of me, and for
the first time in my life I let my brother see the rough side of me. Perhaps it would have been better had I done so earlier and more often.

"'A man! 1 said I. 'Well, I'm glad to have your friend's assurance of it, for no one would suspect it to see you like a boarding-school missy. I don’t suppose in all this
country there is a more contemptible-looking creature than you are as you sit there with that Dolly pinafore upon you.' He coloured up at that, for he was a vain
man, and he winced from ridicule.

'"It's only a dust-cloak,' said he, and he slipped it off. 'One has to throw the coppers off one's scent, and I had no other way to do it.' He took his toque off with the
veil attached, and he put both it and the cloak into his brown bag. 'Anyway, I don't need to wear it until the conductor comes round, 1 said he.

"'Nor then, either,' said I, and taking the bag I slung it with all my force out of the window. 'Now,' said I, 'you'll never make a Mary Jane of yourself while I can help
it. If nothing but that disguise stands between you and a gaol, then to gaol you shall go.'

"That was the way to manage him. I felt my advantage at once. His supple nature was one which yielded to roughness far more readily than to entreaty. He
flushed with shame, and his eyes filled with tears. But MacCoy saw my advantage also, and was determined that I should not pursue it.

"'He's my pard, and you shall not bully him, 1 he cried.

"'He's my brother, and you shall not ruin him,' said I. 'I believe a spell of prison is the very best way of keeping you apart, and you shall have it, or it will be no fault
of mine.'

"'Oh, you would squeal, would you?' he cried, and in an instant he whipped out his revolver. I sprang for his hand, but saw that I was too late, and jumped aside.
At the same instant he fired, and the bullet which would have struck me passed through the heart of my unfortunate brother.

"He dropped without a groan upon the floor of the compartment, and MacCoy and I, equally horrified, knelt at each side of him, trying to bring back some signs of
life. MacCoy still held the loaded revolver in his hand, but his anger against me and my resentment towards him had both for the moment been swallowed up in
this sudden tragedy. It was he who first realized the situation. The train was for some reason going very slowly at the moment, and he saw his opportunity for
escape. In an instant he had the door open, but I was as quick as he, and jumping upon him the two of us fell off the footboard and rolled in each other's arms
down a steep embankment. At the bottom I struck my head against a stone, and I remembered nothing more. When I came to myself I was lying among some low
bushes, not far from the railroad track, and somebody was bathing my head with a wet handkerchief. It was Sparrow MacCoy.

'"I guess I couldn't leave you,' said he. 1 didn't want to have the blood of two of you on my hands in one day. You loved your brother, I've no doubt; but you didn't
love him a cent more than I loved him, though you'll say that I took a queer way to show it. Anyhow, it seems a mighty empty world now that he is gone, and I don't
care a continental whether you give me over to the hangman or not.'

"He had turned his ankle in the fall, and there we sat, he with his useless foot, and I with my throbbing head, and we talked and talked until gradually my bitterness
began to soften and to turn into something like sympathy. What was the use of revenging his death upon a man who was as much stricken by that death as I was?
And then, as my wits gradually returned, I began to realize also that I could do nothing against MacCoy which would not recoil upon my mother and myself. How
could we convict him without a full account of my brother's career being made public— the very thing which of all others we wished to avoid? It was really as much
our interest as his to cover the matter up, and from being an avenger of crime I found myself changed to a conspirator against Justice. The place in which we
found ourselves was one of those pheasant preserves which are so common in the Old Country, and as we groped our way through it I found myself consulting
the slayer of my brother as to how far it would be possible to hush it up.

"I soon realized from what he said that unless there were some papers of which we knew nothing in my brother's pockets, there was really no possible means by
which the police could identify him or learn how he had got there. His ticket was in MacCoy's pocket, and so was the ticket for some baggage which they had left
at the depot. Like most Americans, he had found it cheaper and easier to buy an outfit in London than to bring one from New York, so that all his linen and clothes
were new and unmarked. The bag, containing the dust-cloak, which I had thrown out of the window, may have fallen among some bramble patch where it is still
concealed, or may have been carried off by some tramp, or may have come into the possession of the police, who kept the incident to themselves. Anyhow, I
have seen nothing about it in the London papers. As to the watches, they were a selection from those which had been intrusted to him for business purposes. It
may have been for the same business purposes that he was taking them to Manchester, but— well, it's too late to enter into that.

"I don't blame the police for being at fault. I don't see how it could have been otherwise. There was just one little clue that they might have followed up, but it was a
small one. I mean that small, circular mirror which was found in my brother's pocket. It isn’t a very common thing for a young man to carry about with him, is it? But
a gambler might have told you what such a mirror may mean to a card-sharper. If you sit back a little from the table, and lay the mirror, face upwards, upon your
lap, you can see, as you deal, every card that you give to your adversary. It is not hard to say whether you see a man or raise him when you know his cards as
well as your own. It was as much a part of a sharper's outfit as the elastic clip upon Sparrow MacCoy's arm. Taking that, in connection with the recent frauds at
the hotels, the police might have got hold of one end of the string.

"I don’t think there is much more for me to explain. We got to a village called Amersham that night in the character of two gentlemen upon a walking tour, and
afterwards we made our way quietly to London, whence MacCoy went on to Cairo and I returned to New York. My mother died six months afterwards, and I am
glad to say that to the day of her death she never knew what happened. She was always under the delusion that Edward was earning an honest living in London,
and I never had the heart to tell her the truth. He never wrote; but, then, he never did write at any time, so that made no difference. His name was the last upon
her lips.

"There's just one other thing that I have to ask you, sir, and I should take it as a kind return for all this explanation, if you could do it for me. You remember that
Testament that was picked up. I always carried it in my inside pocket, and it must have come out in my fall. I value it very highly, for it was the family book with my
birth and my brother's marked by my father in the beginning of it. I wish you would apply at the proper place and have it sent to me. It can be of no possible value
to anyone else. If you address it to X, Bassano's Library, Broadway, New York, it is sure to come to hand."

THE TALL MAN

A girl calls on Sherlock Holmes in great distress. A murder has been committed in her village - her uncle has been found shot in his bedroom, apparently through
the open window. Her lover has been arrested. He is suspected on several grounds:

(1 ) He has had a violent quarrel with the old man, who has threatened to alter his will, which is in the girl’s favour, if she ever speaks to her lover again.

(2) A revolver has been found in his house, with his initials scratched on the butt and one chamber discharged. The bullet found in the dead man's body fits this
revolver.

(3) He possesses a light ladder, the only one in the village, and there are marks of the foot of such a ladder on the soil below the bedroom window, while similar
soil (fresh) has been found on the feet of the ladder.

His only reply is that he never possessed a revolver, and that it has been discovered in a drawer of the hatstand in his hall, where it would be easy for anyone to
place it. As for the mould on the ladder (which he has not used for a month) he has no explanation whatever.

Notwithstanding these damning proofs, however, the girl persists in believing her lover to be perfectly innocent, while she suspects another man, who has also
been making love to her, though she has no evidence whatever against him, except that she feels by instinct that he is a villain who would stick at nothing.
Sherlock and Watson go down to the village and inspect the spot, together with the detective in charge of the case. The marks of the ladder attract Holmes's
special attention. He ponders - looks about him - inquires if there is any place where anything bulky could be concealed. There is - a disused well, which has not
been searched because apparently nothing is missing. Sherlock, however, insists on the well being explored. A village boy consents to be lowered into it, with a
candle. Before he goes down Holmes whispers something in his ear - he appears surpised. The boy is lowered and, on his signal, pulled up again. He brings to
the surface a pair of stilts!

“Good Lord!” cries the detective, “who on earth could have expected this?” - “I did,” replies Holmes. - “But, why?” - “Because the marks on the garden soil were
made by two perpendicular poles - the feet of a ladder, which is on the slope, would have made depressions slanting towards the wall.”

(N.B. The soil was a strip beside a gravel path on which the stilts left no impression.)

This discovery lessened the weight of the evidence of the ladder, though the other evidence remained.

The next step was to trace the user of the stilts, if possible. But he had been to wary, and after two days nothing had been discovered. At the inquest the young
man was found guilty of murder. But, Holmes is convinced of his innocence. In these circumstances, and as a last hope, he resolves on a sensational stratagem.
He goes up to London, and, returning on the evening of the day when the old man is buried, he and Watson and the detective go to the cottage of the man whom
the girl suspects, taking with them a man whom Holmes has brought from London, who has a disguise which makes him the living image of the murdered man,
wizened body, grey shriveled face, skullcap and all. They have also with them the pair of stilts. On reaching the cottage, the disguised man mounts the stilts and
stalks up the path towards the man's open bedroom window, at the same time crying out his name in a ghastly sepulchral voice. The man, who is already half
mad with guilty terrors, rushes to the window and beholds in the moonlight the terrific spectacle of his victim stalking towards him. He reels back with a scream as
the apparition, advancing to the window, calls in the same unearthly voice - “as you came for me, I have come for you!” When the party rush upstairs into his room
he darts to them, clinging to them, gasping, and, pointing to the window, where the dead man's face is glaring in, shrieks out, “Save me! My God! He has come for
me as I came for him."

Collapsing after this dramatic scene, he makes a full confession. He has marked the revolver, and concealed it where it was found - he has also smeared the
ladder-foot with soil from the old man’s garden. His object was to put his rival out of the way, in the hope of gaining possession of the girl and her money.

THE 2 COLLABORATORS
SIR JAMES MATTHEW BARRIE

Written on the flyleaf of a book given to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle commemorating their failed opera, Jane Annie - the Good Conduct Prize

1893

In bringing to a close the adventures of my friend Sherlock Holmes, I am perforce reminded that he never, save on the occasion which, as you will now hear,
brought his singular career to an end, consented to act in any mystery which was concerned with persons who made a livelihood by their pen. "I'm not particular
about the people I mix among for business purposes,” he would say, "but at literary characters I draw the line."

We were in our rooms in Baker Street one evening. I was (I remember) by the centre table writing out "The Adventure of the Man Without a Cork Leg" (which had
so puzzled the Royal Society and all the other scientific bodies of Europe), and Holmes was amusing himself with a little revolver practice. It was his custom of a
summer evening to fire round my head, just shaving my face, until he had made a photograph of me on the opposite wall, and it is a slight proof of his skill that
many of these portraits in pistol shots are considered admirable likenesses. I happened to look out of the window, and perceiving two gentlemen advancing rapidly
along Baker Street asked him who they were. He immediately lit his pipe, and, twisting himself on a chair into the figure 8, replied, "They are two collaborators in
comic opera, and their play has not been a triumph."

I sprang from my chair to the ceiling in amazement, and he then explained: "My dear Watson, they are obviously men who follow some low calling. That much
even you should be able to read in their faces. Those little pieces of blue paper that they fling angrily from them are Durant's Press Notices. Of these, they have
obviously hundreds about their person (see how their pockets bulge). They would not dance on them if they were pleasant reading."

I again sprang to the ceiling (which is much dented), and shouted: "Amazing! But they may be mere authors."

"No," said Holmes, "for mere authors only get one press notice a week. Only criminals, dramatists and actors get them by the hundred."

"Then they may be actors."

"No, actors would come in a carriage."

"Can you tell me anything else about them?"

"A great deal. From the mud on the boots of the tall one I perceive that he comes from South Norwood. The other is as obviously a Scotch author."

"How can you tell that?

"He is carrying in his pocket a book called (I clearly see) 'Auld Licht Something.' Would any one but the author be likely to carry about a book with such a title?"

I had to confess that this was improbable. It was now evident that the two men (if such they can be called) were seeking our lodgings. I have said (often) that my
friend Holmes seldom gave way to emotion of any kind, buy he now turned livid with passion. Presently this gave place to a strange look of triumph. "Watson," he
said, "that big fellow has for years taken the credit for my most remarkable doings, but at last I have him - at last!"

Up I went to the ceiling, and when I returned the strangers were in the room. "I perceive, gentlemen," said Mr. Sherlock Holmes, "that you are at present afflicted
by an extraordinary novelty." The handsomer of our visitors asked in amazement how he knew this but the big one only scowled. "You forget that you wear a ring
on your fourth finger," replied Mr. Holmes calmly.

I was about to jump to the ceiling when the big brute interposed. "That Tommy-rot is all very well for the public, Holmes," said he, "but you can drop it before me.
And, Watson, if you go up to the ceiling again I shall make you stay there."

Here I observed a curious phenomenon. My friend Sherlock Holmes shrank. He became small before my eyes. I looked longingly at the ceiling, but dared not. "Let
us cut the first four pages," said the big man, "and proceed to business. I want to know why

"Allow me," said Mr. Holmes, with some of his old courage. "You want to know why the public does not go to your opera."

"Exactly," said the other ironically, "as you perceive by my shirt stud." He added more gravely, "And as you can only find out in one way I must insist on your
witnessing an entire performance of the piece."

It was an anxious moment for me. I shuddered, for I knew that if Holmes went I should have to go with him. However, my friend was kind. "Never," he cried
fiercely, "I will do anything for you save that."

"Your continued existence depends on it," said the big man menacingly.

"I would rather melt into air," replied Holmes, proudly taking another chair, "But I can tell you why the public don’t go to your piece without sitting the thing out
myself."

"Why?"

"Because," replied Holmes calmly, "they prefer to stay away."

A dead silence followed that extraordinary remark. For a moment, the two intruders gazed with awe upon the man who had unravelled their mystery so
wonderfully. Then drawing their knives -- Holmes grew less and less, until nothing was left save a ring of smoke which slowly circled to the ceiling. The last words
of great men are often noteworthy. These were the last words of Sherlock Holmes: "Fool! I've kept you in luxury for years. By my help, you've ridden extensively in
cabs where no author was ever seen before. Henceforth you'll ride in buses!" The brute sunk into a chair aghast. The other author did not turn a hair.

The Adventure of the Empty House

t was in the spring of the year 1894 that
all London was interested, and the fash-
ionable world dismayed, by the murder
of the Honourable Ronald Adair under
most unusual and inexplicable circumstances. The
public has already learned those particulars of the
crime which came out in the police investigation;
but a good deal was suppressed upon that oc-
casion, since the case for the prosecution was so
overwhelmingly strong that it was not necessary
to bring forward all the facts. Only now, at the
end of nearly ten years, am I allowed to supply
those missing links which make up the whole of
that remarkable chain. The crime was of interest
in itself, but that interest was as nothing to me
compared to the inconceivable sequel, which af-
forded me the greatest shock and surprise of any
event in my adventurous life. Even now, after
this long interval, I find myself thrilling as I think
of it, and feeling once more that sudden flood of
joy, amazement, and incredulity which utterly sub-
merged my mind. Let me say to that public which
has shown some interest in those glimpses which I
have occasionally given them of the thoughts and
actions of a very remarkable man that they are not
to blame me if I have not shared my knowledge
with them, for I should have considered it my first
duty to have done so had I not been barred by a
positive prohibition from his own lips, which was
only withdrawn upon the third of last month.

It can be imagined that my close intimacy
with Sherlock Holmes had interested me deeply
in crime, and that after his disappearance I never
failed to read with care the various problems
which came before the public, and I even at-
tempted more than once for my own private sat-
isfaction to employ his methods in their solution,
though with indifferent success. There was none,
however, which appealed to me like this tragedy
of Ronald Adair. As I read the evidence at the in-
quest, which led up to a verdict of wilful murder
against some person or persons unknown, I real-
ized more clearly than I had ever done the loss
which the community had sustained by the death
of Sherlock Holmes. There were points about this
strange business which would, I was sure, have
specially appealed to him, and the efforts of the
police would have been supplemented, or more
probably anticipated, by the trained observation
and the alert mind of the first criminal agent in Eu-
rope. All day as I drove upon my round I turned
over the case in my mind, and found no explana-
tion which appeared to me to be adequate. At the
risk of telling a twice-told tale I will recapitulate
the facts as they were known to the public at the

conclusion of the inquest.

The Honourable Ronald Adair was the second
son of the Earl of Maynooth, at that time Governor
of one of the Australian Colonies. Adair's mother
had returned from Australia to undergo the opera-
tion for cataract, and she, her son Ronald, and her
daughter Hilda were living together at 427, Park
Lane. The youth moved in the best society, had, so
far as was known, no enemies, and no particular
vices. He had been engaged to Miss Edith Wood-
ley, of Carstairs, but the engagement had been bro-
ken off by mutual consent some months before,
and there was no sign that it had left any very pro-
found feeling behind it. For the rest the man's life
moved in a narrow and conventional circle, for his
habits were quiet and his nature unemotional. Yet
it was upon this easy-going young aristocrat that
death came in most strange and unexpected form
between the hours of ten and eleven-twenty on the
night of March 30, 1894.

Ronald Adair was fond of cards, playing con-
tinually, but never for such stakes as would hurt
him. He was a member of the Baldwin, the
Cavendish, and the Bagatelle card clubs. It was
shown that after dinner on the day of his death
he had played a rubber of whist at the latter
club. He had also played there in the after-
noon. The evidence of those who had played with
him — Mr. Murray, Sir John Hardy, and Colonel
Moran — showed that the game was whist, and that
there was a fairly equal fall of the cards. Adair
might have lost five pounds, but not more. His for-
tune was a considerable one, and such a loss could
not in any way affect him. He had played nearly
every day at one club or other, but he was a cau-
tious player, and usually rose a winner. It came
out in evidence that in partnership with Colonel
Moran he had actually won as much as four hun-
dred and twenty pounds in a sitting some weeks
before from Godfrey Milner and Lord Balmoral.
So much for his recent history, as it came out at
the inquest.

On the evening of the crime he returned from
the club exactly at ten. His mother and sister were
out spending the evening with a relation. The ser-
vant deposed that she heard him enter the front
room on the second floor, generally used as his
sitting-room. She had lit a fire there, and as it
smoked she had opened the window. No sound
was heard from the room until eleven-twenty, the
hour of the return of Lady Maynooth and her
daughter. Desiring to say good-night, she had at-
tempted to enter her son's room. The door was
locked on the inside, and no answer could be got

419

The Adventure of the Empty House

to their cries and knocking. Help was obtained
and the door forced. The unfortunate young man
was found lying near the table. His head had been
horribly mutilated by an expanding revolver bul-
let, but no weapon of any sort was to be found
in the room. On the table lay two bank-notes for
ten pounds each and seventeen pounds ten in sil-
ver and gold, the money arranged in little piles
of varying amount. There were some figures also
upon a sheet of paper with the names of some club
friends opposite to them, from which it was con-
jectured that before his death he was endeavouring
to make out his losses or winnings at cards.

A minute examination of the circumstances
served only to make the case more complex. In
the first place, no reason could be given why the
young man should have fastened the door upon
the inside. There was the possibility that the mur-
derer had done this and had afterwards escaped
by the window. The drop was at least twenty feet,
however, and a bed of crocuses in full bloom lay
beneath. Neither the flowers nor the earth showed
any sign of having been disturbed, nor were there
any marks upon the narrow strip of grass which
separated the house from the road. Apparently,
therefore, it was the young man himself who had
fastened the door. But how did he come by his
death? No one could have climbed up to the win-
dow without leaving traces. Suppose a man had
fired through the window, it would indeed be a
remarkable shot who could with a revolver in-
flict so deadly a wound. Again, Park Lane is a
frequented thoroughfare, and there is a cab-stand
within a hundred yards of the house. No one had
heard a shot. And yet there was the dead man,
and there the revolver bullet, which had mush-
roomed out, as soft-nosed bullets will, and so in-
flicted a wound which must have caused instanta-
neous death. Such were the circumstances of the
Park Lane Mystery, which were further compli-
cated by entire absence of motive, since, as I have
said, young Adair was not known to have any en-
emy, and no attempt had been made to remove the
money or valuables in the room.

All day I turned these facts over in my mind,
endeavouring to hit upon some theory which
could reconcile them all, and to find that line of
least resistance which my poor friend had declared
to be the starting-point of every investigation. I
confess that I made little progress. In the evening
I strolled across the Park, and found myself about
six o'clock at the Oxford Street end of Park Lane.
A group of loafers upon the pavements, all star-
ing up at a particular window, directed me to the
house which I had come to see. A tall, thin man

with coloured glasses, whom I strongly suspected
of being a plain-clothes detective, was pointing out
some theory of his own, while the others crowded
round to listen to what he said. I got as near him
as I could, but his observations seemed to me to be
absurd, so I withdrew again in some disgust. As
I did so I struck against an elderly deformed man,
who had been behind me, and I knocked down
several books which he was carrying. I remember
that as I picked them up I observed the title of one
of them. The Origin of Tree Worship, and it struck me
that the fellow must be some poor bibliophile who,
either as a trade or as a hobby, was a collector of
obscure volumes. I endeavoured to apologize for
the accident, but it was evident that these books
which I had so unfortunately maltreated were very
precious objects in the eyes of their owner. With a
snarl of contempt he turned upon his heel, and I
saw his curved back and white side-whiskers dis-
appear among the throng.

My observations of No. 427, Park Lane did lit-
tle to clear up the problem in which I was inter-
ested. The house was separated from the street by
a low wall and railing, the whole not more than
five feet high. It was perfectly easy, therefore, for
anyone to get into the garden, but the window was
entirely inaccessible, since there was no water-pipe
or anything which could help the most active man
to climb it. More puzzled than ever I retraced my
steps to Kensington. I had not been in my study
five minutes when the maid entered to say that a
person desired to see me. To my astonishment it
was none other than my strange old book-collector,
his sharp, wizened face peering out from a frame
of white hair, and his precious volumes, a dozen
of them at least, wedged under his right arm.

"You're surprised to see me, sir," said he, in a
strange, croaking voice.

I acknowledged that I was.

"Well, I've a conscience, sir, and when I
chanced to see you go into this house, as I came
hobbling after you, I thought to myself. I'll just
step in and see that kind gentleman, and tell him
that if I was a bit gruff in my manner there was
not any harm meant, and that I am much obliged
to him for picking up my books."

"You make too much of a trifle," said I. "May I
ask how you knew who I was?"

"Well, sir, if it isn't too great a liberty, I am a
neighbour of yours, for you'll find my little book-
shop at the corner of Church Street, and very
happy to see you, I am sure. Maybe you collect
yourself, sir; here's British Birds, and Catullus, and
The Holy War — a bargain every one of them. With

420

The Adventure of the Empty House

five volumes you could just fill that gap on that
second shelf. It looks untidy, does it not, sir?"

I moved my head to look at the cabinet behind
me. When I turned again Sherlock Holmes was
standing smiling at me across my study table. I
rose to my feet, stared at him for some seconds in
utter amazement, and then it appears that I must
have fainted for the first and the last time in my
life. Certainly a grey mist swirled before my eyes,
and when it cleared I found my collar-ends un-
done and the tingling after-taste of brandy upon
my lips. Holmes was bending over my chair, his
flask in his hand.

"My dear Watson," said the well-remembered
voice, "I owe you a thousand apologies. I had no
idea that you would be so affected."

I gripped him by the arm.

"Holmes!" I cried. "Is it really you? Can it in-
deed be that you are alive? Is it possible that you
succeeded in climbing out of that awful abyss?"

"Wait a moment," said he. "Are you sure that
you are really fit to discuss things? I have given
you a serious shock by my unnecessarily dramatic
reappearance."

"I am all right, but indeed. Holmes, I can
hardly believe my eyes. Good heavens, to think
that you — you of all men — should be standing in
my study!" Again I gripped him by the sleeve and
felt the thin, sinewy arm beneath it. "Well, you're
not a spirit, anyhow," said I. "My dear chap, I am
overjoyed to see you. Sit down and tell me how
you came alive out of that dreadful chasm."

He sat opposite to me and lit a cigarette in his
old nonchalant manner. He was dressed in the
seedy frock-coat of the book merchant, but the rest
of that individual lay in a pile of white hair and old
books upon the table. Holmes looked even thinner
and keener than of old, but there was a dead-white
tinge in his aquiline face which told me that his life
recently had not been a healthy one.

"I am glad to stretch myself, Watson," said he.
"It is no joke when a tall man has to take a foot
off his stature for several hours on end. Now, my
dear fellow, in the matter of these explanations we
have, if I may ask for your co-operation, a hard
and dangerous night's work in front of us. Per-
haps it would be better if I gave you an account of
the whole situation when that work is finished."

"I am full of curiosity. I should much prefer to
hear now."

"You'll come with me to-night?"

"When you like and where you like."

"This is indeed like the old days. We shall have
time for a mouthful of dinner before we need go.
Well, then, about that chasm. I had no serious diffi-
culty in getting out of it, for the very simple reason
that I never was in it."

"You never were in it?"

"No, Watson, I never was in it. My note to
you was absolutely genuine. I had little doubt that
I had come to the end of my career when I per-
ceived the somewhat sinister figure of the late Pro-
fessor Moriarty standing upon the narrow path-
way which led to safety. I read an inexorable pur-
pose in his grey eyes. I exchanged some remarks
with him, therefore, and obtained his courteous
permission to write the short note which you af-
terwards received. 1 left it with my cigarette-box
and my stick and I walked along the pathway, Mo-
riarty still at my heels. When I reached the end I
stood at bay. He drew no weapon, but he rushed at
me and threw his long arms around me. He knew
that his own game was up, and was only anxious
to revenge himself upon me. We tottered together
upon the brink of the fall. I have some knowl-
edge, however, of baritsu, or the Japanese system
of wrestling, which has more than once been very
useful to me. I slipped through his grip, and he
with a horrible scream kicked madly for a few sec-
onds and clawed the air with both his hands. But
for all his efforts he could not get his balance, and
over he went. With my face over the brink I saw
him fall for a long way. Then he struck a rock,
bounded off, and splashed into the water."

I listened with amazement to this explanation,
which Holmes delivered between the puffs of his
cigarette.

"But the tracks!" I cried. "I saw with my own
eyes that two went down the path and none re-
turned."

"It came about in this way. The instant that the
Professor had disappeared it struck me what a re-
ally extraordinarily lucky chance Fate had placed
in my way. I knew that Moriarty was not the only
man who had sworn my death. There were at
least three others whose desire for vengeance upon
me would only be increased by the death of their
leader. They were all most dangerous men. One or
other would certainly get me. On the other hand,
if all the world was convinced that I was dead
they would take liberties, these men, they would
lay themselves open, and sooner or later I could
destroy them. Then it would be time for me to
announce that I was still in the land of the living.
So rapidly does the brain act that I believe I had
thought this all out before Professor Moriarty had
reached the bottom of the Reichenbach Fall.

421

The Adventure of the Empty House

"I stood up and examined the rocky wall be-
hind me. In your picturesque account of the mat-
ter, which I read with great interest some months
later, you assert that the wall was sheer. This was
not literally true. A few small footholds presented
themselves, and there was some indication of a
ledge. The cliff is so high that to climb it all was an
obvious impossibility, and it was equally impossi-
ble to make my way along the wet path without
leaving some tracks. I might, it is true, have re-
versed my boots, as I have done on similar occa-
sions, but the sight of three sets of tracks in one
direction would certainly have suggested a decep-
tion. On the whole, then, it was best that I should
risk the climb. It was not a pleasant business, Wat-
son. The fall roared beneath me. I am not a fanci-
ful person, but I give you my word that I seemed
to hear Moriarty's voice screaming at me out of
the abyss. A mistake would have been fatal. More
than once, as tufts of grass came out in my hand
or my foot slipped in the wet notches of the rock, I
thought that I was gone. But I struggled upwards,
and at last I reached a ledge several feet deep and
covered with soft green moss, where I could lie
unseen in the most perfect comfort. There I was
stretched when you, my dear Watson, and all your
following were investigating in the most sympa-
thetic and inefficient manner the circumstances of
my death.

"At last, when you had all formed your in-
evitable and totally erroneous conclusions, you de-
parted for the hotel and I was left alone. I had
imagined that I had reached the end of my adven-
tures, but a very unexpected occurrence showed
me that there were surprises still in store for me.
A huge rock, falling from above, boomed past me,
struck the path, and bounded over into the chasm.
For an instant I thought that it was an accident;
but a moment later, looking up, I saw a man's
head against the darkening sky, and another stone
struck the very ledge upon which I was stretched,
within a foot of my head. Of course, the mean-
ing of this was obvious. Moriarty had not been
alone. A confederate — and even that one glance
had told me how dangerous a man that confeder-
ate was — had kept guard while the Professor had
attacked me. From a distance, unseen by me, he
had been a witness of his friend's death and of my
escape. He had waited, and then, making his way
round to the top of the cliff, he had endeavoured
to succeed where his comrade had failed.

"I did not take long to think about it, Watson.
Again I saw that grim face look over the cliff, and
I knew that it was the precursor of another stone.
I scrambled down on to the path. I don't think I

could have done it in cold blood. It was a hundred
times more difficult than getting up. But I had
no time to think of the danger, for another stone
sang past me as I hung by my hands from the edge
of the ledge. Halfway down I slipped, but by the
blessing of God I landed, torn and bleeding, upon
the path. I took to my heels, did ten miles over
the mountains in the darkness, and a week later I
found myself in Florence with the certainty that no
one in the world knew what had become of me.

"I had only one confidant — my brother My-
croft. I owe you many apologies, my dear Watson,
but it was all-important that it should be thought
I was dead, and it is quite certain that you would
not have written so convincing an account of my
unhappy end had you not yourself thought that it
was true. Several times during the last three years I
have taken up my pen to write to you, but always I
feared lest your affectionate regard for me should
tempt you to some indiscretion which would be-
tray my secret. For that reason I turned away
from you this evening when you upset my books,
for I was in danger at the time, and any show of
surprise and emotion upon your part might have
drawn attention to my identity and led to the most
deplorable and irreparable results. As to Mycroft, I
had to confide in him in order to obtain the money
which I needed. The course of events in London
did not run so well as I had hoped, for the trial
of the Moriarty gang left two of its most danger-
ous members, my own most vindictive enemies,
at liberty. I travelled for two years in Tibet, there-
fore, and amused myself by visiting Lhassa and
spending some days with the head Llama. You
may have read of the remarkable explorations of
a Norwegian named Sigerson, but I am sure that
it never occurred to you that you were receiving
news of your friend. I then passed through Persia,
looked in at Mecca, and paid a short but interest-
ing visit to the Khalifa at Khartoum, the results
of which I have communicated to the Foreign Of-
fice. Returning to France I spent some months in a
research into the coal-tar derivatives, which I con-
ducted in a laboratory at Montpelier, in the South
of France. Having concluded this to my satisfac-
tion, and learning that only one of my enemies was
now left in London, I was about to return when my
movements were hastened by the news of this very
remarkable Park Lane Mystery, which not only ap-
pealed to me by its own merits, but which seemed
to offer some most peculiar personal opportuni-
ties. I came over at once to London, called in
my own person at Baker Street, threw Mrs. Hud-
son into violent hysterics, and found that Mycroft
had preserved my rooms and my papers exactly as

422

The Adventure of the Empty House

they had always been. So it was, my dear Watson,
that at two o'clock to-day I found myself in my old
arm-chair in my own old room, and only wishing
that I could have seen my old friend Watson in the
other chair which he has so often adorned."

Such was the remarkable narrative to which I
listened on that April evening — a narrative which
would have been utterly incredible to me had it
not been confirmed by the actual sight of the tall,
spare figure and the keen, eager face, which I had
never thought to see again. In some manner he
had learned of my own sad bereavement, and his
sympathy was shown in his manner rather than in
his words. "Work is the best antidote to sorrow,
my dear Watson," said he, "and I have a piece of
work for us both to-night which, if we can bring
it to a successful conclusion, will in itself justify a
man's life on this planet." In vain I begged him to
tell me more. "You will hear and see enough be-
fore morning," he answered. "We have three years
of the past to discuss. Let that suffice until half-
past nine, when we start upon the notable adven-
ture of the empty house."

It was indeed like old times when, at that hour,
I found myself seated beside him in a hansom, my
revolver in my pocket and the thrill of adventure
in my heart. Holmes was cold and stern and silent.
As the gleam of the street-lamps flashed upon his
austere features I saw that his brows were drawn
down in thought and his thin lips compressed. I
knew not what wild beast we were about to hunt
down in the dark jungle of criminal London, but
I was well assured from the bearing of this mas-
ter huntsman that the adventure was a most grave
one, while the sardonic smile which occasionally
broke through his ascetic gloom boded little good
for the object of our quest.

I had imagined that we were bound for Baker
Street, but Holmes stopped the cab at the cor-
ner of Cavendish Square. I observed that as he
stepped out he gave a most searching glance to
right and left, and at every subsequent street cor-
ner he took the utmost pains to assure that he was
not followed. Our route was certainly a singular
one. Holmes's knowledge of the byways of Lon-
don was extraordinary, and on this occasion he
passed rapidly, and with an assured step, through
a network of mews and stables the very existence
of which I had never known. We emerged at last
into a small road, lined with old, gloomy houses,
which led us into Manchester Street, and so to
Blandford Street. Here he turned swiftly down
a narrow passage, passed through a wooden gate
into a deserted yard, and then opened with a key

the back door of a house. We entered together and
he closed it behind us.

The place was pitch-dark, but it was evident to
me that it was an empty house. Our feet creaked
and crackled over the bare planking, and my out-
stretched hand touched a wall from which the pa-
per was hanging in ribbons. Holmes's cold, thin
fingers closed round my wrist and led me for-
wards down a long hall, until I dimly saw the
murky fanlight over the door. Here Holmes turned
suddenly to the right, and we found ourselves in
a large, square, empty room, heavily shadowed in
the corners, but faintly lit in the centre from the
lights of the street beyond. There was no lamp
near and the window was thick with dust, so that
we could only just discern each other's figures
within. My companion put his hand upon my
shoulder and his lips close to my ear.

"Do you know where we are?" he whispered.

"Surely that is Baker Street," I answered, star-
ing through the dim window.

"Exactly. We are in Camden House, which
stands opposite to our own old quarters."

"But why are we here?"

"Because it commands so excellent a view of
that picturesque pile. Might I trouble you, my
dear Watson, to draw a little nearer to the window,
taking every precaution not to show yourself, and
then to look up at our old rooms — the starting-
point of so many of our little adventures? We will
see if my three years of absence have entirely taken
away my power to surprise you."

I crept forward and looked across at the famil-
iar window. As my eyes fell upon it I gave a gasp
and a cry of amazement. The blind was down
and a strong light was burning in the room. The
shadow of a man who was seated in a chair within
was thrown in hard, black outline upon the lumi-
nous screen of the window. There was no mistak-
ing the poise of the head, the squareness of the
shoulders, the sharpness of the features. The face
was turned half-round, and the effect was that of
one of those black silhouettes which our grand-
parents loved to frame. It was a perfect reproduc-
tion of Holmes. So amazed was I that I threw out
my hand to make sure that the man himself was
standing beside me. He was quivering with silent
laughter.

"Well?" said he.

"Good heavens!" I cried. "It is marvellous."

"I trust that age doth not wither nor custom
stale my infinite variety,"' said he, and I recognised
in his voice the joy and pride which the artist takes

The Adventure of the Empty House

in his own creation. "It really is rather like me, is
it not?"

"I should be prepared to swear that it was
you."

"The credit of the execution is due to Monsieur
Oscar Meunier, of Grenoble, who spent some days
in doing the moulding. It is a bust in wax. The rest
I arranged myself during my visit to Baker Street
this afternoon."

"But why?"

"Because, my dear Watson, I had the strongest
possible reason for wishing certain people to think
that I was there when I was really elsewhere."

"And you thought the rooms were watched?"

"I knezv that they were watched."

"By whom?"

"By my old enemies, Watson. By the charming
society whose leader lies in the Reichenbach Fall.
You must remember that they knew, and only they
knew, that I was still alive. Sooner or later they be-
lieved that I should come back to my rooms. They
watched them continuously, and this morning they
saw me arrive."

"How do you know?"

"Because I recognised their sentinel when I
glanced out of my window. He is a harmless
enough fellow, Parker by name, a garroter by
trade, and a remarkable performer upon the Jew's
harp. I cared nothing for him. But I cared a great
deal for the much more formidable person who
was behind him, the bosom friend of Moriarty, the
man who dropped the rocks over the cliff, the most
cunning and dangerous criminal in London. That
is the man who is after me to-night, Watson, and
that is the man who is quite unaware that we are
after him."

My friend's plans were gradually revealing
themselves. From this convenient retreat the
watchers were being watched and the trackers
tracked. That angular shadow up yonder was the
bait and we were the hunters. In silence we stood
together in the darkness and watched the hurry-
ing figures who passed and repassed in front of
us. Holmes was silent and motionless; but I could
tell that he was keenly alert, and that his eyes were
fixed intently upon the stream of passers-by. It
was a bleak and boisterous night, and the wind
whistled shrilly down the long street. Many peo-
ple were moving to and fro, most of them muffled
in their coats and cravats. Once or twice it seemed
to me that I had seen the same figure before, and
I especially noticed two men who appeared to be

sheltering themselves from the wind in the door-
way of a house some distance up the street. 1 tried
to draw my companion's attention to them, but he
gave a little ejaculation of impatience and contin-
ued to stare into the street. More than once he
fidgeted with his feet and tapped rapidly with his
fingers upon the wall. It was evident to me that he
was becoming uneasy and that his plans were not
working out altogether as he had hoped. At last,
as midnight approached and the street gradually
cleared, he paced up and down the room in un-
controllable agitation. I was about to make some
remark to him when I raised my eyes to the lighted
window and again experienced almost as great a
surprise as before. I clutched Holmes's arm and
pointed upwards.

"The shadow has moved!" I cried.

It was, indeed, no longer the profile, but the
back, which was turned towards us.

Three years had certainly not smoothed the as-
perities of his temper or his impatience with a less
active intelligence than his own.

"Of course it has moved," said he. "Am I
such a farcical bungler, Watson, that I should erect
an obvious dummy and expect that some of the
sharpest men in Europe would be deceived by it?
We have been in this room two hours, and Mrs.
Hudson has made some change in that figure eight
times, or once in every quarter of an hour. She
works it from the front so that her shadow may
never be seen. Ah!" He drew in his breath with
a shrill, excited intake. In the dim light I saw
his head thrown forward, his whole attitude rigid
with attention. Outside, the street was absolutely
deserted. Those two men might still be crouching
in the doorway, but I could no longer see them. All
was still and dark, save only that brilliant yellow
screen in front of us with the black figure outlined
upon its centre. Again in the utter silence I heard
that thin, sibilant note which spoke of intense sup-
pressed excitement. An instant later he pulled me
back into the blackest corner of the room, and I felt
his warning hand upon my lips. The fingers which
clutched me were quivering. Never had I known
my friend more moved, and yet the dark street still
stretched lonely and motionless before us.

But suddenly I was aware of that which his
keener senses had already distinguished. A low,
stealthy sound came to my ears, not from the di-
rection of Baker Street, but from the back of the
very house in which we lay concealed. A door
opened and shut. An instant later steps crept
down the passage — steps which were meant to be
silent, but which reverberated harshly through the

The Adventure of the Empty House

empty house. Holmes crouched back against the
wall and I did the same, my hand closing upon the
handle of my revolver. Peering through the gloom,
I saw the vague outline of a man, a shade blacker
than the blackness of the open door. He stood
for an instant, and then he crept forward, crouch-
ing, menacing, into the room. He was within three
yards of us, this sinister figure, and I had braced
myself to meet his spring, before I realized that he
had no idea of our presence. He passed close be-
side us, stole over to the window, and very softly
and noiselessly raised it for half a foot. As he sank
to the level of this opening the light of the street, no
longer dimmed by the dusty glass, fell full upon
his face. The man seemed to be beside himself
with excitement. His two eyes shone like stars
and his features were working convulsively. He
was an elderly man, with a thin, projecting nose,
a high, bald forehead, and a huge grizzled mous-
tache. An opera-hat was pushed to the back of
his head, and an evening dress shirt-front gleamed
out through his open overcoat. His face was gaunt
and swarthy, scored with deep, savage lines. In his
hand he carried what appeared to be a stick, but
as he laid it down upon the floor it gave a metal-
lic clang. Then from the pocket of his overcoat he
drew a bulky object, and he busied himself in some
task which ended with a loud, sharp click, as if a
spring or bolt had fallen into its place. Still kneel-
ing upon the floor he bent forward and threw all
his weight and strength upon some lever, with the
result that there came a long, whirling, grinding
noise, ending once more in a powerful click. He
straightened himself then, and I saw that what he
held in his hand was a sort of gun, with a curi-
ously misshapen butt. He opened it at the breech,
put something in, and snapped the breech-block.
Then, crouching down, he rested the end of the
barrel upon the ledge of the open window, and I
saw his long moustache droop over the stock and
his eye gleam as it peered along the sights. I heard
a little sigh of satisfaction as he cuddled the butt
into his shoulder, and saw that amazing target, the
black man on the yellow ground, standing clear at
the end of his fore sight. For an instant he was
rigid and motionless. Then his finger tightened on
the trigger. There was a strange, loud whiz and a
long, silvery tinkle of broken glass. At that instant
Holmes sprang like a tiger on to the marksman's
back and hurled him flat upon his face. He was up
again in a moment, and with convulsive strength
he seized Holmes by the throat; but I struck him
on the head with the butt of my revolver and he
dropped again upon the floor. I fell upon him,
and as I held him my comrade blew a shrill call

upon a whistle. There was the clatter of running
feet upon the pavement, and two policemen in
uniform, with one plain-clothes detective, rushed
through the front entrance and into the room.

"That you, Lestrade?" said Holmes.

"Yes, Mr. Holmes. I took the job myself. It's
good to see you back in London, sir."

"I think you want a little unofficial help.
Three undetected murders in one year won't do,
Lestrade. But you handled the Molesey Mystery
with less than your usual — that's to say, you han-
dled it fairly well."

We had all risen to our feet, our prisoner
breathing hard, with a stalwart constable on each
side of him. Already a few loiterers had begun to
collect in the street. Holmes stepped up to the win-
dow, closed it, and dropped the blinds. Lestrade
had produced two candles and the policemen had
uncovered their lanterns. I was able at last to have
a good look at our prisoner.

It was a tremendously virile and yet sinister
face which was turned towards us. With the brow
of a philosopher above and the jaw of a sensualist
below, the man must have started with great ca-
pacities for good or for evil. But one could not look
upon his cruel blue eyes, with their drooping, cyn-
ical lids, or upon the fierce, aggressive nose and
the threatening, deep-lined brow, without read-
ing Nature's plainest danger-signals. He took no
heed of any of us, but his eyes were fixed upon
Holmes's face with an expression in which ha-
tred and amazement were equally blended. "You
fiend!" he kept on muttering. "You clever, clever
fiend!"

"Ah, Colonel!" said Holmes, arranging his
rumpled collar; " 'journeys end in lovers' meet-
ings,' as the old play says. I don't think I have had
the pleasure of seeing you since you favoured me
with those attentions as I lay on the ledge above
the Reichenbach Fall."

The Colonel still stared at my friend like a man
in a trance. "You cunning, cunning fiend!" was all
that he could say.

"I have not introduced you yet," said Holmes.
"This, gentlemen, is Colonel Sebastian Moran,
once of Her Majesty's Indian Army, and the best
heavy game shot that our Eastern Empire has ever
produced. I believe I am correct. Colonel, in saying
that your bag of tigers still remains unrivalled?"

The fierce old man said nothing, but still
glared at my companion; with his savage eyes
and bristling moustache he was wonderfully like
a tiger himself.

425

The Adventure of the Empty House

"I wonder that my very simple stratagem could
deceive so old a shikari," said Holmes. "It must
be very familiar to you. Have you not tethered a
young kid under a tree, lain above it with your ri-
fle, and waited for the bait to bring up your tiger?
This empty house is my tree and you are my tiger.
You have possibly had other guns in reserve in
case there should be several tigers, or in the un-
likely supposition of your own aim failing you.
These," he pointed around, "are my other guns.
The parallel is exact."

Colonel Moran sprang forward, with a snarl of
rage, but the constables dragged him back. The
fury upon his face was terrible to look at.

"I confess that you had one small surprise for
me," said Holmes. "I did not anticipate that you
would yourself make use of this empty house and
this convenient front window. I had imagined
you as operating from the street, where my friend
Lestrade and his merry men were awaiting you.
With that exception all has gone as I expected."

Colonel Moran turned to the official detective.

"You may or may not have just cause for ar-
resting me," said he, "but at least there can be no
reason why I should submit to the gibes of this
person. If I am in the hands of the law let things
be done in a legal way."

"Well, that's reasonable enough," said
Lestrade. "Nothing further you have to say, Mr.
Holmes, before we go?"

Holmes had picked up the powerful air-gun
from the floor and was examining its mechanism.

"An admirable and unique weapon," said he,
"noiseless and of tremendous power. I knew Von
Herder, the blind German mechanic, who con-
structed it to the order of the late Professor Mo-
riarty. For years I have been aware of its existence,
though I have never before had the opportunity of
handling it. I commend it very specially to your
attention, Lestrade, and also the bullets which fit
it."

"You can trust us to look after that, Mr.
Holmes," said Lestrade, as the whole party moved
towards the door. "Anything further to say?"

"Only to ask what charge you intend to pre-
fer?"

"What charge, sir? Why, of course, the at-
tempted murder of Mr. Sherlock Holmes."

"Not so, Lestrade. I do not propose to appear
in the matter at all. To you, and to you only, be-
longs the credit of the remarkable arrest which you
have effected. Yes, Lestrade, I congratulate you!

With your usual happy mixture of cunning and
audacity you have got him."

"Got him! Got whom, Mr. Holmes?"

"The man that the whole force has been seek-
ing in vain — Colonel Sebastian Moran, who shot
the Honourable Ronald Adair with an expanding
bullet from an air-gun through the open window
of the second-floor front of No. 427, Park Lane,
upon the 30th of last month. That's the charge,
Lestrade. And now, Watson, if you can endure the
draught from a broken window, I think that half
an hour in my study over a cigar may afford you
some profitable amusement."

Our old chambers had been left unchanged
through the supervision of Mycroft Holmes and
the immediate care of Mrs. Hudson. As I en-
tered I saw, it is true, an unwonted tidiness, but
the old landmarks were all in their place. There
were the chemical corner and the acid-stained,
deal-topped table. There upon a shelf was the
row of formidable scrap-books and books of ref-
erence which many of our fellow-citizens would
have been so glad to burn. The diagrams, the
violin-case, and the pipe-rack — even the Persian
slipper which contained the tobacco — all met my
eyes as I glanced round me. There were two
occupants of the room — one Mrs. Hudson, who
beamed upon us both as we entered; the other
the strange dummy which had played so impor-
tant a part in the evening's adventures. It was a
wax-coloured model of my friend, so admirably
done that it was a perfect facsimile. It stood on a
small pedestal table with an old dressing-gown of
Holmes's so draped round it that the illusion from
the street was absolutely perfect.

"I hope you preserved all precautions, Mrs.
Hudson?" said Holmes.

"I went to it on my knees, sir, just as you told
me."

"Excellent. You carried the thing out very well.
Did you observe where the bullet went?"

"Yes, sir. I'm afraid it has spoilt your beauti-
ful bust, for it passed right through the head and
flattened itself on the wall. I picked it up from the
carpet. Here it is!"

Holmes held it out to me. "A soft revolver bul-
let, as you perceive, Watson. There's genius in
that, for who would expect to find such a thing
fired from an air-gun. All right, Mrs. Hudson, I
am much obliged for your assistance. And now,
Watson, let me see you in your old seat once more,
for there are several points which I should like to
discuss with you."

426

The Adventure of the Empty House

He had thrown off the seedy frock-coat, and
now he was the Holmes of old in the mouse-
coloured dressing-gown which he took from his
effigy

"The old shikari's nerves have not lost their
steadiness nor his eyes their keenness," said he,
with a laugh, as he inspected the shattered fore-
head of his bust.

"Plumb in the middle of the back of the head
and smack through the brain. He was the best shot
in India, and I expect that there are few better in
London. Have you heard the name?"

"No, I have not."

"Well, well, such is fame! But, then, if I remem-
ber aright, you had not heard the name of Pro-
fessor James Moriarty, who had one of the great
brains of the century. Just give me down my index
of biographies from the shelf."

He turned over the pages lazily, leaning back in
his chair and blowing great clouds from his cigar.

"My collection of M's is a fine one," said he.
"Moriarty himself is enough to make any letter il-
lustrious, and here is Morgan the poisoner, and
Merridew of abominable memory, and Mathews,
who knocked out my left canine in the waiting-
room at Charing Cross, and, finally, here is our
friend of to-night."

He handed over the book, and I read:

Moran, Sebastian, Colonel. Unem-
ployed. Formerly ist Bengalore Pi-
oneers. Born London, 1840. Son
of Sir Augustus Moran, C.B., once
British Minister to Persia. Edu-
cated Eton and Oxford. Served in
Jowaki Campaign, Afghan Campaign,
Charasiab (despatches), Sherpur, and
Cabul. Author of Heavy Game of the
Western Himalayas, 1881; Three Months
in the Jungle, 1884. Address: Conduit
Street. Clubs: The Anglo-Indian, the
Tankerville, the Bagatelle Card Club.

On the margin was written, in Holmes's precise
hand:

The second most dangerous man in
London.

"This is astonishing," said I, as I handed back
the volume. "The man's career is that of an hon-
ourable soldier."

"It is true," Holmes answered. "Up to a cer-
tain point he did well. He was always a man of

iron nerve, and the story is still told in India how
he crawled down a drain after a wounded man-
eating tiger. There are some trees, Watson, which
grow to a certain height and then suddenly de-
velop some unsightly eccentricity. You will see it
often in humans. I have a theory that the individ-
ual represents in his development the whole pro-
cession of his ancestors, and that such a sudden
turn to good or evil stands for some strong influ-
ence which came into the line of his pedigree. The
person becomes, as it were, the epitome of the his-
tory of his own family."

"It is surely rather fanciful."

"Well, I don't insist upon it. Whatever the
cause. Colonel Moran began to go wrong. With-
out any open scandal he still made India too hot to
hold him. He retired, came to London, and again
acquired an evil name. It was at this time that he
was sought out by Professor Moriarty, to whom for
a time he was chief of the staff. Moriarty supplied
him liberally with money and used him only in
one or two very high-class jobs which no ordinary
criminal could have undertaken. You may have
some recollection of the death of Mrs. Stewart, of
Lauder, in 1887. Not? Well, I am sure Moran was
at the bottom of it; but nothing could be proved.
So cleverly was the Colonel concealed that even
when the Moriarty gang was broken up we could
not incriminate him. You remember at that date,
when I called upon you in your rooms, how I put
up the shutters for fear of air-guns? No doubt you
thought me fanciful. I knew exactly what I was
doing, for I knew of the existence of this remark-
able gun, and I knew also that one of the best shots
in the world would be behind it. When we were
in Switzerland he followed us with Moriarty, and
it was undoubtedly he who gave me that evil five
minutes on the Reichenbach ledge.

"You may think that I read the papers with
some attention during my sojourn in France, on
the look-out for any chance of laying him by the
heels. So long as he was free in London my life
would really not have been worth living. Night
and day the shadow would have been over me,
and sooner or later his chance must have come.
What could I do? I could not shoot him at sight,
or I should myself be in the dock. There was no
use appealing to a magistrate. They cannot inter-
fere on the strength of what would appear to them
to be a wild suspicion. So I could do nothing. But
I watched the criminal news, knowing that sooner
or later I should get him. Then came the death
of this Ronald Adair. My chance had come at
last! Knowing what I did, was it not certain that

427

Colonel Moran had done it? He had played cards
with the lad; he had followed him home from the
club; he had shot him through the open window.
There was not a doubt of it. The bullets alone are
enough to put his head in a noose. I came over
at once. I was seen by the sentinel, who would,
I knew, direct the Colonel's attention to my pres-
ence. He could not fail to connect my sudden re-
turn with his crime and to be terribly alarmed. I
was sure that he would make an attempt to get
me out of the way at once, and would bring round
his murderous weapon for that purpose. I left
him an excellent mark in the window, and, having
warned the police that they might be needed — by
the way, Watson, you spotted their presence in that
doorway with unerring accuracy — I took up what
seemed to me to be a judicious post for observa-
tion, never dreaming that he would choose the
same spot for his attack. Now, my dear Watson,
does anything remain for me to explain?"

"Yes," said I. "You have not made it clear what
was Colonel Moran's motive in murdering the
Honourable Ronald Adair."

"Ah! my dear Watson, there we come into
those realms of conjecture where the most logical
mind may be at fault. Each may form his own hy-
pothesis upon the present evidence, and yours is
as likely to be correct as mine."

"You have formed one, then?"

"I think that it is not difficult to explain the
facts. It came out in evidence that Colonel Moran

and young Adair had between them won a consid-
erable amount of money. Now, Moran undoubt-
edly played foul — of that I have long been aware.
I believe that on the day of the murder Adair had
discovered that Moran was cheating. Very likely
he had spoken to him privately, and had threat-
ened to expose him unless he voluntarily resigned
his membership of the club and promised not to
play cards again. It is unlikely that a youngster
like Adair would at once make a hideous scandal
by exposing a well-known man so much older than
himself. Probably he acted as I suggest. The exclu-
sion from his clubs would mean ruin to Moran,
who lived by his ill-gotten card gains. He there-
fore murdered Adair, who at the time was endeav-
ouring to work out how much money he should
himself return, since he could not profit by his
partner's foul play. He locked the door lest the
ladies should surprise him and insist upon know-
ing what he was doing with these names and
coins. Will it pass?"

"I have no doubt that you have hit upon the
truth."

"It will be verified or disproved at the trial.
Meanwhile, come what may. Colonel Moran will
trouble us no more, the famous air-gun of Von
Herder will embellish the Scotland Yard Museum,
and once again Mr. Sherlock Holmes is free to
devote his life to examining those interesting lit-
tle problems which the complex life of London so
plentifully presents."

The Adventure of the Norwood Builder

rom the point of view of the crimi-
nal expert," said Mr. Sherlock Holmes,
"London has become a singularly unin-
teresting city since the death of the late
lamented Professor Moriarty."

"I can hardly think that you would find many
decent citizens to agree with you," I answered.

"Well, well, I must not be selfish," said he,
with a smile, as he pushed back his chair from the
breakfast-table. "The community is certainly the
gainer, and no one the loser, save the poor out-of-
work specialist, whose occupation has gone. With
that man in the field one's morning paper pre-
sented infinite possibilities. Often it was only the
smallest trace, Watson, the faintest indication, and
yet it was enough to tell me that the great malig-
nant brain was there, as the gentlest tremors of the
edges of the web remind one of the foul spider
which lurks in the centre. Petty thefts, wanton as-
saults, purposeless outrage — to the man who held
the clue all could be worked into one connected
whole. To the scientific student of the higher crim-
inal world no capital in Europe offered the advan-
tages which London then possessed. But now — "
He shrugged his shoulders in humorous depreca-
tion of the state of things which he had himself
done so much to produce.

At the time of which I speak Holmes had been
back for some months, and I, at his request, had
sold my practice and returned to share the old
quarters in Baker Street. A young doctor, named
Verner, had purchased my small Kensington prac-
tice, and given with astonishingly little demur
the highest price that I ventured to ask — an inci-
dent which only explained itself some years later
when I found that Verner was a distant relation
of Holmes's, and that it was my friend who had
really found the money.

Our months of partnership had not been so un-
eventful as he had stated, for I find, on looking
over my notes, that this period includes the case
of the papers of Ex-President Murillo, and also the
shocking affair of the Dutch steamship Friesland,
which so nearly cost us both our lives. His cold
and proud nature was always averse, however, to
anything in the shape of public applause, and he
bound me in the most stringent terms to say no
further word of himself, his methods, or his suc-
cesses — a prohibition which, as I have explained,
has only now been removed.

Mr. Sherlock Holmes was leaning back in his
chair after his whimsical protest, and was unfold-
ing his morning paper in a leisurely fashion, when
our attention was arrested by a tremendous ring at

the bell, followed immediately by a hollow drum-
ming sound, as if someone were beating on the
outer door with his fist. As it opened there came a
tumultuous rush into the hall, rapid feet clattered
up the stair, and an instant later a wild-eyed and
frantic young man, pale, dishevelled, and palpitat-
ing, burst into the room. He looked from one to
the other of us, and under our gaze of inquiry he
became conscious that some apology was needed
for this unceremonious entry.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Holmes," he cried. "You
mustn't blame me. I am nearly mad. Mr. Holmes,
I am the unhappy John Hector McFarlane."

He made the announcement as if the name
alone would explain both his visit and its manner;
but I could see by my companion's unresponsive
face that it meant no more to him than to me.

"Have a cigarette, Mr. McFarlane," said he,
pushing his case across. "I am sure that with your
symptoms my friend Dr. Watson here would pre-
scribe a sedative. The weather has been so very
warm these last few days. Now, if you feel a lit-
tle more composed, I should be glad if you would
sit down in that chair and tell us very slowly and
quietly who you are and what it is that you want.
You mentioned your name as if I should recognise
it, but I assure you that, beyond the obvious facts
that you are a bachelor, a solicitor, a Freemason,
and an asthmatic, I know nothing whatever about
you."

Familiar as I was with my friend's methods, it
was not difficult for me to follow his deductions,
and to observe the untidiness of attire, the sheaf of
legal papers, the watch-charm, and the breathing
which had prompted them. Our client, however,
stared in amazement.

"Yes, I am all that, Mr. Holmes, and in addition
I am the most unfortunate man at this moment in
London. For Heaven's sake don't abandon me, Mr.
Holmes! If they come to arrest me before I have
finished my story, make them give me time so that
I may tell you the whole truth. I could go to jail
happy if I knew that you were working for me out-
side."

"Arrest you!" said Holmes. "This is really most
grati — most interesting. On what charge do you
expect to be arrested?"

"Upon the charge of murdering Mr. Jonas
Oldacre, of Lower Norwood."

My companion's expressive face showed a
sympathy which was not, I am afraid, entirely un-
mixed with satisfaction.

431

The Adventure of the Norwood Builder

"Dear me," said he; "it was only this moment at
breakfast that I was saying to my friend. Dr. Wat-
son, that sensational cases had disappeared out of
our papers."

Our visitor stretched forward a quivering hand
and picked up the Daily Telegraph, which still lay
upon Holmes's knee.

"If you had looked at it, sir, you would have
seen at a glance what the errand is on which I
have come to you this morning. I feel as if my
name and my misfortune must be in every man's
mouth." He turned it over to expose the central
page. "Here it is, and with your permission I will
read it to you. Listen to this, Mr. Holmes. The
head-lines are: 'Mysterious Affair at Lower Nor-
wood. Disappearance of a Well-known Builder.
Suspicion of Murder and Arson. A Clue to the
Criminal.' That is the clue which they are already
following, Mr. Holmes, and I know that it leads
infallibly to me. I have been followed from Lon-
don Bridge Station, and I am sure that they are
only waiting for the warrant to arrest me. It will
break my mother's heart — it will break her heart!"
He wrung his hands in an agony of apprehension,
and swayed backwards and forwards in his chair.

1 looked with interest upon this man, who was
accused of being the perpetrator of a crime of vi-
olence. He was flaxen-haired and handsome in a
washed-out negative fashion, with frightened blue
eyes and a clean-shaven face, with a weak, sensi-
tive mouth. His age may have been about twenty-
seven; his dress and bearing that of a gentleman.
From the pocket of his light summer overcoat pro-
truded the bundle of endorsed papers which pro-
claimed his profession.

"We must use what time we have," said
Holmes. "Watson, would you have the kindness
to take the paper and to read me the paragraph in
question?"

Underneath the vigorous head-lines which our
client had quoted I read the following suggestive
narrative: —

" Late last night, or early this morning, an
incident occurred at Lower Norzvood which
points, it is feared, to a serious crime. Mr.

Jonas Oldacre is a well-known resident of
that suburb, where he has carried on his
business as a builder for many years. Mr.
Oldacre is a bachelor, fifty-two years of
age, and lives in Deep Dene House, at the
Sydenham end of the road of that name.

He has had the reputation of being a man
of eccentric habits, secretive and retiring.

For some years he has practically with-
drawn from the business, in which he is
said to have amassed considerable wealth.
A small timber-yard still exists, however,
at the back of the house, and last night,
about twelve o'clock, an alarm was given
that one of the stacks was on fire. The en-
gines were soon upon the spot, but the dry
wood burned with great fury, and it was
impossible to arrest the conflagration un-
til the stack had been entirely consumed.
Up to this point the incident bore the ap-
pearance of an ordinary accident, but fresh
indications seem to point to serious crime.
Surprise was expressed at the absence of
the master of the establishment from the
scene of the fire, and an inquiry followed,
which shozved that he had disappeared from
the house. An examination of his room re-
vealed that the bed had not been slept in,
that a safe which stood in it was open, that a
number of important papers were scattered
about the room, and, finally, that there were
signs of a murderous struggle, slight traces
of blood being found within the room, and
an oaken zvalking-stick, which also shozved
stains of blood upon the handle. It is knozvn
that Mr. Jonas Oldacre had received a late
visitor in his bedroom upon that night, and
the stick found has been identified as the
property of this person, zvho is a young
London solicitor named John Hector Mc-
Farlane, junior partner of Graham and Mc-
Farlane, of 426, Gresham Buildings, E.C.
The police believe that they have evidence
in their possession which supplies a very
convincing motive for the crime, and alto-
gether it cannot be doubted that sensational
developments will follow.

"Later. — It is rumoured as zve go to press
that Mr. John Hector McFarlane has ac-
tually been arrested on the charge of the
murder of Mr. Jonas Oldacre. It is at
least certain that a zvarrant has been issued.
There have been further and sinister devel-
opments in the investigation at Norzvood.
Besides the signs of a struggle in the room
of the unfortunate builder it is nozv knozvn
that the French zvindozvs of his bedroom
(zvhich is on the ground floor) zvere found
to be open, that there zvere marks as if some
bulky object had been dragged across to the
zvood-pile, and, finally, it is asserted that
charred remains have been found among the
charcoal ashes of the fire. The police theory

432

The Adventure of the Norwood Builder

is that a most sensational crime has been
committed, that the victim was clubbed to
death in his own bedroom, his papers ri-
fled, and his dead body dragged across to
the zvood-stack, zvhich zvas then ignited so
as to hide all traces of the crime. The con-
duct of the criminal investigation has been
left in the experienced hands of Inspector
Lestrade, of Scotland Yard, who is follow-
ing up the clues with his accustomed en-
ergy and sagacity."

Sherlock Holmes listened with closed eyes and
finger-tips together to this remarkable account.

"The case has certainly some points of inter-
est," said he, in his languid fashion. "May I ask,
in the first place, Mr. McFarlane, how it is that you
are still at liberty, since there appears to be enough
evidence to justify your arrest?"

"I live at Torrington Lodge, Blackheath, with
my parents, Mr. Holmes; but last night, having
to do business very late with Mr. Jonas Oldacre,
I stayed at an hotel in Norwood, and came to my
business from there. I knew nothing of this affair
until I was in the train, when I read what you have
just heard. I at once saw the horrible danger of my
position, and I hurried to put the case into your
hands. I have no doubt that I should have been
arrested either at my City office or at my home. A
man followed me from London Bridge Station, and
I have no doubt — Great Heaven, what is that?"

It was a clang of the bell, followed instantly by
heavy steps upon the stair. A moment later our
old friend Lestrade appeared in the doorway. Over
his shoulder I caught a glimpse of one or two uni-
formed policemen outside.

"Mr. John Hector McFarlane?" said Lestrade.

Our unfortunate client rose with a ghastly face.

"I arrest you for the wilful murder of Mr. Jonas
Oldacre, of Lower Norwood."

McFarlane turned to us with a gesture of de-
spair, and sank into his chair once more like one
who is crushed.

"One moment, Lestrade," said Holmes. "Half
an hour more or less can make no difference to
you, and the gentleman was about to give us an
account of this very interesting affair, which might
aid us in clearing it up."

"I think there will be no difficulty in clearing it
up," said Lestrade, grimly.

"None the less, with your permission, I should
be much interested to hear his account."

"Well, Mr. Holmes, it is difficult for me to
refuse you anything, for you have been of use to
the force once or twice in the past, and we owe
you a good turn at Scotland Yard," said Lestrade.
"At the same time I must remain with my prisoner,
and I am bound to warn him that anything he may
say will appear in evidence against him."

"I wish nothing better," said our client. "All I
ask is that you should hear and recognise the ab-
solute truth."

Lestrade looked at his watch. "I'll give you half
an hour," said he.

"I must explain first," said McFarlane, "that I
knew nothing of Mr. Jonas Oldacre. His name
was familiar to me, for many years ago my par-
ents were acquainted with him, but they drifted
apart. I was very much surprised, therefore, when
yesterday, about three o'clock in the afternoon, he
walked into my office in the City. But I was still
more astonished when he told me the object of his
visit. He had in his hand several sheets of a note-
book, covered with scribbled writing — here they
are — and he laid them on my table.

" 'Here is my will/ said he. 'I want you, Mr.
McFarlane, to cast it into proper legal shape. I will
sit here while you do so.'

"I set myself to copy it, and you can imagine
my astonishment when I found that, with some
reservations, he had left all his property to me.
He was a strange little, ferret-like man, with white
eyelashes, and when I looked up at him I found his
keen grey eyes fixed upon me with an amused ex-
pression. I could hardly believe my own senses as
I read the terms of the will; but he explained that
he was a bachelor with hardly any living relation,
that he had known my parents in his youth, and
that he had always heard of me as a very deserv-
ing young man, and was assured that his money
would be in worthy hands. Of course, I could only
stammer out my thanks. The will was duly fin-
ished, signed, and witnessed by my clerk. This
is it on the blue paper, and these slips, as I have
explained, are the rough draft. Mr. Jonas Oldacre
then informed me that there were a number of doc-
uments — building leases, title-deeds, mortgages,
scrip, and so forth — which it was necessary that I
should see and understand. He said that his mind
would not be easy until the whole thing was set-
tled, and he begged me to come out to his house
at Norwood that night, bringing the will with me,
and to arrange matters. 'Remember, my boy, not
one word to your parents about the affair until ev-
erything is settled. We will keep it as a little sur-
prise for them.' He was very insistent upon this
point, and made me promise it faithfully.

433

The Adventure of the Norwood Builder

"You can imagine, Mr. Holmes, that I was not
in a humour to refuse him anything that he might
ask. He was my benefactor, and all my desire was
to carry out his wishes in every particular. I sent a
telegram home, therefore, to say that I had impor-
tant business on hand, and that it was impossible
for me to say how late I might be. Mr. Oldacre
had told me that he would like me to have supper
with him at nine, as he might not be home be-
fore that hour. I had some difficulty in finding his
house, however, and it was nearly half-past before
I reached it. I found him — "

"One moment!" said Holmes. "Who opened
the door?"

"A middle-aged woman, who was, I suppose,
his housekeeper."

"And it was she, I presume, who mentioned
your name?"

"Exactly," said McFarlane.

"Pray proceed."

McFarlane wiped his damp brow and then con-
tinued his narrative: —

"I was shown by this woman into a sitting-
room, where a frugal supper was laid out. Af-
terwards Mr. Jonas Oldacre led me into his bed-
room, in which there stood a heavy safe. This he
opened and took out a mass of documents, which
we went over together. It was between eleven and
twelve when we finished. He remarked that we
must not disturb the housekeeper. He showed me
out through his own French window, which had
been open all this time."

"Was the blind down?" asked Holmes.

"I will not be sure, but I believe that it was only
half down. Yes, I remember how he pulled it up
in order to swing open the window. I could not
find my stick, and he said, 'Never mind, my boy;
I shall see a good deal of you now, I hope, and I
will keep your stick until you come back to claim
it.' I left him there, the safe open, and the papers
made up in packets upon the table. It was so late
that I could not get back to Blackheath, so I spent
the night at the Anerley Arms, and I knew noth-
ing more until I read of this horrible affair in the
morning."

"Anything more that you would like to ask,
Mr. Holmes?" said Lestrade, whose eyebrows had
gone up once or twice during this remarkable ex-
planation.

"Not until I have been to Blackheath."

"You mean to Norwood," said Lestrade.

"Oh, yes; no doubt that is what I must have
meant," said Holmes, with his enigmatical smile.
Lestrade had learned by more experiences than
he would care to acknowledge that that razor-like
brain could cut through that which was impenetra-
ble to him. I saw him look curiously at my com-
panion.

"I think I should like to have a word with you
presently, Mr. Sherlock Holmes," said he. "Now,
Mr. McFarlane, two of my constables are at the
door and there is a four-wheeler waiting." The
wretched young man arose, and with a last be-
seeching glance at us walked from the room. The
officers conducted him to the cab, but Lestrade re-
mained.

Holmes had picked up the pages which formed
the rough draft of the will, and was looking at
them with the keenest interest upon his face.

"There are some points about that document,
Lestrade, are there not?" said he, pushing them
over.

The official looked at them with a puzzled ex-
pression.

"I can read the first few lines, and these in the
middle of the second page, and one or two at the
end. Those are as clear as print," said he; "but the
writing in between is very bad, and there are three
places where I cannot read it at all."

"What do you make of that?" said Holmes.

"Well, what do you make of it?"

"That it was written in a train; the good writ-
ing represents stations, the bad writing movement,
and the very bad writing passing over points. A
scientific expert would pronounce at once that this
was drawn up on a suburban line, since nowhere
save in the immediate vicinity of a great city could
there be so quick a succession of points. Grant-
ing that his whole journey was occupied in draw-
ing up the will, then the train was an express,
only stopping once between Norwood and Lon-
don Bridge."

Lestrade began to laugh.

"You are too many for me when you begin to
get on your theories, Mr. Holmes," said he. "How
does this bear on the case?"

"Well, it corroborates the young man's story to
the extent that the will was drawn up by Jonas
Oldacre in his journey yesterday. It is curious — is
it not? — that a man should draw up so important
a document in so haphazard a fashion. It sug-
gests that he did not think it was going to be of
much practical importance. If a man drew up a

434

The Adventure of the Norwood Builder

will which he did not intend ever to be effective he
might do it so."

"Well, he drew up his own death-warrant at the
same time," said Lestrade.

"Oh, you think so?"

"Don't you?"

"Well, it is quite possible; but the case is not
clear to me yet."

"Not clear? Well, if that isn't clear, what could
be clear? Here is a young man who learns sud-
denly that if a certain older man dies he will suc-
ceed to a fortune. What does he do? He says
nothing to anyone, but he arranges that he shall
go out on some pretext to see his client that night;
he waits until the only other person in the house
is in bed, and then in the solitude of a man's room
he murders him, burns his body in the wood-pile,
and departs to a neighbouring hotel. The blood-
stains in the room and also on the stick are very
slight. It is probable that he imagined his crime
to be a bloodless one, and hoped that if the body
were consumed it would hide all traces of the
method of his death — traces which for some rea-
son must have pointed to him. Is all this not obvi-
ous?"

"It strikes me, my good Lestrade, as being just
a trifle too obvious," said Holmes. "You do not
add imagination to your other great qualities; but
if you could for one moment put yourself in the
place of this young man, would you choose the
very night after the will had been made to commit
your crime? Would it not seem dangerous to you
to make so very close a relation between the two
incidents? Again, would you choose an occasion
when you are known to be in the house, when a
servant has let you in? And, finally, would you
take the great pains to conceal the body and yet
leave your own stick as a sign that you were the
criminal? Confess, Lestrade, that all this is very
unlikely."

"As to the stick, Mr. Holmes, you know as well
as I do that a criminal is often flurried and does
things which a cool man would avoid. He was
very likely afraid to go back to the room. Give me
another theory that would fit the facts."

"I could very easily give you half-a-dozen,"
said Holmes. "Here, for example, is a very pos-
sible and even probable one. I make you a free
present of it. The older man is showing documents
which are of evident value. A passing tramp sees
them through the window, the blind of which is
only half down. Exit the solicitor. Enter the tramp!

He seizes a stick, which he observes there, kills
Oldacre, and departs after burning the body."

"Why should the tramp burn the body?"

"For the matter of that why should McFar-
lane?"

"To hide some evidence."

"Possibly the tramp wanted to hide that any
murder at all had been committed."

"And why did the tramp take nothing?"

"Because they were papers that he could not
negotiate."

Lestrade shook his head, though it seemed to
me that his manner was less absolutely assured
than before.

"Well, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, you may look for
your tramp, and while you are finding him we will
hold on to our man. The future will show which
is right. Just notice this point, Mr. Holmes: that so
far as we know none of the papers were removed,
and that the prisoner is the one man in the world
who had no reason for removing them, since he
was heir-at-law and would come into them in any
case."

My friend seemed struck by this remark.

"I don't mean to deny that the evidence is in
some ways very strongly in favour of your the-
ory," said he. "I only wish to point out that there
are other theories possible. As you say, the future
will decide. Good morning! I dare say that in the
course of the day I shall drop in at Norwood and
see how you are getting on."

When the detective departed my friend rose
and made his preparations for the day's work with
the alert air of a man who has a congenial task be-
fore him.

"My first movement, Watson," said he, as he
bustled into his frock-coat, "must, as I said, be in
the direction of Blackheath."

"And why not Norwood?"

"Because we have in this case one singular in-
cident coming close to the heels of another singu-
lar incident. The police are making the mistake
of concentrating their attention upon the second,
because it happens to be the one which is actu-
ally criminal. But it is evident to me that the logi-
cal way to approach the case is to begin by trying
to throw some light upon the first incident — the
curious will, so suddenly made, and to so unex-
pected an heir. It may do something to simplify
what followed. No, my dear fellow, I don't think
you can help me. There is no prospect of dan-
ger, or I should not dream of stirring out without
you. I trust that when I see you in the evening I
will be able to report that I have been able to do

435

The Adventure of the Norwood Builder

something for this unfortunate youngster who has
thrown himself upon my protection."

It was late when my friend returned, and I
could see by a glance at his haggard and anxious
face that the high hopes with which he had started
had not been fulfilled. For an hour he droned away
upon his violin, endeavouring to soothe his own
ruffled spirits. At last he flung down the instru-
ment and plunged into a detailed account of his
misadventures .

"It's all going wrong, Watson — all as wrong as
it can go. I kept a bold face before Lestrade, but,
upon my soul, I believe that for once the fellow is
on the right track and we are on the wrong. All my
instincts are one way and all the facts are the other,
and I much fear that British juries have not yet
attained that pitch of intelligence when they will
give the preference to my theories over Lestrade's
facts."

"Did you go to Blackheath?"

"Yes, Watson, I went there, and I found very
quickly that the late lamented Oldacre was a pretty
considerable black-guard. The father was away in
search of his son. The mother was at home — a
little, fluffy, blue-eyed person, in a tremor of fear
and indignation. Of course, she would not admit
even the possibility of his guilt. But she would not
express either surprise or regret over the fate of
Oldacre. On the contrary, she spoke of him with
such bitterness that she was unconsciously consid-
erably strengthening the case of the police, for, of
course, if her son had heard her speak of the man
in this fashion it would predispose him towards
hatred and violence. 'He was more like a malig-
nant and cunning ape than a human being/ said
she, 'and he always was, ever since he was a young
man.'

" 'You knew him at that time?' said I.

" 'Yes, I knew him well; in fact, he was an old
suitor of mine. Thank Heaven that I had the sense
to turn away from him and to marry a better, if a
poorer, man. I was engaged to him, Mr. Holmes,
when I heard a shocking story of how he had
turned a cat loose in an aviary, and I was so horri-
fied at his brutal cruelty that I would have nothing
more to do with him.' She rummaged in a bu-
reau, and presently she produced a photograph of
a woman, shamefully defaced and mutilated with
a knife. 'That is my own photograph,' she said.
'He sent it to me in that state, with his curse, upon
my wedding morning.'

" 'Well,' said I, 'at least he has forgiven you
now, since he has left all his property to your son.'

" 'Neither my son nor I want anything from
Jonas Oldacre, dead or alive,' she cried, with a
proper spirit. 'There is a God in Heaven, Mr.
Holmes, and that same God who has punished
that wicked man will show in His own good time
that my son's hands are guiltless of his blood.'

"Well, I tried one or two leads, but could get
at nothing which would help our hypothesis, and
several points which would make against it. I gave
it up at last and off I went to Norwood.

"This place. Deep Dene House, is a big mod-
ern villa of staring brick, standing back in its own
grounds, with a laurel-clumped lawn in front of it.
To the right and some distance back from the road
was the timber-yard which had been the scene of
the fire. Here's a rough plan on a leaf of my
note-book. This window on the left is the one
which opens into Oldacre's room. You can look
into it from the road, you see. That is about the
only bit of consolation I have had to-day. Lestrade
was not there, but his head constable did the hon-
ours. They had just made a great treasure-trove.
They had spent the morning raking among the
ashes of the burned wood-pile, and besides the
charred organic remains they had secured sev-
eral discoloured metal discs. I examined them
with care, and there was no doubt that they were
trouser buttons. I even distinguished that one of
them was marked with the name of 'Hyams,' who
was Oldacre's tailor. I then worked the lawn very
carefully for signs and traces, but this drought has
made everything as hard as iron. Nothing was to
be seen save that some body or bundle had been
dragged through a low privet hedge which is in a
line with the wood-pile. All that, of course, fits in
with the official theory. I crawled about the lawn
with an August sun on my back, but I got up at
the end of an hour no wiser than before.

"Well, after this fiasco I went into the bedroom
and examined that also. The blood-stains were
very slight, mere smears and discolorations, but
undoubtedly fresh. The stick had been removed,
but there also the marks were slight. There is no
doubt about the stick belonging to our client. He
admits it. Footmarks of both men could be made
out on the carpet, but none of any third person,
which again is a trick for the other side. They were
piling up their score all the time and we were at a
standstill.

"Only one little gleam of hope did I get — and
yet it amounted to nothing. I examined the con-
tents of the safe, most of which had been taken out
and left on the table. The papers had been made
up into sealed envelopes, one or two of which had

436

The Adventure of the Norwood Builder

been opened by the police. They were not, so far
as I could judge, of any great value, nor did the
bank-book show that Mr. Oldacre was in such very
affluent circumstances. But it seemed to me that all
the papers were not there. There were allusions to
some deeds — possibly the more valuable — which
I could not find. This, of course, if we could def-
initely prove it, would turn Lestrade's argument
against himself, for who would steal a thing if he
knew that he would shortly inherit it?

"Finally, having drawn every other cover and
picked up no scent, I tried my luck with the house-
keeper. Mrs. Lexington is her name, a little, dark,
silent person, with suspicious and sidelong eyes.
She could tell us something if she would — I am
convinced of it. But she was as close as wax.
Yes, she had let Mr. McFarlane in at half-past nine.
She wished her hand had withered before she had
done so. She had gone to bed at half-past ten. Tier
room was at the other end of the house, and she
could hear nothing of what passed. Mr. McFar-
lane had left his hat, and to the best of her belief
his stick, in the hall. She had been awakened by
the alarm of fire. Tier poor, dear master had cer-
tainly been murdered. Flad he any enemies? Well,
every man had enemies, but Mr. Oldacre kept him-
self very much to himself, and only met people in
the way of business. She had seen the buttons, and
was sure that they belonged to the clothes which
he had worn last night. The wood-pile was very
dry, for it had not rained for a month. It burned
like tinder, and by the time she reached the spot
nothing could be seen but flames. She and all
the firemen smelled the burned flesh from inside
it. She knew nothing of the papers, nor of Mr.
Oldacre's private affairs.

"So, my dear Watson, there's my report of a
failure. And yet — and yet — " — he clenched his
thin hands in a paroxysm of conviction — "I know
it's all wrong. I feel it in my bones. There is some-
thing that has not come out, and that housekeeper
knows it. There was a sort of sulky defiance in
her eyes, which only goes with guilty knowledge.
Flowever, there's no good talking any more about
it, Watson; but unless some lucky chance comes
our way I fear that the Norwood Disappearance
Case will not figure in that chronicle of our suc-
cesses which I foresee that a patient public will
sooner or later have to endure."

"Surely," said I, "the man's appearance would
go far with any jury?"

"That is a dangerous argument, my dear Wat-
son. You remember that terrible murderer, Bert
Stevens, who wanted us to get him off in '87? Was

there ever a more mild-mannered, Sunday-school
young man?"

"It is true."

"Unless we succeed in establishing an alter-
native theory this man is lost. You can hardly
find a flaw in the case which can now be pre-
sented against him, and all further investigation
has served to strengthen it. By the way, there is
one curious little point about those papers which
may serve us as the starting-point for an inquiry.
On looking over the bank-book I found that the
low state of the balance was principally due to
large cheques which have been made out during
the last year to Mr. Cornelius. I confess that I
should be interested to know who this Mr. Cor-
nelius may be with whom a retired builder has
such very large transactions. Is it possible that he
has had a hand in the affair? Cornelius might be a
broker, but we have found no scrip to correspond
with these large payments. Failing any other indi-
cation my researches must now take the direction
of an inquiry at the bank for the gentleman who
has cashed these cheques. But I fear, my dear fel-
low, that our case will end ingloriously by Lestrade
hanging our client, which will certainly be a tri-
umph for Scotland Yard."

I do not know how far Sherlock Flolmes took
any sleep that night, but when I came down to
breakfast I found him pale and harassed, his bright
eyes the brighter for the dark shadows round
them. The carpet round his chair was littered with
cigarette-ends and with the early editions of the
morning papers. An open telegram lay upon the
table.

"What do you think of this, Watson?" he asked,
tossing it across.

It was from Norwood, and ran as follows:

"Important fresh evidence to hand.
McFarlane's guilt definitely estab-
lished. Advise you to abandon case.

— Lestrade.

"This sounds serious," said I.

"It is Lestrade's little cock-a-doodle of victory,"
Flolmes answered, with a bitter smile. "And yet
it may be premature to abandon the case. After
all, important fresh evidence is a two-edged thing,
and may possibly cut in a very different direction
to that which Lestrade imagines. Take your break-
fast, Watson, and we will go out together and see
what we can do. I feel as if I shall need your com-
pany and your moral support to-day."

437

The Adventure of the Norwood Builder

My friend had no breakfast himself, for it was
one of his peculiarities that in his more intense mo-
ments he would permit himself no food, and I have
known him presume upon his iron strength until
he has fainted from pure inanition. "At present
I cannot spare energy and nerve force for diges-
tion," he would say in answer to my medical re-
monstrances. I was not surprised, therefore, when
this morning he left his untouched meal behind
him and started with me for Norwood. A crowd
of morbid sightseers were still gathered round
Deep Dene House, which was just such a suburban
villa as I had pictured. Within the gates Lestrade
met us, his face flushed with victory, his manner
grossly triumphant.

"Well, Mr. Holmes, have you proved us to be
wrong yet? Have you found your tramp?" he
cried.

"I have formed no conclusion whatever," my
companion answered.

"But we formed ours yesterday, and now it
proves to be correct; so you must acknowledge that
we have been a little in front of you this time, Mr.
Holmes."

"You certainly have the air of something un-
usual having occurred," said Holmes.

Lestrade laughed loudly.

"You don't like being beaten any more than the
rest of us do," said he. "A man can't expect always
to have it his own way, can he. Dr. Watson? Step
this way, if you please, gentlemen, and I think I
can convince you once for all that it was John Mc-
Farlane who did this crime."

He led us through the passage and out into a
dark hall beyond.

"This is where young McFarlane must have
come out to get his hat after the crime was done,"
said he. "Now, look at this." With dramatic sud-
denness he struck a match and by its light exposed
a stain of blood upon the whitewashed wall. As he
held the match nearer I saw that it was more than
a stain. It was the well-marked print of a thumb.

"Look at that with your magnifying glass, Mr.
Holmes."

"Yes, I am doing so."

"You are aware that no two thumb marks are
alike?"

"I have heard something of the kind."

"Well, then, will you please compare that print
with this wax impression of young McFarlane's
right thumb, taken by my orders this morning?"

As he held the waxen print close to the blood-
stain it did not take a magnifying glass to see that
the two were undoubtedly from the same thumb.
It was evident to me that our unfortunate client
was lost.

"That is final," said Lestrade.

"Yes, that is final," I involuntarily echoed.

"It is final," said Holmes.

Something in his tone caught my ear, and I
turned to look at him. An extraordinary change
had come over his face. It was writhing with in-
ward merriment. His two eyes were shining like
stars. It seemed to me that he was making desper-
ate efforts to restrain a convulsive attack of laugh-
ter.

"Dear me! Dear me!" he said at last. "Well,
now, who would have thought it? And how de-
ceptive appearances may be, to be sure! Such a
nice young man to look at! It is a lesson to us not
to trust our own judgment, is it not, Lestrade?"

"Yes, some of us are a little too much inclined
to be cocksure, Mr. Holmes," said Lestrade. The
man's insolence was maddening, but we could not
resent it.

"What a providential thing that this young man
should press his right thumb against the wall in
taking his hat from the peg! Such a very natural
action, too, if you come to think of it." Holmes was
outwardly calm, but his whole body gave a wrig-
gle of suppressed excitement as he spoke. "By the
way, Lestrade, who made this remarkable discov-
ery?"

"It was the housekeeper, Mrs. Lexington, who
drew the night constable's attention to it."

"Where was the night constable?"

"He remained on guard in the bedroom where
the crime was committed, so as to see that nothing
was touched."

"But why didn't the police see this mark yes-
terday?"

"Well, we had no particular reason to make a
careful examination of the hall. Besides, it's not in
a very prominent place, as you see."

"No, no, of course not. I suppose there is no
doubt that the mark was there yesterday?"

Lestrade looked at Holmes as if he thought he
was going out of his mind. I confess that I was
myself surprised both at his hilarious manner and
at his rather wild observation.

"I don't know whether you think that McFar-
lane came out of jail in the dead of the night in
order to strengthen the evidence against himself,"
said Lestrade. "I leave it to any expert in the world
whether that is not the mark of his thumb."

438

The Adventure of the Norwood Builder

"It is unquestionably the mark of his thumb."

"There, that's enough," said Lestrade. "I am
a practical man, Mr. Holmes, and when I have got
my evidence I come to my conclusions. If you have
anything to say you will find me writing my report
in the sitting-room."

Holmes had recovered his equanimity, though
I still seemed to detect gleams of amusement in his
expression.

"Dear me, this is a very sad development, Wat-
son, is it not?" said he. "And yet there are singular
points about it which hold out some hopes for our
client."

"I am delighted to hear it," said I, heartily. "I
was afraid it was all up with him."

"I would hardly go so far as to say that, my
dear Watson. The fact is that there is one really
serious flaw in this evidence to which our friend
attaches so much importance."

"Indeed, Holmes! What is it?"

"Only this: that I know that that mark was not
there when I examined the hall yesterday. And
now, Watson, let us have a little stroll round in the
sunshine."

With a confused brain, but with a heart into
which some warmth of hope was returning, I ac-
companied my friend in a walk round the garden.
Holmes took each face of the house in turn and
examined it with great interest. He then led the
way inside and went over the whole building from
basement to attics. Most of the rooms were unfur-
nished, but none the less Holmes inspected them
all minutely. Finally, on the top corridor, which
ran outside three untenanted bedrooms, he again
was seized with a spasm of merriment.

"There are really some very unique features
about this case, Watson," said he. "I think it is
time now that we took our friend Lestrade into
our confidence. He has had his little smile at our
expense, and perhaps we may do as much by him
if my reading of this problem proves to be correct.
Yes, yes; I think I see how we should approach it."

The Scotland Yard inspector was still writing in
the parlour when Holmes interrupted him.

"I understood that you were writing a report of
this case," said he.

"So I am."

"Don't you think it may be a little premature? I
can't help thinking that your evidence is not com-
plete."

Lestrade knew my friend too well to disregard
his words. He laid down his pen and looked curi-
ously at him.

"What do you mean, Mr. Holmes?"

"Only that there is an important witness whom
you have not seen."

"Can you produce him?"

"I think I can."

"Then do so."

"I will do my best. How many constables have
you?"

"There are three within call."

"Excellent!" said Holmes. "May I ask if they
are all large, able-bodied men with powerful
voices?"

"I have no doubt they are, though I fail to see
what their voices have to do with it."

"Perhaps I can help you to see that and one or
two other things as well," said Holmes. "Kindly
summon your men, and I will try."

Five minutes later three policemen had assem-
bled in the hall.

"In the outhouse you will find a considerable
quantity of straw," said Holmes. "I will ask you to
carry in two bundles of it. I think it will be of the
greatest assistance in producing the witness whom
I require. Thank you very much. I believe you have
some matches in your pocket, Watson. Now, Mr.
Lestrade, I will ask you all to accompany me to the
top landing."

As I have said, there was a broad corridor there,
which ran outside three empty bedrooms. At one
end of the corridor we were all marshalled by Sher-
lock Holmes, the constables grinning and Lestrade
staring at my friend with amazement, expectation,
and derision chasing each other across his features.
Holmes stood before us with the air of a conjurer
who is performing a trick.

"Would you kindly send one of your consta-
bles for two buckets of water? Put the straw on
the floor here, free from the wall on either side.
Now I think that we are all ready."

Lestrade's face had begun to grow red and an-
gry

"I don't know whether you are playing a game
with us, Mr. Sherlock Holmes," said he. "If you
know anything, you can surely say it without all
this tomfoolery."

"I assure you, my good Lestrade, that I have
an excellent reason for everything that I do. You

439

The Adventure of the Norwood Builder

may possibly remember that you chaffed me a lit-
tle some hours ago, when the sun seemed on your
side of the hedge, so you must not grudge me a
little pomp and ceremony now. Might I ask you,
Watson, to open that window, and then to put a
match to the edge of the straw?"

I did so, and, driven by the draught, a coil of
grey smoke swirled down the corridor, while the
dry straw crackled and flamed.

"Now we must see if we can find this witness
for you, Lestrade. Might I ask you all to join in the
cry of 'Fire!'? Now, then; one, two, three — "

"Fire!" we all yelled.

"Thank you. I will trouble you once again."

"Fire!"

"Just once more, gentlemen, and all together."

"Fire!" The shout must have rung over Nor-
wood.

It had hardly died away when an amazing
thing happened. A door suddenly flew open out
of what appeared to be solid wall at the end of the
corridor, and a little, wizened man darted out of
it, like a rabbit out of its burrow.

"Capital!" said Flolmes, calmly. "Watson, a
bucket of water over the straw. That will do!
Lestrade, allow me to present you with your prin-
cipal missing witness, Mr. Jonas Oldacre."

The detective stared at the new-comer with
blank amazement. The latter was blinking in the
bright light of the corridor, and peering at us
and at the smouldering fire. It was an odious
face — crafty, vicious, malignant, with shifty, light-
grey eyes and white eyelashes.

"What's this, then?" said Lestrade at last.
"What have you been doing all this time, eh?"

Oldacre gave an uneasy laugh, shrinking back
from the furious red face of the angry detective.

"I have done no harm."

"No harm? You have done your best to get an
innocent man hanged. If it wasn't for this gentle-
man here, I am not sure that you would not have
succeeded."

The wretched creature began to whimper.

"I am sure, sir, it was only my practical joke."

"Oh! a joke, was it? You won't find the laugh
on your side, I promise you. Take him down and
keep him in the sitting-room until I come. Mr.
Flolmes," he continued, when they had gone, "I
could not speak before the constables, but I don't
mind saying, in the presence of Dr. Watson, that
this is the brightest thing that you have done yet.

though it is a mystery to me how you did it. You
have saved an innocent man's life, and you have
prevented a very grave scandal, which would have
ruined my reputation in the Force."

Flolmes smiled and clapped Lestrade upon the
shoulder.

"Instead of being ruined, my good sir, you will
find that your reputation has been enormously en-
hanced. Just make a few alterations in that report
which you were writing, and they will understand
how hard it is to throw dust in the eyes of Inspec-
tor Lestrade."

"And you don't want your name to appear?"

"Not at all. The work is its own reward. Per-
haps I shall get the credit also at some distant day
when I permit my zealous historian to lay out his
foolscap once more — eh, Watson? Well, now, let us
see where this rat has been lurking."

A lath-and-plaster partition had been run
across the passage six feet from the end, with a
door cunningly concealed in it. It was lit within
by slits under the eaves. A few articles of furni-
ture and a supply of food and water were within,
together with a number of books and papers.

"There's the advantage of being a builder," said
Flolmes, as we came out. "Fie was able to fix up
his own little hiding-place without any confeder-
ate — save, of course, that precious housekeeper of
his, whom I should lose no time in adding to your
bag, Lestrade."

"I'll take your advice. But how did you know
of this place, Mr. Flolmes?"

"I made up my mind that the fellow was in
hiding in the house. When I paced one corridor
and found it six feet shorter than the correspond-
ing one below, it was pretty clear where he was.
I thought he had not the nerve to lie quiet before
an alarm of fire. We could, of course, have gone
in and taken him, but it amused me to make him
reveal himself; besides, I owed you a little mystifi-
cation, Lestrade, for your chaff in the morning."

"Well, sir, you certainly got equal with me on
that. But how in the world did you know that he
was in the house at all?"

"The thumb-mark, Lestrade. You said it was fi-
nal; and so it was, in a very different sense. I knew
it had not been there the day before. I pay a good
deal of attention to matters of detail, as you may
have observed, and I had examined the hall and
was sure that the wall was clear. Therefore, it had
been put on during the night."

"But how?"

440

"Very simply. When those packets were sealed
up, Jonas Oldacre got McFarlane to secure one of
the seals by putting his thumb upon the soft wax.
It would be done so quickly and so naturally that
I dare say the young man himself has no recol-
lection of it. Very likely it just so happened, and
Oldacre had himself no notion of the use he would
put it to. Brooding over the case in that den of his,
it suddenly struck him what absolutely damning
evidence he could make against McFarlane by us-
ing that thumb-mark. It was the simplest thing in
the world for him to take a wax impression from
the seal, to moisten it in as much blood as he could
get from a pin-prick, and to put the mark upon the
wall during the night, either with his own hand
or with that of his housekeeper. If you examine
among those documents which he took with him
into his retreat I will lay you a wager that you find
the seal with the thumb-mark upon it."

"Wonderful!" said Lestrade. "Wonderful! It's
all as clear as crystal, as you put it. But what is the
object of this deep deception, Mr. Holmes?"

It was amusing to me to see how the detective's
overbearing manner had changed suddenly to that
of a child asking questions of its teacher.

"Well, I don't think that is very hard to ex-
plain. A very deep, malicious, vindictive person
is the gentleman who is now awaiting us down-
stairs. You know that he was once refused by
McFarlane's mother? You don't! I told you that
you should go to Blackheath first and Norwood
afterwards. Well, this injury, as he would con-
sider it, has rankled in his wicked, scheming brain,
and all his life he has longed for vengeance, but
never seen his chance. During the last year or two
things have gone against him — secret speculation,
I think — and he finds himself in a bad way. He de-
termines to swindle his creditors, and for this pur-
pose he pays large cheques to a certain Mr. Cor-
nelius, who is, I imagine, himself under another
name. I have not traced these cheques yet, but I
have no doubt that they were banked under that
name at some provincial town where Oldacre from
time to time led a double existence. He intended
to change his name altogether, draw this money,
and vanish, starting life again elsewhere."

"Well, that's likely enough."

"It would strike him that in disappearing he
might throw all pursuit off his track, and at the

same time have an ample and crushing revenge
upon his old sweetheart, if he could give the im-
pression that he had been murdered by her only
child. It was a masterpiece of villainy, and he car-
ried it out like a master. The idea of the will, which
would give an obvious motive for the crime, the
secret visit unknown to his own parents, the re-
tention of the stick, the blood, and the animal re-
mains and buttons in the wood-pile, all were ad-
mirable. It was a net from which it seemed to
me a few hours ago that there was no possible es-
cape. But he had not that supreme gift of the artist,
the knowledge of when to stop. He wished to
improve that which was already perfect — to draw
the rope tighter yet round the neck of his unfortu-
nate victim — and so he ruined all. Let us descend,
Lestrade. There are just one or two questions that
I would ask him."

The malignant creature was seated in his own
parlour with a policeman upon each side of him.

"It was a joke, my good sir, a practical joke,
nothing more," he whined incessantly. "I assure
you, sir, that I simply concealed myself in order
to see the effect of my disappearance, and I am
sure that you would not be so unjust as to imagine
that I would have allowed any harm to befall poor
young Mr. McFarlane."

"That's for a jury to decide," said Lestrade.
"Anyhow, we shall have you on a charge of con-
spiracy, if not for attempted murder."

"And you'll probably find that your creditors
will impound the banking account of Mr. Cor-
nelius," said Holmes.

The little man started and turned his malignant
eyes upon my friend.

"I have to thank you for a good deal," said he.
"Perhaps I'll pay my debt some day."

Holmes smiled indulgently.

"I fancy that for some few years you will find
your time very fully occupied," said he. "By the
way, what was it you put into the wood-pile be-
sides your old trousers? A dead dog, or rabbits,
or what? You won't tell? Dear me, how very un-
kind of you! Well, well, I dare say that a couple of
rabbits would account both for the blood and for
the charred ashes. If ever you write an account,
Watson, you can make rabbits serve your turn."

The Adventure of the Golden Pince-Nez

hen I look at the three massive
manuscript volumes which contain our
work for the year 1894 I confess that it
is very difficult for me, out of such a
wealth of material, to select the cases which are
most interesting in themselves and at the same
time most conducive to a display of those pecu-
liar powers for which my friend was famous. As
I turn over the pages I see my notes upon the
repulsive story of the red leech and the terrible
death of Crosby the banker. Here also I find an
account of the Addleton tragedy and the singu-
lar contents of the ancient British barrow. The fa-
mous Smith-Mortimer succession case comes also
within this period, and so does the tracking and
arrest of Huret, the Boulevard assassin — an ex-
ploit which won for Holmes an autograph letter
of thanks from the French President and the Order
of the Legion of Honour. Each of these would fur-
nish a narrative, but on the whole I am of opinion
that none of them unite so many singular points of
interest as the episode of Yoxley Old Place, which
includes not only the lamentable death of young
Willoughby Smith, but also those subsequent de-
velopments which threw so curious a light upon
the causes of the crime.

It was a wild, tempestuous night towards the
close of November. Holmes and I sat together in
silence all the evening, he engaged with a pow-
erful lens deciphering the remains of the original
inscription upon a palimpsest, I deep in a recent
treatise upon surgery. Outside the wind howled
down Baker Street, while the rain beat fiercely
against the windows. It was strange there in the
very depths of the town, with ten miles of man's
handiwork on every side of us, to feel the iron grip
of Nature, and to be conscious that to the huge el-
emental forces all London was no more than the
molehills that dot the fields. I walked to the win-
dow and looked out on the deserted street. The oc-
casional lamps gleamed on the expanse of muddy
road and shining pavement. A single cab was
splashing its way from the Oxford Street end.

"Well, Watson, it's as well we have not to turn
out to-night," said Holmes, laying aside his lens
and rolling up the palimpsest. "I've done enough
for one sitting. It is trying work for the eyes. So
far as I can make out it is nothing more exciting
than an Abbey's accounts dating from the second
half of the fifteenth century. Halloa! halloa! halloa!
What's this?"

Amid the droning of the wind there had come
the stamping of a horse's hoofs and the long grind
of a wheel as it rasped against the kerb. The cab
which I had seen had pulled up at our door.

"What can he want?" I ejaculated, as a man
stepped out of it.

"Want! He wants us. And we, my poor Watson,
want overcoats and cravats and goloshes, and ev-
ery aid that man ever invented to fight the weather.
Wait a bit, though! There's the cab off again!
There's hope yet. He'd have kept it if he had
wanted us to come. Run down, my dear fellow,
and open the door, for all virtuous folk have been
long in bed."

When the light of the hall lamp fell upon our
midnight visitor I had no difficulty in recognising
him. It was young Stanley Hopkins, a promis-
ing detective, in whose career Holmes had several
times shown a very practical interest.

"Is he in?" he asked, eagerly.

"Come up, my dear sir," said Holmes's voice
from above. "I hope you have no designs upon us
on such a night as this."

The detective mounted the stairs, and our lamp
gleamed upon his shining waterproof. I helped
him out of it while Holmes knocked a blaze out of
the logs in the grate.

"Now, my dear Hopkins, draw up and warm
your toes," said he. "Here's a cigar, and the doc-
tor has a prescription containing hot water and a
lemon which is good medicine on a night like this.
It must be something important which has brought
you out in such a gale."

"It is indeed, Mr. Holmes. I've had a bustling
afternoon, I promise you. Did you see anything of
the Yoxley case in the latest editions?"

"I've seen nothing later than the fifteenth cen-
tury to-day."

"Well, it was only a paragraph, and all wrong
at that, so you have not missed anything. I haven't
let the grass grow under my feet. It's down in
Kent, seven miles from Chatham and three from
the railway line. I was wired for at three-fifteen,
reached Yoxley Old Place at five, conducted my in-
vestigation, was back at Charing Cross by the last
train, and straight to you by cab."

"Which means, I suppose, that you are not
quite clear about your case?"

"It means that I can make neither head nor tail
of it. So far as I can see it is just as tangled a busi-
ness as ever I handled, and yet at first it seemed
so simple that one couldn't go wrong. There's no
motive, Mr. Holmes. That's what bothers me — I
can't put my hand on a motive. Here's a man
dead — there's no denying that — but, so far as I can
see, no reason on earth why anyone should wish
him harm."

531

The Adventure of the Golden Pince-Nez

Holmes lit his cigar and leaned back in his
chair.

"Let us hear about it," said he.

"I've got my facts pretty clear," said Stanley
Hopkins. "All I want now is to know what they
all mean. The story, so far as I can make it out,
is like this. Some years ago this country house,
Yoxley Old Place, was taken by an elderly man,
who gave the name of Professor Coram. He was
an invalid, keeping his bed half the time, and the
other half hobbling round the house with a stick
or being pushed about the grounds by the gar-
dener in a bath-chair. He was well liked by the
few neighbours who called upon him, and he has
the reputation down there of being a very learned
man. His household used to consist of an elderly
housekeeper, Mrs. Marker, and of a maid, Susan
Tarlton. These have both been with him since his
arrival, and they seem to be women of excellent
character. The Professor is writing a learned book,
and he found it necessary about a year ago to en-
gage a secretary. The first two that he tried were
not successes; but the third, Mr. Willoughby Smith,
a very young man straight from the University,
seems to have been just what his employer wanted.
His work consisted in writing all the morning to
the Professor's dictation, and he usually spent
the evening in hunting up references and pas-
sages which bore upon the next day's work. This
Willoughby Smith has nothing against him either
as a boy at Uppingham or as a young man at Cam-
bridge. I have seen his testimonials, and from the
first he was a decent, quiet, hardworking fellow,
with no weak spot in him at all. And yet this is
the lad who has met his death this morning in the
Professor's study under circumstances which can
point only to murder."

The wind howled and screamed at the win-
dows. Holmes and I drew closer to the fire while
the young inspector slowly and point by point de-
veloped his singular narrative.

"If you were to search all England," said he,
"I don't suppose you could find a household
more self-contained or free from outside influ-
ences. Whole weeks would pass and not one of
them go past the garden gate. The Professor was
buried in his work and existed for nothing else.
Young Smith knew nobody in the neighbourhood,
and lived very much as his employer did. The two
women had nothing to take them from the house.
Mortimer the gardener, who wheels the bath-chair,
is an Army pensioner — an old Crimean man of ex-
cellent character. He does not live in the house, but
in a three-roomed cottage at the other end of the

garden. Those are the only people that you would
find within the grounds of Yoxley Old Place. At
the same time, the gate of the garden is a hundred
yards from the main London to Chatham road. It
opens with a latch, and there is nothing to prevent
anyone from walking in.

"Now I will give you the evidence of Susan
Tarlton, who is the only person who can say any-
thing positive about the matter. It was in the
forenoon, between eleven and twelve. She was en-
gaged at the moment in hanging some curtains in
the upstairs front bedroom. Professor Coram was
still in bed, for when the weather is bad he sel-
dom rises before midday. The housekeeper was
busied with some work in the back of the house.
Willoughby Smith had been in his bedroom, which
he uses as a sitting-room; but the maid heard him
at that moment pass along the passage and de-
scend to the study immediately below her. She
did not see him, but she says that she could not
be mistaken in his quick, firm tread. She did not
hear the study door close, but a minute or so later
there was a dreadful cry in the room below. It was
a wild, hoarse scream, so strange and unnatural
that it might have come either from a man or a
woman. At the same instant there was a heavy
thud, which shook the old house, and then all
was silence. The maid stood petrified for a mo-
ment, and then, recovering her courage, she ran
downstairs. The study door was shut, and she
opened it. Inside young Mr. Willoughby Smith
was stretched upon the floor. At first she could
see no injury, but as she tried to raise him she
saw that blood was pouring from the underside of
his neck. It was pierced by a very small but very
deep wound, which had divided the carotid artery.
The instrument with which the injury had been in-
flicted lay upon the carpet beside him. It was one
of those small sealing-wax knives to be found on
old-fashioned writing-tables, with an ivory handle
and a stiff blade. It was part of the fittings of the
Professor's own desk.

"At first the maid thought that young Smith
was already dead, but on pouring some water
from the carafe over his forehead he opened his
eyes for an instant. 'The Professor/ he mur-
mured — 'it was she.' The maid is prepared to
swear that those were the exact words. He tried
desperately to say something else, and he held his
right hand up in the air. Then he fell back dead.

"In the meantime the housekeeper had also ar-
rived upon the scene, but she was just too late
to catch the young man's dying words. Leaving

532

The Adventure of the Golden Pince-Nez

Susan with the body, she hurried to the Profes-
sor's room. He was sitting up in bed horribly ag-
itated, for he had heard enough to convince him
that something terrible had occurred. Mrs. Marker
is prepared to swear that the Professor was still
in his night-clothes, and, indeed, it was impossi-
ble for him to dress without the help of Mortimer,
whose orders were to come at twelve o'clock. The
Professor declares that he heard the distant cry, but
that he knows nothing more. He can give no expla-
nation of the young man's last words, 'The Profes-
sor — it was she,' but imagines that they were the
outcome of delirium. He believes that Willoughby
Smith had not an enemy in the world, and can
give no reason for the crime. His first action was
to send Mortimer the gardener for the local po-
lice. A little later the chief constable sent for me.
Nothing was moved before I got there, and strict
orders were given that no one should walk upon
the paths leading to the house. It was a splendid
chance of putting your theories into practice, Mr.
Sherlock Holmes. There was really nothing want-
ing."

"Except Mr. Sherlock Holmes," said my com-
panion, with a somewhat bitter smile. "Well, let
us hear about it. What sort of job did you make of
it?"

"I must ask you first, Mr. Holmes, to glance
at this rough plan, which will give you a general
idea of the position of the Professor's study and
the various points of the case. It will help you in
following my investigation."

He unfolded the rough chart, which I here re-
produce, and he laid it across Holmes's knee. I
rose, and, standing behind Holmes, I studied it
over his shoulder.

"It is very rough, of course, and it only deals
with the points which seem to me to be essential.
All the rest you will see later for yourself. Now,
first of all, presuming that the assassin entered the
house, how did he or she come in? Undoubtedly
by the garden path and the back door, from which
there is direct access to the study. Any other way
would have been exceedingly complicated. The es-
cape must have also been made along that line,
for of the two other exits from the room one was
blocked by Susan as she ran downstairs and the
other leads straight to the Professor's bedroom. I
therefore directed my attention at once to the gar-
den path, which was saturated with recent rain
and would certainly show any footmarks.

"My examination showed me that I was deal-
ing with a cautious and expert criminal. No foot-
marks were to be found on the path. There could

be no question, however, that someone had passed
along the grass border which lines the path, and
that he had done so in order to avoid leaving a
track. I could not find anything in the nature of
a distinct impression, but the grass was trodden
down and someone had undoubtedly passed. It
could only have been the murderer, since neither
the gardener nor anyone else had been there that
morning and the rain had only begun during the
night."

"One moment," said Holmes. "Where does this
path lead to?"

"To the road."

"How long is it?"

"A hundred yards or so."

"At the point where the path passes through
the gate you could surely pick up the tracks?"

"Unfortunately, the path was tiled at that
point."

"Well, on the road itself?"

"No; it was all trodden into mire."

"Tut-tut! Well, then, these tracks upon the
grass, were they coming or going?"

"It was impossible to say. There was never any
outline."

"A large foot or a small?"

"You could not distinguish."

Holmes gave an ejaculation of impatience.

"It has been pouring rain and blowing a hurri-
cane ever since," said he. "It will be harder to read
now than that palimpsest. Well, well, it can't be
helped. What did you do, Hopkins, after you had
made certain that you had made certain of noth-
ing?"

"I think I made certain of a good deal, Mr.
Holmes. I knew that someone had entered the
house cautiously from without. I next examined
the corridor. It is lined with cocoanut matting and
had taken no impression of any kind. This brought
me into the study itself. It is a scantily-furnished
room. The main article is a large writing-table with
a fixed bureau. This bureau consists of a dou-
ble column of drawers with a central small cup-
board between them. The drawers were open, the
cupboard locked. The drawers, it seems, were al-
ways open, and nothing of value was kept in them.
There were some papers of importance in the cup-
board, but there were no signs that this had been
tampered with, and the Professor assures me that
nothing was missing. It is certain that no robbery
has been committed.

"I come now to the body of the young man. It
was found near the bureau, and just to the left of
it, as marked upon that chart. The stab was on the

533

The Adventure of the Golden Pince-Nez

right side of the neck and from behind forwards,
so that it is almost impossible that it could have
been self-inflicted."

"Unless he fell upon the knife," said Holmes.

"Exactly. The idea crossed my mind. But we
found the knife some feet away from the body, so
that seems impossible. Then, of course, there are
the man's own dying words. And, finally, there
was this very important piece of evidence which
was found clasped in the dead man's right hand."

From his pocket Stanley Hopkins drew a small
paper packet. He unfolded it and disclosed a
golden pince-nez, with two broken ends of black
silk cord dangling from the end of it. "Willoughby
Smith had excellent sight," he added. "There can
be no question that this was snatched from the face
or the person of the assassin."

Sherlock Holmes took the glasses into his hand
and examined them with the utmost attention and
interest. He held them on his nose, endeavoured
to read through them, went to the window and
stared up the street with them, looked at them
most minutely in the full light of the lamp, and
finally, with a chuckle, seated himself at the table
and wrote a few lines upon a sheet of paper, which
he tossed across to Stanley Hopkins.

"That's the best I can do for you," said he. "It
may prove to be of some use."

The astonished detective read the note aloud.
It ran as follows:

"Wanted, a woman of good address,
attired like a lady. She has a remark-
ably thick nose, with eyes which are
set close upon either side of it. She
has a puckered forehead, a peering ex-
pression, and probably rounded shoul-
ders. There are indications that she
has had recourse to an optician at least
twice during the last few months. As
her glasses are of remarkable strength
and as opticians are not very numer-
ous, there should be no difficulty in
tracing her."

Holmes smiled at the astonishment of Hopkins,
which must have been reflected upon my features.

"Surely my deductions are simplicity itself,"
said he. "It would be difficult to name any arti-
cles which afford a finer field for inference than a
pair of glasses, especially so remarkable a pair as
these. That they belong to a woman I infer from
their delicacy, and also, of course, from the last

words of the dying man. As to her being a per-
son of refinement and well dressed, they are, as
you perceive, handsomely mounted in solid gold,
and it is inconceivable that anyone who wore such
glasses could be slatternly in other respects. You
will find that the clips are too wide for your nose,
showing that the lady's nose was very broad at
the base. This sort of nose is usually a short and
coarse one, but there are a sufficient number of
exceptions to prevent me from being dogmatic or
from insisting upon this point in my description.
My own face is a narrow one, and yet I find that I
cannot get my eyes into the centre, or near the cen-
tre, of these glasses. Therefore the lady's eyes are
set very near to the sides of the nose. You will per-
ceive, Watson, that the glasses are concave and of
unusual strength. A lady whose vision has been so
extremely contracted all her life is sure to have the
physical characteristics of such vision, which are
seen in the forehead, the eyelids, and the shoul-
ders."

"Yes," I said, "I can follow each of your argu-
ments. I confess, however, that I am unable to un-
derstand how you arrive at the double visit to the
optician."

Holmes took the glasses in his hand.

"You will perceive," he said, "that the clips are
lined with tiny bands of cork to soften the pressure
upon the nose. One of these is discoloured and
worn to some slight extent, but the other is new.
Evidently one has fallen off and been replaced. I
should judge that the older of them has not been
there more than a few months. They exactly cor-
respond, so I gather that the lady went back to the
same establishment for the second."

"By George, it's marvellous!" cried Hopkins, in
an ecstasy of admiration. "To think that I had all
that evidence in my hand and never knew it! I had
intended, however, to go the round of the London
opticians."

"Of course you would. Meanwhile, have you
anything more to tell us about the case?"

"Nothing, Mr. Holmes. I think that you know
as much as I do now — probably more. We have
had inquiries made as to any stranger seen on the
country roads or at the railway station. We have
heard of none. What beats me is the utter want of
all object in the crime. Not a ghost of a motive can
anyone suggest."

"Ah! there I am not in a position to help
you. But I suppose you want us to come out to-
morrow?"

534

The Adventure of the Golden Pince-Nez

"If it is not asking too much, Mr. Holmes.
There's a train from Charing Cross to Chatham at
six in the morning, and we should be at Yoxley
Old Place between eight and nine."

"Then we shall take it. Your case has certainly
some features of great interest, and I shall be de-
lighted to look into it. Well, it's nearly one, and we
had best get a few hours' sleep. I dare say you can
manage all right on the sofa in front of the fire. I'll
light my spirit-lamp and give you a cup of coffee
before we start."

The gale had blown itself out next day, but it
was a bitter morning when we started upon our
journey. We saw the cold winter sun rise over the
dreary marshes of the Thames and the long, sullen
reaches of the river, which I shall ever associate
with our pursuit of the Andaman Islander in the
earlier days of our career. After a long and weary
journey we alighted at a small station some miles
from Chatham. While a horse was being put into a
trap at the local inn we snatched a hurried break-
fast, and so we were all ready for business when
we at last arrived at Yoxley Old Place. A constable
met us at the garden gate.

"Well, Wilson, any news?"

"No, sir, nothing."

"No reports of any stranger seen?"

"No, sir. Down at the station they are certain
that no stranger either came or went yesterday."

"Have you had inquiries made at inns and
lodgings?"

"Yes, sir; there is no one that we cannot account
for."

"Well, it's only a reasonable walk to Chatham.
Anyone might stay there, or take a train without
being observed. This is the garden path of which I
spoke, Mr. Holmes. I'll pledge my word there was
no mark on it yesterday."

"On which side were the marks on the grass?"

"This side, sir. This narrow margin of grass be-
tween the path and the flower-bed. I can't see the
traces now, but they were clear to me then."

"Yes, yes; someone has passed along," said
Holmes, stooping over the grass border. "Our lady
must have picked her steps carefully, must she not,
since on the one side she would leave a track on the
path, and on the other an even clearer one on the
soft bed?"

"Yes, sir, she must have been a cool hand."

I saw an intent look pass over Holmes's face.

"You say that she must have come back this
way?"

"Yes, sir; there is no other."

"On this strip of grass?"

"Certainly, Mr. Holmes."

"Hum! It was a very remarkable perfor-
mance — very remarkable. Well, I think we have
exhausted the path. Let us go farther. This gar-
den door is usually kept open, I suppose? Then
this visitor had nothing to do but to walk in. The
idea of murder was not in her mind, or she would
have provided herself with some sort of weapon,
instead of having to pick this knife off the writing-
table. She advanced along this corridor, leaving no
traces upon the cocoanut matting. Then she found
herself in this study. How long was she there? We
have no means of judging."

"Not more than a few minutes, sir. I forgot to
tell you that Mrs. Marker, the housekeeper, had
been in there tidying not very long before — about
a quarter of an hour, she says."

"Well, that gives us a limit. Our lady enters
this room and what does she do? She goes over to
the writing-table. What for? Not for anything in
the drawers. If there had been anything worth her
taking it would surely have been locked up. No; it
was for something in that wooden bureau. Halloa!
what is that scratch upon the face of it? Just hold
a match, Watson. Why did you not tell me of this,
Hopkins?"

The mark which he was examining began upon
the brass work on the right-hand side of the key-
hole, and extended for about four inches, where it
had scratched the varnish from the surface.

"I noticed it, Mr. Holmes. But you'll always
find scratches round a keyhole."

"This is recent, quite recent. See how the brass
shines where it is cut. An old scratch would be the
same colour as the surface. Look at it through my
lens. There's the varnish, too, like earth on each
side of a furrow. Is Mrs. Marker there?"

A sad-faced, elderly woman came into the
room.

"Did you dust this bureau yesterday morn-
ing?"

"Yes, sir."

"Did you notice this scratch?"

"No, sir, I did not."

"I am sure you did not, for a duster would have
swept away these shreds of varnish. Who has the
key of this bureau?"

"The Professor keeps it on his watch-chain."

"Is it a simple key?"

"No, sir; it is a Chubb's key."

535

The Adventure of the Golden Pince-Nez

"Very good. Mrs. Marker, you can go. Now we
are making a little progress. Our lady enters the
room, advances to the bureau, and either opens it
or tries to do so. While she is thus engaged young
Willoughby Smith enters the room. In her hurry
to withdraw the key she makes this scratch upon
the door. He seizes her, and she, snatching up
the nearest object, which happens to be this knife,
strikes at him in order to make him let go his hold.
The blow is a fatal one. He falls and she escapes,
either with or without the object for which she has
come. Is Susan the maid there? Could anyone have
got away through that door after the time that you
heard the cry, Susan?"

"No sir; it is impossible. Before I got down the
stair I'd have seen anyone in the passage. Besides,
the door never opened, for I would have heard it."

"That settles this exit. Then no doubt the lady
went out the way she came. I understand that this
other passage leads only to the Professor's room.
There is no exit that way?"

"No, sir."

"We shall go down it and make the acquain-
tance of the Professor. Halloa, Hopkins! this is
very important, very important indeed. The Pro-
fessor's corridor is also lined with cocoanut mat-
ting."

"Well, sir, what of that?"

"Don't you see any bearing upon the case?
Well, well, I don't insist upon it. No doubt I am
wrong. And yet it seems to me to be suggestive.
Come with me and introduce me."

We passed down the passage, which was of the
same length as that which led to the garden. At
the end was a short flight of steps ending in a door.
Our guide knocked, and then ushered us into the
Professor's bedroom.

It was a very large chamber, lined with innu-
merable volumes, which had overflowed from the
shelves and lay in piles in the corners, or were
stacked all round at the base of the cases. The
bed was in the centre of the room, and in it,
propped up with pillows, was the owner of the
house. I have seldom seen a more remarkable-
looking person. It was a gaunt, aquiline face which
was turned towards us, with piercing dark eyes,
which lurked in deep hollows under overhung and
tufted brows. His hair and beard were white, save
that the latter was curiously stained with yellow
around his mouth. A cigarette glowed amid the
tangle of white hair, and the air of the room was
fetid with stale tobacco-smoke. As he held out his

hand to Holmes I perceived that it also was stained
yellow with nicotine.

"A smoker, Mr. Holmes?" said he, speaking
well-chosen English with a curious little mincing
accent. "Pray take a cigarette. And you, sir? I can
recommend them, for I have them especially pre-
pared by Ionides of Alexandria. He sends me a
thousand at a time, and I grieve to say that I have
to arrange for a fresh supply every fortnight. Bad,
sir, very bad, but an old man has few pleasures.
Tobacco and my work — that is all that is left to
me."

Holmes had lit a cigarette, and was shooting
little darting glances all over the room.

"Tobacco and my work, but now only tobacco,"
the old man exclaimed. "Alas! what a fatal inter-
ruption! Who could have foreseen such a terrible
catastrophe? So estimable a young man! I assure
you that after a few months' training he was an ad-
mirable assistant. What do you think of the matter,
Mr. Holmes?"

"I have not yet made up my mind."

"I shall indeed be indebted to you if you can
throw a light where all is so dark to us. To a poor
bookworm and invalid like myself such a blow
is paralyzing. I seem to have lost the faculty of
thought. But you are a man of action — you are a
man of affairs. It is part of the everyday routine of
your life. You can preserve your balance in every
emergency. We are fortunate indeed in having you
at our side."

Holmes was pacing up and down one side of
the room whilst the old Professor was talking. I
observed that he was smoking with extraordinary
rapidity. It was evident that he shared our host's
liking for the fresh Alexandrian cigarettes.

"Yes, sir, it is a crushing blow," said the old
man. "That is my magnum opus — the pile of pa-
pers on the side table yonder. It is my analysis of
the documents found in the Coptic monasteries of
Syria and Egypt, a work which will cut deep at the
very foundations of revealed religion. With my en-
feebled health I do not know whether I shall ever
be able to complete it now that my assistant has
been taken from me. Dear me, Mr. Holmes; why,
you are even a quicker smoker than I am myself."

Holmes smiled.

"I am a connoisseur," said he, taking another
cigarette from the box — his fourth — and lighting
it from the stub of that which he had finished.
"I will not trouble you with any lengthy cross-
examination, Professor Coram, since I gather that
you were in bed at the time of the crime and could

536

The Adventure of the Golden Pince-Nez

know nothing about it. I would only ask this.
What do you imagine that this poor fellow meant
by his last words: 'The Professor — it was she'?"

The Professor shook his head.

"Susan is a country girl," said he, "and you
know the incredible stupidity of that class. I fancy
that the poor fellow murmured some incoherent
delirious words, and that she twisted them into
this meaningless message."

"I see. You have no explanation yourself of the
tragedy?"

"Possibly an accident; possibly — I only breathe
it among ourselves — a suicide. Young men have
their hidden troubles — some affair of the heart,
perhaps, which we have never known. It is a more
probable supposition than murder."

"But the eye-glasses?"

"Ah! I am only a student — a man of dreams.
I cannot explain the practical things of life. But
still, we are aware, my friend, that love-gages may
take strange shapes. By all means take another
cigarette. It is a pleasure to see anyone appreci-
ate them so. A fan, a glove, glasses — who knows
what article may be carried as a token or treasured
when a man puts an end to his life? This gentle-
man speaks of footsteps in the grass; but, after all,
it is easy to be mistaken on such a point. As to the
knife, it might well be thrown far from the unfor-
tunate man as he fell. It is possible that I speak as
a child, but to me it seems that Willoughby Smith
has met his fate by his own hand."

Holmes seemed struck by the theory thus put
forward, and he continued to walk up and down
for some time, lost in thought and consuming
cigarette after cigarette.

"Tell me. Professor Coram," he said, at last,
"what is in that cupboard in the bureau?"

"Nothing that would help a thief. Family pa-
pers, letters from my poor wife, diplomas of Uni-
versities which have done me honour. Here is the
key. You can look for yourself. "

Holmes picked up the key and looked at it for
an instant; then he handed it back.

"No; I hardly think that it would help me,"
said he. "I should prefer to go quietly down to
your garden and turn the whole matter over in my
head. There is something to be said for the theory
of suicide which you have put forward. We must
apologize for having intruded upon you. Profes-
sor Coram, and I promise that we won't disturb
you until after lunch. At two o'clock we will come
again and report to you anything which may have
happened in the interval."

Holmes was curiously distrait, and we walked
up and down the garden path for some time in
silence.

"Have you a clue?" I asked, at last.

"It depends upon those cigarettes that I
smoked," said he. "It is possible that I am utterly
mistaken. The cigarettes will show me."

"My dear Holmes," I exclaimed, "how on
earth — "

"Well, well, you may see for yourself. If not,
there's no harm done. Of course, we always have
the optician clue to fall back upon, but I take a
short cut when I can get it. Ah, here is the good
Mrs. Marker! Let us enjoy five minutes of instruc-
tive conversation with her."

I may have remarked before that Holmes had,
when he liked, a peculiarly ingratiating way with
women, and that he very readily established terms
of confidence with them. In half the time which
he had named he had captured the housekeeper's
goodwill, and was chatting with her as if he had
known her for years.

"Yes, Mr. Holmes, it is as you say, sir. He
does smoke something terrible. All day and some-
times all night, sir. I've seen that room of a morn-
ing — well, sir, you'd have thought it was a London
fog. Poor young Mr. Smith, he was a smoker also,
but not as bad as the Professor. His health — well, I
don't know that it's better nor worse for the smok-
ing."

"Ah!" said Holmes, "but it kills the appetite."

"Well, I don't know about that, sir."

"I suppose the Professor eats hardly any-
thing?"

"Well, he is variable. I'll say that for him."

"I'll wager he took no breakfast this morning,
and won't face his lunch after all the cigarettes I
saw him consume."

"Well, you're out there, sir, as it happens, for
he ate a remarkable big breakfast this morning. I
don't know when I've known him make a better
one, and he's ordered a good dish of cutlets for
his lunch. I'm surprised myself, for since I came
into that room yesterday and saw young Mr. Smith
lying there on the floor I couldn't bear to look at
food. Well, it takes all sorts to make a world, and
the Professor hasn't let it take his appetite away."

We loitered the morning away in the garden.
Stanley Hopkins had gone down to the village to
look into some rumours of a strange woman who
had been seen by some children on the Chatham
Road the previous morning. As to my friend, all
his usual energy seemed to have deserted him. I

537

The Adventure of the Golden Pince-Nez

had never known him handle a case in such a half-
hearted fashion. Even the news brought back by
Hopkins that he had found the children and that
they had undoubtedly seen a woman exactly corre-
sponding with Holmes's description, and wearing
either spectacles or eye-glasses, failed to rouse any
sign of keen interest. He was more attentive when
Susan, who waited upon us at lunch, volunteered
the information that she believed Mr. Smith had
been out for a walk yesterday morning, and that he
had only returned half an hour before the tragedy
occurred. I could not myself see the bearing of this
incident, but I clearly perceived that Holmes was
weaving it into the general scheme which he had
formed in his brain. Suddenly he sprang from his
chair and glanced at his watch. "Two o'clock, gen-
tlemen," said he. "We must go up and have it out
with our friend the Professor."

The old man had just finished his lunch, and
certainly his empty dish bore evidence to the good
appetite with which his housekeeper had credited
him. He was, indeed, a weird figure as he turned
his white mane and his glowing eyes towards us.
The eternal cigarette smouldered in his mouth. He
had been dressed and was seated in an arm-chair
by the fire.

"Well, Mr. Holmes, have you solved this mys-
tery yet?" He shoved the large tin of cigarettes
which stood on a table beside him towards my
companion. Holmes stretched out his hand at the
same moment, and between them they tipped the
box over the edge. For a minute or two we were all
on our knees retrieving stray cigarettes from im-
possible places. When we rose again I observed
that Holmes's eyes were shining and his cheeks
tinged with colour. Only at a crisis have I seen
those battle-signals flying.

"Yes," said he, "I have solved it."

Stanley Hopkins and I stared in amazement.
Something like a sneer quivered over the gaunt
features of the old Professor.

"Indeed! In the garden?"

"No, here."

"Here! When?"

"This instant."

"You are surely joking, Mr. Sherlock Holmes.
You compel me to tell you that this is too serious a
matter to be treated in such a fashion."

"I have forged and tested every link of my
chain. Professor Coram, and I am sure that it is
sound. What your motives are or what exact part
you play in this strange business I am not yet able
to say. In a few minutes I shall probably hear

it from your own lips. Meanwhile I will recon-
struct what is past for your benefit, so that you
may know the information which I still require.

"A lady yesterday entered your study. She
came with the intention of possessing herself of
certain documents which were in your bureau. She
had a key of her own. I have had an opportunity
of examining yours, and I do not find that slight
discolouration which the scratch made upon the
varnish would have produced. You were not an
accessory, therefore, and she came, so far as I can
read the evidence, without your knowledge to rob
you."

The Professor blew a cloud from his lips. "This
is most interesting and instructive," said he. "Have
you no more to add? Surely, having traced this
lady so far, you can also say what has become of
her."

"I will endeavour to do so. In the first place
she was seized by your secretary, and stabbed him
in order to escape. This catastrophe I am inclined
to regard as an unhappy accident, for I am con-
vinced that the lady had no intention of inflicting
so grievous an injury. An assassin does not come
unarmed. Horrified by what she had done she
rushed wildly away from the scene of the tragedy.
Unfortunately for her she had lost her glasses in
the scuffle, and as she was extremely short-sighted
she was really helpless without them. She ran
down a corridor, which she imagined to be that
by which she had come — both were lined with co-
coanut matting — and it was only when it was too
late that she understood that she had taken the
wrong passage and that her retreat was cut off be-
hind her. What was she to do? She could not go
back. She could not remain where she was. She
must go on. She went on. She mounted a stair,
pushed open a door, and found herself in your
room."

The old man sat with his mouth open star-
ing wildly at Holmes. Amazement and fear were
stamped upon his expressive features. Now, with
an effort, he shrugged his shoulders and burst into
insincere laughter.

"All very fine, Mr. Holmes," said he. "But there
is one little flaw in your splendid theory. I was my-
self in my room, and I never left it during the day."

"I am aware of that. Professor Coram."

"And you mean to say that I could lie upon that
bed and not be aware that a woman had entered
my room?"

"I never said so. You were aware of it. You
spoke with her. You recognised her. You aided her
to escape."

538

The Adventure of the Golden Pince-Nez

Again the Professor burst into high-keyed
laughter. He had risen to his feet and his eyes
glowed like embers.

"You are mad!" he cried. "You are talking in-
sanely. I helped her to escape? Where is she now?"

"She is there," said Holmes, and he pointed to
a high bookcase in the corner of the room.

I saw the old man throw up his arms, a ter-
rible convulsion passed over his grim face, and
he fell back in his chair. At the same instant the
bookcase at which Holmes pointed swung round
upon a hinge, and a woman rushed out into the
room. "You are right!" she cried, in a strange for-
eign voice. "You are right! I am here."

She was brown with the dust and draped with
the cobwebs which had come from the walls of
her hiding-place. Her face, too, was streaked with
grime, and at the best she could never have been
handsome, for she had the exact physical charac-
teristics which Holmes had divined, with, in ad-
dition, a long and obstinate chin. What with her
natural blindness, and what with the change from
dark to light, she stood as one dazed, blinking
about her to see where and who we were. And yet,
in spite of all these disadvantages, there was a cer-
tain nobility in the woman's bearing, a gallantry in
the defiant chin and in the upraised head, which
compelled something of respect and admiration.
Stanley Hopkins had laid his hand upon her arm
and claimed her as his prisoner, but she waved him
aside gently, and yet with an overmastering dig-
nity which compelled obedience. The old man lay
back in his chair, with a twitching face, and stared
at her with brooding eyes.

"Yes, sir, I am your prisoner," she said. "From
where I stood I could hear everything, and I know
that you have learned the truth. I confess it all.
It was I who killed the young man. But you are
right, you who say it was an accident. I did not
even know that it was a knife which I held in my
hand, for in my despair I snatched anything from
the table and struck at him to make him let me go.
It is the truth that I tell."

"Madam," said Holmes, "I am sure that it is
the truth. I fear that you are far from well."

She had turned a dreadful colour, the more
ghastly under the dark dust-streaks upon her face.
She seated herself on the side of the bed; then she
resumed.

"I have only a little time here," she said, "but
I would have you to know the whole truth. I am
this man's wife. He is not an Englishman. He is a
Russian. His name I will not tell."

For the first time the old man stirred. "God
bless you, Anna!" he cried. "God bless you!"

She cast a look of the deepest disdain in his
direction. "Why should you cling so hard to that
wretched life of yours, Sergius?" said she. "It has
done harm to many and good to none — not even to
yourself. However, it is not for me to cause the frail
thread to be snapped before God's time. I have
enough already upon my soul since I crossed the
threshold of this cursed house. But I must speak
or I shall be too late.

"I have said, gentlemen, that I am this man's
wife. He was fifty and I a foolish girl of twenty
when we married. It was in a city of Russia, a
University — I will not name the place."

"God bless you, Anna!" murmured the old
man again.

"We were reformers — revolutionists — Nihilists,
you understand. He and I and many more. Then
there came a time of trouble, a police officer was
killed, many were arrested, evidence was wanted,
and in order to save his own life and to earn a great
reward my husband betrayed his own wife and his
companions. Yes, we were all arrested upon his
confession. Some of us found our way to the gal-
lows and some to Siberia. I was among these last,
but my term was not for life. My husband came to
England with his ill-gotten gains, and has lived in
quiet ever since, knowing well that if the Brother-
hood knew where he was not a week would pass
before justice would be done."

The old man reached out a trembling hand and
helped himself to a cigarette. "I am in your hands,
Anna," said he. "You were always good to me."

"I have not yet told you the height of his vil-
lainy," said she. "Among our comrades of the Or-
der there was one who was the friend of my heart.
He was noble, unselfish, loving — all that my hus-
band was not. He hated violence. We were all
guilty — if that is guilt — but he was not. He wrote
for ever dissuading us from such a course. These
letters would have saved him. So would my diary,
in which from day to day I had entered both my
feelings towards him and the view which each of
us had taken. My husband found and kept both
diary and letters. He hid them, and he tried hard
to swear away the young man's life. In this he
failed, but Alexis was sent a convict to Siberia,
where now, at this moment, he works in a salt
mine. Think of that, you villain, you villain; now,
now, at this very moment, Alexis, a man whose
name you are not worthy to speak, works and lives
like a slave, and yet I have your life in my hands
and I let you go."

539

The Adventure of the Golden Pince-Nez

"You were always a noble woman, Anna," said
the old man, puffing at his cigarette.

She had risen, but she fell back again with a
little cry of pain.

"I must finish," she said. "When my term was
over I set myself to get the diary and letters which,
if sent to the Russian Government, would procure
my friend's release. I knew that my husband had
come to England. After months of searching I dis-
covered where he was. I knew that he still had the
diary, for when I was in Siberia I had a letter from
him once reproaching me and quoting some pas-
sages from its pages. Yet I was sure that with his
revengeful nature he would never give it to me of
his own free will. I must get it for myself. With
this object I engaged an agent from a private de-
tective firm, who entered my husband's house as
secretary — it was your second secretary, Sergius,
the one who left you so hurriedly. He found that
papers were kept in the cupboard, and he got an
impression of the key. He would not go farther.
He furnished me with a plan of the house, and he
told me that in the forenoon the study was always
empty, as the secretary was employed up here. So
at last I took my courage in both hands and I came
down to get the papers for myself. I succeeded,
but at what a cost!

"I had just taken the papers and was locking
the cupboard when the young man seized me. I
had seen him already that morning. He had met
me in the road and I had asked him to tell me
where Professor Coram lived, not knowing that he
was in his employ."

"Exactly! exactly!" said Holmes. "The sec-
retary came back and told his employer of the
woman he had met. Then in his last breath he
tried to send a message that it was she — the she
whom he had just discussed with him."

"You must let me speak," said the woman, in
an imperative voice, and her face contracted as if
in pain. "When he had fallen I rushed from the
room, chose the wrong door, and found myself in
my husband's room. He spoke of giving me up.
I showed him that if he did so his life was in my
hands. If he gave me to the law I could give him
to the Brotherhood. It was not that I wished to
live for my own sake, but it was that I desired to
accomplish my purpose. He knew that I would
do what I said — that his own fate was involved in
mine. For that reason and for no other he shielded
me. He thrust me into that dark hiding-place, a
relic of old days, known only to himself. He took
his meals in his own room, and so was able to give
me part of his food. It was agreed that when the

police left the house I should slip away by night
and come back no more. But in some way you
have read our plans." She tore from the bosom
of her dress a small packet. "These are my last
words," said she; "here is the packet which will
save Alexis. I confide it to your honour and to
your love of justice. Take it! You will deliver it at
the Russian Embassy. Now I have done my duty,
and — "

"Stop her!" cried Holmes. He had bounded
across the room and had wrenched a small phial
from her hand.

"Too late!" she said, sinking back on the bed.
"Too late! I took the poison before I left my hiding-
place. My head swims! I am going! I charge you,
sir, to remember the packet."

"A simple case, and yet in some ways an in-
structive one," Holmes remarked, as we travelled
back to town. "It hinged from the outset upon the
pince-nez. But for the fortunate chance of the dy-
ing man having seized these I am not sure that
we could ever have reached our solution. It was
clear to me from the strength of the glasses that
the wearer must have been very blind and help-
less when deprived of them. When you asked me
to believe that she walked along a narrow strip of
grass without once making a false step I remarked,
as you may remember, that it was a noteworthy
performance. In my mind I set it down as an
impossible performance, save in the unlikely case
that she had a second pair of glasses. I was forced,
therefore, to seriously consider the hypothesis that
she had remained within the house. On perceiving
the similarity of the two corridors it became clear
that she might very easily have made such a mis-
take, and in that case it was evident that she must
have entered the Professor's room. I was keenly
on the alert, therefore, for whatever would bear
out this supposition, and I examined the room nar-
rowly for anything in the shape of a hiding-place.
The carpet seemed continuous and firmly nailed,
so I dismissed the idea of a trap-door. There might
well be a recess behind the books. As you are
aware, such devices are common in old libraries.
I observed that books were piled on the floor at
all other points, but that one bookcase was left
clear. This, then, might be the door. I could see
no marks to guide me, but the carpet was of a dun
colour, which lends itself very well to examination.
I therefore smoked a great number of those excel-
lent cigarettes, and I dropped the ash all over the
space in front of the suspected bookcase. It was
a simple trick, but exceedingly effective. I then
went downstairs and I ascertained, in your pres-
ence, Watson, without your perceiving the drift

540

of my remarks, that Professor Coram's consump-
tion of food had increased — as one would expect
when he is supplying a second person. We then
ascended to the room again, when, by upsetting
the cigarette-box, I obtained a very excellent view
of the floor, and was able to see quite clearly, from
the traces upon the cigarette ash, that the prisoner

had, in our absence, come out from her retreat.
Well, Hopkins, here we are at Charing Cross, and
I congratulate you on having brought your case to
a successful conclusion. You are going to head-
quarters, no doubt. I think, Watson, you and I will
drive together to the Russian Embassy."

FOULKES RATH

"This is a most curious affair," I said, dropping The Times on the floor. "Indeed, I am surprised that the family has not already consulted you."

My friend Sherlock Holmes turned away from the window and threw himself into his arm-chair.

"I take it that you refer to the murder at Foulkes Rath," he said languidly. "If so, this might interest you, Watson. It arrived before breakfast."

He had drawn a buff-colored form from the pocket of his dressing-gown and now passed it across to me. The telegram, which bore the postmark of Forest
Row, Sussex, ran as follows: "Having regard to Addleton affairs, propose to call on you at 10:15 precisely. Vincent."

Picking up The Times again, I ran my eye quickly down the column. "There is no mention of anybody named Vincent," I said.

"A fact of no importance whatever," replied Holmes impatiently. "Let us assume, from the phraseology of the telegram, that he is a lawyer of the old school
employed by the Addleton family. As I observe, Watson, that we have a few minutes in hand, pray refresh my memory by running over the salient points
from the account in this morning's paper, while omitting all irrelevant observations from their correspondent."

Holmes, having filled his clay pipe with shag from the Persian slipper, leaned back in his chair and contemplated the ceiling through a cloud of pungent blue
smoke.

"The tragedy occurred at Foulkes Rath," I began, "an ancient Sussex manor-house near Forest Row on Ashdown Forest. The curious name of the house is
derived from the circumstance that there is an old burial ground—"

"Keep to the facts, Watson."

"The property was owned by Colonel Matthias Addleton," I continued rather stiffly. "Squire Addleton, as he was known, was the local Justice of the Peace and the
richest landowner in the district. The household at Foulkes Rath consisted of the squire, his nephew Percy Longton, the butler Morstead and four indoor
servants. In addition, there is an outside staff consisting of the lodge-keeper, a groom and several gamekeepers who occupy cottages on the boundaries of the estate.
Last night, Squire Addleton and his nephew dined at their usual hour of eight o'clock and after dinner the squire sent for his horse and was absent for about an hour.
On his return, shortly before ten, he took a glass of port with his nephew in the hall. The two men appear to have been quarrelling, for the butler has stated
that, on entering with the port, he remarked that the squire was flushed and brusque in his manner."

"And the nephew, Longton I think you said his name was?" Holmes interrupted.

"According to the butler, he did not see Longton's face as the young man walked to the window and stood there looking out into the night while the butler was
in the room. On retiring, however, the butler caught the sounds of their voices in a furious altercation. Shortly after midnight, the household was roused by a loud cry
apparently from the hall and, on rushing down in their night-clothes, they were horrified to discover Squire Addleton lying senseless in a pool of blood with his head split
open. Standing beside the body of the dying man was Mr. Percy Longton, clad in a dressing-gown and grasping in his hand a blood-stained axe, a mediaeval
executioner's axe, Holmes, which had been torn down from a trophy of arms above the fireplace. Longton was so dazed with horror that he could scarcely assist in
lifting the injured man's head and staunching the loss of blood. However, even as Morstead bent over him, the squire raising himself on his elbows gasped out in a
dreadful whisper, 'It— was— Long— tom! It— was— Long— !' and sank back dead in the butler's arms. The local police were summoned and, on the evidence of
the quarrel between the two men, the discovery of the nephew standing over the body and finally the accusing words of the dying man himself, Mr. Percy Longton has been
arrested for the murder of Squire Addleton. I see that there is a note in the late-news column that the accused man, who has never ceased to protest his
innocence, has been removed to Lewes. These would appear to be the principal facts, Holmes."

For a while my friend smoked in silence.

"What explanation did Longton offer for the quarrel?" he asked at length.

"It is stated here that he voluntarily informed the police that he and his uncle came to high words on the subject of the latter's sale of Chudford Farm which Longton
considered a further and unnecessary reduction of the estate."

"Further?"

"It appears that Squire Addleton has sold other holdings over the last two years," I replied, throwing the paper on the couch. "I must say, Holmes that I have
seldom read a case in which the culprit is more clearly defined."

"Ugly, Watson, very ugly," my friend agreed. "Indeed, presuming the facts to be as stated, I cannot conceive why this Mr. Vincent should propose to waste my time. But
here, unless I am much mistaken, is our man upon the staircase."

There came a knock on the door and Mrs. Hudson ushered in our visitor.

Mr. Vincent was a small, elderly man with a long, pale, mournful face framed in a pair of side-whiskers. For a moment, he stood hesitating while he peered at us short-
sightedly through his pince-nez which were attached by a black ribbon to the lapel of his rather dingy frock-coat. "This is too bad, Mr. Holmes!" he cried shrilly. "I
assumed that my telegram would ensure privacy, sir, absolute privacy. My client's affairs—"

"This is my colleague Dr. Watson," interposed Sherlock Holmes, waving our visitor to the chair which I had drawn forward. "I assure you that his presence may be invalu-
able."

Mr. Vincent bobbed his head towards me and, depositing his hat and stick on the floor, sank into the cushions.

"Pray believe that I meant you no offence, Dr. Watson," he squeaked. "But this is a terrible morning, a terrible morning I say, for those who cherish goodwill for the
Addletons of Foulkes Rath."

"Quite so," said Holmes. "I trust, however, that your early-morning walk to the station did something to restore your nerves. I find that exercise is in itself a sedative."
Our visitor started in his seat. "Really, sir," he cried, "I fail to see how you—"

"Tut, tut;" Holmes interrupted impatiently. "A man who has driven to the station does not appear with a splash of fresh clay on his left gaiter and a similar smear
across the ferrule of his stick. You walked through a rough country lane and, as the weather is dry, I should judge that your path took in a ford or water-crossing."
"Your reasoning is perfectly correct, sir," replied Mr. Vincent, with a most suspicious glance at Holmes over the top of his pince-nez. "My horse is at grass and not
even a hack available at that hour in the village. I walked as you say, caught the milk train to London and here I am to enlist, nay, Mr. Holmes, to demand, your
services for my unfortunate young client, Mr. Percy Longton."

Holmes lay back with closed eyes and his chin resting on his finger-tips. "I fear that there is nothing that I can do in the matter," he announced. "Dr. Watson has
already put before me the principal facts, and they would appear to be quite damning. Who is in charge of the case?"

"I understand that the local police, in view of the gravity of the crime, appealed to Scotland Yard, who dispatched an Inspector Lestrade— dear me, Mr. Holmes, I
fear that you have a painful twinge of rheumatics— an Inspector Lestrade to take charge. I should explain, perhaps," went on our visitor, "that I am the senior partner
of Vincent, Peabody and Vincent, the legal practitioners of Forest Row to whom the Addletons have entrusted their interests for the past hundred years and
more."

Leaning forward, Holmes picked up the paper and, tapping the place sharply with his finger, handed it without a word to the lawyer.

"The account is accurate enough," said the little man sadly, after running his eye down the column, "though it omits to state that the front door was unlocked
despite the fact that the squire told Morstead the butler that he would lock it himself."

Holmes raised his eyebrows. "Unlocked, you say? H'm. Well, the probable explanation is that Squire Addleton forgot the matter in his quarrel with his nephew. However,
there are one or two points which are not yet clear to me."

"Well, sir?"

"I take it that the murdered man was in his night-clothes?"

"No, he was fully dressed. Mr. Longton was in his night-clothes."

"I understand that after dinner the squire left the house for an hour or so. Was it his custom to take nocturnal rides?"

Mr. Vincent ceased to stroke his whiskers and shot a keen glance at Holmes. "Now that you mention it, such was not his custom," he shrilled. "But he returned
safely and I cannot see—"

"Quite so," interposed Holmes. "Would you say that the squire was a wealthy man? Pray be precise in your reply."

"Matthias Addleton was a very wealthy man. He was, of course, the younger son and emigrated to Australia some forty years ago, that is to say in 1854. He
returned in the seventies having amassed a large fortune in the Australian gold-fields and, his elder brother having died, he inherited the family property of Foulkes
Rath. Alas, I cannot pretend that he was liked in the neighborhood, for he was a man of morose disposition and as unpopular with his neighbors as he was feared
by our local ne'er-do-wells in his capacity as Justice of the Peace. A hard, bitter, brooding man."

"Was Mr. Percy Longton on good terms with his uncle?"

The lawyer hesitated. "I am afraid not," he said at length. "Mr. Percy, who was the son of the squire's late sister, has lived at Foulkes Rath since his childhood
and, on the property passing to his uncle, he remained and managed the estate. He is, of course, the heir under an entailment which covers the house and a part of
the land and, on more than one occasion, he has expressed deep resentment at his uncle's sales of certain farms and holdings which led, I fear, to bad blood between
them. It was most unfortunate that his wife was absent last night, of all nights."

"His wife?"

"Yes, there is a Mrs. Longton, a charming, gracious young woman. She was staying with friends for the night at East Grinstead and is due back this morning." Mr.
Vincent paused. "Poor little Mary," he ended quietly. "What a home-coming! The squire dead and her husband charged with murder."

"One final question," said Holmes. "What explanation does your client offer to account for the events of last night?"

"His story is a simple one, Mr. Holmes. He states that at dinner the squire informed him of his intention to sell Chudford Farm and when he remonstrated on the need-
lessness of the sale and the damage that it would do to the estate, his uncle turned on him roundly and high words ensued. Later, his uncle called for his
horse and rode from the house without a word of explanation. Upon his return, the squire ordered a bottle of port and, as the quarrel threatened to grow from bad to
worse, Mr. Percy bade his uncle good-night and retired to his room. However, his mind was too agitated for sleep and twice, according to his statement, he sat up in
bed under the impression that he had caught the distant sound of his uncle's voice from the great hall."

"Why, then, did he not go to investigate?" interposed Holmes sharply.

"I put that very question to him. He replied that his uncle had been drinking heavily and therefore he assumed that he was raving to himself in the hall. The butler
Morstead confirmed that this had occurred not infrequently in the past."

"Pray continue."

"The clock over the stables had just chimed midnight and he was drifting at last into slumber when in an instant he was brought back to full consciousness by a
dreadful yell that rang through the great silent house. Springing out of bed, he pulled on his dressing-gown and, seizing a candle, ran downstairs to the hall, only to recoil
before the terrible sight that met his eyes.

"The hearth and fireplace were spattered with blood, and sprawling in a great crimson pool, his arms raised above his head and his teeth grinning through his
beard, lay Squire Addleton. Mr. Percy rushed forward and was bending over his uncle when his eyes fell upon an object that turned him sick and faint. Beside the
body of the squire and horribly dappled with the blood of its victim lay an executioner's axe! He recognized it vaguely as forming a part of a trophy of arms that hung
above the chimney-piece and without thinking what he was doing he had stooped and picked up the thing when Morstead accompanied by the terrified maidservants
burst into the room. Such is the explanation of my unhappy client."

"Dear me," said Holmes.

Fora long moment, the lawyer and I sat in silence, our eyes fixed upon my friend. His head had fallen back against the chair top, his eyes were closed and only
a thin, quick spiral of smoke rising from his clay pipe hinted at the activity of the mind behind that impassive aquiline mask. A moment later, he had sprung to his
feet.

"A breath of Ashdown air will certainly do you no harm, Watson," he said briskly. "Mr. Vincent, my friend and I are very much at your disposal."

It was mid-afternoon when we alighted from the train at the wayside station of Forest Row. Mr. Vincent had telegraphed our reservations at the Green Man, an
old-weald-stone inn which appeared to be the only building of any consequence in the little hamlet. The air was permeated with the scent of the woodlands
clothing the low, rounded Sussex hills that hemmed us in on every side, and as I contemplated that green smiling landscape it seemed to me that the tragedy of
Foulkes Rath took on a grimmer, darker shade through the very serenity of the pastoral surroundings amid which it had been enacted. Though it was evident that the
worthy lawyer shared my feelings, Sherlock Holmes was completely absorbed in his own thoughts, and took no part in our conversation save for a remark that the
station-master was unhappily married and had recently changed the position of his shaving-mirror.

Hiring a fly at the inn, we set out on the three-mile journey that lay between the village and the manor-house, and as our road wound its way up the wooded slopes of
Pippinford Hill, we caught occasional glimpses of a sombre, heather-covered ridge where the edge of the great Ashdown moors loomed against the sky-line.

We had topped the hill and I was absorbed in the wonderful view of the moorland rolling away and away to the faint blue distances of the Sussex Downs when Mr.
Vincent touched my arm and pointed ahead.

"Foulkes Rath," he said.

On a crest of the moor stood a gaunt, rambling house of grey stone flanked by a line of stables. A series of fields running from the very walls of the ancient mansion
merged into a wilderness of yellow gorse and heather ending in a deep wooded valley from whence arose a pencil of smoke and the high distant droning of a
steam-saw.

"The Ashdown Timber Mills," volunteered Mr. Vincent. "Those woods lie beyond the boundary of the estate and there is not another neighbour within three miles. But
here we are, Mr. Holmes, and a sorry welcome it is to the manor-house of Foulkes Rath."

At the sound of our wheels upon the drive an elderly manservant had appeared at the beetle-browed Tudor doorway and now, on catching sight of our
companion, he hurried forward with an exclamation of relief.

"Thank God you've come, sir," he cried. "Mrs. Longton—"

"She has returned?" interposed Mr. Vincent. "Poor lady, I will go to her at once."

"Sergeant Clare is here, sir, and— er— a person from the London police."

'Very well, Morstead."

"One moment," said Holmes. "Has your master's body been moved?"

"He has been laid in the gun-room, sir."

"I trust that nothing else has been disturbed?" Holmes demanded sharply.

The man's eyes turned slowly towards the dark arch of the doorway. "No, sir," he muttered. "It's all as it was!"

A small vestibule in which Morstead relieved us of our hats and sticks led us into the inner hall. It was a great stone-built chamber with a groined roof and a line of narrow
pointed windows emblazoned with stained -glass shields through which the sunlight, now waning towards evening, mottled the oaken floor with vivid patches of vert,
gules and azure. A short, thin man who was busy writing at a desk glanced up at our entrance and sprang to his feet with a flush of indignation upon his sharp-
featured countenance.

"How's this, Mr. Holmes," he cried. "There's no scope here for the exercise of your talents."

"I have no doubt that you are right, Lestrade," replied my friend carelessly. "Nevertheless, there have been occasions when—"

"—when luck has favoured the theorist, eh, Mr. Holmes? Ah, Dr. Watson. And might I enquire who this is, if the question may be forgiven in a police-officer?"
"This is Mr. Vincent, who is legal advisor to the Addleton family," I replied. "It was he who requested the services of Mr. Sherlock Holmes."

"Oh, he did, did he!" snapped Inspector Lestrade, with a baleful glance at the little lawyer. "Well, it's too late now for any of Mr. Holmes's fine theories. We
have our man. Good day, gentlemen."

"Just a moment, Lestrade," said Holmes sternly. "You've made mistakes in the past, and it is not impossible that you may make them in the future. In this case,
if you have the right man, and I must confess that up to now I believe that you have, then you have nothing to lose in my confirmation. On the other
hand—"

"Ah, it's always 'on the other hand.' However—" Lestrade added grudgingly, "I do not see that you can do any harm. If you want to waste your own time, Mr.
Holmes, that's your business. Yes, Dr. Watson, it's a nasty sight, isn't it?"

I had followed Sherlock Holmes to the fireplace at the far end of the room only to recoil before the spectacle that met my eyes. Across the oak floor stretched a
great black stain of partly congealed blood while the hearth and fireplace and even the nearby wainscotting were hideously dappled with gouts and splashes of
crimson.

Mr. Vincent, white to the lips, turned away and collapsed into a chair.

"Stand back, Watson," Holmes enjoined abruptly. "I take it, Lestrade, that there were no footprints on—" he gestured towards that dreadful floor.

"Just one, Mr. Holmes," replied Lestrade with a bitter smile, "and it fitted Mr. Percy Longton's bedroom-slipper."

"Ah, it would seem that you are learning. By the way, what of the accused man's dressing-gown?"

"Well, what of it?"

"The walls, Lestrade, the walls! Surely the blood-spattered front of Longton's robe goes far towards completing your case."

"Now that you mention it, the sleeves were blood-soaked."

"Tut, that is natural enough, considering that he helped to raise the dying man's head. There is little to be gained from the sleeves. You have the dressing-gown
there?"

The Scotland Yard man rummaged in a Gladstone bag and drew out a grey woollen robe.

"This is it."

"H'm. Stains on the sleeves and hem. Not even a mark on the front. Curious but, alas, inconclusive. And this is the weapon?"

Lestrade had drawn from his bag a most fearsome object. It was a short-hafted axe made entirely of steel with a broad crescent-edge blade and a narrow neck.
"This is certainly a very ancient specimen," said Holmes, examining the blade through his lens. "Incidentally, where was the wound inflicted?"

"The whole top of Squire Addleton's skull was cleft like a rotten apple," answered Lestrade. "Indeed, it was a miracle that he regained consciousness even for a mo-
ment. An unfortunate miracle for Mr. Longton," he added.

"He named him, I understand."

"Well, he gasped out something about 'Longtom,' which was near enough to the mark for a dying man."

"Quite so. But whom have we here? No, madam, not a step nearer, I beg! This fireplace is no sight for a woman."

A slim, graceful girl, clad in the deepest mourning, had rushed into the room. Her dark eyes shone with almost fevered brilliance in the whiteness of her
face and her hands were clasped before her in an agony of distress.

"Save him!" she cried wildly. "He is innocent, I swear it! Oh, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, save my husband!"

I do not think that any of us, even Lestrade, remained unmoved.

"I will do whatever lies in my power, madam," said Holmes gently. "Now tell me about your husband."

"He is the kindest of men."

"Quite so. But I mean physically. For instance, would you say that he was taller than Squire Addleton?"

Mrs. Longton looked at Holmes in amazement. "Good heavens, no," she cried. "Why, the squire was over six feet tall."

"Ah. Now, Mr. Vincent, perhaps you can inform me when it was that Squire Addleton first began to sell portions of the estate?"

"The first sale occurred two years past, the second some six months ago," replied the lawyer hurriedly. "And now, Mr. Holmes, unless you require my

presence, I propose to take Mrs. Longton back to the drawing-room."

My friend bowed. "We need not worry Mrs. Longton any further," said he. "But I would be glad of a word with the butler."

While we waited, Holmes strolled to the window and, with his hands behind his back and his chin sunk upon his breast, stared out over the empty landscape.

Lestrade, who had returned to his desk, chewed the end of his pen and watched him curiously.

"Ah, Morstead," said Holmes, as the butler entered. "Doubtless you are anxious to do everything possible to assist Mr. Longton, and I wish you to understand that
we are here with the same purpose."

The man looked nervously from Lestrade to Holmes.

"Come, now," my friend continued. "I am sure that you can help us. For instance, perhaps you can recall whether the squire received any letters by yesterday's
post."

"There was a letter, sir, yes."

"Ah! Can you tell me more?"

"I'm afraid not, sir. It bore the local postmark and seemed a very ordinary cheap envelope such as they use hereabouts. But I was surprised—" the man
hesitated for a moment.

"Yes, something surprised you. Something, perhaps, in the squire's manner?" asked Holmes quietly.

"Yes, sir, that's it. As soon as I gave it to him, he opened it and as he read there came a look in his face that made me glad to get out of the room. When I
returned later, the squire had gone out and there were bits of burnt paper smouldering in the grate."

Holmes rubbed his hands together. "Your assistance is invaluable, Morstead," said he. "Now, think carefully. Six months ago, as you probably know, your master
sold some land. You cannot, of course, recall a similar letter at about that time?"

"No, sir."

"Naturally not. Thank you, Morstead, I think that is all."

Something in his voice made me glance at Holmes and I was amazed at the change in him. His eyes gleamed with excitement and a touch of colour showed in
his cheeks.

"Sit down, Watson," he cried. "Over there on the trestle." Then, whipping his lens from his pocket, he commenced his examination.

I watched him enthralled. The blood-stains, the fireplace, the mantelpiece, the very floor itself were subjected to a careful and methodical scrutiny as Holmes crawled
about on his hands and knees, his long, thin nose within a few inches of the parquet and the lens in his hands catching an occasional sparkle from the light of the
dying sun.

A Persian rug lay in the centre of the room and, on reaching the edge of this, I saw him stiffen suddenly.

"You should have observed this, Lestrade," he said softly. "There are faint traces of a foot-mark here."

"What of it, Mr. Holmes?" grinned Lestrade, with a wink at me. "Plenty of people have passed over that rug."

"But it has not rained for days. The boot which made this mark was slightly moist, and I need not tell you that there is something in this room which would easily ac-
count for that. Hullo, what have we here?"

Holmes had scraped something from the mat and was closely examining it through his lens. Lestrade and I joined him.

"Well, what is it?"

Without a word, Holmes passed him the lens and held out his hand.

"Dust," announced Lestrade, peering through the glass.

"Pine-wood dust," replied Holmes quietly. "The fine grain is unmistakable. You will note that I scraped it from the traces of the boot-mark."

"Really, Holmes," I cried. "I cannot see— "

My friend looked at me with a gleaming eye. "Come, Watson," said he, "we will stretch our legs as far as the stables."

In the cobbled yard, we came on a groom drawing water from a pump. I have remarked before that Holmes possessed a gift for putting the working classes at
their ease and, after exchanging a few words, the man lost so much of his Sussex reserve that when my friend threw out the suggestion that it might be
difficult to name which of the horses had been used by his master on the previous night, the information was instantly forthcoming.

"It was Ranger, sir," volunteered the groom. "Here in this stall. You'd like to see her hoofs? Well, why not. There you are, and you can scrape away with your
knife to your heart's content and not a stone will you find."

Holmes, after closely examining a fragment of earth which he had taken from the horse's hoof, placed it carefully in an envelope and, pressing a half-sovereign
into the groom's hand, strode out of the yard.

"Well, Watson, it only remains for us to collect our hats and sticks before returning to our inn," he announced briskly. "Ah, Lestrade," he continued, as the
Scotland Yard man appeared in the front door. "I would draw your attention to the fireplace chair."

"But there is no fireplace chair."

"That is why I draw your attention to it. Come, Watson, there is nothing further to be learned here tonight."

The evening passed pleasantly enough, though I was somewhat irritated with Holmes who, while refusing to answer any of my questions on the grounds that they
could be better answered on the morrow, encouraged our landlord to converse on local topics which could hold no interest whatever for strangers like ourselves.
When I awoke the next morning I was surprised to learn that my friend had breakfasted and gone out some two hours earlier. I was concluding my own
breakfast when he strolled in, looking invigorated for his exercise in the open air.

"Where have you been?" I enquired.

"Following the example of the early bird, Watson," he chuckled. "If you have finished, then let us drive to Foulkes Rath and pick up Lestrade. There are times
when he has his definite uses."

Half an hour later saw us once more at the old mansion. Lestrade, who greeted us rather surlily, stared at my companion in amazement.

"But why a walk on the moors, Mr. Holmes?" he snapped. "What bee has got into your bonnet this time?"

Holmes's face was very stern, as he turned away. "Very well," said he. ”1 had hoped to give you the undivided credit of capturing the murderer of Squire
Addleton."

Lestrade caught my companion by the arm. "Man, are you serious?" he demanded. "But the evidence! Every single fact points clearly to—"

Sherlock Holmes raised his stick and pointed silently down the long slope of fields and heather to the distant wooded valley.

"There," he said quietly.

It was a walk that I will long remember. I am sure that Lestrade had no more idea than I had of what lay before us as we followed Holmes's tall, spare figure across
the meadows and down the rough sheep track that led into the desolation of the moor. It was a mile or more before we reached the beginning of the valley and plunged
down into the welcome shade of the pine woods through which the whirring of the steam-saw vibrated like the hum of some monstrous insect. The air grew redolent
with the tang of burning wood and a few minutes later we found ourselves among the buildings and timber stacks of the Ashdown Timber Mills.

Holmes led the way without hesitation to a hut marked "Manager" and knocked sharply. There was a moment of waiting, and then the door was flung open.

I have seldom seen a more formidable figure than the man who stood upon the threshold. He was a giant in stature, with a breadth of shoulders that blocked the
doorway and a matted tangle of red beard that hung down over his chest like the mane of a lion. "What do you want here?" he growled.

"I presume that I have the pleasure of addressing Mr. Thomas Greerly?" asked Holmes politely.

The man remained silent while he bit off a cud of chewing-tobacco, his eyes roving over us in a cold, slow stare.

"What if you have?" he said at length.

"Long Tom to your friends, I think," said Holmes quietly. "Well, Mr. Thomas Greerly, it is no thanks to you that an innocent man is not called upon to pay the
penalty for your own misdeeds."

For a moment the giant stood as though turned to stone and then, with the roar of a wild beast, he hurled himself on Holmes. I managed to sieze him round the
waist and Holmes's hands were buried deep in that bristling tangle of beard, but it would have gone hard with us had not Lestrade clapped a pistol to the
man's head. At the touch of the cold steel against his temples, he ceased to struggle and a moment later Holmes had snapped a pair of handcuffs upon his great
knotted wrists.

From the glare in his eyes I thought that Greerly was about to attack us again, but suddenly he gave a rueful laugh and turned his bearded face towards my friend.

"I don't know who you are, mister," he said, "but it’s a fair catch. So, if you’ll tell me how you did it, I’ll answer all your questions."

Lestrade stepped forward. "I must warn you—" he began, with the magnanimous fair play of British justice.

But our prisoner waved his words aside.

"Aye, I killed him," he growled. "I killed Bully Addleton and now that it has come I reckon that I’ll swing with an easy heart. Is that plain enough for you? Well,
come inside."

He led the way into the little office and threw himself into his chair while the rest of us accommodated ourselves as best we might.

"How did you find me, mister?" he demanded carelessly, raising his manacled hands to bite off a fresh cud of tobacco.

"Fortunately for an innocent man, I discerned certain traces of your presence," said Holmes in his sternest manner. "I admit that I believed Mr. Percy Longton
to be guilty when first I was asked to look into the matter nor did I perceive any reason to alter my views when I reached the scene of the crime. It was not long, however,
before I found myself faced with certain details which, though insignificant enough in themselves, threw a new and curious light on the whole affair. The frightful blow
that killed Squire Addleton had spattered blood over the fireplace and even a part of the wall. Why, then, were there no stains down the front of the dressing-gown
worn by the man who struck that blow? Here was something inconclusive and yet troublesome.

"Next, I observed that there was no chair in the vicinity of the fireplace where the murdered man had fallen. He had, therefore, been struck down when standing, not
sitting, and yet as the blow cleft the top of his skull it had been delivered from the same level, if not from above. When I learned from Mrs. Longton that the squire
was over six feet tall, I was left with no doubt whatever that a serious miscarriage of justice had been committed. But, if not Longton, then who was the real murderer?
"My enquiries brought to light that a letter had reached the squire that morning, that apparently he had burned it, and thereafter quarrelled with his nephew by
proposing the sale of a farm. Squire Addleton was a wealthy man. Why, then, these periodic sales which had first commenced two years previously? The man was
being heavily blackmailed."

"A lie, by God!" interrupted Greerly fiercely. "He was paying back what didn't belong to him, and that's the truth."

"On examining the room," my friend continued. "I found the faint traces of a boot-mark to which I drew your attention, Lestrade, and as the weather was dry I
knew, of course, that the mark had been made after the crime. The man's boot was moist because he had stepped in the blood. My lens disclosed traces of some fine
powder adhering to this boot-mark and on closer examination I recognized this powder to be pine sawdust. When I found, pressed into the dried earth in the hoofs of
the squire's horse, a quantity of similar sawdust, I was able to form a fairly clear picture of the events which had occurred on the night of the crime.

"The squire, who had been subjected to the vehement protests of his nephew over the proposed sale of some valuable land, instantly mounted his horse after dinner
and rode off into the darkness. Obviously, he intended to speak, perhaps appeal, to someone, and about midnight that someone comes. He is a man of lofty

stature and of a strength sufficiently formidable to cleave a human skull in a single blow, and the soles of his boots are engrained with pine-dust. There is a
quarrel between the two men, perhaps a refusal to pay, a threat and, in an instant, the taller man has torn a weapon from the wall and, burying it in his
opponent's skull, rushes out into the night.

"Where, I asked myself, might one expect to find the ground impregnated with wood-dust? Surely in a sawmill; and there down in the valley below the manor-house lay
the Ashdown Timber Mills.

"It had occurred to me already that the clue to this terrible event might lie in the squire's earlier life, and therefore, following my usual practice, I spent an instructive
evening gossiping with our landlord in course of which I elicited by an idle question that two years ago an Australian had been given the post of Manager at
the Ashdown Timber Mills on the personal recommendation of Squire Addleton. When you came out of this hut early this morning, Greerly, to give your orders for the
day's work, I was behind that timber shack. I saw you, and my case was complete."

The Australian, who had listened to Holmes's account with the closest attention, leaned back in Ms chair with a bitter smile.

"It's my bad luck they ever sent for you, mister," he said brazenly. "But I'm not the man to break a bargain, and so here's the little that you still need to know.

"It all began in the early seventies at the time of the great gold strike near Kalgoorlie. I had a younger brother who went into partnership with an Englishman whom
we knew as Bully Addleton and, sure enough, they struck it rich. At that time the tracks to the goldfields were none too safe, for there were bushrangers at work. Well,
only a week after my brother and Addleton hit the vein, the gold-stage to Kalgoorlie was held up and the guard and driver shot dead.

"On the false accusation of Bully Addleton and some trumped-up evidence, my unfortunate brother was seized and tried for the crime. The law was quick to act in those
days and they hung him that night to the Bushranger's Tree. Addleton was left with the mine.

"I was away up the Blue Mountains, timber cutting, and two full years passed before I heard the truth of the matter from a digger who had it from a dying cook-boy
who had been bribed to silence.

"Addleton had made his pile and gone back to the Old Country, and I hadn't the money to follow him. From that day I wandered from job to job, always saving and
planning how to find my brother's murderer, aye murderer, may the devil roast him!

"It was nigh twenty years before I came alongside him and that one moment repaid all my waiting.

" 'Morning, Bully,' said I.

"His face went the colour of putty and the pipe dropped out of his mouth.

" 'Long Tom Greerly!' he gasped, and I thought the man was going to faint.

"Well, we had a talk and I made him get me this job. Then I began to bleed him bit by bit. No blackmail, mister, but restitution of a dead man's goods. Two days
ago, I wrote to him again and that night he rode down here, cursing and swearing that I was driving him to ruin. I told him I'd give him until midnight to make his
choice, pay or tell, and I'd call for his answer.

"He was waiting for me in the hall, mad with drink and fury, and swearing that I could go to the police or the devil for all he cared. Did I think that the word
of a dirty Australian timber-jack would be accepted against that of the Lord of the Manor and Justice of the Peace? He was mad to have ever paid me a penny-piece.

" 'I'll serve you as thoroughly as I served your worthless brother!' he yelled. It was that which did it. Something seemed to snap in my brain and, tearing down
the nearest weapon from the wall, I buried it in his snarling, grinning head.

"For a moment I stood looking down at him. 'From me and Jim,' I whispered. Then I turned and ran into the night. That's my story, mister, and now I'd take
it kindly if we can go before my men get back."

Lestrade and his prisoner had reached the door when Holmes's voice halted them.

"I only wish to know," he said, "whether you are aware of the weapon with which you killed Squire Addleton?"

"I told you it was the nearest thing on the wall, some old axe or club."

"It was an executioner's axe," said Holmes drily. The Australian made no reply, but as he followed Lestrade to the door it seemed to me that a singular
smile lit up his rough, bearded face.

My friend and I walked back slowly through the woods and up the moor where Lestrade and the prisoner had already vanished in the direction of Foulkes
Rath. Sherlock Holmes was moody and thoughtful and it was apparent to me that the reaction that generally followed the conclusion of a case was already
upon him.

"It is curious," I observed, "that a man's hatred and ferocity should remain unabated after twenty years."

"My dear Watson," replied Holmes, "I would remind you of the old Sicilian adage that vengeance is the only dish that is best when eaten cold. But surely,"
he continued, shading his eyes with his hand, "the lady hurrying down our path is Mrs. Longton. Though I trust that I am not lacking in chivalry,
nevertheless I am in no mood for the effusions of feminine gratitude and therefore, with your permission, we will take this by-path behind the gorse bushes. If
we step out, we should be in time for the afternoon train to town.

"Corata is singing tonight at Covent Garden and, braced by our short holiday in the invigorating atmosphere of Ashdown Forest, I think that you will agree
with me, Watson, that we could desire no more pleasant homecoming than an hour or two spent amid the magic of Manon Lescaut followed by a cold supper at
our rooms in Baker Street."

The Adventure of Wisteria Lodge

CHAPTER I.

The Singular Experience of Mr. John Scott Eccles

find it recorded in my notebook that it
was a bleak and windy day towards the
end of March in the year 1892. Holmes
had received a telegram while we sat
at our lunch, and he had scribbled a reply He
made no remark, but the matter remained in his
thoughts, for he stood in front of the fire after-
wards with a thoughtful face, smoking his pipe,
and casting an occasional glance at the message.
Suddenly he turned upon me with a mischievous
twinkle in his eyes.

"I suppose, Watson, we must look upon you as
a man of letters," said he. "How do you define the
word 'grotesque'?"

"Strange — remarkable," I suggested.

He shook his head at my definition.

"There is surely something more than that,"
said he; "some underlying suggestion of the tragic
and the terrible. If you cast your mind back to
some of those narratives with which you have af-
flicted a long-suffering public, you will recognize
how often the grotesque has deepened into the
criminal. Think of that little affair of the red-
headed men. That was grotesque enough in the
outset, and yet it ended in a desperate attempt at
robbery. Or, again, there was that most grotesque
affair of the five orange pips, which let straight to
a murderous conspiracy. The word puts me on the
alert."

"Have you it there?" I asked.

He read the telegram aloud.

"Have just had most incredible and
grotesque experience. May I consult
you? — "Scott Eccles,

"Post Office, Charing Cross."

"Man or woman?" I asked.

"Oh, man, of course. No woman would ever
send a reply-paid telegram. She would have
come."

"Will you see him?"

"My dear Watson, you know how bored I have
been since we locked up Colonel Carruthers. My
mind is like a racing engine, tearing itself to pieces
because it is not connected up with the work for
which it was built. Life is commonplace, the pa-
pers are sterile; audacity and romance seem to
have passed forever from the criminal world. Can
you ask me, then, whether I am ready to look into

any new problem, however trivial it may prove?
But here, unless I am mistaken, is our client."

A measured step was heard upon the stairs,
and a moment later a stout, tall, gray-whiskered
and solemnly respectable person was ushered into
the room. His life history was written in his heavy
features and pompous manner. From his spats to
his gold-rimmed spectacles he was a Conservative,
a churchman, a good citizen, orthodox and con-
ventional to the last degree. But some amazing ex-
perience had disturbed his native composure and
left its traces in his bristling hair, his flushed, an-
gry cheeks, and his flurried, excited manner. He
plunged instantly into his business.

"I have had a most singular and unpleasant ex-
perience, Mr. Holmes," said he. "Never in my life
have I been placed in such a situation. It is most
improper — most outrageous. I must insist upon
some explanation." He swelled and puffed in his
anger.

"Pray sit down, Mr. Scott Eccles," said Holmes
in a soothing voice. "May I ask, in the first place,
why you came to me at all?"

"Well, sir, it did not appear to be a matter
which concerned the police, and yet, when you
have heard the facts, you must admit that I could
not leave it where it was. Private detectives are a
class with whom I have absolutely no sympathy,
but none the less, having heard your name — "

"Quite so. But, in the second place, why did
you not come at once?"

"What do you mean?"

Holmes glanced at his watch.

"It is a quarter-past two," he said. "Your tele-
gram was dispatched about one. But no one can
glance at your toilet and attire without seeing that
your disturbance dates from the moment of your
waking."

Our client smoothed down his unbrushed hair
and felt his unshaven chin.

"You are right, Mr. Holmes. I never gave a
thought to my toilet. I was only too glad to get out
of such a house. But I have been running round
making inquiries before I came to you. I went to
the house agents, you know, and they said that Mr.
Garcia's rent was paid up all right and that every-
thing was in order at Wisteria Lodge."

"Come, come, sir," said Holmes, laughing.
"You are like my friend. Dr. Watson, who has a

747

The Adventure of Wisteria Lodge

bad habit of telling his stories wrong end foremost.
Please arrange your thoughts and let me know, in
their due sequence, exactly what those events are
which have sent you out unbrushed and unkempt,
with dress boots and waistcoat buttoned awry, in
search of advice and assistance."

Our client looked down with a rueful face at
his own unconventional appearance.

"I'm sure it must look very bad, Mr. Holmes,
and I am not aware that in my whole life such a
thing has ever happened before. But will tell you
the whole queer business, and when I have done
so you will admit, I am sure, that there has been
enough to excuse me."

But his narrative was nipped in the bud. There
was a bustle outside, and Mrs. Hudson opened the
door to usher in two robust and official-looking
individuals, one of whom was well known to us
as Inspector Gregson of Scotland Yard, an ener-
getic, gallant, and, within his limitations, a capa-
ble officer. He shook hands with Holmes and in-
troduced his comrade as Inspector Baynes, of the
Surrey Constabulary.

"We are hunting together, Mr. Holmes, and our
trail lay in this direction." He turned his bulldog
eyes upon our visitor. "Are you Mr. John Scott Ec-
cles, of Popham House, Lee?"

"I am."

"We have been following you about all the
morning."

"You traced him through the telegram, no
doubt," said Holmes.

"Exactly, Mr. Holmes. We picked up the scent
at Charing Cross Post-Office and came on here."

"But why do you follow me? What do you
want?"

"We wish a statement, Mr. Scott Eccles, as to
the events which let up to the death last night of
Mr. Aloysius Garcia, of Wisteria Lodge, near Es-
her."

Our client had sat up with staring eyes and ev-
ery tinge of colour struck from his astonished face.

"Dead? Did you say he was dead?"

"Yes, sir, he is dead."

"But how? An accident?"

"Murder, if ever there was one upon earth."

"Good God! This is awful! You don't
mean — you don't mean that I am suspected?"

"A letter of yours was found in the dead man's
pocket, and we know by it that you had planned
to pass last night at his house."

"So I did."

"Oh, you did, did you?"

Out came the official notebook.

"Wait a bit, Gregson," said Sherlock Holmes.
"All you desire is a plain statement, is it not?"

"And it is my duty to warn Mr. Scott Eccles
that it may be used against him."

"Mr. Eccles was going to tell us about it when
you entered the room. I think, Watson, a brandy
and soda would do him no harm. Now, sir, I sug-
gest that you take no notice of this addition to your
audience, and that you proceed with your narra-
tive exactly as you would have done had you never
been interrupted."

Our visitor had gulped off the brandy and the
colour had returned to his face. With a dubious
glance at the inspector's notebook, he plunged at
once into his extraordinary statement.

"I am a bachelor," said he, "and being of
a sociable turn I cultivate a large number of
friends. Among these are the family of a retired
brewer called Melville, living at Abermarle Man-
sion, Kensington. It was at his table that I met
some weeks ago a young fellow named Garcia. He
was, I understood, of Spanish descent and con-
nected in some way with the embassy. He spoke
perfect English, was pleasing in his manners, and
as good-looking a man as ever I saw in my life.

"In some way we struck up quite a friendship,
this young fellow and I. He seemed to take a fancy
to me from the first, and within two days of our
meeting he came to see me at Lee. One thing led
to another, and it ended in his inviting me out to
spend a few days at his house. Wisteria Lodge,
between Esher and Oxshott. Yesterday evening I
went to Esher to fulfil this engagement.

"He had described his household to me before
I went there. He lived with a faithful servant, a
countryman of his own, who looked after all his
needs. This fellow could speak English and did
his housekeeping for him. Then there was a won-
derful cook, he said, a half-breed whom he had
picked up in his travels, who could serve an ex-
cellent dinner. I remember that he remarked what
a queer household it was to find in the heart of
Surrey, and that I agreed with him, though it has
proved a good deal queerer than I thought.

"I drove to the place — about two miles on the
south side of Esher. The house was a fair-sized
one, standing back from the road, with a curv-
ing drive which was banked with high evergreen
shrubs. It was an old, tumbledown building in a
crazy state of disrepair. When the trap pulled up

748

The Adventure of Wisteria Lodge

on the grass-grown drive in front of the blotched
and weather-stained door, I had doubts as to my
wisdom in visiting a man whom I knew so slightly.
He opened the door himself, however, and greeted
me with a great show of cordiality I was handed
over to the manservant, a melancholy, swarthy in-
dividual, who led the way, my bag in his hand,
to my bedroom. The whole place was depress-
ing. Our dinner was tete-a-tete, and though my
host did his best to be entertaining, his thoughts
seemed to continually wander, and he talked so
vaguely and wildly that I could hardly understand
him. He continually drummed his fingers on the
table, gnawed his nails, and gave other signs of
nervous impatience. The dinner itself was neither
well served nor well cooked, and the gloomy pres-
ence of the taciturn servant did not help to enliven
us. I can assure you that many times in the course
of the evening I wished that I could invent some
excuse which would take me back to Lee.

"One thing comes back to my memory which
may have a bearing upon the business that you two
gentlemen are investigating. I thought nothing of
it at the time. Near the end of dinner a note was
handed in by the servant. I noticed that after my
host had read it he seemed even more distrait and
strange than before. He gave up all pretence at
conversation and sat, smoking endless cigarettes,
lost in his own thoughts, but he made no remark
as to the contents. About eleven I was glad to go
to bed. Some time later Garcia looked in at my
door — the room was dark at the time — and asked
me if I had rung. I said that I had not. He apolo-
gized for having disturbed me so late, saying that
it was nearly one o'clock. I dropped off after this
and slept soundly all night.

"And now I come to the amazing part of my
tale. When I woke it was broad daylight. I glanced
at my watch, and the time was nearly nine. I
had particularly asked to be called at eight, so I
was very much astonished at this forgetfulness. I
sprang up and rang for the servant. There was no
response. I rang again and again, with the same
result. Then I came to the conclusion that the bell
was out of order. I huddled on my clothes and
hurried downstairs in an exceedingly bad temper
to order some hot water. You can imagine my sur-
prise when I found that there was no one there. I
shouted in the hall. There was no answer. Then
I ran from room to room. All were deserted. My
host had shown me which was his bedroom the
night before, so I knocked at the door. No reply. I
turned the handle and walked in. The room was
empty, and the bed had never been slept in. He

had gone with the rest. The foreign host, the for-
eign footman, the foreign cook, all had vanished in
the night! That was the end of my visit to Wisteria
Lodge."

Sherlock Holmes was rubbing his hands and
chuckling as he added this bizarre incident to his
collection of strange episodes.

"Your experience is, so far as I know, perfectly
unique," said he. "May I ask, sir, what you did
then?"

"I was furious. My first idea was that I had
been the victim of some absurd practical joke. I
packed my things, banged the hall door behind
me, and set off for Esher, with my bag in my hand.
I called at Allan Brothers', the chief land agents in
the village, and found that it was from this firm
that the villa had been rented. It struck me that
the whole proceeding could hardly be for the pur-
pose of making a fool of me, and that the main
objet must be to get out of the rent. It is late in
March, so quarter-day is at hand. But this theory
would not work. The agent was obliged to me for
my warning, but told me that the rent had been
paid in advance. Then I made my way to town
and called at the Spanish embassy. The man was
unknown there. After this I went to see Melville,
at whose house I had first met Garcia, but I found
that he really knew rather less about him than I
did. Finally when I got your reply to my wire I
came out to you, since I gather that you are a per-
son who gives advice in difficult cases. But now,
Mr. Inspector, I understand, from what you said
when you entered the room, that you can carry
the story on, and that some tragedy had occurred.
I can assure you that every word I have said is the
truth, and that, outside of what I have told you,
I know absolutely nothing about the fate of this
man. My only desire is to help the law in every
possible way."

"I am sure of it, Mr. Scott Eccles — I am sure of
it," said Inspector Gregson in a very amiable tone.
"I am bound to say that everything which you have
said agrees very closely with the facts as they have
come to our notice. For example, there was that
note which arrived during dinner. Did you chance
to observe what became of it?"

"Yes, I did. Garcia rolled it up and threw it into
the fire."

"What do you say to that, Mr. Baynes?"

The country detective was a stout, puffy, red
man, whose face was only redeemed from gross-
ness by two extraordinarily bright eyes, almost
hidden behind the heavy creases of cheek and

749

The Adventure of Wisteria Lodge

brow. With a slow smile he drew a folded and
discoloured scrap of paper from his pocket.

"It was a dog-grate, Mr. Holmes, and he over-
pitched it. I picked this out unburned from the
back of it."

Holmes smiled his appreciation.

"You must have examined the house very care-
fully to find a single pellet of paper."

"I did, Mr. Holmes. It's my way. Shall I read it,
Mr. Gregson?"

The Londoner nodded.

"The note is written upon ordinary cream-laid
paper without watermark. It is a quarter-sheet.
The paper is cut off in two snips with a short-
bladed scissors. It has been folded over three times
and sealed with purple wax, put on hurriedly and
pressed down with some flat oval object. It is ad-
dressed to Mr. Garcia, Wisteria Lodge. It says:

"Our own colours, green and white.
Green open, white shut. Main stair,
first corridor, seventh right, green
baize. Godspeed. — D.

"It is a woman's writing, done with a sharp-
pointed pen, but the address is either done with
another pen or by someone else. It is thicker and
bolder, as you see."

"A very remarkable note," said Holmes, glanc-
ing it over. "I must compliment you, Mr. Baynes,
upon your attention to detail in your examina-
tion of it. A few trifling points might perhaps
be added. The oval seal is undoubtedly a plain
sleeve-link — what else is of such a shape? The scis-
sors were bent nail scissors. Short as the two snips
are, you can distinctly see the same slight curve in
each."

The country detective chuckled.

"I thought I had squeezed all the juice out of
it, but I see there was a little over," he said. "I'm
bound to say that I make nothing of the note ex-
cept that there was something on hand, and that a
woman, as usual, was at the bottom of it."

Mr. Scott Eccles had fidgeted in his seat during
this conversation.

"I am glad you found the note, since it corrob-
orates my story," said he. "But I beg to point out
that I have not yet heard what has happened to Mr.
Garcia, nor what has become of his household."

"As to Garcia," said Gregson, "that is eas-
ily answered. He was found dead this morning
upon Oxshott Common, nearly a mile from his
home. His head had been smashed to pulp by

heavy blows of a sandbag or some such instru-
ment, which had crushed rather than wounded.
It is a lonely corner, and there is no house within
a quarter of a mile of the spot. He had apparently
been struck down first from behind, but his as-
sailant had gone on beating him long after he was
dead. It was a most furious assault. There are no
footsteps nor any clue to the criminals."

"Robbed?"

"No, there was no attempt at robbery."

"This is very painful — very painful and terri-
ble," said Mr. Scott Eccles in a querulous voice,
"but it is really uncommonly hard on me. I had
nothing to do with my host going off upon a noc-
turnal excursion and meeting so sad an end. How
do I come to be mixed up with the case?"

"Very simply, sir," Inspector Baynes answered.
"The only document found in the pocket of the
deceased was a letter from you saying that you
would be with him on the night of his death. It was
the envelope of this letter which gave us the dead
man's name and address. It was after nine this
morning when we reached his house and found
neither you nor anyone else inside it. I wired to
Mr. Gregson to run you down in London while I
examined Wisteria Lodge. Then I came into town,
joined Mr. Gregson, and here we are."

"I think now," said Gregson, rising, "we had
best put this matter into an official shape. You will
come round with us to the station, Mr. Scott Eccles,
and let us have your statement in writing."

"Certainly, I will come at once. But I retain
your services, Mr. Holmes. I desire you to spare
no expense and no pains to get at the truth."

My friend turned to the country inspector.

"I suppose that you have no objection to my
collaborating with you, Mr. Baynes?"

"Highly honoured, sir, I am sure."

"You appear to have been very prompt and
businesslike in all that you have done. Was there
any clue, may I ask, as to the exact hour that the
man met his death?"

"He had been there since one o'clock. There
was rain about that time, and his death had cer-
tainly been before the rain."

"But that is perfectly impossible, Mr. Baynes,"
cried our client. "His voice is unmistakable. I
could swear to it that it was he who addressed me
in my bedroom at that very hour."

"Remarkable, but by no means impossible,"
said Holmes, smiling.

"You have a clue?" asked Gregson.

750

The Adventure of Wisteria Lodge

"On the face of it the case is not a very com-
plex one, though it certainly presents some novel
and interesting features. A further knowledge of
facts is necessary before I would venture to give a
final and definite opinion. By the way, Mr. Baynes,
did you find anything remarkable besides this note
in your examination of the house?"

The detective looked at my friend in a singular
way.

"There were," said he, "one or two very remark-
able things. Perhaps when I have finished at the
police-station you would care to come out and give
me your opinion of them."

"In am entirely at your service," said Sherlock
Holmes, ringing the bell. "You will show these
gentlemen out, Mrs. Hudson, and kindly send the
boy with this telegram. He is to pay a five-shilling
reply."

We sat for some time in silence after our vis-
itors had left. Holmes smoked hard, with his
browns drawn down over his keen eyes, and his
head thrust forward in the eager way characteris-
tic of the man.

"Well, Watson," he asked, turning suddenly
upon me, "what do you make of it?"

"I can make nothing of this mystification of
Scott Eccles."

"But the crime?"

"Well, taken with the disappearance of the
man's companions, I should say that they were in
some way concerned in the murder and had fled
from justice."

"That is certainly a possible point of view. On
the face of it you must admit, however, that it
is very strange that his two servants should have
been in a conspiracy against him and should have
attacked him on the one night when he had a
guest. They had him alone at their mercy every
other night in the week."

"Then why did they fly?"

"Quite so. Why did they fly? There is a big
fact. Another big fact is the remarkable experience
of our client, Scott Eccles. Now, my dear Watson, is
it beyond the limits of human ingenuity to furnish
an explanation which would cover both of these
big facts? If it were one which would also ad-
mit of the mysterious note with its very curious
phraseology, why, then it would be worth accept-
ing as a temporary hypothesis. If the fresh facts
which come to our knowledge all fit themselves
into the scheme, then our hypothesis may gradu-
ally become a solution."

"But what is our hypothesis?"

Holmes leaned back in his chair with half-
closed eyes.

"You must admit, my dear Watson, that the
idea of a joke is impossible. There were grave
events afoot, as the sequel showed, and the coax-
ing of Scott Eccles to Wisteria Lodge had some
connection with them."

"But what possible connection?"

"Let us take it link by link. There is, on the face
of it, something unnatural about this strange and
sudden friendship between the young Spaniard
and Scott Eccles. It was the former who forced
the pace. He called upon Eccles at the other end
of London on the very day after he first met him,
and he kept in close touch with him until he got
him down to Esher. Now, what did he want with
Eccles? What could Eccles supply? I see no charm
in the man. He is not particulary intelligent — not a
man likely to be congenial to a quick-witted Latin.
Why, then, was he picked out from all the other
people whom Garcia met as particularly suited to
his purpose? Has he any one outstanding quality?
I say that he has. He is the very type of conven-
tional British respectability, and the very man as a
witness to impress another Briton. You saw your-
self how neither of the inspectors dreamed of ques-
tioning his statement, extraordinary as it was."

"But what was he to witness?"

"Nothing, as things turned out, but everything
had they gone another way. That is how I read the
matter."

"I see, he might have proved an alibi."

"Exactly, my dear Watson; he might have
proved an alibi. We will suppose, for argument's
sake, that the household of Wisteria Lodge are con-
federates in some design. The attempt, whatever
it may be, is to come off, we will say, before one
o'clock. By some juggling of the clocks it is quite
possible that they may have got Scott Eccles to bed
earlier than he thought, but in any case it is likely
that when Garcia went out of his way to tell him
that it was one it was really not more than twelve.
If Garcia could do whatever he had to do and be
back by the hour mentioned he had evidently a
powerful reply to any accusation. Here was this
irreproachable Englishman ready to swear in any
court of law that the accused was in the house all
the time. It was an insurance against the worst."

"Yes, yes, I see that. But how about the disap-
pearance of the others?"

"I have not all my facts yet, but I do not think
there are any insuperable difficulties. Still, it is
an error to argue in front of your data. You find

751

The Adventure of Wisteria Lodge

yourself insensibly twisting them round to fit your
theories."

"And the message?"

"How did it run? 'Our own colours, green and
white.' Sounds like racing. 'Green open, white
shut.' That is clearly a signal. 'Main stair, first cor-
ridor, seventh right, green baize.' This is an assig-
nation. We may find a jealous husband at the bot-
tom of it all. It was clearly a dangerous quest. She
would not have said 'Godspeed' had it not been
so. 'D' — that should be a guide."

"The man was a Spaniard. I suggest that 'D'
stands for Dolores, a common female name in
Spain."

"Good, Watson, very good — but quite inad-
missable. A Spaniard would write to a Spaniard
in Spanish. The writer of this note is certainly En-
glish. Well, we can only possess our soul in pa-
tience until this excellent inspector come back for
us. Meanwhile we can thank our lucky fate which
has rescued us for a few short hours from the in-
sufferable fatigues of idleness."

An answer had arrived to Holmes's telegram
before our Surrey officer had returned. Holmes
read it and was about to place it in his notebook
when he caught a glimpse of my expectant face.
He tossed it across with a laugh.

"We are moving in exalted circles," said he.

The telegram was a list of names and ad-
dresses:

Lord Harringby, The Dingle; Sir George
Ffolliott, Oxshott Towers; Mr. Hynes
Hynes, J.P., Purdley Place; Mr. James
Baker Williams, Forton Old Hall; Mr.
Henderson, High Gable; Rev. Joshua
Stone, Nether Walsling.

"This is a very obvious way of limiting our field
of operations," said Holmes. "No doubt Baynes,
with his methodical mind, has already adopted
some similar plan."

"I don't quite understand."

"Well, my dear fellow, we have already arrived
at the conclusion that the massage received by Gar-
cia at dinner was an appointment or an assigna-
tion. Now, if the obvious reading of it is correct,
and in order to keep the tryst one has to ascend a
main stair and seek the seventh door in a corridor,
it is perfectly clear that the house is a very large
one. It is equally certain that this house cannot
be more than a mile or two from Oxshott, since
Garcia was walking in that direction and hoped,
according to my reading of the facts, to be back in
Wisteria Lodge in time to avail himself of an alibi,
which would only be valid up to one o'clock. As
the number of large houses close to Oxshott must
be limited, I adopted the obvious method of send-
ing to the agents mentioned by Scott Eccles and
obtaining a list of them. Here they are in this tele-
gram, and the other end of our tangled skein must
lie among them."

It was nearly six o'clock before we found our-
selves in the pretty Surrey village of Esher, with
Inspector Baynes as our companion.

Holmes and I had taken things for the night,
and found comfortable quarters at the Bull. Finally
we set out in the company of the detective on our
visit to Wisteria Lodge. It was a cold, dark March
evening, with a sharp wind and a fine rain beating
upon our faces, a fit setting for the wild common
over which our road passed and the tragic goal to
which it led us.

CHAPTER II.

The Tiger of San Pedro

A cold and melancholy walk of a couple of
miles brought us to a high wooden gate, which
opened into a gloomy avenue of chestnuts. The
curved and shadowed drive led us to a low, dark
house, pitch-black against a slate-coloured sky.
From the front window upon the left of the door
there peeped a glimmer of a feeble light.

"There's a constable in possession," said
Baynes. "I'll knock at the window." He stepped
across the grass plot and tapped with his hand
on the pane. Through the fogged glass I dimly
saw a man spring up from a chair beside the fire,
and heard a sharp cry from within the room. An
instant later a white-faced, hard-breathing police-

752

The Adventure of Wisteria Lodge

man had opened the door, the candle wavering in
his trembling hand.

"What's the matter, Walters?" asked Baynes
sharply.

The man mopped his forehead with his hand-
kerchief and agave a long sigh of relief.

"I am glad you have come, sir. It has been
a long evening, and I don't think my nerve is as
good as it was."

"Your nerve, Walters? I should not have
thought you had a nerve in your body."

"Well, sir, it's this lonely, silent house and the
queer thing in the kitchen. Then when you tapped
at the window I thought it had come again."

"That what had come again?"

"The devil, sir, for all I know. It was at the win-
dow."

"What was at the window, and when?"

"It was just about two hours ago. The light
was just fading. I was sitting reading in the chair.
I don't know what made me look up, but there
was a face looking in at me through the lower
pane. Lord, sir, what a face it was! I'll see it in
my dreams."

"Tut, tut, Walters. This is not talk for a police-
constable."

"I know, sir, I know; but it shook me, sir, and
there's no use to deny it. It wasn't black, sir, nor
was it white, nor any colour that I know but a
kind of queer shade like clay with a splash of milk
in it. Then there was the size of it — it was twice
yours, sir. And the look of it — the great staring
goggle eyes, and the line of white teeth like a hun-
gry beast. I tell you, sir, I couldn't move a finger,
nor get my breath, till it whisked away and was
gone. Out I ran and through the shrubbery, but
thank God there was no one there."

"If I didn't know you were a good man, Wal-
ters, I should put a black mark against you for this.
If it were the devil himself a constable on duty
should never thank God that he could not lay his
hands upon him. I suppose the whole thing is not
a vision and a touch of nerves?"

"That, at least, is very easily settled," said
Holmes, lighting his little pocket lantern. "Yes,"
he reported, after a short examination of the grass
bed, "a number twelve shoe, I should say. If he was
all on the same scale as his foot he must certainly
have been a giant."

"What became of him?"

"He seems to have broken through the shrub-
bery and made for the road."

"Well," said the inspector with a grave and
thoughtful face, "whoever he may have been, and
whatever he may have wanted, he's gone for the
present, and we have more immediate things to at-
tend to. Now, Mr. Holmes, with your permission,
I will show you round the house."

The various bedrooms and sitting-rooms had
yielded nothing to a careful search. Apparently
the tenants had brought little or nothing with
them, and all the furniture down to the smallest
details had been taken over with the house. A
good deal of clothing with the stamp of Marx and
Co., High Holborn, had been left behind. Tele-
graphic inquiries had been already made which
showed that Marx knew nothing of his customer
save that he was a good payer. Odds and ends,
some pipes, a few novels, two of them in Span-
ish, and old-fashioned pinfire revolver, and a gui-
tar were among the personal property.

"Nothing in all this," said Baynes, stalking,
candle in hand, from room to room. "But now, Mr.
Holmes, I invite your attention to the kitchen."

It was a gloomy, high-ceilinged room at the
back of the house, with a straw litter in one corner,
which served apparently as a bed for the cook. The
table was piled with half-eaten dishes and dirty
plates, the debris of last night's dinner.

"Look at this," said Baynes. "What do you
make of it?"

He held up his candle before an extraordinary
object which stood at the back of the dresser. It
was so wrinkled and shrunken and withered that
it was difficult to say what it might have been. One
could but say that it was black and leathery and
that it bore some resemblance to a dwarfish, hu-
man figure. At first, as I examined it, I thought
that it was a mummified negro baby, and then it
seemed a very twisted and ancient monkey. Fi-
nally I was left in doubt as to whether it was ani-
mal or human. A double band of white shells were
strung round the centre of it.

"Very interesting — very interesting, indeed!"
said Holmes, peering at this sinister relic. "Any-
thing more?"

In silence Baynes led the way to the sink and
held forward his candle. The limbs and body of
some large, white bird, torn savagely to pieces
with the feathers still on, were littered all over it.
Holmes pointed to the wattles on the severed head.

"A white cock," said he. "Most interesting! It
is really a very curious case."

But Mr. Baynes had kept his most sinister ex-
hibit to the last. From under the sink he drew
a zinc pail which contained a quantity of blood.

753

The Adventure of Wisteria Lodge

Then from the table he took a platter heaped with
small pieces of charred bone.

"Something has been killed and something has
been burned. We raked all these out of the fire. We
had a doctor in this morning. He says that they are
not human."

Holmes smiled and rubbed his hands.

"I must congratulate you. Inspector, on han-
dling so distinctive and instructive a case. Your
powers, if I may say so without offence, seem su-
perior to your opportunities."

Inspector Baynes's small eyes twinkled with
pleasure.

"You're right, Mr. Holmes. We stagnate in the
provinces. A case of this sort gives a man a chance,
and I hope that I shall take it. What do you make
of these bones?"

"A lamb, I should say, or a kid."

"And the white cock?"

"Curious, Mr. Baynes, very curious. I should
say almost unique."

"Yes, sir, there must have been some very
strange people with some very strange ways in this
house. One of them is dead. Did his companions
follow him and kill him? If they did we should
have them, for every port is watched. But my own
views are different. Yes, sir, my own views are
very different."

"You have a theory then?"

"And I'll work it myself, Mr. Holmes. It's only
due to my own credit to do so. Your name is made,
but I have still to make mine. I should be glad to be
able to say afterwards that I had solved it without
your help."

Holmes laughed good-humoredly.

"Well, well. Inspector," said he. "Do you fol-
low your path and I will follow mine. My results
are always very much at your service if you care
to apply to me for them. I think that I have seen
all that I wish in this house, and that my time may
be more profitably employed elsewhere. Au revoir
and good luck!"

I could tell by numerous subtle signs, which
might have been lost upon anyone but myself, that
Holmes was on a hot scent. As impassive as ever
to the casual observer, there were none the less a
subdued eagerness and suggestion of tension in
his brightened eyes and brisker manner which as-
sured me that the game was afoot. After his habit
he said nothing, and after mine I asked no ques-
tions. Sufficient for me to share the sport and lend
my humble help to the capture without distracting

that intent brain with needless interruption. All
would come round to me in due time.

I waited, therefore — but to my ever-deepening
disappointment I waited in vain. Day succeeded
day, and my friend took no step forward. One
morning he spent in town, and I learned from a
casual reference that he had visited the British Mu-
seum. Save for this one excursion, he spent his
days in long and often solitary walks, or in chat-
ting with a number of village gossips whose ac-
quaintance he had cultivated.

"I'm sure, Watson, a week in the country will
be invaluable to you," he remarked. "It is very
pleasant to see the first green shoots upon the
hedges and the catkins on the hazels once again.
With a spud, a tin box, and an elementary book on
botany, there are instructive days to be spent." He
prowled about with this equipment himself, but it
was a poor show of plants which he would bring
back of an evening.

Occasionally in our rambles we came across In-
spector Baynes. His fat, red face wreathed itself in
smiles and his small eyes glittered as he greeted
my companion. He said little about the case, but
from that little we gathered that he also was not
dissatisfied at the course of events. I must admit,
however, that I was somewhat surprised when,
some five days after the crime, I opened my morn-
ing paper to find in large letters:

The Oxshott Mystery
a SOLUTION

Arrest of Supposed Assassin

Holmes sprang in his chair as if he had been stung
when I read the headlines.

"By Jove!" he cried. "You don't mean that
Baynes has got him?"

"Apparently," said I as I read the following re-
port:

"Great excitement was caused in Esher
and the neighbouring district when it
was learned late last night that an arrest
had been effected in connection with the
Oxshott murder. It ivill be remembered that
Mr. Garcia, of Wisteria Lodge, was found
dead on Oxshott Common, his body show-
ing signs of extreme violence, and that on
the same night his servant and his cook
fled, which appeared to show their partic-
ipation in the crime. It was suggested, but
never proved, that the deceased gentleman
may have had valuables in the house, and
that their abstraction was the motive of the
crime. Every effort was made by Inspector

754

The Adventure of Wisteria Lodge

Baynes, who has the case in hand, to ascer-
tain the hiding place of the fugitives, and he
had good reason to believe that they had not
gone far but were lurking in some retreat
which had been already prepared. It was
certain from the first, however, that they
would eventually be detected, as the cook,
from the evidence of one or two tradespeople
who have caught a glimpse of him through
the window, was a man of most remark-
able appearance — being a huge and hideous
mulatto, with yellowish features of a pro-
nounced negroid type. This man has been
seen since the crime, for he was detected
and pursued by Constable Walters on the
same evening, when he had the audacity to
revisit Wisteria Lodge. Inspector Baynes,
considering that such a visit must have
some purpose in view and was likely, there-
fore, to be repeated, abandoned the house
but left an ambuscade in the shrubbery. The
man walked into the trap and was captured
last night after a struggle in which Consta-
ble Dozening was badly bitten by the sav-
age. We understand that when the prison
is brought before the magistrates a remand
zvill be applied for by the police, and that
great developments are hoped from his cap-
ture."

"Really we must see Baynes at once," cried
Holmes, picking up his hat. "We will just catch
him before he starts." We hurried down the vil-
lage street and found, as we had expected, that the
inspector was just leaving his lodgings.

"You've seen the paper, Mr. Holmes?" he
asked, holding one out to us.

"Yes, Baynes, I've seen it. Pray don't think it a
liberty if I give you a word of friendly warning."

"Of warning, Mr. Holmes?"

"I have looked into this case with some care,
and I am not convinced that you are on the right
lines. I don't want you to commit yourself too far
unless you are sure."

"You're very kind, Mr. Holmes."

"I assure you I speak for your good."

It seemed to me that something like a wink
quivered for an instant over one of Mr. Baynes's
tiny eyes.

"We agreed to work on our own lines, Mr.
Holmes. That's what I am doing."

"Oh, very good," said Holmes. "Don't blame
me."

"No, sir; I believe you mean well by me. But we
all have our own systems, Mr. Holmes. You have
yours, and maybe I have mine."

"Let us say no more about it."

"You're welcome always to my news. This fel-
low is a perfect savage, as strong as a cart-horse
and as fierce as the devil. He chewed Downing's
thumb nearly off before they could master him. He
hardly speaks a word of English, and we can get
nothing out of him but grunts."

"And you think you have evidence that he mur-
dered his late master?"

"I didn't say so, Mr. Holmes; I didn't say so.
We all have our little ways. You try yours and I
will try mine. That's the agreement."

Holmes shrugged his shoulders as we walked
away together. "I can't make the man out. He
seems to be riding for a fall. Well, as he says, we
must each try our own way and see what comes
of it. But there's something in Inspector Baynes
which I can't quite understand."

"Just sit down in that chair, Watson," said Sher-
lock Holmes when we had returned to our apart-
ment at the Bull. "I want to put you in touch with
the situation, as I may need your help to-night.
Let me show you the evolution of this case so far
as I have been able to follow it. Simple as it has
been in its leading features, it has none the less
presented surprising difficulties in the way of an
arrest. There are gaps in that direction which we
have still to fill.

"We will go back to the note which was handed
in to Garcia upon the evening of his death. We may
put aside this idea of Baynes's that Garcia's ser-
vants were concerned in the matter. The proof of
this lies in the fact that it was he who had arranged
for the presence of Scott Eccles, which could only
have been done for the purpose of an alibi. It was
Garcia, then, who had an enterprise, and appar-
ently a criminal enterprise, in hand that night in
the course of which he met his death. I say 'crim-
inal' because only a man with a criminal enter-
prise desires to establish an alibi. Who, then, is
most likely to have taken his life? Surely the per-
son against whom the criminal enterprise was di-
rected. So far it seems to me that we are on safe
ground.

"We can now see a reason for the disappear-
ance of Garcia's household. They were all con-
federates in the same unknown crime. If it came
off when Garcia returned, any possible suspicion
would be warded off by the Englishman's evi-
dence, and all would be well. But the attempt was

755

The Adventure of Wisteria Lodge

a dangerous one, and if Garcia did not return by
a certain hour it was probable that his own life
had been sacrificed. It had been arranged, there-
fore, that in such a case his two subordinates were
to make for some prearranged spot where they
could escape investigation and be in a position af-
terwards to renew their attempt. That would fully
explain the facts, would it not?"

The whole inexplicable tangle seemed to
straighten out before me. I wondered, as I always
did, how it had not been obvious to me before.

"But why should one servant return?"

"We can imagine that in the confusion of flight
something precious, something which he could
not bear to part with, had been left behind. That
would explain his persistence, would it not?"

"Well, what is the next step?"

"The next step is the note received by Garcia at
the dinner. It indicates a confederate at the other
end. Now, where was the other end? I have al-
ready shown you that it could only lie in some
large house, and that the number of large houses is
limited. My first days in this village were devoted
to a series of walks in which in the intervals of my
botanical researches I made a reconnaissance of all
the large houses and an examination of the family
history of the occupants. One house, and only one,
riveted my attention. It is the famous old Jacobean
grange of High Gable, one mile on the farther side
of Oxshott, and less than half a mile from the scene
of the tragedy. The other mansions belonged to
prosaic and respectable people who live far aloof
from romance. But Mr. Henderson, of High Gable,
was by all accounts a curious man to whom cu-
rious adventures might befall. I concentrated my
attention, therefore, upon him and his household.

"A singular set of people, Watson — the man
himself the most singular of them all. I managed
to see him on a plausible pretext, but I seemed to
read in his dark, deepset, brooding eyes that he
was perfectly aware of my true business. He is
a man of fifty, strong, active, with iron-gray hair,
great bunched black eyebrows, the step of a deer
and the air of an emperor — a fierce, masterful man,
with a red-hot spirit behind his parchment face.
He is either a foreigner or has lived long in the
tropics, for he is yellow and sapless, but tough
as whipcord. His friend and secretary, Mr. Lu-
cas, is undoubtedly a foreigner, chocolate brown,
wily, suave, and catlike, with a poisonous gentle-
ness of speech. You see, Watson, we have come
already upon two sets of foreigners — one at Wiste-
ria Lodge and one at High Gable — so our gaps are
beginning to close.

"These two men, close and confidential friends,
are the centre of the household; but there is one
other person who for our immediate purpose may
be even more important. Henderson has two chil-
dren — girls of eleven and thirteen. Their governess
is a Miss Burnet, an Englishwoman of forty or
thereabouts. There is also one confidential manser-
vant. This little group forms the real family, for
their travel about together, and Henderson is a
great traveller, always on the move. It is only
within the last weeks that he has returned, after
a year's absence, to High Gable. I may add that
he is enormously rich, and whatever his whims
may be he can very easily satisfy them. For the
rest, his house is full of butlers, footmen, maidser-
vants, and the usual overfed, underworked staff of
a large English country house.

"So much I learned partly from village gossip
and partly from my own observation. There are no
better instruments than discharged servants with a
grievance, and I was lucky enough to find one. I
call it luck, but it would not have come my way
had I not been looking out for it. As Baynes re-
marks, we all have our systems. It was my sys-
tem which enabled me to find John Warner, late
gardener of High Gable, sacked in a moment of
temper by his imperious employer. He in turn had
friends among the indoor servants who unite in
their fear and dislike of their master. So I had my
key to the secrets of the establishment.

"Curious people, Watson! I don't pretend to
understand it all yet, but very curious people any-
way. It's a double-winged house, and the servants
live on one side, the family on the other. There's
no link between the two save for Henderson's own
servant, who serves the family's meals. Everything
is carried to a certain door, which forms the one
connection. Governess and children hardly go out
at all, except into the garden. Henderson never by
any chance walks alone. His dark secretary is like
his shadow. The gossip among the servants is that
their master is terribly afraid of something. 'Sold
his soul to the devil in exchange for money,' says
Warner, 'and expects his creditor to come up and
claim his own.' Where they came from, or who
they are, nobody has an idea. They are very vi-
olent. Twice Henderson has lashed at folk with
his dog-whip, and only his long purse and heavy
compensation have kept him out of the courts.

"Well, now, Watson, let us judge the situation
by this new information. We may take it that the
letter came out of this strange household and was
an invitation to Garcia to carry out some attempt
which had already been planned. Who wrote the
note? It was someone within the citadel, and it

756

The Adventure of Wisteria Lodge

was a woman. Who then but Miss Burnet, the gov-
erness? All our reasoning seems to point that way.
At any rate, we may take it as a hypothesis and
see what consequences it would entail. I may add
that Miss Burnet's age and character make it cer-
tain that my first idea that there might be a love
interest in our story is out of the question.

"If she wrote the note she was presumably the
friend and confederate of Garcia. What, then,
might she be expected to do if she heard of his
death? If he met it in some nefarious enterprise her
lips might be sealed. Still, in her heart, she must
retain bitterness and hatred against those who had
killed him and would presumably help so far as
she could to have revenge upon them. Could we
see her, then and try to use her? That was my first
thought. But now we come to a sinister fact. Miss
Burnet has not been seen by any human eye since
the night of the murder. From that evening she has
utterly vanished. Is she alive? Has she perhaps
met her end on the same night as the friend whom
she had summoned? Or is she merely a prisoner?
There is the point which we still have to decide.

"You will appreciate the difficulty of the situ-
ation, Watson. There is nothing upon which we
can apply for a warrant. Our whole scheme might
seem fantastic if laid before a magistrate. The
woman's disappearance counts for nothing, since
in that extraordinary household any member of it
might be invisible for a week. And yet she may at
the present moment be in danger of her life. All I
can do is to watch the house and leave my agent,
Warner, on guard at the gates. We can't let such
a situation continue. If the law can do nothing we
must take the risk ourselves."

"What do you suggest?"

"I know which is her room. It is accessible from
the top of an outhouse. My suggestion is that you
and I go to-night and see if we can strike at the
very heart of the mystery."

It was not, I must confess, a very alluring
prospect. The old house with its atmosphere of
murder, the singular and formidable inhabitants,
the unknown dangers of the approach, and the fact
that we were putting ourselves legally in a false
position all combined to damp my ardour. But
there was something in the ice-cold reasoning of
Holmes which made it impossible to shrink from
any adventure which he might recommend. One
knew that thus, and only thus, could a solution be
found. I clasped his hand in silence, and the die
was cast.

But it was not destined that our investigation
should have so adventurous an ending. It was

about five o'clock, and the shadows of the March
evening were beginning to fall, when an excited
rustic rushed into our room.

"They've gone, Mr. Holmes. They went by the
last train. The lady broke away, and I've got her in
a cab downstairs."

"Excellent, Warner!" cried Holmes, springing
to his feet. "Watson, the gaps are closing rapidly."

In the cab was a woman, half-collapsed from
nervous exhaustion. She bore upon her aquiline
and emaciated face the traces of some recent
tragedy. Her head hung listlessly upon her breast,
but as she raised it and turned her dull eyes upon
us I saw that her pupils were dark dots in the cen-
tre of the broad gray iris. She was drugged with
opium.

"I watched at the gate, same as you advised,
Mr. Holmes," said our emissary, the discharged
gardener. "When the carriage came out I followed
it to the station. She was like one walking in her
sleep, but when they tried to get her into the train
she came to life and struggled. They pushed her
into the carriage. She fought her way out again. I
took her part, got her into a cab, and here we are.
I shan't forget the face at the carriage window as
I led her away. I'd have a short life if he had his
way — the black-eyed, scowling, yellow devil."

We carried her upstairs, laid her on the sofa,
and a couple of cups of the strongest coffee soon
cleared her brain from the mists of the drug.
Baynes had been summoned by Holmes, and the
situation rapidly explained to him.

"Why, sir, you've got me the very evidence
I want," said the inspector warmly, shaking my
friend by the hand. "I was on the same scent as
you from the first."

"What! You were after Henderson?"

"Why, Mr. Holmes, when you were crawling in
the shrubbery at High Gable I was up one of the
trees in the plantation and saw you down below.
It was just who would get his evidence first."

"Then why did you arrest the mulatto?"

Baynes chuckled.

"I was sure Henderson, as he calls himself, felt
that he was suspected, and that he would lie low
and make no move so long as he thought he was
in any danger. I arrested the wrong man to make
him believe that our eyes were off him. I knew
he would be likely to clear off then and give us a
chance of getting at Miss Burnet."

Holmes laid his hand upon the inspector's
shoulder.

"You will rise high in your profession. You
have instinct and intuition," said he.

757

The Adventure of Wisteria Lodge

Baynes flushed with pleasure.

"I've had a plain-clothes man waiting at the sta-
tion all the week. Wherever the High Gable folk go
he will keep them in sight. But he must have been
hard put to it when Miss Burnet broke away. How-
ever, your man picked her up, and it all ends well.
We can't arrest without her evidence, that is clear,
so the sooner we get a statement the better."

"Every minute she gets stronger," said Holmes,
glancing at the governess. "But tell me, Baynes,
who is this man Henderson?"

"Henderson," the inspector answered, "is Don
Murillo, once called the Tiger of San Pedro."

The Tiger of San Pedro! The whole history
of the man came back to me in a flash. He had
made his name as the most lewd and bloodthirsty
tyrant that had ever governed any country with a
pretence to civilization. Strong, fearless, and en-
ergetic, he had sufficient virtue to enable him to
impose his odious vices upon a cowering people
for ten or twelve years. His name was a terror
through all Central America. At the end of that
time there was a universal rising against him. But
he was as cunning as he was cruel, and at the
first whisper of coming trouble he had secretly
conveyed his treasures aboard a ship which was
manned by devoted adherents. It was an empty
palace which was stormed by the insurgents next
day. The dictator, his two children, his secretary,
and his wealth had all escaped them. From that
moment he had vanished from the world, and his
identity had been a frequent subject for comment
in the European press.

"Yes, sir, Don Murillo, the Tiger of San Pedro,"
said Baynes. "If you look it up you will find that
the San Pedro colours are green and white, same
as in the note, Mr. Holmes. Henderson he called
himself, but I traced him back, Paris and Rome
and Madrid to Barcelona, where his ship came in
in '86. They've been looking for him all the time
for their revenge, but it is only now that they have
begun to find him out."

"They discovered him a year ago," said Miss
Burnet, who had sat up and was now intently fol-
lowing the conversation. "Once already his life has
been attempted, but some evil spirit shielded him.
Now, again, it is the noble, chivalrous Garcia who
has fallen, while the monster goes safe. But an-
other will come, and yet another, until some day
justice will be done; that is as certain as the rise of
to-morrow's sun." Her thin hands clenched, and
her worn face blanched with the passion of her
hatred.

"But how come you into this matter. Miss Bur-
net?" asked Holmes. "How can an English lady
join in such a murderous affair?"

"I join in it because there is no other way in the
world by which justice can be gained. What does
the law of England care for the rivers of blood shed
years ago in San Pedro, or for the shipload of trea-
sure which this man has stolen? To you they are
like crimes committed in some other planet. But
we know. We have learned the truth in sorrow and
in suffering. To us there is no fiend in hell like Juan
Murillo, and no peace in life while his victims still
cry for vengeance."

"No doubt," said Holmes, "he was as you say.
I have heard that he was atrocious. But how are
you affected?"

"1 will tell you it all. This villain's policy was
to murder, on one pretext or another, every man
who showed such promise that he might in time
come to be a dangerous rival. My husband — yes,
my real name is Signora Victor Durando — was the
San Pedro minister in London. He met me and
married me there. A nobler man never lived upon
earth. Unhappily, Murillo heard of his excellence,
recalled him on some pretext, and had him shot.
With a premonition of his fate he had refused to
take me with him. His estates were confiscated,
and I was left with a pittance and a broken heart.

"Then came the downfall of the tyrant. He
escaped as you have just described. But the
many whose lives he had ruined, whose nearest
and dearest had suffered torture and death at his
hands, would not let the matter rest. They banded
themselves into a society which should never be
dissolved until the work was done. It was my
part after we had discovered in the transformed
Henderson the fallen despot, to attach myself to
his household and keep the others in touch with
his movements. This I was able to do by secur-
ing the position of governess in his family. He lit-
tle knew that the woman who faced him at every
meal was the woman whose husband he had hur-
ried at an hour's notice into eternity. I smiled on
him, did my duty to his children, and bided my
time. An attempt was made in Paris and failed.
We zig-zagged swiftly here and there over Europe
to throw off the pursuers and finally returned to
this house, which he had taken upon his first ar-
rival in England.

"But here also the ministers of justice were
waiting. Knowing that he would return there, Gar-
cia, who is the son of the former highest dignitary
in San Pedro, was waiting with two trusty com-
panions of humble station, all three fired with the

758

The Adventure of Wisteria Lodge

same reasons for revenge. He could do little dur-
ing the day, for Murillo took every precaution and
never went out save with his satellite Lucas, or
Lopez as he was known in the days of his great-
ness. At night, however, he slept alone, and the
avenger might find him. On a certain evening,
which had been prearranged, I sent my friend final
instructions, for the man was forever on the alert
and continually changed his room. I was to see
that the doors were open and the signal of a green
or white light in a window which faced the drive
was to give notice if all was safe or if the attempt
had better be postponed.

"But everything went wrong with us. In some
way I had excited the suspicion of Lopez, the sec-
retary. He crept up behind me and sprang upon
me just as I had finished the note. He and his
master dragged me to my room and held judg-
ment upon me as a convicted traitress. Then and
there they would have plunged their knives into
me could they have seen how to escape the con-
sequences of the deed. Finally, after much debate,
they concluded that my murder was too danger-
ous. But they determined to get rid forever of Gar-
cia. They had gagged me, and Murillo twisted my
arm round until I gave him the address. I swear
that he might have twisted it off had I understood
what it would mean to Garcia. Lopez addressed
the note which I had written, sealed it with his
sleeve-link, and sent it by the hand of the servant,
Jose. How they murdered him I do not know, save
that it was Murillo's hand who struck him down,
for Lopez had remained to guard me. I believe he
must have waited among the gorse bushes through
which the path winds and struck him down as he
passed. At first they were of a mind to let him
enter the house and to kill him as a detected bur-
glar; but they argued that if they were mixed up
in an inquiry their own identity would at once be
publicly disclosed and they would be open to fur-
ther attacks. With the death of Garcia, the pursuit
might cease, since such a death might frighten oth-
ers from the task.

"All would now have been well for them had
it not been for my knowledge of what they had
done. I have no doubt that there were times when
my life hung in the balance. I was confined to my
room, terrorized by the most horrible threats, cru-
elly ill-used to break my spirit — see this stab on
my shoulder and the bruises from end to end of
my arms — and a gag was thrust into my mouth on
the one occasion when I tried to call from the win-
dow. For five days this cruel imprisonment con-
tinued, with hardly enough food to hold body and
soul together. This afternoon a good lunch was

brought me, but the moment after I took it I knew
that I had been drugged. In a sort of dream I re-
member being half-led, half-carried to the carriage;
in the same state I was conveyed to the train. Only
then, when the wheels were almost moving, did
I suddenly realize that my liberty lay in my own
hands. I sprang out, they tried to drag me back,
and had it not been for the help of this good man,
who led me to the cab, I should never had broken
away. Now, thank God, I am beyond their power
forever."

We had all listened intently to this remarkable
statement. It was Holmes who broke the silence.

"Our difficulties are not over," he remarked,
shaking his head. "Our police work ends, but our
legal work begins."

"Exactly," said I. "A plausible lawyer could
make it out as an act of self-defence. There may
be a hundred crimes in the background, but it is
only on this one that they can be tried."

"Come, come," said Baynes cheerily, "I think
better of the law than that. Self-defence is one
thing. To entice a man in cold blood with the ob-
ject of murdering him is another, whatever danger
you may fear from him. No, no, we shall all be
justified when we see the tenants of High Gable at
the next Guildford Assizes."

It is a matter of history, however, that a little
time was still to elapse before the Tiger of San Pe-
dro should meet with his deserts. Wily and bold,
he and his companion threw their pursuer off their
track by entering a lodging-house in Edmonton
Street and leaving by the back-gate into Curzon
Square. From that day they were seen no more
in England. Some six months afterwards the Mar-
quess of Montalva and Signor Rulli, his secretary,
were both murdered in their rooms at the Hotel
Escurial at Madrid. The crime was ascribed to Ni-
hilism, and the murderers were never arrested. In-
spector Baynes visited us at Baker Street with a
printed description of the dark face of the secre-
tary, and of the masterful features, the magnetic
black eyes, and the tufted brows of his master. We
could not doubt that justice, if belated, had come
at last.

"A chaotic case, my dear Watson," said Holmes
over an evening pipe. "It will not be possible for
you to present in that compact form which is dear
to your heart. It covers two continents, concerns
two groups of mysterious persons, and is further
complicated by the highly respectable presence of
our friend, Scott Eccles, whose inclusion shows me
that the deceased Garcia had a scheming mind and
a well-developed instinct of self-preservation. It is

759

remarkable only for the fact that amid a perfect
jungle of possibilities we, with our worthy collabo-
rator, the inspector, have kept our close hold on the
essentials and so been guided along the crooked
and winding path. Is there any point which is not
quite clear to you?"

"The object of the mulatto cook's return?"

"I think that the strange creature in the kitchen
may account for it. The man was a primitive sav-
age from the backwoods of San Pedro, and this
was his fetish. When his companion and he had
fled to some prearranged retreat — already occu-
pied, no doubt by a confederate — the companion
had persuaded him to leave so compromising an
article of furniture. But the mulatto's heart was
with it, and he was driven back to it next day,
when, on reconnoitering through the window, he
found policeman Walters in possession. He waited
three days longer, and then his piety or his su-
perstition drove him to try once more. Inspector
Baynes, who, with his usual astuteness, had min-
imized the incident before me, had really recog-
nized its importance and had left a trap into which

the creature walked. Any other point, Watson?"

"The torn bird, the pail of blood, the charred
bones, all the mystery of that weird kitchen?"

Holmes smiled as he turned up an entry in his
note-book.

"I spent a morning in the British Museum read-
ing up on that and other points. Here is a quota-
tion from Eckermann's Voodooism and the Negroid
Religions:

" 'The true voodoo-worshipper attempts noth-
ing of importance without certain sacrifices which
are intended to propitiate his unclean gods. In
extreme cases these rites take the form of hu-
man sacrifices followed by cannibalism. The more
usual victims are a white cock, which is plucked
in pieces alive, or a black goat, whose throat is cut
and body burned.'

"So you see our savage friend was very ortho-
dox in his ritual. It is grotesque, Watson," Holmes
added, as he slowly fastened his notebook, "but,
as I have had occasion to remark, there is but one
step from the grotesque to the horrible."

The Adventure of the Solitary Cyclist

rom the years 1894 to 1 9 01 inclusive Mr.
Sherlock Holmes was a very busy man.
It is safe to say that there was no pub-
lic case of any difficulty in which he was
not consulted during those eight years, and there
were hundreds of private cases, some of them of
the most intricate and extraordinary character, in
which he played a prominent part. Many startling
successes and a few unavoidable failures were the
outcome of this long period of continuous work.
As I have preserved very full notes of all these
cases, and was myself personally engaged in many
of them, it may be imagined that it is no easy task
to know which I should select to lay before the
public. I shall, however, preserve my former rule,
and give the preference to those cases which derive
their interest not so much from the brutality of the
crime as from the ingenuity and dramatic quality
of the solution. For this reason I will now lay be-
fore the reader the facts connected with Miss Vi-
olet Smith, the solitary cyclist of Charlington, and
the curious sequel of our investigation, which cul-
minated in unexpected tragedy. It is true that the
circumstances did not admit of any striking illus-
tration of those powers for which my friend was
famous, but there were some points about the case
which made it stand out in those long records of
crime from which I gather the material for these
little narratives.

On referring to my note-book for the year 1895
I find that it was upon Saturday, the 23rd of April,
that we first heard of Miss Violet Smith. Her
visit was, I remember, extremely unwelcome to
Holmes, for he was immersed at the moment in a
very abstruse and complicated problem concern-
ing the peculiar persecution to which John Vin-
cent Harden, the well-known tobacco millionaire,
had been subjected. My friend, who loved above
all things precision and concentration of thought,
resented anything which distracted his attention
from the matter in hand. And yet without a harsh-
ness which was foreign to his nature it was impos-
sible to refuse to listen to the story of the young
and beautiful woman, tall, graceful, and queenly,
who presented herself at Baker Street late in the
evening and implored his assistance and advice. It
was vain to urge that his time was already fully
occupied, for the young lady had come with the
determination to tell her story, and it was evident
that nothing short of force could get her out of the
room until she had done so. With a resigned air
and a somewhat weary smile. Holmes begged the
beautiful intruder to take a seat and to inform us
what it was that was troubling her.

"At least it cannot be your health," said he, as

his keen eyes darted over her; "so ardent a bicyclist
must be full of energy."

She glanced down in surprise at her own feet,
and I observed the slight roughening of the side of
the sole caused by the friction of the edge of the
pedal.

"Yes, I bicycle a good deal, Mr. Holmes, and
that has something to do with my visit to you to-
day."

My friend took the lady's ungloved hand and
examined it with as close an attention and as little
sentiment as a scientist would show to a specimen.

"You will excuse me, I am sure. It is my busi-
ness," said he, as he dropped it. "I nearly fell into
the error of supposing that you were typewriting.
Of course, it is obvious that it is music. You ob-
serve the spatulate finger-end, Watson, which is
common to both professions? There is a spiritual-
ity about the face, however" — he gently turned it
towards the light — "which the typewriter does not
generate. This lady is a musician."

"Yes, Mr. Holmes, I teach music."

"In the country, I presume, from your complex-
ion."

"Yes, sir; near Farnham, on the borders of Sur-
rey."

"A beautiful neighbourhood and full of the
most interesting associations. You remember, Wat-
son, that it was near there that we took Archie
Stamford, the forger. Now, Miss Violet, what has
happened to you near Farnham, on the borders of
Surrey?"

The young lady, with great clearness and com-
posure, made the following curious statement: —

"My father is dead, Mr. Holmes. He was James
Smith, who conducted the orchestra at the old Im-
perial Theatre. My mother and I were left with-
out a relation in the world except one uncle, Ralph
Smith, who went to Africa twenty-five years ago,
and we have never had a word from him since.
When father died we were left very poor, but one
day we were told that there was an advertisement
in the Times inquiring for our whereabouts. You
can imagine how excited we were, for we thought
that someone had left us a fortune. We went at
once to the lawyer whose name was given in the
paper. There we met two gentlemen, Mr. Car-
ruthers and Mr. Woodley, who were home on a
visit from South Africa. They said that my uncle
was a friend of theirs, that he died some months
before in great poverty in Johannesburg, and that
he had asked them with his last breath to hunt up
his relations and see that they were in no want. It

459

The Adventure of the Solitary Cyclist

seemed strange to us that Uncle Ralph, who took
no notice of us when he was alive, should be so
careful to look after us when he was dead; but Mr.
Carruthers explained that the reason was that my
uncle had just heard of the death of his brother,
and so felt responsible for our fate."

"Excuse me," said Holmes; "when was this in-
terview?"

"Last December — four months ago."

"Pray proceed."

"Mr. Woodley seemed to me to be a most odi-
ous person. He was for ever making eyes at me — a
coarse, puffy-faced, red-moustached young man,
with his hair plastered down on each side of his
forehead. I thought that he was perfectly hate-
ful — and I was sure that Cyril would not wish me
to know such a person."

"Oh, Cyril is his name!" said Holmes, smiling.

The young lady blushed and laughed.

"Yes, Mr. Holmes; Cyril Morton, an electrical
engineer, and we hope to be married at the end of
the summer. Dear me, how did I get talking about
him? What I wished to say was that Mr. Wood-
ley was perfectly odious, but that Mr. Carruthers,
who was a much older man, was more agreeable.
He was a dark, sallow, clean-shaven, silent per-
son; but he had polite manners and a pleasant
smile. He inquired how we were left, and on find-
ing that we were very poor he suggested that I
should come and teach music to his only daugh-
ter, aged ten. I said that I did not like to leave my
mother, on which he suggested that I should go
home to her every week-end, and he offered me a
hundred a year, which was certainly splendid pay.
So it ended by my accepting, and I went down
to Chiltern Grange, about six miles from Farn-
ham. Mr. Carruthers was a widower, but he had
engaged a lady-housekeeper, a very respectable,
elderly person, called Mrs. Dixon, to look after
his establishment. The child was a dear, and ev-
erything promised well. Mr. Carruthers was very
kind and very musical, and we had most pleasant
evenings together. Every week-end I went home to
my mother in town.

"The first flaw in my happiness was the arrival
of the red-moustached Mr. Woodley. He came for
a visit of a week, and oh, it seemed three months
to me! He was a dreadful person, a bully to ev-
eryone else, but to me something infinitely worse.
He made odious love to me, boasted of his wealth,
said that if I married him I would have the finest
diamonds in London, and finally, when I would
have nothing to do with him, he seized me in

his arms one day after dinner — he was hideously
strong — and he swore that he would not let me
go until I had kissed him. Mr. Carruthers came
in and tore him off from me, on which he turned
upon his own host, knocking him down and cut-
ting his face open. That was the end of his visit,
as you can imagine. Mr. Carruthers apologized to
me next day, and assured me that I should never
be exposed to such an insult again. I have not seen
Mr. Woodley since.

"And now, Mr. Holmes, I come at last to the
special thing which has caused me to ask your ad-
vice to-day. You must know that every Saturday
forenoon I ride on my bicycle to Farnham Station
in order to get the 12.22 to town. The road from
Chiltern Grange is a lonely one, and at one spot it
is particularly so, for it lies for over a mile between
Charlington Heath upon one side and the woods
which lie round Charlington Hall upon the other.
You could not find a more lonely tract of road any-
where, and it is quite rare to meet so much as a
cart, or a peasant, until you reach the high road
near Crooksbury Hill. Two weeks ago I was pass-
ing this place when I chanced to look back over
my shoulder, and about two hundred yards behind
me I saw a man, also on a bicycle. He seemed to
be a middle-aged man, with a short, dark beard.
I looked back before I reached Farnham, but the
man was gone, so I thought no more about it. But
you can imagine how surprised I was, Mr. Holmes,
when on my return on the Monday I saw the same
man on the same stretch of road. My astonish-
ment was increased when the incident occurred
again, exactly as before, on the following Saturday
and Monday. He always kept his distance and did
not molest me in any way, but still it certainly was
very odd. I mentioned it to Mr. Carruthers, who
seemed interested in what I said, and told me that
he had ordered a horse and trap, so that in future
I should not pass over these lonely roads without
some companion.

"The horse and trap were to have come this
week, but for some reason they were not deliv-
ered, and again I had to cycle to the station. That
was this morning. You can think that I looked out
when I came to Charlington Heath, and there, sure
enough, was the man, exactly as he had been the
two weeks before. He always kept so far from me
that I could not clearly see his face, but it was cer-
tainly someone whom I did not know. He was
dressed in a dark suit with a cloth cap. The only
thing about his face that I could clearly see was
his dark beard. To-day I was not alarmed, but I
was filled with curiosity, and I determined to find
out who he was and what he wanted. I slowed

460

The Adventure of the Solitary Cyclist

down my machine, but he slowed down his. Then
I stopped altogether, but he stopped also. Then I
laid a trap for him. There is a sharp turning of
the road, and I pedalled very quickly round this,
and then I stopped and waited. I expected him to
shoot round and pass me before he could stop. But
he never appeared. Then I went back and looked
round the corner. I could see a mile of road, but he
was not on it. To make it the more extraordinary,
there was no side road at this point down which
he could have gone."

Holmes chuckled and rubbed his hands. "This
case certainly presents some features of its own,"
said he. "How much time elapsed between your
turning the corner and your discovery that the
road was clear?"

"Two or three minutes."

"Then he could not have retreated down the
road, and you say that there are no side roads?"

"None."

"Then he certainly took a footpath on one side
or the other."

"It could not have been on the side of the heath
or I should have seen him."

"So by the process of exclusion we arrive at
the fact that he made his way towards Charling-
ton Hall, which, as I understand, is situated in its
own grounds on one side of the road. Anything
else?"

"Nothing, Mr. Holmes, save that I was so per-
plexed that I felt I should not be happy until I had
seen you and had your advice."

Holmes sat in silence for some little time.

"Where is the gentleman to whom you are en-
gaged?" he asked, at last.

"He is in the Midland Electrical Company, at
Coventry."

"He would not pay you a surprise visit?"

"Oh, Mr. Holmes! As if I should not know
him!"

"Have you had any other admirers?"

"Several before I knew Cyril."

"And since?"

"There was this dreadful man, Woodley, if you
can call him an admirer."

"No one else?"

Our fair client seemed a little confused.

"Who was he?" asked Holmes.

"Oh, it may be a mere fancy of mine; but it has
seemed to me sometimes that my employer, Mr.

Carruthers, takes a great deal of interest in me.
We are thrown rather together. I play his accom-
paniments in the evening. He has never said any-
thing. He is a perfect gentleman. But a girl always
knows."

"Ha!" Holmes looked grave. "What does he do
for a living?"

"He is a rich man."

"No carriages or horses?"

"Well, at least he is fairly well-to-do. But he
goes into the City two or three times a week. He is
deeply interested in South African gold shares."

"You will let me know any fresh development.
Miss Smith. I am very busy just now, but I will find
time to make some inquiries into your case. In the
meantime take no step without letting me know.
Good-bye, and I trust that we shall have nothing
but good news from you."

"It is part of the settled order of Nature that
such a girl should have followers," said Holmes,
as he pulled at his meditative pipe, "but for choice
not on bicycles in lonely country roads. Some se-
cretive lover, beyond all doubt. But there are cu-
rious and suggestive details about the case, Wat-
son."

"That he should appear only at that point?"

"Exactly. Our first effort must be to find who
are the tenants of Charlington Hall. Then, again,
how about the connection between Carruthers and
Woodley, since they appear to be men of such a
different type? How came they both to be so keen
upon looking up Ralph Smith's relations? One
more point. What sort of a menage is it which pays
double the market price for a governess, but does
not keep a horse although six miles from the sta-
tion? Odd, Watson — very odd!"

"You will go down?"

"No, my dear fellow, yon will go down. This
may be some trifling intrigue, and I cannot break
my other important research for the sake of it. On
Monday you will arrive early at Farnham; you will
conceal yourself near Charlington Heath; you will
observe these facts for yourself, and act as your
own judgment advises. Then, having inquired
as to the occupants of the Hall, you will come
back to me and report. And now, Watson, not
another word of the matter until we have a few
solid stepping-stones on which we may hope to
get across to our solution."

We had ascertained from the lady that she went
down upon the Monday by the train which leaves
Waterloo at 9.50, so I started early and caught the

461

The Adventure of the Solitary Cyclist

9.13. At Farnham Station I had no difficulty in
being directed to Charlington Heath. It was im-
possible to mistake the scene of the young lady's
adventure, for the road runs between the open
heath on one side and an old yew hedge upon
the other, surrounding a park which is studded
with magnificent trees. There was a main gate-
way of lichen-studded stone, each side pillar sur-
mounted by mouldering heraldic emblems; but be-
sides this central carriage drive I observed several
points where there were gaps in the hedge and
paths leading through them. The house was invis-
ible from the road, but the surroundings all spoke
of gloom and decay.

The heath was covered with golden patches
of flowering gorse, gleaming magnificently in the
light of the bright spring sunshine. Behind one
of these clumps I took up my position, so as to
command both the gateway of the Hall and a long
stretch of the road upon either side. It had been
deserted when I left it, but now I saw a cyclist rid-
ing down it from the opposite direction to that in
which I had come. He was clad in a dark suit, and
I saw that he had a black beard. On reaching the
end of the Charlington grounds he sprang from
his machine and led it through a gap in the hedge,
disappearing from my view.

A quarter of an hour passed and then a sec-
ond cyclist appeared. This time it was the young
lady coming from the station. I saw her look about
her as she came to the Charlington hedge. An in-
stant later the man emerged from his hiding-place,
sprang upon his cycle, and followed her. In all
the broad landscape those were the only moving
figures, the graceful girl sitting very straight upon
her machine, and the man behind her bending low
over his handle-bar, with a curiously furtive sug-
gestion in every movement. She looked back at
him and slowed her pace. He slowed also. She
stopped. He at once stopped too, keeping two
hundred yards behind her. Her next movement
was as unexpected as it was spirited. She suddenly
whisked her wheels round and dashed straight at
him! He was as quick as she, however, and darted
off in desperate flight. Presently she came back up
the road again, her head haughtily in the air, not
deigning to take any further notice of her silent
attendant. He had turned also, and still kept his
distance until the curve of the road hid them from
my sight.

I remained in my hiding-place, and it was well
that I did so, for presently the man reappeared cy-
cling slowly back. He turned in at the Hall gates
and dismounted from his machine. For some few

minutes I could see him standing among the trees.
His hands were raised and he seemed to be settling
his necktie. Then he mounted his cycle and rode
away from me down the drive towards the Hall. I
ran across the heath and peered through the trees.
Far away I could catch glimpses of the old grey
building with its bristling Tudor chimneys, but the
drive ran through a dense shrubbery, and I saw no
more of my man.

However, it seemed to me that I had done a
fairly good morning's work, and I walked back
in high spirits to Farnham. The local house-agent
could tell me nothing about Charlington Hall, and
referred me to a well-known firm in Pall Mall.
There I halted on my way home, and met with
courtesy from the representative. No, I could not
have Charlington Hall for the summer. I was just
too late. It had been let about a month ago. Mr.
Williamson was the name of the tenant. He was
a respectable elderly gentleman. The polite agent
was afraid he could say no more, as the affairs of
his clients were not matters which he could dis-
cuss.

Mr. Sherlock Holmes listened with attention to
the long report which I was able to present to him
that evening, but it did not elicit that word of curt
praise which I had hoped for and should have val-
ued. On the contrary, his austere face was even
more severe than usual as he commented upon the
things that I had done and the things that I had
not.

"Your hiding-place, my dear Watson, was very
faulty. You should have been behind the hedge;
then you would have had a close view of this in-
teresting person. As it is you were some hundreds
of yards away, and can tell me even less than Miss
Smith. She thinks she does not know the man; I
am convinced she does. Why, otherwise, should
he be so desperately anxious that she should not
get so near him as to see his features? You describe
him as bending over the handle-bar. Concealment
again, you see. You really have done remarkably
badly. He returns to the house and you want to
find out who he is. You come to a London house-
agent!"

"What should I have done?" I cried, with some
heat.

"Gone to the nearest public-house. That is the
centre of country gossip. They would have told
you every name, from the master to the scullery-
maid. Williamson! It conveys nothing to my mind.
If he is an elderly man he is not this active cyclist
who sprints away from that athletic young lady's
pursuit. What have we gained by your expedition?

462

The Adventure of the Solitary Cyclist

The knowledge that the girl's story is true. I never
doubted it. That there is a connection between the
cyclist and the Hall. I never doubted that either.
That the Hall is tenanted by Williamson. Who's
the better for that? Well, well, my dear sir, don't
look so depressed. We can do little more until next
Saturday, and in the meantime I may make one or
two inquiries myself."

Next morning we had a note from Miss Smith,
recounting shortly and accurately the very inci-
dents which I had seen, but the pith of the letter
lay in the postscript:

"I am sure that you will respect my
confidence, Mr. Holmes, when I tell
you that my place here has become dif-
ficult owing to the fact that my em-
ployer has proposed marriage to me.

I am convinced that his feelings are
most deep and most honourable. At
the same time my promise is, of course,
given. He took my refusal very seri-
ously, but also very gently. You can un-
derstand, however, that the situation is
a little strained."

"Our young friend seems to be getting into
deep waters," said Holmes, thoughtfully, as he fin-
ished the letter. "The case certainly presents more
features of interest and more possibility of devel-
opment than I had originally thought. I should
be none the worse for a quiet, peaceful day in the
country, and I am inclined to run down this af-
ternoon and test one or two theories which I have
formed."

Holmes's quiet day in the country had a singu-
lar termination, for he arrived at Baker Street late
in the evening with a cut lip and a discoloured
lump upon his forehead, besides a general air of
dissipation which would have made his own per-
son the fitting object of a Scotland Yard investiga-
tion. He was immensely tickled by his own adven-
tures, and laughed heartily as he recounted them.

"I get so little active exercise that it is always a
treat," said he. "You are aware that I have some
proficiency in the good old British sport of boxing.
Occasionally it is of service. To-day, for example, I
should have come to very ignominious grief with-
out it."

I begged him to tell me what had occurred.

"I found that country pub which I had already
recommended to your notice, and there I made my
discreet inquiries. I was in the bar, and a gar-
rulous landlord was giving me all that I wanted.

Williamson is a white-bearded man, and he lives
alone with a small staff of servants at the Hall.
There is some rumour that he is or has been a
clergyman; but one or two incidents of his short
residence at the Hall struck me as peculiarly unec-
clesiastical. I have already made some inquiries
at a clerical agency, and they tell me that there
was a man of that name in orders whose career
has been a singularly dark one. The landlord fur-
ther informed me that there are usually week-end
visitors — 'a warm lot, sir' — at the Hall, and espe-
cially one gentleman with a red moustache, Mr.
Woodley by name, who was always there. We had
got as far as this when who should walk in but
the gentleman himself, who had been drinking his
beer in the tap-room and had heard the whole con-
versation. Who was I? What did I want? What
did I mean by asking questions? He had a fine
flow of language, and his adjectives were very vig-
orous. He ended a string of abuse by a vicious
back-hander which I failed to entirely avoid. The
next few minutes were delicious. It was a straight
left against a slogging ruffian. I emerged as you
see me. Mr. Woodley went home in a cart. So
ended my country trip, and it must be confessed
that, however enjoyable, my day on the Surrey bor-
der has not been much more profitable than your
own."

The Thursday brought us another letter from
our client.

You will not be surprised, Mr.
Holmes [said she] to hear that I am
leaving Mr. Carruthers's employment.

Even the high pay cannot reconcile me
to the discomforts of my situation. Qn
Saturday I come up to town and I do
not intend to return. Mr. Carruthers
has got a trap, and so the dangers of
the lonely road, if there ever were any
dangers, are now over.

As to the special cause of my leav-
ing, it is not merely the strained situ-
ation with Mr. Carruthers, but it is the
reappearance of that odious man, Mr.
Woodley. He was always hideous, but
he looks more awful than ever now, for
he appears to have had an accident and
he is much disfigured. I saw him out of
the window, but I am glad to say I did
not meet him. He had a long talk with
Mr. Carruthers, who seemed much ex-
cited afterwards. Woodley must be
staying in the neighbourhood, for he
did not sleep here, and yet I caught

463

The Adventure of the Solitary Cyclist

a glimpse of him again this morning
slinking about in the shrubbery. I
would sooner have a savage wild ani-
mal loose about the place. I loathe and
fear him more than I can say. How can
Mr. Carruthers endure such a creature
for a moment? However, all my trou-
bles will be over on Saturday.

"So I trust, Watson; so I trust," said Holmes,
gravely. "There is some deep intrigue going on
round that little woman, and it is our duty to see
that no one molests her upon that last journey.
I think, Watson, that we must spare time to run
down together on Saturday morning, and make
sure that this curious and inconclusive investiga-
tion has no untoward ending."

I confess that I had not up to now taken a very
serious view of the case, which had seemed to me
rather grotesque and bizarre than dangerous. That
a man should lie in wait for and follow a very
handsome woman is no unheard-of thing, and if
he had so little audacity that he not only dared not
address her, but even fled from her approach, he
was not a very formidable assailant. The ruffian
Woodley was a very different person, but, except
on one occasion, he had not molested our client,
and now he visited the house of Carruthers with-
out intruding upon her presence. The man on the
bicycle was doubtless a member of those week-end
parties at the Hall of which the publican had spo-
ken; but who he was or what he wanted was as ob-
scure as ever. It was the severity of Holmes's man-
ner and the fact that he slipped a revolver into his
pocket before leaving our rooms which impressed
me with the feeling that tragedy might prove to
lurk behind this curious train of events.

A rainy night had been followed by a glo-
rious morning, and the heath-covered country-
side with the glowing clumps of flowering gorse
seemed all the more beautiful to eyes which were
weary of the duns and drabs and slate-greys of
London. Holmes and I walked along the broad,
sandy road inhaling the fresh morning air, and
rejoicing in the music of the birds and the fresh
breath of the spring. From a rise of the road on
the shoulder of Crooksbury Hill we could see the
grim Hall bristling out from amidst the ancient
oaks, which, old as they were, were still younger
than the building which they surrounded. Holmes
pointed down the long tract of road which wound,
a reddish yellow band, between the brown of the
heath and the budding green of the woods. Far
away, a black dot, we could see a vehicle moving

in our direction. Holmes gave an exclamation of
impatience.

"I had given a margin of half an hour," said
he. "If that is her trap she must be making for the
earlier train. I fear, Watson, that she will be past
Charlington before we can possibly meet her."

From the instant that we passed the rise we
could no longer see the vehicle, but we hastened
onwards at such a pace that my sedentary life be-
gan to tell upon me, and I was compelled to fall
behind. Holmes, however, was always in train-
ing, for he had inexhaustible stores of nervous en-
ergy upon which to draw. His springy step never
slowed until suddenly, when he was a hundred
yards in front of me, he halted, and I saw him
throw up his hand with a gesture of grief and de-
spair. At the same instant an empty dog-cart, the
horse cantering, the reins trailing, appeared round
the curve of the road and rattled swiftly towards
us.

"Too late, Watson; too late!" cried Holmes, as
I ran panting to his side. "Fool that I was not to
allow for that earlier train! It's abduction, Wat-
son — abduction! Murder! Heaven knows what!
Block the road! Stop the horse! That's right. Now,
jump in, and let us see if I can repair the conse-
quences of my own blunder."

We had sprung into the dog-cart, and Holmes,
after turning the horse, gave it a sharp cut with
the whip, and we flew back along the road. As we
turned the curve the whole stretch of road between
the Hall and the heath was opened up. I grasped
Holmes's arm.

"That's the man!" I gasped.

A solitary cyclist was coming towards us. His
head was down and his shoulders rounded as he
put every ounce of energy that he possessed on to
the pedals. He was flying like a racer. Suddenly he
raised his bearded face, saw us close to him, and
pulled up, springing from his machine. That coal-
black beard was in singular contrast to the pallor
of his face, and his eyes were as bright as if he had
a fever. He stared at us and at the dog-cart. Then
a look of amazement came over his face.

"Halloa! Stop there!" he shouted, holding his
bicycle to block our road. "Where did you get that
dog-cart? Pull up, man!" he yelled, drawing a pis-
tol from his side pocket. "Pull up, I say, or, by
George, I'll put a bullet into your horse."

Holmes threw the reins into my lap and sprang
down from the cart.

"You're the man we want to see. Where is Miss
Violet Smith?" he said, in his quick, clear way.

464

The Adventure of the Solitary Cyclist

"That's what I am asking you. You're in her
dog-cart. You ought to know where she is."

"We met the dog-cart on the road. There was
no one in it. We drove back to help the young
lady."

"Good Lord! Good Lord! what shall I
do?" cried the stranger, in an ecstasy of despair.
"They've got her, that hellhound Woodley and the
blackguard parson. Come, man, come, if you re-
ally are her friend. Stand by me and we'll save her,
if I have to leave my carcass in Charlington Wood."

He ran distractedly, his pistol in his hand, to-
wards a gap in the hedge. Holmes followed him,
and I, leaving the horse grazing beside the road,
followed Holmes.

"This is where they came through," said he,
pointing to the marks of several feet upon the
muddy path. "Halloa! Stop a minute! Who's this
in the bush?"

It was a young fellow about seventeen, dressed
like an ostler, with leather cords and gaiters. He
lay upon his back, his knees drawn up, a terrible
cut upon his head. He was insensible, but alive. A
glance at his wound told me that it had not pene-
trated the bone.

"That's Peter, the groom," cried the stranger.
"He drove her. The beasts have pulled him off and
clubbed him. Let him lie; we can't do him any
good, but we may save her from the worst fate that
can befall a woman."

We ran frantically down the path, which
wound among the trees. We had reached the
shrubbery which surrounded the house when
Holmes pulled up.

"They didn't go to the house. Here are their
marks on the left — here, beside the laurel bushes!
Ah, I said so!"

As he spoke a woman's shrill scream — a
scream which vibrated with a frenzy of hor-
ror — burst from the thick green clump of bushes
in front of us. It ended suddenly on its highest
note with a choke and a gurgle.

"This way! This way! They are in the bowl-
ing alley," cried the stranger, darting through the
bushes. "Ah, the cowardly dogs! Follow me, gen-
tlemen! Too late! too late! by the living Jingo!"

We had broken suddenly into a lovely glade of
greensward surrounded by ancient trees. On the
farther side of it, under the shadow of a mighty
oak, there stood a singular group of three peo-
ple. One was a woman, our client, drooping and
faint, a handkerchief round her mouth. Opposite

her stood a brutal, heavy-faced, red-moustached
young man, his gaitered legs parted wide, one
arm akimbo, the other waving a riding-crop, his
whole attitude suggestive of triumphant bravado.
Between them an elderly, grey-bearded man, wear-
ing a short surplice over a light tweed suit, had
evidently just completed the wedding service, for
he pocketed his prayer-book as we appeared and
slapped the sinister bridegroom upon the back in
jovial congratulation.

"They're married!" I gasped.

"Come on!" cried our guide; "come on!" He
rushed across the glade. Holmes and I at his heels.
As we approached, the lady staggered against the
trunk of the tree for support. Williamson, the ex-
clergyman, bowed to us with mock politeness, and
the bully Woodley advanced with a shout of brutal
and exultant laughter.

"You can take your beard off. Bob," said he. "I
know you right enough. Well, you and your pals
have just come in time for me to be able to intro-
duce you to Mrs. Woodley."

Our guide's answer was a singular one. He
snatched off the dark beard which had disguised
him and threw it on the ground, disclosing a
long, sallow, clean-shaven face below it. Then he
raised his revolver and covered the young ruffian,
who was advancing upon him with his dangerous
riding-crop swinging in his hand.

"Yes," said our ally, "I am Bob Carruthers, and
I'll see this woman righted if I have to swing for it.
I told you what I'd do if you molested her, and, by
the Lord, I'll be as good as my word!"

"You're too late. She's my wife!"

"No, she's your widow."

His revolver cracked, and I saw the blood spurt
from the front of Woodley's waistcoat. He spun
round with a scream and fell upon his back, his
hideous red face turning suddenly to a dreadful
mottled pallor. The old man, still clad in his sur-
plice, burst into such a string of foul oaths as I have
never heard, and pulled out a revolver of his own,
but before he could raise it he was looking down
the barrel of Holmes's weapon.

"Enough of this," said my friend, coldly. "Drop
that pistol! Watson, pick it up! Hold it to his head!
Thank you. You, Carruthers, give me that revolver.
We'll have no more violence. Come, hand it over!"

"Who are you, then?"

"My name is Sherlock Holmes."

"Good Lord!"

465

The Adventure of the Solitary Cyclist

"You have heard of me, I see. I will represent
the official police until their arrival. Here, you!"
he shouted to a frightened groom who had ap-
peared at the edge of the glade. "Come here. Take
this note as hard as you can ride to Farnham." He
scribbled a few words upon a leaf from his note-
book. "Give it to the superintendent at the police-
station. Until he comes I must detain you all under
my personal custody."

The strong, masterful personality of Holmes
dominated the tragic scene, and all were equally
puppets in his hands. Williamson and Carruthers
found themselves carrying the wounded Woodley
into the house, and I gave my arm to the fright-
ened girl. The injured man was laid on his bed,
and at Holmes's request I examined him. I carried
my report to where he sat in the old tapestry-hung
dining-room with his two prisoners before him.

"He will live," said I.

"What!" cried Carruthers, springing out of his
chair. "I'll go upstairs and finish him first. Do you
tell me that that girl, that angel, is to be tied to
Roaring Jack Woodley for life?"

"You need not concern yourself about that,"
said Holmes. "There are two very good reasons
why she should under no circumstances be his
wife. In the first place, we are very safe in ques-
tioning Mr. Williamson's right to solemnize a mar-
riage."

"I have been ordained," cried the old rascal.

"And also unfrocked."

"Once a clergyman, always a clergyman."

"I think not. How about the license?"

"We had a license for the marriage. I have it
here in my pocket."

"Then you got it by a trick. But in any case a
forced marriage is no marriage, but it is a very se-
rious felony, as you will discover before you have
finished. You'll have time to think the point out
during the next ten years or so, unless I am mis-
taken. As to you, Carruthers, you would have
done better to keep your pistol in your pocket."

"I begin to think so, Mr. Holmes; but when I
thought of all the precaution I had taken to shield
this girl — for I loved her, Mr. Holmes, and it is the
only time that ever I knew what love was — it fairly
drove me mad to think that she was in the power of
the greatest brute and bully in South Africa, a man
whose name is a holy terror from Kimberley to Jo-
hannesburg. Why, Mr. Holmes, you'll hardly be-
lieve it, but ever since that girl has been in my em-
ployment I never once let her go past this house.

where I knew these rascals were lurking, without
following her on my bicycle just to see that she
came to no harm. I kept my distance from her,
and I wore a beard so that she should not recog-
nise me, for she is a good and high-spirited girl,
and she wouldn't have stayed in my employment
long if she had thought that I was following her
about the country roads."

"Why didn't you tell her of her danger?"

"Because then, again, she would have left me,
and I couldn't bear to face that. Even if she
couldn't love me it was a great deal to me just to
see her dainty form about the house, and to hear
the sound of her voice."

"Well," said I, "you call that love, Mr. Car-
ruthers, but I should call it selfishness."

"Maybe the two things go together. Anyhow, I
couldn't let her go. Besides, with this crowd about,
it was well that she should have someone near to
look after her. Then when the cable came I knew
they were bound to make a move."

"What cable?"

Carruthers took a telegram from his pocket.

"That's it," said he.

It was short and concise:

The old man is dead.

"Hum!" said Holmes. "I think I see how things
worked, and I can understand how this message
would, as you say, bring them to a head. But while
we wait you might tell me what you can."

The old reprobate with the surplice burst into
a volley of bad language.

"By Heaven," said he, "if you squeal on us. Bob
Carruthers, I'll serve you as you served Jack Wood-
ley. You can bleat about the girl to your heart's
content, for that's your own affair, but if you round
on your pals to this plain-clothes copper it will be
the worst day's work that ever you did."

"Your reverence need not be excited," said
Holmes, lighting a cigarette. "The case is clear
enough against you, and all I ask is a few details
for my private curiosity. However, if there's any
difficulty in your telling me I'll do the talking, and
then you will see how far you have a chance of
holding back your secrets. In the first place, three
of you came from South Africa on this game — you
Williamson, you Carruthers, and Woodley."

"Lie number one," said the old man; "I never
saw either of them until two months ago, and I
have never been in Africa in my life, so you can
put that in your pipe and smoke it, Mr. Busybody
Holmes!"

"What he says is true," said Carruthers.

466

The Adventure of the Solitary Cyclist

"Well, well, two of you came over. His rev-
erence is our own home-made article. You had
known Ralph Smith in South Africa. You had rea-
son to believe he would not live long. You found
out that his niece would inherit his fortune. How's
that — eh?"

Carruthers nodded and Williamson swore.

"She was next-of-kin, no doubt, and you were
aware that the old fellow would make no will."

"Couldn't read or write," said Carruthers.

"So you came over, the two of you, and hunted
up the girl. The idea was that one of you was to
marry her and the other have a share of the plun-
der. For some reason Woodley was chosen as the
husband. Why was that?"

"We played cards for her on the voyage. He
won."

"I see. You got the young lady into your ser-
vice, and there Woodley was to do the courting.
She recognised the drunken brute that he was, and
would have nothing to do with him. Meanwhile,
your arrangement was rather upset by the fact that
you had yourself fallen in love with the lady. You
could no longer bear the idea of this ruffian own-
ing her."

"No, by George, I couldn't!"

"There was a quarrel between you. He left you
in a rage, and began to make his own plans inde-
pendently of you."

"It strikes me, Williamson, there isn't very
much that we can tell this gentleman," cried Car-
ruthers, with a bitter laugh. "Yes, we quarreled,
and he knocked me down. I am level with him on
that, anyhow. Then I lost sight of him. That was
when he picked up with this cast padre here. I
found that they had set up house-keeping together
at this place on the line that she had to pass for the
station. 1 kept my eye on her after that, for I knew
there was some devilry in the wind. I saw them
from time to time, for I was anxious to know what
they were after. Two days ago Woodley came up
to my house with this cable, which showed that
Ralph Smith was dead. He asked me if I would
stand by the bargain. I said I would not. He asked
me if I would marry the girl myself and give him
a share. I said I would willingly do so, but that
she would not have me. He said, 'Let us get her
married first, and after a week or two she may see
things a bit different.' I said I would have noth-
ing to do with violence. So he went off cursing,
like the foul-mouthed blackguard that he was, and

swearing that he would have her yet. She was leav-
ing me this week-end, and I had got a trap to take
her to the station, but I was so uneasy in my mind
that I followed her on my bicycle. She had got
a start, however, and before I could catch her the
mischief was done. The first thing I knew about it
was when I saw you two gentlemen driving back
in her dog-cart."

Holmes rose and tossed the end of his cigarette
into the grate. "I have been very obtuse, Wat-
son," said he. "When in your report you said that
you had seen the cyclist as you thought arrange
his necktie in the shrubbery, that alone should
have told me all. However, we may congratulate
ourselves upon a curious and in some respects a
unique case. I perceive three of the county con-
stabulary in the drive, and I am glad to see that
the little ostler is able to keep pace with them;
so it is likely that neither he nor the interesting
bridegroom will be permanently damaged by their
morning's adventures. I think, Watson, that in
your medical capacity you might wait upon Miss
Smith and tell her that if she is sufficiently re-
covered we shall be happy to escort her to her
mother's home. If she is not quite convalescent
you will find that a hint that we were about to
telegraph to a young electrician in the Midlands
would probably complete the cure. As to you, Mr.
Carruthers, I think that you have done what you
could to make amends for your share in an evil
plot. There is my card, sir, and if my evidence can
be of help to you in your trial it shall be at your
disposal."

In the whirl of our incessant activity it has often
been difficult for me, as the reader has probably
observed, to round off my narratives, and to give
those final details which the curious might expect.
Each case has been the prelude to another, and the
crisis once over the actors have passed for ever out
of our busy lives. I find, however, a short note at
the end of my manuscripts dealing with this case,
in which I have put it upon record that Miss Vi-
olet Smith did indeed inherit a large fortune, and
that she is now the wife of Cyril Morton, the se-
nior partner of Morton & Kennedy, the famous
Westminster electricians. Williamson and Wood-
ley were both tried for abduction and assault, the
former getting seven years and the latter ten. Of
the fate of Carruthers I have no record, but I am
sure that his assault was not viewed very gravely
by the Court, since Woodley had the reputation of
being a most dangerous ruffian, and I think that a
few months were sufficient to satisfy the demands
of justice.

467

THE DEPTFORD HORROR

I have remarked elsewhere that my friend Sherlock Holmes, like all great artists, lived for his art's sake and, save in the case of the Duke of Holderness, I
have seldom known him claim any substantial reward. However powerful or wealthy the client, he would refuse to undertake any problem that lacked appeal to his
sympathies, while he would devote his most intense energies to the affairs of some humble person whose case contained those singular and remarkable
qualities which struck a responsive chord in his imagination.

On glancing through my notes for that memorable year '95, I find recorded the details of a case which may be taken as a typical instance of this
disinterested and even altruistic attitude of mind which placed the rendering of a kindly service above that of material reward. I refer, of course, to the dreadful affair of
the canaries and the soot-marks on the ceiling.

It was early in June that my friend completed his investigations into the sudden death of Cardinal Tosca, an enquiry which he had undertaken at the special request of
the Pope. The case had demanded the most exacting work on Holmes's part and, as I had feared at the time, the aftermath had left him in a highly nervous and
restless state that caused me some concern both as his friend and his medical adviser.

One rainy night towards the end of the same month, I persuaded him to dine with me at Frascatti's and thereafter we had gone on to the Cafe Royal for our coffee
and liquors. As I had hoped, the bustle of the great room, with its red plush seats and stately palms bathed in the glow of numerous crystal chandeliers, drew
him out of his introspective mood and as he leaned back on our sofa, his fingers playing with the stem of his glass, I noted with satisfaction a gleam of interest in those
keen grey eyes as he studied the somewhat Bohemian clientele that thronged the tables and alcoves.

I was in the act of replying to some remark when Holmes nodded suddenly in the direction of the door.

"Lestrade," said he. "What can he be doing here?"

Glancing over my shoulder, I saw the lean, rat-faced figure of the Scotland Yard man standing in the entrance, his dark eyes roving slowly around the room.

"He may be seeking you," I remarked. "Probably on some urgent case."

"Hardly, Watson. His wet boots show that he has walked. If there was urgency, he would have taken a cab. But here he comes."

The police agent had caught sight of us and, at Holmes's gesture, he pushed his way through the throng and drew up a chair to the table.

"Only a routine check," said he, in reply to my friend's query. "But duty's duty, Mr. Holmes, and I can tell you that I've netted some strange fish before now in
these respectable places. While you are comfortably dreaming up your theories in Baker Street, we poor devils at Scotland Yard are doing the practical work. No
thanks to us from Popes and Kings but a bad hour on the Superintendent's carpet if we fail."

"Tut," smiled Holmes good-humouredly. "Your superiors must surely hold you in some esteem since I solved the Ronald Adair murder, the Bruce-Partington theft,
the-"

"Quite so, quite so," interrupted Lestrade hurriedly. "And now," he added, with a heavy wink at me, "I have something for you."

"Ah!"

"Of course, a young woman who starts at shadows may be more in Dr. Watson's line."

"Really, Lestrade," I protested warmly, "I cannot approve your—"

"One moment, Watson. Let us hear the facts."

"Well, Mr. Holmes, they are absurd enough," continued Lestrade, "and I would not waste your time were it not that I have known you to do a kindness or two
before now and your word of advice may in this instance prevent a young woman from acting foolishly. Now, here's the position.

"Down Deptford way, along the edge of the river, there are some of the worst slums in the East End of London but, right in the middle of them, you can still
find some fine old houses which were once the homes of wealthy merchants centuries ago. One of these tumbledown mansions has been occupied by a family named
Wilson for the past hundred years and more. I understand that they were originally in the China trade and when that went to the dogs a generation back, they
got out in time and remained on in the old home. The recent household consisted of Horatio Wilson and his wife, with one son and a daughter, and Horatio's younger
brother Theobold who had gone to live with them on his return from foreign parts.

"Some three years ago, the body of Horatio Wilson was hooked out of the river. He had been drowned and, as he was known to have been a hard-drinking
man, it was generally accepted that he had missed his step in the fog and fallen into the water. A year later, his wife, who suffered from a weak heart, died from
a heart attack. We know this to be the case, because the doctor made a very careful examination following the statements of a police-constable and a night-
watchman employed on a Thames barge."

"Statements to what effect?" interposed Holmes.

"Well, there was talk of some noise rising apparently from the old Wilson house. But the nights are often foggy along Thames-side and the men were probably misled.
The constable described the sound as a dreadful yell that froze the blood in his veins. If I had him in my division, I'd teach him that such words should never pass
the lips of an officer of the law."

'What time was this?"

"Ten o'clock at niqht, the hour of the old lady's death. It's merely a coincidence, for there is no doubt that she died of heart."

"Goon."

Lestrade consulted his note-book for a moment. "I've been digging up the facts," he continued. "On the night of May 17th last, the daughter went to a magic-lantern
entertainment accompanied by a woman servant. On her return, she found her brother, Phineas Wilson, dead in his arm-chair. He had inherited a bad heart and
insomnia from his mother. This time there were no rumours of shrieks and yells, but owing to the expression on the dead man's face, the local doctor called in the
police-surgeon to assist in the examination. It was heart, all right, and our man confirmed that this can sometimes cause a distortion of the features that will convey an
impression of stark terror."

"That is perfectly true," I remarked.

"Now, it seems that the daughter Janet has become so overwrought that, according to her uncle, she proposes to sell up the property and go abroad," went on
Lestrade.

"Her feelings are, I suppose, natural. Death has been busy with the Wilson family."

"And what of this uncle? Theobold, I think you said his name was."

"Well, I fancy that you will find him on your doorstep tomorrow morning. He came to me at the Yard in the hope that the official police could put his niece's fears at
rest and persuade her to take a more reasonable view. As we are engaged on more important affairs than calming hysterical young women, I advised him to call on
you."

"Indeed! Well, it is natural enough that he should resent the unnecessary loss of what is probably a snug corner."

"There is no resentment, Mr. Holmes. Wilson seems to be genuinely attached to his niece and concerned only for her future." Lestrade paused, while a grin
spread over his foxy face. "He is not a very worldly person, is Mr. Theobold, and though I've met some queer trades in my time his beats the band. The man
trains canaries."

"It is an established profession."

"Is it?" There was an irritating smugness in Lestrade's manner as he rose to his feet and reached for his hat. "It is quite evident that you do not suffer from
insomnia, Mr. Holmes," said he, "or you would know that birds trained by Theobold Wilson are different from other canaries. Good night, gentlemen."

"What on earth does the fellow mean?" I asked, as the police-agent threaded his way towards the door.

"Merely that he knows something that we do not," replied Holmes drily. "But, as conjecture is as profitless as it is misleading to the analytical mind, let us wait
until tomorrow. I can say, however, that I do not propose to waste my time over a matter that appears to fall more properly within the province of the local
vicar."

To my friend's relief, the morning brought no visitor. But when, on my return from an urgent case to which I had been summoned shortly after lunch, I entered our
sitting-room, I found that our spare chair was occupied by a bespectacled middle-aged man. As he rose to his feet, I observed that he was of an exceeding
thinness and that his face, which was scholarly and even austere in expression, was seamed with countless wrinkles and of that dull parchment-yellow that comes
from years under a tropic sun.

"Ah, Watson, you have arrived in time," said Holmes. "This is Mr. Theobold Wilson about whom Lestrade spoke to us last night."

Our visitor wrung my hand warmly. "Your name is, of course, well known to me, Dr. Watson," he cried. "Indeed, if Mr. Sherlock Holmes will pardon me for saying so, it
is largely thanks to you that we are aware of his genius. As a medical man doubtless well versed in the handling of nervous cases, your presence should have a
most beneficial effect upon my unhappy niece."

Holmes caught my eye resignedly. "I have promised Mr. Wilson to accompany him to Deptford,. Watson," said he, "for it would seem that the young lady is deter-
mined to leave her home tomorrow. But I must repeat again, Mr. Wilson, that I fail to see in what way my presence can affect the matter."

"You are over-modest, Mr. Holmes. When I appealed to the official police, I had hoped that they might convince Janet that, terrible though our family losses have
been in the past three years, nevertheless they lay in natural causes and that there is no reason why she should flee from her home. I had the impression," he added,
with a chuckle, "that the inspector was somewhat chagrined at my ready acceptance of his own suggestion that I should invoke your assistance."

"I shall certainly remember my small debt to Lestrade," replied Holmes drily as he rose to his feet. "Perhaps, Watson, you would ask Mrs. Hudson to whistle a four-
wheeler and Mr. Wilson can clarify certain points to my mind as we drive to Deptford."

It was one of those grey, brooding summer days when London is at its worst and, as we rattled over Blackfriars Bridge, I noted that wreaths of mist were rising from the
river like the poisonous vapours of some hot jungle swamp. The more spacious streets of the West End had given place to the great commercial thoroughfares,
resounding with the stamp and clatter of the dray-horses, and these in turn merged at last into a maze of dingy streets that, following the curve of the river, grew
more and more wretched in their squalor the nearer we approached to that labyrinth of tidal basins and dark, evil-smelling lanes that were once the ancient cradle of
England's sea trade and of an empire's wealth. I could see that Holmes was listless and bored to a point of irritation and I did my best, therefore, to engage our
companion in conversation.

"I understand that you are an expert on canaries," I remarked.

Theobold Wilson's eyes, behind their powerful spectacles, lit with the glow of the enthusiast. "A mere student, sir, but with thirty years of practical research,"
he cried. "Can it be that you too—? No? A pity! The study, breeding and training of the Fringilla Canaria is a task worthy of a man's lifetime. You would not credit the
ignorance, Dr. Watson, that prevails on this subject even in the most enlightened circles. When I read my paper on the 'Crossing of the Madeira and Canary Island
Strains' to the British Ornithological Society I was appalled at the puerility of the ensuing questions."

"Inspector Lestrade hinted at some special characteristic in your training of these little songsters."

"Songsters, sir! A thrush is a songster. The Fringilla is the supreme ear of Nature, possessing an unique power of imitation which can be trained for the benefit and edi-
fication of the human race. But the inspector was correct," he went on more calmly, "in that I have put my birds to a special effect. They are trained to sing by night in
artificial light."

"Surely a somewhat singular pursuit."

"I like to think that it is a kindly one. My birds are trained for the benefit of those who suffer from insomnia and I have clients in all parts of the country. Their tuneful
song helps to while away the long night hours and the dousing of the lamplight terminates the concert."

"It seems to me that Lestrade was right," I observed. "Yours is indeed an unique profession."

During our conversation, Holmes, who had idly picked up our companion's heavy stick, had been examining it with some attention.

"I understand that you returned to England some three years ago," he observed.

"I did."

"From Cuba, I perceive."

Theobold Wilson started and for an instant I seemed to catch a gleam of something like wariness in the swift glance that he shot at Holmes.

"That is so," he said. "But how did you know?"

"Your stick is cut from Cuban ebony. There is no mistaking that greenish tint and the exceptionally high polish."

"It might have been bought in London since my return from, say, Africa."

"No, it has been yours for some years." Holmes lifted the stick to the carriage-window and tilted it so that the daylight shone upon the handle. "You will perceive," he
went on, "that there is a slight but regular scraping that has worn through the polish along the left side of the handle just where the ring finger of a left-handed man
would close upon the grip. Ebony is among the toughest of woods and it would require considerable time to cause such wear and a ring of some harder metal than
gold. You are left-handed, Mr. Wilson, and wear a silver ring on your middle finger."

"Dear me, how simple. I thought for the moment that you had done something clever. As it happens, I was in the sugar trade in Cuba and brought my old stick back
with me. But here we are at the house and, if you can put my silly niece's fears at rest as quickly as you can deduce my past, I shall be your debtor, Mr. Sherlock
Holmes."

On descending from our four-wheeler, we found ourselves in a lane of mean, slatternly houses sloping, so far as I could judge from the yellow mist that was already
creeping up the lower end, to the river's edge. At one side was a high wall of crumbling brickwork pierced by an iron gate through which we caught a glimpse of a
substantial mansion lying in its own garden.

"The old house has known better days," said our companion, as we followed him through the gate and up the path. "It was built in the year that Peter the Great came
to live in Scales Court whose ruined park can be seen from the upper windows."

Usually I am not unduly affected by my surroundings, but I must confess that I was aware of a feeling of depression at the melancholy spectacle that lay
before us. The house, though of dignified and even imposing proportions, was faced with blotched, weather-stained plaster which had fallen away in places to
disclose the ancient brickwork that lay beneath, while a tangled mass of ivy covering one wall had sent its long tendrils across the high-peaked roof to
wreathe itself around the chimney-stacks.

The garden was an overgrown wilderness, and the air of the whole place reeked with the damp musty smell of the river.

Theobold Wilson led us through a small hall into a comfortably furnished drawing-room. A young woman with auburn hair and a freckled face, who was sorting
through some papers at a writing-desk, sprang to her feet at our entrance.

"Here are Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson," announced our companion. "This is my niece Janet, whose interests you are here to protect against her
own unreasonable conduct."

The young lady faced us bravely enough, though I noted a twitch and tremor of the lips that spoke of a high nervous tension. "I am leaving tomorrow, Uncle,"
she cried, "and nothing that these gentlemen can say will alter my decision. Here, there is only sorrow and fear— above all, fear!"

"Fear of what?"

The girl passed her hand over her eyes. "I— I cannot explain. I hate the shadows and the funny little noises."

"You have inherited both money and property, Janet," said Mr. Wilson earnestly. "Will you, because of shadows, desert the roof of your fathers? Be reasonable."

"We are here only to serve you, young lady," said Holmes with some gentleness, "and to try to put your fears at rest. It is often so in life that we injure our own
best interests by precipitate action."

"You will laugh at a woman's intuitions, sir."

"By no means. They are often the signposts of Providence. Understand clearly that you will go or stay as you see fit. But perhaps, as I am here, it might relieve
your mind to show me over the house."

"An admirable suggestion!" cried Theobold Wilson cheerily. "Come, Janet, we will soon dispose of your shadows and noises."

In a little procession, we trooped from one over-furnished room to another on the ground floor.

"I will take you to the bedrooms," said Miss Wilson, as we paused at last before the staircase.

"Are there no cellars in a house of this antiquity?"

"There is one cellar, Mr. Holmes, but it is little used save for the storage of wood and some of Uncle's old nest-boxes. This way, please."

It was a gloomy, stone-built chamber in which we found ourselves. A stack of wood was piled against one wall and a pot-bellied Dutch stove, its iron pipe running
through the ceiling, filled the far corner. Through a glazed door reached by a line of steps and opening into the garden, a dun light filtered down upon the
flagstones. Holmes sniffed the air keenly, and I was myself aware of an increased mustiness from the near-by river.

"Like most Thames-side houses, you must be plagued by rats," he remarked.

"We used to be. But, since Uncle came here, he has got rid of them."

"Quite so. Dear me," he continued, peering down at the floor, "what busy little fellows!"

Following his gaze, I saw that his attention had been drawn by a few garden ants scurrying across the floor from beneath the edge of the stove and up the steps lead-
ing to the garden door. "It is as well for us, Watson," he chuckled, pointing with his stick at the tiny particles with which they were encumbered, "that we are not under the
necessity of lugging along our dinners thrice our own size. It is a lesson in patience." He lapsed into silence, staring thoughtfully at the floor. "A lesson," he repeated
slowly.

Mr. Wilson's thin lips tightened. "What foolery is this," he exclaimed. "The ants are there because the servants would throw garbage in the stove to save themselves the
trouble of going to the dustbin."

"And so you put a lock on the lid."

"We did. If you wish, I can fetch the key. No? Then, if you are finished, let me take you to the bedrooms."

"Perhaps I may see the room where your brother died," requested Holmes, as we reached the top floor.

"It is here," replied Miss Wilson, throwing open the door.

It was a large chamber furnished with some taste and even luxury and lit by two deeply recessed windows flanking another pot-bellied stove decorated with yellow tiles to
harmonize with the tone of the room. A pair of birdcages hung from the stove-pipe.

"Where does that side door lead?" asked my friend.

"It communicates with my room, which was formerly used by my mother," she answered.

For a few minutes, Holmes prowled around listlessly.

"I perceive that your brother was addicted to night reading," he remarked.

"Yes. He suffered from sleeplessness. But how—"

"T ut, the pile of the carpet on the right of the arm-chair is thick with traces of candle-wax. But hullo! What have we here?"

Holmes had halted near the window and was staring intently at the upper wall. Then, mounting the sill, he stretched out an arm and, touching the plaster lightly here
arid there, sniffed at his finger-tips. There was a puzzled frown on his face as he clambered down and commenced to circle slowly around the room, his eyes fixed
upon the ceiling.

"Most singular," he muttered.

"Is anything wrong, Mr. Holmes?" faltered Miss Wilson.

"I am merely interested to account for these odd whorls and lines across the upper wall and plaster."

"It must be those dratted cockroaches dragging the dust all over the place," exclaimed Wilson apologetically. "I've told you before, Janet, that you would be better
employed in supervising the servants' work. But what now, Mr. Holmes?"

My friend, who had crossed to the side door and glanced within, now closed it again and strolled across to the window.

"My visit has been a useless one," said he, "and, as I see that the fog is rising, I fear that we must take our leave. These are, I suppose, your famous canaries?"
he added, pointing to the cages above the stove.

"A mere sample. But come this way."

Wilson led us along the passage and threw open a door.

"There!" said he.

Obviously it was his own bedroom and yet unlike any bedroom that I had entered in all my professional career. From floor to ceiling it was festooned with scores of
cages and the little golden-coated singers within filled the air with their sweet warbling and trilling.

"Daylight or lamplight, it's all the same to them. Here, Carrie, Carrie!" he whistled a few liquid notes which I seemed to recognize. The bird took them up into a lovely
cadence of song.

"A sky-lark!" I cried.

"Precisely. As I said before, the Fringilla if properly trained are the supreme imitators."

"I confess that I do not recognize that song," I remarked, as one of the birds broke into a low rising, whistle ending in a curious tremolo.

Mr. Wilson threw a towel over the cage. "It is the song of the tropic night-bird," he said shortly, "and, as I have the foolish pride to prefer my birds to sing the
songs of the day while it is day, we will punish Peperino by putting him in darkness."

"I am surprised that you prefer an open fireplace here to a stove," observed Holmes. "There must be a considerable draught."

"I have not noticed one. Dear me, the fog is indeed increasing. I am afraid, Mr. Holmes, that you have a bad journey before you."

"Then we must be on our way."

As we descended the stairs and paused in the hall while Theobold Wilson fetched our hats, Sherlock Holmes leaned over towards our young companion.

"I would remind you, Miss Wilson, of what I said earlier about a woman's intuition," he said quietly. "There are occasions when the truth can be sensed more easily
than it can be seen. Good-night."

A moment later, we were feeling our way down the garden path to where the lights of our waiting four-wheeler shone dimly through the rising fog.

My companion was sunk in thought as we rumbled westward through the mean streets whose squalor was the more aggressive under the garish light of the gas-
lamps that flared and whistled outside the numerous public houses. The night promised to be a bad one and already, through the yellow vapour thickening and writhing
above the pavements, the occasional wayfarer was nothing more than a vague hurrying shadow.

"I could have wished, my dear fellow," I remarked, "that you had been spared the need uselessly to waste your energies which are already sufficiently depleted."
"Well, well, Watson. I fancied that the affairs of the Wilson family would prove no concern of ours. And yet—" he sank back, absorbed for a moment in his
own thoughts, "—and yet, it is wrong, wrong, all wrong!" I heard him mutter under his breath.

"I observed nothing of a sinister nature."

"Nor I. But every danger bell in my head is jangling its warning. Why a fireplace, Watson, why a fireplace? I take it that you noticed that the pipe from the cellar connected
with the stoves in the other bedrooms?"

"In one bedroom."

"No. There was the same arrangement in the adjoining room where the mother died."

"I see nothing in this save an old-fashioned system of heating flues."

"And what of the marks on the ceiling?"

"You mean the whorls of dust."

"I mean the whorls of soot."

"Soot! Surely you are mistaken, Holmes."

"I touched them, smelt them, examined them. They were speckles and lines of wood-soot."

"Well, there is probably some perfectly natural explanation."

For a time, we sat in silence. Our cab had reached the beginnings of the City and I was gazing out of the window, my fingers drumming idly on the half-lowered
pane, which was already befogged with moisture, when my thoughts were recalled by a sharp ejaculation from my companion. He was staring fixedly over my
shoulder.

"The glass," he muttered.

Over the clouded surface there now lay an intricate tracery of whorls and lines where my finger had wandered aimlessly.

Holmes clapped his hand to his brow and, throwing open the other window, he shouted an order to the cabby. The vehicle turned in its tracks and, with the
driver lashing at his horse, we clattered away into the thickening gloom.

"Ah, Watson, Watson, true it is that none are so blind as those who will not see!" quoted Holmes bitterly, sinking back into his corner. "All the facts were there, star-
ing me in the face, and yet logic failed to respond."

"What facts?"

"There are nine. Four alone should have sufficed. Here is a man from Cuba, who not only trains canaries in a singular manner but knows the call of tropical
night-birds and keeps a fireplace in his bedroom. There is devilry here, Watson. Stop, cabby, stop!"

We were passing a junction of two busy thoroughfares, with the golden balls of a pawnshop glimmering above a street-lamp. Holmes sprang out. But after a few minutes,
he was back again and we recommenced our journey.

"It is fortunate that we are still in the City," he chuckled, "for I fancy that the East End pawnshops are unlikely to run to golf-dubs."

"Good heavens—!" I began, only to lapse into silence while I stared down at the heavy niblick which he had thrust into my hand. The first shadows of some vague and
monstrous horror seemed to rise up and creep over my mind.

"We are too early," exclaimed Holmes, consulting his watch. "A sandwich and a glass of whisky at the first public house will not come amiss."

The clock on St. Nicholas Church was striking ten when we found ourselves once again in that evil-smelling garden. Through the mist, the dark gloom of the house
was broken by a single feeble light in an upper window. "It is Miss Wilson's room," said Holmes. "Let us hope that this handful of gravel will rouse her without alarming
the household."

An instant later, there came the sound of an opening window.

"Who is there?" demanded a tremulous voice.

"It is Sherlock Holmes," my friend called back softly. "I must speak with you at once, Miss Wilson. Is there a side door?"

"There is one in the wall to your left. But what has happened?"

"Pray descend immediately. Not a word to your uncle."

We felt our way along the wall and reached the door just as it opened to disclose Miss Wilson. She was in her dressing-gown, her hair tumbled about her shoulders and,
as her startled eyes peered at us across the light of the candle in her hand, the shadows danced and trembled on the wall behind her.

"What is it, Mr. Holmes?" she gasped.

"All will be well, if you carry out my instructions," my friend replied quietly. "Where is your uncle?"

"He is in his room."

"Good. While Dr. Watson and I occupy your room, you will move into your late brother's bedchamber. If you value your life," he added solemnly, "you will not at-
tempt to leave it."

"You frighten me!" she whimpered.

"Rest assured that we will take care of you. And now two final questions before you retire. Has your uncle visited you this evening?"

"Yes. He brought Peperino and put him with the other birds in the cage in my room. He said that as it was my last night at home I should have the best entertainment
that he had the power to give me."

"Ha! Ouite so. Your last night. Tell me, Miss Wilson, do you suffer at all from the same malady as your mother and brother?"

"A weak heart? I must confess it, yes."

"Well, we will accompany you quietly upstairs where you will retire to the adjoining room. Come, Watson."

Guided by the light of Janet Wilson's candle, we mounted silently to the floor above and thence into the bedchamber which Holmes had previously examined.
While we waited for our companion to collect her things from the adjoining room, Holmes strolled across and, lifting the edge of the cloths which now covered the two bird-
cages, peered in at the tiny sleeping occupants.

"The evil of man is as inventive as it is immeasurable," said he, and I noticed that his face was very stern.

On Miss Wilson's return, having seen that she was safely ensconced for the night, I followed Holmes into the room which she had lately occupied. It was a small
chamber but comfortably furnished and lit by a heavy silver oil-lamp. Immediately above a tiled Dutch stove there hung a cage containing three canaries which,
momentarily ceasing their song, cocked their little golden heads at our approach.

"I think, Watson, that it would be as well to relax for half an hour," whispered Holmes as we sank into our chairs. "So kindly put out the light."

"But, my dear fellow, if there is any danger it would be an act of madness!" I protested.

"There is no danger in the darkness."

"Would it not be better," I said severely, "that you were frank with me? You have made it obvious that the birds are being put to some evil purpose, but what is this
danger that exists only in the lamplight?"

"I have my own ideas on that matter, Watson, but it is better that we should wait and see. I would draw your attention, however, to the hinged lid of the stoke-
hole on the top of the stove."

"It appears to be a perfectly normal fitting."

"Just so. But is there not some significance in the fact that the stoke-hole of an iron stove should be fitted with a tin lid?"

"Great heavens, Holmes!" I cried, as the light of understanding burst upon me. "You mean that this man Wilson has used the inter-connecting pipes from the stove in the
cellar to those in the bedrooms to disseminate some deadly poison to wipe out his own kith and kin and thus obtain the property. It is for that reason that he has a
fireplace in his own bedroom. I see it all."

"Well, you are not far wrong, Watson, though I fancy that Master Theobold is rather more subtle than you suppose. He possesses the two qualities vital to the suc-
cessful murderer— ruthlessness and imagination. But now, douse the light like a good fellow and for a while let us relax. If my reading of the problem is correct, our nerves
may be tested to their limit before we see tomorrow's dawn."

I lay back in the darkness and drawing some comfort from the thought that ever since the affair with Colonel Sebastian Moran I had carried my revolver in my pocket, I
sought in my mind for some explanation that would account for the warning contained in Holmes's words. But I must have been wearier than I had imagined. My
thoughts grew more and more confused and finally I dozed off.

It was a touch upon my arm that awoke me. The lamp had been relit and my friend was bending over me, his long black shadow thrown upon the ceiling.

"Sorry to disturb you, Watson," he whispered. "But duty calls."

"What do you wish me to do?"

"Sit still and listen. Peperino is singing."

It was a vigil that I shall long remember. Holmes had tilted the lamp-shade, so that the light fell on the opposite wall broken by the window and the great tiled stove with
its hanging bird-cage. The fog had thickened and the rays from the lamp, filtering through the window-glass, lost themselves in luminous clouds that swirled and boiled
against the panes. My mind darkened by a premonition of evil, I would have found our surroundings melancholy enough without the eerie sound that was rising and
falling from the canary cage. It was a kind of whistling beginning with a low, throaty warble and slowly ascending to a single chord that rang through the room like
the note of a great wineglass, a sound so mesmeric in its repetition that almost imperceptibly the present seemed to melt away and my imagination to reach out
beyond those fogbound windows into the dark, lush depth of some exotic jungle. I had lost all count of time, and it was only the stillness following the sudden cessation
of the bird's song that brought me back to reality. I glanced across the room and, in an instant, my heart gave one great throb and then seemed to stop beating
altogether.

The lid of the stove was slowly rising.

My friends will agree that I am neither a nervous nor an impressionable man but I must confess that, as I sat there gripping the sides of my chair and glaring at the
dreadful thing that was gradually clambering into view, my limbs momentarily refused their functions.

The lid had tilted back an inch or more and through the gap thus created a writhing mass of yellow, stick-like objects was clawing and scrabbling for a hold. And then,
in a flash, it was out and standing motionless upon the surface of the stove.

Though I have always viewed with horror the bird-eating tarantulas of South America, they shrank into insignificance when compared with the loathsome creature that
faced us now across that lamplit room. It was bigger in its spread than a large dinner-plate, with a hard, smooth, yellow body surrounded by legs that, rising high
above it, conveyed a fearful impression that the thing was crouching for its spring. It was absolutely hairless save for tufts of stiff bristles around the leg-joints
and, above the glint of its great poison mandibles, clusters of beady eyes shone in the light with a baleful red iridescence.

"Don't move, Watson," whispered Holmes, and there was a note of horror in his voice that I had never heard before.

The sound roused the creature for, in a single lightning bound, it sprang from the stove to the top of the birdcage and, reaching the wall, whizzed round the room and
over the ceiling with a dreadful febrile swiftness that the eye could scarcely follow.

Holmes flung himself forward like a man possessed.

"Kill it! Smash it!" he yelled hoarsely, raining blow after blow with his golf-club at the blurred shape racing across the walls.

Dust from broken plaster choked the air and a table crashed over as I flung myself to the ground when the great spider cleared the room in a single leap and
turned at bay. Holmes bounded across me, swinging his club. "Keep where you are!" he shouted and even as his voice rang through the room, the thud . . . thud . . .
thud of the blows was broken by a horrible squelching sound. For an instant, the creature hung there and then, slipping slowly down, it lay like a mess of smashed eggs
with three thin, bony legs still twitching and plucking at the floor.

"Thank God that it missed you when it sprang!" I gasped, scrambling to my feet.

He made no reply and glancing up I caught a glimpse of his face reflected in a wall mirror. He looked pale and strained and there was a curious rigidity in his expression.
"I am afraid it's up to you, Watson," he said quietly. "It has a mate."

I spun round to be greeted by a spectacle that I shall remember for the rest of my days. Sherlock Holmes was standing perfectly still within two feet of the stove and
on top of it, reared up on its back legs, its loathsome body shuddering for the spring, stood another monstrous spider.

I knew instinctively that any sudden movement would merely precipitate the creature's leap and so, carefully drawing my revolver from my pocket, I fired pointblank.
Through the powder-smoke, I saw the thing shrink into itself and then, toppling slowly backwards, it fell through the open lid of the stove. There was a rasping, slithering
sound rapidly fading away into silence.

"It’s fallen down the pipe," I cried, conscious that my hands were now shaking under a strong reaction. "Are you all right, Holmes?"

He looked at me and there was a singular light in his eye.

"Thanks to you, my dear fellow!" he said soberly. "If I had moved then— but what is that?"

A door had slammed below and, an instant later, we caught the swift patter of feet upon the gravel path.

"After him!" cried Holmes, springing for the door. "Your shot warned him that the game was up. He must not escape!"

But fate decreed otherwise. Though we rushed down the stairs and out into the fog, Theobold Wilson had too much start on us and the advantage of knowing the
terrain. For a while, we followed the faint sound of his running footsteps down the empty lanes towards the river, but at length these died away in the distance.

"It is no good, Watson. We have lost our man," panted Holmes. "This is where the official police may be of use. But listen! Surely that was a cry?"

"I thought I heard something."

"Well, it is hopeless to look further in the fog. Let us return and comfort this poor girl with the assurance that her troubles are now at an end."

"They were nightmare creatures, Holmes," I exclaimed, as we retraced our steps towards the house, "and of some unknown species."

"I think not, Watson," said he. "It was the Galeodes spider, the horror of the Cuban forests. It is perhaps fortunate for the rest of the world that it is found nowhere
else. The creature is nocturnal in its habits, and unless my memory belies me, it possesses the power actually to break the spine of smaller creatures with a
single blow of its mandibles. You will recall that Miss Janet mentioned that the rats had vanished since her uncle's return. Doubtless Wilson brought the brutes back
with him," he went on, "and then conceived the idea of training certain of his canaries to imitate the song of some Cuban night-bird upon which the Galeodes were
accustomed to feed. The marks on the ceiling were caused, of course, by the soot adhering to the spiders' legs after they had scrambled up the flues. It is fortunate,
perhaps, for the consulting detective that the duster of the average housemaid seldom strays beyond the height of a mantelpiece.

"Indeed, I can discover no excuse for my lamentable slowness in solving this case, for the facts were before me from the first, and the whole affair was
elementary in its construction.

"And yet to give Theobold Wilson his dues, one must recognize his almost diabolical cleverness. Once these horrors were installed in the stove in the cellar, what more
simple than to arrange two ordinary flues communicating with the bedrooms above? By hanging the cages over the stoves, the flues would themselves act as a
magnifier to the birds' song and, guided by their predatory instinct, the creatures would invariably ascend whichever pipe led to it. Once Wilson had devised some
means of luring them back again to their nest, they represented a comparatively safe way of getting rid of those who stood between himself and the property."

"Then its bite is deadly?" I interposed.

"To a person in weak health, probably so. But there lies the devilish cunning of the scheme, Watson. It was the sight of the thing rather than its bite, poisonous
though it may be, on which he relied to kill his victim. Can you imagine the effect upon an elderly woman, and later upon her son, both suffering from insomnia and heart
disease, when in the midst of a bird's seemingly innocent song this appalling spectacle arose from the top of the stove? We have sampled it ourselves, though we are
healthy men. It killed them as surely as a bullet through their hearts."

"There is one thing I cannot understand, Holmes. Why did he appeal to Scotland Yard?"

"Because he is a man of iron nerve. His niece was instinctively frightened and, finding that she was adamant in her intention of leaving, he planned to kill her at once and
by the same method.

"Once done, who should dare to point the finger of suspicion at Master Theobold? Had he not appealed to Scotland Yard and even invoked the aid of Mr. Sherlock
Holmes himself to satisfy one and all? The girl had died of a heart attack like the others and her uncle would have been the recipient of general condolences.
"Remember the padlocked cover of the stove in the cellar and admire the cold nerve that offered to fetch the key. It was bluff, of course, for he would have discovered
that he had lost' it. Had we persisted and forced that lock, I prefer not to think of what we would have found clinging round our collars."

Theobold Wilson was never heard of again. But it is perhaps suggestive that, some two days later, a man's body was fished out of the Thames. The corpse
was mutilated beyond recognition, probably by a ship's propeller, and the police searched his pockets in vain for means of identification. They contained
nothing, however, save for a small note-book filled with jottings on the brooding period of the Fringilla Canaria.

"It is the wise man who keeps bees," remarked Sherlock Holmes when he read the report. "You know where you are with them and at least they do not attempt to
represent themselves as something that they are not."

The Adventure of the Six Napoleons

t was NO very unusual thing for Mr.
Lestrade, of Scotland Yard, to look in
upon us of an evening, and his visits
were welcome to Sherlock Holmes, for
they enabled him to keep in touch with all that
was going on at the police head-quarters. In return
for the news which Lestrade would bring. Holmes
was always ready to listen with attention to the
details of any case upon which the detective was
engaged, and was able occasionally, without any
active interference, to give some hint or sugges-
tion drawn from his own vast knowledge and ex-
perience.

Qn this particular evening Lestrade had spo-
ken of the weather and the newspapers. Then he
had fallen silent, puffing thoughtfully at his cigar.
Holmes looked keenly at him.

"Anything remarkable on hand?" he asked.

"Oh, no, Mr. Holmes, nothing very particular."

"Then tell me about it."

Lestrade laughed.

"Well, Mr. Holmes, there is no use denying that
there is something on my mind. And yet it is such
an absurd business that I hesitated to bother you
about it. On the other hand, although it is trivial,
it is undoubtedly queer, and I know that you have
a taste for all that is out of the common. But in my
opinion it comes more in Dr. Watson's line than
ours."

"Disease?" said I.

"Madness, anyhow. And a queer madness too!
You wouldn't think there was anyone living at this
time of day who had such a hatred of Napoleon
the First that he would break any image of him
that he could see."

Holmes sank back in his chair.

"That's no business of mine," said he.

"Exactly. That's what I said. But then, when
the man commits burglary in order to break im-
ages which are not his own, that brings it away
from the doctor and on to the policeman."

Holmes sat up again.

"Burglary! This is more interesting. Let me
hear the details."

Lestrade took out his official note-book and re-
freshed his memory from its pages.

"The first case reported was four days ago,"
said he. "It was at the shop of Morse Hudson,
who has a place for the sale of pictures and stat-
ues in the Kennington Road. The assistant had
left the front shop for an instant when he heard a

crash, and hurrying in he found a plaster bust of
Napoleon, which stood with several other works
of art upon the counter, lying shivered into frag-
ments. He rushed out into the road, but, although
several passers-by declared that they had noticed
a man run out of the shop, he could neither see
anyone nor could he find any means of identify-
ing the rascal. It seemed to be one of those sense-
less acts of Hooliganism which occur from time to
time, and it was reported to the constable on the
beat as such. The plaster cast was not worth more
than a few shillings, and the whole affair appeared
to be too childish for any particular investigation.

"The second case, however, was more serious
and also more singular. It occurred only last night.

"In Kennington Road, and within a few hun-
dred yards of Morse Hudson's shop, there lives a
well-known medical practitioner, named Dr. Bar-
nicot, who has one of the largest practices upon
the south side of the Thames. His residence and
principal consulting-room is at Kennington Road,
but he has a branch surgery and dispensary at
Lower Brixton Road, two miles away. This Dr. Bar-
nicot is an enthusiastic admirer of Napoleon, and
his house is full of books, pictures, and relics of
the French Emperor. Some little time ago he pur-
chased from Morse Hudson two duplicate plas-
ter casts of the famous head of Napoleon by the
French sculptor, Devine. One of these he placed in
his hall in the house at Kennington Road, and the
other on the mantelpiece of the surgery at Lower
Brixton. Well, when Dr. Barnicot came down this
morning he was astonished to find that his house
had been burgled during the night, but that noth-
ing had been taken save the plaster head from the
hall. It had been carried out and had been dashed
savagely against the garden wall, under which its
splintered fragments were discovered."

Holmes rubbed his hands.

"This is certainly very novel," said he.

"I thought it would please you. But I have not
got to the end yet. Dr. Barnicot was due at his
surgery at twelve o'clock, and you can imagine
his amazement when, on arriving there, he found
that the window had been opened in the night,
and that the broken pieces of his second bust were
strewn all over the room. It had been smashed
to atoms where it stood. In neither case were there
any signs which could give us a clue as to the crim-
inal or lunatic who had done the mischief. Now,
Mr. Holmes, you have got the facts."

"They are singular, not to say grotesque," said
Holmes. "May I ask whether the two busts

509

The Adventure of the Six Napoleons

smashed in Dr. Barnicot's rooms were the ex-
act duplicates of the one which was destroyed in
Morse Hudson's shop?"

"They were taken from the same mould."

"Such a fact must tell against the theory that
the man who breaks them is influenced by any
general hatred of Napoleon. Considering how
many hundreds of statues of the great Emperor
must exist in London, it is too much to suppose
such a coincidence as that a promiscuous icono-
clast should chance to begin upon three specimens
of the same bust."

"Well, I thought as you do," said Lestrade. "On
the other hand, this Morse Hudson is the purveyor
of busts in that part of London, and these three
were the only ones which had been in his shop for
years. So, although, as you say, there are many
hundreds of statues in London, it is very probable
that these three were the only ones in that district.
Therefore, a local fanatic would begin with them.
What do you think. Dr. Watson?"

"There are no limits to the possibilities of
monomania," I answered. "There is the condi-
tion which the modern French psychologists have
called the ‘idee fixe,' which may be trifling in char-
acter, and accompanied by complete sanity in ev-
ery other way. A man who had read deeply about
Napoleon, or who had possibly received some
hereditary family injury through the great war,
might conceivably form such an idee fixe and under
its influence be capable of any fantastic outrage."

"That won't do, my dear Watson," said
Holmes, shaking his head; "for no amount of idee
fixe would enable your interesting monomaniac to
find out where these busts were situated."

"Well, how do you explain it?"

"I don't attempt to do so. I would only ob-
serve that there is a certain method in the gentle-
man's eccentric proceedings. For example, in Dr.
Barnicot's hall, where a sound might arouse the
family, the bust was taken outside before being
broken, whereas in the surgery, where there was
less danger of an alarm, it was smashed where it
stood. The affair seems absurdly trifling, and yet
I dare call nothing trivial when I reflect that some
of my most classic cases have had the least promis-
ing commencement. You will remember, Watson,
how the dreadful business of the Abernetty family
was first brought to my notice by the depth which
the parsley had sunk into the butter upon a hot
day. I can't afford, therefore, to smile at your three
broken busts, Lestrade, and I shall be very much
obliged to you if you will let me hear of any fresh
developments of so singular a chain of events."

The development for which my friend had
asked came in a quicker and an infinitely more
tragic form than he could have imagined. I was
still dressing in my bedroom next morning when
there was a tap at the door and Holmes entered, a
telegram in his hand. He read it aloud:

"Come instantly, 131, Pitt Street,
Kensington. — "Lestrade."

"What is it, then?" I asked.

"Don't know — may be anything. But I suspect
it is the sequel of the story of the statues. In that
case our friend, the image-breaker, has begun op-
erations in another quarter of London. There's cof-
fee on the table, Watson, and I have a cab at the
door."

In half an hour we had reached Pitt Street, a
quiet little backwater just beside one of the brisk-
est currents of London life. No. 131 was one of a
row, all flat-chested, respectable, and most unro-
mantic dwellings. As we drove up we found the
railings in front of the house lined by a curious
crowd. Holmes whistled.

"By George! it's attempted murder at the
least. Nothing less will hold the London message-
boy. There's a deed of violence indicated in that
fellow's round shoulders and outstretched neck.
What's this, Watson? The top steps swilled down
and the other ones dry. Footsteps enough, any-
how! Well, well, there's Lestrade at the front win-
dow, and we shall soon know all about it."

The official received us with a very grave face
and showed us into a sitting-room, where an ex-
ceedingly unkempt and agitated elderly man, clad
in a flannel dressing-gown, was pacing up and
down. He was introduced to us as the owner of the
house — Mr. Horace Harker, of the Central Press
Syndicate.

"It's the Napoleon bust business again," said
Lestrade. "You seemed interested last night, Mr.
Holmes, so I thought perhaps you would be glad
to be present now that the affair has taken a very
much graver turn."

"What has it turned to, then?"

"To murder. Mr. Harker, will you tell these gen-
tlemen exactly what has occurred?"

The man in the dressing-gown turned upon us
with a most melancholy face.

"It's an extraordinary thing," said he, "that all
my life I have been collecting other people's news,
and now that a real piece of news has come my
own way I am so confused and bothered that I
can't put two words together. If I had come in
here as a journalist I should have interviewed my-
self and had two columns in every evening paper.

5 10

The Adventure of the Six Napoleons

As it is I am giving away valuable copy by telling
my story over and over to a string of different peo-
ple, and I can make no use of it myself. However,
I've heard your name, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and
if you'll only explain this queer business I shall be
paid for my trouble in telling you the story."

Holmes sat down and listened.

"It all seems to centre round that bust of
Napoleon which I bought for this very room about
four months ago. I picked it up cheap from Hard-
ing Brothers, two doors from the High Street Sta-
tion. A great deal of my journalistic work is done
at night, and I often write until the early morn-
ing. So it was to-day. I was sitting in my den,
which is at the back of the top of the house, about
three o'clock, when I was convinced that I heard
some sounds downstairs. I listened, but they were
not repeated, and I concluded that they came from
outside. Then suddenly, about five minutes later,
there came a most horrible yell — the most dreadful
sound, Mr. Holmes, that ever I heard. It will ring
in my ears as long as I live. I sat frozen with hor-
ror for a minute or two. Then I seized the poker
and went downstairs. When I entered this room
I found the window wide open, and I at once ob-
served that the bust was gone from the mantel-
piece. Why any burglar should take such a thing
passes my understanding, for it was only a plaster
cast and of no real value whatever.

"You can see for yourself that anyone going out
through that open window could reach the front
doorstep by taking a long stride. This was clearly
what the burglar had done, so I went round and
opened the door. Stepping out into the dark I
nearly fell over a dead man who was lying there.
I ran back for a light, and there was the poor fel-
low, a great gash in his throat and the whole place
swimming in blood. He lay on his back, his knees
drawn up, and his mouth horribly open. I shall see
him in my dreams. I had just time to blow on my
police-whistle, and then I must have fainted, for
I knew nothing more until I found the policeman
standing over me in the hall."

"Well, who was the murdered man?" asked
Holmes.

"There's nothing to show who he was," said
Lestrade. "You shall see the body at the mortuary,
but we have made nothing of it up to now. He is a
tall man, sunburned, very powerful, not more than
thirty. He is poorly dressed, and yet does not ap-
pear to be a labourer. A horn-handled clasp knife
was lying in a pool of blood beside him. Whether
it was the weapon which did the deed, or whether
it belonged to the dead man, I do not know. There

was no name on his clothing, and nothing in his
pockets save an apple, some string, a shilling map
of London, and a photograph. Here it is."

It was evidently taken by a snap-shot from
a small camera. It represented an alert, sharp-
featured simian man with thick eyebrows, and a
very peculiar projection of the lower part of the
face like the muzzle of a baboon.

"And what became of the bust?" asked
Holmes, after a careful study of this picture.

"We had news of it just before you came. It has
been found in the front garden of an empty house
in Campden House Road. It was broken into frag-
ments. I am going round now to see it. Will you
come?"

"Certainly. I must just take one look round."
He examined the carpet and the window. "The
fellow had either very long legs or was a most ac-
tive man," said he. "With an area beneath, it was
no mean feat to reach that window-ledge and open
that window. Getting back was comparatively sim-
ple. Are you coming with us to see the remains of
your bust, Mr. Harker?"

The disconsolate journalist had seated himself
at a writing-table.

"I must try and make something of it," said he,
"though I have no doubt that the first editions of
the evening papers are out already with full de-
tails. It's like my luck! You remember when the
stand fell at Doncaster? Well, I was the only jour-
nalist in the stand, and my journal the only one
that had no account of it, for I was too shaken to
write it. And now I'll be too late with a murder
done on my own doorstep."

As we left the room we heard his pen travelling
shrilly over the foolscap.

The spot where the fragments of the bust had
been found was only a few hundred yards away.
For the first time our eyes rested upon this present-
ment of the great Emperor, which seemed to raise
such frantic and destructive hatred in the mind of
the unknown. It lay scattered in splintered shards
upon the grass. Holmes picked up several of them
and examined them carefully. I was convinced
from his intent face and his purposeful manner
that at last he was upon a clue.

"Well?" asked Lestrade.

Holmes shrugged his shoulders.

"We have a long way to go yet," said he. "And
yet — and yet — well, we have some suggestive facts
to act upon. The possession of this trifling bust
was worth more in the eyes of this strange crim-
inal than a human life. That is one point. Then
there is the singular fact that he did not break it in

5 11

The Adventure of the Six Napoleons

the house, or immediately outside the house, if to
break it was his sole object."

"He was rattled and bustled by meeting this
other fellow. He hardly knew what he was doing."

"Well, that's likely enough. But I wish to call
your attention very particularly to the position of
this house in the garden of which the bust was de-
stroyed."

Lestrade looked about him.

"It was an empty house, and so he knew that
he would not be disturbed in the garden."

"Yes, but there is another empty house farther
up the street which he must have passed before he
came to this one. Why did he not break it there,
since it is evident that every yard that he carried it
increased the risk of someone meeting him?"

"I give it up," said Lestrade.

Holmes pointed to the street lamp above our
heads.

"He could see what he was doing here and he
could not there. That was his reason."

"By Jove! that's true," said the detective. "Now
that I come to think of it. Dr. Barnicot's bust
was broken not far from his red lamp. Well, Mr.
Holmes, what are we to do with that fact?"

"To remember it — to docket it. We may come
on something later which will bear upon it. What
steps do you propose to take now, Lestrade?"

"The most practical way of getting at it, in my
opinion, is to identify the dead man. There should
be no difficulty about that. When we have found
who he is and who his associates are, we should
have a good start in learning what he was doing
in Pitt Street last night, and who it was who met
him and killed him on the doorstep of Mr. Horace
Harker. Don't you think so?"

"No doubt; and yet it is not quite the way in
which I should approach the case."

"What would you do, then?"

"Oh, you must not let me influence you in any
way! I suggest that you go on your line and I on
mine. We can compare notes afterwards, and each
will supplement the other."

"Very good," said Lestrade.

"If you are going back to Pitt Street you might
see Mr. Horace Harker. Tell him from me that
I have quite made up my mind, and that it is
certain that a dangerous homicidal lunatic with
Napoleonic delusions was in his house last night.
It will be useful for his article."

Lestrade stared.

"You don't seriously believe that?"

Holmes smiled.

"Don't I? Well, perhaps I don't. But I am sure
that it will interest Mr. Horace Harker and the
subscribers of the Central Press Syndicate. Now,
Watson, I think that we shall find that we have
a long and rather complex day's work before us.
I should be glad, Lestrade, if you could make it
convenient to meet us at Baker Street at six o'clock
this evening. Until then I should like to keep this
photograph found in the dead man's pocket. It is
possible that I may have to ask your company and
assistance upon a small expedition which will have
be undertaken to-night, if my chain of reasoning
should prove to be correct. Until then, good-bye
and good luck!"

Sherlock Holmes and I walked together to the
High Street, where he stopped at the shop of Hard-
ing Brothers, whence the bust had been purchased.
A young assistant informed us that Mr. Harding
would be absent until after noon, and that he was
himself a newcomer who could give us no infor-
mation. Holmes's face showed his disappointment
and annoyance.

"Well, well, we can't expect to have it all our
own way, Watson," he said, at last. "We must come
back in the afternoon if Mr. Harding will not be
here until then. I am, as you have no doubt sur-
mised, endeavouring to trace these busts to their
source, in order to find if there is not something
peculiar which may account for their remarkable
fate. Let us make for Mr. Morse Hudson, of the
Kennington Road, and see if he can throw any
light upon the problem."

A drive of an hour brought us to the picture-
dealer's establishment. He was a small, stout man
with a red face and a peppery manner.

"Yes, sir. On my very counter, sir," said he.
"What we pay rates and taxes for I don't know,
when any ruffian can come in and break one's
goods. Yes, sir, it was I who sold Dr. Barnicot
his two statues. Disgraceful, sir! A Nihilist plot,
that's what I make it. No one but an Anarchist
would go about breaking statues. Red republi-
cans, that's what I call 'em. Who did I get the
statues from? I don't see what that has to do with
it. Well, if you really want to know, I got them from
Gelder & Co., in Church Street, Stepney. They are
a well-known house in the trade, and have been
this twenty years. How many had I? Three — two
and one are three — two of Dr. Barnicot's and one
smashed in broad daylight on my own counter. Do
I know that photograph? No, I don't. Yes, I do.

512

The Adventure of the Six Napoleons

though. Why, it's Beppo. He was a kind of Ital-
ian piece-work man, who made himself useful in
the shop. He could carve a bit and gild and frame,
and do odd jobs. The fellow left me last week, and
I've heard nothing of him since. No, I don't know
where he came from nor where he went to. I have
nothing against him while he was here. He was
gone two days before the bust was smashed."

"Well, that's all we could reasonably expect
to get from Morse Hudson," said Holmes, as we
emerged from the shop. "We have this Beppo as a
common factor, both in Kennington and in Kens-
ington, so that is worth a ten-mile drive. Now,
Watson, let us make for Gelder & Co., of Stepney,
the source and origin of busts. I shall be surprised
if we don't get some help down there."

In rapid succession we passed through the
fringe of fashionable London, hotel London, the-
atrical London, literary London, commercial Lon-
don, and, finally, maritime London, till we came
to a riverside city of a hundred thousand souls,
where the tenement houses swelter and reek with
the outcasts of Europe. Here, in a broad thorough-
fare, once the abode of wealthy City merchants, we
found the sculpture works for which we searched.
Outside was a considerable yard full of monumen-
tal masonry. Inside was a large room in which fifty
workers were carving or moulding. The manager,
a big blond German, received us civilly, and gave a
clear answer to all Holmes's questions. A reference
to his books showed that hundreds of casts had
been taken from a marble copy of Devine's head
of Napoleon, but that the three which had been
sent to Morse Hudson a year or so before had been
half of a batch of six, the other three being sent to
Harding Brothers, of Kensington. There was no
reason why those six should be different to any of
the other casts. He could suggest no possible cause
why anyone should wish to destroy them — in fact,
he laughed at the idea. Their wholesale price was
six shillings, but the retailer would get twelve or
more. The cast was taken in two moulds from
each side of the face, and then these two profiles
of plaster of Paris were joined together to make the
complete bust. The work was usually done by Ital-
ians in the room we were in. When finished the
busts were put on a table in the passage to dry,
and afterwards stored. That was all he could tell
us.

But the production of the photograph had a
remarkable effect upon the manager. His face
flushed with anger, and his brows knotted over his
blue Teutonic eyes.

"Ah, the rascal!" he cried. "Yes, indeed, I know
him very well. This has always been a respectable

establishment, and the only time that we have ever
had the police in it was over this very fellow. It was
more than a year ago now. He knifed another Ital-
ian in the street, and then he came to the works
with the police on his heels, and he was taken
here. Beppo was his name — his second name I
never knew. Serve me right for engaging a man
with such a face. But he was a good workman,
one of the best."

"What did he get?"

"The man lived and he got off with a year. I
have no doubt he is out now; but he has not dared
to show his nose here. We have a cousin of his
here, and I dare say he could tell you where he is."

"No, no," cried Holmes, "not a word to the
cousin — not a word, I beg you. The matter is very
important, and the farther I go with it the more
important it seems to grow. When you referred in
your ledger to the sale of those casts I observed
that the date was June 3rd of last year. Could you
give me the date when Beppo was arrested?"

"I could tell you roughly by the pay-list," the
manager answered. "Yes," he continued, after
some turning over of pages, "he was paid last on
May 20th."

"Thank you," said Holmes. "I don't think that
I need intrude upon your time and patience any
more." With a last word of caution that he should
say nothing as to our researches we turned our
faces westward once more.

The afternoon was far advanced before we
were able to snatch a hasty luncheon at a restau-
rant. A news-bill at the entrance announced
"Kensington Outrage. Murder by a Madman,"
and the contents of the paper showed that Mr. Ho-
race Harker had got his account into print after
all. Two columns were occupied with a highly sen-
sational and flowery rendering of the whole inci-
dent. Holmes propped it against the cruet-stand
and read it while he ate. Once or twice he chuck-
led.

"This is all right, Watson," said he. "Listen to
this:

“It is satisfactory to know that there can
be no difference of opinion upon this case,
since Mr. Lestrade, one of the most experi-
enced members of the official force, and Mr.
Sherlock Holmes, the well-known consult-
ing expert, have each come to the conclu-
sion that the grotesque series of incidents,
which have ended in so tragic a fashion,
arise from lunacy rather than from delib-
erate crime. No explanation save mental
aberration can cover the facts.

513

The Adventure of the Six Napoleons

"The Press, Watson, is a most valuable institution
if you only know how to use it. And now, if you
have quite finished, we will hark back to Kensing-
ton and see what the manager of Harding Brothers
has to say to the matter."

The founder of that great emporium proved to
be a brisk, crisp little person, very dapper and
quick, with a clear head and a ready tongue.

"Yes, sir, I have already read the account in
the evening papers. Mr. Horace Harker is a cus-
tomer of ours. We supplied him with the bust
some months ago. We ordered three busts of that
sort from Gelder & Co., of Stepney. They are all
sold now. To whom? Oh, I dare say by consult-
ing our sales book we could very easily tell you.
Yes, we have the entries here. One to Mr. Harker,
you see, and one to Mr. Josiah Brown, of Labur-
num Lodge, Laburnum Vale, Chiswick, and one
to Mr. Sandeford, of Lower Grove Road, Reading.
No, I have never seen this face which you show
me in the photograph. You would hardly forget
it, would you, sir, for I've seldom seen an uglier.
Have we any Italians on the staff? Yes, sir, we
have several among our workpeople and cleaners.
I dare say they might get a peep at that sales book
if they wanted to. There is no particular reason for
keeping a watch upon that book. Well, well, it's
a very strange business, and I hope that you'll let
me know if anything comes of your inquiries."

Holmes had taken several notes during Mr.
Harding's evidence, and I could see that he was
thoroughly satisfied by the turn which affairs were
taking. He made no remark, however, save that,
unless we hurried, we should be late for our ap-
pointment with Lestrade. Sure enough, when we
reached Baker Street the detective was already
there, and we found him pacing up and down
in a fever of impatience. His look of importance
showed that his day's work had not been in vain.

"Well?" he asked. "What luck, Mr. Holmes?"

"We have had a very busy day, and not en-
tirely a wasted one," my friend explained. "We
have seen both the retailers and also the wholesale
manufacturers. I can trace each of the busts now
from the beginning."

"The busts!" cried Lestrade. "Well, well, you
have your own methods, Mr. Sherlock Holmes,
and it is not for me to say a word against them,
but I think I have done a better day's work than
you. I have identified the dead man."

"You don't say so?"

"And found a cause for the crime."

"Splendid!"

"We have an inspector who makes a specialty
of Saffron Hill and the Italian quarter. Well, this
dead man had some Catholic emblem round his
neck, and that, along with his colour, made me
think he was from the South. Inspector Hill knew
him the moment he caught sight of him. His name
is Pietro Venucci, from Naples, and he is one of the
greatest cut-throats in London. He is connected
with the Mafia, which, as you know, is a secret
political society, enforcing its decrees by murder.
Now you see how the affair begins to clear up.
The other fellow is probably an Italian also, and a
member of the Mafia. He has broken the rules in
some fashion. Pietro is set upon his track. Proba-
bly the photograph we found in his pocket is the
man himself, so that he may not knife the wrong
person. He dogs the fellow, he sees him enter a
house, he waits outside for him, and in the scuf-
fle he receives his own death-wound. How is that,
Mr. Sherlock Holmes?"

Holmes clapped his hands approvingly.

"Excellent, Lestrade, excellent!" he cried. "But
I didn't quite follow your explanation of the de-
struction of the busts."

"The busts! You never can get those busts out
of your head. After all, that is nothing; petty
larceny, six months at the most. It is the murder
that we are really investigating, and I tell you that
I am gathering all the threads into my hands."

"And the next stage?"

"Is a very simple one. I shall go down with Hill
to the Italian quarter, find the man whose photo-
graph we have got, and arrest him on the charge
of murder. Will you come with us?"

"I think not. I fancy we can attain our end
in a simpler way. I can't say for certain, because
it all depends — well, it all depends upon a factor
which is completely outside our control. But I have
great hopes — in fact, the betting is exactly two to
one — that if you will come with us to-night I shall
be able to help you to lay him by the heels."

"In the Italian quarter?"

"No; I fancy Chiswick is an address which is
more likely to find him. If you will come with me
to Chiswick to-night, Lestrade, I'll promise to go
to the Italian quarter with you to-morrow, and no
harm will be done by the delay. And now I think
that a few hours' sleep would do us all good, for I
do not propose to leave before eleven o'clock, and
it is unlikely that we shall be back before morning.
You'll dine with us, Lestrade, and then you are
welcome to the sofa until it is time for us to start.
In the meantime, Watson, I should be glad if you
would ring for an express messenger, for I have a

The Adventure of the Six Napoleons

letter to send, and it is important that it should go
at once."

Holmes spent the evening in rummaging
among the files of the old daily papers with which
one of our lumber-rooms was packed. When at
last he descended it was with triumph in his eyes,
but he said nothing to either of us as to the result
of his researches. For my own part, I had followed
step by step the methods by which he had traced
the various windings of this complex case, and,
though I could not yet perceive the goal which we
would reach, I understood clearly that Holmes ex-
pected this grotesque criminal to make an attempt
upon the two remaining busts, one of which, I re-
membered, was at Chiswick. No doubt the object
of our journey was to catch him in the very act, and
I could not but admire the cunning with which my
friend had inserted a wrong clue in the evening pa-
per, so as to give the fellow the idea that he could
continue his scheme with impunity. I was not sur-
prised when Holmes suggested that I should take
my revolver with me. He had himself picked up
the loaded hunting-crop which was his favourite
weapon.

A four-wheeler was at the door at eleven, and
in it we drove to a spot at the other side of Ham-
mersmith Bridge. Here the cabman was directed
to wait. A short walk brought us to a secluded
road fringed with pleasant houses, each standing
in its own grounds. In the light of a street lamp
we read "Laburnum Villa" upon the gate-post of
one of them. The occupants had evidently retired
to rest, for all was dark save for a fanlight over
the hall door, which shed a single blurred circle on
to the garden path. The wooden fence which sep-
arated the grounds from the road threw a dense
black shadow upon the inner side, and here it was
that we crouched.

"I fear that you'll have a long wait," Holmes
whispered. "We may thank our stars that it is
not raining. I don't think we can even venture to
smoke to pass the time. However, it's a two to one
chance that we get something to pay us for our
trouble."

It proved, however, that our vigil was not to
be so long as Holmes had led us to fear, and it
ended in a very sudden and singular fashion. In
an instant, without the least sound to warn us of
his coming, the garden gate swung open, and a
lithe, dark figure, as swift and active as an ape,
rushed up the garden path. We saw it whisk past
the light thrown from over the door and disappear
against the black shadow of the house. There was
a long pause, during which we held our breath.

and then a very gentle creaking sound came to our
ears. The window was being opened. The noise
ceased, and again there was a long silence. The
fellow was making his way into the house. We
saw the sudden flash of a dark lantern inside the
room. What he sought was evidently not there, for
again we saw the flash through another blind, and
then through another.

"Let us get to the open window. We will nab
him as he climbs out," Lestrade whispered.

But before we could move the man had
emerged again. As he came out into the glimmer-
ing patch of light we saw that he carried some-
thing white under his arm. He looked stealthily
all round him. The silence of the deserted street
reassured him. Turning his back upon us he laid
down his burden, and the next instant there was
the sound of a sharp tap, followed by a clatter
and rattle. The man was so intent upon what he
was doing that he never heard our steps as we
stole across the grass plot. With the bound of a
tiger Holmes was on his back, and an instant later
Lestrade and I had him by either wrist and the
handcuffs had been fastened. As we turned him
over I saw a hideous, sallow face, with writhing,
furious features, glaring up at us, and I knew that
it was indeed the man of the photograph whom
we had secured.

But it was not our prisoner to whom Holmes
was giving his attention. Squatted on the doorstep,
he was engaged in most carefully examining that
which the man had brought from the house. It was
a bust of Napoleon like the one which we had seen
that morning, and it had been broken into similar
fragments. Carefully Holmes held each separate
shard to the light, but in no way did it differ from
any other shattered piece of plaster. He had just
completed his examination when the hall lights
flew up, the door opened, and the owner of the
house, a jovial, rotund figure in shirt and trousers,
presented himself.

"Mr. Josiah Brown, I suppose?" said Holmes.

"Yes, sir; and you, no doubt, are Mr. Sherlock
Holmes? I had the note which you sent by the
express messenger, and I did exactly what you
told me. We locked every door on the inside and
awaited developments. Well, I'm very glad to see
that you have got the rascal. I hope, gentlemen,
that you will come in and have some refreshment."

However, Lestrade was anxious to get his man
into safe quarters, so within a few minutes our cab
had been summoned and we were all four upon
our way to London. Not a word would our cap-
tive say; but he glared at us from the shadow of

515

The Adventure of the Six Napoleons

his matted hair, and once, when my hand seemed
within his reach, he snapped at it like a hungry
wolf. We stayed long enough at the police-station
to learn that a search of his clothing revealed noth-
ing save a few shillings and a long sheath knife,
the handle of which bore copious traces of recent
blood.

"That's all right," said Lestrade, as we parted.
"Hill knows all these gentry, and he will give a
name to him. You'll find that my theory of the
Mafia will work out all right. But I'm sure I am
exceedingly obliged to you, Mr. Holmes, for the
workmanlike way in which you laid hands upon
him. I don't quite understand it all yet."

"I fear it is rather too late an hour for expla-
nations," said Holmes. "Besides, there are one or
two details which are not finished off, and it is
one of those cases which are worth working out to
the very end. If you will come round once more
to my rooms at six o'clock to-morrow I think I
shall be able to show you that even now you have
not grasped the entire meaning of this business,
which presents some features which make it ab-
solutely original in the history of crime. If ever I
permit you to chronicle any more of my little prob-
lems, Watson, I foresee that you will enliven your
pages by an account of the singular adventure of
the Napoleonic busts."

When we met again next evening Lestrade was
furnished with much information concerning our
prisoner. His name, it appeared, was Beppo, sec-
ond name unknown. He was a well-known ne'er-
do-well among the Italian colony. He had once
been a skilful sculptor and had earned an honest
living, but he had taken to evil courses and had
twice already been in jail — once for a petty theft
and once, as we had already heard, for stabbing
a fellow-countryman. He could talk English per-
fectly well. His reasons for destroying the busts
were still unknown, and he refused to answer any
questions upon the subject; but the police had dis-
covered that these same busts might very well have
been made by his own hands, since he was en-
gaged in this class of work at the establishment
of Gelder & Co. To all this information, much of
which we already knew. Holmes listened with po-
lite attention; but I, who knew him so well, could
clearly see that his thoughts were elsewhere, and I
detected a mixture of mingled uneasiness and ex-
pectation beneath that mask which he was wont to
assume. At last he started in his chair and his eyes
brightened. There had been a ring at the bell. A
minute later we heard steps upon the stairs, and an
elderly, red-faced man with grizzled side-whiskers

was ushered in. In his right hand he carried an
old-fashioned carpet-bag, which he placed upon
the table.

"Is Mr. Sherlock Holmes here?"

My friend bowed and smiled. "Mr. Sandeford,
of Reading, I suppose?" said he.

"Yes, sir, I fear that I am a little late; but the
trains were awkward. You wrote to me about a
bust that is in my possession."

"Exactly."

"I have your letter here. You said, 'I desire to
possess a copy of Devine's Napoleon, and am pre-
pared to pay you ten pounds for the one which is
in your possession.' Is that right?"

"Certainly."

"I was very much surprised at your letter, for
I could not imagine how you knew that I owned
such a thing."

"Of course you must have been surprised, but
the explanation is very simple. Mr. Harding, of
Harding Brothers, said that they had sold you their
last copy, and he gave me your address."

"Oh, that was it, was it? Did he tell you what I
paid for it?"

"No, he did not."

"Well, I am an honest man, though not a very
rich one. I only gave fifteen shillings for the bust,
and I think you ought to know that before I take
ten pounds from you."

"I am sure the scruple does you honour, Mr.
Sandeford. But I have named that price, so I in-
tend to stick to it."

"Well, it is very handsome of you, Mr. Holmes.
I brought the bust up with me, as you asked me to
do. Here it is!" He opened his bag, and at last we
saw placed upon our table a complete specimen
of that bust which we had already seen more than
once in fragments.

Holmes took a paper from his pocket and laid
a ten-pound note upon the table.

"You will kindly sign that paper, Mr. Sande-
ford, in the presence of these witnesses. It is sim-
ply to say that you transfer every possible right
that you ever had in the bust to me. I am a me-
thodical man, you see, and you never know what
turn events might take afterwards. Thank you, Mr.
Sandeford; here is your money, and I wish you a
very good evening."

When our visitor had disappeared Sherlock
Holmes's movements were such as to rivet our at-
tention. He began by taking a clean white cloth
from a drawer and laying it over the table. Then
he placed his newly-acquired bust in the centre of
the cloth. Finally, he picked up his hunting-crop

516

The Adventure of the Six Napoleons

and struck Napoleon a sharp blow on the top of
the head. The figure broke into fragments, and
Holmes bent eagerly over the shattered remains.
Next instant, with a loud shout of triumph, he held
up one splinter, in which a round, dark object was
fixed like a plum in a pudding.

"Gentlemen," he cried, "let me introduce you
to the famous black pearl of the Borgias."

Lestrade and I sat silent for a moment, and
then, with a spontaneous impulse, we both broke
out clapping as at the well-wrought crisis of a play.
A flush of colour sprang to Holmes's pale cheeks,
and he bowed to us like the master dramatist who
receives the homage of his audience. It was at
such moments that for an instant he ceased to
be a reasoning machine, and betrayed his human
love for admiration and applause. The same sin-
gularly proud and reserved nature which turned
away with disdain from popular notoriety was ca-
pable of being moved to its depths by spontaneous
wonder and praise from a friend.

"Yes, gentlemen," said he, "it is the most fa-
mous pearl now existing in the world, and it has
been my good fortune, by a connected chain of in-
ductive reasoning, to trace it from the Prince of
Colonna's bedroom at the Dacre Hotel, where it
was lost, to the interior of this, the last of the six
busts of Napoleon which were manufactured by
Gelder & Co., of Stepney. You will remember,
Lestrade, the sensation caused by the disappear-
ance of this valuable jewel, and the vain efforts of
the London police to recover it. I was myself con-
sulted upon the case; but I was unable to throw
any light upon it. Suspicion fell upon the maid of
the Princess, who was an Italian, and it was proved
that she had a brother in London, but we failed to
trace any connection between them. The maid's
name was Lucretia Venucci, and there is no doubt
in my mind that this Pietro who was murdered
two nights ago was the brother. I have been look-
ing up the dates in the old files of the paper, and
I find that the disappearance of the pearl was ex-
actly two days before the arrest of Beppo for some
crime of violence, an event which took place in the
factory of Gelder & Co., at the very moment when
these busts were being made. Now you clearly see
the sequence of events, though you see them, of
course, in the inverse order to the way in which
they presented themselves to me. Beppo had the
pearl in his possession. He may have stolen it from
Pietro, he may have been Pietro's confederate, he
may have been the go-between of Pietro and his
sister. It is of no consequence to us which is the
correct solution.

"The main fact is that he had the pearl, and
at that moment, when it was on his person, he
was pursued by the police. He made for the fac-
tory in which he worked, and he knew that he
had only a few minutes in which to conceal this
enormously valuable prize, which would other-
wise be found on him when he was searched. Six
plaster casts of Napoleon were drying in the pas-
sage. One of them was still soft. In an instant
Beppo, a skilful workman, made a small hole in
the wet plaster, dropped in the pearl, and with a
few touches covered over the aperture once more.
It was an admirable hiding-place. No one could
possibly find it. But Beppo was condemned to a
year 's imprisonment, and in the meanwhile his six
busts were scattered over London. He could not
tell which contained his treasure. Only by break-
ing them could he see. Even shaking would tell
him nothing, for as the plaster was wet it was
probable that the pearl would adhere to it — as, in
fact, it has done. Beppo did not despair, and he
conducted his search with considerable ingenuity
and perseverance. Through a cousin who works
with Gelder he found out the retail firms who had
bought the busts. He managed to find employ-
ment with Morse Hudson, and in that way tracked
down three of them. The pearl was not there.
Then, with the help of some Italian employe, he suc-
ceeded in finding out where the other three busts
had gone. The first was at Harker's. There he was
dogged by his confederate, who held Beppo re-
sponsible for the loss of the pearl, and he stabbed
him in the scuffle which followed."

"If he was his confederate why should he carry
his photograph?" I asked.

"As a means of tracing him if he wished to in-
quire about him from any third person. That was
the obvious reason. Well, after the murder I calcu-
lated that Beppo would probably hurry rather than
delay his movements. He would fear that the po-
lice would read his secret, and so he hastened on
before they should get ahead of him. Of course, I
could not say that he had not found the pearl in
Harker's bust. I had not even concluded for cer-
tain that it was the pearl; but it was evident to me
that he was looking for something, since he carried
the bust past the other houses in order to break it
in the garden which had a lamp overlooking it.
Since Harker's bust was one in three the chances
were exactly as I told you, two to one against the
pearl being inside it. There remained two busts,
and it was obvious that he would go for the Lon-
don one first. I warned the inmates of the house,
so as to avoid a second tragedy, and we went down
with the happiest results. By that time, of course.

517

I knew for certain that it was the Borgia pearl that
we were after. The name of the murdered man
linked the one event with the other. There only re-
mained a single bust — the Reading one — and the
pearl must be there. I bought it in your presence
from the owner — and there it lies."

We sat in silence for a moment.

"Well," said Lestrade, "I've seen you handle a
good many cases, Mr. Holmes, but I don't know
that I ever knew a more workmanlike one than
that. We're not jealous of you at Scotland Yard.
No, sir, we are very proud of you, and if you

come down to-morrow there's not a man, from
the oldest inspector to the youngest constable, who
wouldn't be glad to shake you by the hand."

"Thank you!" said Holmes. "Thank you!" and
as he turned away it seemed to me that he was
more nearly moved by the softer human emotions
than I had ever seen him. A moment later he was
the cold and practical thinker once more. "Put the
pearl in the safe, Watson," said he, "and get out the
papers of the Conk-Singleton forgery case. Good-
bye, Lestrade. If any little problem comes your
way I shall be happy, if I can, to give you a hint or
two as to its solution."

The Adventure of Black Peter

have never known my friend to be in
better form, both mental and physical,
than in the year '95. His increasing fame
had brought with it an immense prac-
tice, and I should be guilty of an indiscretion if I
were even to hint at the identity of some of the il-
lustrious clients who crossed our humble thresh-
old in Baker Street. Holmes, however, like all
great artists, lived for his art's sake, and, save in
the case of the Duke of Holdernesse, I have sel-
dom known him claim any large reward for his
inestimable services. So unworldly was he — or
so capricious — that he frequently refused his help
to the powerful and wealthy where the problem
made no appeal to his sympathies, while he would
devote weeks of most intense application to the af-
fairs of some humble client whose case presented
those strange and dramatic qualities which ap-
pealed to his imagination and challenged his in-
genuity.

In this memorable year '95 a curious and in-
congruous succession of cases had engaged his at-
tention, ranging from his famous investigation of
the sudden death of Cardinal Tosca — an inquiry
which was carried out by him at the express de-
sire of His Holiness the Pope — down to his arrest
of Wilson, the notorious canary-trainer, which re-
moved a plague-spot from the East-End of Lon-
don. Close on the heels of these two famous
cases came the tragedy of Woodman's Lee, and the
very obscure circumstances which surrounded the
death of Captain Peter Carey. No record of the do-
ings of Mr. Sherlock Holmes would be complete
which did not include some account of this very
unusual affair.

During the first week of July my friend had
been absent so often and so long from our lodg-
ings that I knew he had something on hand. The
fact that several rough-looking men called during
that time and inquired for Captain Basil made me
understand that Holmes was working somewhere
under one of the numerous disguises and names
with which he concealed his own formidable iden-
tity. He had at least five small refuges in different
parts of London in which he was able to change
his personality. He said nothing of his business to
me, and it was not my habit to force a confidence.
The first positive sign which he gave me of the di-
rection which his investigation was taking was an
extraordinary one. He had gone out before break-
fast, and I had sat down to mine, when he strode
into the room, his hat upon his head and a huge
barbed-headed spear tucked like an umbrella un-
der his arm.

"Good gracious. Holmes!" I cried. "You don't
mean to say that you have been walking about
London with that thing?"

"I drove to the butcher's and back."

"The butcher's?"

"And I return with an excellent appetite. There
can be no question, my dear Watson, of the value
of exercise before breakfast. But I am prepared to
bet that you will not guess the form that my exer-
cise has taken."

"I will not attempt it."

He chuckled as he poured out the coffee.

"If you could have looked into Allardyce's back
shop you would have seen a dead pig swung from
a hook in the ceiling, and a gentleman in his shirt-
sleeves furiously stabbing at it with this weapon.
I was that energetic person, and I have satisfied
myself that by no exertion of my strength can I
transfix the pig with a single blow. Perhaps you
would care to try?"

"Not for worlds. But why were you doing
this?"

"Because it seemed to me to have an indirect
bearing upon the mystery of Woodman's Lee. Ah,
Hopkins, I got your wire last night, and I have
been expecting you. Come and join us."

Our visitor was an exceedingly alert man,
thirty years of age, dressed in a quiet tweed suit,
but retaining the erect bearing of one who was ac-
customed to official uniform. I recognised him at
once as Stanley Hopkins, a young police inspector
for whose future Holmes had high hopes, while
he in turn professed the admiration and respect
of a pupil for the scientific methods of the famous
amateur. Hopkins's brow was clouded, and he sat
down with an air of deep dejection.

"No, thank you, sir. I breakfasted before I came
round. I spent the night in town, for I came up yes-
terday to report."

"And what had you to report?"

"Failure, sir; absolute failure."

"You have made no progress?"

"None."

"Dear me! I must have a look at the matter."

"I wish to heavens that you would, Mr. Holmes.
It's my first big chance, and I am at my wit's end.
For goodness' sake come down and lend me a
hand."

"Well, well, it just happens that I have already
read all the available evidence, including the re-
port of the inquest, with some care. By the way.

487

The Adventure of Black Peter

what do you make of that tobacco-pouch found
on the scene of the crime? Is there no clue there?"

Hopkins looked surprised.

"It was the man's own pouch, sir. His initials
were inside it. And it was of seal-skin — and he an
old sealer."

"But he had no pipe."

"No, sir, we could find no pipe; indeed, he
smoked very little. And yet he might have kept
some tobacco for his friends."

"No doubt. I only mention it because if I had
been handling the case I should have been inclined
to make that the starting-point of my investigation.
However, my friend Dr. Watson knows nothing of
this matter, and I should be none the worse for
hearing the sequence of events once more. Just
give us some short sketch of the essentials."

Stanley Hopkins drew a slip of paper from his
pocket.

"I have a few dates here which will give you the
career of the dead man. Captain Peter Carey. He
was born in '45 — fifty years of age. He was a most
daring and successful seal and whale fisher. In
1883 he commanded the steam sealer Sen Unicorn,
of Dundee. He had then had several successful
voyages in succession, and in the following year,
1884, he retired. After that he travelled for some
years, and finally he bought a small place called
Woodman's Lee, near Forest Row, in Sussex. There
he has lived for six years, and there he died just a
week ago to-day.

"There were some most singular points about
the man. In ordinary life he was a strict Puritan — a
silent, gloomy fellow. His household consisted of
his wife, his daughter, aged twenty, and two fe-
male servants. These last were continually chang-
ing, for it was never a very cheery situation, and
sometimes it became past all bearing. The man
was an intermittent drunkard, and when he had
the fit on him he was a perfect fiend. He has been
known to drive his wife and his daughter out of
doors in the middle of the night, and flog them
through the park until the whole village outside
the gates was aroused by their screams.

"He was summoned once for a savage assault
upon the old vicar, who had called upon him to
remonstrate with him upon his conduct. In short,
Mr. Holmes, you would go far before you found
a more dangerous man than Peter Carey, and I
have heard that he bore the same character when
he commanded his ship. He was known in the
trade as Black Peter, and the name was given him,
not only on account of his swarthy features and

the colour of his huge beard, but for the humours
which were the terror of all around him. I need
not say that he was loathed and avoided by every
one of his neighbours, and that I have not heard
one single word of sorrow about his terrible end.

"You must have read in the account of the in-
quest about the man's cabin, Mr. Holmes; but per-
haps your friend here has not heard of it. He
had built himself a wooden outhouse — he always
called it 'the cabin' — a few hundred yards from his
house, and it was here that he slept every night.
It was a little, single-roomed hut, sixteen feet by
ten. He kept the key in his pocket, made his own
bed, cleaned it himself, and allowed no other foot
to cross the threshold. There are small windows
on each side, which were covered by curtains and
never opened. One of these windows was turned
towards the high road, and when the light burned
in it at night the folk used to point it out to each
other and wonder what Black Peter was doing in
there. That's the window, Mr. Holmes, which gave
us one of the few bits of positive evidence that
came out at the inquest.

"You remember that a stonemason, named
Slater, walking from Forest Row about one
o'clock in the morning — two days before the
murder — stopped as he passed the grounds and
looked at the square of light still shining among
the trees. He swears that the shadow of a man's
head turned sideways was clearly visible on the
blind, and that this shadow was certainly not that
of Peter Carey, whom he knew well. It was that
of a bearded man, but the beard was short and
bristled forwards in a way very different from that
of the captain. So he says, but he had been two
hours in the public-house, and it is some distance
from the road to the window. Besides, this refers
to the Monday, and the crime was done upon the
Wednesday.

"On the Tuesday Peter Carey was in one of his
blackest moods, flushed with drink and as savage
as a dangerous wild beast. He roamed about the
house, and the women ran for it when they heard
him coming. Late in the evening he went down
to his own hut. About two o'clock the following
morning his daughter, who slept with her window
open, heard a most fearful yell from that direc-
tion, but it was no unusual thing for him to bawl
and shout when he was in drink, so no notice was
taken. On rising at seven one of the maids noticed
that the door of the hut was open, but so great
was the terror which the man caused that it was
midday before anyone would venture down to see
what had become of him. Peeping into the open

488

The Adventure of Black Peter

door they saw a sight which sent them flying with
white faces into the village. Within an hour I was
on the spot and had taken over the case.

"Well, I have fairly steady nerves, as you know,
Mr. Holmes, but I give you my word that I got a
shake when I put my head into that little house.
It was droning like a harmonium with the flies
and bluebottles, and the floor and walls were like
a slaughter-house. He had called it a cabin, and
a cabin it was sure enough, for you would have
thought that you were in a ship. There was a bunk
at one end, a sea-chest, maps and charts, a picture
of the Sea Unicorn, a line of log-books on a shelf, all
exactly as one would expect to find it in a captain's
room. And there in the middle of it was the man
himself, his face twisted like a lost soul in torment,
and his great brindled beard stuck upwards in his
agony. Right through his broad breast a steel har-
poon had been driven, and it had sunk deep into
the wood of the wall behind him. He was pinned
like a beetle on a card. Of course, he was quite
dead, and had been so from the instant that he
had uttered that last yell of agony.

"I know your methods, sir, and I applied them.
Before I permitted anything to be moved I exam-
ined most carefully the ground outside, and also
the floor of the room. There were no footmarks."

"Meaning that you saw none?"

"I assure you, sir, that there were none."

"My good Hopkins, I have investigated many
crimes, but I have never yet seen one which was
committed by a flying creature. As long as the
criminal remains upon two legs so long must there
be some indentation, some abrasion, some trifling
displacement which can be detected by the sci-
entific searcher. It is incredible that this blood-
bespattered room contained no trace which could
have aided us. I understand, however, from the
inquest that there were some objects which you
failed to overlook?"

The young inspector winced at my compan-
ion's ironical comments.

"I was a fool not to call you in at the time,
Mr. Holmes. However, that's past praying for now.
Yes, there were several objects in the room which
called for special attention. One was the harpoon
with which the deed was committed. It had been
snatched down from a rack on the wall. Two oth-
ers remained there, and there was a vacant place
for the third. On the stock was engraved 'S.S.. Sea
Unicorn, Dundee.' This seemed to establish that
the crime had been done in a moment of fury,
and that the murderer had seized the first weapon

which came in his way. The fact that the crime
was committed at two in the morning, and yet Pe-
ter Carey was fully dressed, suggested that he had
an appointment with the murderer, which is borne
out by the fact that a bottle of rum and two dirty
glasses stood upon the table."

"Yes," said Holmes; "I think that both infer-
ences are permissible. Was there any other spirit
but rum in the room?"

"Yes; there was a tantalus containing brandy
and whisky on the sea-chest. It is of no impor-
tance to us, however, since the decanters were full,
and it had therefore not been used."

"For all that its presence has some signifi-
cance," said Holmes. "However, let us hear some
more about the objects which do seem to you to
bear upon the case."

"There was this tobacco-pouch upon the table."

"What part of the table?"

"It lay in the middle. It was of coarse
seal-skin — the straight-haired skin, with a leather
thong to bind it. Inside was 'PC.' on the flap.
There was half an ounce of strong ship's tobacco
in it."

"Excellent! What more?"

Stanley Hopkins drew from his pocket a drab-
covered note-book. The outside was rough and
worn, the leaves discoloured. On the first page
were written the initials "J.H.N." and the date
"1883." Holmes laid it on the table and examined
it in his minute way, while Hopkins and I gazed
over each shoulder. On the second page were
the printed letters "C.P.R.," and then came several
sheets of numbers. Another heading was Argen-
tine, another Costa Rica, and another San Paulo,
each with pages of signs and figures after it.

"What do you make of these?" asked Holmes.

"They appear to be lists of Stock Exchange se-
curities. I thought that 'J.H.N.' were the initials
of a broker, and that 'C.P.R.' may have been his
client."

"Try Canadian Pacific Railway," said Holmes.

Stanley Hopkins swore between his teeth and
struck his thigh with his clenched hand.

"What a fool I have been!" he cried. "Of course,
it is as you say. Then 'J.H.N.' are the only ini-
tials we have to solve. I have already examined
the old Stock Exchange lists, and I can find no one
in 1883 either in the House or among the outside
brokers whose initials correspond with these. Yet
I feel that the clue is the most important one that
I hold. You will admit, Mr. Holmes, that there is
a possibility that these initials are those of the sec-
ond person who was present — in other words, of

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The Adventure of Black Peter

the murderer. I would also urge that the introduc-
tion into the case of a document relating to large
masses of valuable securities gives us for the first
time some indication of a motive for the crime."

Sherlock Holmes's face showed that he was
thoroughly taken aback by this new development.

"I must admit both your points," said he. "I
confess that this note-book, which did not appear
at the inquest, modifies any views which I may
have formed. I had come to a theory of the crime
in which I can find no place for this. Have you en-
deavoured to trace any of the securities here men-
tioned?"

"Inquiries are now being made at the offices,
but I fear that the complete register of the stock-
holders of these South American concerns is in
South America, and that some weeks must elapse
before we can trace the shares."

Holmes had been examining the cover of the
note-book with his magnifying lens.

"Surely there is some discolouration here," said
he.

"Yes, sir, it is a blood-stain. I told you that I
picked the book off the floor."

"Was the blood-stain above or below?"

"On the side next the boards."

"Which proves, of course, that the book was
dropped after the crime was committed."

"Exactly, Mr. Holmes. I appreciated that point,
and I conjectured that it was dropped by the mur-
derer in his hurried flight. It lay near the door."

"I suppose that none of these securities have
been found among the property of the dead man?"

"No, sir."

"Have you any reason to suspect robbery?"

"No, sir. Nothing seemed to have been
touched."

"Dear me, it is certainly a very interesting case.
Then there was a knife, was there not?"

"A sheath-knife, still in its sheath. It lay at the
feet of the dead man. Mrs. Carey has identified it
as being her husband's property."

Holmes was lost in thought for some time.

"Well," said he, at last, "I suppose I shall have
to come out and have a look at it."

Stanley Hopkins gave a cry of joy.

"Thank you, sir. That will indeed be a weight
off my mind."

Holmes shook his finger at the inspector.

"It would have been an easier task a week ago,"
said he. "But even now my visit may not be en-
tirely fruitless. Watson, if you can spare the time I
should be very glad of your company. If you will
call a four-wheeler, Hopkins, we shall be ready to
start for Forest Row in a quarter of an hour."

Alighting at the small wayside station, we
drove for some miles through the remains of
widespread woods, which were once part of that
great forest which for so long held the Saxon in-
vaders at bay — the impenetrable "weald," for sixty
years the bulwark of Britain. Vast sections of it
have been cleared, for this is the seat of the first
iron-works of the country, and the trees have been
felled to smelt the ore. Now the richer fields of
the North have absorbed the trade, and nothing
save these ravaged groves and great scars in the
earth show the work of the past. Here in a clear-
ing upon the green slope of a hill stood a long,
low stone house, approached by a curving drive
running through the fields. Nearer the road, and
surrounded on three sides by bushes, was a small
outhouse, one window and the door facing in our
direction. It was the scene of the murder.

Stanley Hopkins led us first to the house,
where he introduced us to a haggard, grey-haired
woman, the widow of the murdered man, whose
gaunt and deep-lined face, with the furtive look of
terror in the depths of her red-rimmed eyes, told
of the years of hardship and ill-usage which she
had endured. With her was her daughter, a pale,
fair-haired girl, whose eyes blazed defiantly at us
as she told us that she was glad that her father
was dead, and that she blessed the hand which
had struck him down. It was a terrible household
that Black Peter Carey had made for himself, and it
was with a sense of relief that we found ourselves
in the sunlight again and making our way along a
path which had been worn across the fields by the
feet of the dead man.

The outhouse was the simplest of dwellings,
wooden-walled, shingle-roofed, one window be-
side the door and one on the farther side. Stanley
Hopkins drew the key from his pocket, and had
stooped to the lock, when he paused with a look
of attention and surprise upon his face.

"Someone has been tampering with it," he said.

There could be no doubt of the fact. The wood-
work was cut and the scratches showed white
through the paint, as if they had been that instant
done. Holmes had been examining the window.

"Someone has tried to force this also. Whoever
it was has failed to make his way in. He must have
been a very poor burglar. "

490

The Adventure of Black Peter

"This is a most extraordinary thing," said the
inspector; "I could swear that these marks were
not here yesterday evening."

"Some curious person from the village, per-
haps," I suggested.

"Very unlikely. Few of them would dare to
set foot in the grounds, far less try to force their
way into the cabin. What do you think of it, Mr.
Holmes?"

"I think that fortune is very kind to us."

"You mean that the person will come again?"

"It is very probable. He came expecting to find
the door open. He tried to get in with the blade
of a very small penknife. He could not manage it.
What would he do?"

"Come again next night with a more useful
tool."

"So I should say. It will be our fault if we are
not there to receive him. Meanwhile, let me see
the inside of the cabin."

The traces of the tragedy had been removed,
but the furniture within the little room still stood
as it had been on the night of the crime. For two
hours, with most intense concentration. Holmes
examined every object in turn, but his face showed
that his quest was not a successful one. Once only
he paused in his patient investigation.

"Have you taken anything off this shelf, Hop-
kins?"

"No; I have moved nothing."

"Something has been taken. There is less dust
in this corner of the shelf than elsewhere. It may
have been a book lying on its side. It may have
been a box. Well, well, I can do nothing more. Let
us walk in these beautiful woods, Watson, and give
a few hours to the birds and the flowers. We shall
meet you here later, Hopkins, and see if we can
come to closer quarters with the gentleman who
has paid this visit in the night."

It was past eleven o'clock when we formed
our little ambuscade. Hopkins was for leaving
the door of the hut open, but Holmes was of the
opinion that this would rouse the suspicions of the
stranger. The lock was a perfectly simple one, and
only a strong blade was needed to push it back.
Holmes also suggested that we should wait, not
inside the hut, but outside it among the bushes
which grew round the farther window. In this way
we should be able to watch our man if he struck a
light, and see what his object was in this stealthy
nocturnal visit.

It was a long and melancholy vigil, and yet
brought with it something of the thrill which the
hunter feels when he lies beside the water pool
and waits for the coming of the thirsty beast of
prey. What savage creature was it which might
steal upon us out of the darkness? Was it a fierce
tiger of crime, which could only be taken fight-
ing hard with flashing fang and claw, or would it
prove to be some skulking jackal, dangerous only
to the weak and unguarded?

In absolute silence we crouched amongst the
bushes, waiting for whatever might come. At first
the steps of a few belated villagers, or the sound of
voices from the village, lightened our vigil; but one
by one these interruptions died away and an abso-
lute stillness fell upon us, save for the chimes of
the distant church, which told us of the progress
of the night, and for the rustle and whisper of a
fine rain falling amid the foliage which roofed us
in.

Half-past two had chimed, and it was the dark-
est hour which precedes the dawn, when we all
started as a low but sharp click came from the di-
rection of the gate. Someone had entered the drive.
Again there was a long silence, and I had begun to
fear that it was a false alarm, when a stealthy step
was heard upon the other side of the hut, and a
moment later a metallic scraping and clinking. The
man was trying to force the lock! This time his skill
was greater or his tool was better, for there was a
sudden snap and the creak of the hinges. Then
a match was struck, and next instant the steady
light from a candle filled the interior of the hut.
Through the gauze curtain our eyes were all riv-
eted upon the scene within.

The nocturnal visitor was a young man, frail
and thin, with a black moustache which intensified
the deadly pallor of his face. He could not have
been much above twenty years of age. I have never
seen any human being who appeared to be in such
a pitiable fright, for his teeth were visibly chatter-
ing and he was shaking in every limb. He was
dressed like a gentleman, in Norfolk jacket and
knickerbockers, with a cloth cap upon his head.
We watched him staring round with frightened
eyes. Then he laid the candle-end upon the ta-
ble and disappeared from our view into one of the
corners. He returned with a large book, one of the
log-books which formed a line upon the shelves.
Leaning on the table he rapidly turned over the
leaves of this volume until he came to the entry
which he sought. Then, with an angry gesture of
his clenched hand, he closed the book, replaced it
in the corner, and put out the light. He had hardly

491

The Adventure of Black Peter

turned to leave the hut when Hopkins's hand was
on the fellow's collar, and I heard his loud gasp
of terror as he understood that he was taken. The
candle was re-lit, and there was our wretched cap-
tive shivering and cowering in the grasp of the de-
tective. He sank down upon the sea-chest, and
looked helplessly from one of us to the other.

"Now, my fine fellow," said Stanley Hopkins,
"who are you, and what do you want here?"

The man pulled himself together and faced us
with an effort at self-composure.

"You are detectives, I suppose?" said he. "You
imagine I am connected with the death of Captain
Peter Carey. I assure you that I am innocent."

"We'll see about that," said Hopkins. "First of
all, what is your name?"

"It is John Hopley Neligan."

I saw Holmes and Hopkins exchange a quick
glance.

"What are you doing here?"

"Can I speak confidentially?"

"No, certainly not."

"Why should I tell you?"

"If you have no answer it may go badly with
you at the trial."

The young man winced.

"Well, I will tell you," he said. "Why should
I not? And yet I hate to think of this old scandal
gaining a new lease of life. Did you ever hear of
Dawson and Neligan?"

I could see from Hopkins's face that he never
had; but Holmes was keenly interested.

"You mean the West-country bankers," said he.
"They failed for a million, ruined half the county
families of Cornwall, and Neligan disappeared."

"Exactly. Neligan was my father."

At last we were getting something positive, and
yet it seemed a long gap between an absconding
banker and Captain Peter Carey pinned against
the wall with one of his own harpoons. We all
listened intently to the young man's words.

"It was my father who was really concerned.
Dawson had retired. I was only ten years of age at
the time, but I was old enough to feel the shame
and horror of it all. It has always been said that
my father stole all the securities and fled. It is not
true. It was his belief that if he were given time in
which to realize them all would be well and every
creditor paid in full. He started in his little yacht
for Norway just before the warrant was issued for
his arrest. I can remember that last night when

he bade farewell to my mother. He left us a list
of the securities he was taking, and he swore that
he would come back with his honour cleared, and
that none who had trusted him would suffer. Well,
no word was ever heard from him again. Both the
yacht and he vanished utterly. We believed, my
mother and I, that he and it, with the securities
that he had taken with him, were at the bottom of
the sea. We had a faithful friend, however, who is a
business man, and it was he who discovered some
time ago that some of the securities which my fa-
ther had with him have reappeared on the London
market. You can imagine our amazement. I spent
months in trying to trace them, and at last, after
many doublings and difficulties, I discovered that
the original seller had been Captain Peter Carey,
the owner of this hut.

"Naturally, I made some inquiries about the
man. I found that he had been in command of
a whaler which was due to return from the Arctic
seas at the very time when my father was cross-
ing to Norway. The autumn of that year was a
stormy one, and there was a long succession of
southerly gales. My father's yacht may well have
been blown to the north, and there met by Captain
Peter Carey's ship. If that were so, what had be-
come of my father? In any case, if I could prove
from Peter Carey's evidence how these securities
came on the market it would be a proof that my
father had not sold them, and that he had no view
to personal profit when he took them.

"I came down to Sussex with the intention of
seeing the captain, but it was at this moment that
his terrible death occurred. I read at the inquest a
description of his cabin, in which it stated that the
old log-books of his vessel were preserved in it. It
struck me that if I could see what occurred in the
month of August, 1883, on board the Sea Unicorn, I
might settle the mystery of my father 's fate. I tried
last night to get at these log-books, but was unable
to open the door. To-night I tried again, and suc-
ceeded; but I find that the pages which deal with
that month have been torn from the book. It was
at that moment I found myself a prisoner in your
hands."

"Is that all?" asked Hopkins.

"Yes, that is all." His eyes shifted as he said it.

"You have nothing else to tell us?"

He hesitated.

"No; there is nothing."

"You have not been here before last night?"

"No."

"Then how do you account for that?" cried
Hopkins, as he held up the damning note-book.

492

The Adventure of Black Peter

with the initials of our prisoner on the first leaf
and the blood-stain on the cover.

The wretched man collapsed. He sank his face
in his hands and trembled all over.

"Where did you get it?" he groaned. "I did not
know. I thought I had lost it at the hotel."

"That is enough," said Hopkins, sternly.
"Whatever else you have to say you must say in
court. You will walk down with me now to the
police-station. Well, Mr. Holmes, I am very much
obliged to you and to your friend for coming down
to help me. As it turns out your presence was un-
necessary, and I would have brought the case to
this successful issue without you; but none the less
I am very grateful. Rooms have been reserved for
you at the Brambletye Hotel, so we can all walk
down to the village together."

"Well, Watson, what do you think of it?" asked
Holmes, as we travelled back next morning.

"I can see that you are not satisfied."

"Oh, yes, my dear Watson, I am perfectly satis-
fied. At the same time Stanley Hopkins's methods
do not commend themselves to me. I am disap-
pointed in Stanley Hopkins. I had hoped for bet-
ter things from him. One should always look for
a possible alternative and provide against it. It is
the first rule of criminal investigation."

"What, then, is the alternative?"

"The line of investigation which I have myself
been pursuing. It may give us nothing. I cannot
tell. But at least I shall follow it to the end."

Several letters were waiting for Holmes at
Baker Street. He snatched one of them up, opened
it, and burst out into a triumphant chuckle of
laughter.

"Excellent, Watson. The alternative develops.
Have you telegraph forms? Just write a couple of
messages for me: 'Sumner, Shipping Agent, Rat-
cliff Highway. Send three men on, to arrive ten
to-morrow morning. — Basil.' That's my name in
those parts. The other is: 'Inspector Stanley Hop-
kins, 46, Lord Street, Brixton. Come breakfast
to-morrow at nine-thirty. Important. Wire if un-
able to come. — Sherlock Holmes.' There, Watson,
this infernal case has haunted me for ten days. I
hereby banish it completely from my presence. To-
morrow I trust that we shall hear the last of it for
ever."

Sharp at the hour named Inspector Stanley
Hopkins appeared, and we sat down together to
the excellent breakfast which Mrs. Hudson had
prepared. The young detective was in high spir-
its at his success.

"You really think that your solution must be
correct?" asked Holmes.

"I could not imagine a more complete case."

"It did not seem to me conclusive."

"You astonish me, Mr. Holmes. What more
could one ask for?"

"Does your explanation cover every point?"

"Undoubtedly. I find that young Neligan ar-
rived at the Brambletye Hotel on the very day of
the crime. He came on the pretence of playing
golf. His room was on the ground-floor, and he
could get out when he liked. That very night he
went down to Woodman's Lee, saw Peter Carey
at the hut, quarrelled with him, and killed him
with the harpoon. Then, horrified by what he had
done, he fled out of the hut, dropping the note-
book which he had brought with him in order to
question Peter Carey about these different securi-
ties. You may have observed that some of them
were marked with ticks, and the others — the great
majority — were not. Those which are ticked have
been traced on the London market; but the others
presumably were still in the possession of Carey,
and young Neligan, according to his own account,
was anxious to recover them in order to do the
right thing by his father's creditors. After his flight
he did not dare to approach the hut again for some
time; but at last he forced himself to do so in order
to obtain the information which he needed. Surely
that is all simple and obvious?"

Holmes smiled and shook his head.

"It seems to me to have only one drawback,
Hopkins, and that is that it is intrinsically impos-
sible. Have you tried to drive a harpoon through a
body? No? Tut, tut, my dear sir, you must really
pay attention to these details. My friend Watson
could tell you that I spent a whole morning in that
exercise. It is no easy matter, and requires a strong
and practised arm. But this blow was delivered
with such violence that the head of the weapon
sank deep into the wall. Do you imagine that this
anaemic youth was capable of so frightful an as-
sault? Is he the man who hobnobbed in rum and
water with Black Peter in the dead of the night?
Was it his profile that was seen on the blind two
nights before? No, no, Hopkins; it is another and a
more formidable person for whom we must seek."

The detective's face had grown longer and
longer during Holmes's speech. His hopes and his
ambitions were all crumbling about him. But he
would not abandon his position without a strug-
gle.

493

The Adventure of Black Peter

"You can't deny that Neligan was present that
night, Mr. Holmes. The book will prove that. I
fancy that I have evidence enough to satisfy a jury,
even if you are able to pick a hole in it. Besides,
Mr. Holmes, I have laid my hand upon my man.
As to this terrible person of yours, where is he?"

"I rather fancy that he is on the stair," said
Holmes, serenely. "I think, Watson, that you
would do well to put that revolver where you can
reach it." He rose, and laid a written paper upon a
side-table. "Now we are ready," said he.

There had been some talking in gruff voices
outside, and now Mrs. Hudson opened the door
to say that there were three men inquiring for Cap-
tain Basil.

"Show them in one by one," said Holmes.

The first who entered was a little ribston-
pippin of a man, with ruddy cheeks and fluffy
white side-whiskers. Holmes had drawn a letter
from his pocket.

"What name?" he asked.

"James Lancaster."

"I am sorry, Lancaster, but the berth is full.
Here is half a sovereign for your trouble. Just step
into this room and wait there for a few minutes."

The second man was a long, dried-up creature,
with lank hair and sallow cheeks. His name was
Hugh Pattins. He also received his dismissal, his
half-sovereign, and the order to wait.

The third applicant was a man of remarkable
appearance. A fierce bull-dog face was framed
in a tangle of hair and beard, and two bold dark
eyes gleamed behind the cover of thick, tufted,
overhung eyebrows. He saluted and stood sailor-
fashion, turning his cap round in his hands.

"Your name?" asked Holmes.

"Patrick Cairns."

"Harpooner?"

"Yes, sir. Twenty-six voyages."

"Dundee, I suppose?"

"Yes, sir."

"And ready to start with an exploring ship?"

"Yes, sir."

"What wages?"

"Eight pounds a month."

"Could you start at once?"

"As soon as I get my kit."

"Have you your papers?"

"Yes, sir." He took a sheaf of worn and greasy
forms from his pocket. Holmes glanced over them
and returned them.

"You are just the man I want," said he. "Here's
the agreement on the side-table. If you sign it the
whole matter will be settled."

The seaman lurched across the room and took
up the pen.

"Shall I sign here?" he asked, stooping over the
table.

Holmes leaned over his shoulder and passed
both hands over his neck.

"This will do," said he.

I heard a click of steel and a bellow like an en-
raged bull. The next instant Holmes and the sea-
man were rolling on the ground together. He was
a man of such gigantic strength that, even with the
handcuffs which Holmes had so deftly fastened
upon his wrists, he would have very quickly over-
powered my friend had Hopkins and I not rushed
to his rescue. Only when I pressed the cold muzzle
of the revolver to his temple did he at last under-
stand that resistance was vain. We lashed his an-
kles with cord and rose breathless from the strug-
gle.

"I must really apologize, Hopkins," said Sher-
lock Holmes; "I fear that the scrambled eggs
are cold. However, you will enjoy the rest of
your breakfast all the better, will you not, for the
thought that you have brought your case to a tri-
umphant conclusion."

Stanley Hopkins was speechless with amaze-
ment.

"I don't know what to say, Mr. Holmes," he
blurted out at last, with a very red face. "It seems
to me that I have been making a fool of myself
from the beginning. I understand now, what I
should never have forgotten, that I am the pupil
and you are the master. Even now I see what you
have done, but I don't know how you did it, or
what it signifies."

"Well, well," said Holmes, good-humouredly.
"We all learn by experience, and your lesson this
time is that you should never lose sight of the al-
ternative. You were so absorbed in young Neli-
gan that you could not spare a thought to Patrick
Cairns, the true murderer of Peter Carey."

The hoarse voice of the seaman broke in on our
conversation.

"See here, mister," said he, "I make no com-
plaint of being man-handled in this fashion, but I
would have you call things by their right names.

494

The Adventure of Black Peter

You say I murdered Peter Carey; I say I killed Peter
Carey, and there's all the difference. Maybe you
don't believe what I say Maybe you think I am
just slinging you a yarn."

"Not at all," said Holmes. "Let us hear what
you have to say."

"It's soon told, and, by the Lord, every word of
it is truth. I knew Black Peter, and when he pulled
out his knife I whipped a harpoon through him
sharp, for I knew that it was him or me. That's
how he died. You can call it murder. Anyhow, I'd
as soon die with a rope round my neck as with
Black Peter's knife in my heart."

"How came you there?" asked Holmes.

"I'll tell it you from the beginning. Just sit me
up a little so as I can speak easy. It was in '83
that it happened — August of that year. Peter Carey
was master of the Sea Unicorn, and I was spare
harpooner. We were coming out of the ice-pack
on our way home, with head winds and a week's
southerly gale, when we picked up a little craft
that had been blown north. There was one man
on her — a landsman. The crew had thought she
would founder, and had made for the Norwegian
coast in the dinghy. I guess they were all drowned.
Well, we took him on board, this man, and he and
the skipper had some long talks in the cabin. All
the baggage we took off with him was one tin box.
So far as I know, the man's name was never men-
tioned, and on the second night he disappeared
as if he had never been. It was given out that
he had either thrown himself overboard or fallen
overboard in the heavy weather that we were hav-
ing. Only one man knew what had happened to
him, and that was me, for with my own eyes I saw
the skipper tip up his heels and put him over the
rail in the middle watch of a dark night, two days
before we sighted the Shetland lights.

"Well, I kept my knowledge to myself and
waited to see what would come of it. When we
got back to Scotland it was easily hushed up, and
nobody asked any questions. A stranger died by
an accident, and it was nobody's business to in-
quire. Shortly after Peter Carey gave up the sea,
and it was long years before I could find where he
was. I guessed that he had done the deed for the
sake of what was in that tin box, and that he could
afford now to pay me well for keeping my mouth
shut.

"I found out where he was through a sailor
man that had met him in London, and down I
went to squeeze him. The first night he was rea-
sonable enough, and was ready to give me what
would make me free of the sea for life. We were

to fix it all two nights later. When I came I found
him three parts drunk and in a vile temper. We
sat down and we drank and we yarned about old
times, but the more he drank the less I liked the
look on his face. I spotted that harpoon upon the
wall, and I thought I might need it before I was
through. Then at last he broke out at me, spitting
and cursing, with murder in his eyes and a great
clasp-knife in his hand. He had not time to get it
from the sheath before I had the harpoon through
him. Heavens! what a yell he gave; and his face
gets between me and my sleep! I stood there, with
his blood splashing round me, and I waited for a
bit; but all was quiet, so I took heart once more. I
looked round, and there was the tin box on a shelf.
I had as much right to it as Peter Carey, anyhow,
so I took it with me and left the hut. Like a fool I
left my baccy-pouch upon the table.

"Now I'll tell you the queerest part of the whole
story. I had hardly got outside the hut when
I heard someone coming, and I hid among the
bushes. A man came slinking along, went into
the hut, gave a cry as if he had seen a ghost, and
legged it as hard as he could run until he was out
of sight. Who he was or what he wanted is more
than I can tell. For my part I walked ten miles, got
a train at Tunbridge Wells, and so reached London,
and no one the wiser.

"Well, when I came to examine the box I found
there was no money in it, and nothing but papers
that I would not dare to sell. I had lost my hold on
Black Peter, and was stranded in London without a
shilling. There was only my trade left. I saw these
advertisements about harpooners and high wages,
so I went to the shipping agents, and they sent me
here. That's all I know, and I say again that if I
killed Black Peter the law should give me thanks,
for I saved them the price of a hempen rope."

"A very clear statement," said Holmes, rising
and lighting his pipe. "I think, Hopkins, that you
should lose no time in conveying your prisoner to
a place of safety. This room is not well adapted for
a cell, and Mr. Patrick Cairns occupies too large a
proportion of our carpet."

"Mr. Holmes," said Hopkins, "I do not know
how to express my gratitude. Even now I do not
understand how you attained this result."

"Simply by having the good fortune to get the
right clue from the beginning. It is very possible
if I had known about this note-book it might have
led away my thoughts, as it did yours. But all I
heard pointed in the one direction. The amazing
strength, the skill in the use of the harpoon, the
rum and water, the seal-skin tobacco-pouch, with

495

the coarse tobacco — all these pointed to a seaman,
and one who had been a whaler. I was convinced
that the initials 'P.C.' upon the pouch were a coin-
cidence, and not those of Peter Carey, since he sel-
dom smoked, and no pipe was found in his cabin.
You remember that I asked whether whisky and
brandy were in the cabin. You said they were.
How many landsmen are there who would drink
rum when they could get these other spirits? Yes,
I was certain it was a seaman."

"And how did you find him?"

"My dear sir, the problem had become a very
simple one. If it were a seaman, it could only
be a seaman who had been with him on the Sea
Unicorn. So far as I could learn he had sailed in
no other ship. I spent three days in wiring to
Dundee, and at the end of that time I had ascer-
tained the names of the crew of the Sea Unicorn

in 1883. When I found Patrick Cairns among the
harpooners my research was nearing its end. I ar-
gued that the man was probably in London, and
that he would desire to leave the country for a
time. I therefore spent some days in the East-end,
devised an Arctic expedition, put forth tempting
terms for harpooners who would serve under Cap-
tain Basil — and behold the result!"

"Wonderful!" cried Hopkins. "Wonderful!"

"You must obtain the release of young Neligan
as soon as possible," said Holmes. "I confess that
I think you owe him some apology. The tin box
must be returned to him, but, of course, the se-
curities which Peter Carey has sold are lost for
ever. There's the cab, Hopkins, and you can re-
move your man. If you want me for the trial, my
address and that of Watson will be somewhere in
Norway — I'll send particulars later."

The Adventure of the Three Students

t was in the year '95 that a combination
even ^ s / i n to which I need not enter,
caused Mr. Sherlock Holmes and myself
- to spend some weeks in one of our great
University towns, and it was during this time that
the small but instructive adventure which I am
about to relate befell us. It will be obvious that
any details which would help the reader to exactly
identify the college or the criminal would be inju-
dicious and offensive. So painful a scandal may
well be allowed to die out. With due discretion the
incident itself may, however, be described, since
it serves to illustrate some of those qualities for
which my friend was remarkable. I will endeav-
our in my statement to avoid such terms as would
serve to limit the events to any particular place, or
give a clue as to the people concerned.

We were residing at the time in furnished lodg-
ings close to a library where Sherlock Holmes was
pursuing some laborious researches in early En-
glish charters — researches which led to results so
striking that they may be the subject of one of my
future narratives. Here it was that one evening we
received a visit from an acquaintance, Mr. Hilton
Soames, tutor and lecturer at the College of St.
Luke's. Mr. Soames was a tall, spare man, of a
nervous and excitable temperament. I had always
known him to be restless in his manner, but on this
particular occasion he was in such a state of uncon-
trollable agitation that it was clear something very
unusual had occurred.

"I trust, Mr. Holmes, that you can spare me a
few hours of your valuable time. We have had a
very painful incident at St. Luke's, and really, but
for the happy chance of your being in the town, I
should have been at a loss what to do."

"I am very busy just now, and I desire no dis-
tractions," my friend answered. "I should much
prefer that you called in the aid of the police."

"No, no, my dear sir; such a course is utterly
impossible. When once the law is evoked it can-
not be stayed again, and this is just one of those
cases where, for the credit of the college, it is most
essential to avoid scandal. Your discretion is as
well known as your powers, and you are the one
man in the world who can help me. I beg you, Mr.
Holmes, to do what you can."

My friend's temper had not improved since he
had been deprived of the congenial surroundings
of Baker Street. Without his scrap-books, his chem-
icals, and his homely untidiness, he was an un-
comfortable man. He shrugged his shoulders in

ungracious acquiescence, while our visitor in hur-
ried words and with much excitable gesticulation
poured forth his story.

"I must explain to you, Mr. Holmes, that to-
morrow is the first day of the examination for the
Fortescue Scholarship. I am one of the examiners.
My subject is Greek, and the first of the papers
consists of a large passage of Greek translation
which the candidate has not seen. This passage
is printed on the examination paper, and it would
naturally be an immense advantage if the candi-
date could prepare it in advance. For this reason
great care is taken to keep the paper secret.

"To-day about three o'clock the proofs of this
paper arrived from the printers. The exercise con-
sists of half a chapter of Thucydides. I had to read
it over carefully, as the text must be absolutely cor-
rect. At four-thirty my task was not yet completed.
I had, however, promised to take tea in a friend's
rooms, so I left the proof upon my desk. I was
absent rather more than an hour.

"You are aware, Mr. Holmes, that our college
doors are double — a green baize one within and a
heavy oak one without. As I approached my outer
door I was amazed to see a key in it. For an instant
I imagined that I had left my own there, but on
feeling in my pocket I found that it was all right.
The only duplicate which existed, so far as I knew,
was that which belonged to my servant, Bannister,
a man who has looked after my room for ten years,
and whose honesty is absolutely above suspicion. I
found that the key was indeed his, that he had en-
tered my room to know if I wanted tea, and that he
had very carelessly left the key in the door when
he came out. His visit to my room must have been
within a very few minutes of my leaving it. His
forgetfulness about the key would have mattered
little upon any other occasion, but on this one day
it has produced the most deplorable consequences.

"The moment I looked at my table I was aware
that someone had rummaged among my papers.
The proof was in three long slips. I had left them
all together. Now, I found that one of them was
lying on the floor, one was on the side table near
the window, and the third was where I had left it."

Holmes stirred for the first time.

"The first page on the floor, the second in the
window, the third where you left it," said he.

"Exactly, Mr. Holmes. You amaze me. How
could you possibly know that?"

"Pray continue your very interesting state-
ment."

521

The Adventure of the Three Students

"For an instant I imagined that Bannister had
taken the unpardonable liberty of examining my
papers. He denied it, however, with the ut-
most earnestness, and I am convinced that he was
speaking the truth. The alternative was that some-
one passing had observed the key in the door, had
known that I was out, and had entered to look at
the papers. A large sum of money is at stake, for
the scholarship is a very valuable one, and an un-
scrupulous man might very well run a risk in order
to gain an advantage over his fellows.

"Bannister was very much upset by the inci-
dent. He had nearly fainted when we found that
the papers had undoubtedly been tampered with.
I gave him a little brandy and left him collapsed
in a chair while I made a most careful examination
of the room. I soon saw that the intruder had left
other traces of his presence besides the rumpled
papers. On the table in the window were several
shreds from a pencil which had been sharpened. A
broken tip of lead was lying there also. Evidently
the rascal had copied the paper in a great hurry,
had broken his pencil, and had been compelled to
put a fresh point to it."

"Excellent!" said Holmes, who was recovering
his good-humour as his attention became more
engrossed by the case. "Fortune has been your
friend."

"This was not all. I have a new writing-table
with a fine surface of red leather. I am prepared
to swear, and so is Bannister, that it was smooth
and unstained. Now I found a clean cut in it about
three inches long — not a mere scratch, but a pos-
itive cut. Not only this, but on the table I found
a small ball of black dough, or clay, with specks
of something which looks like sawdust in it. I am
convinced that these marks were left by the man
who rifled the papers. There were no footmarks
and no other evidence as to his identity. I was at
my wits' ends, when suddenly the happy thought
occurred to me that you were in the town, and I
came straight round to put the matter into your
hands. Do help me, Mr. Holmes! You see my
dilemma. Either I must find the man or else the
examination must be postponed until fresh papers
are prepared, and since this cannot be done with-
out explanation there will ensue a hideous scandal,
which will throw a cloud not only on the college,
but on the University. Above all things I desire to
settle the matter quietly and discreetly."

"I shall be happy to look into it and to give
you such advice as I can," said Holmes, rising and
putting on his overcoat. "The case is not entirely

devoid of interest. Had anyone visited you in your
room after the papers came to you?"

"Yes; young Daulat Ras, an Indian student who
lives on the same stair, came in to ask me some
particulars about the examination."

"For which he was entered?"

"Yes."

"And the papers were on your table?"

"To the best of my belief they were rolled up."

"But might be recognised as proofs?"

"Possibly."

"No one else in your room?"

"No."

"Did anyone know that these proofs would be
there?"

"No one save the printer."

"Did this man Bannister know?"

"No, certainly not. No one knew."

"Where is Bannister now?"

"He was very ill, poor fellow. I left him col-
lapsed in the chair. I was in such a hurry to come
to you."

"You left your door open?"

"I locked up the papers first."

"Then it amounts to this, Mr. Soames, that un-
less the Indian student recognised the roll as being
proofs, the man who tampered with them came
upon them accidentally without knowing that they
were there."

"So it seems to me."

Holmes gave an enigmatic smile.

"Well," said he, "let us go round. Not one
of your cases, Watson — mental, not physical. All
right; come if you want to. Now, Mr. Soames — at
your disposal!"

The sitting-room of our client opened by a long,
low, latticed window on to the ancient lichen-
tinted court of the old college. A Gothic arched
door led to a worn stone staircase. On the ground
floor was the tutor's room. Above were three
students, one on each story. It was already twi-
light when we reached the scene of our problem.
Holmes halted and looked earnestly at the win-
dow. Then he approached it, and, standing on tip-
toe with his neck craned, he looked into the room.

"He must have entered through the door. There
is no opening except the one pane," said our
learned guide.

"Dear me!" said Holmes, and he smiled in a
singular way as he glanced at our companion.
"Well, if there is nothing to be learned here we
had best go inside."

522

The Adventure of the Three Students

The lecturer unlocked the outer door and ush-
ered us into his room. We stood at the entrance
while Holmes made an examination of the carpet.

"I am afraid there are no signs here," said he.
"One could hardly hope for any upon so dry a day.
Your servant seems to have quite recovered. You
left him in a chair, you say; which chair?"

"By the window there."

"I see. Near this little table. You can come in
now. I have finished with the carpet. Let us take
the little table first. Of course, what has happened
is very clear. The man entered and took the papers,
sheet by sheet, from the central table. He carried
them over to the window table, because from there
he could see if you came across the courtyard, and
so could effect an escape."

"As a matter of fact he could not," said Soames,
"for I entered by the side door."

"Ah, that's good! Well, anyhow, that was in his
mind. Let me see the three strips. No finger im-
pressions — no! Well, he carried over this one first
and he copied it. How long would it take him to
do that, using every possible contraction? A quar-
ter of an hour, not less. Then he tossed it down and
seized the next. He was in the midst of that when
your return caused him to make a very hurried
retreat — very hurried, since he had not time to re-
place the papers which would tell you that he had
been there. You were not aware of any hurrying
feet on the stair as you entered the outer door?"

"No, I can't say I was."

"Well, he wrote so furiously that he broke his
pencil, and had, as you observe, to sharpen it
again. This is of interest, Watson. The pencil was
not an ordinary one. It was above the usual size,
with a soft lead; the outer colour was dark blue,
the maker's name was printed in silver lettering,
and the piece remaining is only about an inch and
a half long. Look for such a pencil, Mr. Soames,
and you have got your man. When I add that he
possesses a large and very blunt knife, you have
an additional aid."

Mr. Soames was somewhat overwhelmed by
this flood of information. "I can follow the other
points," said he, "but really, in this matter of the
length — "

Holmes held out a small chip with the letters
NN and a space of clear wood after them.

"You see?"

"No, I fear that even now — "

"Watson, I have always done you an injustice.
There are others. What could this NN be? It is

at the end of a word. You are aware that Johann
Faber is the most common maker's name. Is it not
clear that there is just as much of the pencil left
as usually follows the Johann?" He held the small
table sideways to the electric light. "I was hoping
that if the paper on which he wrote was thin some
trace of it might come through upon this polished
surface. No, I see nothing. I don't think there is
anything more to be learned here. Now for the
central table. This small pellet is, I presume, the
black, doughy mass you spoke of. Roughly pyra-
midal in shape and hollowed out, I perceive. As
you say, there appear to be grains of sawdust in it.
Dear me, this is very interesting. And the cut — a
positive tear, I see. It began with a thin scratch and
ended in a jagged hole. I am much indebted to you
for directing my attention to this case, Mr. Soames.
Where does that door lead to?"

"To my bedroom."

"Have you been in it since your adventure?"

"No; I came straight away for you."

"I should like to have a glance round. What a
charming, old-fashioned room! Perhaps you will
kindly wait a minute until I have examined the
floor. No, I see nothing. What about this curtain?
You hang your clothes behind it. If anyone were
forced to conceal himself in this room he must do
it there, since the bed is too low and the wardrobe
too shallow. No one there, I suppose?"

As Holmes drew the curtain I was aware, from
some little rigidity and alertness of his attitude,
that he was prepared for an emergency. As a mat-
ter of fact the drawn curtain disclosed nothing but
three or four suits of clothes hanging from a line of
pegs. Holmes turned away and stooped suddenly
to the floor.

"Halloa! What's this?" said he.

It was a small pyramid of black, putty-like
stuff, exactly like the one upon the table of the
study. Holmes held it out on his open palm in
the glare of the electric light.

"Your visitor seems to have left traces in your
bedroom as well as in your sitting-room, Mr.
Soames."

"What could he have wanted there?"

"I think it is clear enough. You came back by an
unexpected way, and so he had no warning until
you were at the very door. What could he do? He
caught up everything which would betray him and
he rushed into your bedroom to conceal himself. "

"Good gracious, Mr. Holmes, do you mean to
tell me that all the time I was talking to Bannister

The Adventure of the Three Students

in this room we had the man prisoner if we had
only known it?"

"So I read it."

"Surely there is another alternative, Mr.
Holmes. I don't know whether you observed my
bedroom window?"

"Lattice-paned, lead framework, three sepa-
rate windows, one swinging on hinge and large
enough to admit a man."

"Exactly. And it looks out on an angle of the
courtyard so as to be partly invisible. The man
might have effected his entrance there, left traces
as he passed through the bedroom, and, finally,
finding the door open have escaped that way."

Holmes shook his head impatiently.

"Let us be practical," said he. "I understand
you to say that there are three students who use
this stair and are in the habit of passing your
door?"

"Yes, there are."

"And they are all in for this examination?"

"Yes."

"Have you any reason to suspect any one of
them more than the others?"

Soames hesitated.

"It is a very delicate question," said he. "One
hardly likes to throw suspicion where there are no
proofs."

"Let us hear the suspicions. I will look after the
proofs."

"I will tell you, then, in a few words the charac-
ter of the three men who inhabit these rooms. The
lower of the three is Gilchrist, a fine scholar and
athlete; plays in the Rugby team and the cricket
team for the college, and got his Blue for the hur-
dles and the long jump. He is a fine, manly fellow.
His father was the notorious Sir Jabez Gilchrist,
who ruined himself on the turf. My scholar has
been left very poor, but he is hard-working and
industrious. He will do well.

"The second floor is inhabited by Daulat Ras,
the Indian. He is a quiet, inscrutable fellow, as
most of those Indians are. He is well up in his
work, though his Greek is his weak subject. He is
steady and methodical.

"The top floor belongs to Miles McLaren. He
is a brilliant fellow when he chooses to work — one
of the brightest intellects of the University, but he
is wayward, dissipated, and unprincipled. He was
nearly expelled over a card scandal in his first year.

He has been idling all this term, and he must look
forward with dread to the examination."

"Then it is he whom you suspect?"

"I dare not go so far as that. But of the three he
is perhaps the least unlikely."

"Exactly. Now, Mr. Soames, let us have a look
at your servant, Bannister."

He was a little, white-faced, clean-shaven,
grizzly-haired fellow of fifty. He was still suffering
from this sudden disturbance of the quiet routine
of his life. His plump face was twitching with his
nervousness, and his fingers could not keep still.

"We are investigating this unhappy business,
Bannister," said his master.

"Yes, sir."

"I understand," said Holmes, "that you left
your key in the door?"

"Yes, sir."

"Was it not very extraordinary that you should
do this on the very day when there were these pa-
pers inside?"

"It was most unfortunate, sir. But I have occa-
sionally done the same thing at other times."

"When did you enter the room?"

"It was about half-past four. That is Mr.
Soames's tea time."

"How long did you stay?"

"When I saw that he was absent I withdrew at
once."

"Did you look at these papers on the table?"

"No, sir; certainly not."

"How came you to leave the key in the door?"

"I had the tea-tray in my hand. I thought I
would come back for the key. Then I forgot."

"Has the outer door a spring lock?"

"No, sir."

"Then it was open all the time?"

"Yes, sir."

"Anyone in the room could get out?"

"Yes, sir."

"When Mr. Soames returned and called for
you, you were very much disturbed?"

"Yes, sir. Such a thing has never happened dur-
ing the many years that I have been here. I nearly
fainted, sir."

"So I understand. Where were you when you
began to feel bad?"

"Where was I, sir? Why, here, near the door."

"That is singular, because you sat down in that
chair over yonder near the corner. Why did you
pass these other chairs?"

524

The Adventure of the Three Students

"I don't know, sir. It didn't matter to me where
I sat."

"I really don't think he knew much about it,
Mr. Holmes. He was looking very bad — quite
ghastly."

"You stayed here when your master left?"

"Only for a minute or so. Then I locked the
door and went to my room."

"Whom do you suspect?"

"Oh, I would not venture to say, sir. I don't be-
lieve there is any gentleman in this University who
is capable of profiting by such an action. No, sir.
I'll not believe it."

"Thank you; that will do," said Holmes. "Oh,
one more word. You have not mentioned to any
of the three gentlemen whom you attend that any-
thing is amiss?"

"No, sir; not a word."

"You haven't seen any of them?"

"No, sir."

"Very good. Now, Mr. Soames, we will take a
walk in the quadrangle, if you please."

Three yellow squares of light shone above us in
the gathering gloom.

"Your three birds are all in their nests," said
Holmes, looking up. "Halloa! What's that? One of
them seems restless enough."

It was the Indian, whose dark silhouette ap-
peared suddenly upon his blind. He was pacing
swiftly up and down his room.

"I should like to have a peep at each of them,"
said Holmes. "Is it possible?"

"No difficulty in the world," Soames answered.
"This set of rooms is quite the oldest in the college,
and it is not unusual for visitors to go over them.
Come along, and I will personally conduct you."

"No names, please!" said Holmes, as we
knocked at Gilchrist's door. A tall, flaxen-haired,
slim young fellow opened it, and made us wel-
come when he understood our errand. There were
some really curious pieces of mediaeval domes-
tic architecture within. Holmes was so charmed
with one of them that he insisted on drawing it
on his note-book, broke his pencil, had to borrow
one from our host, and finally borrowed a knife to
sharpen his own. The same curious accident hap-
pened to him in the rooms of the Indian — a silent,
little, hook-nosed fellow, who eyed us askance and
was obviously glad when Holmes's architectural
studies had come to an end. I could not see that
in either case Holmes had come upon the clue for

which he was searching. Only at the third did
our visit prove abortive. The outer door would
not open to our knock, and nothing more substan-
tial than a torrent of bad language came from be-
hind it. "I don't care who you are. You can go to
blazes!" roared the angry voice. "To-morrow's the
exam, and I won't be drawn by anyone."

"A rude fellow," said our guide, flushing with
anger as we withdrew down the stair. "Of course,
he did not realize that it was I who was knocking,
but none the less his conduct was very uncourte-
ous, and, indeed, under the circumstances rather
suspicious."

Holmes's response was a curious one.

"Can you tell me his exact height?" he asked.

"Really, Mr. Holmes, I cannot undertake to say.
He is taller than the Indian, not so tall as Gilchrist.
I suppose five foot six would be about it."

"That is very important," said Holmes. "And
now, Mr. Soames, I wish you good-night."

Our guide cried aloud in his astonishment and
dismay. "Good gracious, Mr. Holmes, you are
surely not going to leave me in this abrupt fashion!
You don't seem to realize the position. To-morrow
is the examination. I must take some definite ac-
tion to-night. I cannot allow the examination to be
held if one of the papers has been tampered with.
The situation must be faced."

"You must leave it as it is. I shall drop round
early to-morrow morning and chat the matter over.
It is possible that I may be in a position then to
indicate some course of action. Meanwhile you
change nothing — nothing at all."

"Very good, Mr. Holmes."

"You can be perfectly easy in your mind. We
shall certainly find some way out of your difficul-
ties. I will take the black clay with me, also the
pencil cuttings. Good-bye."

When we were out in the darkness of the quad-
rangle we again looked up at the windows. The
Indian still paced his room. The others were invis-
ible.

"Well, Watson, what do you think of it?"
Holmes asked, as we came out into the main street.
"Quite a little parlour game — sort of three-card
trick, is it not? There are your three men. It must
be one of them. You take your choice. Which is
yours?"

"The foul-mouthed fellow at the top. He is the
one with the worst record. And yet that Indian
was a sly fellow also. Why should he be pacing
his room all the time?"

"There is nothing in that. Many men do it
when they are trying to learn anything by heart."

525

The Adventure of the Three Students

"He looked at us in a queer way."

"So would you if a flock of strangers came in
on you when you were preparing for an examina-
tion next day, and every moment was of value. No,
I see nothing in that. Pencils, too, and knives — all
was satisfactory. But that fellow does puzzle me."

"Who?"

"Why, Bannister, the servant. What's his game
in the matter?"

"He impressed me as being a perfectly honest
man."

"So he did me. That's the puzzling part. Why
should a perfectly honest man — well, well, here's
a large stationer's. We shall begin our researches
here."

There were only four stationers of any conse-
quence in the town, and at each Holmes produced
his pencil chips and bid high for a duplicate. All
were agreed that one could be ordered, but that it
was not a usual size of pencil and that it was sel-
dom kept in stock. My friend did not appear to be
depressed by his failure, but shrugged his shoul-
ders in half-humorous resignation.

"No good, my dear Watson. This, the best and
only final clue, has run to nothing. But, indeed,
I have little doubt that we can build up a suffi-
cient case without it. By Jove! my dear fellow, it
is nearly nine, and the landlady babbled of green
peas at seven-thirty. What with your eternal to-
bacco, Watson, and your irregularity at meals, I
expect that you will get notice to quit and that
I shall share your downfall — not, however, before
we have solved the problem of the nervous tutor,
the careless servant, and the three enterprising stu-
dents."

Holmes made no further allusion to the mat-
ter that day, though he sat lost in thought for a
long time after our belated dinner. At eight in the
morning he came into my room just as I finished
my toilet.

"Well, Watson," said he, "it is time we went
down to St. Luke's. Can you do without break-
fast?"

"Certainly."

"Soames will be in a dreadful fidget until we
are able to tell him something positive."

"Have you anything positive to tell him?"

"I think so."

"You have formed a conclusion?"

"Yes, my dear Watson; I have solved the mys-
tery."

"But what fresh evidence could you have got?"

"Aha! It is not for nothing that I have turned
myself out of bed at the untimely hour of six. I
have put in two hours' hard work and covered
at least five miles, with something to show for it.
Look at that!"

He held out his hand. On the palm were three
little pyramids of black, doughy clay.

"Why, Holmes, you had only two yesterday!"

"And one more this morning. It is a fair argu-
ment that wherever No. 3 came from is also the
source of Nos. 1 and 2. Eh, Watson? Well, come
along and put friend Soames out of his pain."

The unfortunate tutor was certainly in a state of
pitiable agitation when we found him in his cham-
bers. In a few hours the examination would com-
mence, and he was still in the dilemma between
making the facts public and allowing the culprit
to compete for the valuable scholarship. He could
hardly stand still, so great was his mental agita-
tion, and he ran towards Holmes with two eager
hands outstretched.

"Thank Heaven that you have come! I feared
that you had given it up in despair. What am I to
do? Shall the examination proceed?"

"Yes; let it proceed by all means."

"But this rascal — ?"

"He shall not compete."

"You know him?"

"I think so. If this matter is not to become pub-
lic we must give ourselves certain powers, and re-
solve ourselves into a small private court-martial.
You there, if you please, Soames! Watson, you
here! I'll take the arm-chair in the middle. I think
that we are now sufficiently imposing to strike ter-
ror into a guilty breast. Kindly ring the bell!"

Bannister entered, and shrunk back in evident
surprise and fear at our judicial appearance.

"You will kindly close the door," said Holmes.
"Now, Bannister, will you please tell us the truth
about yesterday's incident?"

The man turned white to the roots of his hair.

"I have told you everything, sir."

"Nothing to add?"

"Nothing at all, sir."

"Well, then, I must make some suggestions to
you. When you sat down on that chair yester-
day, did you do so in order to conceal some ob-
ject which would have shown who had been in the
room?"

Bannister's face was ghastly.

"No, sir; certainly not."

526

The Adventure of the Three Students

"It is only a suggestion," said Holmes, suavely.
"I frankly admit that I am unable to prove it. But it
seems probable enough, since the moment that Mr.
Soames's back was turned you released the man
who was hiding in that bedroom."

Bannister licked his dry lips.

"There was no man, sir."

"Ah, that's a pity, Bannister. Up to now you
may have spoken the truth, but now I know that
you have lied."

The man's face set in sullen defiance.

"There was no man, sir."

"Come, come, Bannister!"

"No, sir; there was no one."

"In that case you can give us no further infor-
mation. Would you please remain in the room?
Stand over there near the bedroom door. Now,
Soames, I am going to ask you to have the great
kindness to go up to the room of young Gilchrist,
and to ask him to step down into yours."

An instant later the tutor returned, bringing
with him the student. He was a fine figure of
a man, tall, lithe, and agile, with a springy step
and a pleasant, open face. His troubled blue eyes
glanced at each of us, and finally rested with an
expression of blank dismay upon Bannister in the
farther corner.

"Just close the door," said Holmes. "Now, Mr.
Gilchrist, we are all quite alone here, and no one
need ever know one word of what passes between
us. We can be perfectly frank with each other.
We want to know, Mr. Gilchrist, how you, an hon-
ourable man, ever came to commit such an action
as that of yesterday?"

The unfortunate young man staggered back
and cast a look full of horror and reproach at Ban-
nister.

"No, no, Mr. Gilchrist, sir; I never said a
word — never one word!" cried the servant.

"No, but you have now," said Holmes. "Now,
sir, you must see that after Bannister's words your
position is hopeless, and that your only chance lies
in a frank confession."

For a moment Gilchrist, with upraised hand,
tried to control his writhing features. The next he
had thrown himself on his knees beside the table
and, burying his face in his hands, he had burst
into a storm of passionate sobbing.

"Come, come," said Holmes, kindly; "it is hu-
man to err, and at least no one can accuse you of

being a callous criminal. Perhaps it would be eas-
ier for you if I were to tell Mr. Soames what oc-
curred, and you can check me where I am wrong.
Shall I do so? Well, well, don't trouble to answer.
Listen, and see that I do you no injustice.

"From the moment, Mr. Soames, that you said
to me that no one, not even Bannister, could have
told that the papers were in your room, the case
began to take a definite shape in my mind. The
printer one could, of course, dismiss. He could ex-
amine the papers in his own office. The Indian I
also thought nothing of. If the proofs were in a
roll he could not possibly know what they were.
On the other hand, it seemed an unthinkable coin-
cidence that a man should dare to enter the room,
and that by chance on that very day the papers
were on the table. I dismissed that. The man who
entered knew that the papers were there. How did
he know?

"When I approached your room I examined the
window. You amused me by supposing that I was
contemplating the possibility of someone having
in broad daylight, under the eyes of all these op-
posite rooms, forced himself through it. Such an
idea was absurd. I was measuring how tall a man
would need to be in order to see as he passed
what papers were on the central table. I am six
feet high, and I could do it with an effort. No one
less than that would have a chance. Already you
see I had reason to think that if one of your three
students was a man of unusual height he was the
most worth watching of the three.

"I entered and I took you into my confidence
as to the suggestions of the side table. Of the cen-
tre table I could make nothing, until in your de-
scription of Gilchrist you mentioned that he was a
long-distance jumper. Then the whole thing came
to me in an instant, and I only needed certain cor-
roborative proofs, which I speedily obtained.

"What happened was this. This young fel-
low had employed his afternoon at the athletic
grounds, where he had been practising the jump.
He returned carrying his jumping shoes, which are
provided, as you are aware, with several sharp
spikes. As he passed your window he saw, by
means of his great height, these proofs upon your
table, and conjectured what they were. No harm
would have been done had it not been that as he
passed your door he perceived the key which had
been left by the carelessness of your servant. A
sudden impulse came over him to enter and see if
they were indeed the proofs. It was not a danger-
ous exploit, for he could always pretend that he
had simply looked in to ask a question.

5 2 7

"Well, when he saw that they were indeed the
proofs, it was then that he yielded to temptation.
He put his shoes on the table. What was it you put
on that chair near the window?"

"Gloves," said the young man.

Holmes looked triumphantly at Bannister. "He
put his gloves on the chair, and he took the proofs,
sheet by sheet, to copy them. He thought the
tutor must return by the main gate, and that he
would see him. As we know, he came back by
the side gate. Suddenly he heard him at the very
door. There was no possible escape. He forgot his
gloves, but he caught up his shoes and darted into
the bedroom. You observe that the scratch on that
table is slight at one side, but deepens in the direc-
tion of the bedroom door. That in itself is enough
to show us that the shoe had been drawn in that di-
rection and that the culprit had taken refuge there.
The earth round the spike had been left on the ta-
ble, and a second sample was loosened and fell
in the bedroom. I may add that I walked out to
the athletic grounds this morning, saw that tena-
cious black clay is used in the jumping-pit, and
carried away a specimen of it, together with some
of the fine tan or sawdust which is strewn over it
to prevent the athlete from slipping. Have I told
the truth, Mr. Gilchrist?"

The student had drawn himself erect.

"Yes, sir, it is true," said he.

"Good heavens, have you nothing to add?"
cried Soames.

"Yes, sir, I have, but the shock of this disgrace-
ful exposure has bewildered me. I have a letter
here, Mr. Soames, which I wrote to you early this
morning in the middle of a restless night. It was
before I knew that my sin had found me out. Here
it is, sir. You will see that I have said, 'I have deter-
mined not to go in for the examination. I have been
offered a commission in the Rhodesian Police, and
I am going out to South Africa at once.' "

"I am indeed pleased to hear that you did not
intend to profit by your unfair advantage," said
Soames. "But why did you change your purpose?"

Gilchrist pointed to Bannister.

"There is the man who set me in the right
path," said he.

"Come now, Bannister," said Holmes. "It will
be clear to you from what I have said that only
you could have let this young man out, since you
were left in the room, and must have locked the
door when you went out. As to his escaping by
that window, it was incredible. Can you not clear
up the last point in this mystery, and tell us the
reasons for your action?"

"It was simple enough, sir, if you only had
known; but with all your cleverness it was impos-
sible that you could know. Time was, sir, when
I was butler to old Sir Jabez Gilchrist, this young
gentleman's father. When he was ruined I came to
the college as servant, but I never forgot my old
employer because he was down in the world. I
watched his son all I could for the sake of the old
days. Well, sir, when I came into this room yester-
day when the alarm was given, the very first thing
I saw was Mr. Gilchrist's tan gloves a-lying in that
chair. I knew those gloves well, and I understood
their message. If Mr. Soames saw them the game
was up. I flopped down into that chair, and noth-
ing would budge me until Mr. Soames he went for
you. Then out came my poor young master, whom
I had dandled on my knee, and confessed it all to
me. Wasn't it natural, sir, that I should save him,
and wasn't it natural also that I should try to speak
to him as his dead father would have done, and
make him understand that he could not profit by
such a deed? Could you blame me, sir?"

"No, indeed," said Holmes, heartily, springing
to his feet. "Well, Soames, I think we have cleared
your little problem up, and our breakfast awaits us
at home. Come, Watson! As to you, sir, I trust that
a bright future awaits you in Rhodesia. For once
you have fallen low. Let us see in the future how
high you can rise."

The Adventure of the Bruce-Partington Plans

n the third week of November, in the
y ear 1-895, a dense yellow fog settled
down upon London. From the Monday
, | t , the Thursday I doubt whether it was
ever possible from our windows in Baker Street
to see the loom of the opposite houses. The first
day Holmes had spent in cross-indexing his huge
book of references. The second and third had been
patiently occupied upon a subject which he hand
recently made his hobby — the music of the Mid-
dle Ages. But when, for the fourth time, after
pushing back our chairs from breakfast we saw
the greasy, heavy brown swirl still drifting past us
and condensing in oily drops upon the window-
panes, my comrade's impatient and active nature
could endure this drab existence no longer. He
paced restlessly about our sitting-room in a fever
of suppressed energy, biting his nails, tapping the
furniture, and chafing against inaction.

"Nothing of interest in the paper, Watson?" he
said.

In was aware that by anything of interest.
Holmes meant anything of criminal interest. There
was the news of a revolution, of a possible war,
and of an impending change of government; but
these did not come within the horizon of my com-
panion. I could see nothing recorded in the shape
of crime which was not commonplace and futile.
Holmes groaned and resumed hs restless mean-
derings.

"The London criminal is certainly a dull fel-
low," said he in the querulous voice of the sports-
man whose game has failed him. "Look out this
window, Watson. See how the figures loom up,
are dimly seen, and then blend once more into the
cloud-bank. The thief or the murderer could roam
London on such a day as the tiger does the jungle,
unseen until he pounces, and then evident only to
his victim."

"There have," said I, "been numerous petty
thefts."

Holmes snorted his contempt.

"This great and sombre stage is set for some-
thing more worthy than that," said he. "It is fortu-
nate for this community that I am not a criminal."

"It is, indeed!" said I heartily.

"Suppose that I were Brooks or Woodhouse, or
any of the fifty men who have good reason for tak-
ing my life, how long could I survive against my
own pursuit? A summons, a bogus appointment,
and all would be over. It is well they don't have
days of fog in the Latin countries — the countries

of assassination. By Jove! here comes something
at last to break our dead monotony."

It was the maid with a telegram. Holmes tore
it open and burst out laughing.

"Well, well! What next?" said he. "Brother My-
croft is coming round."

"Why not?" I asked.

"Why not? It is as if you met a tram-car com-
ing down a country lane. Mycroft has his rails and
he runs on them. His Pall Mall lodgings, the Dio-
genes Club, Whitehall — that is his cycle. Once, and
only once, he has been here. What upheaval can
possibly have derailed him?"

"Does he not explain?"

Holmes handed me his brother's telegram.

Must see you over Cadogen West.

Coming at once. — Mycroft.

"Cadogen West? I have heard the name."

"It recalls nothing to my mind. But that My-
croft should break out in this erratic fashion! A
planet might as well leave its orbit. By the way, do
you know what Mycroft is?"

I had some vague recollection of an explana-
tion at the time of the Adventure of the Greek In-
terpreter.

"You told me that he had some small office un-
der the British government."

Holmes chuckled.

"I did not know you quite so well in those days.
One has to be discreet when one talks of high mat-
ters of state. You are right in thinking that he un-
der the British government. You would also be
right in a sense if you said that occasionally he is
the British government."

"My dear Holmes!"

"I thought I might surprise you. Mycroft draws
four hundred and fifty pounds a year, remains a
subordinate, has no ambitions of any kind, will
receive neither honour nor title, but remains the
most indispensable man in the country."

"But how?"

"Well, his position is unique. He has made it
for himself. There has never been anything like
it before, nor will be again. He has the tidiest
and most orderly brain, with the greatest capac-
ity for storing facts, of any man living. The same
great powers which I have turned to the detec-
tion of crime he has used for this particular busi-
ness. The conclusions of every department are
passed to him, and he is the central exchange,
the clearinghouse, which makes out the balance.

789

The Adventure of the Bruce-Partington Plans

All other men are specialists, but his specialism
is omniscience. We will suppose that a minister
needs information as to a point which involves the
Navy, India, Canada and the bimetallic question;
he could get his separate advices from various de-
partments upon each, but only Mycroft can focus
them all, and say offhand how each factor would
affect the other. They began by using him as a
short-cut, a convenience; now he has made himself
an essential. In that great brain of his everything
is pigeon-holed and can be handed out in an in-
stant. Again and again his word has decided the
national policy. He lives in it. He thinks of noth-
ing else save when, as an intellectual exercise, he
unbends if I call upon him and ask him to advise
me on one of my little problems. But Jupiter is de-
scending to-day. What on earth can it mean? Who
is Cadogan West, and what is he to Mycroft?"

"I have it," I cried, and plunged among the lit-
ter of papers upon the sofa. "Yes, yes, here he
is, sure enough! Cadogen West was the young
man who was found dead on the Underground on
Tuesday morning."

Holmes sat up at attention, his pipe halfway to
his lips.

"This must be serious, Watson. A death which
has caused my brother to alter his habits can be no
ordinary one. What in the world can he have to do
with it? The case was featureless as I remember it.
The young man had apparently fallen out of the
train and killed himself. He had not been robbed,
and there was no particular reason to suspect vio-
lence. Is that not so?"

"There has been an inquest," said I, "and a
good many fresh facts have come out. Looked at
more closely, I should certainly say that it was a
curious case."

"Judging by its effect upon my brother, I
should think it must be a most extraordinary one."
He snuggled down in his armchair. "Now, Watson,
let us have the facts."

"The man's name was Arthur Cadogan West.
He was twenty-seven years of age, unmarried, and
a clerk at Woolwich Arsenal."

"Government employ. Behold the link with
Brother Mycroft!"

"He left Woolwich suddenly on Monday night.
Was last seen by his fiancee. Miss Violet Westbury,
whom he left abruptly in the fog about 7.30 that
evening. There was no quarrel between them and
she can give no motive for his action. The next
thing heard of him was when his dead body was

discovered by a plate-layer named Mason, just out-
side Aldgate Station on the Underground system
in London."

"When?"

"The body was found at six on Tuesday morn-
ing. It was lying wide of the metals upon the left
hand of the track as one goes eastward, at a point
close to the station, where the line emerges from
the tunnel in which it runs. The head was badly
crushed — an injury which might well have been
caused by a fall from the train. The body could
only have come on the line in that way. Had it
been carried down from any neighbouring street,
it must have passed the station barriers, where a
collector is always standing. This point seems ab-
solutely certain."

"Very good. The case is definite enough. The
man, dead or alive, either fell or was precipitated
from a train. So much is clear to me. Continue."

"The trains which traverse the lines of rail
beside which the body was found are those
which run from west to east, some being purely
Metropolitan, and some from Willesden and out-
lying junctions. It can be stated for certain that this
young man, when he met his death, was travelling
in this direction at some late hour of the night, but
at what point he entered the train it is impossible
to state."

"His ticket, of course, would show that."

"There was no ticket in his pockets."

"No ticket! Dear me, Watson, this is really very
singular. According to my experience it is not pos-
sible to reach the platform of a Metropolitan train
without exhibiting one's ticket. Presumably, then,
the young man had one. Was it taken from him in
order to conceal the station from which he came?
It is possible. Or did he drop it in the carriage?
That is also possible. But the point is of curious
interest. I understand that there was no sign of
robbery?"

"Apparently not. There is a list here of his
possessions. His purse contained two pounds fif-
teen. He had also a check-book on the Woolwich
branch of the Capital and Counties Bank. Through
this his identity was established. There were also
two dress-circle tickets for the Woolwich Theatre,
dated for that very evening. Also a small packet of
technical papers."

Holmes gave an exclamation of satisfaction.

"There we have it at last, Watson! British
government — Woolwich. Arsenal — technical pa-
pers — Brother Mycroft, the chain is complete. But

790

The Adventure of the Bruce-Partington Plans

here he comes, if I am not mistaken, to speak for
himself."

A moment later the tall and portly form of My-
croft Holmes was ushered into the room. Heavily
built and massive, there was a suggestion of un-
couth physical inertia in the figure, but above this
unwieldy frame there was perched a head so mas-
terful in its brow, so alert in its steel-gray, deep-set
eyes, so firm in its lips, and so subtle in its play
of expression, that after the first glance one forgot
the gross body and remembered only the domi-
nant mind.

At his heels came our old friend Lestrade, of
Scotland Yard — thin and austere. The gravity of
both their faces foretold some weighty quest. The
detective shook hands without a word. Mycroft
Holmes struggled out of his overcoat and subsided
into an armchair.

"A most annoying business, Sherlock," said
he. "I extremely dislike altering my habits, but
the powers that be would take no denial. In the
present state of Siam it is most awkward that I
should be away from the office. But it is a real cri-
sis. I have never seen the Prime Minister so upset.
As to the Admiralty — it is buzzing like an over-
turned bee-hive. Have you read up the case?"

"We have just done so. What were the technical
papers?"

"Ah, there's the point! Fortunately, it has not
come out. The press would be furious if it did.
The papers which this wretched youth had in his
pocket were the plans of the Bruce-Partington sub-
marine."

Mycroft Holmes spoke with a solemnity which
showed his sense of the importance of the subject.
His brother and I sat expectant.

"Surely you have heard of it? I thought every-
one had heard of it."

"Only as a name."

"Its importance can hardly be exaggerated. It
has been the most jealously guarded of all govern-
ment secrets. You may take it from me that naval
warfare becomes impossible within the radius of
a Bruce-Partington's operation. Two years ago a
very large sum was smuggled through the Esti-
mates and was expended in acquiring a monopoly
of the invention. Every effort has been made to
keep the secret. The plans, which are exceedingly
intricate, comprising some thirty separate patents,
each essential to the working of the whole, are kept
in an elaborate safe in a confidential office adjoin-
ing the arsenal, with burglar-proof doors and win-
dows. Under no conceivable circumstances were

the plans to be taken from the office. If the chief
constructor of the Navy desired to consult them,
even he was forced to go to the Woolwich office
for the purpose. And yet here we find them in
the pocket of a dead junior clerk in the heart of
London. From an official point of view it's simply
awful."

"But you have recovered them?"

"No, Sherlock, no! That's the pinch. We have
not. Ten papers were taken from Woolwich. There
were seven in the pocket of Cadogan West. The
three most essential are gone — stolen, vanished.
You must drop everything, Sherlock. Never mind
your usual petty puzzles of the police-court. It's a
vital international problem that you have to solve.
Why did Cadogan West take the papers, where are
the missing ones, how did he die, how came his
body where it was found, how can the evil be set
right? Find an answer to all these questions, and
you will have done good service for your country."

"Why do you not solve it yourself, Mycroft?
You can see as far as I."

"Possibly, Sherlock. But it is a question of
getting details. Give me your details, and from
an armchair I will return you an excellent expert
opinion. But to run here and run there, to cross-
question railway guards, and lie on my face with
a lens to my eye — it is not my metier. No, you are
the one man who can clear the matter up. If you
have a fancy to see your name in the next honours
list—"

My friend smiled and shook his head.

"I play the game for the game's own sake,"
said he. "But the problem certainly presents some
points of interest, and I shall be very pleased to
look into it. Some more facts, please."

"I have jotted down the more essential ones
upon this sheet of paper, together with a few ad-
dresses which you will find of service. The actual
official guardian of the papers is the famous gov-
ernment expert. Sir James Walter, whose decora-
tions and sub-titles fill two lines of a book of refer-
ence. He has grown gray in the service, is a gentle-
man, a favoured guest in the most exalted houses,
and, above all, a man whose patriotism is beyond
suspicion. He is one of two who have a key of
the safe. I may add that the papers were undoubt-
edly in the office during working hours on Mon-
day, and that Sir James left for London about three
o'clock taking his key with him. He was at the
house of Admiral Sinclair at Barclay Square dur-
ing the whole of the evening when this incident
occurred."

"Has the fact been verified?"

791

The Adventure of the Bruce-Partington Plans

"Yes; his brother. Colonel Valentine Walter, has
testified to his departure from Woolwich, and Ad-
miral Sinclair to his arrival in London; so Sir James
is no longer a direct factor in the problem."

"Who was the other man with a key?"

"The senior clerk and draughtsman, Mr. Sid-
ney Johnson. He is a man of forty, married, with
five children. He is a silent, morose man, but he
has, on the whole, an excellent record in the pub-
lic service. He is unpopular with his colleagues,
but a hard worker. According to his own account,
corroborated only by the word of his wife, he was
at home the whole of Monday evening after office
hours, and his key has never left the watch-chain
upon which it hangs."

"Tell us about Cadogan West."

"He has been ten years in the service and has
done good work. He has the reputation of being
hot-headed and imperious, but a straight, honest
man. We have nothing against him. He was next
Sidney Johnson in the office. His duties brought
him into daily, personal contact with the plans. No
one else had the handling of them."

"Who locked up the plans that night?"

"Mr. Sidney Johnson, the senior clerk."

"Well, it is surely perfectly clear who took them
away. They are actually found upon the person of
this junior clerk, Cadogan West. That seems final,
does it not?"

"It does, Sherlock, and yet it leaves so much
unexplained. In the first place, why did he take
them?"

"I presume they were of value?"

"He could have got several thousands for them
very easily."

"Can you suggest any possible motive for tak-
ing the papers to London except to sell them?"

"No, I cannot."

"Then we must take that as our working hy-
pothesis. Young West took the papers. Now this
could only be done by having a false key — "

"Several false keys. He had to open the build-
ing and the room."

"He had, then, several false keys. He took the
papers to London to sell the secret, intending, no
doubt, to have the plans themselves back in the
safe next morning before they were missed. While
in London on this treasonable mission he met his
end."

"How?"

"We will suppose that he was travelling back to
Woolwich when he was killed and thrown out of
the compartment."

"Aldgate, where the body was found, is con-
siderably past the station London Bridge, which
would be his route to Woolwich."

"Many circumstances could be imagined under
which he would pass London Bridge. There was
someone in the carriage, for example, with whom
he was having an absorbing interview. This inter-
view led to a violent scene in which he lost his life.
Possibly he tried to leave the carriage, fell out on
the line, and so met his end. The other closed the
door. There was a thick fog, and nothing could be
seen."

"No better explanation can be given with our
present knowledge; and yet consider, Sherlock,
how much you leave untouched. We will suppose,
for argument's sake, that young Cadogan West had
determined to convey these papers to London. He
would naturally have made an appointment with
the foreign agent and kept his evening clear. In-
stead of that he took two tickets for the theatre,
escorted his fiancee halfway there, and then sud-
denly disappeared."

"A blind," said Lestrade, who had sat listening
with some impatience to the conversation.

"A very singular one. That is objection No. 1.
Objection No. 2: We will suppose that he reaches
London and sees the foreign agent. He must bring
back the papers before morning or the loss will be
discovered. He took away ten. Only seven were in
his pocket. What had become of the other three?
He certainly would not leave them of his own free
will. Then, again, where is the price of his treason?
Once would have expected to find a large sum of
money in his pocket."

"It seems to me perfectly clear," said Lestrade.
"I have no doubt at all as to what occurred. He
took the papers to sell them. He saw the agent.
They could not agree as to price. He started home
again, but the agent went with him. In the train the
agent murdered him, took the more essential pa-
pers, and threw his body from the carriage. That
would account for everything, would it not?"

"Why had he no ticket?"

"The ticket would have shown which station
was nearest the agent's house. Therefore he took
it from the murdered man's pocket."

"Good, Lestrade, very good," said Holmes.
"Your theory holds together. But if this is true,
then the case is at an end. On the one hand,
the traitor is dead. On the other, the plans of

792

The Adventure of the Bruce-Partington Plans

the Bruce-Partington submarine are presumably
already on the Continent. What is there for us to
do?"

"To act, Sherlock — to act!" cried Mycroft,
springing to his feet. "All my instincts are against
this explanation. Use your powers! Go to the scene
of the crime! See the people concerned! Leave no
stone unturned! In all your career you have never
had so great a chance of serving your country."

"Well, well!" said Holmes, shrugging his shoul-
ders. "Come, Watson! And you, Lestrade, could
you favour us with your company for an hour or
two? We will begin our investigation by a visit to
Aldgate Station. Good-bye, Mycroft. I shall let you
have a report before evening, but I warn you in
advance that you have little to expect."

An hour later Holmes, Lestrade and I stood
upon the Underground railroad at the point where
it emerges from the tunnel immediately before
Aldgate Station. A courteous red-faced old gen-
tleman represented the railway company.

"This is where the young man's body lay," said
he, indicating a spot about three feet from the met-
als. "It could not have fallen from above, for these,
as you see, are all blank walls. Therefore, it could
only have come from a train, and that train, so far
as we can trace it, must have passed about mid-
night on Monday."

"Have the carriages been examined for any
sign of violence?"

"There are no such signs, and no ticket has
been found."

"No record of a door being found open?"

"None."

"We have had some fresh evidence this morn-
ing," said Lestrade. "A passenger who passed
Aldgate in an ordinary Metropolitan train about
11.40 on Monday night declares that he heard a
heavy thud, as of a body striking the line, just be-
fore the train reached the station. There was dense
fog, however, and nothing could be seen. He made
no report of it at the time. Why, whatever is the
matter with Mr. Holmes?"

My friend was standing with an expression of
strained intensity upon his face, staring at the rail-
way metals where they curved out of the tunnel.
Aldgate is a junction, and there was a network of
points. On these his eager, questioning eyes were
fixed, and I saw on his keen, alert face that tight-
ening of the lips, that quiver of the nostrils, and
concentration of the heavy, tufted brows which I
knew so well.

"Points," he muttered; "the points."

"What of it? What do you mean?"

"I suppose there are no great number of points
on a system such as this?"

"No; they are very few."

"And a curve, too. Points, and a curve. By Jove!
if it were only so."

"What is it, Mr. Holmes? Have you a clue?"

"An idea — an indication, no more. But the
case certainly grows in interest. Unique, perfectly
unique, and yet why not? I do not see any indica-
tions of bleeding on the line."

"There were hardly any."

"But I understand that there was a considerable
wound."

"The bone was crushed, but there was no great
external injury."

"And yet one would have expected some bleed-
ing. Would it be possible for me to inspect the
train which contained the passenger who heard
the thud of a fall in the fog?"

"I fear not, Mr. Holmes. The train has been
broken up before now, and the carriages redis-
tributed."

"I can assure you, Mr. Holmes," said Lestrade,
"that every carriage has been carefully examined.
I saw to it myself."

It was one of my friend's most obvious weak-
nesses that he was impatient with less alert intelli-
gences than his own.

"Very likely," said he, turning away. "As it hap-
pens, it was not the carriages which I desired to
examine. Watson, we have done all we can here.
We need not trouble you any further, Mr. Lestrade.
I think our investigations must now carry us to
Woolwich."

At London Bridge, Holmes wrote a telegram
to his brother, which he handed to me before dis-
patching it. It ran thus:

See some light in the darkness, but it
may possibly flicker out. Meanwhile,
please send by messenger, to await re-
turn at Baker Street, a complete list of
all foreign spies or international agents
known to be in England, with full
address. — Sherlock.

793

The Adventure of the Bruce-Partington Plans

"That should be helpful, Watson," he remarked
as we took our seats in the Woolwich train. "We
certainly owe Brother Mycroft a debt for having in-
troduced us to what promises to be a really very
remarkable case."

His eager face still wore that expression of in-
tense and high-strung energy, which showed me
that some novel and suggestive circumstance had
opened up a stimulating line of thought. See the
foxhound with hanging ears and drooping tail as
it lolls about the kennels, and compare it with the
same hound as, with gleaming eyes and straining
muscles, it runs upon a breast-high scent — such
was the change in Holmes since the morning. He
was a different man from the limp and lounging
figure in the mouse-coloured dressing-gown who
had prowled so restlessly only a few hours before
round the fog-girt room.

"There is material here. There is scope," said
he. "I am dull indeed not to have understood its
possibilities."

"Even now they are dark to me."

"The end is dark to me also, but I have hold of
one idea which may lead us far. The man met his
death elsewhere, and his body was on the roof of a
carriage."

"On the roof!"

"Remarkable, is it not? But consider the facts.
Is it a coincidence that it is found at the very point
where the train pitches and sways as it comes
round on the points? Is not that the place where an
object upon the roof might be expected to fall off?
The points would affect no object inside the train.
Either the body fell from the roof, or a very curi-
ous coincidence has occurred. But now consider
the question of the blood. Of course, there was
no bleeding on the line if the body had bled else-
where. Each fact is suggestive in itself. Together
they have a cumulative force."

"And the ticket, too!" I cried.

"Exactly. We could not explain the absence of
a ticket. This would explain it. Everything fits to-
gether."

"But suppose it were so, we are still as far as
ever from unravelling the mystery of his death. In-
deed, it becomes not simpler but stranger."

"Perhaps," said Holmes, thoughtfully, "per-
haps." He relapsed into a silent reverie, which
lasted until the slow train drew up at last in Wool-
wich Station. There he called a cab and drew My-
croft's paper from his pocket.

"We have quite a little round of afternoon calls
to make," said he. "I think that Sir James Walter
claims our first attention."

The house of the famous official was a fine villa
with green lawns stretching down to the Thames.
As we reached it the fog was lifting, and a thin,
watery sunshine was breaking through. A butler
answered our ring.

"Sir James, sir!" said he with solemn face. "Sir
James died this morning."

"Good heavens!" cried Holmes in amazement.
"How did he die?"

"Perhaps you would care to step in, sir, and see
his brother. Colonel Valentine?"

"Yes, we had best do so."

We were ushered into a dim-lit drawing-room,
where an instant later we were joined by a very
tall, handsome, light-beared man of fifty, the
younger brother of the dead scientist. His wild
eyes, stained cheeks, and unkempt hair all spoke
of the sudden blow which had fallen upon the
household. He was hardly articulate as he spoke
of it.

"It was this horrible scandal," said he. "My
brother. Sir James, was a man of very sensitive
honour, and he could not survive such an affair.
It broke his heart. He was always so proud of the
efficiency of his department, and this was a crush-
ing blow."

"We had hoped that he might have given us
some indications which would have helped us to
clear the matter up."

"I assure you that it was all a mystery to him
as it is to you and to all of us. He had already
put all his knowledge at the disposal of the police.
Naturally he had no doubt that Cadogan West was
guilty. But all the rest was inconceivable."

"You cannot throw any new light upon the af-
fair?"

"I know nothing myself save what I have read
or heard. I have no desire to be discourteous,
but you can understand, Mr. Holmes, that we are
much disturbed at present, and I must ask you to
hasten this interview to an end."

"This is indeed an unexpected development,"
said my friend when we had regained the cab. "I
wonder if the death was natural, or whether the
poor old fellow killed himself! If the latter, may it
be taken as some sign of self-reproach for duty ne-
glected? We must leave that question to the future.
Now we shall turn to the Cadogan Wests."

794

The Adventure of the Bruce-Partington Plans

A small but well-kept house in the outskirts of
the town sheltered the bereaved mother. The old
lady was too dazed with grief to be of any use to
us, but at her side was a white-faced young lady,
who introduced herself as Miss Violet Westbury,
the fiancee of the dead man, and the last to see
him upon that fatal night.

"I cannot explain it, Mr. Holmes," she said. "I
have not shut an eye since the tragedy, thinking,
thinking, thinking, night and day, what the true
meaning of it can be. Arthur was the most single-
minded, chivalrous, patriotic man upon earth. He
would have cut his right hand off before he would
sell a State secret confided to his keeping. It is
absurd, impossible, preposterous to anyone who
knew him."

"But the facts. Miss Westbury?"

"Yes, yes; I admit I cannot explain them."

"Was he in any want of money?"

"No; his needs were very simple and his salary
ample. He had saved a few hundreds, and we were
to marry at the New Year."

"No signs of any mental excitement? Come,
Miss Westbury, be absolutely frank with us."

The quick eye of my companion had noted
some change in her manner. She coloured and hes-
itated.

"Yes," she said at last, "I had a feeling that
there was something on his mind."

"For long?"

"Only for the last week or so. He was thought-
ful and worried. Once I pressed him about it. He
admitted that there was something, and that it was
concerned with his official life. 'It is too serious for
me to speak about, even to you/ said he. I could
get nothing more."

Holmes looked grave.

"Go on. Miss Westbury. Even if it seems to tell
against him, go on. We cannot say what it may
lead to."

"Indeed, I have nothing more to tell. Once or
twice it seemed to me that he was on the point of
telling me something. He spoke one evening of the
importance of the secret, and I have some recollec-
tion that he said that no doubt foreign spies would
pay a great deal to have it."

My friend's face grew graver still.

"Anything else?"

"He said that we were slack about such mat-
ters — that it would be easy for a traitor to get the
plans."

"Was it only recently that he made such re-
marks?"

"Yes, quite recently."

"Now tell us of that last evening."

"We were to go to the theatre. The fog was so
thick that a cab was useless. We walked, and our
way took us close to the office. Suddenly he darted
away into the fog."

"Without a word?"

"He gave an exclamation; that was all. I waited
but he never returned. Then I walked home. Next
morning, after the office opened, they came to in-
quire. About twelve o'clock we heard the terrible
news. Oh, Mr. Holmes, if you could only, only save
his honour! It was so much to him."

Holmes shook his head sadly.

"Come, Watson," said he, "our ways lie else-
where. Our next station must be the office from
which the papers were taken.

"It was black enough before against this young
man, but our inquiries make it blacker," he re-
marked as the cab lumbered off. "His coming mar-
riage gives a motive for the crime. He naturally
wanted money. The idea was in his head, since he
spoke about it. He nearly made the girl an accom-
plice in the treason by telling her his plans. It is all
very bad."

"But surely. Holmes, character goes for some-
thing? Then, again, why should he leave the girl
in the street and dart away to commit a felony?"

"Exactly! There are certainly objections. But it
is a formidable case which they have to meet."

Mr. Sidney Johnson, the senior clerk, met us at
the office and received us with that respect which
my companion's card always commanded. He was
a thin, gruff, bespectacled man of middle age, his
cheeks haggard, and his hands twitching from the
nervous strain to which he had been subjected.

"It is bad, Mr. Holmes, very bad! Have you
heard of the death of the chief?"

"We have just come from his house."

"The place is disorganized. The chief dead,
Cadogan West dead, our papers stolen. And yet,
when we closed our door on Monday evening, we
were as efficient an office as any in the government
service. Good God, it's dreadful to think of! That
West, of all men, should have done such a thing!"

"You are sure of his guilt, then?"

"I can see no other way out of it. And yet I
would have trusted him as I trust myself."

"At what hour was the office closed on Mon-
day?"

"At five."

795

The Adventure of the Bruce-Partington Plans

"Did you close it?"

"I am always the last man out."

"Where were the plans?"

"In that safe. I put them there myself."

"Is there no watchman to the building?"

"There is, but he has other departments to look
after as well. He is an old soldier and a most trust-
worthy man. He saw nothing that evening. Of
course the fog was very thick. "

"Suppose that Cadogan West wished to make
his way into the building after hours; he would
need three keys, would he not, before the could
reach the papers?"

"Yes, he would. The key of the outer door, the
key of the office, and the key of the safe."

"Only Sir James Walter and you had those
keys?"

"I had no keys of the doors — only of the safe."

"Was Sir James a man who was orderly in his
habits?"

"Yes, I think he was. I know that so far as those
three keys are concerned he kept them on the same
ring. I have often seen them there."

"And that ring went with him to London?"

"He said so."

"And your key never left your possession?"

"Never."

"Then West, if he is the culprit, must have had a
duplicate. And yet none was found upon his body.
One other point: if a clerk in this office desired to
sell the plans, would it not be simply to copy the
plans for himself than to take the originals, as was
actually done?"

"It would take considerable technical knowl-
edge to copy the plans in an effective way."

"But I suppose either Sir James, or you, or West
has that technical knowledge?"

"No doubt we had, but I beg you won't try to
drag me into the matter, Mr. Holmes. What is the
use of our speculating in this way when the origi-
nal plans were actually found on West?"

"Well, it is certainly singular that he should run
the risk of taking originals if he could safely have
taken copies, which would have equally served his
turn."

"Singular, no doubt — and yet he did so."

"Every inquiry in this case reveals something
inexplicable. Now there are three papers still miss-
ing. They are, as I understand, the vital ones."

"Yes, that is so."

"Do you mean to say that anyone holding these
three papers, and without the seven others, could
construct a Bruce-Partington submarine?"

"I reported to that effect to the Admiralty. But
to-day I have been over the drawings again, and I
am not so sure of it. The double valves with the
automatic self-adjusting slots are drawn in one of
the papers which have been returned. Until the
foreigners had invented that for themselves they
could not make the boat. Of course they might
soon get over the difficulty."

"But the three missing drawings are the most
important?"

"Undoubtedly."

"I think, with your permission, I will now take
a stroll round the premises. I do not recall any
other question which I desired to ask."

He examined the lock of the safe, the door of
the room, and finally the iron shutters of the win-
dow. It was only when we were on the lawn out-
side that his interest was strongly excited. There
was a laurel bush outside the window, and several
of the branches bore signs of having been twisted
or snapped. He examined them carefully with his
lens, and then some dim and vague marks upon
the earth beneath. Finally he asked the chief clerk
to close the iron shutters, and he pointed out to
me that they hardly met in the centre, and that it
would be possible for anyone outside to see what
was going on within the room.

"The indications are ruined by three days' de-
lay. They may mean something or nothing. Well,
Watson, I do not think that Woolwich can help us
further. It is a small crop which we have gathered.
Let us see if we can do better in London."

Yet we added one more sheaf to our harvest
before we left Woolwich Station. The clerk in the
ticket office was able to say with confidence that
he saw Cadogan West — whom he knew well by
sight — upon the Monday night, and that he went
to London by the 8.15 to London Bridge. He was
alone and took a single third-class ticket. The clerk
was struck at the time by his excited and nervous
manner. So shaky was he that he could hardly pick
up his change, and the clerk had helped him with
it. A reference to the timetable showed that the
8.15 was the first train which it was possible for
West to take after he had left the lady about 7.30.

"Let us reconstruct, Watson," said Holmes after
half an hour of silence. "I am not aware that in all
our joint researches we have ever had a case which
was more difficult to get at. Every fresh advance
which we make only reveals a fresh ridge beyond.

796

The Adventure of the Bruce-Partington Plans

And yet we have surely made some appreciable
progress.

"The effect of our inquiries at Woolwich has in
the main been against young Cadogan West; but
the indications at the window would lend them-
selves to a more favourable hypothesis. Let us sup-
pose, for example, that he had been approached
by some foreign agent. It might have been done
under such pledges as would have prevented him
from speaking of it, and yet would have affected
his thoughts in the direction indicated by his re-
marks to his fiancee. Very good. We will now sup-
pose that as he went to the theatre with the young
lady he suddenly, in the fog, caught a glimpse of
this same agent going in the direction of the of-
fice. He was an impetuous man, quick in his de-
cisions. Everything gave way to his duty. He fol-
lowed the man, reached the window, saw the ab-
straction of the documents, and pursued the thief.
In this way we get over the objection that no one
would take originals when he could make copies.
This outsider had to take originals. So far it holds
together."

"What is the next step?"

"Then we come into difficulties. One would
imagine that under such circumstances the first act
of young Cadogan West would be to seize the vil-
lain and raise the alarm. Why did he not do so?
Could it have been an official superior who took
the papers? That would explain West's conduct.
Or could the chief have given West the slip in the
fog, and West started at once to London to head
him off from his own rooms, presuming that he
knew where the rooms were? The call must have
been very pressing, since he left his girl standing
in the fog and made no effort to communicate with
her. Our scent runs cold here, and there is a vast
gap between either hypothesis and the laying of
West's body, with seven papers in his pocket, on
the roof of a Metropolitan train. My instinct now
is to work form the other end. If Mycroft has given
us the list of addresses we may be able to pick our
man and follow two tracks instead of one."

Surely enough, a note awaited us at Baker
Street. A government messenger had brought it
post-haste. Holmes glanced at it and threw it over
to me.

There are numerous small fry, but few
who would handle so big an affair.

The only men worth considering are
Adolph Mayer, of 13 Great George
Street, Westminster; Louis La Roth-
iere, of Campden Mansions, Notting
Hill; and Hugo Oberstein, 13 Caulfield

Gardens, Kensington. The latter was
known to be in town on Monday and
is now reported as having left. Glad
to hear you have seen some light. The
Cabinet awaits your final report with
the utmost anxiety. Urgent representa-
tions have arrived from the very high-
est quarter. The whole force of the State
is at your back if you should need it.

— Mycroft.

"I'm afraid," said Holmes, smiling, "that all
the queen's horses and all the queen's men can-
not avail in this matter." He had spread out his
big map of London and leaned eagerly over it.
"Well, well," said he presently with an exclama-
tion of satisfaction, "things are turning a little in
our direction at last. Why, Watson, I do honestly
believe that we are going to pull it off, after all." He
slapped me on the shoulder with a sudden burst
of hilarity. "I am going out now. It is only a recon-
naissance. I will do nothing serious without my
trusted comrade and biographer at my elbow. Do
you stay here, and the odds are that you will see
me again in an hour or two. If time hangs heavy
get foolscap and a pen, and begin your narrative
of how we saved the State."

I felt some reflection of his elation in my own
mind, for I knew well that he would not depart
so far from his usual austerity of demeanour un-
less there was good cause for exultation. All the
long November evening I waited, filled with im-
patience for his return. At last, shortly after nine
o'clock, there arrived a messenger with a note:

Am dining at Goldini's Restaurant,
Gloucester Road, Kensington. Please
come at once and join me there. Bring
with you a jemmy, a dark lantern, a
chisel, and a revolver. — S.H.

It was a nice equipment for a respectable citi-
zen to carry through the dim, fog-draped streets.
I stowed them all discreetly away in my overcoat
and drove straight to the address given. There sat
my friend at a little round table near the door of
the garish Italian restaurant.

"Have you had something to eat? Then join me
in a coffee and curacao. Try one of the proprietor's
cigars. They are less poisonous than one would ex-
pect. Have you the tools?"

"They are here, in my overcoat."

"Excellent. Let me give you a short sketch of
what I have done, with some indication of what
we are about to do. Now it must be evident to you,
Watson, that this young man's body was placed on

797

The Adventure of the Bruce-Partington Plans

the roof of the train. That was clear from the in-
stant that I determined the fact that it was from the
roof, and not from a carriage, that he had fallen."

"Could it not have been dropped from a
bridge?"

"I should say it was impossible. If you exam-
ine the roofs you will find that they are slightly
rounded, and there is no railing round them.
Therefore, we can say for certain that young Cado-
gan West was placed on it."

"How could he be placed there?"

"That was the question which we had to an-
swer. There is only one possible way. You are
aware that the Underground runs clear of tunnels
at some points in the West End. I had a vague
memory that as I have travelled by it I have occa-
sionally seen windows just above my head. Now,
suppose that a train halted under such a window,
would there be any difficulty in laying a body
upon the roof?"

"It seems most improbable."

"We must fall back upon the old axiom that
when all other contingencies fail, whatever re-
mains, however improbable, must be the truth.
Here all other contingencies have failed. When I
found that the leading international agent, who
had just left London, lived in a row of houses
which abutted upon the Underground, I was so
pleased that you were a little astonished at my
sudden frivolity."

"Oh, that was it, was it?"

"Yes, that was it. Mr. Hugo Oberstein, of 13
Caulfield Gardens, had become my objective. I
began my operations at Gloucester Road Station,
where a very helpful official walked with me along
the track and allowed me to satisfy myself not
only that the back-stair windows of Caulfield Gar-
dens open on the line but the even more essential
fact that, owing to the intersection of one of the
larger railways, the Underground trains are fre-
quently held motionless for some minutes at that
very spot."

"Splendid, Holmes! You have got it!"

"So far — so far, Watson. We advance, but the
goal is afar. Well, having seen the back of Caulfield
Gardens, I visited the front and satisfied myself
that the bird was indeed flown. It is a considerable
house, unfurnished, so far as I could judge, in the
upper rooms. Oberstein lived there with a single
valet, who was probably a confederate entirely in
his confidence. We must bear in mind that Ober-
stein has gone to the Continent to dispose of his
booty, but not with any idea of flight; for he had

no reason to fear a warrant, and the idea of an am-
ateur domiciliary visit would certainly never occur
to him. Yet that is precisely what we are about to
make."

"Could we not get a warrant and legalize it?"

"Hardly on the evidence."

"What can we hope to do?"

"We cannot tell what correspondence may be
there."

"I don't like it. Holmes."

"My dear fellow, you shall keep watch in the
street. I'll do the criminal part. It's not a time to
stick at trifles. Think of Mycroft's note, of the Ad-
miralty, the Cabinet, the exalted person who waits
for news. We are bound to go."

My answer was to rise from the table.

"You are right. Holmes. We are bound to go."

He sprang up and shook me by the hand.

"I knew you would not shrink at the last," said
he, and for a moment I saw something in his eyes
which was nearer to tenderness than I had ever
seen. The next instant he was his masterful, prac-
tical self once more.

"It is nearly half a mile, but there is no hurry.
Let us walk," said he. "Don't drop the instru-
ments, I beg. Your arrest as a suspicious character
would be a most unfortunate complication."

Caulfield Gardens was one of those lines of
flat-faced pillared, and porticoed houses which are
so prominent a product of the middle Victorian
epoch in the West End of London. Next door there
appeared to be a children's party, for the merry
buzz of young voices and the clatter of a piano
resounded through the night. The fog still hung
about and screened us with its friendly shade.
Holmes had lit his lantern and flashed it upon the
massive door.

"This is a serious proposition," said he. "It
is certainly bolted as well as locked. We would
do better in the area. There is an excellent arch-
way down yonder in case a too zealous policeman
should intrude. Give me a hand, Watson, and I'll
do the same for you."

A minute later we were both in the area.
Hardly had we reached the dark shadows before
the step of the policeman was heard in the fog
above. As its soft rhythm died away. Holmes set
to work upon the lower door. I saw him stoop and
strain until with a sharp crash it flew open. We
sprang through into the dark passage, closing the
area door behind us. Holmes let the way up the
curving, uncarpeted stair. His little fan of yellow
light shone upon a low window.

798

The Adventure of the Bruce-Partington Plans

"Here we are, Watson — this must be the one."
He threw it open, and as he did so there was a low,
harsh murmur, growing steadily into a loud roar
as a train dashed past us in the darkness. Holmes
swept his light along the window-sill. It was
thickly coated with soot from the passing engines,
but the black surface was blurred and rubbed in
places.

"You can see where they rested the body. Hal-
loa, Watson! what is this? There can be no doubt
that it is a blood mark." He was pointing to faint
discolourations along the woodwork of the win-
dow. "Here it is on the stone of the stair also. The
demonstration is complete. Let us stay here until
a train stops."

We had not long to wait. The very next train
roared from the tunnel as before, but slowed in the
open, and then, with a creaking of brakes, pulled
up immediately beneath us. It was not four feet
from the window-ledge to the roof of the carriages.
Holmes softly closed the window.

"So far we are justified," said he. "What do you
think of it, Watson?"

"A masterpiece. You have never risen to a
greater height."

"I cannot agree with you there. From the mo-
ment that I conceived the idea of the body being
upon the roof, which surely was not a very ab-
struse one, all the rest was inevitable. If it were
not for the grave interests involved the affair up
to this point would be insignificant. Our difficul-
ties are still before us. But perhaps we may find
something here which may help us."

We had ascended the kitchen stair and entered
the suite of rooms upon the first floor. One was
a dining-room, severely furnished and containing
nothing of interest. A second was a bedroom,
which also drew blank. The remaining room ap-
peared more promising, and my companion set-
tled down to a systematic examination. It was lit-
tered with books and papers, and was evidently
used as a study. Swiftly and methodically Holmes
turned over the contents of drawer after drawer
and cupboard after cupboard, but no gleam of suc-
cess came to brighten his austere face. At the end
of an hour he was no further than when he started.

"The cunning dog has covered his tracks," said
he. "He has left nothing to incriminate him. His
dangerous correspondence has been destroyed or
removed. This is our last chance."

It was a small tin cash-box which stood upon
the writing-desk. Holmes pried it open with his

chisel. Several rolls of paper were within, cov-
ered with figures and calculations, without any
note to show to what they referred. The recur-
ring words, "water pressure" and "pressure to the
square inch" suggested some possible relation to
a submarine. Holmes tossed them all impatiently
aside. There only remained an envelope with some
small newspaper slips inside it. He shook them
out on the table, and at once I saw by his eager
face that his hopes had been raised.

"What's this, Watson? Eh? What's this? Record
of a series of messages in the advertisements of
a paper. Daily Telegraph agony column by the
print and paper. Right-hand top corner of a page.
No dates — but messages arrange themselves. This
must be the first:

"Hoped to hear sooner. Terms agreed
to. Write fully to address given on card.

— Pierrot.

"Next comes:

"Too complex for description. Must
have full report. Stuff awaits you when
goods delivered. — Pierrot.

"Then comes:

"Matter presses. Must withdraw offer
unless contract completed. Make ap-
pointment by letter. Will confirm by
advertisement. — Pierrot.

"Finally:

"Monday night after nine. Two taps.

Only ourselves. Do not be so suspi-
cious. Payment in hard cash when
goods delivered. — Pierrot.

"A fairly complete record, Watson! If we could
only get at the man at the other end!" He sat lost in
thought, tapping his fingers on the table. Finally
he sprang to his feet.

"Well, perhaps it won't be so difficult, after all.
There is nothing more to be done here, Watson. I
think we might drive round to the offices of the
Daily Telegraph, and so bring a good day's work
to a conclusion."

Mycroft Holmes and Lestrade had come round
by appointment after breakfast next day and Sher-
lock Holmes had recounted to them our proceed-
ings of the day before. The professional shook his
head over our confessed burglary.

"We can't do these things in the force, Mr.
Holmes," said he. "No wonder you get results that
are beyond us. But some of these days you'll go
too far, and you'll find yourself and your friend in
trouble."

799

The Adventure of the Bruce-Partington Plans

"For England, home and beauty — eh, Watson?
Martyrs on the altar of our country But what do
you think of it, Mycroft?"

"Excellent, Sherlock! Admirable! But what use
will you make of it?"

Holmes picked up the Daily Telegraph which
lay upon the table.

"Have you seen Pierrot's advertisement to-
day?"

"What? Another one?"

"Yes, here it is:

"To-night. Same hour. Same place.

Two taps. Most vitally important. Your
own safety at stake. — Pierrot.

"By George!" cried Lestrade. "If he answers
that we've got him!"

"That was my idea when I put it in. I think if
you could both make it convenient to come with us
about eight o'clock to Caulfield Gardens we might
possibly get a little nearer to a solution."

One of the most remarkable characteristics of
Sherlock Holmes was his power of throwing his
brain out of action and switching all his thoughts
on to lighter things whenever he had convinced
himself that he could no longer work to advan-
tage. I remember that during the whole of that
memorable day he lost himself in a monograph
which he had undertaken upon the Polyphonic
Motets of Lassus. For my own part I had none
of this power of detachment, and the day, in con-
sequence, appeared to be interminable. The great
national importance of the issue, the suspense in
high quarters, the direct nature of the experiment
which we were trying — all combined to work upon
my nerve. It was a relief to me when at last, af-
ter a light dinner, we set out upon our expedition.
Lestrade and Mycroft met us by appointment at
the outside of Gloucester Road Station. The area
door of Oberstein's house had been left open the
night before, and it was necessary for me, as My-
croft Holmes absolutely and indignantly declined
to climb the railings, to pass in and open the hall
door. By nine o'clock we were all seated in the
study, waiting patently for our man.

An hour passed and yet another. When eleven
struck, the measured beat of the great church clock
seemed to sound the dirge of our hopes. Lestrade
and Mycroft were fidgeting in their seats and look-
ing twice a minute at their watches. Holmes sat
silent and composed, his eyelids half shut, but ev-
ery sense on the alert. He raised his head with a
sudden jerk.

"He is coming," said he.

There had been a furtive step past the door.
Now it returned. We heard a shuffling sound out-
side, and then two sharp taps with the knocker.
Holmes rose, motioning us to remain seated. The
gas in the hall was a mere point of light. He
opened the outer door, and then as a dark figure
slipped past him he closed and fastened it. "This
way!" we heard him say, and a moment later our
man stood before us. Holmes had followed him
closely, and as the man turned with a cry of sur-
prise and alarm he caught him by the collar and
threw him back into the room. Before our pris-
oner had recovered his balance the door was shut
and Holmes standing with his back against it. The
man glared round him, staggered, and fell sense-
less upon the floor. With the shock, his broad-
brimmed hat flew from his head, his cravat slipped
sown from his lips, and there were the long light
beard and the soft, handsome delicate features of
Colonel Valentine Walter.

Holmes gave a whistle of surprise.

"You can write me down an ass this time, Wat-
son," said he. "This was not the bird that I was
looking for."

"Who is he?" asked Mycroft eagerly.

"The younger brother of the late Sir James Wal-
ter, the head of the Submarine Department. Yes,
yes; I see the fall of the cards. He is coming to.
I think that you had best leave his examination to
me."

We had carried the prostrate body to the sofa.
Now our prisoner sat up, looked round him with
a horror-stricken face, and passed his hand over
his forehead, like one who cannot believe his own
senses.

"What is this?" he asked. "I came here to visit
Mr. Oberstein."

"Everything is known. Colonel Walter," said
Holmes. "How an English gentleman could be-
have in such a manner is beyond my comprehen-
sion. But your whole correspondence and relations
with Oberstein are within our knowledge. So also
are the circumstances connected with the death of
young Cadogan West. Let me advise you to gain
at least the small credit for repentance and con-
fession, since there are still some details which we
can only learn from your lips."

The man groaned and sank his face in his
hands. We waited, but he was silent.

"I can assure you," said Holmes, "that every es-
sential is already known. We know that you were
pressed for money; that you took an impress of the

800

The Adventure of the Bruce-Partington Plans

keys which your brother held; and that you en-
tered into a correspondence with Oberstein, who
answered your letters through the advertisement
columns of the Daily Telegraph. We are aware that
you went down to the office in the fog on Mon-
day night, but that you were seen and followed
by young Cadogan West, who had probably some
previous reason to suspect you. He saw your theft,
but could not give the alarm, as it was just possible
that you were taking the papers to your brother in
London. Leaving all his private concerns, like the
good citizen that he was, he followed you closely
in the fog and kept at your heels until you reached
this very house. There he intervened, and then it
was. Colonel Walter, that to treason you added the
more terrible crime of murder."

"I did not! I did not! Before God I swear that I
did not!" cried our wretched prisoner.

"Tell us, then, how Cadogan West met his end
before you laid him upon the roof of a railway car-
riage."

"I will. I swear to you that I will. I did the
rest. I confess it. It was just as you say. A Stock
Exchange debt had to be paid. I needed the money
badly. Oberstein offered me five thousand. It was
to save myself from ruin. But as to murder, I am
as innocent as you."

"What happened, then?"

"He had his suspicions before, and he followed
me as you describe. I never knew it until I was
at the very door. It was thick fog, and one could
not see three yards. I had given two taps and Ober-
stein had come to the door. The young man rushed
up and demanded to know what we were about to
do with the papers. Oberstein had a short life-
preserver. He always carried it with him. As West
forced his way after us into the house Oberstein
struck him on the head. The blow was a fatal one.
He was dead within five minutes. There he lay
in the hall, and we were at our wit's end what to
do. Then Oberstein had this idea about the trains
which halted under his back window. But first he
examined the papers which I had brought. He said
that three of them were essential, and that he must
keep them. 'You cannot keep them,' said I. 'There
will be a dreadful row at Woolwich if they are not
returned.' 'I must keep them,' said he, 'for they
are so technical that it is impossible in the time to
make copies.' 'Then they must all go back together
to-night,' said I. He thought for a little, and then
he cried out that he had it. 'Three I will keep,'
said he. 'The others we will stuff into the pocket
of this young man. When he is found the whole
business will assuredly be put to his account.' I

could see no other way out of it, so we did as he
suggested. We waited half an hour at the window
before a train stopped. It was so thick that nothing
could be seen, and we had no difficulty in lower-
ing West's body on to the train. That was the end
of the matter so far as I was concerned."

"And your brother?"

"He said nothing, but he had caught me once
with his keys, and I think that he suspected. I read
in his eyes that he suspected. As you know, he
never held up his head again."

There was silence in the room. It was broken
by Mycroft Holmes.

"Can you not make reparation? It would ease
your conscience, and possibly your punishment."

"What reparation can I make?"

"Where is Oberstein with the papers?"

"I do not know."

"Did he give you no address?"

"He said that letters to the Hotel du Louvre,
Paris, would eventually reach him."

"Then reparation is still within your power,"
said Sherlock Holmes.

"I will do anything I can. I owe this fellow no
particular good-will. He has been my ruin and my
downfall."

"Here are paper and pen. Sit at this desk and
write to my dictation. Direct the envelope to the
address given. That is right. Now the letter:

"Dear Sir:

"With regard to our transaction, you
will no doubt have observed by now
that one essential detail is missing. I
have a tracing which will make it com-
plete. This has involved me in extra
trouble, however, and I must ask you
for a further advance of five hundred
pounds. I will not trust it to the post,
nor will I take anything but gold or
notes. I would come to you abroad,
but it would excite remark if I left the
country at present. Therefore I shall ex-
pect to meet you in the smoking-room
of the Charing Cross Hotel at noon on
Saturday. Remember that only English
notes, or gold, will be taken.

801

"That will do very well. I shall be very much
surprised if it does not fetch our man."

And it did! It is a matter of history — that secret
history of a nation which is often so much more
intimate and interesting than its public chroni-
cles — that Oberstein, eager to complete the coup
of his lifetime, came to the lure and was safely en-
gulfed for fifteen years in a British prison. In his
trunk were found the invaluable Bruce-Partington
plans, which he had put up for auction in all the
naval centres of Europe.

Colonel Walter died in prison towards the end
of the second year of his sentence. As to Holmes,
he returned refreshed to his monograph upon the

Polyphonic Motets of Lassus, which has since been
printed for private circulation, and is said by ex-
perts to be the last word upon the subject. Some
weeks afterwards I learned incidentally that my
friend spent a day at Windsor, whence be returned
with a remarkably fine emerald tie-pin. When
I asked him if he had bought it, he answered
that it was a present from a certain gracious lady
in whose interests he had once been fortunate
enough to carry out a small commission. He said
no more; but I fancy that I could guess at that
lady's august name, and I have little doubt that the
emerald pin will forever recall to my friend's mem-
ory the adventure of the Bruce-Partington plans.

The Complete Sherlock Holmes Short Stories - Part 4