The Complete Sherlock Holmes Short Stories - Part 5

shsfive

shsfivef

The Complete Sherlock Holmes Short Stories - Part 5

    Part 1    Part 2    Part 3    Part 4    Part 5

THE HIGHGATE MIRACLE 

Though we were accustomed to receiving strange telegrams at our rooms in Baker Street, there was one which served to introduce an affair unique even in the 
annals of Mr. Sherlock Holmes. 

I had met Holmes for a stroll in the Regent's Park one dark, drizzling, but not too cold afternoon in December, during which we discussed certain personal affairs of 
mine with which I need not burden the reader. When we returned to the snug sitting-room at four o'clock, Mrs. Hudson brought up the telegram along with a 
substantial tea-tray. It was addressed to Holmes, and ran thus: 

"Can you imagine man worshipping umbrella? Husbands are irrational. Suspect chicanery with diamonds. Will call upon you tea-time— Mrs. Gloria Cabpleasure." 

I rejoiced to see a gleam of interest flash in Sherlock Holmes's deep-set eyes. 

"What's this, what's this?" said he, as with unusual appetite he attacked the hot buttered scones and jam. 

"Highgate postmark, hardly a fashionable area, and dispatched at three-seventeen. Study it, Watson!" 

At this time— to be more precise, it was late December of the year 1896—1 was not living in Baker Street, but I had come for a few days to visit old haunts. Under 
the heading for this year, my note-book records few cases. Of these only one, the affair of Mrs. Ronder, the veiled lodger, have I seen fit so far to set down; and 
Mrs. Ronder's problem afforded little scope for my friend's great powers. 

Thus Holmes entered a brief period of stagnation and desperation. As I saw his gaunt countenance in the shaded light of the table-lamp, I could not but rebuke myself. Of 
what moment were my trivial affairs against the thirst for abstruse problems raging in that extraordinary intellect? 

"It is possible," continued Holmes, snatching back the telegram to read it again, "that there may be in London two women with the singular and even striking name of 
Gloria Cabpleasure. But I doubt it." 

"You are acquainted with the lady, then?" 

"No, no, I have never even seen her. Still, I fancy she must be a certain beauty-specialist who— in any event, what do you make of this?" 

"Well, it presents that feature of the bizarre which is so dear to you. 'Can you imagine man worshipping umbrella?' But it is a little difficult." 

"True, Watson. A woman, however extravagant she may be in large matters, is usually economical in small. Mrs. Cabpleasure has been so thrifty of her 'an's' and 
'the's' that I am not at all sure of her meaning." 

"Nor I." 

"Does it mean that a certain man worships a certain umbrella? Or is man in the abstract, Englishmen perhaps, desired to bow down to the umbrella as his tribal deity 
and shield against the climate? At least, what can we deduce from it?" 

"Deduce? From the telegram?" 

"Of course." 

I was glad to laugh, since for that same brief time I had been feeling rheumatic and less than young. 

"Holmes, we cannot possibly deduce. We can only guess." 

"T ut, how often must I tell you that I never guess? It is a shocking habit, destructive of the logical faculty." 

"And yet, were I to adopt your own somewhat didactic manner, I should say that nothing affords less opportunity to the reasoner than a telegram, because it is so 
brief and impersonal." 

"Then I fear you would be wrong." 

"Confound it, Holmes—" 

"Yet, consider. When a man writes me a letter of a dozen pages, he may conceal his true nature in a cloud of words. When he is obliged to be terse, however, I know 
him at once. You may have remarked a similar thing in public speakers." 

"But this is a woman." 

"Yes, Watson, no doubt the fact makes a difference. But let me have your views. Come! Apply to a study of this telegram your own natural shrewdness." 

Thus challenged, and flattering myself that in the past I had not been altogether unhelpful to him, I did as I was requested. 

"Well," said I, "Mrs. Cabpleasure is surely very inconsiderate, since she makes an appointment without confirming it, and seems to think your time is her own." 
"Capital, Watson. You improve with the years. What else?" 

Inspiration rushed upon me. 

"Holmes, the word, 'Mrs.,' in so compressed a message, is totally unnecessary! I think I see it all!" 

"Better still, my dear fellow," said Sherlock Holmes, throwing down his napkin and clapping his hands together without noise. "I shall be happy to hear your analysis." 
"Mrs. Gloria Cabpleasure, Holmes, is a young bride. Being still in the proud flush of her newly wedded name, she is so insistent upon it that she uses it even in this 
message. What could be more natural? Especially when we think of a happy, perhaps beautiful young woman—" 

"Yes, yes. But be good enough, Watson, to omit the descriptive passages and come to the point." 

"By Jove, I am sure of it!" said I. "It supports my first modest deduction too. The poor girl is inconsiderate, let us say, merely because she is pampered by an 
affectionate young husband." 

But my friend shook his head. 

"I think not, Watson. If she were in the first strong pride of so-called wedded bliss, she would have signed herself 'Mrs. Henry Cabpleasure,' or 'Mrs. George 
Cabpleasure,' or whatever the name of her husband chanced to be. But in one respect, at least, you are correct. There is something odd— even disturbing— about 
that word 'Mrs.' She insists upon it too much." 

"My dear fellow!" 

Abruptly Holmes rose to his feet and wandered towards his arm-chair. Our gas was lit, and there was a cheery fire against the dark, bleak drizzle which we could hear 
dripping outside the window. 

But he did not sit down. Deep in concentration, his brows knitted, he slowly stretched out his hand towards the right side angle of the chimney-piece. A genuine thrill 
of emotion shot through my being as he picked up his violin, the old and beloved Stradivarius which, in his moodiness and black humor, he told me he had not 
touched for weeks. 

The light ran along satiny wood as he tucked the violin under his chin and whisked up the bow. None the less, my friend hesitated. He lowered both violin and bow with 
something like a snarl. 

"No, I have not yet enough data," said he, "and it is a cardinal error to theorize without data." 

"Then at least," said I, "it is a pleasure to think that I have deduced from the telegram as much as you have deduced yourself." 

"Oh, the telegram?" said Holmes, as though he had never heard of it. 

"Yes. Is there any point which I have overlooked?" 

"Well, Watson, I fear you were wrong in almost every particular. The woman who dispatched that telegram has been married for some years, and is no longer in her first 
youth. She is of either Scottish or American origin, well educated and well-to-do, but unhappily married and of a domineering disposition. On the other hand, it is 
probable that she is quite handsome. Though these are only trifling and obvious deductions, perhaps they may do." 

A few moments ago I had hoped to see Sherlock Holmes in such a mood, vigorous and alert, with the old mocking light in his eyes. Yet the bright-patterned china 
rattled upon the snowy napery as I smote the table a blow with my fist. 

"Holmes, this time you have carried a jest too far!" 

"My dear Watson, I do really beg your pardon. I had no idea you would take the matter so seri— " 



"For shame! In popular esteem, at least, only the vulgar live at Hampstead and Highgate, which are usually pronounced without the aspirate. You may be making 
sport of some wretched, ill-educated female who is on the point of starving!" 

"Hardly, Watson. Though an ill-educated woman might attempt such words as 'irrational' and 'chicanery,' she would be unlikely to spell them correctly. Similarly, since 
Mrs. Cabpleasure tells us that she suspects false dealing in a matter of diamonds, we may assume she does not scavenge her bread from dustbins." 

"She has been married for some years? And unhappily?" 

"We live in an age of propriety, Watson; and I confess I prefer it so." 

"What on earth has that to do with the matter?" 

"Only a woman who has been married for years, and hence past her first youth, will so candidly write in a telegram— under the eye of a post-office clerk— her belief that 
all husbands are irrational. You must perceive some sign of unhappiness, together with a domineering nature? Secondary inference: since the charge of chicanery 
appears to relate to her husband, this marriage must be even more unhappy than are most." 

"But her origin?" 

"Pray re-peruse the last sentence of the telegram. Only a Scot or an American says, 'Will call upon you,' when he, or in this case she, means the 'shall' of simple 
futurity, which would be used as a matter of course by any Englishwoman educated or uneducated. Are you answered?" 

"I— I— stay a moment! You stated, not as fancy but as fact, that she must be handsome!" 

"Ah, I can say only that it is probable. And the hypothesis comes not from the telegram." 

"Then from where?" 

"Come, did I not tell you I believe her to have been a beauty-specialist? Such ladies are seldom actually hideous-looking, else they are no strong advertisement 
for their own wares. But this, if I mistake not, is our client now." 

While he had been speaking, we heard a loud and decisive ring of the bell from below. There was some delay, during which the caller presumably expected our 
landlady to escort her formally to our sitting-room. Sherlock Holmes, putting away the violin and its bow, waited expectantly until Mrs. Gloria Cabpleasure entered the 
room. 

She was certainly handsome— tall, stately, of almost queenly bearing, though perhaps too haughty, with an abundance of rather brassy fair hair and cold, blue eyes. 
Clad in sables over a costly gown of dark-blue velvet, she wore a beige hat ornamented with a large white bird. 

Disdaining my offer to remove her outer coat, while Holmes performed introductions with easy courtesy, Mrs. Cabpleasure cast round one glance which seemed to sum 
up unfavourably our humble room, with its worn bearskin hearth-rug and acid-stained chemical table. Yet she consented to be seated in my arm-chair, clasping her 
white-gloved hands in her lap. 

"One moment, Mr. Holmes!" said she, politely, but in a hard, brisk voice. "Before I commit myself to anything, I must ask you to state the fee for your pro- 
fessional services." 

There was a slight pause before my friend answered. 

"My fees never vary, save when I remit them altogether." 

"Come, Mr. Holmes, I fear you think to take advantage of a poor weak woman! But in this case it will not do." 

"Indeed, madam?" 

"No, sir. Before I employ what you will forgive me for terming a professional spy, and risk being overcharged, I must again ask you to state your exact fee." 

Sherlock Holmes rose from his chair. 

"I am afraid, Mrs. Cabpleasure," said he, smiling, "that such small talents as I possess might be unavailing to assist you in your problem, and I regret exceedingly 
that you have been troubled by this call. Good-day, madam. Watson, will you kindly escort our guest downstairs?" 

"Stop!" cried Mrs. Cabpleasure, biting hard at her handsome lip. 

Holmes shrugged his shoulders and sank back again into the easy-chair. 

"You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Holmes. But it would be worth ten shillings or even a guinea to know why on earth my husband cherishes, worships, idolizes that pesti- 
lent shabby umbrella, and will never allow it away from his presence even at night!" 

Whatever Holmes might have felt, it was gone in his sense of starvation for a fresh problem. 

"Ah! Then your husband worships the umbrella in a literal sense?" 

"Did I not say so?" 

"No doubt the umbrella has some great financial or sentimental value?" 

"Stuff and nonsense! I was with him when he bought it two and a half years ago. He paid seven-and-six-pence for it at a shop in the Tottenham Court Road." 

"Yet perhaps some idiosyncrasy—?" 

Mrs. Gloria Cabpleasure looked shrewdly calculating. 

"No, Mr. Holmes. My husband is selfish, inhuman, and soulless. It is true, since my maternal great-grandfather was The McRea of McRea, in 
Aberdeenshire, I take good care to keep the man in his place. But Mr. Cabpleasure, aside from his vicious nature, has never done anything without very 
good reasons." 

Holmes looked grave. 

" 'Inhuman?' 'Vicious nature?' These are very serious terms indeed. Does he use you cruelly, then?" Our visitor raised even haughtier eyebrows. "No, but I have no 
doubt he would wish to do so. James is an abnormally strong brute, though he is only of middle height and has no more of what is called figure than a hop-pole. 
Pah, the vanity of men! His features are quite nondescript, but he is inordinately proud of a very heavy, very glossy brown moustache, which curves round his mouth like 
a horseshoe. He has worn it for years; and, indeed, next to that umbrella—" 

"Umbrella!" muttered Holmes. "Umbrella! Forgive the interruption, madam, but I should desire more details of your husband's nature." 

"It makes him look only like a police-constable." 

"I beg your pardon?" 

"The moustache, I mean." 

"But does your husband drink? Interest himself in other women? Gamble? Keep you short of money? What, none of these things?" 

"I presume, sir," retorted Mrs. Cabpleasure loftily, "that you are desirous of hearing merely the relevant facts? It is for you to provide an explanation. I wish to 
hear this elucidation. I will tell you whether it satisfies me. Would it not demonstrate better breeding on your part were you to permit me to state the facts?" 
Holmes's thin lips closed tightly. "Pray do so." 

"My husband is the senior partner of the firm of Cabpleasure & Brown, the well-known diamond-brokers of Hatton Garden. Throughout the fifteen years of our wedlock— 
ugh!—' we have seldom been separated for more than a fortnight's time, save on the latest and most sinister occasion." 

"The latest occasion?" 

"Yes, sir. Only yesterday afternoon James returned home from a protracted six months' business journey to Amsterdam and Paris, as idolatrous of that umbrella as 
ever. Never has he been more idolatrous, throughout the full year during which he has worshipped it." 

Sherlock Holmes, who had been sitting with his fingertips pressed together and his long legs stretched out, gave a slight start. 

"The full year, madam?" demanded he. "Yet a moment ago you remarked that Mr. Cabpleasure had bought the umbrella two and a half years ago. Am I to 
understand that his— his worship dates from just a year ago?" 

"You may certainly so understand it, yes." 



"That is suggestive! That is most suggestive!" My friend looked thoughtful. "But of what? We— yes, yes, Watson? What is it? You appear to have become impatient." 
Though it was not often that I ventured to vouchsafe my own suggestion before Holmes had asked for one, upon this occasion I could not forbear. 

"Holmes," cried I, "surely this problem is not too difficult? It is an umbrella: it has a curved handle, which is probably thick. In a hollow handle, or perhaps some other 
part of the umbrella, it would be easy to hide diamonds or other valuable objects." 

Our guest did not even deign to look at me. "Do you imagine that I would have stooped to visit you, Mr. Holmes, if the answer were as simple as all that?" 
"You are sure it is not the true explanation?" Holmes asked quickly. 

"Quite sure. I am sharp, Mr. Holmes," said the lady, whose handsome profile did in truth appear to have a knife-edge; "I am very sharp. Let me illustrate. For years 
after my marriage I consented to preside over the Madame Dubarry Salon de Beaute in Bond Street. Why do you think that a McRea of McRea would condescend to 
use such a cognomen as Cabpleasure, open as it is to comment from a primitive sense of humour?" 

"Well, madam?" 

"Clients or prospective clients might stare at such a name. But they would remember it." 

"Yes, yes, I confess to having seen the name upon the window. But you spoke of the umbrella?" 

"One night some eight months ago, while my husband lay in slumber, I went privily into his sleeping-chamber from my own, removed the umbrella from beside his 
bed, and took it downstairs to an artisan." 

"An artisan?" 

"A rough person, employed in the manufacture of umbrellas, whom I had summoned to Happiness Villa, The Arbour, Highgate, for that purpose. This person 
took the umbrella to pieces and restored it so ingeniously that my husband was never aware it had been examined. Nothing was concealed inside; nothing is concealed 
inside; nothing could be concealed inside. It is a shabby umbrella, and no more." 

"None the less, madam, he may set great store by the umbrella only as some men cherish a good-luck charm." 

"On the contrary, Mr. Holmes, he hates it. 'Mrs. Cabpleasure,' he has said to me on more than one occasion, 'that umbrella will be the death of me; yet I must 
not relinquish it!' " 

"H'm! He made no further explanation?" 

"None. And even suppose he keeps the umbrella as a good-luck charm, which he does not! When in a moment of abstraction he leaves it behind for only a 
few seconds, in house or office, why does he utter a cry of dread and hasten back for it? If you are not stupid, Mr. Holmes, you must have some notion. 
But I see the matter is beyond you." 

Holmes was grey with anger and mortification. 

"It is a very pretty little problem," said he. "At the same time, I fail to see what action I can take. So far I have heard no facts to indicate that your 
husband is a criminal or even in the least vicious." 

"Then it was not a crime, I dare say, when yesterday he stole a large number of diamonds from a safe belonging jointly to himself and to his business 
partner, Mr. Mortimer Brown?" 

Holmes raised his eyebrows. 

"H'm. This becomes more interesting." 

"Oh, yes," said our fair visitor, coolly. "Yesterday, before returning home, my husband paid a visit to his office. Subsequently there arrived at our 
home a telegram sent to him by Mr. Mortimer Brown. It read as follows: 

"Did you remove from our safe twenty-six diamonds belonging to the Cowles-Derningham lot?" 

"H'm. Your husband showed you the telegram, then?" 

"No. I merely exercised a perfect right to open it." 

"But you questioned him as to its contents?" 

"Naturally not, since I preferred to bide my time. Late last night, though little he suspects I followed him, my husband crept downstairs in his night-g— crept 
downstairs, and held a whispered conversation in the mist with some unseen person just outside a ground-floor window. I could overhear only two sentences. 
'Be outside the gate before eight-thirty on Thursday morning,' said my husband. 'Don't fail me!"' 

"And what did you take to be the meaning of it?" 

"Outside the gate of our house, of course! My husband always leaves for his office punctually at eight-thirty. And Thursday, Mr. Holmes: that is tomorrow morning! Whatever 
criminal scheme the wretch has prepared, it will reach fruition tomorrow. But you must be there to intervene." 

Holmes's long, thin fingers crept out towards the mantelshelf as though in search of a pipe, but he drew his hand back. 

"At eight-thirty tomorrow morning, Mrs. Cabpleasure, there will be scarcely a gleam of daylight." 

"Surely that is no concern of yours! You are paid to spy in all weathers. I must insist that you be there promptly and in a sober condition." 

"Now by heaven, madam—!" 

"And that, I fear, is all the time I can afford to spare you now. Should your fee be more than nominal or what I consider reasonable, it will not be paid. Good day, sir. 
Good day!" 

The door closed behind her. 

"Do you know, Watson," remarked Holmes, with a bitter flush in his thin cheeks, "that if I did not crave such a problem as this, actually crave it—" 

Though he did not complete the sentence, I echoed the sentiments he must have felt. 

"Holmes, that lady is no true Scotswoman! What is more, though it grieves me to say so, I would wager a year's half-pay she is no relation whatever to The McRea 
of McRea." 

"You seem a little warm, Watson, upon the subject of your own forebears' ancestral homeland. Still, I cannot blame you. Such airs as Mrs. Cabpleasure's 
become a trifle ridiculous when worn at second-hand. But how to fathom the secret of the umbrella?" 

Going to the window, I was just in time to see the white bird on the hat of our late visitor disappearing inside a four-wheeler. A chocolate-coloured omnibus of the Baker 
Street and Waterloo line rattled past through deepening dusk. The outside passengers of the omnibus, all twelve of them, had their umbrellas raised against a 
rawer, colder fall of rain. Seeing only a forest of umbrellas, I turned from the window in despair. 

"Holmes, what will you do?" 

"Well, the hour is a little late to pursue an obvious line of enquiry in Hatton Garden. Mr. James Cabpleasure, with his glossy moustache and his much-prized umbrella, 
must wait until tomorrow." 

Accordingly, with no premonition of the thunderbolt in store, I accompanied my friend to Happiness Villa, The Arbour, Highgate, at twenty minutes past eight 
on the following morning. 

It was pitch dark when we took breakfast by gaslight. But the rain had ceased, and the sky cleared into quiet, shivering cold. By the time a hansom set us down 
before Mr. and Mrs. Cabpleasure's house, there was enough grey light so that we could see the outlines of our surroundings. 

The house was a large one. Set some thirty yards back from the road, behind a waist-high stone wall, it was built of stucco in the Gothic style, with sham 
battlements and also a sham turret. Even the front door was set inside a panelled entry beyond an open Gothic arch. Though the entry lay in darkness, two windows 
glowed yellow on the floor above. 

Sherlock Holmes, in his Inverness cape and ear-flapped travelling-cap, looked eagerly around him. 



"Ha!" said he, placing his hand on the waist-high wall along the road. "Semi-circle of carriage-drive, I see, entering the ground through a gate in the wall there," and 
he nodded towards a point some distance ahead of us on the pavement. "The carriage-drive passes the front door, with one narrow branch towards a tradesmen's 
entrance, and returns to the road through a second gate in the wall —here beside us. Hullo, look there!" 

"Is anything wrong?" 

"Look ahead, Watson! There, by the far gate in the wall! That can't be Inspector Lestrade? By Jove, it is Lestrade!" 

A wiry little bulldog of a man, in a hard hat and a plaid greatcoat, was already hurrying towards us along the pavement. Behind him I could see the helmets 
of at least two police-constables, like twins with their blue bulk and heavy moustaches. 

"Don't tell me, Lestrade," cried Holmes, "that Mrs. Cabpleasure also paid a visit to Scotland Yard?" 

"If she did, Mr. Holmes, she went to the right shop," said Lestrade, with much complacence. "Hallo, Dr. Watson! It must be fifteen years and a bit since I first met 
you, but Mr. Holmes here is still the theorist and I'm still the practical man." 

"Quick, Lestrade!" said Holmes. "The lady must have told you much the same story as she told us. When did she call upon you?" 

"Yesterday morning. We're quick movers at Scotland Yard. We spent the rest of the day investigating this Mr. James Cabpleasure." 

"Indeed? What did you discover?" 

"Well, everybody thinks highly of the gentleman, and seems to like him. Outside office hours he is a hard reader, almost a bookworm, and his wife don't like that. But he's 
a great mimic, they say, and got quite a sense of humour." 

"Yes, I fancied he must have a sense of humor." 

"You've met him, Mr. Holmes?" 

"No, but I have met his wife." 

"Anyway, I met him last night. Paid a visit to take his measure. Oh, only on a pretext! Nothing to put him on his guard, of course." 

"No, of course not," said Holmes, with a groan. "Tell me, Lestrade: have you not discovered that this gentleman has a reputation for complete honesty?" 

"Yes, that's what makes it so suspicious," said Lestrade, with a cunning look. "By George, Mr. Holmes! I'm bound to admit I don't much like his lady, but she's got a 
very clear head. By George! I'll clap the darbies on that gentleman before you can say Jack Robinson!" 

"My dear Lestrade! You will clap the handcuffs on him for what offence?" 

"Why, because— stop!" cried Lestrade. "Hallo! You, there! Stand where you are!" 

We had advanced to meet Lestrade until we were all half-way between the two gates in the low boundary wall. Now Lestrade had dashed past us towards the 
gate near which we had been standing at the beginning. There, as though conjured from the raw morning murk, was a portly and florid-faced gentleman, 
rather nervous-looking, in a grey top hat and a handsome grey greatcoat. 

"I must ask you, sir," cried Lestrade, with more dignity as he noted the newcomer's costly dress, "to state your name, and give some account of yourself." 

The portly newcomer, even more nervous, cleared his throat. 

"Certainly," said he. "My name is Harold Mortimer Brown, and I am Mr. Cabpleasure's partner in the firm of Cabpleasure & Brown. I dismissed my hansom 
a short way down the road. I— er— live in South London." 

"You live in South London," said Lestrade, "yet you have come all the way to the heights of North London? Why?" 

"My dear Mr. Mortimer Brown," interposed Holmes, with a suavity which clearly brought relief to the florid-faced man, "you must forgive a certain 
impulsiveness on the part of my old friend Inspector Lestrade, who is from Scotland Yard. My name is Sherlock Holmes, and I shall be deeply indebted to you if 
you will be good enough to answer only one question. Did your partner really steal—" 

"Stop!" Lestrade exclaimed again. 

This time he whipped round to look at the far gate. A milk-wagon, its large and laden cans of milk clanking to the clop of the horse's hoofs, went jolting 
through that gate and up the curve of the gravelled drive towards the house in stucco Gothic. 

Lestrade quivered like the little bulldog he was. 

"That milk-wagon will bear watching," cried he. "Anyway, let's hope it won't obstruct our view of the front door." 

Fortunately, it did not obstruct our view. The milkman, whistling merrily, jumped down from the wagon and went into the entry to fill the small milk-jug 
which we later found was waiting for him outside the front door. But, no sooner had he disappeared under the Gothic arch of the entry, than all thought of the milk- 
wagon was driven from my mind. 

"Mr. Holmes!" whispered Lestrade in a tense voice. 

"There he is!" 

Clearly we heard the slam of the front door. Distinguished-looking in glossy hat and heavy greatcoat, there emerged into the drive a conspicuously moustached gentleman 
whom I deduced, correctly enough, to be Mr. James Cabpleasure on the way to his office. 

"Mr. Holmes!" repeated Lestrade. "He hasn't got his umbrella!" 

It was as though Lestrade's very thought winged through the grey bleakness into Mr. Cabpleasure's brain. Abruptly the diamond-broker halted in the drive. As 
though galvanized, he looked up at the sky. Uttering a wordless cry which I confess struck a chill into my heart, he rushed back into the house. 

Again the front door slammed. A clearly astonished milkman, turning round to glance back, said something inaudible before he climbed to the seat of the wagon. 

"I see it all," declared Lestrade, snapping his fingers. "They think they can deceive me, but they can't. Mr. Holmes, I must stop that milkman!" 

"In heaven's name, why should you stop the milkman?" 

"He and Mr. Cabpleasure were close to each other in that entry. I saw them! Mr. Cabpleasure could have passed the stolen diamonds to his confederate, the 
milkman." 

"But, my dear Lestrade—" 

The man from Scotland Yard would not listen. As the milk-wagon rumbled towards the gate by which we stood, he hurried forward and held up his hand in its path so 
that the driver, with a curse, was obliged to rein in even that slow-moving horse. 

"I've seen you before," said Lestrade, in his bullying voice. "Look sharp, now; I'm a police-officer. Is your name not Hannibal Throgmorton, alias Felix Porteus?" 
The milkman's long, clean-shaven face gaped in amazement. 

"Me name's Alf Peters," he returned warmly, "and here's me roundsman card with me photograph on it and the blinking manager's signature to prove it! Who do you 
think I am, Governor— Cecil Rhodes?" 

"You pull up your socks, my lad, or you'll find yourself in Queer Street. Get down from the wagon! Yes, that's it; get down!" Here Lestrade turned to the two 
police-constables who accompanied him. "Burton! Murdock! Search that milkman!" 

Alf. Peters' howl of protest was strangled as the constables seized him. Though lanky and only of middle height, Peters put up such a sporting fight that it was 
minutes before the constables could complete their search. They found nothing. 

"Then the diamonds must be in one of those five-gallon milk-cans! We've no time for kid-glove methods. Pour out the milk on the ground!" 

The language of the infuriated milkman, as this was done, cannot be called anything save improper. 

"What, nothing there either?" demanded Lestrade. "Well, he may have swallowed the diamonds. Shall we take him to the nearest police-station?" 

"Oh, crickey," screamed Alf Peters, "he ain't fit to be loose. He's off his blooming chump! Why don't he take a blooming axe and smash the blooming wagon?" 

It was Holmes's strident, authoritative voice which restored order. 



"Lestrade! Have the kindness to let Peters go. In the first place, he is unlikely to have swallowed twenty-six diamonds. In the second place, if Mr. Cabpleasure wished 
to give the diamonds to a fellow-conspirator, why did he not do so late on Tuesday night, when he held a secret conversation with someone at a ground-floor 
window? His whole behaviour, as described by his wife, becomes as irrational as his conduct with the umbrella. Unless—" 

Sherlock Holmes had been standing in moody doubt, his head forward and his arms folded inside his cape. Now, glancing first towards the tradesmen's entrance 
and then towards the front of the house, he raised his head. Even his cold, emotionless nature could not repress the exclamation which rose to his lips. For a moment 
he remained motionless, his tall, lean figure outlined against a lightening sky. 

"By Jove, Lestrade!" said he. "Mr. James Cabpleasure is rather a long time in returning with his umbrella." 

"What's that, Mr. Holmes?" 

"I might venture to utter a trifling prophecy. I might venture to say Mr. Cabpleasure has gone; that he has already vanished from the house." 

"But he can't possibly have vanished from the house!" cried Lestrade. 

"May I ask why not?" 

"Because I stationed police-constables all round the house, in case he tried to give us the slip. Every door and window is watched! Not so much as a rat could have got 
out of that house without being seen, and can't get out now." 

"Nevertheless, Lestrade, I must repeat my little prophecy. If you search the house, I think you will find that Mr. Cabpleasure has disappeared like a soapbubble." 
Pausing only to put a police-whistle to his lips, Lestrade plunged towards the house. Alf Peters, the milkman, improved this opportunity to whip up his horse and clatter 
frantically away as though from the presence of a dangerous lunatic. Even Mr. Mortimer Brown, despite his venerable portliness and florid face, ran down the road with 
his hat clutched to his head, and without having answered whatever query my friend had wished to ask him. 

"Hold your peace, Watson," said Holmes, in his imperious fashion. "No, no, I am not joking in what I say. You will find the matter extremely simple when you perceive 
the significance of one point." 

"And what point is that?" 

"The true reason why Mr. Cabpleasure cherishes his umbrella," said Sherlock Holmes. 

Slowly the sky strengthened to such wintry brightness that the two gas-lit windows, which I have mentioned as glowing from an upper floor, were paled by the sun. 
Ceaselessly the search went on, with far more police-constables than seemed necessary. 

At the end of a full hour, during which Holmes had not moved, Lestrade rushed out of the house. His face wore a look of horror which I know was reflected in my 
own. 

"It's true, Mr. Holmes! His hat, his greatcoat and his umbrella are lying just inside the front door. But—" 

"Yes?" 

"I'll take my oath that the villain's not hidden in the house, and yet they all swear he never left it either!" 

"Who is in the house now?" 

"Only his wife. Last night, after I spoke with him, it seems he gave the servants a night off. Almost drove 'em out of the house, his wife says, without a word of warning. 
They didn't much like it, some of 'em wondering where they should go, but they had no choice." 

Holmes whistled. 

"The wife!" said he. "By the way, how is it that through all this tumult we have neither seen nor heard Mrs. Gloria Cabpleasure? Is it possible that last night 
she was drugged? That she found herself growing irresistibly drowsy, and has only recently awakened?" 

Lestrade fell back a step as though from the eye of a sorcerer. 

"Mr. Holmes, why do you think it was that?" 

"Because it could have been nothing else." 

"Well, it's gospel truth. The lady is accustomed to drink a cup of hot meat-juice an hour before going to bed. That meat-juice last night was so doused with 
powdered opium that there are still traces in the cup." Lestrade's face darkened. "But the less I see of that lady, by George, the better I shall like it." 

"At least she has made a good recovery, for I perceive her now at the window." 

"Never mind her," said Lestrade. "Just tell me how that thieving diamond-broker vanished slap under our eyes!" 

"Holmes," said I, "surely there is only one explanation. 

Mr. Cabpleasure departed by some secret way or passage." 

"There's no such thing," shouted Lestrade. 

"I quite agree," said Holmes. "That is a modern house, Watson, or at least one built within the last twenty-odd years. Present-day builders, unlike their ancestors, 
seldom include a secret passage. But I cannot see, Lestrade, that there is any more I can do here." 

"You can't leave now!" 

"Not leave?" 

"No! You may be a theorist and not practical, but I can't deny you've given me a bit of help once or twice in the past. If you can guess how a man 
vanished by a miracle, it's your duty as a citizen to tell me." Holmes hesitated. 

"Very well," said he. "There are reasons why I should prefer to be silent for the time being. But perhaps I may give you a hint. Had you thought of 
disguise?" 

For a time Lestrade gripped his hat with both hands. Abruptly he turned round and looked up at the window where Mrs. Cabpleasure contemplated nothingness 
with a haughty superiority which it seemed nothing could shake. 

"By George," Whispered Lestrade. "When I was here last night, I never saw Mr. and Mrs. Cabpleasure together. That may account for the false moustache I found 
hidden in the hall. Only one person was in that house this morning, and one person is still there. That means—" Now it was Holmes's turn to be taken aback. 
"Lestrade, what has got into your head at this late date?" 

"They can't deceive me. If Mr. Cabpleasure is the same person as Mrs. Cabpleasure, if he or she simply walked out of the house in man's clothes and then 
walked back in again— I see it all now!" 

"Lestrade! Stop! Wait! " 

"We have female searchers in these days," said Lestrade, dashing towards the house. "They'll soon prove whether it's a lady or a gentleman." 

"Holmes," cried I, "can this monstrous theory possibly be true?" 

"Nonsense, Watson." 

"Then you must restrain Lestrade. My dear fellow," I expostulated presently, as Mrs. Cabpleasure disappeared from the window and a piercing female shriek indicated 
that Lestrade had imparted the intelligence of what he proposed to do, "this is unworthy of you. Whatever we may think of the lady's manners, especially in 
commanding you to be here in a sober condition, you must spare her the indignity of an enforced visit to the police-station!" 

"Yet I am not at all sure," said he, thoughtfully, "that the lady would be greatly harmed by such an enforced visit. Indeed, it may serve to teach her a salutary lesson. 
Don't argue, Watson! I have an errand for you." 

"But-" 

"I must pursue certain lines of enquiry which may take all day. Meanwhile, since my address is readily accessible to anyone, I feel sure that the conscientious Mr. Mortimer 
Brown will send me a certain telegram. Therefore I would be grateful, Watson, if you would wait at our rooms and open the telegram should it arrive before my return." 



Lestrade's mood must have been contagious. Otherwise I know not why I should have rushed back in such a hurry to Baker Street, shouting to the cab-driver that 
I would give him a guinea if he took me there in an hour. 

But the anticipated telegram from Mr. Mortimer Brown found me discussing midday dinner, and added a fresh shock. It read: 

"Regret my too-expeditious departure this morning. Must state openly I am, and have always been, only a nominal partner of Cabpleasure and Brown, whose assets 
belong entirely to Mr. James B. Cabpleasure. My telegraphed enquiry as to the twenty-six diamonds in the Cowles-Derningham purchase was caused by caution in 
making certain be had brought these diamonds safely home. If he took the diamonds, he had a perfect right to take them— Harold Mortimer Brown." 

Then James Cabpleasure was not a thief! But, if he had not meant to fly the law, I was at a loss to account for his behaviour. It was seven o'clock that 
night, and I heard Holmes's familiar tread on the stairs, when inspiration came to me. 

"Pray enter," cried I, as the knob turned, "for I have found the only possible explanation at last!" 

Flinging open the door, Holmes glanced quickly round, and his face fell. 

"What, is there no visitor? Yet, perhaps I am premature; yes, premature. My dear Watson, I apologize. What were you saying?" 

"If Mr. Cabpleasure had in fact vanished," said I, as he scanned the telegram, "it would have been the miracle Lestrade called it. But miracles do not happen in the 
nineteenth century. Holmes, our diamond-broker only seemed to vanish. He was there all the time, but we did not observe him." 

"How so?" 

"Because he had disguised himself as a police-constable." 

Holmes, who was in the act of hanging up his cape and cloth cap on the hook behind the door, turned round with his dark brows drawn together. "Continue!" said 
he. 

"In this very room, Holmes, Mrs. Cabpleasure said that her husband's moustache made him resemble a constable. We know him to be a fine mimic, with a repre- 
hensible sense of humour. To procure a fancy-dress policeman's uniform would have been easy. After the misdirection with which he walked from the house and 
walked back again, he then put on the uniform. In the half-light, with so many constables about, he went unobserved until he could escape. 

"Excellent, Watson! It is only when I have been with Lestrade that I learn to value you. Very good indeed." 

"I have found the solution?" 

"It is not, I fear, quite good enough. Mrs. Cabpleasure also said, if you recall, that her husband was of medium height and had no more figure than a hop-pole, by which 
she meant he was thin or lanky. That this was a fact I proved today by many photographs of him in the drawing room at Happiness Villa. He could not have 
simulated the height or the beef of a metropolitan policeman." 

"But mine is the last possible explanation!" 

"I think not. There is only one person who meets our requirements of height and figure, and that person—" 

There was a loud clamour and jangle of the bell from below. 

"Hark!" said Holmes. "It is the visitor, the step upon the stair, the touch of drama which I cannot resist! Who will open that door, Watson? Who will open the door?" 
The door opened. Clad in evening clothes, with cape and collapsible hat, our visitor stood upon the threshold. I found myself looking incredulously at a long, clean- 
shaven, familiar face. 

"Good evening, Mr. Alf Peters," said Holmes. "Or should I say— Mr. James Cabpleasure?" 

Realization smote me like a blow, and I all but staggered. 

"I must congratulate you," continued Holmes, with sternness. "Your impersonation of the persecuted milkman was admirably done. I recall a similar case at Riga in 
1876, and it is faintly reminiscent of an impersonation by a Mr. James Windibank in '88; but certain features here are unique. The subject of removing a heavy 
moustache for changing a man's appearance, especially in making him look younger, is one to which I may devote a monograph, instead of assuming a 
moustache for disguise, you took yours off." 

When he was dressed in evening clothes, our visitor's face showed as mobile and highly intellectual, with dancing brown eyes which crinkled at the corners as though 
he might smile. But, far from smiling, he was desperately worried. 

"Thank you," said he, in a pleasant and well-modulated voice. "You gave me a very bad moment, Mr. Holmes, when I sat on that milk-wagon outside my own house and 
I observed that suddenly you saw through my whole plan. Why did you refrain from unmasking me then?" 

"I wished first to hear what you had to say for yourself, unembarrassed by the presence of Lestrade." 

James Cabpleasure bit his lip. 

"Afterwards," said Holmes, "it was not difficult to trace you through the Purity Milk Company, or to send you the judiciously worded telegram which has brought you 
here. A photograph of James Cabpleasure with moustache eliminated, shown to your employer, disclosed the fact that he was the same man as one Alfred Peters, 
who six months ago applied for a post with the milk company, and obtained two days' leave of absence for T uesday and Wednesday. 

"Yesterday, in this room, your wife informed us that on Tuesday you 'returned' from an unheard-of six months' absence in Amsterdam and Paris. That was suggestive. 
Taken together with your curious conduct as regards the umbrella— which you did not prize when you purchased it, but only when you had decided on your plan — 
and your incredible statement that the umbrella would be the death of you, it already suggested a hoax or imposture designed to deceive your wife." 

"Sir, let me tell you—!" 

"One moment. Shaving off your moustache, for six months you drove that milk-round; and I have no doubt you enjoyed it. On Tuesday you 'returned' as James 
Cabpleasure. I find that Messrs. Clarkfather, the wigmakers, supplied you with a real-hair duplicate of your lost moustache. In dark winter weather or by gas-light it 
would deceive your wife, since the lady takes small interest in you and we know you occupy separate rooms. 

"Quite deliberately you acted in a violently suspicious manner. On Tuesday night you staged that sinister scene with a non-existent 'fellow-conspirator' outside a win- 
dow, hoping to drive your wife into those vigorous measures which you believed she was certain to take. 

"On Wednesday night the visit of Inspector Lestrade, who is perhaps not the most subtle of men, told you that you would have witnesses for your projected 
disappearance and that it was safe to go ahead. Dismissing the servants and drugging your wife, you left the house. 

"This morning, hatless and without a greatcoat, you had the effrontery— don't smile, sir!— to drive the milk-wagon straight up to your house, where in the 
pitchdark entry you played the part of two men. 

"Descending from the wagon, you disappeared into the entry as the milkman. Inside, already prepared, lay Mr. Cabpleasure's greatcoat, hat, and moustache. 
It required only eight seconds to put on hat and coat, and hastily to affix a moustache which on that occasion need be seen only briefly from a distance and in halflight. 
"Out you walked as the elegant diamond-broker, seemed to remember your missing umbrella, and rushed back in again. It took but a moment to throw the trappings 
inside the front door, together with an umbrella already left there, and slam the front door from the outside. Again you reappeared as the milkman, completing the 
illusion that two men had passed each other. 

"Though Inspector Lestrade honestly believes he saw two men, we all observed that the entry was far too dark for this to have been possible. But we must not too 
much blame Lestrade. When he stopped the milk-wagon and swore he had seen you before, it was no mere bullying. He really had seen you once before, though 
he could not remember where. 

"I have said you had no fellow-conspirator; strictly speaking, this is true. Yet surely you must have shared the secret with your nominal partner, Mr. Mortimer 
Brown, who appeared this morning for the purpose of drawing away attention and preventing close scrutiny of the milkman. Unfortunately, his caution and 
apprehension rendered him useless. You made a bad mistake when you hid that false moustache in the hall. Still, the police might have found it when they searched 
you. This so-called miracle was possible because you very deliberately had accustomed your wife and her acquaintances to your worship of that umbrella. In reality, 
you cherished the umbrella because your plans could not have succeeded without it." 



Sherlock Holmes, though he had been speaking curtly and without heat, seemed to rise up like a lean avenger. 

"Now, Mr. James Cabpleasure!" said he. "I can perhaps understand why you were unhappy with your wife, and wished to leave her. But why could you not leave her 
openly, with a legal separation, and not this mummery of a disappearance into nowhere?" 

Our guest's fair-complexioned face went red. 

"So I should have," he burst out, "if Gloria had not been already married when she married me." 

"I beg your pardon?" 

Mr. Cabpleasure made a grimace, with a sudden vivid flash of personality, which showed what he might have accomplished as a comic actor. 

"Oh, you can prove it easily enough! Since she longs to go back to her real husband— never mind who he is; it's an august name— I'm afraid Gloria wants to 
be rid of me, preferably by seeing me in gaol. But I can earn money, whereas the august personage is too lazy to try, and Gloria's prudence has become notorious." 
"By Jove, Watson!" muttered Holmes. "This is not too surprising. It supplies the last link. Did I not say the lady insisted too much on her married name of 
Cabpleasure?" 

"I am tired of her chilliness; I am tired of her superiority; and now, at forty-odd, I wish only to sit in peace and read. However, sir, let me acknowledge that it was a 
cad's trick if you insist." 

"Come!" said Holmes. "I am not the official police, Mr. Cabpleasure—" 

"My name is not even Cabpleasure. That was forced upon me by my uncle, who founded the business. My real name is Phillimore, James Phillimore. Well! I 
have put all my possessions into Gloria's name, except twenty-six costly and negotiable diamonds. I had hoped to found a new life as James Phillimore, free of a blasted 
silly name. But I have been defeated by a master strategist, so do what you like." 

"No, no," said Holmes blandly. "Already you have made one bad blunder, though I was deplorably late in seeing it. When a milk-wagon is driven to the front door 
instead of to the tradesmen's entrance, the foundations of our social world are rocked. If I am to help you in forming this new life—" 

"If you are to help me?" cried our visitor. 

"Then you must not be betrayed by a real name of which someone is sure to be aware. From diplomatic necessity, until the day you die, Watson shall call the 
problem of your disappearance unsolved. Assume what other name you choose. But Mr. James Phillimore must never more be seen in this world!" 



The Adventure of the Veiled Lodger 


hen one considers that Mr. Sher- 
lock Holmes was in active practice for 
twenty-three years, and that during 
seventeen of these I was allowed to co- 
operate with him and to keep notes of his doings, 
it will be clear that I have a mass of material at my 
command. The problem has always been not to 
find but to choose. There is the long row of year- 
books which fill a shelf, and there are the dispatch- 
cases filled with documents, a perfect quarry for 
the student not only of crime but of the social and 
official scandals of the late Victorian era. Concern- 
ing these latter, I may say that the writers of ag- 
onized letters, who beg that the honour of their 
families or the reputation of famous forebears may 
not be touched, have nothing to fear. The discre- 
tion and high sense of professional honour which 
have always distinguished my friend are still at 
work in the choice of these memoirs, and no con- 
fidence will be abused. I deprecate, however, in 
the strongest way the attempts which have been 
made lately to get at and to destroy these papers. 
The source of these outrages is known, and if they 
are repeated I have Mr. Holmes's authority for say- 
ing that the whole story concerning the politician, 
the lighthouse, and the trained cormorant will be 
given to the public. There is at least one reader 
who will understand. 

It is not reasonable to suppose that every one of 
these cases gave Holmes the opportunity of show- 
ing those curious gifts of instinct and observation 
which I have endeavoured to set forth in these 
memoirs. Sometimes he had with much effort 
to pick the fruit, sometimes it fell easily into his 
lap. But the most terrible human tragedies were 
often involved in those cases which brought him 
the fewest personal opportunities, and it is one of 
these which I now desire to record. In telling it, I 
have made a slight change of name and place, but 
otherwise the facts are as stated. 

One forenoon — it was late in 1896 — I received 
a hurried note from Holmes asking for my atten- 
dance. When I arrived I found him seated in a 
smoke-laden atmosphere, with an elderly, moth- 
erly woman of the buxom landlady type in the 
corresponding chair in front of him. 

"This is Mrs. Merrilow, of South Brixton," said 
my friend with a wave of the hand. "Mrs. Mer- 
rilow does not object to tobacco, Watson, if you 
wish to indulge your filthy habits. Mrs. Merrilow 
has an interesting story to tell which may well lead 
to further developments in which your presence 
may be useful." 

"Anything I can do — " 



"You will understand, Mrs. Merrilow, that if I 
come to Mrs. Ronder I should prefer to have a wit- 
ness. You will make her understand that before we 
arrive." 

"Lord bless you, Mr. Holmes," said our visi- 
tor, "she is that anxious to see you that you might 
bring the whole parish at your heels!" 

"Then we shall come early in the afternoon. Let 
us see that we have our facts correct before we 
start. If we go over them it will help Dr. Watson to 
understand the situation. You say that Mrs. Ron- 
der has been your lodger for seven years and that 
you have only once seen her face." 

"And I wish to God I had not!" said Mrs. Mer- 
rilow. 

"It was, I understand, terribly mutilated." 

"Well, Mr. Holmes, you would hardly say it 
was a face at all. That's how it looked. Our milk- 
man got a glimpse of her once peeping out of the 
upper window, and he dropped his tin and the 
milk all over the front garden. That is the kind of 
face it is. When I saw her — I happened on her un- 
awares — she covered up quick, and then she said, 
'Now, Mrs. Merrilow, you know at last why it is 
that I never raise my veil.' " 

"Do you know anything about her history?" 

"Nothing at all." 

"Did she give references when she came?" 

"No, sir, but she gave hard cash, and plenty of 
it. A quarter's rent right down on the table in ad- 
vance and no arguing about terms. In these times 
a poor woman like me can't afford to turn down a 
chance like that." 

"Did she give any reason for choosing your 
house?" 

"Mine stands well back from the road and is 
more private than most. Then, again, I only take 
the one, and I have no family of my own. I reckon 
she had tried others and found that mine suited 
her best. It's privacy she is after, and she is ready 
to pay for it." 

"You say that she never showed her face from 
first to last save on the one accidental occasion. 
Well, it is a very remarkable story, most remark- 
able, and I don't wonder that you want it exam- 
ined." 

"I don't, Mr. Holmes. I am quite satisfied so 
long as I get my rent. You could not have a quieter 
lodger, or one who gives less trouble." 

"Then what has brought matters to a head?" 

"Her health, Mr. Holmes. She seems to be 
wasting away. And there's something terrible on 
her mind. 'Murder!' she cries. 'Murder!' And 
once I heard her: 'You cruel beast! You monster!' 


959 



The Adventure of the Veiled Lodger 


she cried. It was in the night, and it fair rang 
through the house and sent the shivers through 
me. So I went to her in the morning. 'Mrs. Ron- 
der/ I says, 'if you have anything that is troubling 
your soul, there's the clergy/ I says, 'and there's 
the police. Between them you should get some 
help.' 'For God's sake, not the police!' says she, 
'and the clergy can't change what is past. And 
yet,' she says, 'it would ease my mind if someone 
knew the truth before I died.' 'Well,' says I, 'if you 
won't have the regulars, there is this detective man 
what we read about' — beggin' your pardon, Mr. 
Holmes. And she, she fair jumped at it. 'That's 
the man,' says she. 'I wonder I never thought of 
it before. Bring him here, Mrs. Merrilow, and if 
he won't come, tell him I am the wife of Ronder's 
wild beast show. Say that, and give him the name 
Abbas Parva. Here it is as she wrote it, Abbas 
Parva. 'That will bring him if he's the man I think 
he is.' " 

"And it will, too," remarked Holmes. "Very 
good, Mrs. Merrilow. I should like to have a little 
chat with Dr. Watson. That will carry us till lunch- 
time. About three o'clock you may expect to see 
us at your house in Brixton." 

Our visitor had no sooner waddled out of the 
room — no other verb can describe Mrs. Merrilow's 
method of progression — than Sherlock Holmes 
threw himself with fierce energy upon the pile of 
commonplace books in the corner. For a few min- 
utes there was a constant swish of the leaves, and 
then with a grunt of satisfaction he came upon 
what he sought. So excited was he that he did not 
rise, but sat upon the floor like some strange Bud- 
dha, with crossed legs, the huge books all round 
him, and one open upon his knees. 

"The case worried me at the time, Watson. 
Here are my marginal notes to prove it. I confess 
that I could make nothing of it. And yet I was con- 
vinced that the coroner was wrong. Have you no 
recollection of the Abbas Parva tragedy?" 

"None, Holmes." 

"And yet you were with me then. But certainly 
my own impression was very superficial. For there 
was nothing to go by, and none of the parties had 
engaged my services. Perhaps you would care to 
read the papers?" 

"Could you not give me the points?" 

"That is very easily done. It will probably come 
back to your memory as I talk. Ronder, of course, 
was a household word. He was the rival of Womb- 
well, and of Sanger, one of the greatest showmen 
of his day. There is evidence, however, that he took 


to drink, and that both he and his show were on 
the down grade at the time of the great tragedy. 
The caravan had halted for the night at Abbas 
Parva, which is a small village in Berkshire, when 
this horror occurred. They were on their way to 
Wimbledon, travelling by road, and they were sim- 
ply camping and not exhibiting, as the place is so 
small a one that it would not have paid them to 
open. 

"They had among their exhibits a very fine 
North African lion. Sahara King was its name, and 
it was the habit, both of Ronder and his wife, to 
give exhibitions inside its cage. Here, you see, is a 
photograph of the performance by which you will 
perceive that Ronder was a huge porcine person 
and that his wife was a very magnificent woman. 
It was deposed at the inquest that there had been 
some signs that the lion was dangerous, but, as 
usual, familiarity begat contempt, and no notice 
was taken of the fact. 

"It was usual for either Ronder or his wife to 
feed the lion at night. Sometimes one went, some- 
times both, but they never allowed anyone else to 
do it, for they believed that so long as they were 
the food-carriers he would regard them as bene- 
factors and would never molest them. On this par- 
ticular night, seven years ago, they both went, and 
a very terrible happening followed, the details of 
which have never been made clear. 

"It seems that the whole camp was roused 
near midnight by the roars of the animal and 
the screams of the woman. The different grooms 
and employees rushed from their tents, carrying 
lanterns, and by their light an awful sight was 
revealed. Ronder lay, with the back of his head 
crushed in and deep claw-marks across his scalp, 
some ten yards from the cage, which was open. 
Close to the door of the cage lay Mrs. Ronder upon 
her back, with the creature squatting and snarling 
above her. It had torn her face in such a fashion 
that it was never thought that she could live. Sev- 
eral of the circus men, headed by Leonardo, the 
strong man, and Griggs, the clown, drove the crea- 
ture off with poles, upon which it sprang back 
into the cage and was at once locked in. How it 
had got loose was a mystery. It was conjectured 
that the pair intended to enter the cage, but that 
when the door was loosed the creature bounded 
out upon them. There was no other point of inter- 
est in the evidence save that the woman in a delir- 
ium of agony kept screaming, 'Coward! Coward!' 
as she was carried back to the van in which they 
lived. It was six months before she was fit to give 
evidence, but the inquest was duly held, with the 
obvious verdict of death from misadventure." 


960 



The Adventure of the Veiled Lodger 


"What alternative could be conceived?" said I. 

"You may well say so. And yet there were one 
or two points which worried young Edmunds, of 
the Berkshire Constabulary A smart lad that! He 
was sent later to Allahabad. That was how I came 
into the matter, for he dropped in and smoked a 
pipe or two over it." 

"A thin, yellow-haired man?" 

"Exactly. I was sure you would pick up the trail 
presently." 

"But what worried him?" 

"Well, we were both worried. It was so 
deucedly difficult to reconstruct the affair. Look 
at it from the lion's point of view. He is liberated. 
What does he do? He takes half a dozen bounds 
forward, which brings him to Ronder. Ronder 
turns to fly — the claw-marks were on the back of 
his head — but the lion strikes him down. Then, 
instead of bounding on and escaping, he returns 
to the woman, who was close to the cage, and 
he knocks her over and chews her face up. Then, 
again, those cries of hers would seem to imply that 
her husband had in some way failed her. What 
could the poor devil have done to help her? You 
see the difficulty?" 

"Quite." 

"And then there was another thing. It comes 
back to me now as I think it over. There was some 
evidence that just at the time the lion roared and 
the woman screamed, a man began shouting in ter- 
ror." 

"This man Ronder, no doubt." 

"Well, if his skull was smashed in you would 
hardly expect to hear from him again. There were 
at least two witnesses who spoke of the cries of a 
man being mingled with those of a woman." 

"I should think the whole camp was crying out 
by then. As to the other points, I think I could 
suggest a solution." 

"I should be glad to consider it." 

"The two were together, ten yards from the 
cage, when the lion got loose. The man turned 
and was struck down. The woman conceived the 
idea of getting into the cage and shutting the door. 
It was her only refuge. She made for it, and just 
as she reached it the beast bounded after her and 
knocked her over. She was angry with her hus- 
band for having encouraged the beast's rage by 
turning. If they had faced it they might have 
cowed it. Hence her cries of 'Coward!' " 

"Brilliant, Watson! Only one flaw in your dia- 
mond." 


"What is the flaw. Holmes?" 

"If they were both ten paces from the cage, how 
came the beast to get loose?" 

"Is it possible that they had some enemy who 
loosed it?" 

"And why should it attack them savagely when 
it was in the habit of playing with them, and doing 
tricks with them inside the cage?" 

"Possibly the same enemy had done something 
to enrage it." 

Holmes looked thoughtful and remained in si- 
lence for some moments. 

"Well, Watson, there is this to be said for your 
theory. Ronder was a man of many enemies. Ed- 
munds told me that in his cups he was horrible. 
A huge bully of a man, he cursed and slashed 
at everyone who came in his way. I expect those 
cries about a monster, of which our visitor has spo- 
ken, were nocturnal reminiscences of the dear de- 
parted. However, our speculations are futile until 
we have all the facts. There is a cold partridge on 
the sideboard, Watson, and a bottle of Montrachet. 
Let us renew our energies before we make a fresh 
call upon them." 

When our hansom deposited us at the house of 
Mrs. Merrilow, we found that plump lady block- 
ing up the open door of her humble but retired 
abode. It was very clear that her chief preoccupa- 
tion was lest she should lose a valuable lodger, and 
she implored us, before showing us up, to say and 
do nothing which could lead to so undesirable an 
end. Then, having reassured her, we followed her 
up the straight, badly carpeted staircase and were 
shown into the room of the mysterious lodger. 

It was a close, musty, ill-ventilated place, as 
might be expected, since its inmate seldom left it. 
From keeping beasts in a cage, the woman seemed, 
by some retribution of fate, to have become herself 
a beast in a cage. She sat now in a broken armchair 
in the shadowy corner of the room. Long years of 
inaction had coarsened the lines of her figure, but 
at some period it must have been beautiful, and 
was still full and voluptuous. A thick dark veil 
covered her face, but it was cut off close at her 
upper lip and disclosed a perfectly shaped mouth 
and a delicately rounded chin. I could well con- 
ceive that she had indeed been a very remarkable 
woman. Her voice, too, was well modulated and 
pleasing. 

"My name is not unfamiliar to you, Mr. 
Holmes," said she. "I thought that it would bring 
you." 

"That is so, madam, though I do not know how 
you are aware that I was interested in your case." 


961 



The Adventure of the Veiled Lodger 


"I learned it when I had recovered my health 
and was examined by Mr. Edmunds, the county 
detective. I fear I lied to him. Perhaps it would 
have been wiser had I told the truth." 

"It is usually wiser to tell the truth. But why 
did you lie to him?" 

"Because the fate of someone else depended 
upon it. I know that he was a very worthless be- 
ing, and yet I would not have his destruction upon 
my conscience. We had been so close — so close!" 

"But has this impediment been removed?" 

"Yes, sir. The person that I allude to is dead." 

"Then why should you not now tell the police 
anything you know?" 

"Because there is another person to be consid- 
ered. That other person is myself. I could not 
stand the scandal and publicity which would come 
from a police examination. I have not long to live, 
but I wish to die undisturbed. And yet I wanted 
to find one man of judgment to whom I could tell 
my terrible story, so that when I am gone all might 
be understood." 

"You compliment me, madam. At the same 
time, I am a responsible person. I do not promise 
you that when you have spoken I may not myself 
think it my duty to refer the case to the police." 

"I think not, Mr. Holmes. I know your charac- 
ter and methods too well, for I have followed your 
work for some years. Reading is the only plea- 
sure which fate has left me, and I miss little which 
passes in the world. But in any case, I will take 
my chance of the use which you may make of my 
tragedy. It will ease my mind to tell it." 

"My friend and I would be glad to hear it." 

The woman rose and took from a drawer the 
photograph of a man. He was clearly a profes- 
sional acrobat, a man of magnificent physique, 
taken with his huge arms folded across his swollen 
chest and a smile breaking from under his heavy 
moustache — the self-satisfied smile of the man of 
many conquests. 

"That is Leonardo," she said. 

"Leonardo, the strong man, who gave evi- 
dence?" 

"The same. And this — this is my husband." 

It was a dreadful face — a human pig, or rather 
a human wild boar, for it was formidable in its bes- 
tiality. One could imagine that vile mouth champ- 
ing and foaming in its rage, and one could con- 
ceive those small, vicious eyes darting pure malig- 
nancy as they looked forth upon the world. Ruf- 
fian, bully, beast — it was all written on that heavy - 
jowled face. 


"Those two pictures will help you, gentlemen, 
to understand the story. I was a poor circus girl 
brought up on the sawdust, and doing springs 
through the hoop before I was ten. When I became 
a woman this man loved me, if such lust as his can 
be called love, and in an evil moment I became his 
wife. From that day I was in hell, and he the devil 
who tormented me. There was no one in the show 
who did not know of his treatment. He deserted 
me for others. He tied me down and lashed me 
with his riding-whip when I complained. They all 
pitied me and they all loathed him, but what could 
they do? They feared him, one and all. For he was 
terrible at all times, and murderous when he was 
drunk. Again and again he was had up for assault, 
and for cruelty to the beasts, but he had plenty of 
money and the fines were nothing to him. The best 
men all left us, and the show began to go downhill. 
It was only Leonardo and I who kept it up — with 
little Jimmy Griggs, the clown. Poor devil, he had 
not much to be funny about, but he did what he 
could to hold things together. 

"Then Leonardo came more and more into my 
life. You see what he was like. I know now the 
poor spirit that was hidden in that splendid body, 
but compared to my husband he seemed like the 
angel Gabriel. He pitied me and helped me, till 
at last our intimacy turned to love — deep, deep, 
passionate love, such love as I had dreamed of but 
never hoped to feel. My husband suspected it, but 
I think that he was a coward as well as a bully, and 
that Leonardo was the one man that he was afraid 
of. He took revenge in his own way by torturing 
me more than ever. One night my cries brought 
Leonardo to the door of our van. We were near 
tragedy that night, and soon my lover and I un- 
derstood that it could not be avoided. My husband 
was not fit to live. We planned that he should die. 

"Leonardo had a clever, scheming brain. It was 
he who planned it. I do not say that to blame him, 
for I was ready to go with him every inch of the 
way. But I should never have had the wit to think 
of such a plan. We made a club — Leonardo made 
it — and in the leaden head he fastened five long 
steel nails, the points outward, with just such a 
spread as the lion's paw. This was to give my hus- 
band his death-blow, and yet to leave the evidence 
that it was the lion which we would loose who had 
done the deed. 

"It was a pitch-dark night when my husband 
and I went down, as was our custom, to feed the 
beast. We carried with us the raw meat in a zinc 
pail. Leonardo was waiting at the corner of the 
big van which we should have to pass before we 
reached the cage. He was too slow, and we walked 


962 



past him before he could strike, but he followed us 
on tiptoe and I heard the crash as the club smashed 
my husband's skull. My heart leaped with joy at 
the sound. I sprang forward, and I undid the catch 
which held the door of the great lion's cage. 

"And then the terrible thing happened. You 
may have heard how quick these creatures are to 
scent human blood, and how it excites them. Some 
strange instinct had told the creature in one instant 
that a human being had been slain. As I slipped 
the bars it bounded out and was on me in an in- 
stant. Leonardo could have saved me. If he had 
rushed forward and struck the beast with his club 
he might have cowed it. But the man lost his nerve. 
I heard him shout in his terror, and then I saw him 
turn and fly. At the same instant the teeth of the 
lion met in my face. Its hot, filthy breath had al- 
ready poisoned me and I was hardly conscious of 
pain. With the palms of my hands I tried to push 
the great steaming, blood-stained jaws away from 
me, and I screamed for help. I was conscious that 
the camp was stirring, and then dimly I remem- 
bered a group of men. Leonardo, Griggs, and oth- 
ers, dragging me from under the creature's paws. 
That was my last memory, Mr. Holmes, for many 
a weary month. When I came to myself and saw 
myself in the mirror, I cursed that lion — oh, how 
I cursed him! — not because he had torn away my 
beauty but because he had not torn away my life. I 
had but one desire, Mr. Holmes, and I had enough 
money to gratify it. It was that I should cover my- 
self so that my poor face should be seen by none, 
and that I should dwell where none whom I had 
ever known should find me. That was all that was 
left to me to do — and that is what I have done. A 
poor wounded beast that has crawled into its hole 
to die — that is the end of Eugenia Ronder." 

We sat in silence for some time after the un- 
happy woman had told her story. Then Holmes 
stretched out his long arm and patted her hand 
with such a show of sympathy as I had seldom 
known him to exhibit. 

"Poor girl!" he said. "Poor girl! The ways of 
fate are indeed hard to understand. If there is not 
some compensation hereafter, then the world is a 
cruel jest. But what of this man Leonardo?" 

"I never saw him or heard from him again. Per- 
haps I have been wrong to feel so bitterly against 
him. He might as soon have loved one of the freaks 
whom we carried round the country as the thing 


which the lion had left. But a woman's love is 
not so easily set aside. He had left me under the 
beast's claws, he had deserted me in my need, and 
yet I could not bring myself to give him to the gal- 
lows. For myself, I cared nothing what became of 
me. What could be more dreadful than my actual 
life? But I stood between Leonardo and his fate." 

"And he is dead?" 

"He was drowned last month when bathing 
near Margate. I saw his death in the paper." 

"And what did he do with this five-clawed 
club, which is the most singular and ingenious 
part of all your story?" 

"I cannot tell, Mr. Holmes. There is a chalk-pit 
by the camp, with a deep green pool at the base of 
it. Perhaps in the depths of that pool — " 

"Well, well, it is of little consequence now. The 
case is closed." 

"Yes," said the woman, "the case is closed." 

We had risen to go, but there was something in 
the woman's voice which arrested Holmes's atten- 
tion. He turned swiftly upon her. 

"Your life is not your own," he said. "Keep 
your hands off it." 

"What use is it to anyone?" 

"How can you tell? The example of patient suf- 
fering is in itself the most precious of all lessons to 
an impatient world." 

The woman's answer was a terrible one. She 
raised her veil and stepped forward into the light. 

"I wonder if you would bear it," she said. 

It was horrible. No words can describe the 
framework of a face when the face itself is gone. 
Two living and beautiful brown eyes looking sadly 
out from that grisly ruin did but make the view 
more awful. Holmes held up his hand in a gesture 
of pity and protest, and together we left the room. 

Two days later, when I called upon my friend, 
he pointed with some pride to a small blue bottle 
upon his mantelpiece. I picked it up. There was a 
red poison label. A pleasant almondy odour rose 
when I opened it. 

"Prussic acid?" said I. 

"Exactly. It came by post. 'I send you my temp- 
tation. I will follow your advice.' That was the 
message. I think, Watson, we can guess the name 
of the brave woman who sent it. " 



The Adventure of the Missing Three-Quarter 


e were fairly accustomed to receive 
weird telegrams at Baker Street, but 
I have a particular recollection of one 
which reached us on a gloomy Febru- 
ary morning some seven or eight years ago and 
gave Mr. Sherlock Holmes a puzzled quarter of an 
hour. It was addressed to him, and ran thus: 
"Please await me. Terrible misfortune. 

Right wing three-quarter missing; in- 
dispensable to-morrow. — Overton." 

"Strand post-mark and dispatched ten-thirty- 
six," said Holmes, reading it over and over. "Mr. 
Overton was evidently considerably excited when 
he sent it, and somewhat incoherent in conse- 
quence. Well, well, he will be here, I dare say, by 
the time I have looked through the times, and then 
we shall know all about it. Even the most insignif- 
icant problem would be welcome in these stagnant 
days." 

Things had indeed been very slow with us, and 
I had learned to dread such periods of inaction, for 
I knew by experience that my companion's brain 
was so abnormally active that it was dangerous 
to leave it without material upon which to work. 
For years I had gradually weaned him from that 
drug mania which had threatened once to check 
his remarkable career. Now I knew that under or- 
dinary conditions he no longer craved for this arti- 
ficial stimulus, but I was well aware that the fiend 
was not dead, but sleeping; and I have known 
that the sleep was a light one and the waking near 
when in periods of idleness I have seen the drawn 
look upon Holmes's ascetic face, and the brood- 
ing of his deep-set and inscrutable eyes. There- 
fore I blessed this Mr. Overton, whoever he might 
be, since he had come with his enigmatic message 
to break that dangerous calm which brought more 
peril to my friend than all the storms of his tem- 
pestuous life. 

As we had expected, the telegram was soon fol- 
lowed by its sender, and the card of Mr. Cyril Over- 
ton, of Trinity College, Cambridge, announced the 
arrival of an enormous young man, sixteen stone 
of solid bone and muscle, who spanned the door- 
way with his broad shoulders and looked from one 
of us to the other with a comely face which was 
haggard with anxiety. 

"Mr. Sherlock Holmes?" 

My companion bowed. 

"I've been down to Scotland Yard, Mr. Holmes. 
I saw Inspector Stanley Hopkins. He advised me 
to come to you. He said the case, so far as he could 
see, was more in your line than in that of the reg- 
ular police." 



"Pray sit down and tell me what is the matter." 

"It's awful, Mr. Holmes, simply awful! I won- 
der my hair isn't grey. Godfrey Staunton — you've 
heard of him, of course? He's simply the hinge 
that the whole team turns on. I'd rather spare 
two from the pack and have Godfrey for my three- 
quarter line. Whether it's passing, or tackling, or 
dribbling, there's no one to touch him; and then, 
he's got the head and can hold us all together. 
What am I to do? That's what I ask you, Mr. 
Holmes. There's Moorhouse, first reserve, but he 
is trained as a half, and he always edges right in on 
to the scrum instead of keeping out on the touch- 
line. He's a fine place-kick, it's true, but, then, 
he has no judgment, and he can't sprint for nuts. 
Why, Morton or Johnson, the Oxford fliers, could 
romp round him. Stevenson is fast enough, but 
he couldn't drop from the twenty-five line, and a 
three-quarter who can't either punt or drop isn't 
worth a place for pace alone. No, Mr. Holmes, we 
are done unless you can help me to find Godfrey 
Staunton." 

My friend had listened with amused surprise 
to this long speech, which was poured forth with 
extraordinary vigour and earnestness, every point 
being driven home by the slapping of a brawny 
hand upon the speaker's knee. When our visitor 
was silent Holmes stretched out his hand and took 
down letter "S" of his commonplace book. For 
once he dug in vain into that mine of varied in- 
formation. 

"There is Arthur H. Staunton, the rising young 
forger," said he, "and there was Henry Staunton, 
whom I helped to hang, but Godfrey Staunton is a 
new name to me." 

It was our visitor's turn to look surprised. 

"Why, Mr. Holmes, I thought you knew 
things," said he. "I suppose, then, if you have 
never heard of Godfrey Staunton you don't know 
Cyril Overton either?" 

Holmes shook his head good-humouredly. 

"Great Scot!" cried the athlete. "Why, I was 
first reserve for England against Wales, and I've 
skippered the 'Varsity all this year. But that's noth- 
ing! I didn't think there was a soul in England who 
didn't know Godfrey Staunton, the crack three- 
quarter, Cambridge, Blackheath, and five Interna- 
tionals. Good Lord! Mr. Holmes, where have you 
lived?" 

Holmes laughed at the young giant's naive as- 
tonishment. 

"You live in a different world to me, Mr. Over- 
ton, a sweeter and healthier one. My ramifications 
stretch out into many sections of society, but never. 


545 



The Adventure of the Missing Three-Quarter 


I am happy to say, into amateur sport, which is 
the best and soundest thing in England. However, 
your unexpected visit this morning shows me that 
even in that world of fresh air and fair play there 
may be work for me to do; so now, my good sir, I 
beg you to sit down and to tell me slowly and qui- 
etly exactly what it is that has occurred, and how 
you desire that I should help you." 

Young Overton's face assumed the bothered 
look of the man who is more accustomed to us- 
ing his muscles than his wits; but by degrees, with 
many repetitions and obscurities which I may omit 
from his narrative, he laid his strange story before 
us. 

"It's this way, Mr. Holmes. As I have said, I 
am the skipper of the Rugger team of Cambridge 
'Varsity, and Godfrey Staunton is my best man. To- 
morrow we play Oxford. Yesterday we all came up 
and we settled at Bentley's private hotel. At ten 
o'clock I went round and saw that all the fellows 
had gone to roost, for I believe in strict training 
and plenty of sleep to keep a team fit. I had a 
word or two with Godfrey before he turned in. He 
seemed to me to be pale and bothered. I asked him 
what was the matter. He said he was all right — just 
a touch of headache. I bade him good-night and 
left him. Half an hour later the porter tells me 
that a rough-looking man with a beard called with 
a note for Godfrey. He had not gone to bed and 
the note was taken to his room. Godfrey read it 
and fell back in a chair as if he had been pole- 
axed. The porter was so scared that he was going 
to fetch me, but Godfrey stopped him, had a drink 
of water, and pulled himself together. Then he 
went downstairs, said a few words to the man who 
was waiting in the hall, and the two of them went 
off together. The last that the porter saw of them, 
they were almost running down the street in the 
direction of the Strand. This morning Godfrey's 
room was empty, his bed had never been slept in, 
and his things were all just as I had seen them the 
night before. He had gone off at a moment's no- 
tice with this stranger, and no word has come from 
him since. I don't believe he will ever come back. 
He was a sportsman, was Godfrey, down to his 
marrow, and he wouldn't have stopped his train- 
ing and let in his skipper if it were not for some 
cause that was too strong for him. No; I feel as if 
he were gone for good and we should never see 
him again." 

Sherlock Holmes listened with the deepest at- 
tention to this singular narrative. 

"What did you do?" he asked. 


"I wired to Cambridge to learn if anything had 
been heard of him there. I have had an answer. No 
one has seen him." 

"Could he have got back to Cambridge?" 

"Yes, there is a late train — quarter-past eleven." 

"But so far as you can ascertain he did not take 

it?" 

"No, he has not been seen." 

"What did you do next?" 

"I wired to Lord Mount-James." 

"Why to Lord Mount-James?" 

"Godfrey is an orphan, and Lord Mount-James 
is his nearest relative — his uncle, I believe." 

"Indeed. This throws new light upon the mat- 
ter. Lord Mount-James is one of the richest men in 
England." 

"So I've heard Godfrey say." 

"And your friend was closely related?" 

"Yes, he was his heir, and the old boy is nearly 
eighty — cram full of gout, too. They say he could 
chalk his billiard-cue with his knuckles. He never 
allowed Godfrey a shilling in his life, for he is an 
absolute miser, but it will all come to him right 
enough." 

"Have you heard from Lord Mount-James?" 

"No." 

"What motive could your friend have in going 
to Lord Mount-James?" 

"Well, something was worrying him the night 
before, and if it was to do with money it is possi- 
ble that he would make for his nearest relative who 
had so much of it, though from all I have heard he 
would not have much chance of getting it. God- 
frey was not fond of the old man. He would not 
go if he could help it." 

"Well, we can soon determine that. If your 
friend was going to his relative. Lord Mount- 
James, you have then to explain the visit of this 
rough-looking fellow at so late an hour, and the 
agitation that was caused by his coming." 

Cyril Overton pressed his hands to his head. "I 
can make nothing of it," said he. 

"Well, well, I have a clear day, and I shall 
be happy to look into the matter," said Holmes. 
"I should strongly recommend you to make your 
preparations for your match without reference to 
this young gentleman. It must, as you say, have 
been an overpowering necessity which tore him 
away in such a fashion, and the same necessity is 
likely to hold him away. Let us step round together 


546 



The Adventure of the Missing Three-Quarter 


to this hotel, and see if the porter can throw any 
fresh light upon the matter." 

Sherlock Holmes was a past-master in the art 
of putting a humble witness at his ease, and very 
soon, in the privacy of Godfrey Staunton's aban- 
doned room, he had extracted all that the porter 
had to tell. The visitor of the night before was not a 
gentleman, neither was he a working man. He was 
simply what the porter described as a "medium- 
looking chap"; a man of fifty, beard grizzled, pale 
face, quietly dressed. He seemed himself to be agi- 
tated. The porter had observed his hand trembling 
when he had held out the note. Godfrey Staunton 
had crammed the note into his pocket. Staunton 
had not shaken hands with the man in the hall. 
They had exchanged a few sentences, of which 
the porter had only distinguished the one word 
"time." Then they had hurried off in the manner 
described. It was just half-past ten by the hall 
clock. 

"Let me see," said Holmes, seating himself on 
Staunton's bed. "You are the day porter, are you 
not?" 

"Yes, sir; I go off duty at eleven." 

"The night porter saw nothing, I suppose?" 

"No, sir; one theatre party came in late. No one 
else." 

"Were you on duty all day yesterday?" 

"Yes, sir." 

"Did you take any messages to Mr. Staunton?" 

"Yes, sir; one telegram." 

"Ah! that's interesting. What o'clock was 
this?" 

"About six." 

"Where was Mr. Staunton when he received 

it?" 

"Here in his room." 

"Were you present when he opened it?" 

"Yes, sir; I waited to see if there was an an- 
swer." 

"Well, was there?" 

"Yes, sir. He wrote an answer." 

"Did you take it?" 

"No; he took it himself." 

"But he wrote it in your presence?" 

"Yes, sir. I was standing by the door, and he 
with his back turned at that table. When he had 
written it he said, 'All right, porter, I will take this 
myself.' " 

"What did he write it with?" 


"A pen, sir." 

"Was the telegraphic form one of these on the 
table?" 

"Yes, sir; it was the top one." 

Holmes rose. Taking the forms he carried them 
over to the window and carefully examined that 
which was uppermost. 

"It is a pity he did not write in pencil," said 
he, throwing them down again with a shrug of 
disappointment. "As you have no doubt fre- 
quently observed, Watson, the impression usually 
goes through — a fact which has dissolved many 
a happy marriage. However, I can find no trace 
here. I rejoice, however, to perceive that he wrote 
with a broad-pointed quill pen, and I can hardly 
doubt that we will find some impression upon 
this blotting-pad. Ah, yes, surely this is the very 
thing!" 

He tore off a strip of the blotting-paper and 
turned towards us the following hieroglyphic: 

ekas sdoG rof su yb dnatS 

Cyril Overton was much excited. "Hold it to 
the glass!" he cried. 

"That is unnecessary," said Holmes. "The pa- 
per is thin, and the reverse will give the message. 
Here it is." He turned it over and we read: 

Stand by us for Gods sake 

"So that is the tail end of the telegram which 
Godfrey Staunton dispatched within a few hours 
of his disappearance. There are at least six words 
of the message which have escaped us; but what 
remains — 'Stand by us for God's sake!' — proves 
that this young man saw a formidable danger 
which approached him, and from which someone 
else could protect him. ‘Us/ mark you! Another 
person was involved. Who should it be but the 
pale-faced, bearded man, who seemed himself in 
so nervous a state? What, then, is the connec- 
tion between Godfrey Staunton and the bearded 
man? And what is the third source from which 
each of them sought for help against pressing dan- 
ger? Our inquiry has already narrowed down to 
that." 

"We have only to find to whom that telegram 
is addressed," I suggested. 

"Exactly, my dear Watson. Your reflection, 
though profound, had already crossed my mind. 
But I dare say it may have come to your notice 
that if you walk into a post-office and demand to 
see the counterfoil of another man's message there 
may be some disinclination on the part of the of- 
ficials to oblige you. There is so much red tape 
in these matters! However, I have no doubt that 


547 



The Adventure of the Missing Three-Quarter 


with a little delicacy and finesse the end may be at- 
tained. Meanwhile, I should like in your presence, 
Mr. Overton, to go through these papers which 
have been left upon the table." 

There were a number of letters, bills, and note- 
books, which Holmes turned over and examined 
with quick, nervous fingers and darting, penetrat- 
ing eyes. "Nothing here," he said, at last. "By the 
way, I suppose your friend was a healthy young 
fellow — nothing amiss with him?" 

"Sound as a bell." 

"Have you ever known him ill?" 

"Not a day. He has been laid up with a hack, 
and once he slipped his knee-cap, but that was 
nothing." 

"Perhaps he was not so strong as you suppose. 
I should think he may have had some secret trou- 
ble. With your assent I will put one or two of 
these papers in my pocket, in case they should 
bear upon our future inquiry." 

"One moment! one moment!" cried a queru- 
lous voice, and we looked up to find a queer lit- 
tle old man, jerking and twitching in the doorway. 
He was dressed in rusty black, with a very broad 
brimmed top-hat and a loose white necktie — the 
whole effect being that of a very rustic parson or 
of an undertaker's mute. Yet, in spite of his shabby 
and even absurd appearance, his voice had a sharp 
crackle, and his manner a quick intensity which 
commanded attention. 

"Who are you, sir, and by what right do you 
touch this gentleman's papers?" he asked. 

"I am a private detective, and I am endeavour- 
ing to explain his disappearance." 

"Oh, you are, are you? And who instructed 
you, eh?" 

"This gentleman, Mr. Staunton's friend, was re- 
ferred to me by Scotland Yard." 

"Who are you, sir?" 

"I am Cyril Overton." 

"Then it is you who sent me a telegram. My 
name is Lord Mount-James. I came round as 
quickly as the Bayswater 'bus would bring me. So 
you have instructed a detective?" 

"Yes, sir." 

"And are you prepared to meet the cost?" 

"I have no doubt, sir, that my friend Godfrey, 
when we find him, will be prepared to do that." 

"But if he is never found, eh? Answer me that!" 

"In that case no doubt his family — " 


"Nothing of the sort, sir!" screamed the little 
man. "Don't look to me for a penny — not a penny! 
You understand that, Mr. Detective! I am all the 
family that this young man has got, and I tell you 
that I am not responsible. If he has any expecta- 
tions it is due to the fact that I have never wasted 
money, and I do not propose to begin to do so 
now. As to those papers with which you are mak- 
ing so free, I may tell you that in case there should 
be anything of any value among them you will 
be held strictly to account for what you do with 
them." 

"Very good, sir," said Sherlock Holmes. "May 
I ask in the meanwhile whether you have yourself 
any theory to account for this young man's disap- 
pearance?" 

"No, sir, I have not. He is big enough and old 
enough to look after himself, and if he is so fool- 
ish as to lose himself I entirely refuse to accept the 
responsibility of hunting for him." 

"I quite understand your position," said 
Holmes, with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. 
"Perhaps you don't quite understand mine. God- 
frey Staunton appears to have been a poor man. If 
he has been kidnapped it could not have been for 
anything which he himself possesses. The fame 
of your wealth has gone abroad. Lord Mount- 
James, and it is entirely possible that a gang of 
thieves have secured your nephew in order to gain 
from him some information as to your house, your 
habits, and your treasure." 

The face of our unpleasant little visitor turned 
as white as his neckcloth. 

"Heavens, sir, what an idea! I never thought 
of such villainy! What inhuman rogues there are 
in the world! But Godfrey is a fine lad — a staunch 
lad. Nothing would induce him to give his old un- 
cle away. I'll have the plate moved over to the bank 
this evening. In the meantime spare no pains, Mr. 
Detective! I beg you to leave no stone unturned to 
bring him safely back. As to money, well, so far as 
a fiver, or even a tenner, goes, you can always look 
to me." 

Even in his chastened frame of mind the noble 
miser could give us no information which could 
help us, for he knew little of the private life of his 
nephew. Our only clue lay in the truncated tele- 
gram, and with a copy of this in his hand Holmes 
set forth to find a second link for his chain. We 
had shaken off Lord Mount-James, and Overton 
had gone to consult with the other members of his 
team over the misfortune which had befallen them. 

There was a telegraph-office at a short distance 
from the hotel. We halted outside it. 


548 



The Adventure of the Missing Three-Quarter 


"It's worth trying, Watson," said Holmes. "Of 
course, with a warrant we could demand to see the 
counterfoils, but we have not reached that stage 
yet. I don't suppose they remember faces in so 
busy a place. Let us venture it." 

"I am sorry to trouble you," said he, in his 
blandest manner, to the young woman behind the 
grating; "there is some small mistake about a tele- 
gram I sent yesterday. I have had no answer, and 
I very much fear that I must have omitted to put 
my name at the end. Could you tell me if this was 
so?" 

The young woman turned over a sheaf of coun- 
terfoils. 

"What o'clock was it?" she asked. 

"A little after six." 

"Whom was it to?" 

Holmes put his finger to his lips and glanced at 
me. "The last words in it were 'for God's sake/ " 
he whispered, confidentially; "I am very anxious 
at getting no answer." 

The young woman separated one of the forms. 

"This is it. There is no name," said she, smooth- 
ing it out upon the counter. 

"Then that, of course, accounts for my getting 
no answer," said Holmes. "Dear me, how very 
stupid of me, to be sure! Good morning, miss, and 
many thanks for having relieved my mind." He 
chuckled and rubbed his hands when we found 
ourselves in the street once more. 

"Well?" I asked. 

"We progress, my dear Watson, we progress. I 
had seven different schemes for getting a glimpse 
of that telegram, but I could hardly hope to suc- 
ceed the very first time." 

"And what have you gained?" 

"A starting-point for our investigation." He 
hailed a cab. "King's Cross Station," said he. 

"We have a journey, then?" 

"Yes; I think we must run down to Cambridge 
together. All the indications seem to me to point 
in that direction." 

"Tell me," I asked, as we rattled up Gray's Inn 
Road, "have you any suspicion yet as to the cause 
of the disappearance? I don't think that among all 
our cases I have known one where the motives are 
more obscure. Surely you don't really imagine that 
he may be kidnapped in order to give information 
against his wealthy uncle?" 

"I confess, my dear Watson, that that does not 
appeal to me as a very probable explanation. It 


struck me, however, as being the one which was 
most likely to interest that exceedingly unpleasant 
old person." 

"It certainly did that. But what are your alter- 
natives?" 

"I could mention several. You must admit 
that it is curious and suggestive that this incident 
should occur on the eve of this important match, 
and should involve the only man whose presence 
seems essential to the success of the side. It may, 
of course, be coincidence, but it is interesting. Am- 
ateur sport is free from betting, but a good deal of 
outside betting goes on among the public, and it 
is possible that it might be worth someone's while 
to get at a player as the ruffians of the turf get at 
a race-horse. There is one explanation. A second 
very obvious one is that this young man really is 
the heir of a great property, however modest his 
means may at present be, and it is not impossible 
that a plot to hold him for ransom might be con- 
cocted." 

"These theories take no account of the tele- 
gram." 

"Quite true, Watson. The telegram still remains 
the only solid thing with which we have to deal, 
and we must not permit our attention to wander 
away from it. It is to gain light upon the purpose 
of this telegram that we are now upon our way 
to Cambridge. The path of our investigation is 
at present obscure, but I shall be very much sur- 
prised if before evening we have not cleared it up 
or made a considerable advance along it." 

It was already dark when we reached the old 
University city. Holmes took a cab at the station, 
and ordered the man to drive to the house of Dr. 
Leslie Armstrong. A few minutes later we had 
stopped at a large mansion in the busiest thor- 
oughfare. We were shown in, and after a long wait 
were at last admitted into the consulting-room, 
where we found the doctor seated behind his ta- 
ble. 

It argues the degree in which I had lost touch 
with my profession that the name of Leslie Arm- 
strong was unknown to me. Now I am aware that 
he is not only one of the heads of the medical 
school of the University, but a thinker of European 
reputation in more than one branch of science. 
Yet even without knowing his brilliant record one 
could not fail to be impressed by a mere glance 
at the man, the square, massive face, the brood- 
ing eyes under the thatched brows, and the gran- 
ite moulding of the inflexible jaw. A man of deep 
character, a man with an alert mind, grim, ascetic, 
self-contained, formidable — so I read Dr. Leslie 


549 



The Adventure of the Missing Three-Quarter 


Armstrong. He held my friend's card in his hand, 
and he looked up with no very pleased expression 
upon his dour features. 

"I have heard your name, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, 
and I am aware of your profession, one of which I 
by no means approve." 

"In that, doctor, you will find yourself in agree- 
ment with every criminal in the country," said my 
friend, quietly. 

"So far as your efforts are directed towards the 
suppression of crime, sir, they must have the sup- 
port of every reasonable member of the commu- 
nity, though I cannot doubt that the official ma- 
chinery is amply sufficient for the purpose. Where 
your calling is more open to criticism is when you 
pry into the secrets of private individuals, when 
you rake up family matters which are better hid- 
den, and when you incidentally waste the time of 
men who are more busy than yourself. At the 
present moment, for example, I should be writing 
a treatise instead of conversing with you." 

"No doubt, doctor; and yet the conversation 
may prove more important than the treatise. In- 
cidentally I may tell you that we are doing the re- 
verse of what you very justly blame, and that we 
are endeavouring to prevent anything like public 
exposure of private matters which must necessar- 
ily follow when once the case is fairly in the hands 
of the official police. You may look upon me sim- 
ply as an irregular pioneer who goes in front of the 
regular forces of the country. I have come to ask 
you about Mr. Godfrey Staunton." 

"What about him?" 

"You know him, do you not?" 

"He is an intimate friend of mine." 

"You are aware that he has disappeared?" 

"Ah, indeed!" There was no change of expres- 
sion in the rugged features of the doctor. 

"He left his hotel last night. He has not been 
heard of." 

"No doubt he will return." 

"To-morrow is the 'Varsity football match." 

"I have no sympathy with these childish 
games. The young man's fate interests me deeply, 
since I know him and like him. The football match 
does not come within my horizon at all." 

"I claim your sympathy, then, in my investiga- 
tion of Mr. Staunton's fate. Do you know where he 
is?" 

"Certainly not." 

"You have not seen him since yesterday?" 


"No, I have not." 

"Was Mr. Staunton a healthy man?" 

"Absolutely." 

"Did you ever know him ill?" 

"Never." 

Holmes popped a sheet of paper before the 
doctor's eyes. "Then perhaps you will explain 
this receipted bill for thirteen guineas, paid by Mr. 
Godfrey Staunton last month to Dr. Leslie Arm- 
strong of Cambridge. I picked it out from among 
the papers upon his desk." 

The doctor flushed with anger. 

"I do not feel that there is any reason why I 
should render an explanation to you, Mr. Holmes." 

Holmes replaced the bill in his note-book. "If 
you prefer a public explanation it must come 
sooner or later," said he. "I have already told you 
that I can hush up that which others will be bound 
to publish, and you would really be wiser to take 
me into your complete confidence." 

"I know nothing about it." 

"Did you hear from Mr. Staunton in London?" 

"Certainly not." 

"Dear me, dear me; the post-office again!" 
Holmes sighed, wearily. "A most urgent telegram 
was dispatched to you from London by Godfrey 
Staunton at six-fifteen yesterday evening — a tele- 
gram which is undoubtedly associated with his 
disappearance — and yet you have not had it. It 
is most culpable. I shall certainly go down to the 
office here and register a complaint." 

Dr. Leslie Armstrong sprang up from behind 
his desk, and his dark face was crimson with fury. 

"I'll trouble you to walk out of my house, sir," 
said he. "You can tell your employer. Lord Mount- 
James, that I do not wish to have anything to do 
either with him or with his agents. No, sir, not an- 
other word!" He rang the bell furiously. "John, 
show these gentlemen out!" A pompous butler 
ushered us severely to the door, and we found our- 
selves in the street. Holmes burst out laughing. 

"Dr. Leslie Armstrong is certainly a man of en- 
ergy and character," said he. "I have not seen a 
man who, if he turned his talents that way, was 
more calculated to fill the gap left by the illustri- 
ous Moriarty. And now, my poor Watson, here 
we are, stranded and friendless in this inhospitable 
town, which we cannot leave without abandoning 
our case. This little inn just opposite Armstrong's 
house is singularly adapted to our needs. If you 
would engage a front room and purchase the nec- 
essaries for the night, I may have time to make a 
few inquiries." 


550 



The Adventure of the Missing Three-Quarter 


These few inquiries proved, however, to be a 
more lengthy proceeding than Holmes had imag- 
ined, for he did not return to the inn until nearly 
nine o'clock. He was pale and dejected, stained 
with dust, and exhausted with hunger and fatigue. 
A cold supper was ready upon the table, and when 
his needs were satisfied and his pipe alight he was 
ready to take that half comic and wholly philo- 
sophic view which was natural to him when his 
affairs were going awry. The sound of carriage 
wheels caused him to rise and glance out of the 
window. A brougham and pair of greys under the 
glare of a gas-lamp stood before the doctor's door. 

"It's been out three hours," said Holmes; 
"started at half-past six, and here it is back again. 
That gives a radius of ten or twelve miles, and he 
does it once, or sometimes twice, a day." 

"No unusual thing for a doctor in practice." 

"But Armstrong is not really a doctor in prac- 
tice. He is a lecturer and a consultant, but he does 
not care for general practice, which distracts him 
from his literary work. Why, then, does he make 
these long journeys, which must be exceedingly 
irksome to him, and who is it that he visits?" 

"His coachman — " 

"My dear Watson, can you doubt that it was to 
him that I first applied? I do not know whether it 
came from his own innate depravity or from the 
promptings of his master, but he was rude enough 
to set a dog at me. Neither dog nor man liked 
the look of my stick, however, and the matter fell 
through. Relations were strained after that, and 
further inquiries out of the question. All that I 
have learned I got from a friendly native in the 
yard of our own inn. It was he who told me of the 
doctor's habits and of his daily journey. At that in- 
stant, to give point to his words, the carriage came 
round to the door." 

"Could you not follow it?" 

"Excellent, Watson! You are scintillating this 
evening. The idea did cross my mind. There is, as 
you may have observed, a bicycle shop next to our 
inn. Into this I rushed, engaged a bicycle, and was 
able to get started before the carriage was quite out 
of sight. I rapidly overtook it, and then, keeping 
at a discreet distance of a hundred yards or so, I 
followed its lights until we were clear of the town. 
We had got well out on the country road when a 
somewhat mortifying incident occurred. The car- 
riage stopped, the doctor alighted, walked swiftly 
back to where I had also halted, and told me in an 
excellent sardonic fashion that he feared the road 
was narrow, and that he hoped his carriage did not 


impede the passage of my bicycle. Nothing could 
have been more admirable than his way of putting 
it. I at once rode past the carriage, and, keeping to 
the main road, I went on for a few miles, and then 
halted in a convenient place to see if the carriage 
passed. There was no sign of it, however, and so 
it became evident that it had turned down one of 
several side roads which I had observed. I rode 
back, but again saw nothing of the carriage, and 
now, as you perceive, it has returned after me. Of 
course, I had at the outset no particular reason to 
connect these journeys with the disappearance of 
Godfrey Staunton, and was only inclined to inves- 
tigate them on the general grounds that everything 
which concerns Dr. Armstrong is at present of in- 
terest to us; but, now that I find he keeps so keen 
a look-out upon anyone who may follow him on 
these excursions, the affair appears more impor- 
tant, and I shall not be satisfied until I have made 
the matter clear." 

"We can follow him to-morrow." 

"Can we? It is not so easy as you seem to think. 
You are not familiar with Cambridgeshire scenery, 
are you? It does not lend itself to concealment. 
All this country that I passed over to-night is as 
flat and clean as the palm of your hand, and the 
man we are following is no fool, as he very clearly 
showed to-night. I have wired to Overton to let 
us know any fresh London developments at this 
address, and in the meantime we can only con- 
centrate our attention upon Dr. Armstrong, whose 
name the obliging young lady at the office allowed 
me to read upon the counterfoil of Staunton's ur- 
gent message. He knows where the young man 
is — to that I'll swear — and if he knows, then it 
must be our own fault if we cannot manage to 
know also. At present it must be admitted that 
the odd trick is in his possession, and, as you are 
aware, Watson, it is not my habit to leave the game 
in that condition." 

And yet the next day brought us no nearer to 
the solution of the mystery. A note was handed in 
after breakfast, which Holmes passed across to me 
with a smile. 

Sir [it ran]: 

I can assure you that you are wasting 
your time in dogging my movements. 

I have, as you discovered last night, a 
window at the back of my brougham, 
and if you desire a twenty-mile ride 
which will lead you to the spot from 
which you started, you have only to 
follow me. Meanwhile, I can inform 
you that no spying upon me can in any 


551 



The Adventure of the Missing Three-Quarter 


way help Mr. Godfrey Staunton, and I 
am convinced that the best service you 
can do to that gentleman is to return at 
once to London and to report to your 
employer that you are unable to trace 
him. Your time in Cambridge will cer- 
tainly be wasted. 

Yours faithfully, 
Leslie Armstrong. 

"An outspoken, honest antagonist is the doc- 
tor," said Holmes. "Well, well, he excites my cu- 
riosity, and I must really know more before I leave 
him." 

"His carriage is at his door now," said I. "There 
he is stepping into it. I saw him glance up at our 
window as he did so. Suppose I try my luck upon 
the bicycle?" 

"No, no, my dear Watson! With all respect for 
your natural acumen I do not think that you are 
quite a match for the worthy doctor. I think that 
possibly I can attain our end by some independent 
explorations of my own. I am afraid that I must 
leave you to your own devices, as the appearance 
of two inquiring strangers upon a sleepy country- 
side might excite more gossip than I care for. No 
doubt you will find some sights to amuse you in 
this venerable city, and I hope to bring back a more 
favourable report to you before evening." 

Once more, however, my friend was destined 
to be disappointed. He came back at night weary 
and unsuccessful. 

"I have had a blank day, Watson. Having 
got the doctor's general direction, I spent the 
day in visiting all the villages upon that side of 
Cambridge, and comparing notes with publicans 
and other local news agencies. I have covered 
some ground: Chesterton, Histon, Waterbeach, 
and Oakington have each been explored and have 
each proved disappointing. The daily appearance 
of a brougham and pair could hardly have been 
overlooked in such Sleepy Hollows. The doctor 
has scored once more. Is there a telegram for me?" 

"Yes; I opened it. Here it is: 

" 'Ask for Pompey from Jeremy Dixon, 
Trinity College.' 

"I don't understand it." 

"Oh, it is clear enough. It is from our friend 
Overton, and is in answer to a question from me. 
I'll just send round a note to Mr. Jeremy Dixon, 
and then I have no doubt that our luck will turn. 
By the way, is there any news of the match?" 


"Yes, the local evening paper has an excellent 
account in its last edition. Oxford won by a goal 
and two tries. The last sentences of the description 
say: 

"‘The defeat of the Light Blues may be 
entirely attributed to the unfortunate ab- 
sence of the crack International , Godfrey 
Staunton, zvhose want was felt at every in- 
stant of the game. The lack of combination 
in the three-quarter line and their weak- 
ness both in attack and defence more than 
neutralized the efforts of a heavy and hard- 
working yack. ' " 

"Then our friend Overton's forebodings have been 
justified," said Holmes. "Personally I am in agree- 
ment with Dr. Armstrong, and football does not 
come within my horizon. Early to bed to-night, 
Watson, for I foresee that to-morrow may be an 
eventful day." 

I was horrified by my first glimpse of Holmes 
next morning, for he sat by the fire holding his 
tiny hypodermic syringe. I associated that instru- 
ment with the single weakness of his nature, and 
I feared the worst when I saw it glittering in his 
hand. He laughed at my expression of dismay, and 
laid it upon the table. 

"No, no, my dear fellow, there is no cause for 
alarm. It is not upon this occasion the instrument 
of evil, but it will rather prove to be the key which 
will unlock our mystery. On this syringe I base 
all my hopes. I have just returned from a small 
scouting expedition and everything is favourable. 
Eat a good breakfast, Watson, for I propose to get 
upon Dr. Armstrong's trail to-day, and once on it I 
will not stop for rest or food until I run him to his 
burrow." 

"In that case," said I, "we had best carry our 
breakfast with us, for he is making an early start. 
His carriage is at the door." 

"Never mind. Let him go. He will be clever if 
he can drive where I cannot follow him. When you 
have finished come downstairs with me, and I will 
introduce you to a detective who is a very eminent 
specialist in the work that lies before us." 

When we descended I followed Holmes into 
the stable yard, where he opened the door of a 
loose-box and led out a squat, lop-eared, white- 
and-tan dog, something between a beagle and a 
foxhound. 

"Let me introduce you to Pompey," said he. 
"Pompey is the pride of the local draghounds, 
no very great flier, as his build will show, but a 
staunch hound on a scent. Well, Pompey, you may 


552 



The Adventure of the Missing Three-Quarter 


not be fast, but I expect you will be too fast for 
a couple of middle-aged London gentlemen, so I 
will take the liberty of fastening this leather leash 
to your collar. Now, boy, come along, and show 
what you can do." He led him across to the doc- 
tor's door. The dog sniffed round for an instant, 
and then with a shrill whine of excitement started 
off down the street, tugging at his leash in his ef- 
forts to go faster. In half an hour, we were clear of 
the town and hastening down a country road. 

"What have you done. Holmes?" I asked. 

"A threadbare and venerable device, but useful 
upon occasion. I walked into the doctor 's yard this 
morning and shot my syringe full of aniseed over 
the hind wheel. A draghound will follow aniseed 
from here to John o' Groat's, and our friend Arm- 
strong would have to drive through the Cam be- 
fore he would shake Pompey off his trail. Oh, the 
cunning rascal! This is how he gave me the slip 
the other night." 

The dog had suddenly turned out of the main 
road into a grass-grown lane. Half a mile farther 
this opened into another broad road, and the trail 
turned hard to the right in the direction of the 
town, which we had just quitted. The road took 
a sweep to the south of the town and continued in 
the opposite direction to that in which we started. 

"This detour has been entirely for our benefit, 
then?" said Holmes. "No wonder that my in- 
quiries among those villages led to nothing. The 
doctor has certainly played the game for all it is 
worth, and one would like to know the reason for 
such elaborate deception. This should be the vil- 
lage of Trumpington to the right of us. And, by 
Jove! here is the brougham coming round the cor- 
ner. Quick, Watson, quick, or we are done!" 

He sprang through a gate into a field, dragging 
the reluctant Pompey after him. We had hardly got 
under the shelter of the hedge when the carriage 
rattled past. I caught a glimpse of Dr. Armstrong 
within, his shoulders bowed, his head sunk on his 
hands, the very image of distress. I could tell by 
my companion's graver face that he also had seen. 

"I fear there is some dark ending to our quest," 
said he. "It cannot be long before we know it. 
Come, Pompey! Ah, it is the cottage in the field!" 

There could be no doubt that we had reached 
the end of our journey. Pompey ran about and 
whined eagerly outside the gate where the marks 
of the brougham's wheels were still to be seen. A 
footpath led across to the lonely cottage. Holmes 
tied the dog to the hedge, and we hastened on- 
wards. My friend knocked at the little rustic door. 


and knocked again without response. And yet the 
cottage was not deserted, for a low sound came to 
our ears — a kind of drone of misery and despair, 
which was indescribably melancholy. Holmes 
paused irresolute, and then he glanced back at the 
road which we had just traversed. A brougham 
was coming down it, and there could be no mis- 
taking those grey horses. 

"By Jove, the doctor is coming back!" cried 
Holmes. "That settles it. We are bound to see what 
it means before he comes." 

He opened the door and we stepped into the 
hall. The droning sound swelled louder upon our 
ears until it became one long, deep wail of distress. 
It came from upstairs. Holmes darted up and I 
followed him. He pushed open a half-closed door 
and we both stood appalled at the sight before us. 

A woman, young and beautiful, was lying dead 
upon the bed. Her calm, pale face, with dim, 
wide-opened blue eyes, looked upward from amid 
a great tangle of golden hair. At the foot of the 
bed, half sitting, half kneeling, his face buried in 
the clothes, was a young man, whose frame was 
racked by his sobs. So absorbed was he by his bit- 
ter grief that he never looked up until Holmes's 
hand was on his shoulder. 

"Are you Mr. Godfrey Staunton?" 

"Yes, yes; I am — but you are too late. She is 
dead." 

The man was so dazed that he could not 
be made to understand that we were anything 
but doctors who had been sent to his assistance. 
Holmes was endeavouring to utter a few words of 
consolation, and to explain the alarm which had 
been caused to his friends by his sudden disap- 
pearance, when there was a step upon the stairs, 
and there was the heavy, stern, questioning face of 
Dr. Armstrong at the door. 

"So, gentlemen," said he, "you have attained 
your end, and have certainly chosen a particularly 
delicate moment for your intrusion. I would not 
brawl in the presence of death, but I can assure 
you that if I were a younger man your monstrous 
conduct would not pass with impunity." 

"Excuse me. Dr. Armstrong, I think we are a 
little at cross-purposes," said my friend, with dig- 
nity. "If you could step downstairs with us we may 
each be able to give some light to the other upon 
this miserable affair." 

A minute later the grim doctor and ourselves 
were in the sitting-room below. 

"Well, sir?" said he. 


553 



"I wish you to understand, in the first place, 
that I am not employed by Lord Mount-James, 
and that my sympathies in this matter are entirely 
against that nobleman. When a man is lost it is 
my duty to ascertain his fate, but having done so 
the matter ends so far as I am concerned; and so 
long as there is nothing criminal, I am much more 
anxious to hush up private scandals than to give 
them publicity If, as I imagine, there is no breach 
of the law in this matter, you can absolutely de- 
pend upon my discretion and my co-operation in 
keeping the facts out of the papers." 

Dr. Armstrong took a quick step forward and 
wrung Holmes by the hand. 

"You are a good fellow," said he. "I had mis- 
judged you. I thank Heaven that my compunction 
at leaving poor Staunton all alone in this plight 
caused me to turn my carriage back, and so to 
make your acquaintance. Knowing as much as 
you do, the situation is very easily explained. A 
year ago Godfrey Staunton lodged in London for 
a time, and became passionately attached to his 
landlady's daughter, whom he married. She was 
as good as she was beautiful, and as intelligent as 
she was good. No man need be ashamed of such a 
wife. But Godfrey was the heir to this crabbed old 
nobleman, and it was quite certain that the news 
of his marriage would have been the end of his in- 
heritance. I knew the lad well, and I loved him for 
his many excellent qualities. I did all I could to 
help him to keep things straight. We did our very 


best to keep the thing from everyone, for when 
once such a whisper gets about it is not long be- 
fore everyone has heard it. Thanks to this lonely 
cottage and his own discretion, Godfrey has up to 
now succeeded. Their secret was known to no one 
save to me and to one excellent servant who has 
at present gone for assistance to Trumpington. But 
at last there came a terrible blow in the shape of 
dangerous illness to his wife. It was consumption 
of the most virulent kind. The poor boy was half 
crazed with grief, and yet he had to go to London 
to play this match, for he could not get out of it 
without explanations which would expose his se- 
cret. I tried to cheer him up by a wire, and he sent 
me one in reply imploring me to do all I could. 
This was the telegram which you appear in some 
inexplicable way to have seen. I did not tell him 
how urgent the danger was, for I knew that he 
could do no good here, but I sent the truth to the 
girl's father, and he very injudiciously communi- 
cated it to Godfrey. The result was that he came 
straight away in a state bordering on frenzy, and 
has remained in the same state, kneeling at the end 
of her bed, until this morning death put an end to 
her sufferings. That is all, Mr. Holmes, and I am 
sure that I can rely upon your discretion and that 
of your friend." 

Holmes grasped the doctor's hand. 

"Come, Watson," said he, and we passed from 
that house of grief into the pale sunlight of the 
winter day. 



The Adventure of the Abbey Grange 


t was on a bitterly cold and frosty morn- 
ing during the winter of '97 that I was 
awakened by a tugging at my shoulder. 
Jt was Holmes. The candle in his hand 
shone upon his eager, stooping face and told me 
at a glance that something was amiss. 

"Come, Watson, come!" he cried. "The game is 
afoot. Not a word! Into your clothes and come!" 

Ten minutes later we were both in a cab and rat- 
tling through the silent streets on our way to Char- 
ing Cross Station. The first faint winter's dawn 
was beginning to appear, and we could dimly see 
the occasional figure of an early workman as he 
passed us, blurred and indistinct in the opalescent 
London reek. Holmes nestled in silence into his 
heavy coat, and I was glad to do the same, for the 
air was most bitter and neither of us had broken 
our fast. It was not until we had consumed some 
hot tea at the station, and taken our places in the 
Kentish train, that we were sufficiently thawed, he 
to speak and I to listen. Holmes drew a note from 
his pocket and read it aloud: 

"Abbey Grange, Marsham, Kent, 

"3.30 a.m. 

"My dear Mr. Holmes: 

"I should be very glad of your imme- 
diate assistance in what promises to be 
a most remarkable case. It is something 
quite in your line. Except for releas- 
ing the lady I will see that everything 
is kept exactly as I have found it, but I 
beg you not to lose an instant, as it is 
difficult to leave Sir Eustace there. 

"Yours faithfully, 
"Stanley Hopkins." 

"Hopkins has called me in seven times, and on 
each occasion his summons has been entirely jus- 
tified," said Holmes. "I fancy that every one of his 
cases has found its way into your collection, and I 
must admit, Watson, that you have some power of 
selection which atones for much which I deplore in 
your narratives. Your fatal habit of looking at ev- 
erything from the point of view of a story instead 
of as a scientific exercise has ruined what might 
have been an instructive and even classical series 
of demonstrations. You slur over work of the ut- 
most finesse and delicacy in order to dwell upon 
sensational details which may excite, but cannot 
possibly instruct, the reader." 

"Why do you not write them yourself?" I said, 
with some bitterness. 


"I will, my dear Watson, I will. At present I am, 
as you know, fairly busy, but I propose to devote 
my declining years to the composition of a text- 
book which shall focus the whole art of detection 
into one volume. Our present research appears to 
be a case of murder." 

"You think this Sir Eustace is dead, then?" 

"I should say so. Hopkins's writing shows con- 
siderable agitation, and he is not an emotional 
man. Yes, I gather there has been violence, and 
that the body is left for our inspection. A mere sui- 
cide would not have caused him to send for me. As 
to the release of the lady, it would appear that she 
has been locked in her room during the tragedy. 
We are moving in high life, Watson; crackling pa- 
per, 'E.B.' monogram, coat-of-arms, picturesque 
address. I think that friend Hopkins will live up 
to his reputation and that we shall have an inter- 
esting morning. The crime was committed before 
twelve last night." 

"How can you possibly tell?" 

"By an inspection of the trains and by reckon- 
ing the time. The local police had to be called 
in, they had to communicate with Scotland Yard, 
Hopkins had to go out, and he in turn had to send 
for me. All that makes a fair night's work. Well, 
here we are at Chislehurst Station, and we shall 
soon set our doubts at rest." 

A drive of a couple of miles through narrow 
country lanes brought us to a park gate, which 
was opened for us by an old lodge-keeper, whose 
haggard face bore the reflection of some great dis- 
aster. The avenue ran through a noble park, be- 
tween lines of ancient elms, and ended in a low, 
widespread house, pillared in front after the fash- 
ion of Palladio. The central part was evidently of 
a great age and shrouded in ivy, but the large win- 
dows showed that modern changes had been car- 
ried out, and one wing of the house appeared to be 
entirely new. The youthful figure and alert, eager 
face of Inspector Stanley Hopkins confronted us in 
the open doorway. 

"I'm very glad you have come, Mr. Holmes. 
And you too. Dr. Watson! But, indeed, if I had my 
time over again I should not have troubled you, for 
since the lady has come to herself she has given so 
clear an account of the affair that there is not much 
left for us to do. You remember that Lewisham 
gang of burglars?" 

"What, the three Randalls?" 

"Exactly; the father and two sons. It's their 
work. I have not a doubt of it. They did a job at 


557 



The Adventure of the Abbey Grange 


Sydenham a fortnight ago, and were seen and de- 
scribed. Rather cool to do another so soon and so 
near, but it is they, beyond all doubt. It's a hanging 
matter this time." 

"Sir Eustace is dead, then?" 

"Yes; his head was knocked in with his own 
poker." 

"Sir Eustace Brackenstall, the driver tells me." 

"Exactly — one of the richest men in Kent. Lady 
Brackenstall is in the morning-room. Poor lady, 
she has had a most dreadful experience. She 
seemed half dead when I saw her first. I think you 
had best see her and hear her account of the facts. 
Then we will examine the dining-room together." 

Lady Brackenstall was no ordinary person. Sel- 
dom have I seen so graceful a figure, so wom- 
anly a presence, and so beautiful a face. She was 
a blonde, golden-haired, blue-eyed, and would, 
no doubt, have had the perfect complexion which 
goes with such colouring had not her recent ex- 
perience left her drawn and haggard. Her suffer- 
ings were physical as well as mental, for over one 
eye rose a hideous, plum-coloured swelling, which 
her maid, a tall, austere woman, was bathing as- 
siduously with vinegar and water. The lady lay 
back exhausted upon a couch, but her quick, ob- 
servant gaze as we entered the room, and the alert 
expression of her beautiful features, showed that 
neither her wits nor her courage had been shaken 
by her terrible experience. She was enveloped in a 
loose dressing-gown of blue and silver, but a black 
sequin-covered dinner-dress was hung upon the 
couch beside her. 

"I have told you all that happened, Mr. Hop- 
kins," she said, wearily; "could you not repeat it 
for me? Well, if you think it necessary, I will tell 
these gentlemen what occurred. Have they been in 
the dining-room yet?" 

"I thought they had better hear your ladyship's 
story first." 

"I shall be glad when you can arrange matters. 
It is horrible to me to think of him still lying there." 
She shuddered and buried her face in her hands. 
As she did so the loose gown fell back from her 
forearms. Holmes uttered an exclamation. 

"You have other injuries, madam! What is 
this?" Two vivid red spots stood out on one of the 
white, round limbs. She hastily covered it. 

"It is nothing. It has no connection with the 
hideous business of last night. If you and your 
friend will sit down I will tell you all I can. 

"I am the wife of Sir Eustace Brackenstall. I 
have been married about a year. I suppose that it 


is no use my attempting to conceal that our mar- 
riage has not been a happy one. I fear that all 
our neighbours would tell you that, even if I were 
to attempt to deny it. Perhaps the fault may be 
partly mine. I was brought up in the freer, less 
conventional atmosphere of South Australia, and 
this English life, with its proprieties and its prim- 
ness, is not congenial to me. But the main reason 
lies in the one fact which is notorious to every- 
one, and that is that Sir Eustace was a confirmed 
drunkard. To be with such a man for an hour is 
unpleasant. Can you imagine what it means for 
a sensitive and high-spirited woman to be tied to 
him for day and night? It is a sacrilege, a crime, a 
villainy to hold that such a marriage is binding. I 
say that these monstrous laws of yours will bring 
a curse upon the land — Heaven will not let such 
wickedness endure." For an instant she sat up, her 
cheeks flushed, and her eyes blazing from under 
the terrible mark upon her brow. Then the strong, 
soothing hand of the austere maid drew her head 
down on to the cushion, and the wild anger died 
away into passionate sobbing. At last she contin- 
ued: — 

"I will tell you about last night. You are aware, 
perhaps, that in this house all servants sleep in the 
modern wing. This central block is made up of the 
dwelling-rooms, with the kitchen behind and our 
bedroom above. My maid Theresa sleeps above 
my room. There is no one else, and no sound 
could alarm those who are in the farther wing. 
This must have been well known to the robbers, 
or they would not have acted as they did. 

"Sir Eustace retired about half-past ten. The 
servants had already gone to their quarters. Only 
my maid was up, and she had remained in her 
room at the top of the house until I needed her 
services. I sat until after eleven in this room, ab- 
sorbed in a book. Then I walked round to see that 
all was right before I went upstairs. It was my cus- 
tom to do this myself, for, as I have explained. Sir 
Eustace was not always to be trusted. I went into 
the kitchen, the butler's pantry, the gun-room, the 
billiard-room, the drawing-room, and finally the 
dining-room. As I approached the window, which 
is covered with thick curtains, I suddenly felt the 
wind blow upon my face and realized that it was 
open. I flung the curtain aside and found myself 
face to face with a broad-shouldered, elderly man 
who had just stepped into the room. The window 
is a long French one, which really forms a door 
leading to the lawn. I held my bedroom candle 
lit in my hand, and, by its light, behind the first 
man I saw two others, who were in the act of en- 
tering. I stepped back, but the fellow was on me 


558 



The Adventure of the Abbey Grange 


in an instant. He caught me first by the wrist and 
then by the throat. I opened my mouth to scream, 
but he struck me a savage blow with his fist over 
the eye, and felled me to the ground. I must have 
been unconscious for a few minutes, for when I 
came to myself I found that they had torn down 
the bell-rope and had secured me tightly to the 
oaken chair which stands at the head of the dining- 
room table. I was so firmly bound that I could not 
move, and a handkerchief round my mouth pre- 
vented me from uttering any sound. It was at this 
instant that my unfortunate husband entered the 
room. He had evidently heard some suspicious 
sounds, and he came prepared for such a scene as 
he found. He was dressed in his shirt and trousers, 
with his favourite blackthorn cudgel in his hand. 
He rushed at one of the burglars, but another — it 
was the elderly man — stooped, picked the poker 
out of the grate, and struck him a horrible blow 
as he passed. He fell without a groan, and never 
moved again. I fainted once more, but again it 
could only have been a very few minutes during 
which I was insensible. When I opened my eyes 
I found that they had collected the silver from the 
sideboard, and they had drawn a bottle of wine 
which stood there. Each of them had a glass in his 
hand. I have already told you, have I not, that one 
was elderly, with a beard, and the others young, 
hairless lads. They might have been a father with 
his two sons. They talked together in whispers. 
Then they came over and made sure that I was 
still securely bound. Finally they withdrew, clos- 
ing the window after them. It was quite a quarter 
of an hour before I got my mouth free. When I 
did so my screams brought the maid to my assis- 
tance. The other servants were soon alarmed, and 
we sent for the local police, who instantly com- 
municated with London. That is really all that I 
can tell you, gentlemen, and I trust that it will not 
be necessary for me to go over so painful a story 
again." 

"Any questions, Mr. Holmes?" asked Hopkins. 

"I will not impose any further tax upon Lady 
Brackenstall's patience and time," said Holmes. 
"Before I go into the dining-room I should like to 
hear your experience." He looked at the maid. 

"I saw the men before ever they came into the 
house," said she. "As I sat by my bedroom win- 
dow I saw three men in the moonlight down by 
the lodge gate yonder, but I thought nothing of it 
at the time. It was more than an hour after that I 
heard my mistress scream, and down I ran, to find 
her, poor lamb, just as she says, and him on the 
floor with his blood and brains over the room. It 


was enough to drive a woman out of her wits, tied 
there, and her very dress spotted with him; but she 
never wanted courage, did Miss Mary Fraser of 
Adelaide, and Lady Brackenstall of Abbey Grange 
hasn't learned new ways. You've questioned her 
long enough, you gentlemen, and now she is com- 
ing to her own room, just with her old Theresa, to 
get the rest that she badly needs." 

With a motherly tenderness the gaunt woman 
put her arm round her mistress and led her from 
the room. 

"She has been with her all her life," said Hop- 
kins. "Nursed her as a baby, and came with her 
to England when they first left Australia eighteen 
months ago. Theresa Wright is her name, and the 
kind of maid you don't pick up nowadays. This 
way, Mr. Holmes, if you please!" 

The keen interest had passed out of Holmes's 
expressive face, and I knew that with the mystery 
all the charm of the case had departed. There still 
remained an arrest to be effected, but what were 
these commonplace rogues that he should soil his 
hands with them? An abstruse and learned spe- 
cialist who finds that he has been called in for a 
case of measles would experience something of the 
annoyance which I read in my friend's eyes. Yet 
the scene in the dining-room of the Abbey Grange 
was sufficiently strange to arrest his attention and 
to recall his waning interest. 

It was a very large and high chamber, with 
carved oak ceiling, oaken panelling, and a fine ar- 
ray of deer's heads and ancient weapons around 
the walls. At the farther end from the door was 
the high French window of which we had heard. 
Three smaller windows on the right-hand side 
filled the apartment with cold winter sunshine. On 
the left was a large, deep fireplace, with a mas- 
sive, over-hanging oak mantelpiece. Beside the 
fireplace was a heavy oaken chair with arms and 
cross-bars at the bottom. In and out through the 
open woodwork was woven a crimson cord, which 
was secured at each side to the crosspiece below. 
In releasing the lady the cord had been slipped off 
her, but the knots with which it had been secured 
still remained. These details only struck our at- 
tention afterwards, for our thoughts were entirely 
absorbed by the terrible object which lay upon the 
tiger-skin hearthrug in front of the fire. 

It was the body of a tall, well-made man, about 
forty years of age. He lay upon his back, his face 
upturned, with his white teeth grinning through 
his short black beard. His two clenched hands 
were raised above his head, and a heavy black- 
thorn stick lay across them. His dark, handsome. 


559 



The Adventure of the Abbey Grange 


aquiline features were convulsed into a spasm of 
vindictive hatred, which had set his dead face in 
a terribly fiendish expression. He had evidently 
been in his bed when the alarm had broken out, for 
he wore a foppish embroidered night-shirt, and his 
bare feet projected from his trousers. His head was 
horribly injured, and the whole room bore witness 
to the savage ferocity of the blow which had struck 
him down. Beside him lay the heavy poker, bent 
into a curve by the concussion. Holmes examined 
both it and the indescribable wreck which it had 
wrought. 

"He must be a powerful man, this elder Ran- 
dall," he remarked. 

"Yes," said Hopkins. "I have some record of 
the fellow, and he is a rough customer." 

"You should have no difficulty in getting him." 

"Not the slightest. We have been on the look- 
out for him, and there was some idea that he had 
got away to America. Now that we know the gang 
are here I don't see how they can escape. We have 
the news at every seaport already, and a reward 
will be offered before evening. What beats me is 
how they could have done so mad a thing, know- 
ing that the lady could describe them, and that we 
could not fail to recognise the description." 

"Exactly. One would have expected that they 
would have silenced Lady Brackenstall as well." 

"They may not have realized," I suggested, 
"that she had recovered from her faint." 

"That is likely enough. If she seemed to be 
senseless they would not take her life. What about 
this poor fellow, Hopkins? I seem to have heard 
some queer stories about him." 

"He was a good-hearted man when he was 
sober, but a perfect fiend when he was drunk, or 
rather when he was half drunk, for he seldom re- 
ally went the whole way. The devil seemed to be 
in him at such times, and he was capable of any- 
thing. From what I hear, in spite of all his wealth 
and his title, he very nearly came our way once or 
twice. There was a scandal about his drenching a 
dog with petroleum and setting it on fire — her la- 
dyship's dog, to make the matter worse — and that 
was only hushed up with difficulty. Then he threw 
a decanter at that maid, Theresa Wright; there was 
trouble about that. On the whole, and between 
ourselves, it will be a brighter house without him. 
What are you looking at now?" 

Holmes was down on his knees examining 
with great attention the knots upon the red cord 
with which the lady had been secured. Then he 
carefully scrutinized the broken and frayed end 


where it had snapped off when the burglar had 
dragged it down. 

"When this was pulled down the bell in the 
kitchen must have rung loudly," he remarked. 

"No one could hear it. The kitchen stands right 
at the back of the house." 

"How did the burglar know no one would hear 
it? How dared he pull at a bell-rope in that reck- 
less fashion?" 

"Exactly, Mr. Holmes, exactly. You put the 
very question which I have asked myself again 
and again. There can be no doubt that this fel- 
low must have known the house and its habits. He 
must have perfectly understood that the servants 
would all be in bed at that comparatively early 
hour, and that no one could possibly hear a bell 
ring in the kitchen. Therefore he must have been 
in close league with one of the servants. Surely 
that is evident. But there are eight servants, and 
all of good character." 

"Other things being equal," said Holmes, "one 
would suspect the one at whose head the mas- 
ter threw a decanter. And yet that would in- 
volve treachery towards the mistress to whom this 
woman seems devoted. Well, well, the point is a 
minor one, and when you have Randall you will 
probably find no difficulty in securing his accom- 
plice. The lady's story certainly seems to be cor- 
roborated, if it needed corroboration, by every de- 
tail which we see before us." He walked to the 
French window and threw it open. "There are no 
signs here, but the ground is iron hard, and one 
would not expect them. I see that these candles on 
the mantelpiece have been lighted." 

"Yes; it was by their light and that of the lady's 
bedroom candle that the burglars saw their way 
about." 

"And what did they take?" 

"Well, they did not take much — only half-a- 
dozen articles of plate off the sideboard. Lady 
Brackenstall thinks that they were themselves so 
disturbed by the death of Sir Eustace that they 
did not ransack the house as they would otherwise 
have done." 

"No doubt that is true. And yet they drank 
some wine, I understand." 

"To steady their own nerves." 

"Exactly. These three glasses upon the side- 
board have been untouched, I suppose?" 

"Yes; and the bottle stands as they left it." 

"Let us look at it. Halloa! halloa! what is this?" 

The three glasses were grouped together, all 
of them tinged with wine, and one of them con- 
taining some dregs of bees-wing. The bottle stood 


560 



The Adventure of the Abbey Grange 


near them, two-thirds full, and beside it lay a long, 
deeply-stained cork. Its appearance and the dust 
upon the bottle showed that it was no common 
vintage which the murderers had enjoyed. 

A change had come over Holmes's manner. He 
had lost his listless expression, and again I saw an 
alert light of interest in his keen, deep-set eyes. He 
raised the cork and examined it minutely. 

"How did they draw it?" he asked. 

Hopkins pointed to a half-opened drawer. In it 
lay some table linen and a large cork-screw. 

"Did Lady Brackenstall say that screw was 
used?" 

"No; you remember that she was senseless at 
the moment when the bottle was opened." 

"Quite so. As a matter of fact that screw was 
not used. This bottle was opened by a pocket- 
screw, probably contained in a knife, and not more 
than an inch and a half long. If you examine the 
top of the cork you will observe that the screw 
was driven in three times before the cork was ex- 
tracted. It has never been transfixed. This long 
screw would have transfixed it and drawn it with 
a single pull. When you catch this fellow you will 
find that he has one of these multiplex knives in 
his possession." 

"Excellent!" said Hopkins. 

"But these glasses do puzzle me, I confess. 
Lady Brackenstall actually saw the three men 
drinking, did she not?" 

"Yes; she was clear about that." 

"Then there is an end of it. What more is to 
be said? And yet you must admit that the three 
glasses are very remarkable, Hopkins. What, you 
see nothing remarkable! Well, well, let it pass. Per- 
haps when a man has special knowledge and spe- 
cial powers like my own it rather encourages him 
to seek a complex explanation when a simpler one 
is at hand. Of course, it must be a mere chance 
about the glasses. Well, good morning, Hopkins. I 
don't see that I can be of any use to you, and you 
appear to have your case very clear. You will let 
me know when Randall is arrested, and any fur- 
ther developments which may occur. I trust that 
I shall soon have to congratulate you upon a suc- 
cessful conclusion. Come, Watson, I fancy that we 
may employ ourselves more profitably at home." 

During our return journey I could see by 
Holmes's face that he was much puzzled by some- 
thing which he had observed. Every now and 
then, by an effort, he would throw off the impres- 
sion and talk as if the matter were clear, but then 


his doubts would settle down upon him again, and 
his knitted brows and abstracted eyes would show 
that his thoughts had gone back once more to the 
great dining-room of the Abbey Grange in which 
this midnight tragedy had been enacted. At last, 
by a sudden impulse, just as our train was crawl- 
ing out of a suburban station, he sprang on to the 
platform and pulled me out after him. 

"Excuse me, my dear fellow," said he, as we 
watched the rear carriages of our train disappear- 
ing round a curve; "I am sorry to make you the 
victim of what may seem a mere whim, but on my 
life, Watson, I simply can't leave that case in this 
condition. Every instinct that I possess cries out 
against it. It's wrong — it's all wrong — I'll swear 
that it's wrong. And yet the lady's story was com- 
plete, the maid's corroboration was sufficient, the 
detail was fairly exact. What have I to put against 
that? Three wine-glasses, that is all. But if I had 
not taken things for granted, if I had examined ev- 
erything with care which I would have shown had 
we approached the case de novo and had no cut- 
and-dried story to warp my mind, would I not 
then have found something more definite to go 
upon? Of course I should. Sit down on this bench, 
Watson, until a train for Chislehurst arrives, and 
allow me to lay the evidence before you, imploring 
you in the first instance to dismiss from your mind 
the idea that anything which the maid or her mis- 
tress may have said must necessarily be true. The 
lady's charming personality must not be permitted 
to warp our judgment. 

"Surely there are details in her story which, if 
we looked at it in cold blood, would excite our sus- 
picion. These burglars made a considerable haul at 
Sydenham a fortnight ago. Some account of them 
and of their appearance was in the papers, and 
would naturally occur to anyone who wished to 
invent a story in which imaginary robbers should 
play a part. As a matter of fact, burglars who have 
done a good stroke of business are, as a rule, only 
too glad to enjoy the proceeds in peace and quiet 
without embarking on another perilous undertak- 
ing. Again, it is unusual for burglars to operate 
at so early an hour; it is unusual for burglars to 
strike a lady to prevent her screaming, since one 
would imagine that was the sure way to make her 
scream; it is unusual for them to commit murder 
when their numbers are sufficient to overpower 
one man; it is unusual for them to be content with 
a limited plunder when there is much more within 
their reach; and finally I should say that it was very 
unusual for such men to leave a bottle half empty. 
How do all these unusuals strike you, Watson?" 


561 



The Adventure of the Abbey Grange 


"Their cumulative effect is certainly consider- 
able, and yet each of them is quite possible in it- 
self. The most unusual thing of all, as it seems to 
me, is that the lady should be tied to the chair." 

"Well, I am not so clear about that, Watson; for 
it is evident that they must either kill her or else 
secure her in such a way that she could not give 
immediate notice of their escape. But at any rate I 
have shown, have I not, that there is a certain ele- 
ment of improbability about the lady's story? And 
now on the top of this comes the incident of the 
wine-glasses." 

"What about the wine-glasses?" 

"Can you see them in your mind's eye?" 

"I see them clearly." 

"We are told that three men drank from them. 
Does that strike you as likely?" 

"Why not? There was wine in each glass." 

"Exactly; but there was bees-wing only in one 
glass. You must have noticed that fact. What does 
that suggest to your mind?" 

"The last glass filled would be most likely to 
contain bees-wing." 

"Not at all. The bottle was full of it, and it is 
inconceivable that the first two glasses were clear 
and the third heavily charged with it. There are 
two possible explanations, and only two. One is 
that after the second glass was filled the bottle was 
violently agitated, and so the third glass received 
the bees-wing. That does not appear probable. No, 
no; I am sure that I am right." 

"What, then, do you suppose?" 

"That only two glasses were used, and that the 
dregs of both were poured into a third glass, so as 
to give the false impression that three people had 
been here. In that way all the bees-wing would be 
in the last glass, would it not? Yes, I am convinced 
that this is so. But if I have hit upon the true ex- 
planation of this one small phenomenon, then in 
an instant the case rises from the commonplace to 
the exceedingly remarkable, for it can only mean 
that Lady Brackenstall and her maid have deliber- 
ately lied to us, that not one word of their story 
is to be believed, that they have some very strong 
reason for covering the real criminal, and that we 
must construct our case for ourselves without any 
help from them. That is the mission which now 
lies before us, and here, Watson, is the Chislehurst 
train." 

The household of the Abbey Grange were 
much surprised at our return, but Sherlock 
Holmes, finding that Stanley Hopkins had gone 


off to report to head-quarters, took possession of 
the dining-room, locked the door upon the inside, 
and devoted himself for two hours to one of those 
minute and laborious investigations which formed 
the solid basis on which his brilliant edifices of de- 
duction were reared. Seated in a corner like an 
interested student who observes the demonstra- 
tion of his professor, I followed every step of that 
remarkable research. The window, the curtains, 
the carpet, the chair, the rope — each in turn was 
minutely examined and duly pondered. The body 
of the unfortunate baronet had been removed, but 
all else remained as we had seen it in the morning. 
Then, to my astonishment. Holmes climbed up on 
to the massive mantelpiece. Far above his head 
hung the few inches of red cord which were still 
attached to the wire. For a long time he gazed up- 
ward at it, and then in an attempt to get nearer to it 
he rested his knee upon a wooden bracket on the 
wall. This brought his hand within a few inches 
of the broken end of the rope, but it was not this 
so much as the bracket itself which seemed to en- 
gage his attention. Finally he sprang down with 
an ejaculation of satisfaction. 

"It's all right, Watson," said he. "We have got 
our case — one of the most remarkable in our col- 
lection. But, dear me, how slow-witted I have 
been, and how nearly I have committed the blun- 
der of my lifetime! Now, I think that with a few 
missing links my chain is almost complete." 

"You have got your men?" 

"Man, Watson, man. Only one, but a very 
formidable person. Strong as a lion — witness the 
blow that bent that poker. Six foot three in height, 
active as a squirrel, dexterous with his fingers; fi- 
nally, remarkably quick-witted, for this whole in- 
genious story is of his concoction. Yes, Watson, we 
have come upon the handiwork of a very remark- 
able individual. And yet in that bell-rope he has 
given us a clue which should not have left us a 
doubt." 

"Where was the clue?" 

"Well, if you were to pull down a bell-rope, 
Watson, where would you expect it to break? 
Surely at the spot where it is attached to the wire. 
Why should it break three inches from the top as 
this one has done?" 

"Because it is frayed there?" 

"Exactly. This end, which we can examine, is 
frayed. He was cunning enough to do that with his 
knife. But the other end is not frayed. You could 
not observe that from here, but if you were on the 
mantelpiece you would see that it is cut clean off 


562 



The Adventure of the Abbey Grange 


without any mark of fraying whatever. You can 
reconstruct what occurred. The man needed the 
rope. He would not tear it down for fear of giv- 
ing the alarm by ringing the bell. What did he do? 
He sprang up on the mantelpiece, could not quite 
reach it, put his knee on the bracket — you will see 
the impression in the dust — and so got his knife to 
bear upon the cord. I could not reach the place by 
at least three inches, from which I infer that he is 
at least three inches a bigger man than I. Look at 
that mark upon the seat of the oaken chair! What 
is it?" 

"Blood." 

"Undoubtedly it is blood. This alone puts the 
lady's story out of court. If she were seated on 
the chair when the crime was done, how comes 
that mark? No, no; she was placed in the chair 
after the death of her husband. I'll wager that the 
black dress shows a corresponding mark to this. 
We have not yet met our Waterloo, Watson, but 
this is our Marengo, for it begins in defeat and 
ends in victory. I should like now to have a few 
words with the nurse Theresa. We must be wary 
for awhile, if we are to get the information which 
we want." 

She was an interesting person, this stern Aus- 
tralian nurse. Taciturn, suspicious, ungracious, it 
took some time before Holmes's pleasant manner 
and frank acceptance of all that she said thawed 
her into a corresponding amiability. She did not 
attempt to conceal her hatred for her late employer. 

"Yes, sir, it is true that he threw the decanter 
at me. I heard him call my mistress a name, and 
I told him that he would not dare to speak so if 
her brother had been there. Then it was that he 
threw it at me. He might have thrown a dozen if 
he had but left my bonny bird alone. He was for 
ever illtreating her, and she too proud to complain. 
She will not even tell me all that he has done to 
her. She never told me of those marks on her arm 
that you saw this morning, but I know very well 
that they come from a stab with a hat-pin. The sly 
fiend — Heaven forgive me that I should speak of 
him so, now that he is dead, but a fiend he was 
if ever one walked the earth. He was all honey 
when first we met him, only eighteen months ago, 
and we both feel as if it were eighteen years. She 
had only just arrived in London. Yes, it was her 
first voyage — she had never been from home be- 
fore. He won her with his title and his money and 
his false London ways. If she made a mistake she 
has paid for it, if ever a woman did. What month 
did we meet him? Well, I tell you it was just after 
we arrived. We arrived in June, and it was July. 


They were married in January of last year. Yes, she 
is down in the morning-room again, and I have no 
doubt she will see you, but you must not ask too 
much of her, for she has gone through all that flesh 
and blood will stand." 

Lady Brackenstall was reclining on the same 
couch, but looked brighter than before. The maid 
had entered with us, and began once more to fo- 
ment the bruise upon her mistress's brow. 

"I hope," said the lady, "that you have not come 
to cross-examine me again?" 

"No," Holmes answered, in his gentlest voice, 
"I will not cause you any unnecessary trouble. 
Lady Brackenstall, and my whole desire is to make 
things easy for you, for I am convinced that you 
are a much-tried woman. If you will treat me as a 
friend and trust me you may find that I will justify 
your trust." 

"What do you want me to do?" 

"To tell me the truth." 

"Mr. Holmes!" 

"No, no. Lady Brackenstall, it is no use. You 
may have heard of any little reputation which I 
possess. I will stake it all on the fact that your 
story is an absolute fabrication." 

Mistress and maid were both staring at Holmes 
with pale faces and frightened eyes. 

"You are an impudent fellow!" cried Theresa. 
"Do you mean to say that my mistress has told a 
lie?" 

Holmes rose from his chair. 

"Have you nothing to tell me?" 

"I have told you everything." 

"Think once more. Lady Brackenstall. Would it 
not be better to be frank?" 

For an instant there was hesitation in her beau- 
tiful face. Then some new strong thought caused 
it to set like a mask. 

"I have told you all I know." 

Holmes took his hat and shrugged his shoul- 
ders. "I am sorry," he said, and without another 
word we left the room and the house. There was a 
pond in the park, and to this my friend led the way. 
It was frozen over, but a single hole was left for the 
convenience of a solitary swan. Holmes gazed at 
it and then passed on to the lodge gate. There he 
scribbled a short note for Stanley Hopkins and left 
it with the lodge-keeper. 

"It may be a hit or it may be a miss, but we are 
bound to do something for friend Hopkins, just to 
justify this second visit," said he. "I will not quite 


563 



The Adventure of the Abbey Grange 


take him into my confidence yet. I think our next 
scene of operations must be the shipping office of 
the Adelaide-Southampton line, which stands at 
the end of Pall Mall, if I remember right. There is a 
second line of steamers which connect South Aus- 
tralia with England, but we will draw the larger 
cover first." 

Holmes's card sent in to the manager ensured 
instant attention, and he was not long in acquiring 
all the information which he needed. In June of 
'95 only one of their line had reached a home port. 
It was the Rock of Gibraltar, their largest and best 
boat. A reference to the passenger list showed that 
Miss Fraser of Adelaide, with her maid, had made 
the voyage in her. The boat was now on her way 
to Australia, somewhere to the south of the Suez 
Canal. Her officers were the same as in '95, with 
one exception. The first officer, Mr. Jack Croker, 
had been made a captain and was to take charge of 
their new ship, the Bass Rock, sailing in two days' 
time from Southampton. He lived at Sydenham, 
but he was likely to be in that morning for instruc- 
tions, if we cared to wait for him. 

No; Mr. Holmes had no desire to see him, but 
would be glad to know more about his record and 
character. 

His record was magnificent. There was not an 
officer in the fleet to touch him. As to his character, 
he was reliable on duty, but a wild, desperate fel- 
low off the deck of his ship, hot-headed, excitable, 
but loyal, honest, and kind-hearted. That was the 
pith of the information with which Holmes left 
the office of the Adelaide-Southampton company. 
Thence he drove to Scotland Yard, but instead of 
entering he sat in his cab with his brows drawn 
down, lost in profound thought. Finally he drove 
round to the Charing Cross telegraph office, sent 
off a message, and then, at last, we made for Baker 
Street once more. 

"No, I couldn't do it, Watson," said he, as 
we re-entered our room. "Once that warrant was 
made out nothing on earth would save him. Once 
or twice in my career I feel that I have done more 
real harm by my discovery of the criminal than 
ever he had done by his crime. I have learned cau- 
tion now, and I had rather play tricks with the law 
of England than with my own conscience. Let us 
know a little more before we act." 

Before evening we had a visit from Inspector 
Stanley Hopkins. Things were not going very well 
with him. 

"I believe that you are a wizard, Mr. Holmes. 
I really do sometimes think that you have powers 
that are not human. Now, how on earth could you 


know that the stolen silver was at the bottom of 
that pond?" 

"I didn't know it." 

"But you told me to examine it." 

"You got it, then?" 

"Yes, I got it." 

"I am very glad if I have helped you." 

"But you haven't helped me. You have made 
the affair far more difficult. What sort of burglars 
are they who steal silver and then throw it into the 
nearest pond?" 

"It was certainly rather eccentric behaviour. I 
was merely going on the idea that if the silver 
had been taken by persons who did not want it, 
who merely took it for a blind as it were, then they 
would naturally be anxious to get rid of it." 

"But why should such an idea cross your 
mind?" 

"Well, I thought it was possible. When they 
came out through the French window there was 
the pond, with one tempting little hole in the ice, 
right in front of their noses. Could there be a better 
hiding-place?" 

"Ah, a hiding-place — that is better!" cried Stan- 
ley Hopkins. "Yes, yes, I see it all now! It was 
early, there were folk upon the roads, they were 
afraid of being seen with the silver, so they sank 
it in the pond, intending to return for it when the 
coast was clear. Excellent, Mr. Holmes — that is bet- 
ter than your idea of a blind." 

"Quite so; you have got an admirable theory. I 
have no doubt that my own ideas were quite wild, 
but you must admit that they have ended in dis- 
covering the silver." 

"Yes, sir, yes. It was all your doing. But I have 
had a bad set-back." 

"A set-back?" 

"Yes, Mr. Holmes. The Randall gang were ar- 
rested in New York this morning." 

"Dear me, Hopkins! That is certainly rather 
against your theory that they committed a murder 
in Kent last night." 

"It is fatal, Mr. Holmes, absolutely fatal. Still, 
there are other gangs of three besides the Randalls, 
or it may be some new gang of which the police 
have never heard." 

"Quite so; it is perfectly possible. What, are 
you off?" 

"Yes, Mr. Holmes; there is no rest for me until 
I have got to the bottom of the business. I suppose 
you have no hint to give me?" 

"I have given you one." 


564 



The Adventure of the Abbey Grange 


"Which?" 

"Well, I suggested a blind." 

"But why, Mr. Holmes, why?" 

"Ah, that's the question, of course. But I com- 
mend the idea to your mind. You might possibly 
find that there was something in it. You won't stop 
for dinner? Well, good-bye, and let us know how 
you get on." 

Dinner was over and the table cleared before 
Holmes alluded to the matter again. He had lit 
his pipe and held his slippered feet to the cheerful 
blaze of the fire. Suddenly he looked at his watch. 

"I expect developments, Watson." 

"When?" 

"Now — within a few minutes. I dare say you 
thought I acted rather badly to Stanley Hopkins 
just now?" 

"I trust your judgment." 

"A very sensible reply, Watson. You must look 
at it this way: what I know is unofficial; what he 
knows is official. I have the right to private judg- 
ment, but he has none. He must disclose all, or 
he is a traitor to his service. In a doubtful case I 
would not put him in so painful a position, and 
so I reserve my information until my own mind is 
clear upon the matter." 

"But when will that be?" 

"The time has come. You will now be present 
at the last scene of a remarkable little drama." 

There was a sound upon the stairs, and our 
door was opened to admit as fine a specimen of 
manhood as ever passed through it. He was a 
very tall young man, golden-moustached, blue- 
eyed, with a skin which had been burned by trop- 
ical suns, and a springy step which showed that 
the huge frame was as active as it was strong. He 
closed the door behind him, and then he stood 
with clenched hands and heaving breast, choking 
down some overmastering emotion. 

"Sit down. Captain Croker. You got my tele- 
gram?" 

Our visitor sank into an arm-chair and looked 
from one to the other of us with questioning eyes. 

"I got your telegram, and I came at the hour 
you said. I heard that you had been down to the 
office. There was no getting away from you. Let's 
hear the worst. What are you going to do with me? 
Arrest me? Speak out, man! You can't sit there and 
play with me like a cat with a mouse." 

"Give him a cigar," said Holmes. "Bite on 
that. Captain Croker, and don't let your nerves run 


away with you. I should not sit here smoking with 
you if I thought that you were a common criminal, 
you may be sure of that. Be frank with me, and we 
may do some good. Play tricks with me, and I'll 
crush you." 

"What do you wish me to do?" 

"To give me a true account of all that happened 
at the Abbey Grange last night — a true account, 
mind you, with nothing added and nothing taken 
off. I know so much already that if you go one 
inch off the straight I'll blow this police whistle 
from my window and the affair goes out of my 
hands for ever." 

The sailor thought for a little. Then he struck 
his leg with his great, sun-burned hand. 

"I'll chance it," he cried. "I believe you are a 
man of your word, and a white man, and I'll tell 
you the whole story. But one thing I will say first. 
So far as I am concerned I regret nothing and I fear 
nothing, and I would do it all again and be proud 
of the job. Curse the beast, if he had as many lives 
as a cat he would owe them all to me! But it's the 
lady, Mary — Mary Fraser — for never will I call her 
by that accursed name. When I think of getting 
her into trouble, I who would give my life just to 
bring one smile to her dear face, it's that that turns 
my soul into water. And yet — and yet — what less 
could I do? I'll tell you my story, gentlemen, and 
then I'll ask you as man to man what less could I 
do. 

"I must go back a bit. You seem to know ev- 
erything, so I expect that you know that I met her 
when she was a passenger and I was first officer 
of the Rock of Gibraltar. From the first day I met 
her she was the only woman to me. Every day 
of that voyage I loved her more, and many a time 
since have I kneeled down in the darkness of the 
night watch and kissed the deck of that ship be- 
cause I knew her dear feet had trod it. She was 
never engaged to me. She treated me as fairly as 
ever a woman treated a man. I have no complaint 
to make. It was all love on my side, and all good 
comradeship and friendship on hers. When we 
parted she was a free woman, but I could never 
again be a free man. 

"Next time I came back from sea I heard of her 
marriage. Well, why shouldn't she marry whom 
she liked? Title and money — who could carry 
them better than she? She was born for all that 
is beautiful and dainty. I didn't grieve over her 
marriage. I was not such a selfish hound as that. I 
just rejoiced that good luck had come her way, and 
that she had not thrown herself away on a penni- 
less sailor. That's how I loved Mary Fraser. 


565 



The Adventure of the Abbey Grange 


"Well, I never thought to see her again; but 
last voyage I was promoted, and the new boat was 
not yet launched, so I had to wait for a couple of 
months with my people at Sydenham. One day 
out in a country lane I met Theresa Wright, her 
old maid. She told me about her, about him, about 
everything. I tell you, gentlemen, it nearly drove 
me mad. This drunken hound, that he should 
dare to raise his hand to her whose boots he was 
not worthy to lick! I met Theresa again. Then I 
met Mary herself — and met her again. Then she 
would meet me no more. But the other day I had 
a notice that I was to start on my voyage within a 
week, and I determined that I would see her once 
before I left. Theresa was always my friend, for 
she loved Mary and hated this villain almost as 
much as I did. From her I learned the ways of the 
house. Mary used to sit up reading in her own lit- 
tle room downstairs. I crept round there last night 
and scratched at the window. At first she would 
not open to me, but in her heart I know that now 
she loves me, and she could not leave me in the 
frosty night. She whispered to me to come round 
to the big front window, and I found it open before 
me so as to let me into the dining-room. Again 
I heard from her own lips things that made my 
blood boil, and again I cursed this brute who mis- 
handled the woman that I loved. Well, gentlemen, 
I was standing with her just inside the window, 
in all innocence, as Heaven is my judge, when he 
rushed like a madman into the room, called her 
the vilest name that a man could use to a woman, 
and welted her across the face with the stick he 
had in his hand. I had sprung for the poker, and 
it was a fair fight between us. See here on my arm 
where his first blow fell. Then it was my turn, 
and I went through him as if he had been a rot- 
ten pumpkin. Do you think I was sorry? Not I! 
It was his life or mine, but far more than that it 
was his life or hers, for how could I leave her in 
the power of this madman? That was how I killed 
him. Was I wrong? Well, then, what would either 
of you gentlemen have done if you had been in my 
position? 

"She had screamed when he struck her, and 
that brought old Theresa down from the room 
above. There was a bottle of wine on the side- 
board, and I opened it and poured a little between 
Mary's lips, for she was half dead with the shock. 
Then I took a drop myself. Theresa was as cool as 
ice, and it was her plot as much as mine. We must 
make it appear that burglars had done the thing. 
Theresa kept on repeating our story to her mis- 
tress, while I swarmed up and cut the rope of the 
bell. Then I lashed her in her chair, and frayed out 


the end of the rope to make it look natural, else 
they would wonder how in the world a burglar 
could have got up there to cut it. Then I gathered 
up a few plates and pots of silver, to carry out the 
idea of a robbery, and there I left them with orders 
to give the alarm when I had a quarter of an hour's 
start. I dropped the silver into the pond and made 
off for Sydenham, feeling that for once in my life I 
had done a real good night's work. And that's the 
truth and the whole truth, Mr. Holmes, if it costs 
me my neck." 

Holmes smoked for some time in silence. Then 
he crossed the room and shook our visitor by the 
hand. 

"That's what I think," said he. "I know that ev- 
ery word is true, for you have hardly said a word 
which I did not know. No one but an acrobat or a 
sailor could have got up to that bell-rope from the 
bracket, and no one but a sailor could have made 
the knots with which the cord was fastened to the 
chair. Only once had this lady been brought into 
contact with sailors, and that was on her voyage, 
and it was someone of her own class of life, since 
she was trying hard to shield him and so showing 
that she loved him. You see how easy it was for 
me to lay my hands upon you when once I had 
started upon the right trail." 

"I thought the police never could have seen 
through our dodge." 

"And the police haven't; nor will they, to the 
best of my belief. Now, look here. Captain Croker, 
this is a very serious matter, though I am willing 
to admit that you acted under the most extreme 
provocation to which any man could be subjected. 
I am not sure that in defence of your own life your 
action will not be pronounced legitimate. How- 
ever, that is for a British jury to decide. Mean- 
while I have so much sympathy for you that if you 
choose to disappear in the next twenty-four hours 
I will promise you that no one will hinder you." 

"And then it will all come out?" 

"Certainly it will come out." 

The sailor flushed with anger. 

"What sort of proposal is that to make a man? 
I know enough of law to understand that Mary 
would be had as accomplice. Do you think I would 
leave her alone to face the music while I slunk 
away? No, sir; let them do their worst upon me, 
but for Heaven's sake, Mr. Holmes, find some way 
of keeping my poor Mary out of the courts." 

Holmes for a second time held out his hand to 
the sailor. 

"I was only testing you, and you ring true ev- 
ery time. Well, it is a great responsibility that I 


566 



take upon myself, but I have given Hopkins an ex- 
cellent hint, and if he can't avail himself of it I can 
do no more. See here. Captain Croker, we'll do 
this in due form of law. You are the prisoner. Wat- 
son, you are a British jury, and I never met a man 
who was more eminently fitted to represent one. 
I am the judge. Now, gentleman of the jury, you 
have heard the evidence. Do you find the prisoner 


guilty or not guilty?" 

"Not guilty, my lord," said I. 

“Vox populi, vox Dei. You are acquitted. Cap- 
tain Croker. So long as the law does not find some 
other victim you are safe from me. Come back 
to this lady in a year, and may her future and 
yours justify us in the judgment which we have 
pronounced this night." 



The Adventure of the Devil's Foot 


n recording from time to time some of 
^ le curious experiences and interesting 
recollections which I associate with my 
long and intimate friendship with Mr. 
Sherlock Holmes, I have continually been faced by 
difficulties caused by his own aversion to public- 
ity To his sombre and cynical spirit all popular ap- 
plause was always abhorrent, and nothing amused 
him more at the end of a successful case than to 
hand over the actual exposure to some orthodox 
official, and to listen with a mocking smile to the 
general chorus of misplaced congratulation. It was 
indeed this attitude upon the part of my friend 
and certainly not any lack of interesting material 
which has caused me of late years to lay very few 
of my records before the public. My participation 
in some if his adventures was always a privilege 
which entailed discretion and reticence upon me. 

It was, then, with considerable surprise that I 
received a telegram from Homes last Tuesday — he 
has never been known to write where a telegram 
would serve — in the following terms: 

Why not tell them of the Cornish hor- 
ror — strangest case I have handled. 

I have no idea what backward sweep of mem- 
ory had brought the matter fresh to his mind, or 
what freak had caused him to desire that I should 
recount it; but I hasten, before another cancelling 
telegram may arrive, to hunt out the notes which 
give me the exact details of the case and to lay the 
narrative before my readers. 

It was, then, in the spring of the year 1897 that 
Holmes's iron constitution showed some symp- 
toms of giving way in the face of constant hard 
work of a most exacting kind, aggravated, perhaps, 
by occasional indiscretions of his own. In March of 
that year Dr. Moore Agar, of Harley Street, whose 
dramatic introduction to Holmes I may some day 
recount, gave positive injunctions that the famous 
private agent lay aside all his cases and surrender 
himself to complete rest if he wished to avert an 
absolute breakdown. The state of his health was 
not a matter in which he himself took the faintest 
interest, for his mental detachment was absolute, 
but he was induced at last, on the threat of being 
permanently disqualified from work, to give him- 
self a complete change of scene and air. Thus it 
was that in the early spring of that year we found 
ourselves together in a small cottage near Poldhu 
Bay, at the further extremity of the Cornish penin- 
sula. 

It was a singular spot, and one peculiarly well 
suited to the grim humour of my patient. From 
the windows of our little whitewashed house. 


which stood high upon a grassy headland, we 
looked down upon the whole sinister semicircle 
of Mounts Bay, that old death trap of sailing ves- 
sels, with its fringe of black cliffs and surge-swept 
reefs on which innumerable seamen have met their 
end. With a northerly breeze it lies placid and shel- 
tered, inviting the storm-tossed craft to tack into it 
for rest and protection. 

Then come the sudden swirl round of the wind, 
the blistering gale from the south-west, the drag- 
ging anchor, the lee shore, and the last battle in 
the creaming breakers. The wise mariner stands 
far out from that evil place. 

On the land side our surroundings were as 
sombre as on the sea. It was a country of rolling 
moors, lonely and dun-colored, with an occasional 
church tower to mark the site of some old-world 
village. In every direction upon these moors 
there were traces of some vanished race which 
had passed utterly away, and left as it sole record 
strange monuments of stone, irregular mounds 
which contained the burned ashes of the dead, 
and curious earthworks which hinted at prehis- 
toric strife. The glamour and mystery of the place, 
with its sinister atmosphere of forgotten nations, 
appealed to the imagination of my friend, and he 
spent much of his time in long walks and soli- 
tary meditations upon the moor. The ancient Cor- 
nish language had also arrested his attention, and 
he had, I remember, conceived the idea that it 
was akin to the Chaldean, and had been largely 
derived from the Phoenician traders in tin. He 
had received a consignment of books upon philol- 
ogy and was settling down to develop this thesis 
when suddenly, to my sorrow and to his unfeigned 
delight, we found ourselves, even in that land 
of dreams, plunged into a problem at our very 
doors which was more intense, more engrossing, 
and infinitely more mysterious than any of those 
which had driven us from London. Our simple life 
and peaceful, healthy routine were violently inter- 
rupted, and we were precipitated into the midst 
of a series of events which caused the utmost ex- 
citement not only in Cornwall but throughout the 
whole west of England. Many of my readers may 
retain some recollection of what was called at the 
time "The Cornish Horror," though a most im- 
perfect account of the matter reached the London 
press. Now, after thirteen years, I will give the true 
details of this inconceivable affair to the public. 

I have said that scattered towers marked the 
villages which dotted this part of Cornwall. The 
nearest of these was the hamlet of Tredannick Wol- 
las, where the cottages of a couple of hundred in- 
habitants clustered round an ancient, moss-grown 


827 



The Adventure of the Devil's Foot 


church. The vicar of the parish, Mr. Roundhay, 
was something of an archaeologist, and as such 
Holmes had made his acquaintance. He was a 
middle-aged man, portly and affable, with a con- 
siderable fund of local lore. At his invitation we 
had taken tea at the vicarage and had come to 
know, also, Mr. Mortimer Tregennis, an indepen- 
dent gentleman, who increased the clergyman's 
scanty resources by taking rooms in his large, 
straggling house. The vicar, being a bachelor, was 
glad to come to such an arrangement, though he 
had little in common with his lodger, who was 
a thin, dark, spectacled man, with a stoop which 
gave the impression of actual, physical deformity. 
I remember that during our short visit we found 
the vicar garrulous, but his lodger strangely reti- 
cent, a sad-faced, introspective man, sitting with 
averted eyes, brooding apparently upon his own 
affairs. 

These were the two men who entered abruptly 
into our little sitting-room on Tuesday, March the 
16th, shortly after our breakfast hour, as we were 
smoking together, preparatory to our daily excur- 
sion upon the moors. 

"Mr. Holmes," said the vicar in an agitated 
voice, "the most extraordinary and tragic affair has 
occurred during the night. It is the most unheard- 
of business. We can only regard it as a special 
Providence that you should chance to be here at 
the time, for in all England you are the one man 
we need." 

I glared at the intrusive vicar with no very 
friendly eyes; but Holmes took his pipe from his 
lips and sat up in his chair like an old hound who 
hears the view-halloa. He waved his hand to the 
sofa, and our palpitating visitor with his agitated 
companion sat side by side upon it. Mr. Mortimer 
Tregennis was more self-contained than the cler- 
gyman, but the twitching of his thin hands and 
the brightness of his dark eyes showed that they 
shared a common emotion. 

"Shall I speak or you?" he asked of the vicar. 

"Well, as you seem to have made the discov- 
ery, whatever it may be, and the vicar to have 
had it second-hand, perhaps you had better do the 
speaking," said Holmes. 

I glanced at the hastily clad clergyman, with 
the formally dressed lodger seated beside him, 
and was amused at the surprise which Holmes's 
simple deduction had brought to their faces. 

"Perhaps I had best say a few words first," said 
the vicar, "and then you can judge if you will lis- 
ten to the details from Mr. Tregennis, or whether 


we should not hasten at once to the scene of this 
mysterious affair. I may explain, then, that our 
friend here spent last evening in the company of 
his two brothers, Owen and George, and of his sis- 
ter Brenda, at their house of Tredannick Wartha, 
which is near the old stone cross upon the moor. 
He left them shortly after ten o'clock, playing cards 
round the dining-room table, in excellent health 
and spirits. This morning, being an early riser, he 
walked in that direction before breakfast and was 
overtaken by the carriage of Dr. Richards, who ex- 
plained that he had just been sent for on a most 
urgent call to Tredannick Wartha. Mr. Mortimer 
Tregennis naturally went with him. When he ar- 
rived at Tredannick Wartha he found an extraordi- 
nary state of things. His two brothers and his sister 
were seated round the table exactly as he had left 
them, the cards still spread in front of them and 
the candles burned down to their sockets. The sis- 
ter lay back stone-dead in her chair, while the two 
brothers sat on each side of her laughing, shouting, 
and singing, the senses stricken clean out of them. 
All three of them, the dead woman and the two de- 
mented men, retained upon their faces an expres- 
sion of the utmost horror — a convulsion of terror 
which was dreadful to look upon. There was no 
sign of the presence of anyone in the house, except 
Mrs. Porter, the old cook and housekeeper, who 
declared that she had slept deeply and heard no 
sound during the night. Nothing had been stolen 
or disarranged, and there is absolutely no expla- 
nation of what the horror can be which has fright- 
ened a woman to death and two strong men out of 
their senses. There is the situation, Mr. Holmes, in 
a nutshell, and if you can help us to clear it up you 
will have done a great work." 

I had hoped that in some way I could coax my 
companion back into the quiet which had been the 
object of our journey; but one glance at his in- 
tense face and contracted eyebrows told me how 
vain was now the expectation. He sat for some lit- 
tle time in silence, absorbed in the strange drama 
which had broken in upon our peace. 

"I will look into this matter," he said at last. 
"On the face of it, it would appear to be a case 
of a very exceptional nature. Have you been there 
yourself, Mr. Roundhay?" 

"No, Mr. Holmes. Mr. Tregennis brought back 
the account to the vicarage, and I at once hurried 
over with him to consult you." 

"How far is it to the house where this singular 
tragedy occurred?" 

"About a mile inland." 


828 



The Adventure of the Devil's Foot 


"Then we shall walk over together. But before 
we start I must ask you a few questions, Mr. Mor- 
timer Tregennis." 

The other had been silent all this time, but I 
had observed that his more controlled excitement 
was even greater than the obtrusive emotion of 
the clergyman. He sat with a pale, drawn face, 
his anxious gaze fixed upon Holmes, and his thin 
hands clasped convulsively together. His pale lips 
quivered as he listened to the dreadful experience 
which had befallen his family, and his dark eyes 
seemed to reflect something of the horror of the 
scene. 

"Ask what you like, Mr. Holmes," said he ea- 
gerly. "It is a bad thing to speak of, but I will 
answer you the truth." 

"Tell me about last night." 

"Well, Mr. Holmes, I supped there, as the vicar 
has said, and my elder brother George proposed a 
game of whist afterwards. We sat down about nine 
o'clock. It was a quarter-past ten when I moved to 
go. I left them all round the table, as merry as 
could be." 

"Who let you out?" 

"Mrs. Porter had gone to bed, so I let myself 
out. I shut the hall door behind me. The window 
of the room in which they sat was closed, but the 
blind was not drawn down. There was no change 
in door or window this morning, or any reason to 
think that any stranger had been to the house. Yet 
there they sat, driven clean mad with terror, and 
Brenda lying dead of fright, with her head hang- 
ing over the arm of the chair. I'll never get the sight 
of that room out of my mind so long as I live." 

"The facts, as you state them, are certainly most 
remarkable," said Holmes. "I take it that you have 
no theory yourself which can in any way account 
for them?" 

"It's devilish, Mr. Holmes, devilish!" cried 
Mortimer Tregennis. "It is not of this world. Some- 
thing has come into that room which has dashed 
the light of reason from their minds. What human 
contrivance could do that?" 

"I fear," said Holmes, "that if the matter is be- 
yond humanity it is certainly beyond me. Yet we 
must exhaust all natural explanations before we 
fall back upon such a theory as this. As to your- 
self, Mr. Tregennis, I take it you were divided in 
some way from your family, since they lived to- 
gether and you had rooms apart?" 

"That is so, Mr. Holmes, though the matter is 
past and done with. We were a family of tin- 
miners at Redruth, but we sold our venture to a 


company, and so retired with enough to keep us. I 
won't deny that there was some feeling about the 
division of the money and it stood between us for 
a time, but it was all forgiven and forgotten, and 
we were the best of friends together." 

"Looking back at the evening which you spent 
together, does anything stand out in your memory 
as throwing any possible light upon the tragedy? 
Think carefully, Mr. Tregennis, for any clue which 
can help me." 

"There is nothing at all, sir." 

"Your people were in their usual spirits?" 

"Never better." 

"Were they nervous people? Did they ever 
show any apprehension of coming danger?" 

"Nothing of the kind." 

"You have nothing to add then, which could 
assist me?" 

Mortimer Tregennis considered earnestly for a 
moment. 

"There is one thing occurs to me," said he at 
last. "As we sat at the table my back was to the 
window, and my brother George, he being my 
partner at cards, was facing it. I saw him once 
look hard over my shoulder, so I turned round and 
looked also. The blind was up and the window 
shut, but I could just make out the bushes on the 
lawn, and it seemed to me for a moment that I saw 
something moving among them. I couldn't even 
say if it was man or animal, but I just thought there 
was something there. When I asked him what he 
was looking at, he told me that he had the same 
feeling. That is all that I can say." 

"Did you not investigate?" 

"No; the matter passed as unimportant." 

"You left them, then, without any premonition 
of evil?" 

"None at all." 

"I am not clear how you came to hear the news 
so early this morning." 

"I am an early riser and generally take a walk 
before breakfast. This morning I had hardly 
started when the doctor in his carriage overtook 
me. He told me that old Mrs. Porter had sent a 
boy down with an urgent message. I sprang in 
beside him and we drove on. When we got there 
we looked into that dreadful room. The candles 
and the fire must have burned out hours before, 
and they had been sitting there in the dark until 
dawn had broken. The doctor said Brenda must 
have been dead at least six hours. There were no 
signs of violence. She just lay across the arm of the 
chair with that look on her face. George and Owen 
were singing snatches of songs and gibbering like 


829 



The Adventure of the Devil's Foot 


two great apes. Oh, it was awful to see! I couldn't 
stand it, and the doctor was as white as a sheet. 
Indeed, he fell into a chair in a sort of faint, and 
we nearly had him on our hands as well." 

"Remarkable — most remarkable!" said 

Holmes, rising and taking his hat. "I think, per- 
haps, we had better go down to Tredannick Wartha 
without further delay. I confess that I have seldom 
known a case which at first sight presented a more 
singular problem." 

Our proceedings of that first morning did little 
to advance the investigation. It was marked, how- 
ever, at the outset by an incident which left the 
most sinister impression upon my mind. The ap- 
proach to the spot at which the tragedy occurred is 
down a narrow, winding, country lane. While we 
made our way along it we heard the rattle of a car- 
riage coming towards us and stood aside to let it 
pass. As it drove by us I caught a glimpse through 
the closed window of a horribly contorted, grin- 
ning face glaring out at us. Those staring eyes and 
gnashing teeth flashed past us like a dreadful vi- 
sion. 

"My brothers!" cried Mortimer Tregennis, 
white to his lips. "They are taking them to Hel- 
ston." 

We looked with horror after the black carriage, 
lumbering upon its way. Then we turned our steps 
towards this ill-omened house in which they had 
met their strange fate. 

It was a large and bright dwelling, rather a villa 
than a cottage, with a considerable garden which 
was already, in that Cornish air, well filled with 
spring flowers. Towards this garden the window 
of the sitting-room fronted, and from it, accord- 
ing to Mortimer Tregennis, must have come that 
thing of evil which had by sheer horror in a sin- 
gle instant blasted their minds. Holmes walked 
slowly and thoughtfully among the flower-plots 
and along the path before we entered the porch. So 
absorbed was he in his thoughts, I remember, that 
he stumbled over the watering-pot, upset its con- 
tents, and deluged both our feet and the garden 
path. Inside the house we were met by the elderly 
Cornish housekeeper, Mrs. Porter, who, with the 
aid of a young girl, looked after the wants of the 
family. She readily answered all Holmes's ques- 
tions. She had heard nothing in the night. Her 
employers had all been in excellent spirits lately, 
and she had never known them more cheerful and 
prosperous. She had fainted with horror upon en- 
tering the room in the morning and seeing that 
dreadful company round the table. She had, when 
she recovered, thrown open the window to let the 


morning air in, and had run down to the lane, 
whence she sent a farm-lad for the doctor. The 
lady was on her bed upstairs if we cared to see 
her. It took four strong men to get the brothers into 
the asylum carriage. She would not herself stay in 
the house another day and was starting that very 
afternoon to rejoin her family at St. Ives. 

We ascended the stairs and viewed the body. 
Miss Brenda Tregennis had been a very beautiful 
girl, though now verging upon middle age. Her 
dark, clear-cut face was handsome, even in death, 
but there still lingered upon it something of that 
convulsion of horror which had been her last hu- 
man emotion. From her bedroom we descended 
to the sitting-room, where this strange tragedy 
had actually occurred. The charred ashes of the 
overnight fire lay in the grate. On the table were 
the four guttered and burned-out candles, with the 
cards scattered over its surface. The chairs had 
been moved back against the walls, but all else was 
as it had been the night before. Holmes paced with 
light, swift steps about the room; he sat in the var- 
ious chairs, drawing them up and reconstructing 
their positions. He tested how much of the garden 
was visible; he examined the floor, the ceiling, and 
the fireplace; but never once did I see that sud- 
den brightening of his eyes and tightening of his 
lips which would have told me that he saw some 
gleam of light in this utter darkness. 

"Why a fire?" he asked once. "Had they always 
a fire in this small room on a spring evening?" 

Mortimer Tregennis explained that the night 
was cold and damp. For that reason, after his ar- 
rival, the fire was lit. "What are you going to do 
now, Mr. Holmes?" he asked. 

My friend smiled and laid his hand upon my 
arm. "I think, Watson, that I shall resume that 
course of tobacco-poisoning which you have so of- 
ten and so justly condemned," said he. "With your 
permission, gentlemen, we will now return to our 
cottage, for I am not aware that any new factor is 
likely to come to our notice here. I will turn the 
facts over in my mid, Mr, Tregennis, and should 
anything occur to me I will certainly ommunicate 
with you and the vicar. In the meantime I wish 
you both good-morning." 

It was not until long after we were back in 
Poldhu Cottage that Holmes broke his complete 
and absorbed silence. He sat coiled in his arm- 
chair, his haggard and ascetic face hardly visible 
amid the blue swirl of his tobacco smoke, his black 
brows drawn down, his forehead contracted, his 
eyes vacant and far away. Finally he laid down his 
pipe and sprang to his feet. 


830 



The Adventure of the Devil's Foot 


"It won't do, Watson!" said he with a laugh. 
"Let us walk along the cliffs together and search 
for flint arrows. We are more likely to find them 
than clues to this problem. To let the brain work 
without sufficient material is like racing an engine. 
It racks itself to pieces. The sea air, sunshine, and 
patience, Watson — all else will come. 

"Now, let us calmly define our position, Wat- 
son," he continued as we skirted the cliffs together. 
"Let us get a firm grip of the very little which we 
do know, so that when fresh facts arise we may 
be ready to fit them into their places. I take it, 
in the first place, that neither of us is prepared 
to admit diabolical intrusions into the affairs of 
men. Let us begin by ruling that entirely out of 
our minds. Very good. There remain three per- 
sons who have been grievously stricken by some 
conscious or unconscious human agency. That is 
firm ground. Now, when did this occur? Evi- 
dently, assuming his narrative to be true, it was 
immediately after Mr. Mortimer Tregennis had left 
the room. That is a very important point. The pre- 
sumption is that it was within a few minutes after- 
wards. The cards still lay upon the table. It was 
already past their usual hour for bed. Yet they had 
not changed their position or pushed back their 
chairs. I repeat, then, that the occurrence was im- 
mediately after his departure, and not later than 
eleven o'clock last night. 

"Our next obvious step is to check, so far as 
we can, the movements of Mortimer Tregennis af- 
ter he left the room. In this there is no difficulty, 
and they seem to be above suspicion. Knowing 
my methods as you do, you were, of course, con- 
scious of the somewhat clumsy water-pot expedi- 
ent by which I obtained a clearer impress of his 
foot than might otherwise have been possible. The 
wet, sandy path took it admirably. Last night was 
also wet, you will remember, and it was not diffi- 
cult — having obtained a sample print — to pick out 
his track among others and to follow his move- 
ments. He appears to have walked away swiftly in 
the direction of the vicarage. 

"If, then, Mortimer Tregennis disappeared 
from the scene, and yet some outside person af- 
fected the card-players, how can we reconstruct 
that person, and how was such an impression of 
horror conveyed? Mrs. Porter may be eliminated. 
She is evidently harmless. Is there any evidence 
that someone crept up to the garden window and 
in some manner produced so terrific an effect that 
he drove those who saw it out of their senses? The 
only suggestion in this direction comes from Mor- 
timer Tregennis himself, who says that his brother 


spoke about some movement in the garden. That 
is certainly remarkable, as the night was rainy, 
cloudy, and dark. Anyone who had the design to 
alarm these people would be compelled to place 
his very face against the glass before he could be 
seen. There is a three-foot flower-border outside 
this window, but no indication of a footmark. It 
is difficult to imagine, then, how an outsider could 
have made so terrible an impression upon the com- 
pany, nor have we found any possible motive for 
so strange and elaborate an attempt. You perceive 
our difficulties, Watson?" 

"They are only too clear," I answered with con- 
viction. 

"And yet, with a little more material, we may 
prove that they are not insurmountable," said 
Holmes. "I fancy that among your extensive 
archives, Watson, you may find some which were 
nearly as obscure. Meanwhile, we shall put the 
case aside until more accurate data are available, 
and devote the rest of our morning to the pursuit 
of neolithic man." 

I may have commented upon my friend's 
power of mental detachment, but never have I 
wondered at it more than upon that spring morn- 
ing in Cornwall when for two hours he discoursed 
upon celts, arrowheads, and shards, as lightly as if 
no sinister mystery were waiting for his solution. 
It was not until we had returned in the afternoon 
to our cottage that we found a visitor awaiting us, 
who soon brought our minds back to the matter 
in hand. Neither of us needed to be told who that 
visitor was. The huge body, the craggy and deeply 
seamed face with the fierce eyes and hawk-like 
nose, the grizzled hair which nearly brushed our 
cottage ceiling, the beard — golden at the fringes 
and white near the lips, save for the nicotine stain 
from his perpetual cigar — all these were as well 
known in London as in Africa, and could only be 
associated with the tremendous personality of Dr. 
Leon Sterndale, the great lion-hunter and explorer. 

We had heard of his presence in the district and 
had once or twice caught sight of his tall figure 
upon the moorland paths. He made no advances 
to us, however, nor would we have dreamed of do- 
ing so to him, as it was well known that it was his 
love of seclusion which caused him to spend the 
greater part of the intervals between his journeys 
in a small bungalow buried in the lonely wood of 
Beauchamp Arriance. Here, amid his books and 
his maps, he lived an absolutely lonely life, at- 
tending to his own simple wants and paying lit- 
tle apparent heed to the affairs of his neighbours. 
It was a surprise to me, therefore, to hear him 


831 



The Adventure of the Devil's Foot 


asking Holmes in an eager voice whether he had 
made any advance in his reconstruction of this 
mysterious episode. "The county police are ut- 
terly at fault," said he, "but perhaps your wider 
experience has suggested some conceivable expla- 
nation. My only claim to being taken into your 
confidence is that during my many residences here 
I have come to know this family of Tregennis very 
well — indeed, upon my Cornish mother's side I 
could call them cousins — and their strange fate has 
naturally been a great shock to me. I may tell you 
that I had got as far as Plymouth upon my way to 
Africa, but the news reached me this morning, and 
I came straight back again to help in the inquiry." 

Holmes raised his eyebrows. 

"Did you lose your boat through it?" 

"I will take the next." 

"Dear me! that is friendship indeed." 

"I tell you they were relatives." 

"Quite so — cousins of your mother. Was your 
baggage aboard the ship?" 

"Some of it, but the main part at the hotel." 

"I see. But surely this event could not have 
found its way into the Plymouth morning papers." 

"No, sir; I had a telegram." 

"Might I ask from whom?" 

A shadow passed over the gaunt face of the ex- 
plorer. 

"You are very inquisitive, Mr. Holmes." 

"It is my business." 

With an effort Dr. Sterndale recovered his ruf- 
fled composure. 

"I have no objection to telling you," he said. 
"It was Mr. Roundhay, the vicar, who sent me the 
telegram which recalled me." 

"Thank you," said Holmes. "I may say in 
answer to your original question that I have not 
cleared my mind entirely on the subject of this 
case, but that I have every hope of reaching some 
conclusion. It would be premature to say more." 

"Perhaps you would not mind telling me if 
your suspicions point in any particular direction?" 

"No, I can hardly answer that." 

"Then I have wasted my time and need not pro- 
long my visit." The famous doctor strode out of 
our cottage in considerable ill-humour, and within 
five minutes Holmes had followed him. I saw him 
no more until the evening, when he returned with 
a slow step and haggard face which assured me 


that he had made no great progress with his inves- 
tigation. He glanced at a telegram which awaited 
him and threw it into the grate. 

"From the Plymouth hotel, Watson," he said. "I 
learned the name of it from the vicar, and I wired 
to make certain that Dr. Leon Sterndale's account 
was true. It appears that he did indeed spend last 
night there, and that he has actually allowed some 
of his baggage to go on to Africa, while he re- 
turned to be present at this investigation. What 
do you make of that, Watson?" 

"He is deeply interested." 

"Deeply interested — yes. There is a thread here 
which we had not yet grasped and which might 
lead us through the tangle. Cheer up, Watson, for 
I am very sure that our material has not yet all 
come to hand. When it does we may soon leave 
our difficulties behind us." 

Little did I think how soon the words of 
Holmes would be realized, or how strange and 
sinister would be that new development which 
opened up an entirely fresh line of investigation. 
I was shaving at my window in the morning when 
I heard the rattle of hoofs and, looking up, saw 
a dog-cart coming at a gallop down the road. It 
pulled up at our door, and our friend, the vicar, 
sprang from it and rushed up our garden path. 
Holmes was already dressed, and we hastened 
down to meet him. 

Our visitor was so excited that he could hardly 
articulate, but at last in gasps and bursts his tragic 
story came out of him. 

"We are devil-ridden, Mr. Holmes! My poor 
parish is devil-ridden!" he cried. "Satan himself is 
loose in it! We are given over into his hands!" He 
danced about in his agitation, a ludicrous object 
if it were not for his ashy face and startled eyes. 
Finally he shot out his terrible news. 

"Mr. Mortimer Tregennis died during the 
night, and with exactly the same symptoms as the 
rest of his family." 

Holmes sprang to his feet, all energy in an in- 
stant. 

"Can you fit us both into your dog-cart?" 

"Yes, I can." 

"Then, Watson, we will postpone our breakfast. 
Mr. Roundhay, we are entirely at your disposal. 
Hurry — hurry, before things get disarranged." 

The lodger occupied two rooms at the vicarage, 
which were in an angle by themselves, the one 
above the other. Below was a large sitting-room; 


832 



The Adventure of the Devil's Foot 


above, his bedroom. They looked out upon a cro- 
quet lawn which came up to the windows. We had 
arrived before the doctor or the police, so that ev- 
erything was absolutely undisturbed. Let me de- 
scribe exactly the scene as we saw it upon that 
misty March morning. It has left an impression 
which can never be effaced from my mind. 

The atmosphere of the room was of a horri- 
ble and depressing stuffiness. The servant who 
had first entered had thrown up the window, or 
it would have been even more intolerable. This 
might partly be due to the fact that a lamp stood 
flaring and smoking on the centre table. Beside 
it sat the dead man, leaning back in his chair, his 
thin beard projecting, his spectacles pushed up on 
to his forehead, and his lean dark face turned to- 
wards the window and twisted into the same dis- 
tortion of terror which had marked the features of 
his dead sister. His limbs were convulsed and his 
fingers contorted as though he had died in a very 
paroxysm of fear. He was fully clothed, though 
there were signs that his dressing had been done in 
a hurry. We had already learned that his bed had 
been slept in, and that the tragic end had come to 
him in the early morning. 

One realized the red-hot energy which under- 
lay Holmes's phlegmatic exterior when one saw 
the sudden change which came over him from the 
moment that he entered the fatal apartment. In 
an instant he was tense and alert, his eyes shining, 
his face set, his limbs quivering with eager activity. 
He was out on the lawn, in through the window, 
round the room, and up into the bedroom, for 
all the world like a dashing foxhound drawing a 
cover. In the bedroom he made a rapid cast around 
and ended by throwing open the window, which 
appeared to give him some fresh cause for excite- 
ment, for he leaned out of it with loud ejaculations 
of interest and delight. Then he rushed down the 
stair, out through the open window, threw him- 
self upon his face on the lawn, sprang up and 
into the room once more, all with the energy of 
the hunter who is at the very heels of his quarry. 
The lamp, which was an ordinary standard, he 
examined with minute care, making certain mea- 
surements upon its bowl. He carefully scrutinized 
with his lens the talc shield which covered the top 
of the chimney and scraped off some ashes which 
adhered to its upper surface, putting some of them 
into an envelope, which he placed in his pocket- 
book. Finally, just as the doctor and the official 
police put in an appearance, he beckoned to the 
vicar and we all three went out upon the lawn. 

"I am glad to say that my investigation has not 
been entirely barren," he remarked. "I cannot re- 


main to discuss the matter with the police, but I 
should be exceedingly obliged, Mr. Roundhay, if 
you would give the inspector my compliments and 
direct his attention to the bedroom window and 
to the sitting-room lamp. Each is suggestive, and 
together they are almost conclusive. If the police 
would desire further information I shall be happy 
to see any of them at the cottage. And now, Wat- 
son, I think that, perhaps, we shall be better em- 
ployed elsewhere." 

It may be that the police resented the intrusion 
of an amateur, or that they imagined themselves 
to be upon some hopeful line of investigation; but 
it is certain that we heard nothing from them for 
the next two days. During this time Holmes spent 
some of his time smoking and dreaming in the cot- 
tage; but a greater portion in country walks which 
he undertook alone, returning after many hours 
without remark as to where he had been. One ex- 
periment served to show me the line of his investi- 
gation. He had bought a lamp which was the du- 
plicate of the one which had burned in the room of 
Mortimer Tregennis on the morning of the tragedy. 
This he filled with the same oil as that used at the 
vicarage, and he carefully timed the period which 
it would take to be exhausted. Another experiment 
which he made was of a more unpleasant nature, 
and one which I am not likely ever to forget. 

"You will remember, Watson," he remarked 
one afternoon, "that there is a single common 
point of resemblance in the varying reports which 
have reached us. This concerns the effect of the 
atmosphere of the room in each case upon those 
who had first entered it. You will recollect that 
Mortimer Tregennis, in describing the episode of 
his last visit to his brother's house, remarked 
that the doctor on entering the room fell into a 
chair? You had forgotten? Well I can answer for 
it that it was so. Now, you will remember also 
that Mrs. Porter, the housekeeper, told us that she 
herself fainted upon entering the room and had 
afterwards opened the window. In the second 
case — that of Mortimer Tregennis himself — you 
cannot have forgotten the horrible stuffiness of the 
room when we arrived, though the servant had 
thrown open the window. That servant, I found 
upon inquiry, was so ill that she had gone to her 
bed. You will admit, Watson, that these facts are 
very suggestive. In each case there is evidence of a 
poisonous atmosphere. In each case, also, there is 
combustion going on in the room — in the one case 
a fire, in the other a lamp. The fire was needed, 
but the lamp was lit — as a comparison of the oil 
consumed will show — long after it was broad day- 
light. Why? Surely because there is some connec- 


833 



The Adventure of the Devil's Foot 


tion between three things — the burning, the stuffy 
atmosphere, and, finally, the madness or death of 
those unfortunate people. That is clear, is it not?" 

"It would appear so." 

"At least we may accept it as a working hy- 
pothesis. We will suppose, then, that something 
was burned in each case which produced an at- 
mosphere causing strange toxic effects. Very good. 
In the first instance — that of the Tregennis fam- 
ily — this substance was placed in the fire. Now 
the window was shut, but the fire would naturally 
carry fumes to some extent up the chimney. Hence 
one would expect the effects of the poison to be 
less than in the second case, where there was less 
escape for the vapour. The result seems to indi- 
cate that it was so, since in the first case only the 
woman, who had presumably the more sensitive 
organism, was killed, the others exhibiting that 
temporary or permanent lunacy which is evidently 
the first effect of the drug. In the second case the 
result was complete. The facts, therefore, seem to 
bear out the theory of a poison which worked by 
combustion. 

"With this train of reasoning in my head I nat- 
urally looked about in Mortimer Tregennis's room 
to find some remains of this substance. The ob- 
vious place to look was the talc shelf or smoke- 
guard of the lamp. There, sure enough, I perceived 
a number of flaky ashes, and round the edges a 
fringe of brownish powder, which had not yet been 
consumed. Half of this I took, as you saw, and I 
placed it in an envelope." 

"Why half. Holmes?" 

"It is not for me, my dear Watson, to stand in 
the way of the official police force. I leave them 
all the evidence which I found. The poison still 
remained upon the talc had they the wit to find 
it. Now, Watson, we will light our lamp; we will, 
however, take the precaution to open our window 
to avoid the premature decease of two deserving 
members of society, and you will seat yourself near 
that open window in an armchair unless, like a 
sensible man, you determine to have nothing to 
do with the affair. Oh, you will see it out, will 
you? I thought I knew my Watson. This chair I 
will place opposite yours, so that we may be the 
same distance from the poison and face to face. 
The door we will leave ajar. Each is now in a posi- 
tion to watch the other and to bring the experiment 
to an end should the symptoms seem alarming. Is 
that all clear? Well, then, I take our powder — or 
what remains of it — from the envelope, and I lay it 
above the burning lamp. So! Now, Watson, let us 
sit down and await developments." 


They were not long in coming. I had hardly set- 
tled in my chair before I was conscious of a thick, 
musky odour, subtle and nauseous. At the very 
first whiff of it my brain and my imagination were 
beyond all control. A thick, black cloud swirled 
before my eyes, and my mind told me that in this 
cloud, unseen as yet, but about to spring out upon 
my appalled senses, lurked all that was vaguely 
horrible, all that was monstrous and inconceivably 
wicked in the universe. Vague shapes swirled and 
swam amid the dark cloud-bank, each a menace 
and a warning of something coming, the advent 
of some unspeakable dweller upon the threshold, 
whose very shadow would blast my soul. A freez- 
ing horror took possession of me. I felt that my 
hair was rising, that my eyes were protruding, 
that my mouth was opened, and my tongue like 
leather. The turmoil within my brain was such that 
something must surely snap. I tried to scream and 
was vaguely aware of some hoarse croak which 
was my own voice, but distant and detached from 
myself. At the same moment, in some effort of 
escape, I broke through that cloud of despair and 
had a glimpse of Holmes's face, white, rigid, and 
drawn with horror — the very look which I had 
seen upon the features of the dead. It was that 
vision which gave me an instant of sanity and of 
strength. I dashed from my chair, threw my arms 
round Holmes, and together we lurched through 
the door, and an instant afterwards had thrown 
ourselves down upon the grass plot and were ly- 
ing side by side, conscious only of the glorious 
sunshine which was bursting its way through the 
hellish cloud of terror which had girt us in. Slowly 
it rose from our souls like the mists from a land- 
scape until peace and reason had returned, and we 
were sitting upon the grass, wiping our clammy 
foreheads, and looking with apprehension at each 
other to mark the last traces of that terrific experi- 
ence which we had undergone. 

"Upon my word, Watson!" said Holmes at 
last with an unsteady voice, "I owe you both my 
thanks and an apology. It was an unjustifiable ex- 
periment even for one's self, and doubly so for a 
friend. I am really very sorry." 

"You know," I answered with some emotion, 
for I have never seen so much of Holmes's heart 
before, "that it is my greatest joy and privilege to 
help you." 

He relapsed at once into the half-humorous, 
half-cynical vein which was his habitual attitude 
to those about him. "It would be superfluous to 
drive us mad, my dear Watson," said he. "A can- 
did observer would certainly declare that we were 


834 



The Adventure of the Devil's Foot 


so already before we embarked upon so wild an 
experiment. I confess that I never imagined that 
the effect could be so sudden and so severe." He 
dashed into the cottage, and, reappearing with the 
burning lamp held at full arm's length, he threw 
it among a bank of brambles. "We must give the 
room a little time to clear. I take it, Watson, that 
you have no longer a shadow of a doubt as to how 
these tragedies were produced?" 

"None whatever." 

"But the cause remains as obscure as before. 
Come into the arbour here and let us discuss it to- 
gether. That villainous stuff seems still to linger 
round my throat. I think we must admit that all 
the evidence points to this man, Mortimer Tregen- 
nis, having been the criminal in the first tragedy, 
though he was the victim in the second one. We 
must remember, in the first place, that there is 
some story of a family quarrel, followed by a rec- 
onciliation. How bitter that quarrel may have been, 
or how hollow the reconciliation we cannot tell. 
When I think of Mortimer Tregennis, with the foxy 
face and the small shrewd, beady eyes behind the 
spectacles, he is not a man whom I should judge 
to be of a particularly forgiving disposition. Well, 
in the next place, you will remember that this idea 
of someone moving in the garden, which took our 
attention for a moment from the real cause of the 
tragedy, emanated from him. He had a motive in 
misleading us. Finally, if he did not throw the sub- 
stance into the fire at the moment of leaving the 
room, who did do so? The affair happened imme- 
diately after his departure. Had anyone else come 
in, the family would certainly have risen from the 
table. Besides, in peaceful Cornwall, visitors did 
not arrive after ten o'clock at night. We may take 
it, then, that all the evidence points to Mortimer 
Tregennis as the culprit." 

"Then his own death was suicide!" 

"Well, Watson, it is on the face of it a not im- 
possible supposition. The man who had the guilt 
upon his soul of having brought such a fate upon 
his own family might well be driven by remorse to 
inflict it upon himself. There are, however, some 
cogent reasons against it. Fortunately, there is one 
man in England who knows all about it, and I have 
made arrangements by which we shall hear the 
facts this afternoon from his own lips. Ah! he is 
a little before his time. Perhaps you would kindly 
step this way. Dr. Leon Sterndale. We have been 
conducing a chemical experiment indoors which 
has left our little room hardly fit for the reception 
of so distinguished a visitor." 


I had heard the click of the garden gate, and 
now the majestic figure of the great African ex- 
plorer appeared upon the path. He turned in some 
surprise towards the rustic arbour in which we sat. 

"You sent for me, Mr. Holmes. I had your note 
about an hour ago, and I have come, though I re- 
ally do not know why I should obey your sum- 
mons." 

"Perhaps we can clear the point up before we 
separate," said Holmes. "Meanwhile, I am much 
obliged to you for your courteous acquiescence. 
You will excuse this informal reception in the open 
air, but my friend Watson and I have nearly fur- 
nished an additional chapter to what the papers 
call the Cornish Horror, and we prefer a clear at- 
mosphere for the present. Perhaps, since the mat- 
ters which we have to discuss will affect you per- 
sonally in a very intimate fashion, it is as well that 
we should talk where there can be no eavesdrop- 
ping." 

The explorer took his cigar from his lips and 
gazed sternly at my companion. 

"I am at a loss to know, sir," he said, "what you 
can have to speak about which affects me person- 
ally in a very intimate fashion." 

"The killing of Mortimer Tregennis," said 
Holmes. 

For a moment I wished that I were armed. 
Sterndale's fierce face turned to a dusky red, his 
eyes glared, and the knotted, passionate veins 
started out in his forehead, while he sprang for- 
ward with clenched hands towards my compan- 
ion. Then he stopped, and with a violent effort 
he resumed a cold, rigid calmness, which was, 
perhaps, more suggestive of danger than his hot- 
headed outburst. 

"I have lived so long among savages and be- 
yond the law," said he, "that I have got into the 
way of being a law to myself. You would do well, 
Mr. Holmes, not to forget it, for I have no desire to 
do you an injury." 

"Nor have I any desire to do you an injury. Dr. 
Sterndale. Surely the clearest proof of it is that, 
knowing what I know, I have sent for you and not 
for the police." 

Sterndale sat down with a gasp, overawed for, 
perhaps, the first time in his adventurous life. 
There was a calm assurance of power in Holmes's 
manner which could not be withstood. Our visitor 
stammered for a moment, his great hands opening 
and shutting in his agitation. 


835 



The Adventure of the Devil's Foot 


"What do you mean?" he asked at last. "If this 
is bluff upon your part, Mr. Holmes, you have cho- 
sen a bad man for your experiment. Let us have no 
more beating about the bush. What do you mean?" 

"I will tell you," said Holmes, "and the reason 
why I tell you is that I hope frankness may beget 
frankness. What my next step may be will depend 
entirely upon the nature of your own defence." 

"My defence?" 

"Yes, sir." 

"My defence against what?" 

"Against the charge of killing Mortimer Tre- 
gennis." 

Sterndale mopped his forehead with his hand- 
kerchief. "Upon my word, you are getting on," 
said he. "Do all your successes depend upon this 
prodigious power of bluff?" 

"The bluff," said Holmes sternly, "is upon your 
side. Dr. Leon Sterndale, and not upon mine. As a 
proof I will tell you some of the facts upon which 
my conclusions are based. Of your return from 
Plymouth, allowing much of your property to go 
on to Africa, I will say nothing save that it first in- 
formed me that you were one of the factors which 
had to be taken into account in reconstructing this 
drama — " 

"I came back — " 

"I have heard your reasons and regard them as 
unconvincing and inadequate. We will pass that. 
You came down here to ask me whom I suspected. 
I refused to answer you. You then went to the 
vicarage, waited outside it for some time, and fi- 
nally returned to your cottage." 

"How do you know that?" 

"I followed you." 

"I saw no one." 

"That is what you may expect to see when I 
follow you. You spent a restless night at your cot- 
tage, and you formed certain plans, which in the 
early morning you proceeded to put into execu- 
tion. Leaving your door just as day was breaking, 
you filled your pocket with some reddish gravel 
that was lying heaped beside your gate." 

Sterndale gave a violent start and looked at 
Holmes in amazement. 

"You then walked swiftly for the mile which 
separated you from the vicarage. You were wear- 
ing, I may remark, the same pair of ribbed tennis 
shoes which are at the present moment upon your 
feet. At the vicarage you passed through the or- 
chard and the side hedge, coming out under the 


window of the lodger Tregennis. It was now day- 
light, but the household was not yet stirring. You 
drew some of the gravel from your pocket, and 
you threw it up at the window above you." 

Sterndale sprang to his feet. 

"I believe that you are the devil himself!" he 
cried. 

Holmes smiled at the compliment. "It took 
two, or possibly three, handfuls before the lodger 
came to the window. You beckoned him to come 
down. He dressed hurriedly and descended to his 
sitting-room. You entered by the window. There 
was an interview — a short one — during which you 
walked up and down the room. Then you passed 
out and closed the window, standing on the lawn 
outside smoking a cigar and watching what oc- 
curred. Finally, after the death of Tregennis, you 
withdrew as you had come. Now, Dr. Sterndale, 
how do you justify such conduct, and what were 
the motives for your actions? If you prevaricate or 
trifle with me, I give you my assurance that the 
matter will pass out of my hands forever." 

Our visitor's face had turned ashen gray as he 
listened to the words of his accuser. Now he sat 
for some time in thought with his face sunk in his 
hands. Then with a sudden impulsive gesture he 
plucked a photograph from his breast-pocket and 
threw it on the rustic table before us. 

"That is why I have done it," said he. 

It showed the bust and face of a very beautiful 
woman. Holmes stooped over it. 

"Brenda Tregennis," said he. 

"Yes, Brenda Tregennis," repeated our visitor. 
"For years I have loved her. For years she has loved 
me. There is the secret of that Cornish seclusion 
which people have marvelled at. It has brought 
me close to the one thing on earth that was dear 
to me. I could not marry her, for I have a wife 
who has left me for years and yet whom, by the 
deplorable laws of England, I could not divorce. 
For years Brenda waited. For years I waited. And 
this is what we have waited for." A terrible sob 
shook his great frame, and he clutched his throat 
under his brindled beard. Then with an effort he 
mastered himself and spoke on: 

"The vicar knew. He was in our confidence. 
He would tell you that she was an angel upon 
earth. That was why he telegraphed to me and 
I returned. What was my baggage or Africa to me 
when I learned that such a fate had come upon 
my darling? There you have the missing clue to 
my action, Mr. Holmes." 

"Proceed," said my friend. 


836 



The Adventure of the Devil's Foot 


Dr. Sterndale drew from his pocket a paper 
packet and laid it upon the table. On the outside 
was written "Radix pedis diaboli" with a red poi- 
son label beneath it. He pushed it towards me. "I 
understand that you are a doctor, sir. Have you 
ever heard of this preparation?" 

"Devil's-foot root! No, I have never heard of 
it." 

"It is no reflection upon your professional 
knowledge," said he, "for I believe that, save for 
one sample in a laboratory at Buda, there is no 
other specimen in Europe. It has not yet found its 
way either into the pharmacopoeia or into the liter- 
ature of toxicology. The root is shaped like a foot, 
half human, half goatlike; hence the fanciful name 
given by a botanical missionary. It is used as an 
ordeal poison by the medicine-men in certain dis- 
tricts of West Africa and is kept as a secret among 
them. This particular specimen I obtained under 
very extraordinary circumstances in the Ubangi 
country." He opened the paper as he spoke and 
disclosed a heap of reddish-brown, snuff-like pow- 
der. 

"Well, sir?" asked Holmes sternly. 

"I am about to tell you, Mr. Holmes, all that 
actually occurred, for you already know so much 
that it is clearly to my interest that you should 
know all. I have already explained the relationship 
in which I stood to the Tregennis family. For the 
sake of the sister I was friendly with the brothers. 
There was a family quarrel about money which es- 
tranged this man Mortimer, but it was supposed to 
be made up, and I afterwards met him as I did the 
others. He was a sly, subtle, scheming man, and 
several things arose which gave me a suspicion of 
him, but I had no cause for any positive quarrel. 

"One day, only a couple of weeks ago, he came 
down to my cottage and I showed him some of 
my African curiosities. Among other things I ex- 
hibited this powder, and I told him of its strange 
properties, how it stimulates those brain centres 
which control the emotion of fear, and how either 
madness or death is the fate of the unhappy na- 
tive who is subjected to the ordeal by the priest 
of his tribe. I told him also how powerless Euro- 
pean science would be to detect it. How he took 
it I cannot say, for I never left the room, but there 
is no doubt that it was then, while I was opening 
cabinets and stooping to boxes, that he managed 
to abstract some of the devil's-foot root. I well re- 
member how he plied me with questions as to the 
amount and the time that was needed for its effect, 
but I little dreamed that he could have a personal 
reason for asking. 


"I thought no more of the matter until the 
vicar's telegram reached me at Plymouth. This vil- 
lain had thought that I would be at sea before the 
news could reach me, and that I should be lost for 
years in Africa. But I returned at once. Of course, 
I could not listen to the details without feeling as- 
sured that my poison had been used. I came round 
to see you on the chance that some other explana- 
tion had suggested itself to you. But there could 
be none. I was convinced that Mortimer Tregen- 
nis was the murderer; that for the sake of money, 
and with the idea, perhaps, that if the other mem- 
bers of his family were all insane he would be 
the sole guardian of their joint property, he had 
used the devil's-foot powder upon them, driven 
two of them out of their senses, and killed his sis- 
ter Brenda, the one human being whom I have ever 
loved or who has ever loved me. There was his 
crime; what was to be his punishment? 

"Should I appeal to the law? Where were my 
proofs? I knew that the facts were true, but could I 
help to make a jury of countrymen believe so fan- 
tastic a story? I might or I might not. But I could 
not afford to fail. My soul cried out for revenge. 
I have said to you once before, Mr. Holmes, that 
I have spent much of my life outside the law, and 
that I have come at last to be a law to myself. So it 
was even now. I determined that the fate which he 
had given to others should be shared by himself. 
Either that or I would do justice upon him with 
my own hand. In all England there can be no man 
who sets less value upon his own life than I do at 
the present moment. 

"Now I have told you all. You have yourself 
supplied the rest. I did, as you say, after a rest- 
less night, set off early from my cottage. I foresaw 
the difficulty of arousing him, so I gathered some 
gravel from the pile which you have mentioned, 
and I used it to throw up to his window. He came 
down and admitted me through the window of 
the sitting-room. 1 laid his offence before him. I 
told him that I had come both as judge and exe- 
cutioner. The wretch sank into a chair, paralyzed 
at the sight of my revolver. I lit the lamp, put the 
powder above it, and stood outside the window, 
ready to carry out my threat to shoot him should 
he try to leave the room. In five minutes he died. 
My God! how he died! But my heart was flint, 
for he endured nothing which my innocent dar- 
ling had not felt before him. There is my story, 
Mr. Holmes. Perhaps, if you loved a woman, you 
would have done as much yourself. At any rate, 
I am in your hands. You can take what steps you 
like. As I have already said, there is no man living 
who can fear death less than I do." 


837 



Holmes sat for some little time in silence. 

"What were your plans?" he asked at last. 

"I had intended to bury myself in central 
Africa. My work there is but half finished." 

"Go and do the other half," said Holmes. "I, at 
least, am not prepared to prevent you." 

Dr. Sterndale raised his giant figure, bowed 
gravely, and walked from the arbour. Holmes lit 
his pipe and handed me his pouch. 

"Some fumes which are not poisonous would 
be a welcome change," said he. "I think you must 
agree, Watson, that it is not a case in which we 
are called upon to interfere. Our investigation has 
been independent, and our action shall be so also. 
You would not denounce the man?" 

"Certainly not," I answered. 


"I have never loved, Watson, but if I did and if 
the woman I loved had met such an end, I might 
act even as our lawless lion-hunter has done. Who 
knows? Well, Watson, I will not offend your intel- 
ligence by explaining what is obvious. The gravel 
upon the window-sill was, of course, the starting- 
point of my research. It was unlike anything in 
the vicarage garden. Only when my attention 
had been drawn to Dr. Sterndale and his cottage 
did I find its counterpart. The lamp shining in 
broad daylight and the remains of powder upon 
the shield were successive links in a fairly obvi- 
ous chain. And now, my dear Watson, I think 
we may dismiss the matter from our mind and go 
back with a clear conscience to the study of those 
Chaldean roots which are surely to be traced in the 
Cornish branch of the great Celtic speech." 



The Adventure of the Dancing Men 


K olmes had been seated for some hours in 
3 silence with his long, thin back curved 
I over a chemical vessel in which he 
‘ was brewing a particularly malodorous 
product. His head was sunk upon his breast, and 
he looked from my point of view like a strange, 
lank bird, with dull grey plumage and a black top- 
knot. 

"So, Watson," said he, suddenly, "you do not 
propose to invest in South African securities?" 

I gave a start of astonishment. Accustomed as 
I was to Holmes's curious faculties, this sudden 
intrusion into my most intimate thoughts was ut- 
terly inexplicable. 

"How on earth do you know that?" I asked. 

He wheeled round upon his stool, with a 
steaming test-tube in his hand and a gleam of 
amusement in his deep-set eyes. 

"Now, Watson, confess yourself utterly taken 
aback," said he. 

"I am." 

"I ought to make you sign a paper to that ef- 
fect." 

"Why?" 

"Because in five minutes you will say that it is 
all so absurdly simple." 

"I am sure that I shall say nothing of the kind." 

"You see, my dear Watson" — he propped his 
test-tube in the rack and began to lecture with 
the air of a professor addressing his class — "it is 
not really difficult to construct a series of infer- 
ences, each dependent upon its predecessor and 
each simple in itself. If, after doing so, one simply 
knocks out all the central inferences and presents 
one's audience with the starting-point and the con- 
clusion, one may produce a startling, though pos- 
sibly a meretricious, effect. Now, it was not really 
difficult, by an inspection of the groove between 
your left forefinger and thumb, to feel sure that 
you did not propose to invest your small capital in 
the goldfields." 

"I see no connection." 

"Very likely not; but I can quickly show you a 
close connection. Here are the missing links of the 
very simple chain: 1. You had chalk between your 
left finger and thumb when you returned from the 
club last night. 2. You put chalk there when you 
play billiards to steady the cue. 3. You never play 
billiards except with Thurston. 4. You told me four 
weeks ago that Thurston had an option on some 
South African property which would expire in a 
month, and which he desired you to share with 


him. 5. Your cheque-book is locked in my drawer, 
and you have not asked for the key. 6. You do not 
propose to invest your money in this manner." 

"How absurdly simple!" I cried. 

"Quite so!" said he, a little nettled. "Every 
problem becomes very childish when once it is ex- 
plained to you. Here is an unexplained one. See 
what you can make of that, friend Watson." He 
tossed a sheet of paper upon the table and turned 
once more to his chemical analysis. 

I looked with amazement at the absurd hiero- 
glyphics upon the paper. 

"Why, Holmes, it is a child's drawing," I cried. 

"Oh, that's your idea!" 

"What else should it be?" 

"That is what Mr. Hilton Cubitt, of Ridling 
Thorpe Manor, Norfolk, is very anxious to know. 
This little conundrum came by the first post, and 
he was to follow by the next train. There's a ring 
at the bell, Watson. I should not be very much 
surprised if this were he." 

A heavy step was heard upon the stairs, and 
an instant later there entered a tall, ruddy, clean- 
shaven gentleman, whose clear eyes and florid 
cheeks told of a life led far from the fogs of Baker 
Street. He seemed to bring a whiff of his strong, 
fresh, bracing, east-coast air with him as he en- 
tered. Having shaken hands with each of us, he 
was about to sit down when his eye rested upon 
the paper with the curious markings, which I had 
just examined and left upon the table. 

"Well, Mr. Holmes, what do you make of 
these?" he cried. "They told me that you were fond 
of queer mysteries, and I don't think you can find 
a queerer one than that. I sent the paper on ahead 
so that you might have time to study it before I 
came." 

"It is certainly rather a curious production," 
said Holmes. "At first sight it would appear to 
be some childish prank. It consists of a number of 
absurd little figures dancing across the paper upon 
which they are drawn. Why should you attribute 
any importance to so grotesque an object?" 

"I never should, Mr. Holmes. But my wife 
does. It is frightening her to death. She says noth- 
ing, but I can see terror in her eyes. That's why I 
want to sift the matter to the bottom." 

Holmes held up the paper so that the sunlight 
shone full upon it. It was a page torn from a note- 
book. The markings were done in pencil, and ran 
in this way: — 


445 



The Adventure of the Dancing Men 



Holmes examined it for some time, and then, fold- 
ing it carefully up, he placed it in his pocket-book. 

"This promises to be a most interesting and un- 
usual case," said he. "You gave me a few particu- 
lars in your letter, Mr. Hilton Cubitt, but I should 
be very much obliged if you would kindly go over 
it all again for the benefit of my friend. Dr. Wat- 
son." 

"I'm not much of a story-teller," said our vis- 
itor, nervously clasping and unclasping his great, 
strong hands. "You'll just ask me anything that I 
don't make clear. I'll begin at the time of my mar- 
riage last year; but I want to say first of all that, 
though I'm not a rich man, my people have been 
at Ridling Thorpe for a matter of five centuries, 
and there is no better known family in the County 
of Norfolk. Last year I came up to London for the 
Jubilee, and I stopped at a boarding-house in Rus- 
sell Square, because Parker, the vicar of our parish, 
was staying in it. There was an American young 
lady there — Patrick was the name — Elsie Patrick. 
In some way we became friends, until before my 
month was up I was as much in love as a man 
could be. We were quietly married at a registry 
office, and we returned to Norfolk a wedded cou- 
ple. You'll think it very mad, Mr. Holmes, that a 
man of a good old family should marry a wife in 
this fashion, knowing nothing of her past or of her 
people; but if you saw her and knew her it would 
help you to understand. 

"She was very straight about it, was Elsie. I 
can't say that she did not give me every chance of 
getting out of it if I wished to do so. 'I have had 
some very disagreeable associations in my life,' 
said she; 'I wish to forget all about them. I would 
rather never allude to the past, for it is very painful 
to me. If you take me, Hilton, you will take a 
woman who has nothing that she need be person- 
ally ashamed of; but you will have to be content 
with my word for it, and to allow me to be silent 
as to all that passed up to the time when I became 
yours. If these conditions are too hard, then go 
back to Norfolk and leave me to the lonely life in 
which you found me.' It was only the day before 
our wedding that she said those very words to me. 
I told her that I was content to take her on her own 
terms, and I have been as good as my word. 

"Well, we have been married now for a year, 
and very happy we have been. But about a month 
ago, at the end of June, I saw for the first time signs 


of trouble. One day my wife received a letter from 
America. I saw the American stamp. She turned 
deadly white, read the letter, and threw it into the 
fire. She made no allusion to it afterwards, and 
I made none, for a promise is a promise; but she 
has never known an easy hour from that moment. 
There is always a look of fear upon her face — a 
look as if she were waiting and expecting. She 
would do better to trust me. She would find that 
I was her best friend. But until she speaks I can 
say nothing. Mind you, she is a truthful woman, 
Mr. Holmes, and whatever trouble there may have 
been in her past life it has been no fault of hers. I 
am only a simple Norfolk squire, but there is not 
a man in England who ranks his family honour 
more highly than I do. She knows it well, and she 
knew it well before she married me. She would 
never bring any stain upon it — of that I am sure. 

"Well, now I come to the queer part of my 
story. About a week ago — it was the Tuesday of 
last week — I found on one of the window-sills a 
number of absurd little dancing figures, like these 
upon the paper. They were scrawled with chalk. I 
thought that it was the stable-boy who had drawn 
them, but the lad swore he knew nothing about it. 
Anyhow, they had come there during the night. 
I had them washed out, and I only mentioned 
the matter to my wife afterwards. To my sur- 
prise she took it very seriously, and begged me 
if any more came to let her see them. None did 
come for a week, and then yesterday morning I 
found this paper lying on the sun-dial in the gar- 
den. I showed it to Elsie, and down she dropped 
in a dead faint. Since then she has looked like a 
woman in a dream, half dazed, and with terror al- 
ways lurking in her eyes. It was then that I wrote 
and sent the paper to you, Mr. Holmes. It was 
not a thing that I could take to the police, for they 
would have laughed at me, but you will tell me 
what to do. I am not a rich man; but if there is 
any danger threatening my little woman I would 
spend my last copper to shield her." 

He was a fine creature, this man of the old En- 
glish soil, simple, straight, and gentle, with his 
great, earnest blue eyes and broad, comely face. 
His love for his wife and his trust in her shone in 
his features. Holmes had listened to his story with 
the utmost attention, and now he sat for some time 
in silent thought. 

"Don't you think, Mr. Cubitt," said he, at last, 
"that your best plan would be to make a direct ap- 
peal to your wife, and to ask her to share her secret 
with you?" 

Hilton Cubitt shook his massive head. 


446 



The Adventure of the Dancing Men 


"A promise is a promise, Mr. Holmes. If Elsie 
wished to tell me she would. If not, it is not for me 
to force her confidence. But I am justified in taking 
my own line — and I will." 

"Then I will help you with all my heart. In the 
first place, have you heard of any strangers being 
seen in your neighbourhood?" 

"No." 

"I presume that it is a very quiet place. Any 
fresh face would cause comment?" 

"In the immediate neighbourhood, yes. But 
we have several small watering-places not very far 
away. And the farmers take in lodgers." 

"These hieroglyphics have evidently a mean- 
ing. If it is a purely arbitrary one it may be impos- 
sible for us to solve it. If, on the other hand, it is 
systematic, I have no doubt that we shall get to the 
bottom of it. But this particular sample is so short 
that I can do nothing, and the facts which you have 
brought me are so indefinite that we have no ba- 
sis for an investigation. I would suggest that you 
return to Norfolk, that you keep a keen look-out, 
and that you take an exact copy of any fresh danc- 
ing men which may appear. It is a thousand pities 
that we have not a reproduction of those which 
were done in chalk upon the window-sill. Make 
a discreet inquiry also as to any strangers in the 
neighbourhood. When you have collected some 
fresh evidence come to me again. That is the best 
advice which I can give you, Mr. Hilton Cubitt. If 
there are any pressing fresh developments I shall 
be always ready to run down and see you in your 
Norfolk home." 

The interview left Sherlock Holmes very 
thoughtful, and several times in the next few days 
I saw him take his slip of paper from his note-book 
and look long and earnestly at the curious figures 
inscribed upon it. He made no allusion to the af- 
fair, however, until one afternoon a fortnight or so 
later. I was going out when he called me back. 

"You had better stay here, Watson." 

"Why?" 

"Because I had a wire from Hilton Cubitt this 
morning — you remember Hilton Cubitt, of the 
dancing men? He was to reach Liverpool Street 
at one-twenty. He may be here at any moment. 
I gather from his wire that there have been some 
new incidents of importance." 

We had not long to wait, for our Norfolk squire 
came straight from the station as fast as a hansom 
could bring him. He was looking worried and de- 
pressed, with tired eyes and a lined forehead. 


"It's getting on my nerves, this business, Mr. 
Holmes," said he, as he sank, like a wearied man, 
into an arm-chair. "It's bad enough to feel that you 
are surrounded by unseen, unknown folk, who 
have some kind of design upon you; but when, 
in addition to that, you know that it is just killing 
your wife by inches, then it becomes as much as 
flesh and blood can endure. She's wearing away 
under it — just wearing away before my eyes." 

"Has she said anything yet?" 

"No, Mr. Holmes, she has not. And yet there 
have been times when the poor girl has wanted to 
speak, and yet could not quite bring herself to take 
the plunge. I have tried to help her; but I dare say I 
did it clumsily, and scared her off from it. She has 
spoken about my old family, and our reputation in 
the county, and our pride in our unsullied honour, 
and I always felt it was leading to the point; but 
somehow it turned off before we got there." 

"But you have found out something for your- 
self?" 

"A good deal, Mr. Holmes. I have several fresh 
dancing men pictures for you to examine, and, 
what is more important, I have seen the fellow." 

"What, the man who draws them?" 

"Yes, I saw him at his work. But I will tell you 
everything in order. When I got back after my visit 
to you, the very first thing I saw next morning was 
a fresh crop of dancing men. They had been drawn 
in chalk upon the black wooden door of the tool- 
house, which stands beside the lawn in full view 
of the front windows. I took an exact copy, and 
here it is." He unfolded a paper and laid it upon 
the table. Here is a copy of the hieroglyphics: — 

"Excellent!" said Holmes. "Excellent! Pray con- 
tinue." 

"When I had taken the copy I rubbed out the 
marks; but two mornings later a fresh inscription 
had appeared. I have a copy of it here": — 

XUiX 

Holmes rubbed his hands and chuckled with de- 
light. 

"Our material is rapidly accumulating," said 
he. 

"Three days later a message was left scrawled 
upon paper, and placed under a pebble upon the 
sun-dial. Here it is. The characters are, as you see. 


447 



The Adventure of the Dancing Men 


exactly the same as the last one. After that I deter- 
mined to lie in wait; so I got out my revolver and I 
sat up in my study, which overlooks the lawn and 
garden. About two in the morning I was seated by 
the window, all being dark save for the moonlight 
outside, when I heard steps behind me, and there 
was my wife in her dressing-gown. She implored 
me to come to bed. I told her frankly that I wished 
to see who it was who played such absurd tricks 
upon us. She answered that it was some senseless 
practical joke, and that I should not take any notice 
of it. 

" 'If it really annoys you, Hilton, we might go 
and travel, you and I, and so avoid this nuisance.' 

" 'What, be driven out of our own house by a 
practical joker?' said I. 'Why, we should have the 
whole county laughing at us.' 

" 'Well, come to bed,' said she, 'and we can dis- 
cuss it in the morning.' 

"Suddenly, as she spoke, I saw her white face 
grow whiter yet in the moonlight, and her hand 
tightened upon my shoulder. Something was mov- 
ing in the shadow of the tool-house. I saw a dark, 
creeping figure which crawled round the corner 
and squatted in front of the door. Seizing my pistol 
I was rushing out, when my wife threw her arms 
round me and held me with convulsive strength. 
I tried to throw her off, but she clung to me most 
desperately. At last I got clear, but by the time I 
had opened the door and reached the house the 
creature was gone. He had left a trace of his pres- 
ence, however, for there on the door was the very 
same arrangement of dancing men which had al- 
ready twice appeared, and which I have copied on 
that paper. There was no other sign of the fellow 
anywhere, though I ran all over the grounds. And 
yet the amazing thing is that he must have been 
there all the time, for when I examined the door 
again in the morning he had scrawled some more 
of his pictures under the line which I had already 
seen." 

"Have you that fresh drawing?" 

"Yes; it is very short, but I made a copy of it, 
and here it is." 

Again he produced a paper. The new dance 
was in this form: — 

mn 

"Tell me," said Holmes — and I could see by his 
eyes that he was much excited — "was this a mere 
addition to the first, or did it appear to be entirely 
separate?" 


"It was on a different panel of the door." 

"Excellent! This is far the most important of all 
for our purpose. It fills me with hopes. Now, Mr. 
Hilton Cubitt, please continue your most interest- 
ing statement." 

"I have nothing more to say, Mr. Holmes, ex- 
cept that I was angry with my wife that night for 
having held me back when I might have caught 
the skulking rascal. She said that she feared that I 
might come to harm. For an instant it had crossed 
my mind that perhaps what she really feared was 
that he might come to harm, for I could not doubt 
that she knew who this man was and what he 
meant by these strange signals. But there is a 
tone in my wife's voice, Mr. Holmes, and a look 
in her eyes which forbid doubt, and I am sure that 
it was indeed my own safety that was in her mind. 
There's the whole case, and now I want your ad- 
vice as to what I ought to do. My own inclination 
is to put half-a-dozen of my farm lads in the shrub- 
bery, and when this fellow comes again to give him 
such a hiding that he will leave us in peace for the 
future." 

"I fear it is too deep a case for such simple 
remedies," said Holmes. "How long can you stay 
in London?" 

"I must go back to-day. I would not leave my 
wife alone all night for anything. She is very ner- 
vous and begged me to come back." 

"I dare say you are right. But if you could have 
stopped I might possibly have been able to return 
with you in a day or two. Meanwhile you will 
leave me these papers, and I think that it is very 
likely that I shall be able to pay you a visit shortly 
and to throw some light upon your case." 

Sherlock Holmes preserved his calm profes- 
sional manner until our visitor had left us, al- 
though it was easy for me, who knew him so well, 
to see that he was profoundly excited. The mo- 
ment that Hilton Cubitt's broad back had disap- 
peared through the door my comrade rushed to 
the table, laid out all the slips of paper contain- 
ing dancing men in front of him, and threw him- 
self into an intricate and elaborate calculation. For 
two hours I watched him as he covered sheet after 
sheet of paper with figures and letters, so com- 
pletely absorbed in his task that he had evidently 
forgotten my presence. Sometimes he was making 
progress and whistled and sang at his work; some- 
times he was puzzled, and would sit for long spells 
with a furrowed brow and a vacant eye. Finally he 
sprang from his chair with a cry of satisfaction, 
and walked up and down the room rubbing his 
hands together. Then he wrote a long telegram 


448 



The Adventure of the Dancing Men 


upon a cable form. "If my answer to this is as I 
hope, you will have a very pretty case to add to 
your collection, Watson," said he. "I expect that 
we shall be able to go down to Norfolk to-morrow, 
and to take our friend some very definite news as 
to the secret of his annoyance." 

I confess that I was filled with curiosity, but I 
was aware that Holmes liked to make his disclo- 
sures at his own time and in his own way; so I 
waited until it should suit him to take me into his 
confidence. 

But there was a delay in that answering tele- 
gram, and two days of impatience followed, dur- 
ing which Holmes pricked up his ears at every 
ring of the bell. On the evening of the second 
there came a letter from Hilton Cubitt. All was 
quiet with him, save that a long inscription had 
appeared that morning upon the pedestal of the 
sun-dial. He inclosed a copy of it, which is here 
reproduced: — 

tmfimtpf x&nx, 
xifxjr 

Holmes bent over this grotesque frieze for some 
minutes, and then suddenly sprang to his feet with 
an exclamation of surprise and dismay. His face 
was haggard with anxiety. 

"We have let this affair go far enough," said he. 
"Is there a train to North Walsham to-night?" 

I turned up the time-table. The last had just 
gone. 

"Then we shall breakfast early and take the 
very first in the morning," said Holmes. "Our 
presence is most urgently needed. Ah! here is our 
expected cablegram. One moment, Mrs. Hudson; 
there may be an answer. No, that is quite as I ex- 
pected. This message makes it even more essential 
that we should not lose an hour in letting Hilton 
Cubitt know how matters stand, for it is a singular 
and a dangerous web in which our simple Norfolk 
squire is entangled." 

So, indeed, it proved, and as I come to the 
dark conclusion of a story which had seemed to 
me to be only childish and bizarre I experience 
once again the dismay and horror with which I 
was filled. Would that I had some brighter end- 
ing to communicate to my readers, but these are 
the chronicles of fact, and I must follow to their 
dark crisis the strange chain of events which for 


some days made Ridling Thorpe Manor a house- 
hold word through the length and breadth of Eng- 
land. 

We had hardly alighted at North Walsham, and 
mentioned the name of our destination, when the 
station-master hurried towards us. "I suppose that 
you are the detectives from London?" said he. 

A look of annoyance passed over Holmes's 
face. 

"What makes you think such a thing?" 

"Because Inspector Martin from Norwich has 
just passed through. But maybe you are the sur- 
geons. She's not dead — or wasn't by last accounts. 
You may be in time to save her yet — though it be 
for the gallows." 

Holmes's brow was dark with anxiety. 

"We are going to Ridling Thorpe Manor," said 
he, "but we have heard nothing of what has passed 
there." 

"It's a terrible business," said the station- 
master. "They are shot, both Mr. Hilton Cubitt and 
his wife. She shot him and then herself — so the 
servants say. He's dead and her life is despaired of. 
Dear, dear, one of the oldest families in the County 
of Norfolk, and one of the most honoured." 

Without a word Holmes hurried to a carriage, 
and during the long seven miles' drive he never 
opened his mouth. Seldom have I seen him so ut- 
terly despondent. He had been uneasy during all 
our journey from town, and I had observed that 
he had turned over the morning papers with anx- 
ious attention; but now this sudden realization of 
his worst fears left him in a blank melancholy. He 
leaned back in his seat, lost in gloomy speculation. 
Yet there was much around to interest us, for we 
were passing through as singular a country-side 
as any in England, where a few scattered cottages 
represented the population of to-day, while on ev- 
ery hand enormous square-towered churches bris- 
tled up from the flat, green landscape and told of 
the glory and prosperity of old East Anglia. At last 
the violet rim of the German Ocean appeared over 
the green edge of the Norfolk coast, and the driver 
pointed with his whip to two old brick and tim- 
ber gables which projected from a grove of trees. 
"That's Ridling Thorpe Manor," said he. 

As we drove up to the porticoed front door I 
observed in front of it, beside the tennis lawn, the 
black tool-house and the pedestailed sun-dial with 
which we had such strange associations. A dapper 
little man, with a quick, alert manner and a waxed 
moustache, had just descended from a high dog- 
cart. He introduced himself as Inspector Martin, 


449 



The Adventure of the Dancing Men 


of the Norfolk Constabulary, and he was consid- 
erably astonished when he heard the name of my 
companion. 

"Why, Mr. Holmes, the crime was only com- 
mitted at three this morning. How could you hear 
of it in London and get to the spot as soon as I?" 

"I anticipated it. I came in the hope of prevent- 
ing it." 

"Then you must have important evidence of 
which we are ignorant, for they were said to be 
a most united couple." 

"I have only the evidence of the dancing men," 
said Holmes. "I will explain the matter to you 
later. Meanwhile, since it is too late to prevent 
this tragedy, I am very anxious that I should use 
the knowledge which I possess in order to ensure 
that justice be done. Will you associate me in your 
investigation, or will you prefer that I should act 
independently?" 

"I should be proud to feel that we were act- 
ing together, Mr. Holmes," said the inspector, 
earnestly. 

"In that case I should be glad to hear the evi- 
dence and to examine the premises without an in- 
stant of unnecessary delay." 

Inspector Martin had the good sense to allow 
my friend to do things in his own fashion, and 
contented himself with carefully noting the results. 
The local surgeon, an old, white-haired man, had 
just come down from Mrs. Hilton Cubitt's room, 
and he reported that her injuries were serious, 
but not necessarily fatal. The bullet had passed 
through the front of her brain, and it would prob- 
ably be some time before she could regain con- 
sciousness. On the question of whether she had 
been shot or had shot herself he would not ven- 
ture to express any decided opinion. Certainly the 
bullet had been discharged at very close quarters. 
There was only the one pistol found in the room, 
two barrels of which had been emptied. Mr. Hilton 
Cubitt had been shot through the heart. It was 
equally conceivable that he had shot her and then 
himself, or that she had been the criminal, for the 
revolver lay upon the floor midway between them. 

"Has he been moved?" asked Holmes. 

"We have moved nothing except the lady. We 
could not leave her lying wounded upon the floor." 

"How long have you been here, doctor?" 

"Since four o'clock." 

"Anyone else?" 

"Yes, the constable here." 

"And you have touched nothing?" 


"Nothing." 

"You have acted with great discretion. Who 
sent for you?" 

"The housemaid, Saunders." 

"Was it she who gave the alarm?" 

"She and Mrs. King, the cook." 

"Where are they now?" 

"In the kitchen, I believe." 

"Then I think we had better hear their story at 
once." 

The old hall, oak-panelled and high- 
windowed, had been turned into a court of in- 
vestigation. Holmes sat in a great, old-fashioned 
chair, his inexorable eyes gleaming out of his hag- 
gard face. I could read in them a set purpose to 
devote his life to this quest until the client whom 
he had failed to save should at last be avenged. 
The trim Inspector Martin, the old, grey-headed 
country doctor, myself, and a stolid village police- 
man made up the rest of that strange company. 

The two women told their story clearly enough. 
They had been aroused from their sleep by the 
sound of an explosion, which had been followed a 
minute later by a second one. They slept in adjoin- 
ing rooms, and Mrs. King had rushed in to Saun- 
ders. Together they had descended the stairs. The 
door of the study was open and a candle was burn- 
ing upon the table. Their master lay upon his face 
in the centre of the room. He was quite dead. Near 
the window his wife was crouching, her head lean- 
ing against the wall. She was horribly wounded, 
and the side of her face was red with blood. She 
breathed heavily, but was incapable of saying any- 
thing. The passage, as well as the room, was full 
of smoke and the smell of powder. The window 
was certainly shut and fastened upon the inside. 
Both women were positive upon the point. They 
had at once sent for the doctor and for the con- 
stable. Then, with the aid of the groom and the 
stable-boy, they had conveyed their injured mis- 
tress to her room. Both she and her husband had 
occupied the bed. She was clad in her dress — he 
in his dressing-gown, over his night clothes. Noth- 
ing had been moved in the study. So far as they 
knew there had never been any quarrel between 
husband and wife. They had always looked upon 
them as a very united couple. 

These were the main points of the servants' ev- 
idence. In answer to Inspector Martin they were 
clear that every door was fastened upon the in- 
side, and that no one could have escaped from 
the house. In answer to Holmes they both re- 
membered that they were conscious of the smell 


450 



The Adventure of the Dancing Men 


of powder from the moment that they ran out of 
their rooms upon the top floor. "I commend that 
fact very carefully to your attention," said Holmes 
to his professional colleague. "And now I think 
that we are in a position to undertake a thorough 
examination of the room." 

The study proved to be a small chamber, lined 
on three sides with books, and with a writing- 
table facing an ordinary window, which looked 
out upon the garden. Our first attention was given 
to the body of the unfortunate squire, whose huge 
frame lay stretched across the room. His dis- 
ordered dress showed that he had been hastily 
aroused from sleep. The bullet had been fired at 
him from the front, and had remained in his body 
after penetrating the heart. His death had certainly 
been instantaneous and painless. There was no 
powder-marking either upon his dressing-gown or 
on his hands. According to the country surgeon 
the lady had stains upon her face, but none upon 
her hand. 

"The absence of the latter means nothing, 
though its presence may mean everything," said 
Holmes. "Unless the powder from a badly-fitting 
cartridge happens to spurt backwards, one may 
fire many shots without leaving a sign. I would 
suggest that Mr. Cubitt's body may now be re- 
moved. I suppose, doctor, you have not recovered 
the bullet which wounded the lady?" 

"A serious operation will be necessary before 
that can be done. But there are still four car- 
tridges in the revolver. Two have been fired and 
two wounds inflicted, so that each bullet can be 
accounted for." 

"So it would seem," said Holmes. "Perhaps 
you can account also for the bullet which has so 
obviously struck the edge of the window?" 

He had turned suddenly, and his long, thin fin- 
ger was pointing to a hole which had been drilled 
right through the lower window-sash about an 
inch above the bottom. 

"By George!" cried the inspector. "How ever 
did you see that?" 

"Because I looked for it." 

"Wonderful!" said the country doctor. "You are 
certainly right, sir. Then a third shot has been 
fired, and therefore a third person must have been 
present. But who could that have been and how 
could he have got away?" 

"That is the problem which we are now about 
to solve," said Sherlock Holmes. "You remember. 
Inspector Martin, when the servants said that on 
leaving their room they were at once conscious of 


a smell of powder I remarked that the point was 
an extremely important one?" 

"Yes, sir; but I confess I did not quite follow 
you." 

"It suggested that at the time of the firing the 
window as well as the door of the room had been 
open. Otherwise the fumes of powder could not 
have been blown so rapidly through the house. A 
draught in the room was necessary for that. Both 
door and window were only open for a very short 
time, however." 

"How do you prove that?" 

"Because the candle has not guttered." 

"Capital!" cried the inspector. "Capital!" 

"Feeling sure that the window had been open 
at the time of the tragedy I conceived that there 
might have been a third person in the affair, who 
stood outside this opening and fired through it. 
Any shot directed at this person might hit the sash. 
I looked, and there, sure enough, was the bullet 
mark!" 

"But how came the window to be shut and fas- 
tened?" 

"The woman's first instinct would be to shut 
and fasten the window. But, halloa! what is this?" 

It was a lady's hand-bag which stood upon the 
study table — a trim little hand-bag of crocodile- 
skin and silver. Holmes opened it and turned the 
contents out. There were twenty fifty-pound notes 
of the Bank of England, held together by an india- 
rubber band — nothing else. 

"This must be preserved, for it will figure in 
the trial," said Holmes, as he handed the bag with 
its contents to the inspector. "It is now necessary 
that we should try to throw some light upon this 
third bullet, which has clearly, from the splinter- 
ing of the wood, been fired from inside the room. 
I should like to see Mrs. King, the cook, again. 
You said, Mrs. King, that you were awakened by a 
loud explosion. When you said that, did you mean 
that it seemed to you to be louder than the second 
one?" 

"Well, sir, it wakened me from my sleep, and 
so it is hard to judge. But it did seem very loud." 

"You don't think that it might have been two 
shots fired almost at the same instant?" 

"I am sure I couldn't say, sir." 

"I believe that it was undoubtedly so. I rather 
think. Inspector Martin, that we have now ex- 
hausted all that this room can teach us. If you 
will kindly step round with me, we shall see what 
fresh evidence the garden has to offer." 

A flower-bed extended up to the study win- 
dow, and we all broke into an exclamation as we 


451 



The Adventure of the Dancing Men 


approached it. The flowers were trampled down, 
and the soft soil was imprinted all over with foot- 
marks. Large, masculine feet they were, with pe- 
culiarly long, sharp toes. Holmes hunted about 
among the grass and leaves like a retriever after a 
wounded bird. Then, with a cry of satisfaction, he 
bent forward and picked up a little brazen cylin- 
der. 

"I thought so," said he; "the revolver had an 
ejector, and here is the third cartridge. I really 
think. Inspector Martin, that our case is almost 
complete." 

The country inspector's face had shown his 
intense amazement at the rapid and masterful 
progress of Holmes's investigation. At first he had 
shown some disposition to assert his own posi- 
tion; but now he was overcome with admiration 
and ready to follow without question wherever 
Holmes led. 

"Whom do you suspect?" he asked. 

"I'll go into that later. There are several points 
in this problem which I have not been able to ex- 
plain to you yet. Now that I have got so far I had 
best proceed on my own lines, and then clear the 
whole matter up once and for all." 

"Just as you wish, Mr. Holmes, so long as we 
get our man." 

"I have no desire to make mysteries, but it is 
impossible at the moment of action to enter into 
long and complex explanations. I have the threads 
of this affair all in my hand. Even if this lady 
should never recover consciousness we can still re- 
construct the events of last night and ensure that 
justice be done. First of all I wish to know whether 
there is any inn in this neighbourhood known as 
'Elrige's'?" 

The servants were cross-questioned, but none 
of them had heard of such a place. The stable-boy 
threw a light upon the matter by remembering that 
a farmer of that name lived some miles off in the 
direction of East Ruston. 

"Is it a lonely farm?" 

"Very lonely, sir." 

"Perhaps they have not heard yet of all that 
happened here during the night?" 

"Maybe not, sir." 

Holmes thought for a little and then a curious 
smile played over his face. 

"Saddle a horse, my lad," said he. "I shall wish 
you to take a note to Elrige's Farm." 

He took from his pocket the various slips of 
the dancing men. With these in front of him he 


worked for some time at the study-table. Finally 
he handed a note to the boy, with directions to put 
it into the hands of the person to whom it was ad- 
dressed, and especially to answer no questions of 
any sort which might be put to him. I saw the 
outside of the note, addressed in straggling, irreg- 
ular characters, very unlike Holmes's usual precise 
hand. It was consigned to Mr. Abe Slaney, Elrige's 
Farm, East Ruston, Norfolk. 

"I think, inspector," Holmes remarked, "that 
you would do well to telegraph for an escort, as, if 
my calculations prove to be correct, you may have 
a particularly dangerous prisoner to convey to the 
county jail. The boy who takes this note could no 
doubt forward your telegram. If there is an af- 
ternoon train to town, Watson, I think we should 
do well to take it, as I have a chemical analysis 
of some interest to finish, and this investigation 
draws rapidly to a close." 

When the youth had been dispatched with the 
note, Sherlock Holmes gave his instructions to the 
servants. If any visitor were to call asking for Mrs. 
Hilton Cubitt no information should be given as 
to her condition, but he was to be shown at once 
into the drawing-room. He impressed these points 
upon them with the utmost earnestness. Finally 
he led the way into the drawing-room with the re- 
mark that the business was now out of our hands, 
and that we must while away the time as best we 
might until we could see what was in store for us. 
The doctor had departed to his patients, and only 
the inspector and myself remained. 

"I think that I can help you to pass an hour 
in an interesting and profitable manner," said 
Holmes, drawing his chair up to the table and 
spreading out in front of him the various papers 
upon which were recorded the antics of the danc- 
ing men. "As to you, friend Watson, I owe you 
every atonement for having allowed your natural 
curiosity to remain so long unsatisfied. To you, 
inspector, the whole incident may appeal as a re- 
markable professional study. I must tell you first 
of all the interesting circumstances connected with 
the previous consultations which Mr. Hilton Cu- 
bitt has had with me in Baker Street." He then 
shortly recapitulated the facts which have already 
been recorded. "I have here in front of me these 
singular productions, at which one might smile 
had they not proved themselves to be the fore- 
runners of so terrible a tragedy. I am fairly famil- 
iar with all forms of secret writings, and am my- 
self the author of a trifling monograph upon the 
subject, in which I analyze one hundred and sixty 
separate ciphers; but I confess that this is entirely 


452 



The Adventure of the Dancing Men 


new to me. The object of those who invented the 
system has apparently been to conceal that these 
characters convey a message, and to give the idea 
that they are the mere random sketches of chil- 
dren. 

"Having once recognised, however, that the 
symbols stood for letters, and having applied the 
rules which guide us in all forms of secret writ- 
ings, the solution was easy enough. The first mes- 
sage submitted to me was so short that it was im- 
possible for me to do more than to say with some 
confidence that the symbol 

1 

stood for E. As you are aware, E is the most com- 
mon letter in the English alphabet, and it predom- 
inates to so marked an extent that even in a short 
sentence one would expect to find it most often. 
Out of fifteen symbols in the first message four 
were the same, so it was reasonable to set this 
down as E. It is true that in some cases the fig- 
ure was bearing a flag and in some cases not, but 
it was probable from the way in which the flags 
were distributed that they were used to break the 
sentence up into words. I accepted this as a hy- 
pothesis, and noted that E was represented by 

1 

"But now came the real difficulty of the inquiry. 
The order of the English letters after E is by 
no means well marked, and any preponderance 
which may be shown in an average of a printed 
sheet may be reversed in a single short sentence. 
Speaking roughly, T, A, O, I, N, S, H, R, D, and L 
are the numerical order in which letters occur; but 
T, A, O, and I are very nearly abreast of each other, 
and it would be an endless task to try each combi- 
nation until a meaning was arrived at. I, therefore, 
waited for fresh material. In my second interview 
with Mr. Hilton Cubitt he was able to give me two 
other short sentences and one message, which ap- 
peared — since there was no flag — to be a single 
word. Here are the symbols. Now, in the single 
word I have already got the two E's coming sec- 
ond and fourth in a word of five letters. It might be 
'sever/ or 'lever/ or 'never.' There can be no ques- 
tion that the latter as a reply to an appeal is far the 
most probable, and the circumstances pointed to 
its being a reply written by the lady. Accepting it 
as correct, we are now able to say that the symbols 


stand respectively for N, V, and R. 

"Even now I was in considerable difficulty, but 
a happy thought put me in possession of several 
other letters. It occurred to me that if these appeals 
came, as I expected, from someone who had been 
intimate with the lady in her early life, a combina- 
tion which contained two E's with three letters be- 
tween might very well stand for the name 'ELSIE.' 
On examination I found that such a combination 
formed the termination of the message which was 
three times repeated. It was certainly some appeal 
to 'Elsie.' In this way I had got my L, S, and I. 
But what appeal could it be? There were only four 
letters in the word which preceded 'Elsie/ and it 
ended in E. Surely the word must be 'COME.' I 
tried all other four letters ending in E, but could 
find none to fit the case. So now I was in posses- 
sion of C, O, and M, and I was in a position to 
attack the first message once more, dividing it into 
words and putting dots for each symbol which was 
still unknown. So treated it worked out in this 
fashion: 

.M .ERE ..E SL.NE. 

"Now the first letter can only be A, which is a 
most useful discovery, since it occurs no fewer than 
three times in this short sentence, and the H is also 
apparent in the second word. Now it becomes: — 

AM HERE A.E SLANE. 

Or, filling in the obvious vacancies in the name: — 
AM HERE ABE SLANEY. 

I had so many letters now that I could proceed 
with considerable confidence to the second mes- 
sage, which worked out in this fashion: — 

A. ELRI.ES. 

Here I could only make sense by putting T and 
G for the missing letters, and supposing that the 
name was that of some house or inn at which the 
writer was staying." 

Inspector Martin and I had listened with the ut- 
most interest to the full and clear account of how 
my friend had produced results which had led to 
so complete a command over our difficulties. 

"What did you do then, sir?" asked the inspec- 
tor. 

"I had every reason to suppose that this Abe 
Slaney was an American, since Abe is an Amer- 
ican contraction, and since a letter from America 
had been the starting-point of all the trouble. I 
had also every cause to think that there was some 
criminal secret in the matter. The lady's allusions 
to her past and her refusal to take her husband 
into her confidence both pointed in that direction. 


453 



The Adventure of the Dancing Men 


I therefore cabled to my friend, Wilson Hargreave, 
of the New York Police Bureau, who has more than 
once made use of my knowledge of London crime. 
I asked him whether the name of Abe Slaney was 
known to him. Here is his reply: 'The most dan- 
gerous crook in Chicago.' On the very evening 
upon which I had his answer Hilton Cubitt sent 
me the last message from Slaney. Working with 
known letters it took this form: — 

ELSIE .RE. ARE TO MEET THY GO. 

The addition of a P and a D completed a message 
which showed me that the rascal was proceeding 
from persuasion to threats, and my knowledge of 
the crooks of Chicago prepared me to find that he 
might very rapidly put his words into action. I 
at once came to Norfolk with my friend and col- 
league, Dr. Watson, but, unhappily, only in time to 
find that the worst had already occurred." 

"It is a privilege to be associated with you in 
the handling of a case," said the inspector, warmly. 
"You will excuse me, however, if I speak frankly to 
you. You are only answerable to yourself, but I 
have to answer to my superiors. If this Abe Slaney, 
living at Elrige's, is indeed the murderer, and if 
he has made his escape while I am seated here, I 
should certainly get into serious trouble." 

"You need not be uneasy. He will not try to 
escape." 

"How do you know?" 

"To fly would be a confession of guilt." 

"Then let us go to arrest him." 

"I expect him here every instant." 

"But why should he come?" 

"Because I have written and asked him." 

"But this is incredible, Mr. Holmes! Why 
should he come because you have asked him? 
Would not such a request rather rouse his suspi- 
cions and cause him to fly?" 

"I think I have known how to frame the let- 
ter," said Sherlock Holmes. "In fact, if I am not 
very much mistaken, here is the gentleman him- 
self coming up the drive." 

A man was striding up the path which led to 
the door. He was a tall, handsome, swarthy fel- 
low, clad in a suit of grey flannel, with a Panama 
hat, a bristling black beard, and a great, aggressive 
hooked nose, and flourishing a cane as he walked. 
He swaggered up the path as if the place belonged 
to him, and we heard his loud, confident peal at 
the bell. 

"I think, gentlemen," said Holmes, quietly, 
"that we had best take up our position behind the 


door. Every precaution is necessary when dealing 
with such a fellow. You will need your handcuffs, 
inspector. You can leave the talking to me." 

We waited in silence for a minute — one of those 
minutes which one can never forget. Then the 
door opened and the man stepped in. In an in- 
stant Holmes clapped a pistol to his head and 
Martin slipped the handcuffs over his wrists. It 
was all done so swiftly and deftly that the fellow 
was helpless before he knew that he was attacked. 
He glared from one to the other of us with a pair 
of blazing black eyes. Then he burst into a bitter 
laugh. 

"Well, gentlemen, you have the drop on me this 
time. I seem to have knocked up against some- 
thing hard. But I came here in answer to a letter 
from Mrs. Hilton Cubitt. Don't tell me that she is 
in this? Don't tell me that she helped to set a trap 
for me?" 

"Mrs. Hilton Cubitt was seriously injured and 
is at death's door." 

The man gave a hoarse cry of grief which rang 
through the house. 

"You're crazy!" he cried, fiercely. "It was he 
that was hurt, not she. Who would have hurt little 
Elsie? I may have threatened her, God forgive me, 
but I would not have touched a hair of her pretty 
head. Take it back — you! Say that she is not hurt!" 

"She was found badly wounded by the side of 
her dead husband." 

He sank with a deep groan on to the settee and 
buried his face in his manacled hands. For five 
minutes he was silent. Then he raised his face once 
more, and spoke with the cold composure of de- 
spair. 

"I have nothing to hide from you, gentlemen," 
said he. "If I shot the man he had his shot at me, 
and there's no murder in that. But if you think I 
could have hurt that woman, then you don't know 
either me or her. I tell you there was never a man 
in this world loved a woman more than I loved 
her. I had a right to her. She was pledged to 
me years ago. Who was this Englishman that he 
should come between us? I tell you that I had the 
first right to her, and that I was only claiming my 
own." 

"She broke away from your influence when she 
found the man that you are," said Holmes, sternly. 
"She fled from America to avoid you, and she mar- 
ried an honourable gentleman in England. You 
dogged her and followed her and made her life a 
misery to her in order to induce her to abandon 


454 



The Adventure of the Dancing Men 


the husband whom she loved and respected in or- 
der to fly with you, whom she feared and hated. 
You have ended by bringing about the death of a 
noble man and driving his wife to suicide. That is 
your record in this business, Mr. Abe Slaney, and 
you will answer for it to the law." 

"If Elsie dies I care nothing what becomes of 
me," said the American. He opened one of his 
hands and looked at a note crumpled up in his 
palm. "See here, mister," he cried, with a gleam 
of suspicion in his eyes, "you're not trying to scare 
me over this, are you? If the lady is hurt as bad 
as you say, who was it that wrote this note?" He 
tossed it forwards on to the table. 

"I wrote it to bring you here." 

"You wrote it? There was no one on earth out- 
side the Joint who knew the secret of the dancing 
men. How came you to write it?" 

"What one man can invent another can dis- 
cover," said Holmes. "There is a cab coming to 
convey you to Norwich, Mr. Slaney. But, mean- 
while, you have time to make some small repa- 
ration for the injury you have wrought. Are you 
aware that Mrs. Hilton Cubitt has herself lain un- 
der grave suspicion of the murder of her husband, 
and that it was only my presence here and the 
knowledge which I happened to possess which has 
saved her from the accusation? The least that you 
owe her is to make it clear to the whole world that 
she was in no way, directly or indirectly, responsi- 
ble for his tragic end." 

"I ask nothing better," said the American. "I 
guess the very best case I can make for myself is 
the absolute naked truth." 

"It is my duty to warn you that it will be used 
against you," cried the inspector, with the magnif- 
icent fair-play of the British criminal law. 

Slaney shrugged his shoulders. 

"I'll chance that," said he. "First of all, I want 
you gentlemen to understand that I have known 
this lady since she was a child. There were seven 
of us in a gang in Chicago, and Elsie's father was 
the boss of the Joint. He was a clever man, was 
old Patrick. It was he who invented that writing, 
which would pass as a child's scrawl unless you 
just happened to have the key to it. Well, Elsie 
learned some of our ways; but she couldn't stand 
the business, and she had a bit of honest money of 
her own, so she gave us all the slip and got away 
to London. She had been engaged to me, and she 
would have married me, I believe, if I had taken 
over another profession; but she would have noth- 
ing to do with anything on the cross. It was only 


after her marriage to this Englishman that I was 
able to find out where she was. I wrote to her, 
but got no answer. After that I came over, and, as 
letters were no use, I put my messages where she 
could read them. 

"Well, I have been here a month now. I lived 
in that farm, where I had a room down below, and 
could get in and out every night, and no one the 
wiser. I tried all I could to coax Elsie away. I knew 
that she read the messages, for once she wrote an 
answer under one of them. Then my temper got 
the better of me, and I began to threaten her. She 
sent me a letter then, imploring me to go away 
and saying that it would break her heart if any 
scandal should come upon her husband. She said 
that she would come down when her husband was 
asleep at three in the morning, and speak with me 
through the end window, if I would go away af- 
terwards and leave her in peace. She came down 
and brought money with her, trying to bribe me 
to go. This made me mad, and I caught her arm 
and tried to pull her through the window. At that 
moment in rushed the husband with his revolver 
in his hand. Elsie had sunk down upon the floor, 
and we were face to face. I was heeled also, and 
I held up my gun to scare him off and let me get 
away. He fired and missed me. I pulled off al- 
most at the same instant, and down he dropped. 
I made away across the garden, and as I went I 
heard the window shut behind me. That's God's 
truth, gentlemen, every word of it, and I heard no 
more about it until that lad came riding up with a 
note which made me walk in here, like a jay, and 
give myself into your hands." 

A cab had driven up whilst the American had 
been talking. Two uniformed policemen sat inside. 
Inspector Martin rose and touched his prisoner on 
the shoulder. 

"It is time for us to go." 

"Can I see her first?" 

"No, she is not conscious. Mr. Sherlock 
Holmes, I only hope that if ever again I have an im- 
portant case I shall have the good fortune to have 
you by my side." 

We stood at the window and watched the cab 
drive away. As I turned back my eye caught the 
pellet of paper which the prisoner had tossed upon 
the table. It was the note with which Holmes had 
decoyed him. 

"See if you can read it, Watson," said he, with 
a smile. 

It contained no word, but this little line of danc- 
ing men: — 


455 



max nn f 

"If you use the code which I have explained," said 
Holmes, "you will find that it simply means 'Come 
here at once.' I was convinced that it was an invi- 
tation which he would not refuse, since he could 
never imagine that it could come from anyone 
but the lady And so, my dear Watson, we have 
ended by turning the dancing men to good when 
they have so often been the agents of evil, and I 
think that I have fulfilled my promise of giving 
you something unusual for your note-book. Three- 


forty is our train, and I fancy we should be back in 
Baker Street for dinner. 

Only one word of epilogue. The American, Abe 
Slaney, was condemned to death at the winter as- 
sizes at Norwich; but his penalty was changed to 
penal servitude in consideration of mitigating cir- 
cumstances, and the certainty that Hilton Cubitt 
had fired the first shot. Of Mrs. Hilton Cubitt I 
only know that I have heard she recovered entirely, 
and that she still remains a widow, devoting her 
whole life to the care of the poor and to the ad- 
ministration of her husband's estate. 



The Adventure of the Red Circle 


CHAPTER I. 

One 


ell, Mrs. Warren, I cannot see that you 
have any particular cause for uneasi- 
ness, nor do I understand why I, whose 
time is of some value, should interfere 
in the matter. I really have other things to engage 
me." So spoke Sherlock Holmes and turned back 
to the great scrapbook in which he was arranging 
and indexing some of his recent material. 

But the landlady had the pertinacity and also 
the cunning of her sex. She held her ground firmly. 

"You arranged an affair for a lodger of mine 
last year," she said — "Mr. Fairdale Hobbs." 

"Ah, yes — a simple matter." 

"But he would never cease talking of it — your 
kindness, sir, and the way in which you brought 
light into the darkness. I remembered his words 
when I was in doubt and darkness myself. I know 
you could if you only would." 

Holmes was accessible upon the side of flattery, 
and also, to do him justice, upon the side of kindli- 
ness. The two forces made him lay down his gum- 
brush with a sigh of resignation and push back his 
chair. 

"Well, well, Mrs. Warren, let us hear about it, 
then. You don't object to tobacco, I take it? Thank 
you, Watson — the matches! You are uneasy, as I 
understand, because your new lodger remains in 
his rooms and you cannot see him. Why, bless 
you, Mrs. Warren, if I were your lodger you often 
would not see me for weeks on end." 

"No doubt, sir; but this is different. It fright- 
ens me, Mr. Holmes. I can't sleep for fright. To 
hear his quick step moving here and moving there 
from early morning to late at night, and yet never 
to catch so much as a glimpse of him — it's more 
than I can stand. My husband is as nervous over 
it as I am, but he is out at his work all day, while 
I get no rest from it. What is he hiding for? What 
has he done? Except for the girl, I am all alone in 
the house with him, and it's more than my nerves 
can stand." 

Holmes leaned forward and laid his long, thin 
fingers upon the woman's shoulder. He had an al- 
most hypnotic power of soothing when he wished. 
The scared look faded from her eyes, and her agi- 
tated features smoothed into their usual common- 
place. She sat down in the chair which he had 
indicated. 

"If I take it up I must understand every detail," 
said he. "Take time to consider. The smallest point 



may be the most essential. You say that the man 
came ten days ago and paid you for a fortnight's 
board and lodging?" 

"He asked my terms, sir. I said fifty shillings a 
week. There is a small sitting-room and bedroom, 
and all complete, at the top of the house." 

"Well?" 

"He said, 'I'll pay you five pounds a week if I 
can have it on my own terms.' I'm a poor woman, 
sir, and Mr. Warren earns little, and the money 
meant much to me. He took out a ten-pound note, 
and he held it out to me then and there. 'You can 
have the same every fortnight for a long time to 
come if you keep the terms,' he said. 'If not. I'll 
have no more to do with you.' 

"What were the terms?" 

"Well, sir, they were that he was to have a key 
of the house. That was all right. Lodgers often 
have them. Also, that he was to be left entirely 
to himself and never, upon any excuse, to be dis- 
turbed." 

"Nothing wonderful in that, surely?" 

"Not in reason, sir. But this is out of all reason. 
He has been there for ten days, and neither Mr. 
Warren, nor I, nor the girl has once set eyes upon 
him. We can hear that quick step of his pacing 
up and down, up and down, night, morning, and 
noon; but except on that first night he had never 
once gone out of the house." 

"Oh, he went out the first night, did he?" 

"Yes, sir, and returned very late — after we were 
all in bed. He told me after he had taken the rooms 
that he would do so and asked me not to bar the 
door. I heard him come up the stair after mid- 
night." 

"But his meals?" 

"It was his particular direction that we should 
always, when he rang, leave his meal upon a chair, 
outside his door. Then he rings again when he has 
finished, and we take it down from the same chair. 
If he wants anything else he prints it on a slip of 
paper and leaves it." 

"Prints it?" 

"Yes, sir; prints it in pencil. Just the word, 
nothing more. Here's the one I brought to show 
you — soap. Here's another — match. This is one 
he left the first morning — daily gazette. I leave 
that paper with his breakfast every morning." 

"Dear me, Watson," said Homes, staring with 
great curiosity at the slips of foolscap which the 


777 



The Adventure of the Red Circle 


landlady had handed to him, "this is certainly a 
little unusual. Seclusion I can understand; but 
why print? Printing is a clumsy process. Why not 
write? What would it suggest, Watson?" 

"That he desired to conceal his handwriting." 

"But why? What can it matter to him that his 
landlady should have a word of his writing? Still, 
it may be as you say. Then, again, why such la- 
conic messages?" 

"I cannot imagine." 

"It opens a pleasing field for intelligent spec- 
ulation. The words are written with a broad- 
pointed, violet-tinted pencil of a not unusual pat- 
tern. You will observe that the paper is torn away 
at the side here after the printing was done, so that 
the 's' of 'soap' is partly gone. Suggestive, Watson, 
is it not?" 

"Of caution?" 

"Exactly. There was evidently some mark, 
some thumbprint, something which might give a 
clue to the person's identity. Now. Mrs. Warren, 
you say that the man was of middle size, dark, and 
bearded. What age would he be?" 

"Youngish, sir — not over thirty." 

"Well, can you give me no further indications?" 

"He spoke good English, sir, and yet I thought 
he was a foreigner by his accent." 

"And he was well dressed?" 

"Very smartly dressed, sir — quite the gentle- 
man. Dark clothes — nothing you would note." 

"He gave no name?" 

"No, sir." 

"And has had no letters or callers?" 

"None." 

"But surely you or the girl enter his room of a 
morning?" 

"No, sir; he looks after himself entirely." 

"Dear me! that is certainly remarkable. What 
about his luggage?" 

"He had one big brown bag with him — nothing 
else." 

"Well, we don't seem to have much material to 
help us. Do you say nothing has come out of that 
room — absolutely nothing?" 

The landlady drew an envelope from her bag; 
from it she shook out two burnt matches and a 
cigarette-end upon the table. 

"They were on his tray this morning. I brought 
them because I had heard that you can read great 
things out of small ones." 


Holmes shrugged his shoulders. 

"There is nothing here," said he. "The matches 
have, of course, been used to light cigarettes. That 
is obvious from the shortness of the burnt end. 
Half the match is consumed in lighting a pipe or 
cigar. But, dear me! this cigarette stub is cer- 
tainly remarkable. The gentleman was bearded 
and moustached, you say?" 

"Yes, sir." 

"I don't understand that. I should say that only 
a clean-shaven man could have smoked this. Why, 
Watson, even your modest moustache would have 
been singed." 

"A holder?" I suggested. 

"No, no; the end is matted. I suppose there 
could not be two people in your rooms, Mrs. War- 
ren?" 

"No, sir. He eats so little that I often wonder it 
can keep life in one." 

"Well, I think we must wait for a little more 
material. After all, you have nothing to complain 
of. You have received your rent, and he is not a 
troublesome lodger, though he is certainly an un- 
usual one. He pays you well, and if he chooses 
to lie concealed it is no direct business of yours. 
We have no excuse for an intrusion upon his pri- 
vacy until we have some reason to think that there 
is a guilty reason for it. I've taken up the matter, 
and I won't lose sight of it. Report to me if any- 
thing fresh occurs, and rely upon my assistance if 
it should be needed. 

"There are certainly some points of interest in 
this case, Watson," he remarked when the land- 
lady had left us. "It may, of course, be triv- 
ial — individual eccentricity; or it may be very 
much deeper than appears on the surface. The first 
thing that strike one is the obvious possibility that 
the person now in the rooms may be entirely dif- 
ferent from the one who engaged them." 

"Why should you think so?" 

"Well, apart form this cigarette-end, was it not 
suggestive that the only time the lodger went out 
was immediately after his taking the rooms? He 
came back — or someone came back — when all wit- 
nesses were out of the way. We have no proof 
that the person who came back was the person 
who went out. Then, again, the man who took 
the rooms spoke English well. This other, however, 
prints 'match' when it should have been 'matches.' 
I can imagine that the word was taken out of a 
dictionary, which would give the noun but not the 
plural. The laconic style may be to conceal the ab- 
sence of knowledge of English. Yes, Watson, there 


778 



The Adventure of the Red Circle 


are good reasons to suspect that there has been a 
substitution of lodgers." 

"But for what possible end?" 

"Ah! there lies our problem. There is one 
rather obvious line of investigation." He took 
down the great book in which, day by day, he 
filed the agony columns of the various London 
journals. "Dear me!" said he, turning over the 
pages, "what a chorus of groans, cries, and bleat- 
ings! What a rag-bag of singular happenings! But 
surely the most valuable hunting-ground that ever 
was given to a student of the unusual! This per- 
son is alone and cannot be approached by letter 
without a breach of that absolute secrecy which 
is desired. How is any news or any message to 
reach him from without? Obviously by adver- 
tisement through a newspaper. There seems no 
other way, and fortunately we need concern our- 
selves with the one paper only. Here are the Daily 
Gazette extracts of the last fortnight. 'Lady with a 
black boa at Prince's Skating Club' — that we may 
pass. 'Surely Jimmy will not break his mother's 
heart' — that appears to be irrelevant. 'If the lady 
who fainted on Brixton bus' — she does not inter- 
est me. 'Every day my heart longs — ' Bleat, Wat- 
son — unmitigated bleat! Ah, this is a little more 
possible. Listen to this: 'Be patient. Will find 
some sure means of communications. Meanwhile, 
this column. G.' That is two days after Mrs. War- 
ren's lodger arrived. It sounds plausible, does it 
not? The mysterious one could understand En- 
glish, even if he could not print it. Let us see 
if we can pick up the trace again. Yes, here we 
are — three days later. 'Am making successful ar- 
rangements. Patience and prudence. The clouds 
will pass. G.' Nothing for a week after that. Then 
comes something much more definite: 'The path 
is clearing. If I find chance signal message remem- 
ber code agreed — One A, two B, and so on. You 
will hear soon. G.' That was in yesterday's paper, 
and there is nothing in to-day's. It's all very ap- 
propriate to Mrs. Warren's lodger. If we wait a lit- 
tle, Watson, I don't doubt that the affair will grow 
more intelligible." 

So it proved; for in the morning I found my 
friend standing on the hearthrug with his back to 
the fire and a smile of complete satisfaction upon 
his face. 

"How's this, Watson?" he cried, picking up the 
paper from the table. "'High red house with white 
stone facings. Third floor. Second window left. Af- 
ter dusk. G.' That is definite enough. I think after 
breakfast we must make a little reconnaissance of 


Mrs. Warren's neighbourhood. Ah, Mrs. Warren! 
what news do you bring us this morning?" 

Our client had suddenly burst into the room 
with an explosive energy which told of some new 
and momentous development. 

"It's a police matter, Mr. Holmes!" she cried. 
"I'll have no more of it! He shall pack out of there 
with his baggage. I would have gone straight up 
and told him so, only I thought it was but fair to 
you to take your opinion first. But I'm at the end 
of my patience, and when it comes to knocking my 
old man about — " 

"Knocking Mr. Warren about?" 

"Using him roughly, anyway." 

"But who used him roughly?" 

"Ah! that's what we want to know! It was this 
morning, sir. Mr. Warren is a timekeeper at Mor- 
ton and Waylight's, in Tottenham Court Road. He 
has to be out of the house before seven. Well, this 
morning he had not gone ten paces down the road 
when two men came up behind him, threw a coat 
over his head, and bundled him into a cab that was 
beside the curb. They drove him an hour, and then 
opened the door and shot him out. He lay in the 
roadway so shaken in his wits that he never saw 
what became of the cab. When he picked himself 
up he found he was on Hampstead Heath; so he 
took a bus home, and there he lies now on his sofa, 
while I came straight round to tell you what had 
happened." 

"Most interesting," said Holmes. "Did he ob- 
serve the appearance of these men — did he hear 
them talk?" 

"No; he is clean dazed. He just knows that he 
was lifted up as if by magic and dropped as if by 
magic. Two a least were in it, and maybe three." 

"And you connect this attack with your 
lodger?" 

"Well, we've lived there fifteen years and no 
such happenings ever came before. I've had 
enough of him. Money's not everything. I'll have 
him out of my house before the day is done." 

"Wait a bit, Mrs. Warren. Do nothing rash. I be- 
gin to think that this affair may be very much more 
important than appeared at first sight. It is clear 
now that some danger is threatening your lodger. 
It is equally clear that his enemies, lying in wait 
for him near your door, mistook your husband for 
him in the foggy morning light. On discovering 
their mistake they released him. What they would 
have done had it not been a mistake, we can only 
conjecture." 


779 



The Adventure of the Red Circle 


"Well, what am I to do, Mr. Holmes?" 

"I have a great fancy to see this lodger of yours, 
Mrs. Warren." 

"I don't see how that is to be managed, unless 
you break in the door. I always hear him unlock it 
as I go down the stair after I leave the tray." 

"He has to take the tray in. Surely we could 
conceal ourselves and see him do it." 

The landlady thought for a moment. 

"Well, sir, there's the box-room opposite. I 
could arrange a looking-glass, maybe, and if you 
were behind the door — " 

"Excellent!" said Holmes. "When does he 
lunch?" 

"About one, sir." 

"Then Dr. Watson and I will come round in 
time. For the present, Mrs. Warren, good-bye." 

At half-past twelve we found ourselves upon 
the steps of Mrs. Warren's house — a high, thin, 
yellow-brick edifice in Great Orme Street, a narrow 
thoroughfare at the northeast side of the British 
Museum. Standing as it does near the corner of 
the street, it commands a view down Howe Street, 
with its ore pretentious houses. Holmes pointed 
with a chuckle to one of these, a row of residential 
flats, which projected so that they could not fail to 
catch the eye. 

"See, Watson!" said he. " 'High red house with 
stone facings.' There is the signal station all right. 
We know the place, and we know the code; so 
surely our task should be simple. There's a 'to 
let' card in that window. It is evidently an empty 
flat to which the confederate has access. Well, Mrs. 
Warren, what now?" 

"I have it all ready for you. If you will both 
come up and leave your boots below on the land- 
ing, I'll put you there now." 

It was an excellent hiding-place which she had 
arranged. The mirror was so placed that, seated 
in the dark, we could very plainly see the door 
opposite. We had hardly settled down in it, and 
Mrs. Warren left us, when a distant tinkle an- 
nounced that our mysterious neighbour had rung. 
Presently the landlady appeared with the tray, laid 
it down upon a chair beside the closed door, and 
then, treading heavily, departed. Crouching to- 
gether in the angle of the door, we kept our eyes 
fixed upon the mirror. Suddenly, as the landlady's 
footsteps died away, there was the creak of a turn- 
ing key, the handle revolved, and two thin hands 
darted out and lifted the tray form the chair. An in- 
stant later it was hurriedly replaced, and I caught a 


glimpse of a dark, beautiful, horrified face glaring 
at the narrow opening of the box-room. Then the 
door crashed to, the key turned once more, and 
all was silence. Holmes twitched my sleeve, and 
together we stole down the stair. 

"I will call again in the evening," said he to the 
expectant landlady. "I think, Watson, we can dis- 
cuss this business better in our own quarters." 

"My surmise, as you saw, proved to be correct," 
said he, speaking from the depths of his easy-chair. 
"There has been a substitution of lodgers. What I 
did not foresee is that we should find a woman, 
and no ordinary woman, Watson." 

"She saw us." 

"Well, she saw something to alarm her. That is 
certain. The general sequence of events is pretty 
clear, is it not? A couple seek refuge in London 
from a very terrible and instant danger. The mea- 
sure of that danger is the rigour of their precau- 
tions. The man, who has some work which he 
must do, desires to leave the woman in absolute 
safety while he does it. It is not an easy problem, 
but he solved it in an original fashion, and so effec- 
tively that her presence was not even known to the 
landlady who supplies her with food. The printed 
messages, as is now evident, were to prevent her 
sex being discovered by her writing. The man can- 
not come near the woman, or he will guide their 
enemies to her. Since he cannot communicate with 
her direct, he has recourse to the agony column of 
a paper. So far all is clear." 

"But what is at the root of it?" 

"Ah, yes, Watson — severely practical, as usual! 
What is at the root of it all? Mrs. Warren's whim- 
sical problem enlarges somewhat and assumes a 
more sinister aspect as we proceed. This much 
we can say: that it is no ordinary love escapade. 
You saw the woman's face at the sign of danger. 
We have heard, too, of the attack upon the land- 
lord, which was undoubtedly meant for the lodger. 
These alarms, and the desperate need for secrecy, 
argue that the matter is one of life or death. The 
attack upon Mr. Warren further shows that the en- 
emy, whoever they are, are themselves not aware 
of the substitution of the female lodger for the 
male. It is very curious and complex, Watson." 

"Why should you go further in it? What have 
you to gain from it?" 

"What, indeed? It is art for art's sake, Watson. 
I suppose when you doctored you found yourself 
studying cases without thought of a fee?" 

"For my education. Holmes." 


780 



The Adventure of the Red Circle 


"Education never ends, Watson. It is a series 
of lessons with the greatest for the last. This is an 
instructive case. There is neither money nor credit 
in it, and yet one would wish to tidy it up. When 
dusk comes we should find ourselves one stage 
advanced in our investigation." 

When we returned to Mrs. Warren's rooms, the 
gloom of a London winter evening had thickened 
into one gray curtain, a dead monotone of colour, 
broken only by the sharp yellow squares of the 
windows and the blurred haloes of the gas-lamps. 
As we peered from the darkened sitting-room of 
the lodging-house, one more dim light glimmered 
high up through the obscurity. 

"Someone is moving in that room," said 
Holmes in a whisper, his gaunt and eager face 
thrust forward to the window-pane. "Yes, I can 
see his shadow. There he is again! He has a 
candle in his hand. Now he is peering across. 
He wants to be sure that she is on the lookout. 
Now he begins to flash. Take the message also, 
Watson, that we may check each other. A single 
flash — that is A, surely. Now, then. How many 
did you make it? Twenty. Do did In. That should 
mean T. AT — that's intelligible enough. Another 
T. Surely this is the beginning of a second word. 
Now, then — TENTA. Dead stop. That can't be all, 
Watson? ATTENTA gives no sense. Nor is it any 
better as three words AT, TEN, TA, unless T. A. 
are a person's initials. There it goes again! What's 
that? ATTE — why, it is the same message over 
again. Curious, Watson, very curious. Now he 
is off once more! AT — why he is repeating it for 
the third time. ATTENTA three times! How often 
will he repeat it? No, that seems to be the finish. 
He has withdrawn form the window. What do you 
make of it, Watson?" 

"A cipher message. Holmes." 


My companion gave a sudden chuckle of com- 
prehension. "And not a very obscure cipher, Wat- 
son," said he. "Why, of course, it is Italian! The A 
means that it is addressed to a woman. 'Beware! 
Beware! Beware!' How's that, Watson? 

"I believe you have hit it." 

"Not a doubt of it. It is a very urgent message, 
thrice repeated to make it more so. But beware of 
what? Wait a bit, he is coming to the window once 
more." 

Again we saw the dim silhouette of a crouch- 
ing man and the whisk of the small flame across 
the window as the signals were renewed. They 
came more rapidly than before — so rapid that it 
was hard to follow them. 

"PERICOLO — pericolo — eh, what's that, Wat- 
son? 'Danger,' isn't it? Yes, by Jove, it's a danger 
signal. There he goes again! PERI. Halloa, what 
on earth — " 

The light had suddenly gone out, the glimmer- 
ing square of window had disappeared, and the 
third floor formed a dark band round the lofty 
building, with its tiers of shining casements. That 
last warning cry had been suddenly cut short. 
How, and by whom? The same thought occurred 
on the instant to us both. Holmes sprang up from 
where he crouched by the window. 

"This is serious, Watson," he cried. "There is 
some devilry going forward! Why should such a 
message stop in such a way? I should put Scotland 
Yard in touch with this business — and yet, it is too 
pressing for us to leave." 

"Shall I go for the police?" 

"We must define the situation a little more 
clearly. It may bear some more innocent interpre- 
tation. Come, Watson, let us go across ourselves 
and see what we can make of it." 


CHAPTER II. 

Two 


As we walked rapidly down Howe Street I 
glanced back at the building which we had left. 
There, dimly outlined at the top window, I could 
see the shadow of a head, a woman's head, gazing 
tensely, rigidly, out into the night, waiting with 


breathless suspense for the renewal of that inter- 
rupted message. At the doorway of the Howe 
Street flats a man, muffled in a cravat and great- 
coat, was leaning against the railing. He started as 
the hall-light fell upon our faces. 


781 



The Adventure of the Red Circle 


"Holmes!" he cried. 

"Why, Gregson!" said my companion as he 
shook hands with the Scotland Yard detective. 
"Journeys end with lovers' meetings. What brings 
you here?" 

"The same reasons that bring you, I expect," 
said Gregson. "How you got on to it I can't imag- 
ine." 

"Different threads, but leading up to the same 
tangle. I've been taking the signals." 

"Signals?" 

"Yes, from that window. They broke off in the 
middle. We came over to see the reason. But since 
it is safe in your hands I see no object in continuing 
this business." 

"Wait a bit!" cried Gregson eagerly. "I'll do you 
this justice, Mr. Holmes, that I was never in a case 
yet that I didn't feel stronger for having you on my 
side. There's only the one exit to these flats, so we 
have him safe." 

"Who is he?" 

"Well, well, we score over you for once, Mr. 
Holmes. You must give us best this time." He 
struck his stick sharply upon the ground, on which 
a cabman, his whip in his hand, sauntered over 
from a four-wheeler which stood on the far side 
of the street. "May I introduce you to Mr. Sher- 
lock Holmes?" he said to the cabman. "This is Mr. 
Leverton, of Pinkerton's American Agency." 

"The hero of the Long Island cave mystery?" 
said Holmes. "Sir, I am pleased to meet you." 

The American, a quiet, businesslike young 
man, with a clean-shaven, hatchet face, flushed up 
at the words of commendation. "I am on the trail 
of my life now, Mr. Holmes," said he. "If I can get 
Gorgiano — " 

"What! Gorgiano of the Red Circle?" 

"Oh, he has a European fame, has he? Well, 
we've learned all about him in America. We knoiv 
he is at the bottom of fifty murders, and yet we 
have nothing positive we can take him on. I 
tracked him over from New York, and I've been 
close to him for a week in London, waiting some 
excuse to get my hand on his collar. Mr. Greg- 
son and I ran him to ground in that big tenement 
house, and there's only one door, so he can't slip 
us. There's three folk come out since he went in, 
but I'll swear he wasn't one of them." 

"Mr. Holmes talks of signals," said Gregson. "I 
expect, as usual, he knows a good deal that we 
don't." 


In a few clear words Holmes explained the sit- 
uation as it had appeared to us. The American 
struck his hands together with vexation. 

"He's on to us!" he cried. 

"Why do you think so?" 

"Well, it figures out that way, does it not? 
Here he is, sending out messages to an accom- 
plice — there are several of his gang in London. 
Then suddenly, just as by your own account he 
was telling them that there was danger, he broke 
short off. What could it mean except that from the 
window he had suddenly either caught sight of us 
in the street, or in some way come to understand 
how close the danger was, and that he must act 
right away if he was to avoid it? What do you sug- 
gest, Mr. Holmes?" 

"That we go up at once and see for ourselves." 

"But we have no warrant for his arrest." 

"He is in unoccupied premises under suspi- 
cious circumstances," said Gregson. "That is good 
enough for the moment. When we have him by 
the heels we can see if New York can't help us to 
keep him. I'll take the responsibility of arresting 
him now." 

Our official detectives may blunder in the mat- 
ter of intelligence, but never in that of courage. 
Gregson climbed the stair to arrest this desper- 
ate murderer with the same absolutely quiet and 
businesslike bearing with which he would have as- 
cended the official staircase of Scotland Yard. The 
Pinkerton man had tried to push past him, but 
Gregson had firmly elbowed him back. London 
dangers were the privilege of the London force. 

The door of the left-hand flat upon the third 
landing was standing ajar. Gregson pushed it 
open. Within all was absolute silence and dark- 
ness. I struck a match and lit the detective's 
lantern. As I did so, and as the flicker steadied 
into a flame, we all gave a gasp of surprise. On the 
deal boards of the carpetless floor there was out- 
lined a fresh track of blood. The red steps pointed 
towards us and led away from an inner room, the 
door of which was closed. Gregson flung it open 
and held his light full blaze in front of him, while 
we all peered eagerly over his shoulders. 

In the middle of the floor of the empty room 
was huddled the figure of an enormous man, his 
clean-shaven, swarthy face grotesquely horrible in 
its contortion and his head encircled by a ghastly 
crimson halo of blood, lying in a broad wet circle 
upon the white woodwork. His knees were drawn 
up, his hands thrown out in agony, and from the 
centre of his broad, brown, upturned throat there 


782 



The Adventure of the Red Circle 


projected the white haft of a knife driven blade- 
deep into his body. Giant as he was, the man 
must have gone down like a pole-axed ox before 
that terrific blow. Beside his right hand a most 
formidable horn-handled, two-edged dagger lay 
upon the floor, and near it a black kid glove. 

"By George! it's Black Gorgiano himself!" cried 
the American detective. "Someone has got ahead 
of us this time." 

"Here is the candle in the window, Mr. 
Holmes," said Gregson. "Why, whatever are you 
doing?" 

Holmes had stepped across, had lit the candle, 
and was passing it backward and forward across 
the window-panes. Then he peered into the dark- 
ness, blew the candle out, and threw it on the floor. 

"I rather think that will be helpful," said he. 
He came over and stood in deep thought while the 
two professionals were examining the body. "You 
say that three people came out form the flat while 
you were waiting downstairs," said he at last. "Did 
you observe them closely?" 

"Yes, I did." 

"Was there a fellow about thirty, black-bearded, 
dark, of middle size?" 

"Yes; he was the last to pass me." 

"That is your man, I fancy. I can give you his 
description, and we have a very excellent outline 
of his footmark. That should be enough for you." 

"Not much, Mr. Holmes, among the millions of 
London." 

"Perhaps not. That is why I thought it best to 
summon this lady to your aid." 

We all turned round at the words. There, 
framed in the doorway, was a tall and beauti- 
ful woman — the mysterious lodger of Bloomsbury. 
Slowly she advanced, her face pale and drawn 
with a frightful apprehension, her eyes fixed and 
staring, her terrified gaze riveted upon the dark 
figure on the floor. 

"You have killed him!" she muttered. "Oh, Dio 
mio, you have killed him!" Then I heard a sudden 
sharp intake of her breath, and she sprang into 
the air with a cry of joy. Round and round the 
room she danced, her hands clapping, her dark 
eyes gleaming with delighted wonder, and a thou- 
sand pretty Italian exclamations pouring from her 
lips. It was terrible and amazing to see such a 
woman so convulsed with joy at such a sight. Sud- 
denly she stopped and gazed at us all with a ques- 
tioning stare. 


"But you! You are police, are you not? You 
have killed Giuseppe Gorgiano. Is it not so?" 

"We are police, madam." 

She looked round into the shadows of the 
room. 

"But where, then, is Gennaro?" she asked. "He 
is my husband, Gennaro Lucca. I am Emilia Lucca, 
and we are both from New York. Where is Gen- 
naro? He called me this moment from this win- 
dow, and I ran with all my speed." 

"It was I who called," said Holmes. 

"You! How could you call?" 

"Your cipher was not difficult, madam. Your 
presence here was desirable. I knew that I had 
only to flash 'Vieni' and you would surely come." 

The beautiful Italian looked with awe at my 
companion. 

"I do not understand how you know these 
things," she said. "Giuseppe Gorgiano — how did 
he — " She paused, and then suddenly her face lit 
up with pride and delight. "Now I see it! My Gen- 
naro! My splendid, beautiful Gennaro, who has 
guarded me safe from all harm, he did it, with his 
own strong hand he killed the monster! Oh, Gen- 
naro, how wonderful you are! What woman could 
every be worthy of such a man?" 

"Well, Mrs. Lucca," said the prosaic Gregson, 
laying his hand upon the lady's sleeve with as lit- 
tle sentiment as if she were a Notting Hill hooli- 
gan, "I am not very clear yet who you are or what 
you are; but you've said enough to make it very 
clear that we shall want you at the Yard." 

"One moment, Gregson," said Holmes. "I 
rather fancy that this lady may be as anxious to 
give us information as we can be to get it. You 
understand, madam, that your husband will be ar- 
rested and tried for the death of the man who lies 
before us? What you say may be used in evidence. 
But if you think that he has acted from motives 
which are not criminal, and which he would wish 
to have known, then you cannot serve him better 
than by telling us the whole story." 

"Now that Gorgiano is dead we fear nothing," 
said the lady. "He was a devil and a monster, and 
there can be no judge in the world who would 
punish my husband for having killed him." 

"In that case," said Holmes, "my suggestion is 
that we lock this door, leave things as we found 
them, go with this lady to her room, and form our 
opinion after we have heard what it is that she has 
to say to us." 


783 



The Adventure of the Red Circle 


Half an hour later we were seated, all four, in 
the small sitting-room of Signora Lucca, listening 
to her remarkable narrative of those sinister events, 
the ending of which we had chanced to witness. 
She spoke in rapid and fluent but very unconven- 
tional English, which, for the sake of clearness, I 
will make grammatical. 

"I was born in Posilippo, near Naples," said 
she, "and was the daughter of Augusto Barelli, 
who was the chief lawyer and once the deputy of 
that part. Gennaro was in my father's employ- 
ment, and I came to love him, as any woman must. 
He had neither money nor position — nothing but 
his beauty and strength and energy — so my father 
forbade the match. We fled together, were mar- 
ried at Bari, and sold my jewels to gain the money 
which would take us to America. This was four 
years ago, and we have been in New York ever 
since. 

"Fortune was very good to us at first. Gen- 
naro was able to do a service to an Italian gen- 
tleman — he saved him from some ruffians in the 
place called the Bowery, and so made a power- 
ful friend. His name was Tito Castalotte, and 
he was the senior partner of the great firm of 
Castalotte and Zamba, who are the chief fruit im- 
porters of New York. Signor Zamba is an in- 
valid, and our new friend Castalotte has all power 
within the firm, which employs more than three 
hundred men. He took my husband into his em- 
ployment, made him head of a department, and 
showed his good-will towards him in every way. 
Signor Castalotte was a bachelor, and I believe that 
he felt as if Gennaro was his son, and both my hus- 
band and I loved him as if he were our father. We 
had taken and furnished a little house in Brook- 
lyn, and our whole future seemed assured when 
that black cloud appeared which was soon to over- 
spread our sky. 

"One night, when Gennaro returned from his 
work, he brought a fellow-countryman back with 
him. His name was Gorgiano, and he had come 
also from Posilippo. He was a huge man, as you 
can testify, for you have looked upon his corpse. 
Not only was his body that of a giant but every- 
thing about him was grotesque, gigantic, and ter- 
rifying. His voice was like thunder in our little 
house. There was scarce room for the whirl of his 
great arms as he talked. His thoughts, his emo- 
tions, his passions, all were exaggerated and mon- 
strous. He talked, or rather roared, with such en- 
ergy that others could but sit and listen, cowed 
with the mighty stream of words. His eyes blazed 
at you and held you at his mercy. He was a terrible 
and wonderful man. I thank God that he is dead! 


"He came again and again. Yet I was aware 
that Gennaro was no more happy than I was in his 
presence. My poor husband would sit pale and 
listless, listening to the endless raving upon poli- 
tics and upon social questions which made up or 
visitor's conversation. Gennaro said nothing, but 
I, who knew him so well, could read in his face 
some emotion which I had never seen there be- 
fore. At first I thought that it was dislike. And 
then, gradually, I understood that it was more than 
dislike. It was fear — a deep, secret, shrinking fear. 
That night — the night that I read his terror — I put 
my arms round him and I implored him by his 
love for me and by all that he held dear to hold 
nothing from me, and to tell me why this huge 
man overshadowed him so. 

"He told me, and my own heart grew cold as 
ice as I listened. My poor Gennaro, in his wild and 
fiery days, when all the world seemed against him 
and his mind was driven half mad by the injustices 
of life, had joined a Neapolitan society, the Red 
Circle, which was allied to the old Carbonari. The 
oaths and secrets of this brotherhood were fright- 
ful, but once within its rule no escape was possible. 
When we had fled to America Gennaro thought 
that he had cast it all off forever. What was his hor- 
ror one evening to meet in the streets the very man 
who had initiated him in Naples, the giant Gor- 
giano, a man who had earned the name of 'Death' 
in the south of Italy, for he was red to the elbow 
in murder! He had come to New York to avoid 
the Italian police, and he had already planted a 
branch of this dreadful society in his new home. 
All this Gennaro told me and showed me a sum- 
mons which he had received that very day, a Red 
Circle drawn upon the head of it telling him that a 
lodge would be held upon a certain date, and that 
his presence at it was required and ordered. 

"That was bad enough, but worse was to come. 
I had noticed for some time that when Gorgiano 
came to us, as he constantly did, in the evening, 
he spoke much to me; and even when his words 
were to my husband those terrible, glaring, wild- 
beast eyes of his were always turned upon me. 
One night his secret came out. I had awakened 
what he called 'love' within him — the love of a 
brute — a savage. Gennaro had not yet returned 
when he came. He pushed his way in, seized me 
in his mighty arms, hugged me in his bear's em- 
brace, covered me with kisses, and implored me to 
come away with him. I was struggling and scream- 
ing when Gennaro entered and attacked him. He 
struck Gennaro senseless and fled from the house 
which he was never more to enter. It was a deadly 
enemy that we made that night. 


784 



"A few days later came the meeting. Gennaro 
returned from it with a face which told me that 
something dreadful had occurred. It was worse 
than we could have imagined possible. The funds 
of the society were raised by blackmailing rich Ital- 
ians and threatening them with violence should 
they refuse the money. It seems that Castalotte, our 
dear friend and benefactor, had been approached. 
He had refused to yield to threats, and he had 
handed the notices to the police. It was resolved 
now that such an example should be made of them 
as would prevent any other victim from rebelling. 
At the meeting it was arranged that he and his 
house should be blown up with dynamite. There 
was a drawing of lots as to who should carry out 
the deed. Gennaro saw our enemy's cruel face 
smiling at him as he dipped his hand in the bag. 
No doubt it had been prearranged in some fash- 
ion, for it was the fatal disc with the Red Circle 
upon it, the mandate for murder, which lay upon 
his palm. He was to kill his best friend, or he was 
to expose himself and me to the vengeance of his 
comrades. It was part of their fiendish system to 
punish those whom they feared or hated by in- 
juring not only their own persons but those whom 
they loved, and it was the knowledge of this which 
hung as a terror over my poor Gennaro 's head and 
drove him nearly crazy with apprehension. 

"All that night we sat together, our arms round 
each other, each strengthening each for the trou- 
bles that lay before us. The very next evening had 
been fixed for the attempt. By midday my hus- 
band and I were on our way to London, but not 
before he had given our benefactor full warning 
of this danger, and had also left such information 
for the police as would safeguard his life for the 
future. 

"The rest, gentlemen, you know for yourselves. 
We were sure that our enemies would be behind us 
like our own shadows. Gorgiano had his private 
reasons for vengeance, but in any case we knew 
how ruthless, cunning, and untiring he could be. 


Both Italy and America are full of stories of his 
dreadful powers. If ever they were exerted it 
would be now. My darling made use of the few 
clear days which our start had given us in arrang- 
ing for a refuge for me in such a fashion that no 
possible danger could reach me. For his own part, 
he wished to be free that he might communicate 
both with the American and with the Italian police. 
I do not myself know where he lived, or how. All 
that I learned was through the columns of a news- 
paper. But once as I looked through my window, I 
saw two Italians watching the house, and I under- 
stood that in some way Gorgiano had found our 
retreat. Finally Gennaro told me, through the pa- 
per, that he would signal to me from a certain win- 
dow, but when the signals came they were nothing 
but warnings, which were suddenly interrupted. It 
is very clear to me now that he knew Gorgiano to 
be close upon him, and that, thank God! he was 
ready for him when he came. And now, gentle- 
man, I would ask you whether we have anything 
to fear from the law, or whether any judge upon 
earth would condemn my Gennaro for what he has 
done?" 

"Well, Mr. Gregson," said the American, look- 
ing across at the official, "I don't know what your 
British point of view may be, but I guess that in 
New York this lady's husband will receive a pretty 
general vote of thanks." 

"She will have to come with me and see the 
chief," Gregson answered. "If what she says is cor- 
roborated, I do not think she or her husband has 
much to fear. But what I can't make head or tail 
of, Mr. Holmes, is how on earth you got yourself 
mixed up in the matter." 

"Education, Gregson, education. Still seeking 
knowledge at the old university. Well, Watson, 
you have one more specimen of the tragic and 
grotesque to add to your collection. By the way, it 
is not eight o'clock, and a Wagner night at Covent 
Garden! If we hurry, we might be in time for the 
second act." 



The Disappearance of Lady Frances Carfax 


ut why Turkish?" asked Mr. Sherlock 
Holmes, gazing fixedly at my boots. I 
was reclining in a cane-backed chair at 
the moment, and my protruded feet had 
attracted his ever-active attention. 

"English," I answered in some surprise. "I got 
them at Latimer's, in Oxford Street." 

Holmes smiled with an expression of weary pa- 
tience. 

"The bath!" he said; "the bath! Why the relax- 
ing and expensive Turkish rather than the invigo- 
rating home-made article?" 

"Because for the last few days I have been feel- 
ing rheumatic and old. A Turkish bath is what 
we call an alterative in medicine — a fresh starting- 
point, a cleanser of the system. 

"By the way. Holmes," I added, "I have no 
doubt the connection between my boots and a 
Turkish bath is a perfectly self-evident one to a 
logical mind, and yet I should be obliged to you 
if you would indicate it." 

"The train of reasoning is not very obscure, 
Watson," said Holmes with a mischievous twinkle. 
"It belongs to the same elementary class of deduc- 
tion which I should illustrate if I were to ask you 
who shared your cab in your drive this morning." 

"I don't admit that a fresh illustration is an ex- 
planation," said I with some asperity. 

"Bravo, Watson! A very dignified and logical 
remonstrance. Let me see, what were the points? 
Take the last one first — the cab. You observe that 
you have some splashes on the left sleeve and 
shoulder of your coat. Had you sat in the cen- 
tre of a hansom you would probably have had no 
splashes, and if you had they would certainly have 
been symmetrical. Therefore it is clear that you sat 
at the side. Therefore it is equally clear that you 
had a companion." 

"That is very evident." 

"Absurdly commonplace, is it not?" 

"But the boots and the bath?" 

"Equally childish. You are in the habit of doing 
up your boots in a certain way. I see them on this 
occasion fastened with an elaborate double bow, 
which is not your usual method of tying them. You 
have, therefore, had them off. Who has tied them? 
A bootmaker — or the boy at the bath. It is unlikely 
that it is the bootmaker, since your boots are nearly 
new. Well, what remains? The bath. Absurd, is it 
not? But, for all that, the Turkish bath has served 
a purpose." 

"What is that?" 



"You say that you have had it because you need 
a change. Let me suggest that you take one. How 
would Lausanne do, my dear Watson — first-class 
tickets and all expenses paid on a princely scale?" 

"Splendid! But why?" 

Holmes leaned back in his armchair and took 
his notebook from his pocket. 

"One of the most dangerous classes in the 
world," said he, "is the drifting and friendless 
woman. She is the most harmless and often the 
most useful of mortals, but she is the inevitable in- 
citer of crime in others. She is helpless. She is mi- 
gratory. She has sufficient means to take her from 
country to country and from hotel to hotel. She 
is lost, as often as not, in a maze of obscure pen- 
sions and boardinghouses. She is a stray chicken 
in a world of foxes. When she is gobbled up she 
is hardly missed. I much fear that some evil has 
come to the Lady Frances Carfax." 

I was relieved at this sudden descent from the 
general to the particular. Holmes consulted his 
notes. 

"Lady Frances," he continued, "is the sole sur- 
vivor of the direct family of the late Earl of Rufton. 
The estates went, as you may remember, in the 
male line. She was left with limited means, but 
with some very remarkable old Spanish jewellery 
of silver and curiously cut diamonds to which she 
was fondly attached — too attached, for she refused 
to leave them with her banker and always car- 
ried them about with her. A rather pathetic fig- 
ure, the Lady Frances, a beautiful woman, still in 
fresh middle age, and yet, by a strange change, the 
last derelict of what only twenty years ago was a 
goodly fleet." 

"What has happened to her, then?" 

"Ah, what has happened to the Lady Frances? 
Is she alive or dead? There is our problem. She 
is a lady of precise habits, and for four years it 
has been her invariable custom to write every sec- 
ond week to Miss Dobney, her old governess, who 
has long retired and lives in Camberwell. It is this 
Miss Dobney who has consulted me. Nearly five 
weeks have passed without a word. The last letter 
was from the Hotel National at Lausanne. Lady 
Frances seems to have left there and given no ad- 
dress. The family are anxious, and as they are ex- 
ceedingly wealthy no sum will be spared if we can 
clear the matter up." 

"Is Miss Dobney the only source of informa- 
tion? Surely she had other correspondents?" 

"There is one correspondent who is a sure 
draw, Watson. That is the bank. Single ladies must 


815 



The Disappearance of Lady Frances Carfax 


live, and their passbooks are compressed diaries. 
She banks at Silvester's. I have glanced over her 
account. The last check but one paid her bill at 
Lausanne, but it was a large one and probably left 
her with cash in hand. Only one check has been 
drawn since." 

"To whom, and where?" 

"To Miss Marie Devine. There is nothing to 
show where the check was drawn. It was cashed at 
the Credit Lyonnais at Montpellier less than three 
weeks ago. The sum was fifty pounds." 

"And who is Miss Marie Devine?" 

"That also I have been able to discover. Miss 
Marie Devine was the maid of Lady Frances Car- 
fax. Why she should have paid her this check we 
have not yet determined. I have no doubt, how- 
ever, that your researches will soon clear the mat- 
ter up." 

"My researches!" 

"Flence the health-giving expedition to Lau- 
sanne. You know that I cannot possibly leave Lon- 
don while old Abrahams is in such mortal terror of 
his life. Besides, on general principles it is best that 
I should not leave the country. Scotland Yard feels 
lonely without me, and it causes an unhealthy ex- 
citement among the criminal classes. Go, then, my 
dear Watson, and if my humble counsel can ever 
be valued at so extravagant a rate as two pence a 
word, it waits your disposal night and day at the 
end of the Continental wire." 

Two days later found me at the Flotel National 
at Lausanne, where I received every courtesy at 
the hands of M. Moser, the well-known manager. 
Lady Frances, as he informed me, had stayed there 
for several weeks. She had been much liked by all 
who met her. Tier age was not more than forty. 
She was still handsome and bore every sign of 
having in her youth been a very lovely woman. 
M. Moser knew nothing of any valuable jewellery, 
but it had been remarked by the servants that the 
heavy trunk in the lady's bedroom was always 
scrupulously locked. Marie Devine, the maid, was 
as popular as her mistress. She was actually en- 
gaged to one of the head waiters in the hotel, and 
there was no difficulty in getting her address. It 
was 11 Rue de Trajan, Montpellier. All this I jotted 
down and felt that Flolmes himself could not have 
been more adroit in collecting his facts. 

Only one corner still remained in the shadow. 
No light which I possessed could clear up the 
cause for the lady's sudden departure. She was 
very happy at Lausanne. There was every reason 


to believe that she intended to remain for the sea- 
son in her luxurious rooms overlooking the lake. 
And yet she had left at a single day's notice, which 
involved her in the useless payment of a week's 
rent. Only Jules Vibart, the lover of the maid, had 
any suggestion to offer. Fie connected the sud- 
den departure with the visit to the hotel a day 
or two before of a tall, dark, bearded man. "Un 
sauvage — un veritable sauvage!" cried Jules Vibart. 
The man had rooms somewhere in the town. Fie 
had been seen talking earnestly to Madame on the 
promenade by the lake. Then he had called. She 
had refused to see him. Fie was English, but of his 
name there was no record. Madame had left the 
place immediately afterwards. Jules Vibart, and, 
what was of more importance, Jules Vibart's sweet- 
heart, thought that this call and the departure were 
cause and effect. Only one thing Jules would not 
discuss. That was the reason why Marie had left 
her mistress. Of that he could or would say noth- 
ing. If I wished to know, I must go to Montpellier 
and ask her. 

So ended the first chapter of my inquiry. The 
second was devoted to the place which Lady 
Frances Carfax had sought when she left Lau- 
sanne. Concerning this there had been some se- 
crecy, which confirmed the idea that she had gone 
with the intention of throwing someone off her 
track. Otherwise why should not her luggage have 
been openly labelled for Baden? Both she and it 
reached the Rhenish spa by some circuitous route. 
This much I gathered from the manager of Cook's 
local office. So to Baden I went, after dispatching 
to Flolmes an account of all my proceedings and 
receiving in reply a telegram of half-humorous 
commendation. 

At Baden the track was not difficult to follow. 
Lady Frances had stayed at the Englischer Flof for 
a fortnight. While there she had made the acquain- 
tance of a Dr. Shlessinger and his wife, a mission- 
ary from South America. Like most lonely ladies. 
Lady Frances found her comfort and occupation 
in religion. Dr. Shlessinger 's remarkable personal- 
ity, his whole hearted devotion, and the fact that 
he was recovering from a disease contracted in the 
exercise of his apostolic duties affected her deeply. 
She had helped Mrs. Shlessinger in the nursing of 
the convalescent saint. Fie spent his day, as the 
manager described it to me, upon a lounge-chair 
on the veranda, with an attendant lady upon either 
side of him. Fie was preparing a map of the Floly 
Land, with special reference to the kingdom of the 
Midianites, upon which he was writing a mono- 
graph. Finally, having improved much in health, 
he and his wife had returned to London, and Lady 


816 



The Disappearance of Lady Frances Carfax 


Frances had started thither in their company. This 
was just three weeks before, and the manager had 
heard nothing since. As to the maid, Marie, she 
had gone off some days beforehand in floods of 
tears, after informing the other maids that she was 
leaving service forever. Dr. Shlessinger had paid 
the bill of the whole party before his departure. 

"By the way," said the landlord in conclusion, 
"you are not the only friend of Lady Frances Car- 
fax who is inquiring after her just now. Only a 
week or so ago we had a man here upon the same 
errand." 

"Did he give a name?" I asked. 

"None; but he was an Englishman, though of 
an unusual type." 

"A savage?" said I, linking my facts after the 
fashion of my illustrious friend. 

"Exactly. That describes him very well. Fie is a 
bulky, bearded, sunburned fellow, who looks as if 
he would be more at home in a farmers' inn than 
in a fashionable hotel. A hard, fierce man, I should 
think, and one whom I should be sorry to offend." 

Already the mystery began to define itself, as 
figures grow clearer with the lifting of a fog. Flere 
was this good and pious lady pursued from place 
to place by a sinister and unrelenting figure. She 
feared him, or she would not have fled from Lau- 
sanne. Fie had still followed. Sooner or later he 
would overtake her. Flad he already overtaken 
her? Was that the secret of her continued silence? 
Could the good people who were her companions 
not screen her from his violence or his blackmail? 
What horrible purpose, what deep design, lay be- 
hind this long pursuit? There was the problem 
which I had to solve. 

To Flolmes I wrote showing how rapidly and 
surely I had got down to the roots of the matter. 
In reply I had a telegram asking for a description 
of Dr. Shlessinger 's left ear. Flolmes's ideas of hu- 
mour are strange and occasionally offensive, so I 
took no notice of his ill-timed jest — indeed, I had 
already reached Montpellier in my pursuit of the 
maid, Marie, before his message came. 

I had no difficulty in finding the ex-servant and 
in learning all that she could tell me. She was a 
devoted creature, who had only left her mistress 
because she was sure that she was in good hands, 
and because her own approaching marriage made 
a separation inevitable in any case. Tier mistress 
had, as she confessed with distress, shown some ir- 
ritability of temper towards her during their stay in 
Baden, and had even questioned her once as if she 
had suspicions of her honesty, and this had made 


the parting easier than it would otherwise have 
been. Lady Frances had given her fifty pounds as 
a wedding-present. Like me, Marie viewed with 
deep distrust the stranger who had driven her mis- 
tress from Lausanne. With her own eyes she had 
seen him seize the lady's wrist with great violence 
on the public promenade by the lake. Fie was a 
fierce and terrible man. She believed that it was 
out of dread of him that Lady Frances had ac- 
cepted the escort of the Shlessingers to London. 
She had never spoken to Marie about it, but many 
little signs had convinced the maid that her mis- 
tress lived in a state of continual nervous appre- 
hension. So far she had got in her narrative, when 
suddenly she sprang from her chair and her face 
was convulsed with surprise and fear. "See!" she 
cried. "The miscreant follows still! There is the 
very man of whom I speak." 

Through the open sitting-room window I saw 
a huge, swarthy man with a bristling black beard 
walking slowly down the centre of the street and 
staring eagerly at he numbers of the houses. It was 
clear that, like myself, he was on the track of the 
maid. Acting upon the impulse of the moment, I 
rushed out and accosted him. 

"You are an Englishman," I said. 

"What if I am?" he asked with a most villain- 
ous scowl. 

"May I ask what your name is?" 

"No, you may not," said he with decision. 

The situation was awkward, but the most direct 
way is often the best. 

"Where is the Lady Frances Carfax?" I asked. 

Fie stared at me with amazement. 

"What have you done with her? Why have you 
pursued her? I insist upon an answer!" said I. 

The fellow gave a below of anger and sprang 
upon me like a tiger. I have held my own in many 
a struggle, but the man had a grip of iron and the 
fury of a fiend. Flis hand was on my throat and 
my senses were nearly gone before an unshaven 
French ouvrier in a blue blouse darted out from 
a cabaret opposite, with a cudgel in his hand, and 
struck my assailant a sharp crack over the forearm, 
which made him leave go his hold. Fie stood for an 
instant fuming with rage and uncertain whether 
he should not renew his attack. Then, with a snarl 
of anger, he left me and entered the cottage from 
which I had just come. I turned to thank my pre- 
server, who stood beside me in the roadway. 

"Well, Watson," said he, "a very pretty hash 
you have made of it! I rather think you had better 
come back with me to London by the night ex- 
press." 


817 



The Disappearance of Lady Frances Carfax 


An hour afterwards, Sherlock Holmes, in his 
usual garb and style, was seated in my private 
room at the hotel. His explanation of his sudden 
and opportune appearance was simplicity itself, 
for, finding that he could get away from London, 
he determined to head me off at the next obvious 
point of my travels. In the disguise of a work- 
ingman he had sat in the cabaret waiting for my 
appearance. 

"And a singularly consistent investigation you 
have made, my dear Watson," said he. "I cannot at 
the moment recall any possible blunder which you 
have omitted. The total effect of your proceeding 
has been to give the alarm everywhere and yet to 
discover nothing." 

"Perhaps you would have done no better," I an- 
swered bitterly. 

"There is no 'perhaps' about it. I have done 
better. Here is the Hon. Philip Green, who is a 
fellow-lodger with you in this hotel, and we may 
find him the starting-point for a more successful 
investigation." 

A card had come up on a salver, and it was 
followed by the same bearded ruffian who had at- 
tacked me in the street. He started when he saw 
me. 

"What is this, Mr. Holmes?" he asked. "I had 
your note and I have come. But what has this man 
to do with the matter?" 

"This is my old friend and associate. Dr. Wat- 
son, who is helping us in this affair. " 

The stranger held out a huge, sunburned hand, 
with a few words of apology. 

"I hope I didn't harm you. When you accused 
me of hurting her I lost my grip of myself. In- 
deed, I'm not responsible in these days. My nerves 
are like live wires. But this situation is beyond 
me. What I want to know, in the first place, Mr. 
Holmes, is, how in the world you came to hear of 
my existence at all." 

"I am in touch with Miss Dobney, Lady 
Frances's governess." 

"Old Susan Dobney with the mob cap! I re- 
member her well." 

"And she remembers you. It was in the days 
before — before you found it better to go to South 
Africa." 

"Ah, I see you know my whole story. I need 
hide nothing from you. I swear to you, Mr. 
Holmes, that there never was in this world a man 
who loved a woman with a more wholehearted 


love than I had for Frances. I was a wild young- 
ster, I know — not worse than others of my class. 
But her mind was pure as snow. She could not 
bear a shadow of coarseness. So, when she came 
to hear of things that I had done, she would have 
no more to say to me. And yet she loved me — that 
is the wonder of it! — loved me well enough to re- 
main single all her sainted days just for my sake 
alone. When the years had passed and I had made 
my money at Barberton I thought perhaps I could 
seek her out and soften her. I had heard that she 
was still unmarried, I found her at Lausanne and 
tried all I knew. She weakened, I think, but her 
will was strong, and when next I called she had 
left the town. I traced her to Baden, and then after 
a time heard that her maid was here. I'm a rough 
fellow, fresh from a rough life, and when Dr. Wat- 
son spoke to me as he did I lost hold of myself for 
a moment. But for God's sake tell me what has 
become of the Lady Frances." 

"That is for us to find out," said Sherlock 
Holmes with peculiar gravity. "What is your Lon- 
don address, Mr. Green?" 

"The Langham Hotel will find me." 

"Then may I recommend that you return there 
and be on hand in case I should want you? I have 
no desire to encourage false hopes, but you may 
rest assured that all that can be done will be done 
for the safety of Lady Frances. I can say no more 
for the instant. I will leave you this card so that 
you may be able to keep in touch with us. Now, 
Watson, if you will pack your bag I will cable to 
Mrs. Hudson to make one of her best efforts for 
two hungry travellers at 7.30 to-morrow." 

A telegram was awaiting us when we reached 
our Baker Street rooms, which Holmes read with 
an exclamation of interest and threw across to me. 
"Jagged or torn," was the message, and the place 
of origin, Baden. 

"What is this?" I asked. 

"It is everything," Holmes answered. "You 
may remember my seemingly irrelevant question 
as to this clerical gentleman's left ear. You did not 
answer it." 

"I had left Baden and could not inquire." 

"Exactly. For this reason I sent a duplicate to 
the manager of the Englischer Hof, whose answer 
lies here." 

"What does it show?" 

"It shows, my dear Watson, that we are dealing 
with an exceptionally astute and dangerous man. 
The Rev. Dr. Shlessinger, missionary from South 
America, is none other than Holy Peters, one of the 


818 



The Disappearance of Lady Frances Carfax 


most unscrupulous rascals that Australia has ever 
evolved — and for a young country it has turned 
out some very finished types. His particular spe- 
cialty is the beguiling of lonely ladies by play- 
ing upon their religious feelings, and his so-called 
wife, an Englishwoman named Fraser, is a worthy 
helpmate. The nature of his tactics suggested his 
identity to me, and this physical peculiarity — he 
was badly bitten in a saloon-fight at Adelaide in 
'89 — confirmed my suspicion. This poor lady is in 
the hands of a most infernal couple, who will stick 
at nothing, Watson. That she is already dead is 
a very likely supposition. If not, she is undoubt- 
edly in some sort of confinement and unable to 
write to Miss Dobney or her other friends. It is 
always possible that she never reached London, or 
that she has passed through it, but the former is 
improbable, as, with their system of registration, 
it is not easy for foreigners to play tricks with the 
Continental police; and the latter is also unlikely, 
as these rouges could not hope to find any other 
place where it would be as easy to keep a person 
under restraint. All my instincts tell me that she is 
in London, but as we have at present no possible 
means of telling where, we can only take the ob- 
vious steps, eat our dinner, and possess our souls 
in patience. Later in the evening I will stroll down 
and have a word with friend Lestrade at Scotland 
Yard." 

But neither the official police nor Holmes's 
own small but very efficient organization sufficed 
to clear away the mystery. Amid the crowded 
millions of London the three persons we sought 
were as completely obliterated as if they had never 
lived. Advertisements were tried, and failed. 
Clues were followed, and led to nothing. Ev- 
ery criminal resort which Shlessinger might fre- 
quent was drawn in vain. His old associates were 
watched, but they kept clear of him. And then 
suddenly, after a week of helpless suspense there 
came a flash of light. A silver-and-brilliant pen- 
dant of old Spanish design had been pawned at 
Bovington's, in Westminster Road. The pawner 
was a large, clean-shaven man of clerical appear- 
ance. His name and address were demonstrably 
false. The ear had escaped notice, but the descrip- 
tion was surely that of Shlessinger. 

Three times had our bearded friend from the 
Langham called for news — the third time within 
an hour of this fresh development. His clothes 
were getting looser on his great body. He seemed 
to be wilting away in his anxiety. "If you will only 
give me something to do!" was his constant wail. 
At last Holmes could oblige him. 


"He has begun to pawn the jewels. We should 
get him now." 

"But does this mean that any harm has befallen 
the Lady Frances?" 

Holmes shook his head very gravely. 

"Supposing that they have held her prisoner up 
to now, it is clear that they cannot let her loose 
without their own destruction. We must prepare 
for the worst." 

"What can I do?" 

"These people do not know you by sight?" 

"No." 

"It is possible that he will go to some other 
pawnbroker in the future, in that case, we must 
begin again. On the other hand, he has had a fair 
price and no questions asked, so if he is in need of 
ready-money he will probably come back to Bov- 
ington's. I will give you a note to them, and they 
will let you wait in the shop. If the fellow comes 
you will follow him home. But no indiscretion, 
and, above all, no violence. I put you on your hon- 
our that you will take no step without my knowl- 
edge and consent." 

For two days the Hon. Philip Green (he was, 
I may mention, the son of the famous admiral of 
that name who commanded the Sea of Azof fleet 
in the Crimean War) brought us no news. On the 
evening of the third he rushed into our sitting- 
room, pale, trembling, with every muscle of his 
powerful frame quivering with excitement. 

"We have him! We have him!" he cried. 

He was incoherent in his agitation. Holmes 
soothed him with a few words and thrust him into 
an armchair. 

"Come, now, give us the order of events," said 
he. 

"She came only an hour ago. It was the wife, 
this time, but the pendant she brought was the fel- 
low of the other. She is a tall, pale woman, with 
ferret eyes." 

"That is the lady," said Holmes. 

"She left the office and I followed her. She 
walked up the Kennington Road, and I kept be- 
hind her. Presently she went into a shop. Mr. 
Holmes, it was an undertaker's." 

My companion started. "Well?" he asked in 
that vibrant voice which told of the fiery soul be- 
hind the cold gray face. 

"She was talking to the woman behind the 
counter. I entered as well. 'It is late,' I heard her 
say, or words to that effect. The woman was ex- 
cusing herself. 'It should be there before now,' she 


819 



The Disappearance of Lady Frances Carfax 


answered. 'It took longer, being out of the ordi- 
nary.' They both stopped and looked at me, so I 
asked some questions and then left the shop." 

"You did excellently well. What happened 
next?" 

"The woman came out, but I had hid myself 
in a doorway. Her suspicions had been aroused, I 
think, for she looked round her. Then she called a 
cab and got in. I was lucky enough to get another 
and so to follow her. She got down at last at No. 
36, Poultney Square, Brixton. I drove past, left my 
cab at the corner of the square, and watched the 
house." 

"Did you see anyone?" 

"The windows were all in darkness save one on 
the lower floor. The blind was down, and I could 
not see in. I was standing there, wondering what 
I should do next, when a covered van drove up 
with two men in it. They descended, took some- 
thing out of the van, and carried it up the steps to 
the hall door. Mr. Holmes, it was a coffin." 

"Ah!" 

"For an instant I was on the point of rushing in. 
The door had been opened to admit the men and 
their burden. It was the woman who had opened 
it. But as I stood there she caught a glimpse of me, 
and I think that she recognized me. I saw her start, 
and she hastily closed the door. I remembered my 
promise to you, and here I am." 

"You have done excellent work," said Holmes, 
scribbling a few words upon a half-sheet of paper. 
"We can do nothing legal without a warrant, and 
you can serve the cause best by taking this note 
down to the authorities and getting one. There 
may be some difficulty, but I should think that the 
sale of the jewellery should be sufficient. Lestrade 
will see to all details." 

"But they may murder her in the meanwhile. 
What could the coffin mean, and for whom could 
it be but for her?" 

"We will do all that can be done, Mr. Green. 
Not a moment will be lost. Leave it in our hands. 
Now Watson," he added as our client hurried 
away, "he will set the regular forces on the move. 
We are, as usual, the irregulars, and we must take 
our own line of action. The situation strikes me as 
so desperate that the most extreme measures are 
justified. Not a moment is to be lost in getting to 
Poultney Square. 

"Let us try to reconstruct the situation," said 
he as we drove swiftly past the Houses of Parlia- 
ment and over Westminster Bridge. "These villains 
have coaxed this unhappy lady to London, after 


first alienating her from her faithful maid. If she 
has written any letters they have been intercepted. 
Through some confederate they have engaged a 
furnished house. Once inside it, they have made 
her a prisoner, and they have become possessed of 
the valuable jewellery which has been their object 
from the first. Already they have begun to sell part 
of it, which seems safe enough to them, since they 
have no reason to think that anyone is interested 
in the lady's fate. When she is released she will, of 
course, denounce them. Therefore, she must not 
be released. But they cannot keep her under lock 
and key forever. So murder is their only solution." 

"That seems very clear." 

"Now we will take another line of reasoning. 
When you follow two separate chains of thought, 
Watson, you will find some point of intersection 
which should approximate to the truth. We will 
start now, not from the lady but from the cof- 
fin and argue backward. That incident proves, 
I fear, beyond all doubt that the lady is dead. 
It points also to an orthodox burial with proper 
accompaniment of medical certificate and official 
sanction. Had the lady been obviously murdered, 
they would have buried her in a hole in the back 
garden. But here all is open and regular. What 
does this mean? Surely that they have done her to 
death in some way which has deceived the doctor 
and simulated a natural end — poisoning, perhaps. 
And yet how strange that they should ever let a 
doctor approach her unless he were a confederate, 
which is hardly a credible proposition." 

"Could they have forged a medical certificate?" 

"Dangerous, Watson, very dangerous. No, I 
hardly see them doing that. Pull up, cabby! This is 
evidently the undertaker's, for we have just passed 
the pawnbroker's. Would go in, Watson? Your ap- 
pearance inspires confidence. Ask what hour the 
Poultney Square funeral takes place to-morrow." 

The woman in the shop answered me without 
hesitation that it was to be at eight o'clock in the 
morning. "You see, Watson, no mystery; every- 
thing above-board! In some way the legal forms 
have undoubtedly been complied with, and they 
think that they have little to fear. Well, there's 
nothing for it now but a direct frontal attack. Are 
you armed?" 

"My stick!" 

"Well, well, we shall be strong enough. 'Thrice 
is he armed who hath his quarrel just.' We sim- 
ply can't afford to wait for the police or to keep 
within the four corners of the law. You can drive 
off, cabby. Now, Watson, we'll just take our luck 
together, as we have occasionally in the past." 


820 



The Disappearance of Lady Frances Carfax 


He had rung loudly at the door of a great 
dark house in the centre of Poultney Square. It 
was opened immediately, and the figure of a tall 
woman was outlined against the dim-lit hall. 

"Well, what do you want?" she asked sharply, 
peering at us through the darkness. 

"I want to speak to Dr. Shlessinger," said 
Holmes. 

"There is no such person here," she answered, 
and tried to close the door, but Holmes had 
jammed it with his foot. 

"Well, I want to see the man who lives here, 
whatever he may call himself," said Holmes firmly. 

She hesitated. Then she threw open the door. 
"Well, come in!" said she. "My husband is not 
afraid to face any man in the world." She closed 
the door behind us and showed us into a sitting- 
room on the right side of the hall, turning up the 
gas as she left us. "Mr. Peters will be with you in 
an instant," she said. 

Her words were literally true, for we had 
hardly time to look around the dusty and moth- 
eaten apartment in which we found ourselves be- 
fore the door opened and a big, clean-shaven bald- 
headed man stepped lightly into the room. He 
had a large red face, with pendulous cheeks, and 
a general air of superficial benevolence which was 
marred by a cruel, vicious mouth. 

"There is surely some mistake here, gentle- 
men," he said in an unctuous, make-everything- 
easy voice. "I fancy that you have been misdi- 
rected. Possibly if you tried farther down the 
street — " 

"That will do; we have no time to waste," said 
my companion firmly. "You are Henry Peters, of 
Adelaide, late the Rev. Dr. Shlessinger, of Baden 
and South America. I am as sure of that as that 
my own name is Sherlock Holmes." 

Peters, as I will now call him, started and stared 
hard at his formidable pursuer. "I guess your 
name does not frighten me, Mr. Holmes," said he 
coolly. "When a man's conscience is easy you can't 
rattle him. What is your business in my house?" 

"I want to know what you have done with the 
Lady Frances Carfax, whom you brought away 
with you from Baden." 

"I'd be very glad if you could tell me where 
that lady may be," Peters answered coolly. "I've a 
bill against her for a nearly a hundred pounds, and 
nothing to show for it but a couple of trumpery 
pendants that the dealer would hardly look at. She 
attached herself to Mrs. Peters and me at Baden — it 


is a fact that I was using another name at the 
time — and she stuck on to us until we came to 
London. I paid her bill and her ticket. Once in 
London, she gave us the slip, and, as I say, left 
these out-of-date jewels to pay her bills. You find 
her, Mr. Holmes, and I'm your debtor." 

In mean to find her," said Sherlock Holmes. 
"Pm going through this house till I do find her." 

"Where is your warrant?" 

Holmes half drew a revolver from his pocket. 
"This will have to serve till a better one comes." 

"Why, you're a common burglar." 

"So you might describe me," said Holmes 
cheerfully. "My companion is also a dangerous 
ruffian. And together we are going through your 
house." 

Our opponent opened the door. 

"Fetch a policeman, Annie!" said he. There was 
a whisk of feminine skirts down the passage, and 
the hall door was opened and shut. 

"Our time is limited, Watson," said Holmes. "If 
you try to stop us, Peters, you will most certainly 
get hurt. Where is that coffin which was brought 
into your house?" 

"What do you want with the coffin? It is in use. 
There is a body in it." 

"I must see the body." 

"Never with my consent." 

"Then without it." With a quick movement 
Holmes pushed the fellow to one side and passed 
into the hall. A door half opened stood immedi- 
ately before us. We entered. It was the dining- 
room. On the table, under a half-lit chandelier, the 
coffin was lying. Holmes turned up the gas and 
raised the lid. Deep down in the recesses of the 
coffin lay an emaciated figure. The glare from the 
lights above beat down upon an aged and with- 
ered face. By no possible process of cruelty, star- 
vation, or disease could this wornout wreck be the 
still beautiful Lady Frances. Holmes's face showed 
his amazement, and also his relief. 

"Thank God!" he muttered. "It's someone 
else." 

"Ah, you've blundered badly for once, Mr. 
Sherlock Holmes," said Peters, who had followed 
us into the room. 

"Who is the dead woman?" 

"Well, if you really must know, she is an old 
nurse of my wife's. Rose Spender by name, whom 
we found in the Brixton Workhouse Infirmary. 
We brought her round here, called in Dr. Hor- 
som, of 13 Firbank Villas — mind you take the ad- 
dress, Mr. Holmes — and had her carefully tended, 
as Christian folk should. On the third day she 


821 



The Disappearance of Lady Frances Carfax 


died — certificate says senile decay — but that's only 
the doctor's opinion, and of course you know bet- 
ter. We ordered her funeral to be carried out by 
Stimson and Co., of the Kennington Road, who 
will bury her at eight o'clock to-morrow morning. 
Can you pick any hole in that, Mr. Holmes? You've 
made a silly blunder, and you may as well own up 
to it. I'd give something for a photograph of your 
gaping, staring face when you pulled aside that lid 
expecting to see the Lady Frances Carfax and only 
found a poor old woman of ninety." 

Holmes's expression was as impassive as ever 
under the jeers of his antagonist, but his clenched 
hands betrayed his acute annoyance. 

"I am going through your house," said he. 

"Are you, though!" cried Peters as a woman's 
voice and heavy steps sounded in the passage. 
"We'll soon see about that. This way, officers, if 
you please. These men have forced their way into 
my house, and I cannot get rid of them. Help me 
to put them out." 

A sergeant and a constable stood in the door- 
way. Holmes drew his card from his case. 

"This is my name and address. This is my 
friend. Dr. Watson." 

"Bless you, sir, we know you very well," said 
the sergeant, "but you can't stay here without a 
warrant." 

"Of course not. I quite understand that." 

"Arrest him!" cried Peters. 

"We know where to lay our hands on this gen- 
tleman if he is wanted," said the sergeant majesti- 
cally, "but you'll have to go, Mr. Holmes." 

"Yes, Watson, we shall have to go." 

A minute later we were in the street once more. 
Holmes was as cool as ever, but I was hot with 
anger and humiliation. The sergeant had followed 
us. 

"Sorry, Mr. Holmes, but that's the law." 

"Exactly, Sergeant, you could not do other- 
wise." 

"I expect there was good reason for your pres- 
ence there. If there is anything I can do — " 

"It's a missing lady. Sergeant, and we think she 
is in that house. I expect a warrant presently." 

"Then I'll keep my eye on the parties, Mr. 
Holmes. If anything comes along, I will surely let 
you know." 

It was only nine o'clock, and we were off full 
cry upon the trail at once. First we drove to Brix- 
ton Workhoused Infirmary, where we found that it 


was indeed the truth that a charitable couple had 
called some days before, that they had claimed an 
imbecile old woman as a former servant, and that 
they had obtained permission to take her away 
with them. No surprise was expressed at the news 
that she had since died. 

The doctor was our next goal. He had been 
called in, had found the woman dying of pure se- 
nility, had actually seen her pass away, and had 
signed the certificate in due form. "I assure you 
that everything was perfectly normal and there 
was no room for foul play in the matter," said he. 
Nothing in the house had struck him as suspicious 
save that for people of their class it was remark- 
able that they should have no servant. So far and 
no further went the doctor. 

Finally we found our way to Scotland Yard. 
There had been difficulties of procedure in regard 
to the warrant. Some delay was inevitable. The 
magistrate's signature might not be obtained un- 
til next morning. If Holmes would call about nine 
he could go down with Lestrade and see it acted 
upon. So ended the day, save that near midnight 
our friend, the sergeant, called to say that he had 
seen flickering lights here and there in the win- 
dows of the great dark house, but that no one had 
left it and none had entered. We could but pray 
for patience and wait for the morrow. 

Sherlock Holmes was too irritable for conversa- 
tion and too restless for sleep. I left him smoking 
hard, with his heavy, dark brows knotted together, 
and his long, nervous fingers tapping upon the 
arms of his chair, as he turned over in his mind 
every possible solution of the mystery. Several 
times in the course of the night I heard him prowl- 
ing about the house. Finally, just after I had been 
called in the morning, he rushed into my room. 
He was in his dressing-gown, but his pale, hollow- 
eyed face told me that his night had been a sleep- 
less one. 

"What time was the funeral? Eight, was it not?" 
he asked eagerly. "Well, it is 7.20 now. Good heav- 
ens, Watson, what has become of any brains that 
God has given me? Quick, man, quick! It's life or 
death — a hundred chances on death to one on life. 
I'll never forgive myself, never, if we are too late!" 

Five minutes had not passed before we were 
flying in a hansom down Baker Street. But even 
so it was twenty-five to eight as we passed Big 
Ben, and eight struck as we tore down the Brix- 
ton Road. But others were late as well as we. Ten 
minutes after the hour the hearse was still standing 
at the door of the house, and even as our foaming 
horse came to a halt the coffin, supported by three 


822 



men, appeared on the threshold. Holmes darted 
forward and barred their way. 

"Take it back!" he cried, laying his hand on the 
breast of the foremost. "Take it back this instant!" 

"What the devil do you mean? Once again I 
ask you, where is your warrant?" shouted the furi- 
ous Peters, his big red face glaring over the farther 
end of the coffin. 

"The warrant is on its way. The coffin shall re- 
main in the house until it comes." 

The authority in Holmes's voice had its effect 
upon the bearers. Peters had suddenly vanished 
into the house, and they obeyed these new orders. 
"Quick, Watson, quick! Here is a screw-driver!" he 
shouted as the coffin was replaced upon the table. 
"Here's one for you, my man! A sovreign if the lid 
comes off in a minute! Ask no questions — work 
away! That's good! Another! And another! Now 
pull all together! It's giving! It's giving! Ah, that 
does it at last." 

With a united effort we tore off the coffin- 
lid. As we did so there came from the inside 
a stupefying and overpowering smell of chloro- 
form. A body lay within, its head all wreathed 
in cotton-wool, which had been soaked in the nar- 
cotic. Holmes plucked it off and disclosed the stat- 
uesque face of a handsome and spiritual woman 
of middle age. In an instant he had passed his arm 
round the figure and raised her to a sitting posi- 
tion. 

"Is she gone, Watson? Is there a spark left? 
Surely we are not too late!" 

For half an hour it seemed that we were. What 
with actual suffocation, and what with the poi- 
sonous fumes of the chloroform, the Lady Frances 
seemed to have passed the last point of recall. And 
then, at last, with artificial respiration, with in- 
jected ether, and with every device that science 
could suggest, some flutter of life, some quiver of 
the eyelids, some dimming of a mirror, spoke of 
the slowly returning life. A cab had driven up, 
and Holmes, parting the blind, looked out at it. 
"Here is Lestrade with his warrant," said he. "He 
will find that his birds have flown. And here," he 
added as a heavy step hurried along the passage, 
"is someone who has a better right to nurse this 
lady than we have. Good morning, Mr. Green; 


I think that the sooner we can move the Lady 
Frances the better. Meanwhile, the funeral may 
proceed, and the poor old woman who still lies in 
that coffin may go to her last resting-place alone." 

"Should you care to add the case to your an- 
nals, my dear Watson," said Holmes that evening, 
"it can only be as an example of that temporary 
eclipse to which even the best-balanced mind may 
be exposed. Such slips are common to all mortals, 
and the greatest is he who can recognize and re- 
pair them. To this modified credit I may, perhaps, 
make some claim. My night was haunted by the 
thought that somewhere a clue, a strange sentence, 
a curious observation, had come under my notice 
and had been too easily dismissed. Then, sud- 
denly, in the gray of the morning, the words came 
back to me. It was the remark of the undertaker's 
wife, as reported by Philip Green. She had said, 
'It should be there before now. It took longer, be- 
ing out of the ordinary.' It was the coffin of which 
she spoke. It had been out of the ordinary. That 
could only mean that it had been made to some 
special measurement. But why? Why? Then in an 
instant I remembered the deep sides, and the little 
wasted figure at the bottom. Why so large a cof- 
fin for so small a body? To leave room for another 
body. Both would be buried under the one certifi- 
cate. It had all been so clear, if only my own sight 
had not been dimmed. At eight the Lady Frances 
would be buried. Our one chance was to stop the 
coffin before it left the house. 

"It was a desperate chance that we might find 
her alive, but it was a chance, as the result showed. 
These people had never, to my knowledge, done 
a murder. They might shrink from actual violence 
at the last. The could bury her with no sign of 
how she met her end, and even if she were ex- 
humed there was a chance for them. I hoped that 
such considerations might prevail with them. You 
can reconstruct the scene well enough. You saw 
the horrible den upstairs, where the poor lady had 
been kept so long. They rushed in and overpow- 
ered her with their chloroform, carried her down, 
poured more into the coffin to insure against her 
waking, and then screwed down the lid. A clever 
device, Watson. It is new to me in the annals 
of crime. If our ex-missionary friends escape the 
clutches of Lestrade, I shall expect to hear of some 
brilliant incidents in their future career." 



The Adventure of the Retired Colourman 


S herlock Holmes was in a melancholy 
and philosophic mood that morning. 
His alert practical nature was subject to 
such reactions. 

"Did you see him?" he asked. 

"You mean the old fellow who has just gone 
out?" 

"Precisely." 

"Yes, I met him at the door." 

"What did you think of him?" 

"A pathetic, futile, broken creature." 

"Exactly, Watson. Pathetic and futile. But is not 
all life pathetic and futile? Is not his story a micro- 
cosm of the whole? We reach. We grasp. And 
what is left in our hands at the end? A shadow. 
Or worse than a shadow — misery." 

"Is he one of your clients?" 

"Well, I suppose I may call him so. He has been 
sent on by the Yard. Just as medical men occasion- 
ally send their incurables to a quack. They argue 
that they can do nothing more, and that whatever 
happens the patient can be no worse than he is." 

"What is the matter?" 

Holmes took a rather soiled card from the table. 
"Josiah Amberley. He says he was junior partner 
of Brickfall and Amberley, who are manufacturers 
of artistic materials. You will see their names upon 
paint-boxes. He made his little pile, retired from 
business at the age of sixty-one, bought a house at 
Lewisham, and settled down to rest after a life of 
ceaseless grind. One would think his future was 
tolerably assured." 

"Yes, indeed." 

Holmes glanced over some notes which he had 
scribbled upon the back of an envelope. 

"Retired in 1896, Watson. Early in 1897 he 
married a woman twenty years younger than him- 
self — a good-looking woman, too, if the photo- 
graph does not flatter. A competence, a wife, 
leisure — it seemed a straight road which lay be- 
fore him. And yet within two years he is, as you 
have seen, as broken and miserable a creature as 
crawls beneath the sun." 

"But what has happened?" 

"The old story, Watson. A treacherous friend 
and a fickle wife. It would appear that Amberley 
has one hobby in life, and it is chess. Not far from 
him at Lewisham there lives a young doctor who 
is also a chess-player. I have noted his name as Dr. 
Ray Ernest. Ernest was frequently in the house, 
and an intimacy between him and Mrs. Amberley 


was a natural sequence, for you must admit that 
our unfortunate client has few outward graces, 
whatever his inner virtues may be. The couple 
went off together last week — destination untraced. 
What is more, the faithless spouse carried off the 
old man's deed-box as her personal luggage with 
a good part of his life's savings within. Can we 
find the lady? Can we save the money? A com- 
monplace problem so far as it has developed, and 
yet a vital one for Josiah Amberley." 

"What will you do about it?" 

"Well, the immediate question, my dear Wat- 
son, happens to be. What will you do? — if you will 
be good enough to understudy me. You know that 
I am preoccupied with this case of the two Coptic 
Patriarchs, which should come to a head to-day. I 
really have not time to go out to Lewisham, and 
yet evidence taken on the spot has a special value. 
The old fellow was quite insistent that I should go, 
but I explained my difficulty. He is prepared to 
meet a representative." 

"By all means," I answered. "I confess I don't 
see that I can be of much service, but I am willing 
to do my best." And so it was that on a summer 
afternoon I set forth to Lewisham, little dreaming 
that within a week the affair in which I was engag- 
ing would be the eager debate of all England. 

It was late that evening before I returned to 
Baker Street and gave an account of my mission. 
Holmes lay with his gaunt figure stretched in his 
deep chair, his pipe curling forth slow wreaths 
of acrid tobacco, while his eyelids drooped over 
his eyes so lazily that he might almost have been 
asleep were it not that at any halt or questionable 
passage of my narrative they half lifted, and two 
gray eyes, as bright and keen as rapiers, transfixed 
me with their searching glance. 

"The Haven is the name of Mr. Josiah Amber- 
ley's house," I explained. "I think it would interest 
you. Holmes. It is like some penurious patrician 
who has sunk into the company of his inferiors. 
You know that particular quarter, the monotonous 
brick streets, the weary suburban highways. Right 
in the middle of them, a little island of ancient cul- 
ture and comfort, lies this old home, surrounded 
by a high sun-baked wall mottled with lichens and 
topped with moss, the sort of wall — " 

"Cut out the poetry, Watson," said Holmes 
severely. "I note that it was a high brick wall." 

"Exactly. I should not have known which was 
The Haven had I not asked a lounger who was 
smoking in the street. I have a reason for mention- 
ing him. He was a tall, dark, heavily moustached, 
rather military-looking man. He nodded in answer 


977 



The Adventure of the Retired Colourman 


to my inquiry and gave me a curiously question- 
ing glance, which came back to my memory a little 
later. 

"I had hardly entered the gateway before I saw 
Mr. Amberley coming down the drive. I only had 
a glimpse of him this morning, and he certainly 
gave me the impression of a strange creature, but 
when I saw him in full light his appearance was 
even more abnormal." 

"I have, of course, studied it, and yet I 
should be interested to have your impression," 
said Holmes. 

"He seemed to me like a man who was liter- 
ally bowed down by care. His back was curved 
as though he carried a heavy burden. Yet he was 
not the weakling that I had at first imagined, for 
his shoulders and chest have the framework of a 
giant, though his figure tapers away into a pair of 
spindled legs." 

"Left shoe wrinkled, right one smooth." 

"I did not observe that." 

"No, you wouldn't. I spotted his artificial limb. 
But proceed." 

"I was struck by the snaky locks of grizzled 
hair which curled from under his old straw hat, 
and his face with its fierce, eager expression and 
the deeply lined features." 

"Very good, Watson. What did he say?" 

"He began pouring out the story of his 
grievances. We walked down the drive together, 
and of course I took a good look round. I have 
never seen a worse-kept place. The garden was all 
running to seed, giving me an impression of wild 
neglect in which the plants had been allowed to 
find the way of Nature rather than of art. How any 
decent woman could have tolerated such a state of 
things, I don't know. The house, too, was slatternly 
to the last degree, but the poor man seemed him- 
self to be aware of it and to be trying to remedy it, 
for a great pot of green paint stood in the centre of 
the hall, and he was carrying a thick brush in his 
left hand. He had been working on the woodwork. 

"He took me into his dingy sanctum, and we 
had a long chat. Of course, he was disappointed 
that you had not come yourself. 'I hardly ex- 
pected,' he said, 'that so humble an individual as 
myself, especially after my heavy financial loss, 
could obtain the complete attention of so famous a 
man as Mr. Sherlock Holmes.' 

"I assured him that the financial question did 
not arise. 'No, of course, it is art for art's sake 
with him,' said he, 'but even on the artistic side 


of crime he might have found something here to 
study. And human nature. Dr. Watson — the black 
ingratitude of it all! When did I ever refuse one of 
her requests? Was ever a woman so pampered? 
And that young man — he might have been my 
own son. He had the run of my house. And yet 
see how they have treated me! Oh, Dr. Watson, it 
is a dreadful, dreadful world!' 

"That was the burden of his song for an hour 
or more. He had, it seems, no suspicion of an in- 
trigue. They lived alone save for a woman who 
comes in by the day and leaves every evening 
at six. On that particular evening old Amberley, 
wishing to give his wife a treat, had taken two up- 
per circle seats at the Haymarket Theatre. At the 
last moment she had complained of a headache 
and had refused to go. He had gone alone. There 
seemed to be no doubt about the fact, for he pro- 
duced the unused ticket which he had taken for 
his wife." 

"That is remarkable — most remarkable," said 
Holmes, whose interest in the case seemed to be 
rising. "Pray continue, Watson. I find your narra- 
tive most arresting. Did you personally examine 
this ticket? You did not, perchance, take the num- 
ber?" 

"It so happens that I did," I answered with 
some pride. "It chanced to be my old school num- 
ber, thirty-one, and so is stuck in my head." 

"Excellent, Watson! His seat, then, was either 
thirty or thirty- two." 

"Quite so," I answered with some mystifica- 
tion. "And on B row." 

"That is most satisfactory. What else did he tell 
you?" 

"He showed me his strong-room, as he called it. 
It really is a strong-room — like a bank — with iron 
door and shutter — burglar-proof, as he claimed. 
However, the woman seems to have had a dupli- 
cate key, and between them they had carried off 
some seven thousand pounds' worth of cash and 
securities." 

"Securities! How could they dispose of those?" 

"He said that he had given the police a list 
and that he hoped they would be unsaleable. He 
had got back from the theatre about midnight and 
found the place plundered, the door and window 
open, and the fugitives gone. There was no letter 
or message, nor has he heard a word since. He at 
once gave the alarm to the police." 

Holmes brooded for some minutes. 

"You say he was painting. What was he paint- 
ing?" 


978 



The Adventure of the Retired Colourman 


"Well, he was painting the passage. But he had 
already painted the door and woodwork of this 
room I spoke of. " 

"Does it not strike you as a strange occupation 
in the circumstances?" 

" 'One must do something to ease an aching 
heart.' That was his own explanation. It was eccen- 
tric, no doubt, but he is clearly an eccentric man. 
He tore up one of his wife's photographs in my 
presence — tore it up furiously in a tempest of pas- 
sion. 'I never wish to see her damned face again/ 
he shrieked." 

"Anything more, Watson?" 

"Yes, one thing which struck me more than 
anything else. I had driven to the Blackheath Sta- 
tion and had caught my train there when, just as 
it was starting, I saw a man dart into the carriage 
next to my own. You know that I have a quick 
eye for faces. Holmes. It was undoubtedly the tall, 
dark man whom I had addressed in the street. I 
saw him once more at London Bridge, and then I 
lost him in the crowd. But I am convinced that he 
was following me." 

"No doubt! No doubt!" said Holmes. "A tall, 
dark, heavily moustached man, you say, with gray- 
tinted sun-glasses?" 

"Holmes, you are a wizard. I did not say so, 
but he had gray-tinted sun-glasses." 

"And a Masonic tie-pin?" 

"Holmes!" 

"Quite simple, my dear Watson. But let us get 
down to what is practical. I must admit to you that 
the case, which seemed to me to be so absurdly 
simple as to be hardly worth my notice, is rapidly 
assuming a very different aspect. It is true that 
though in your mission you have missed every- 
thing of importance, yet even those things which 
have obtruded themselves upon your notice give 
rise to serious thought." 

"What have I missed?" 

"Don't be hurt, my dear fellow. You know 
that I am quite impersonal. No one else would 
have done better. Some possibly not so well. But 
clearly you have missed some vital points. What 
is the opinion of the neighbours about this man 
Amberley and his wife? That surely is of impor- 
tance. What of Dr. Ernest? Was he the gay Lothario 
one would expect? With your natural advantages, 
Watson, every lady is your helper and accomplice. 
What about the girl at the post-office, or the wife 
of the greengrocer? I can picture you whispering 


soft nothings with the young lady at the Blue An- 
chor, and receiving hard somethings in exchange. 
All this you have left undone." 

"It can still be done." 

"It has been done. Thanks to the telephone and 
the help of the Yard, I can usually get my essentials 
without leaving this room. As a matter of fact, my 
information confirms the man's story. He has the 
local repute of being a miser as well as a harsh 
and exacting husband. That he had a large sum 
of money in that strong-room of his is certain. So 
also is it that young Dr. Ernest, an unmarried man, 
played chess with Amberley, and probably played 
the fool with his wife. All this seems plain sailing, 
and one would think that there was no more to be 
said — and yet! — and yet!" 

"Where lies the difficulty?" 

"In my imagination, perhaps. Well, leave it 
there, Watson. Let us escape from this weary 
workaday world by the side door of music. Ca- 
rina sings to-night at the Albert Hall, and we still 
have time to dress, dine, and enjoy." 

In the morning I was up betimes, but some 
toast crumbs and two empty egg-shells told me 
that my companion was earlier still. I found a 
scribbled note upon the table. 

Dear Watson: 

There are one or two points of con- 
tact which I should wish to establish 
with Mr. Josiah Amberley. When I have 
done so we can dismiss the case — or 
not. I would only ask you to be on 
hand about three o'clock, as I conceive 
it possible that I may want you. 

S. H. 

I saw nothing of Holmes all day, but at the hour 
named he returned, grave, preoccupied, and aloof. 
At such times it was wiser to leave him to himself. 

"Has Amberley been here yet?" 

"No." 

"Ah! I am expecting him." 

He was not disappointed, for presently the old 
fellow arrived with a very worried and puzzled 
expression upon his austere face. 

"I've had a telegram, Mr. Holmes. I can make 
nothing of it." He handed it over, and Holmes read 
it aloud. 

"Come at once without fail. Can give 
you information as to your recent loss. 

"Elman. 

"The Vicarage. 


979 



The Adventure of the Retired Colourman 


"Dispatched at 2.10 from Little Purlington," 
said Holmes. "Little Purlington is in Essex, I be- 
lieve, not far from Frinton. Well, of course you will 
start at once. This is evidently from a responsible 
person, the vicar of the place. Where is my Crock- 
ford? Yes, here we have him: 'J. C. Elman, M. A., 
Living of Moosmoor cum Little Purlington.' Look 
up the trains, Watson." 

"There is one at 5.20 from Liverpool Street." 

"Excellent. You had best go with him, Watson. 
He may need help or advice. Clearly we have come 
to a crisis in this affair. " 

But our client seemed by no means eager to 
start. 

"It's perfectly absurd, Mr. Holmes," he said. 
"What can this man possibly know of what has 
occurred? It is waste of time and money." 

"He would not have telegraphed to you if he 
did not know something. Wire at once that you 
are coming." 

"I don't think I shall go." 

Holmes assumed his sternest aspect. 

"It would make the worst possible impression 
both on the police and upon myself, Mr. Amberley, 
if when so obvious a clue arose you should refuse 
to follow it up. We should feel that you were not 
really in earnest in this investigation." 

Our client seemed horrified at the suggestion. 

"Why, of course I shall go if you look at it in 
that way," said he. "On the face of it, it seems ab- 
surd to suppose that this person knows anything, 
but if you think — " 

"I do think," said Holmes with emphasis, and 
so we were launched upon our journey. Holmes 
took me aside before we left the room and gave 
me one word of counsel, which showed that he 
considered the matter to be of importance. "What- 
ever you do, see that he really does go," said he. 
"Should he break away or return, get to the near- 
est telephone exchange and send the single word 
'Bolted.' I will arrange here that it shall reach me 
wherever I am." 

Little Purlington is not an easy place to reach, 
for it is on a branch line. My remembrance of the 
journey is not a pleasant one, for the weather was 
hot, the train slow, and my companion sullen and 
silent, hardly talking at all save to make an oc- 
casional sardonic remark as to the futility of our 
proceedings. When we at last reached the little 
station it was a two-mile drive before we came to 
the Vicarage, where a big, solemn, rather pompous 


clergyman received us in his study. Our telegram 
lay before him. 

"Well, gentlemen," he asked, "what can I do 
for you?" 

"We came," I explained, "in answer to your 
wire." 

"My wire! I sent no wire." 

"I mean the wire which you sent to Mr. Josiah 
Amberley about his wife and his money." 

"If this is a joke, sir, it is a very questionable 
one," said the vicar angrily. "I have never heard 
of the gentleman you name, and I have not sent a 
wire to anyone." 

Our client and I looked at each other in amaze- 
ment. 

"Perhaps there is some mistake," said I; "are 
there perhaps two vicarages? Here is the wire it- 
self, signed Elman and dated from the Vicarage." 

"There is only one vicarage, sir, and only one 
vicar, and this wire is a scandalous forgery, the ori- 
gin of which shall certainly be investigated by the 
police. Meanwhile, I can see no possible object in 
prolonging this interview." 

So Mr. Amberley and I found ourselves on the 
roadside in what seemed to me to be the most 
primitive village in England. We made for the tele- 
graph office, but it was already closed. There was a 
telephone, however, at the little Railway Arms, and 
by it I got into touch with Holmes, who shared in 
our amazement at the result of our journey. 

"Most singular!" said the distant voice. "Most 
remarkable! I much fear, my dear Watson, that 
there is no return train to-night. I have unwittingly 
condemned you to the horrors of a country inn. 
However, there is always Nature, Watson — Nature 
and Josiah Amberley — you can be in close com- 
mune with both." I heard his dry chuckle as he 
turned away. 

It was soon apparent to me that my compan- 
ion's reputation as a miser was not undeserved. 
He had grumbled at the expense of the journey, 
had insisted upon travelling third-class, and was 
now clamorous in his objections to the hotel bill. 
Next morning, when we did at last arrive in Lon- 
don, it was hard to say which of us was in the 
worse humour. 

"You had best take Baker Street as we pass," 
said I. "Mr. Holmes may have some fresh instruc- 
tions." 

"If they are not worth more than the last ones 
they are not of much use, " said Amberley with a 


980 



The Adventure of the Retired Colourman 


malevolent scowl. None the less, he kept me com- 
pany. I had already warned Holmes by telegram 
of the hour of our arrival, but we found a mes- 
sage waiting that he was at Lewisham and would 
expect us there. That was a surprise, but an even 
greater one was to find that he was not alone in 
the sitting-room of our client. A stern-looking, im- 
passive man sat beside him, a dark man with gray- 
tinted glasses and a large Masonic pin projecting 
from his tie. 

"This is my friend Mr. Barker," said Holmes. 
"He has been interesting himself also in your busi- 
ness, Mr. Josiah Amberley, though we have been 
working independently. But we both have the 
same question to ask you!" 

Mr. Amberley sat down heavily. He sensed im- 
pending danger. I read it in his straining eyes and 
his twitching features. 

"What is the question, Mr. Holmes?" 

"Only this: What did you do with the bodies?" 

The man sprang to his feet with a hoarse 
scream. He clawed into the air with his bony 
hands. His mouth was open, and for the instant 
he looked like some horrible bird of prey. In a 
flash we got a glimpse of the real Josiah Amber- 
ley, a misshapen demon with a soul as distorted as 
his body. As he fell back into his chair he clapped 
his hand to his lips as if to stifle a cough. Holmes 
sprang at his throat like a tiger and twisted his 
face towards the ground. A white pellet fell from 
between his gasping lips. 

"No short cuts, Josiah Amberley. Things must 
be done decently and in order. What about it. 
Barker?" 

"I have a cab at the door," said our taciturn 
companion. 

"It is only a few hundred yards to the station. 
We will go together. You can stay here, Watson. I 
shall be back within half an hour." 

The old colourman had the strength of a lion in 
that great trunk of his, but he was helpless in the 
hands of the two experienced man-handlers. Wrig- 
gling and twisting he was dragged to the waiting 
cab, and I was left to my solitary vigil in the ill- 
omened house. In less time than he had named, 
however. Holmes was back, in company with a 
smart young police inspector. 

"I've left Barker to look after the formalities," 
said Holmes. "You had not met Barker, Watson. 
He is my hated rival upon the Surrey shore. When 
you said a tall dark man it was not difficult for me 
to complete the picture. He has several good cases 
to his credit, has he not. Inspector?" 


"He has certainly interfered several times," the 
inspector answered with reserve. 

"His methods are irregular, no doubt, like 
my own. The irregulars are useful sometimes, 
you know. You, for example, with your compul- 
sory warning about whatever he said being used 
against him, could never have bluffed this rascal 
into what is virtually a confession." 

"Perhaps not. But we get there all the same, Mr. 
Holmes. Don't imagine that we had not formed 
our own views of this case, and that we would not 
have laid our hands on our man. You will excuse 
us for feeling sore when you jump in with methods 
which we cannot use, and so rob us of the credit." 

"There shall be no such robbery, MacKinnon. I 
assure you that I efface myself from now onward, 
and as to Barker, he has done nothing save what I 
told him." 

The inspector seemed considerably relieved. 

"That is very handsome of you, Mr. Holmes. 
Praise or blame can matter little to you, but it is 
very different to us when the newspapers begin to 
ask questions." 

"Quite so. But they are pretty sure to ask ques- 
tions anyhow, so it would be as well to have an- 
swers. What will you say, for example, when the 
intelligent and enterprising reporter asks you what 
the exact points were which aroused your suspi- 
cion, and finally gave you a certain conviction as 
to the real facts?" 

The inspector looked puzzled. 

"We don't seem to have got any real facts yet, 
Mr. Holmes. You say that the prisoner, in the pres- 
ence of three witnesses, practically confessed by 
trying to commit suicide, that he had murdered his 
wife and her lover. What other facts have you?" 

"Have you arranged for a search?" 

"There are three constables on their way." 

"Then you will soon get the clearest fact of all. 
The bodies cannot be far away. Try the cellars and 
the garden. It should not take long to dig up the 
likely places. This house is older than the water- 
pipes. There must be a disused well somewhere. 
Try your luck there." 

"But how did you know of it, and how was it 
done?" 

"I'll show you first how it was done, and then I 
will give the explanation which is due to you, and 
even more to my long-suffering friend here, who 
has been invaluable throughout. But, first, I would 
give you an insight into this man's mentality. It is a 
very unusual one — so much so that I think his des- 
tination is more likely to be Broadmoor than the 
scaffold. He has, to a high degree, the sort of mind 


981 



The Adventure of the Retired Colourman 


which one associates with the mediaeval Italian 
nature rather than with the modern Briton. He was 
a miserable miser who made his wife so wretched 
by his niggardly ways that she was a ready prey 
for any adventurer. Such a one came upon the 
scene in the person of this chess-playing doctor. 
Amberley excelled at chess — one mark, Watson, of 
a scheming mind. Like all misers, he was a jeal- 
ous man, and his jealousy became a frantic mania. 
Rightly or wrongly, he suspected an intrigue. He 
determined to have his revenge, and he planned it 
with diabolical cleverness. Come here!" 

Holmes led us along the passage with as much 
certainty as if he had lived in the house and halted 
at the open door of the strong-room. 

"Pooh! What an awful smell of paint!" cried 
the inspector. 

"That was our first clue," said Holmes. "You 
can thank Dr. Watson's observation for that, 
though he failed to draw the inference. It set my 
foot upon the trail. Why should this man at such a 
time be filling his house with strong odours? Obvi- 
ously, to cover some other smell which he wished 
to conceal — some guilty smell which would sug- 
gest suspicions. Then came the idea of a room 
such as you see here with iron door and shut- 
ter — a hermetically sealed room. Put those two 
facts together, and whither do they lead? I could 
only determine that by examining the house my- 
self. I was already certain that the case was se- 
rious, for I had examined the box-office chart at 
the Haymarket Theatre — another of Dr. Watson's 
bull's-eyes — and ascertained that neither B thirty 
nor thirty-two of the upper circle had been occu- 
pied that night. Therefore, Amberley had not been 
to the theatre, and his alibi fell to the ground. He 
made a bad slip when he allowed my astute friend 
to notice the number of the seat taken for his wife. 
The question now arose how I might be able to 
examine the house. I sent an agent to the most im- 
possible village I could think of, and summoned 
my man to it at such an hour that he could not 
possibly get back. To prevent any miscarriage. Dr. 
Watson accompanied him. The good vicar's name 
I took, of course, out of my Crockford. Do I make 
it all clear to you?" 

"It is masterly," said the inspector in an awed 
voice. 

"There being no fear of interruption I pro- 
ceeded to burgle the house. Burglary has always 
been an alternative profession had I cared to adopt 
it, and I have little doubt that I should have come 
to the front. Observe what I found. You see the 
gas-pipe along the skirting here. Very good. It 


rises in the angle of the wall, and there is a tap here 
in the corner. The pipe runs out into the strong- 
room, as you can see, and ends in that plaster rose 
in the centre of the ceiling, where it is concealed 
by the ornamentation. That end is wide open. At 
any moment by turning the outside tap the room 
could be flooded with gas. With door and shutter 
closed and the tap full on I would not give two 
minutes of conscious sensation to anyone shut up 
in that little chamber. By what devilish device he 
decoyed them there I do not know, but once inside 
the door they were at his mercy." 

The inspector examined the pipe with interest. 
"One of our officers mentioned the smell of gas," 
said he, "but of course the window and door were 
open then, and the paint — or some of it — was al- 
ready about. He had begun the work of painting 
the day before, according to his story. But what 
next, Mr. Holmes?" 

"Well, then came an incident which was rather 
unexpected to myself. I was slipping through the 
pantry window in the early dawn when I felt a 
hand inside my collar, and a voice said: 'Now, 
you rascal, what are you doing in there?' When I 
could twist my head round I looked into the tinted 
spectacles of my friend and rival, Mr. Barker. It 
was a curious foregathering and set us both smil- 
ing. It seems that he had been engaged by Dr. Ray 
Ernest's family to make some investigations and 
had come to the same conclusion as to foul play. 
He had watched the house for some days and had 
spotted Dr. Watson as one of the obviously sus- 
picious characters who had called there. He could 
hardly arrest Watson, but when he saw a man actu- 
ally climbing out of the pantry window there came 
a limit to his restraint. Of course, I told him how 
matters stood and we continued the case together." 

"Why him? Why not us?" 

"Because it was in my mind to put that lit- 
tle test which answered so admirably. I fear you 
would not have gone so far." 

The inspector smiled. 

"Well, maybe not. I understand that I have your 
word, Mr. Holmes, that you step right out of the 
case now and that you turn all your results over to 
us." 

"Certainly, that is always my custom." 

"Well, in the name of the force I thank you. It 
seems a clear case, as you put it, and there can't be 
much difficulty over the bodies." 

"I'll show you a grim little bit of evidence," said 
Holmes, "and I am sure Amberley himself never 


982 



The Adventure of the Retired Colourman 


observed it. You'll get results. Inspector, by al- 
ways putting yourself in the other fellow's place, 
and thinking what you would do yourself. It takes 
some imagination, but it pays. Now, we will sup- 
pose that you were shut up in this little room, had 
not two minutes to live, but wanted to get even 
with the fiend who was probably mocking at you 
from the other side of the door. What would you 
do?" 

"Write a message." 

"Exactly. You would like to tell people how 
you died. No use writing on paper. That would be 
seen. If you wrote on the wall someone might rest 
upon it. Now, look here! Just above the skirting is 
scribbled with a purple indelible pencil: 'We we — ' 
That's all." 

"What do you make of that?" 

"Well, it's only a foot above the ground. The 
poor devil was on the floor dying when he wrote 
it. He lost his senses before he could finish." 

"He was writing, 'We were murdered.' " 

"That's how I read it. If you find an indelible 
pencil on the body — " 

"We'll look out for it, you may be sure. But 
those securities? Clearly there was no robbery at 
all. And yet he did possess those bonds. We veri- 
fied that." 

"You may be sure he has them hidden in a safe 
place. When the whole elopement had passed into 
history, he would suddenly discover them and an- 
nounce that the guilty couple had relented and 
sent back the plunder or had dropped it on the 
way." 

"You certainly seem to have met every diffi- 
culty," said the inspector. "Of course, he was 


bound to call us in, but why he should have gone 
to you I can't understand." 

"Pure swank!" Holmes answered. "He felt so 
clever and so sure of himself that he imagined no 
one could touch him. He could say to any suspi- 
cious neighbour, 'Look at the steps I have taken. I 
have consulted not only the police but even Sher- 
lock Holmes.' " 

The inspector laughed. 

"We must forgive you your 'even,' Mr. 
Holmes," said he, "it's as workmanlike a job as 
I can remember." 

A couple of days later my friend tossed across 
to me a copy of the bi-weekly North Surrey Ob- 
server. Under a series of flaming headlines, which 
began with "The Haven Horror" and ended with 
"Brilliant Police Investigation," there was a packed 
column of print which gave the first consecutive 
account of the affair. The concluding paragraph is 
typical of the whole. It ran thus: 

The remarkable acumen by which Inspec- 
tor MacKinnon deduced from the smell of 
paint that some other smell, that of gas, for 
example, might be concealed; the bold de- 
duction that the strong-room might also be 
the death-chamber, and the subsequent in- 
quiry which led to the discovery of the bod- 
ies in a disused well, cleverly concealed by 
a dog-kennel, should live in the history of 
crime as a standing example of the intelli- 
gence of our professional detectives. 

"Well, well, MacKinnon is a good fellow," said 
Holmes with a tolerant smile. "You can file it in 
our archives, Watson. Some day the true story may 
be told." 


983 



The Adventure of the Priory School 


e have had some dramatic entrances 
and exits upon our small stage at Baker 
Street, but I cannot recollect anything 
more sudden and startling than the first 
appearance of Thorneycroft Huxtable, M.A., Ph.D., 
etc. His card, which seemed too small to carry the 
weight of his academic distinctions, preceded him 
by a few seconds, and then he entered himself — so 
large, so pompous, and so dignified that he was 
the very embodiment of self-possession and solid- 
ity And yet his first action when the door had 
closed behind him was to stagger against the ta- 
ble, whence he slipped down upon the floor, and 
there was that majestic figure prostrate and insen- 
sible upon our bearskin hearthrug. 

We had sprung to our feet, and for a few mo- 
ments we stared in silent amazement at this pon- 
derous piece of wreckage, which told of some sud- 
den and fatal storm far out on the ocean of life. 
Then Holmes hurried with a cushion for his head 
and I with brandy for his lips. The heavy white 
face was seamed with lines of trouble, the hang- 
ing pouches under the closed eyes were leaden in 
colour, the loose mouth drooped dolorously at the 
corners, the rolling chins were unshaven. Collar 
and shirt bore the grime of a long journey, and the 
hair bristled unkempt from the well-shaped head. 
It was a sorely-stricken man who lay before us. 

"What is it, Watson?" asked Holmes. 

"Absolute exhaustion — possibly mere hunger 
and fatigue," said I, with my finger on the thready 
pulse, where the stream of life trickled thin and 
small. 

"Return ticket from Mackleton, in the North 
of England," said Holmes, drawing it from the 
watch-pocket. "It is not twelve o'clock yet. He 
has certainly been an early starter." 

The puckered eyelids had begun to quiver, and 
now a pair of vacant, grey eyes looked up at us. 
An instant later the man had scrambled on to his 
feet, his face crimson with shame. 

"Forgive this weakness, Mr. Holmes; I have 
been a little overwrought. Thank you, if I might 
have a glass of milk and a biscuit I have no doubt 
that I should be better. I came personally, Mr. 
Holmes, in order to ensure that you would return 
with me. I feared that no telegram would convince 
you of the absolute urgency of the case." 

"When you are quite restored — 

"I am quite well again. I cannot imagine how 
I came to be so weak. I wish you, Mr. Holmes, to 
come to Mackleton with me by the next train." 

My friend shook his head. 



"My colleague. Dr. Watson, could tell you that 
we are very busy at present. I am retained in 
this case of the Ferrers Documents, and the Aber- 
gavenny murder is coming up for trial. Only a 
very important issue could call me from London 
at present." 

"Important!" Our visitor threw up his hands. 
"Have you heard nothing of the abduction of the 
only son of the Duke of Holdernesse?" 

"What! the late Cabinet Minister?" 

"Exactly. We had tried to keep it out of the pa- 
pers, but there was some rumour in the Globe last 
night. I thought it might have reached your ears." 

Holmes shot out his long, thin arm and picked 
out Volume "H" in his encyclopaedia of reference. 

" 'Holdernesse, 6th Duke, K.G., P.C.' — half the 
alphabet! 'Baron Beverley, Earl of Carston' — dear 
me, what a list! 'Lord Lieutenant of Hallamshire 
since 1900. Married Edith, daughter of Sir Charles 
Appledore, 1888. Heir and only child. Lord Saltire. 
Owns about two hundred and fifty thousand acres. 
Minerals in Lancashire and Wales. Address: Carl- 
ton House Terrace; Holdernesse Hall, Hallamshire; 
Carston Castle, Bangor, Wales. Lord of the Ad- 
miralty, 1872; Chief Secretary of State for — ' Well, 
well, this man is certainly one of the greatest sub- 
jects of the Crown!" 

"The greatest and perhaps the wealthiest. I am 
aware, Mr. Holmes, that you take a very high line 
in professional matters, and that you are prepared 
to work for the work's sake. I may tell you, how- 
ever, that his Grace has already intimated that a 
cheque for five thousand pounds will be handed 
over to the person who can tell him where his son 
is, and another thousand to him who can name the 
man, or men, who have taken him." 

"It is a princely offer," said Holmes. "Wat- 
son, I think that we shall accompany Dr. Huxtable 
back to the North of England. And now. Dr. 
Huxtable, when you have consumed that milk you 
will kindly tell me what has happened, when it 
happened, how it happened, and, finally, what Dr. 
Thorneycroft Huxtable, of the Priory School, near 
Mackleton, has to do with the matter, and why 
he comes three days after an event — the state of 
your chin gives the date — to ask for my humble 
services." 

Our visitor had consumed his milk and bis- 
cuits. The light had come back to his eyes and the 
colour to his cheeks as he set himself with great 
vigour and lucidity to explain the situation. 

"I must inform you, gentlemen, that the Pri- 
ory is a preparatory school, of which I am the 


471 



The Adventure of the Priory School 


founder and principal. 'Huxtable's Sidelights on Ho- 
race' may possibly recall my name to your mem- 
ories. The Priory is, without exception, the best 
and most select preparatory school in England. 
Lord Leverstoke, the Earl of Blackwater, Sir Cath- 
cart Soames — they all have entrusted their sons to 
me. But I felt that my school had reached its zenith 
when, three weeks ago, the Duke of Holdernesse 
sent Mr. James Wilder, his secretary, with the inti- 
mation that young Lord Saltire, ten years old, his 
only son and heir, was about to be committed to 
my charge. Little did I think that this would be 
the prelude to the most crushing misfortune of my 
life. 

"On May ist the boy arrived, that being the be- 
ginning of the summer term. He was a charm- 
ing youth, and he soon fell into our ways. I may 
tell you — I trust that I am not indiscreet, but half- 
confidences are absurd in such a case — that he was 
not entirely happy at home. It is an open secret 
that the Duke's married life had not been a peace- 
ful one, and the matter had ended in a separation 
by mutual consent, the Duchess taking up her res- 
idence in the South of France. This had occurred 
very shortly before, and the boy's sympathies are 
known to have been strongly with his mother. He 
moped after her departure from Holdernesse Hall, 
and it was for this reason that the Duke desired to 
send him to my establishment. In a fortnight the 
boy was quite at home with us, and was appar- 
ently absolutely happy. 

"He was last seen on the night of May 
13th — that is, the night of last Monday. His room 
was on the second floor, and was approached 
through another larger room in which two boys 
were sleeping. These boys saw and heard nothing, 
so that it is certain that young Saltire did not pass 
out that way. His window was open, and there is 
a stout ivy plant leading to the ground. We could 
trace no footmarks below, but it is sure that this is 
the only possible exit. 

"His absence was discovered at seven o'clock 
on Tuesday morning. His bed had been slept 
in. He had dressed himself fully before going off 
in his usual school suit of black Eton jacket and 
dark grey trousers. There were no signs that any- 
one had entered the room, and it is quite certain 
that anything in the nature of cries, or a struggle, 
would have been heard, since Caunter, the elder 
boy in the inner room, is a very light sleeper. 

"When Lord Saltire's disappearance was dis- 
covered I at once called a roll of the whole es- 
tablishment, boys, masters, and servants. It was 
then that we ascertained that Lord Saltire had not 


been alone in his flight. Heidegger, the German 
master, was missing. His room was on the second 
floor, at the farther end of the building, facing the 
same way as Lord Saltire's. His bed had also been 
slept in; but he had apparently gone away partly 
dressed, since his shirt and socks were lying on the 
floor. He had undoubtedly let himself down by the 
ivy, for we could see the marks of his feet where 
he had landed on the lawn. His bicycle was kept 
in a small shed beside this lawn, and it also was 
gone. 

"He had been with me for two years, and came 
with the best references; but he was a silent, mo- 
rose man, not very popular either with masters or 
boys. No trace could be found of the fugitives, 
and now on Thursday morning we are as ignorant 
as we were on Tuesday. Inquiry was, of course, 
made at once at Holdernesse Hall. It is only a few 
miles away, and we imagined that in some sudden 
attack of home-sickness he had gone back to his 
father; but nothing had been heard of him. The 
Duke is greatly agitated — and as to me, you have 
seen yourselves the state of nervous prostration to 
which the suspense and the responsibility have re- 
duced me. Mr. Holmes, if ever you put forward 
your full powers, I implore you to do so now, for 
never in your life could you have a case which is 
more worthy of them." 

Sherlock Holmes had listened with the utmost 
intentness to the statement of the unhappy school- 
master. His drawn brows and the deep furrow be- 
tween them showed that he needed no exhorta- 
tion to concentrate all his attention upon a prob- 
lem which, apart from the tremendous interests 
involved, must appeal so directly to his love of 
the complex and the unusual. He now drew out 
his note-book and jotted down one or two memo- 
randa. 

"You have been very remiss in not coming to 
me sooner," said he, severely. "You start me on 
my investigation with a very serious handicap. It 
is inconceivable, for example, that this ivy and this 
lawn would have yielded nothing to an expert ob- 
server." 

"I am not to blame, Mr. Holmes. His Grace 
was extremely desirous to avoid all public scan- 
dal. He was afraid of his family unhappiness being 
dragged before the world. He has a deep horror of 
anything of the kind." 

"But there has been some official investiga- 
tion?" 

"Yes, sir, and it has proved most disappointing. 
An apparent clue was at once obtained, since a boy 
and a young man were reported to have been seen 


472 



The Adventure of the Priory School 


leaving a neighbouring station by an early train. 
Only last night we had news that the couple had 
been hunted down in Liverpool, and they prove 
to have no connection whatever with the matter in 
hand. Then it was that in my despair and disap- 
pointment, after a sleepless night, I came straight 
to you by the early train." 

"I suppose the local investigation was relaxed 
while this false clue was being followed up?" 

"It was entirely dropped." 

"So that three days have been wasted. The af- 
fair has been most deplorably handled." 

"I feel it, and admit it." 

"And yet the problem should be capable of ul- 
timate solution. I shall be very happy to look into 
it. Have you been able to trace any connection be- 
tween the missing boy and this German master?" 

"None at all." 

"Was he in the master's class?" 

"No; he never exchanged a word with him so 
far as I know." 

"That is certainly very singular. Had the boy a 
bicycle?" 

"No." 

"Was any other bicycle missing?" 

"No." 

"Is that certain?" 

"Quite." 

"Well, now, you do not mean to seriously sug- 
gest that this German rode off upon a bicycle in the 
dead of the night bearing the boy in his arms?" 

"Certainly not." 

"Then what is the theory in your mind?" 

"The bicycle may have been a blind. It may 
have been hidden somewhere and the pair gone 
off on foot." 

"Quite so; but it seems rather an absurd blind, 
does it not? Were there other bicycles in this 
shed?" 

"Several." 

"Would he not have hidden a couple he de- 
sired to give the idea that they had gone off upon 
them?" 

"I suppose he would." 

"Of course he would. The blind theory won't 
do. But the incident is an admirable starting-point 
for an investigation. After all, a bicycle is not an 
easy thing to conceal or to destroy. One other ques- 
tion. Did anyone call to see the boy on the day 
before he disappeared?" 


"No." 

"Did he get any letters?" 

"Yes; one letter." 

"From whom?" 

"From his father." 

"Do you open the boys' letters?" 

"No." 

"How do you know it was from the father?" 

"The coat of arms was on the envelope, and it 
was addressed in the Duke's peculiar stiff hand. 
Besides, the Duke remembers having written." 

"When had he a letter before that?" 

"Not for several days." 

"Had he ever one from France?" 

"No; never." 

"You see the point of my questions, of course. 
Either the boy was carried off by force or he went 
of his own free will. In the latter case you would 
expect that some prompting from outside would 
be needed to make so young a lad do such a thing. 
If he has had no visitors, that prompting must have 
come in letters. Hence I try to find out who were 
his correspondents." 

"I fear I cannot help you much. His only corre- 
spondent, so far as I know, was his own father." 

"Who wrote to him on the very day of his dis- 
appearance. Were the relations between father and 
son very friendly?" 

"His Grace is never very friendly with any- 
one. He is completely immersed in large public 
questions, and is rather inaccessible to all ordinary 
emotions. But he was always kind to the boy in his 
own way." 

"But the sympathies of the latter were with the 
mother?" 

"Yes." 

"Did he say so?" 

"No." 

"The Duke, then?" 

"Good heavens, no!" 

"Then how could you know?" 

"I have had some confidential talks with Mr. 
James Wilder, his Grace's secretary. It was he who 
gave me the information about Lord Saltire's feel- 
ings." 

"I see. By the way, that last letter of the 
Duke's — was it found in the boy's room after he 
was gone?" 

"No; he had taken it with him. I think, Mr. 
Holmes, it is time that we were leaving for Eu- 
ston." 


473 



The Adventure of the Priory School 


"I will order a four-wheeler. In a quarter of an 
hour we shall be at your service. If you are tele- 
graphing home, Mr. Huxtable, it would be well to 
allow the people in your neighbourhood to imag- 
ine that the inquiry is still going on in Liverpool, 
or wherever else that red herring led your pack. In 
the meantime I will do a little quiet work at your 
own doors, and perhaps the scent is not so cold 
but that two old hounds like Watson and myself 
may get a sniff of it." 

That evening found us in the cold, bracing 
atmosphere of the Peak country, in which Dr. 
Huxtable's famous school is situated. It was al- 
ready dark when we reached it. A card was lying 
on the hall table, and the butler whispered some- 
thing to his master, who turned to us with agita- 
tion in every heavy feature. 

"The Duke is here," said he. "The Duke and 
Mr. Wilder are in the study. Come, gentlemen, and 
I will introduce you." 

I was, of course, familiar with the pictures of 
the famous statesman, but the man himself was 
very different from his representation. He was 
a tall and stately person, scrupulously dressed, 
with a drawn, thin face, and a nose which was 
grotesquely curved and long. His complexion was 
of a dead pallor, which was more startling by con- 
trast with a long, dwindling beard of vivid red, 
which flowed down over his white waistcoat, with 
his watch-chain gleaming through its fringe. Such 
was the stately presence who looked stonily at us 
from the centre of Dr. Huxtable's hearthrug. Be- 
side him stood a very young man, whom I un- 
derstood to be Wilder, the private secretary. He 
was small, nervous, alert, with intelligent, light- 
blue eyes and mobile features. It was he who at 
once, in an incisive and positive tone, opened the 
conversation. 

"I called this morning. Dr. Huxtable, too late to 
prevent you from starting for London. 1 learned 
that your object was to invite Mr. Sherlock Holmes 
to undertake the conduct of this case. His Grace 
is surprised. Dr. Huxtable, that you should have 
taken such a step without consulting him." 

"When I learned that the police had failed — " 

"His Grace is by no means convinced that the 
police have failed." 

"But surely, Mr. Wilder — " 

"You are well aware. Dr. Huxtable, that his 
Grace is particularly anxious to avoid all public 
scandal. He prefers to take as few people as possi- 
ble into his confidence." 


"The matter can be easily remedied," said the 
brow-beaten doctor; "Mr. Sherlock Holmes can re- 
turn to London by the morning train." 

"Hardly that. Doctor, hardly that," said 
Holmes, in his blandest voice. "This northern air 
is invigorating and pleasant, so I propose to spend 
a few days upon your moors, and to occupy my 
mind as best I may. Whether I have the shelter of 
your roof or of the village inn is, of course, for you 
to decide." 

I could see that the unfortunate doctor was in 
the last stage of indecision, from which he was 
rescued by the deep, sonorous voice of the red- 
bearded Duke, which boomed out like a dinner- 
gong. 

"I agree with Mr. Wilder, Dr. Huxtable, that you 
would have done wisely to consult me. But since 
Mr. Holmes has already been taken into your con- 
fidence, it would indeed be absurd that we should 
not avail ourselves of his services. Far from go- 
ing to the inn, Mr. Holmes, I should be pleased if 
you would come and stay with me at Holdernesse 
Hall." 

"I thank your Grace. For the purposes of my 
investigation I think that it would be wiser for me 
to remain at the scene of the mystery." 

"Just as you like, Mr. Holmes. Any information 
which Mr. Wilder or I can give you is, of course, at 
your disposal." 

"It will probably be necessary for me to see you 
at the Hall," said Holmes. "I would only ask you 
now, sir, whether you have formed any explana- 
tion in your own mind as to the mysterious disap- 
pearance of your son?" 

"No, sir, I have not." 

"Excuse me if I allude to that which is painful 
to you, but I have no alternative. Do you think that 
the Duchess had anything to do with the matter?" 

The great Minister showed perceptible hesita- 
tion. 

"I do not think so," he said, at last. 

"The other most obvious explanation is that the 
child has been kidnapped for the purpose of levy- 
ing ransom. You have not had any demand of the 
sort?" 

"No, sir." 

"One more question, your Grace. I understand 
that you wrote to your son upon the day when this 
incident occurred." 

"No; I wrote upon the day before." 

"Exactly. But he received it on that day?" 

"Yes." 


474 



The Adventure of the Priory School 


"Was there anything in your letter which might 
have unbalanced him or induced him to take such 
a step?" 

"No, sir, certainly not." 

"Did you post that letter yourself?" 

The nobleman's reply was interrupted by his 
secretary, who broke in with some heat. 

"His Grace is not in the habit of posting letters 
himself," said he. "This letter was laid with others 
upon the study table, and I myself put them in the 
post-bag." 

"You are sure this one was among them?" 

"Yes; I observed it." 

"How many letters did your Grace write that 
day?" 

"Twenty or thirty. I have a large correspon- 
dence. But surely this is somewhat irrelevant?" 

"Not entirely," said Holmes. 

"For my own part," the Duke continued, "I 
have advised the police to turn their attention to 
the South of France. I have already said that I 
do not believe that the Duchess would encourage 
so monstrous an action, but the lad had the most 
wrong-headed opinions, and it is possible that he 
may have fled to her, aided and abetted by this 
German. I think. Dr. Huxtable, that we will now 
return to the Hall." 

I could see that there were other questions 
which Holmes would have wished to put; but the 
nobleman's abrupt manner showed that the inter- 
view was at an end. It was evident that to his 
intensely aristocratic nature this discussion of his 
intimate family affairs with a stranger was most 
abhorrent, and that he feared lest every fresh ques- 
tion would throw a fiercer light into the discreetly 
shadowed corners of his ducal history. 

When the nobleman and his secretary had left, 
my friend flung himself at once with characteristic 
eagerness into the investigation. 

The boy's chamber was carefully examined, 
and yielded nothing save the absolute conviction 
that it was only through the window that he could 
have escaped. The German master's room and ef- 
fects gave no further clue. In his case a trailer 
of ivy had given way under his weight, and we 
saw by the light of a lantern the mark on the lawn 
where his heels had come down. That one dint in 
the short green grass was the only material witness 
left of this inexplicable nocturnal flight. 

Sherlock Holmes left the house alone, and only 
returned after eleven. He had obtained a large 
ordnance map of the neighbourhood, and this he 


brought into my room, where he laid it out on the 
bed, and, having balanced the lamp in the middle 
of it, he began to smoke over it, and occasionally to 
point out objects of interest with the reeking amber 
of his pipe. 

"This case grows upon me, Watson," said he. 
"There are decidedly some points of interest in 
connection with it. In this early stage I want you 
to realize those geographical features which may 
have a good deal to do with our investigation. 

"Look at this map. This dark square is the Pri- 
ory School. I'll put a pin in it. Now, this line is the 
main road. You see that it runs east and west past 
the school, and you see also that there is no side 
road for a mile either way. If these two folk passed 
away by road it was this road." 

"Exactly." 

"By a singular and happy chance we are able to 
some extent to check what passed along this road 
during the night in question. At this point, where 
my pipe is now resting, a country constable was 
on duty from twelve to six. It is, as you perceive, 
the first cross road on the east side. This man de- 
clares that he was not absent from his post for an 
instant, and he is positive that neither boy nor man 
could have gone that way unseen. I have spoken 
with this policeman to-night, and he appears to me 
to be a perfectly reliable person. That blocks this 
end. We have now to deal with the other. There 
is an inn here, the Red Bull, the landlady of which 
was ill. She had sent to Mackleton for a doctor, 
but he did not arrive until morning, being absent 
at another case. The people at the inn were alert 
all night, awaiting his coming, and one or other of 
them seems to have continually had an eye upon 
the road. They declare that no one passed. If their 
evidence is good, then we are fortunate enough to 
be able to block the west, and also to be able to say 
that the fugitives did not use the road at all." 

"But the bicycle?" I objected. 

"Quite so. We will come to the bicycle 
presently. To continue our reasoning: if these peo- 
ple did not go by the road, they must have tra- 
versed the country to the north of the house or 
to the south of the house. That is certain. Let us 
weigh the one against the other. On the south of 
the house is, as you perceive, a large district of 
arable land, cut up into small fields, with stone 
walls between them. There, I admit that a bicycle 
is impossible. We can dismiss the idea. We turn to 
the country on the north. Here there lies a grove of 
trees, marked as the 'Ragged Shaw,' and on the far- 
ther side stretches a great rolling moor. Lower Gill 


475 



The Adventure of the Priory School 


Moor, extending for ten miles and sloping gradu- 
ally upwards. Here, at one side of this wilderness, 
is Holdernesse Hall, ten miles by road, but only six 
across the moor. It is a peculiarly desolate plain. A 
few moor farmers have small holdings, where they 
rear sheep and cattle. Except these, the plover and 
the curlew are the only inhabitants until you come 
to the Chesterfield high road. There is a church 
there, you see, a few cottages, and an inn. Beyond 
that the hills become precipitous. Surely it is here 
to the north that our quest must lie." 

"But the bicycle?" I persisted. 

"Well, well!" said Holmes, impatiently. "A 
good cyclist does not need a high road. The moor 
is intersected with paths and the moon was at the 
full. Halloa! what is this?" 

There was an agitated knock at the door, and an 
instant afterwards Dr. Huxtable was in the room. 
In his hand he held a blue cricket-cap, with a white 
chevron on the peak. 

"At last we have a clue!" he cried. "Thank 
Heaven! at last we are on the dear boy's track! 
It is his cap." 

"Where was it found?" 

"In the van of the gipsies who camped on the 
moor. They left on Tuesday. To-day the police 
traced them down and examined their caravan. 
This was found." 

"How do they account for it?" 

"They shuffled and lied — said that they found 
it on the moor on Tuesday morning. They know 
where he is, the rascals! Thank goodness, they are 
all safe under lock and key. Either the fear of the 
law or the Duke's purse will certainly get out of 
them all that they know." 

"So far, so good," said Holmes, when the doc- 
tor had at last left the room. "It at least bears out 
the theory that it is on the side of the Lower Gill 
Moor that we must hope for results. The police 
have really done nothing locally, save the arrest 
of these gipsies. Look here, Watson! There is a 
watercourse across the moor. You see it marked 
here in the map. In some parts it widens into a 
morass. This is particularly so in the region be- 
tween Holdernesse Hall and the school. It is vain 
to look elsewhere for tracks in this dry weather; 
but at that point there is certainly a chance of some 
record being left. I will call you early to-morrow 
morning, and you and I will try if we can throw 
some little light upon the mystery." 

The day was just breaking when I woke to find 
the long, thin form of Holmes by my bedside. 


He was fully dressed, and had apparently already 
been out. 

"I have done the lawn and the bicycle shed," 
said he. "I have also had a ramble through the 
Ragged Shaw. Now, Watson, there is cocoa ready 
in the next room. I must beg you to hurry, for we 
have a great day before us." 

His eyes shone, and his cheek was flushed with 
the exhilaration of the master workman who sees 
his work lie ready before him. A very different 
Holmes, this active, alert man, from the introspec- 
tive and pallid dreamer of Baker Street. I felt, as 
I looked upon that supple figure, alive with ner- 
vous energy, that it was indeed a strenuous day 
that awaited us. 

And yet it opened in the blackest disappoint- 
ment. With high hopes we struck across the peaty, 
russet moor, intersected with a thousand sheep 
paths, until we came to the broad, light-green belt 
which marked the morass between us and Holder- 
nesse. Certainly, if the lad had gone homewards, 
he must have passed this, and he could not pass 
it without leaving his traces. But no sign of him 
or the German could be seen. With a darkening 
face my friend strode along the margin, eagerly 
observant of every muddy stain upon the mossy 
surface. Sheep-marks there were in profusion, and 
at one place, some miles down, cows had left their 
tracks. Nothing more. 

"Check number one," said Holmes, looking 
gloomily over the rolling expanse of the moor. 
"There is another morass down yonder and a nar- 
row neck between. Halloa! halloa! halloa! what 
have we here?" 

We had come on a small black ribbon of path- 
way. In the middle of it, clearly marked on the 
sodden soil, was the track of a bicycle. 

"Hurrah!" I cried. "We have it." 

But Holmes was shaking his head, and his face 
was puzzled and expectant rather than joyous. 

"A bicycle, certainly, but not the bicycle," said 
he. "I am familiar with forty-two different im- 
pressions left by tyres. This, as you perceive, is 
a Dunlop, with a patch upon the outer cover. Hei- 
degger's tyres were Palmer's, leaving longitudi- 
nal stripes. Aveling, the mathematical master, was 
sure upon the point. Therefore, it is not Heideg- 
ger's track." 

"The boy's, then?" 

"Possibly, if we could prove a bicycle to have 
been in his possession. But this we have utterly 
failed to do. This track, as you perceive, was made 


476 



The Adventure of the Priory School 


by a rider who was going from the direction of the 
school." 

"Or towards it?" 

"No, no, my dear Watson. The more deeply 
sunk impression is, of course, the hind wheel, 
upon which the weight rests. You perceive several 
places where it has passed across and obliterated 
the more shallow mark of the front one. It was un- 
doubtedly heading away from the school. It may 
or may not be connected with our inquiry, but we 
will follow it backwards before we go any farther." 

We did so, and at the end of a few hundred 
yards lost the tracks as we emerged from the 
boggy portion of the moor. Following the path 
backwards, we picked out another spot, where a 
spring trickled across it. Here, once again, was the 
mark of the bicycle, though nearly obliterated by 
the hoofs of cows. After that there was no sign, but 
the path ran right on into Ragged Shaw, the wood 
which backed on to the school. From this wood 
the cycle must have emerged. Holmes sat down 
on a boulder and rested his chin in his hands. I 
had smoked two cigarettes before he moved. 

"Well, well," said he, at last. "It is, of course, 
possible that a cunning man might change the tyre 
of his bicycle in order to leave unfamiliar tracks. A 
criminal who was capable of such a thought is a 
man whom I should be proud to do business with. 
We will leave this question undecided and hark 
back to our morass again, for we have left a good 
deal unexplored." 

We continued our systematic survey of the 
edge of the sodden portion of the moor, and soon 
our perseverance was gloriously rewarded. Right 
across the lower part of the bog lay a miry path. 
Holmes gave a cry of delight as he approached 
it. An impression like a fine bundle of telegraph 
wires ran down the centre of it. It was the Palmer 
tyre. 

"Here is Herr Heidegger, sure enough!" cried 
Holmes, exultantly. "My reasoning seems to have 
been pretty sound, Watson." 

"I congratulate you." 

"But we have a long way still to go. Kindly 
walk clear of the path. Now let us follow the trail. 
I fear that it will not lead very far." 

We found, however, as we advanced that 
this portion of the moor is intersected with soft 
patches, and, though we frequently lost sight of 
the track, we always succeeded in picking it up 
once more. 

"Do you observe," said Holmes, "that the rider 
is now undoubtedly forcing the pace? There can 


be no doubt of it. Look at this impression, where 
you get both tyres clear. The one is as deep as the 
other. That can only mean that the rider is throw- 
ing his weight on to the handle-bar, as a man does 
when he is sprinting. By Jove! he has had a fall." 

There was a broad, irregular smudge covering 
some yards of the track. Then there were a few 
footmarks, and the tyre reappeared once more. 

"A side-slip," I suggested. 

Holmes held up a crumpled branch of flower- 
ing gorse. To my horror I perceived that the yellow 
blossoms were all dabbled with crimson. On the 
path, too, and among the heather were dark stains 
of clotted blood. 

"Bad!" said Holmes. "Bad! Stand clear, Wat- 
son! Not an unnecessary footstep! What do I 
read here? He fell wounded, he stood up, he 
remounted, he proceeded. But there is no other 
track. Cattle on this side path. He was surely not 
gored by a bull? Impossible! But I see no traces 
of anyone else. We must push on, Watson. Surely 
with stains as well as the track to guide us he can- 
not escape us now." 

Our search was not a very long one. The tracks 
of the tyre began to curve fantastically upon the 
wet and shining path. Suddenly, as I looked ahead, 
the gleam of metal caught my eye from amid the 
thick gorse bushes. Out of them we dragged a bi- 
cycle, Palmer-tyred, one pedal bent, and the whole 
front of it horribly smeared and slobbered with 
blood. On the other side of the bushes a shoe was 
projecting. We ran round, and there lay the unfor- 
tunate rider. He was a tall man, full bearded, with 
spectacles, one glass of which had been knocked 
out. The cause of his death was a frightful blow 
upon the head, which had crushed in part of his 
skull. That he could have gone on after receiv- 
ing such an injury said much for the vitality and 
courage of the man. He wore shoes, but no socks, 
and his open coat disclosed a night-shirt beneath 
it. It was undoubtedly the German master. 

Holmes turned the body over reverently, and 
examined it with great attention. He then sat in 
deep thought for a time, and I could see by his 
ruffled brow that this grim discovery had not, in 
his opinion, advanced us much in our inquiry. 

"It is a little difficult to know what to do, Wat- 
son," said he, at last. "My own inclinations are to 
push this inquiry on, for we have already lost so 
much time that we cannot afford to waste another 
hour. On the other hand, we are bound to inform 
the police of the discovery, and to see that this poor 
fellow's body is looked after." 

"I could take a note back." 


477 



The Adventure of the Priory School 


"But I need your company and assistance. Wait 
a bit! There is a fellow cutting peat up yonder. 
Bring him over here, and he will guide the police." 

I brought the peasant across, and Holmes dis- 
patched the frightened man with a note to Dr. 
Huxtable. 

"Now, Watson," said he, "we have picked up 
two clues this morning. One is the bicycle with 
the Palmer tyre, and we see what that has led to. 
The other is the bicycle with the patched Dunlop. 
Before we start to investigate that, let us try to re- 
alize what we do know so as to make the most of it, 
and to separate the essential from the accidental." 

"First of all I wish to impress upon you that the 
boy certainly left of his own free will. He got down 
from his window and he went off, either alone or 
with someone. That is sure." 

I assented. 

"Well, now, let us turn to this unfortunate Ger- 
man master. The boy was fully dressed when he 
fled. Therefore, he foresaw what he would do. But 
the German went without his socks. He certainly 
acted on very short notice." 

"Undoubtedly." 

"Why did he go? Because, from his bedroom 
window, he saw the flight of the boy. Because he 
wished to overtake him and bring him back. He 
seized his bicycle, pursued the lad, and in pursu- 
ing him met his death." 

"So it would seem." 

"Now I come to the critical part of my argu- 
ment. The natural action of a man in pursuing a 
little boy would be to run after him. He would 
know that he could overtake him. But the German 
does not do so. He turns to his bicycle. I am told 
that he was an excellent cyclist. He would not do 
this if he did not see that the boy had some swift 
means of escape." 

"The other bicycle." 

"Let us continue our reconstruction. He meets 
his death five miles from the school — not by a bul- 
let, mark you, which even a lad might conceivably 
discharge, but by a savage blow dealt by a vigor- 
ous arm. The lad, then, had a companion in his 
flight. And the flight was a swift one, since it took 
five miles before an expert cyclist could overtake 
them. Yet we survey the ground round the scene 
of the tragedy. What do we find? A few cattle 
tracks, nothing more. I took a wide sweep round, 
and there is no path within fifty yards. Another cy- 
clist could have had nothing to do with the actual 
murder. Nor were there any human footmarks." 


"Holmes," I cried, "this is impossible." 

"Admirable!" he said. "A most illuminating re- 
mark. It is impossible as I state it, and therefore I 
must in some respect have stated it wrong. Yet you 
saw for yourself. Can you suggest any fallacy?" 

"He could not have fractured his skull in a 
fall?" 

"In a morass, Watson?" 

"I am at my wit's end." 

"Tut, tut; we have solved some worse prob- 
lems. At least we have plenty of material, if we can 
only use it. Come, then, and, having exhausted 
the Palmer, let us see what the Dunlop with the 
patched cover has to offer us." 

We picked up the track and followed it on- 
wards for some distance; but soon the moor rose 
into a long, heather-tufted curve, and we left the 
watercourse behind us. No further help from 
tracks could be hoped for. At the spot where we 
saw the last of the Dunlop tyre it might equally 
have led to Holdernesse Hall, the stately towers of 
which rose some miles to our left, or to a low, grey 
village which lay in front of us, and marked the 
position of the Chesterfield high road. 

As we approached the forbidding and squalid 
inn, with the sign of a game-cock above the door. 
Holmes gave a sudden groan and clutched me by 
the shoulder to save himself from falling. He had 
had one of those violent strains of the ankle which 
leave a man helpless. With difficulty he limped up 
to the door, where a squat, dark, elderly man was 
smoking a black clay pipe. 

"How are you, Mr. Reuben Hayes?" said 
Holmes. 

"Who are you, and how do you get my name so 
pat?" the countryman answered, with a suspicious 
flash of a pair of cunning eyes. 

"Well, it's printed on the board above your 
head. It's easy to see a man who is master of his 
own house. I suppose you haven't such a thing as 
a carriage in your stables?" 

"No; I have not." 

"I can hardly put my foot to the ground." 

"Don't put it to the ground." 

"But I can't walk." 

"Well, then, hop." 

Mr. Reuben Hayes's manner was far from gra- 
cious, but Holmes took it with admirable good- 
humour. 

"Look here, my man," said he. "This is really 
rather an awkward fix for me. I don't mind how I 
get on." 

"Neither do I," said the morose landlord. 


478 



The Adventure of the Priory School 


"The matter is very important. I would offer 
you a sovereign for the use of a bicycle." 

The landlord pricked up his ears. 

"Where do you want to go?" 

"To Holdernesse Hall." 

"Pals of the Dook, I suppose?" said the land- 
lord, surveying our mud-stained garments with 
ironical eyes. 

Holmes laughed good-naturedly. 

"He'll be glad to see us, anyhow." 

"Why?" 

"Because we bring him news of his lost son." 

The landlord gave a very visible start. 

"What, you're on his track?" 

"He has been heard of in Liverpool. They ex- 
pect to get him every hour." 

Again a swift change passed over the heavy, 
unshaven face. His manner was suddenly genial. 

"I've less reason to wish the Dook well than 
most men," said he, "for I was his head coachman 
once, and cruel bad he treated me. It was him that 
sacked me without a character on the word of a 
lying corn-chandler. But I'm glad to hear that the 
young lord was heard of in Liverpool, and I'll help 
you to take the news to the Hall." 

"Thank you," said Holmes. "We'll have some 
food first. Then you can bring round the bicycle." 

"I haven't got a bicycle." 

Holmes held up a sovereign. 

"I tell you, man, that I haven't got one. I'll let 
you have two horses as far as the Hall." 

"Well, well," said Holmes, "we'll talk about it 
when we've had something to eat." 

When we were left alone in the stone-flagged 
kitchen it was astonishing how rapidly that 
sprained ankle recovered. It was nearly nightfall, 
and we had eaten nothing since early morning, so 
that we spent some time over our meal. Holmes 
was lost in thought, and once or twice he walked 
over to the window and stared earnestly out. It 
opened on to a squalid courtyard. In the far cor- 
ner was a smithy, where a grimy lad was at work. 
On the other side were the stables. Holmes had sat 
down again after one of these excursions, when he 
suddenly sprang out of his chair with a loud ex- 
clamation. 

"By Heaven, Watson, I believe that I've got it!" 
he cried. "Yes, yes, it must be so. Watson, do you 
remember seeing any cow-tracks to-day?" 

"Yes, several." 


"Where?" 

"Well, everywhere. They were at the morass, 
and again on the path, and again near where poor 
Heidegger met his death." 

"Exactly. Well, now, Watson, how many cows 
did you see on the moor?" 

"I don't remember seeing any." 

"Strange, Watson, that we should see tracks all 
along our line, but never a cow on the whole moor; 
very strange, Watson, eh?" 

"Yes, it is strange." 

"Now, Watson, make an effort; throw your 
mind back! Can you see those tracks upon the 
path?" 

"Yes, I can." 

"Can you recall that the tracks were some- 
times like that, Watson" — he arranged a number 


of bread-crumbs in this fashion — : : : : : — "and 
sometimes like this" — : . — "and occa- 


sionally like this" — . . . ." Can you remember 

that?" 

"No, I cannot." 

"But I can. I could swear to it. However, we 
will go back at our leisure and verify it. What a 
blind beetle I have been not to draw my conclu- 
sion!" 

"And what is your conclusion?" 

"Only that it is a remarkable cow which walks, 
canters, and gallops. By George, Watson, it was no 
brain of a country publican that thought out such 
a blind as that! The coast seems to be clear, save 
for that lad in the smithy. Let us slip out and see 
what we can see." 

There were two rough-haired, unkempt horses 
in the tumble-down stable. Holmes raised the hind 
leg of one of them and laughed aloud. 

"Old shoes, but newly shod — old shoes, but 
new nails. This case deserves to be a classic. Let 
us go across to the smithy." 

The lad continued his work without regarding 
us. I saw Holmes's eye darting to right and left 
among the litter of iron and wood which was scat- 
tered about the floor. Suddenly, however, we heard 
a step behind us, and there was the landlord, his 
heavy eyebrows drawn over his savage eyes, his 
swarthy features convulsed with passion. He held 
a short, metal-headed stick in his hand, and he ad- 
vanced in so menacing a fashion that I was right 
glad to feel the revolver in my pocket. 

"You infernal spies!" the man cried. "What are 
you doing there?" 


479 



The Adventure of the Priory School 


"Why, Mr. Reuben Hayes," said Holmes, coolly, 
"one might think that you were afraid of our find- 
ing something out." 

The man mastered himself with a violent effort, 
and his grim mouth loosened into a false laugh, 
which was more menacing than his frown. 

"You're welcome to all you can find out in my 
smithy," said he. "But look here, mister, I don't 
care for folk poking about my place without my 
leave, so the sooner you pay your score and get 
out of this the better I shall be pleased." 

"All right, Mr. Hayes — no harm meant," said 
Holmes. "We have been having a look at your 
horses, but I think I'll walk after all. It's not far, 
I believe." 

"Not more than two miles to the Hall gates. 
That's the road to the left." He watched us with 
sullen eyes until we had left his premises. 

We did not go very far along the road, for 
Holmes stopped the instant that the curve hid us 
from the landlord's view. 

"We were warm, as the children say, at that 
inn," said he. "I seem to grow colder every step 
that I take away from it. No, no; I can't possibly 
leave it." 

"I am convinced," said I, "that this Reuben 
Hayes knows all about it. A more self-evident vil- 
lain I never saw." 

"Oh! he impressed you in that way, did he? 
There are the horses, there is the smithy. Yes, it 
is an interesting place, this Fighting Cock. I think 
we shall have another look at it in an unobtrusive 
way." 

A long, sloping hillside, dotted with grey lime- 
stone boulders, stretched behind us. We had 
turned off the road, and were making our way up 
the hill, when, looking in the direction of Holder- 
nesse Hall, I saw a cyclist coming swiftly along. 

"Get down, Watson!" cried Holmes, with a 
heavy hand upon my shoulder. We had hardly 
sunk from view when the man flew past us on 
the road. Amid a rolling cloud of dust I caught a 
glimpse of a pale, agitated face — a face with hor- 
ror in every lineament, the mouth open, the eyes 
staring wildly in front. It was like some strange 
caricature of the dapper James Wilder whom we 
had seen the night before. 

"The Duke's secretary!" cried Holmes. "Come, 
Watson, let us see what he does." 

We scrambled from rock to rock until in a few 
moments we had made our way to a point from 
which we could see the front door of the inn. 


Wilder's bicycle was leaning against the wall be- 
side it. No one was moving about the house, nor 
could we catch a glimpse of any faces at the win- 
dows. Slowly the twilight crept down as the sun 
sank behind the high towers of Holdernesse Hall. 
Then in the gloom we saw the two side-lamps of 
a trap light up in the stable yard of the inn, and 
shortly afterwards heard the rattle of hoofs, as it 
wheeled out into the road and tore off at a furious 
pace in the direction of Chesterfield. 

"What do you make of that, Watson?" Holmes 
whispered. 

"It looks like a flight." 

"A single man in a dog-cart, so far as I could 
see. Well, it certainly was not Mr. James Wilder, 
for there he is at the door." 

A red square of light had sprung out of the 
darkness. In the middle of it was the black fig- 
ure of the secretary, his head advanced, peering 
out into the night. It was evident that he was ex- 
pecting someone. Then at last there were steps in 
the road, a second figure was visible for an instant 
against the light, the door shut, and all was black 
once more. Five minutes later a lamp was lit in a 
room upon the first floor. 

"It seems to be a curious class of custom that is 
done by the Fighting Cock," said Holmes. 

"The bar is on the other side." 

"Quite so. These are what one may call the pri- 
vate guests. Now, what in the world is Mr. James 
Wilder doing in that den at this hour of night, and 
who is the companion who comes to meet him 
there? Come, Watson, we must really take a risk 
and try to investigate this a little more closely." 

Together we stole down to the road and crept 
across to the door of the inn. The bicycle still 
leaned against the wall. Holmes struck a match 
and held it to the back wheel, and I heard him 
chuckle as the light fell upon a patched Dunlop 
tyre. Up above us was the lighted window. 

"I must have a peep through that, Watson. If 
you bend your back and support yourself upon the 
wall, I think that I can manage." 

An instant later his feet were on my shoulders. 
But he was hardly up before he was down again. 

"Come, my friend," said he, "our day's work 
has been quite long enough. I think that we have 
gathered all that we can. It's a long walk to the 
school, and the sooner we get started the better." 

He hardly opened his lips during that weary 
trudge across the moor, nor would he enter the 


480 



The Adventure of the Priory School 


school when he reached it, but went on to Mackle- 
ton Station, whence he could send some telegrams. 
Late at night I heard him consoling Dr. Huxtable, 
prostrated by the tragedy of his master's death, 
and later still he entered my room as alert and 
vigorous as he had been when he started in the 
morning. "All goes well, my friend," said he. "I 
promise that before to-morrow evening we shall 
have reached the solution of the mystery." 

At eleven o'clock next morning my friend and I 
were walking up the famous yew avenue of Hold- 
ernesse Hall. We were ushered through the mag- 
nificent Elizabethan doorway and into his Grace's 
study. There we found Mr. James Wilder, demure 
and courtly, but with some trace of that wild terror 
of the night before still lurking in his furtive eyes 
and in his twitching features. 

"You have come to see his Grace? I am sorry; 
but the fact is that the Duke is far from well. He 
has been very much upset by the tragic news. We 
received a telegram from Dr. Huxtable yesterday 
afternoon, which told us of your discovery." 

"I must see the Duke, Mr. Wilder." 

"But he is in his room." 

"Then I must go to his room." 

"I believe he is in his bed." 

"I will see him there." 

Holmes's cold and inexorable manner showed 
the secretary that it was useless to argue with him. 

"Very good, Mr. Holmes; I will tell him that 
you are here." 

After half an hour's delay the great nobleman 
appeared. His face was more cadaverous than 
ever, his shoulders had rounded, and he seemed 
to me to be an altogether older man than he had 
been the morning before. He greeted us with a 
stately courtesy and seated himself at his desk, his 
red beard streaming down on to the table. 

"Well, Mr. Holmes?" said he. 

But my friend's eyes were fixed upon the sec- 
retary, who stood by his master's chair. 

"I think, your Grace, that I could speak more 
freely in Mr. Wilder's absence." 

The man turned a shade paler and cast a ma- 
lignant glance at Holmes. 

"If your Grace wishes — " 

"Yes, yes; you had better go. Now, Mr. Holmes, 
what have you to say?" 

My friend waited until the door had closed be- 
hind the retreating secretary. 


"The fact is, your Grace," said he, "that my col- 
league, Dr. Watson, and myself had an assurance 
from Dr. Huxtable that a reward had been offered 
in this case. I should like to have this confirmed 
from your own lips." 

"Certainly, Mr. Holmes." 

"It amounted, if I am correctly informed, to 
five thousand pounds to anyone who will tell you 
where your son is?" 

"Exactly." 

"And another thousand to the man who will 
name the person or persons who keep him in cus- 
tody?" 

"Exactly." 

"Under the latter heading is included, no 
doubt, not only those who may have taken him 
away, but also those who conspire to keep him in 
his present position?" 

"Yes, yes," cried the Duke, impatiently. "If 
you do your work well, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, you 
will have no reason to complain of niggardly treat- 
ment." 

My friend rubbed his thin hands together with 
an appearance of avidity which was a surprise to 
me, who knew his frugal tastes. 

"I fancy that I see your Grace's cheque-book 
upon the table," said he. "I should be glad if you 
would make me out a cheque for six thousand 
pounds. It would be as well, perhaps, for you to 
cross it. The Capital and Counties Bank, Oxford 
Street branch, are my agents." 

His Grace sat very stern and upright in his 
chair, and looked stonily at my friend. 

"Is this a joke, Mr. Holmes? It is hardly a sub- 
ject for pleasantry." 

"Not at all, your Grace. I was never more 
earnest in my life." 

"What do you mean, then?" 

"I mean that I have earned the reward. I know 
where your son is, and I know some, at least, of 
those who are holding him." 

The Duke's beard had turned more aggres- 
sively red than ever against his ghastly white face. 

"Where is he?" he gasped. 

"He is, or was last night, at the Fighting Cock 
Inn, about two miles from your park gate." 

The Duke fell back in his chair. 

"And whom do you accuse?" 

Sherlock Holmes's answer was an astounding 
one. He stepped swiftly forward and touched the 
Duke upon the shoulder. 

"I accuse you,” said he. "And now, your Grace, 
I'll trouble you for that cheque." 


481 



The Adventure of the Priory School 


Never shall I forget the Duke's appearance as 
he sprang up and clawed with his hands like one 
who is sinking into an abyss. Then, with an ex- 
traordinary effort of aristocratic self-command, he 
sat down and sank his face in his hands. It was 
some minutes before he spoke. 

"How much do you know?" he asked at last, 
without raising his head. 

"I saw you together last night." 

"Does anyone else besides your friend know?" 

"I have spoken to no one." 

The Duke took a pen in his quivering fingers 
and opened his cheque-book. 

"I shall be as good as my word, Mr. Holmes. 
I am about to write your cheque, however unwel- 
come the information which you have gained may 
be to me. When the offer was first made I little 
thought the turn which events might take. But 
you and your friend are men of discretion, Mr. 
Holmes?" 

"I hardly understand your Grace." 

"I must put it plainly, Mr. Holmes. If only you 
two know of this incident, there is no reason why 
it should go any farther. I think twelve thousand 
pounds is the sum that I owe you, is it not?" 

But Holmes smiled and shook his head. 

"I fear, your Grace, that matters can hardly 
be arranged so easily. There is the death of this 
schoolmaster to be accounted for." 

"But James knew nothing of that. You cannot 
hold him responsible for that. It was the work of 
this brutal ruffian whom he had the misfortune to 
employ." 

"I must take the view, your Grace, that when a 
man embarks upon a crime he is morally guilty of 
any other crime which may spring from it. " 

"Morally, Mr. Holmes. No doubt you are right. 
But surely not in the eyes of the law. A man cannot 
be condemned for a murder at which he was not 
present, and which he loathes and abhors as much 
as you do. The instant that he heard of it he made 
a complete confession to me, so filled was he with 
horror and remorse. He lost not an hour in break- 
ing entirely with the murderer. Oh, Mr. Holmes, 
you must save him — you must save him! I tell you 
that you must save him!" The Duke had dropped 
the last attempt at self-command, and was pac- 
ing the room with a convulsed face and with his 
clenched hands raving in the air. At last he mas- 
tered himself and sat down once more at his desk. 
"I appreciate your conduct in coming here before 
you spoke to anyone else," said he. "At least, we 


may take counsel how far we can minimize this 
hideous scandal." 

"Exactly," said Holmes. "I think, your Grace, 
that this can only be done by absolute and com- 
plete frankness between us. I am disposed to help 
your Grace to the best of my ability; but in order to 
do so I must understand to the last detail how the 
matter stands. I realize that your words applied to 
Mr. James Wilder, and that he is not the murderer." 

"No; the murderer has escaped." 

Sherlock Holmes smiled demurely. 

"Your Grace can hardly have heard of any 
small reputation which I possess, or you would 
not imagine that it is so easy to escape me. Mr. 
Reuben Hayes was arrested at Chesterfield on my 
information at eleven o'clock last night. I had a 
telegram from the head of the local police before I 
left the school this morning." 

The Duke leaned back in his chair and stared 
with amazement at my friend. 

"You seem to have powers that are hardly hu- 
man," said he. "So Reuben Hayes is taken? I am 
right glad to hear it, if it will not react upon the 
fate of James." 

"Your secretary?" 

"No, sir; my son." 

It was Holmes's turn to look astonished. 

"I confess that this is entirely new to me, your 
Grace. I must beg you to be more explicit." 

"I will conceal nothing from you. I agree with 
you that complete frankness, however painful it 
may be to me, is the best policy in this desper- 
ate situation to which James's folly and jealousy 
have reduced us. When I was a very young man, 
Mr. Holmes, I loved with such a love as comes 
only once in a lifetime. I offered the lady mar- 
riage, but she refused it on the grounds that such 
a match might mar my career. Had she lived I 
would certainly never have married anyone else. 
She died, and left this one child, whom for her 
sake I have cherished and cared for. I could not 
acknowledge the paternity to the world; but I gave 
him the best of educations, and since he came to 
manhood I have kept him near my person. He 
surprised my secret, and has presumed ever since 
upon the claim which he has upon me and upon 
his power of provoking a scandal, which would be 
abhorrent to me. His presence had something to 
do with the unhappy issue of my marriage. Above 
all, he hated my young legitimate heir from the 
first with a persistent hatred. You may well ask me 
why, under these circumstances, I still kept James 


482 



The Adventure of the Priory School 


under my roof. I answer that it was because I could 
see his mother's face in his, and that for her dear 
sake there was no end to my long-suffering. All 
her pretty ways, too — there was not one of them 
which he could not suggest and bring back to my 
memory. I could not send him away. But I feared 
so much lest he should do Arthur — that is. Lord 
Saltire — a mischief that I dispatched him for safety 
to Dr. Huxtable's school. 

"James came into contact with this fellow 
Hayes because the man was a tenant of mine, 
and James acted as agent. The fellow was a ras- 
cal from the beginning; but in some extraordinary 
way James became intimate with him. He had al- 
ways a taste for low company. When James deter- 
mined to kidnap Lord Saltire it was of this man's 
service that he availed himself. You remember 
that I wrote to Arthur upon that last day. Well, 
James opened the letter and inserted a note ask- 
ing Arthur to meet him in a little wood called the 
Ragged Shaw, which is near to the school. He 
used the Duchess's name, and in that way got 
the boy to come. That evening James bicycled 
over — I am telling you what he has himself con- 
fessed to me — and he told Arthur, whom he met 
in the wood, that his mother longed to see him, 
that she was awaiting him on the moor, and that 
if he would come back into the wood at midnight 
he would find a man with a horse, who would 
take him to her. Poor Arthur fell into the trap. 
He came to the appointment and found this fel- 
low Hayes with a led pony. Arthur mounted, 
and they set off together. It appears — though this 
James only heard yesterday — that they were pur- 
sued, that Hayes struck the pursuer with his stick, 
and that the man died of his injuries. Hayes 
brought Arthur to his public-house, the Fighting 
Cock, where he was confined in an upper room, 
under the care of Mrs. Hayes, who is a kindly 
woman, but entirely under the control of her bru- 
tal husband. 

"Well, Mr. Holmes, that was the state of affairs 
when I first saw you two days ago. I had no more 
idea of the truth than you. You will ask me what 
was James's motive in doing such a deed. I answer 
that there was a great deal which was unreasoning 
and fanatical in the hatred which he bore my heir. 
In his view he should himself have been heir of 
all my estates, and he deeply resented those social 
laws which made it impossible. At the same time 
he had a definite motive also. He was eager that I 
should break the entail, and he was of opinion that 
it lay in my power to do so. He intended to make 
a bargain with me — to restore Arthur if I would 


break the entail, and so make it possible for the es- 
tate to be left to him by will. He knew well that I 
should never willingly invoke the aid of the police 
against him. I say that he would have proposed 
such a bargain to me, but he did not actually do 
so, for events moved too quickly for him, and he 
had not time to put his plans into practice. 

"What brought all his wicked scheme to wreck 
was your discovery of this man Heidegger's dead 
body. James was seized with horror at the news. 
It came to us yesterday as we sat together in this 
study. Dr. Huxtable had sent a telegram. James 
was so overwhelmed with grief and agitation that 
my suspicions, which had never been entirely ab- 
sent, rose instantly to a certainty, and I taxed him 
with the deed. He made a complete voluntary con- 
fession. Then he implored me to keep his secret 
for three days longer, so as to give his wretched 
accomplice a chance of saving his guilty life. I 
yielded — as I have always yielded — to his prayers, 
and instantly James hurried off to the Fighting 
Cock to warn Hayes and give him the means of 
flight. I could not go there by daylight without 
provoking comment, but as soon as night fell I 
hurried off to see my dear Arthur. I found him 
safe and well, but horrified beyond expression by 
the dreadful deed he had witnessed. In deference 
to my promise, and much against my will, I con- 
sented to leave him there for three days under the 
charge of Mrs. Hayes, since it was evident that it 
was impossible to inform the police where he was 
without telling them also who was the murderer, 
and I could not see how that murderer could be 
punished without ruin to my unfortunate James. 
You asked for frankness, Mr. Holmes, and I have 
taken you at your word, for I have now told you 
everything without an attempt at circumlocution 
or concealment. Do you in turn be as frank with 
me." 

"I will," said Holmes. "In the first place, your 
Grace, I am bound to tell you that you have placed 
yourself in a most serious position in the eyes of 
the law. You have condoned a felony and you have 
aided the escape of a murderer; for I cannot doubt 
that any money which was taken by James Wilder 
to aid his accomplice in his flight came from your 
Grace's purse." 

The Duke bowed his assent. 

"This is indeed a most serious matter. Even 
more culpable in my opinion, your Grace, is your 
attitude towards your younger son. You leave him 
in this den for three days." 

"Under solemn promises — " 


483 



"What are promises to such people as these? 
You have no guarantee that he will not be spir- 
ited away again. To humour your guilty elder son 
you have exposed your innocent younger son to 
imminent and unnecessary danger. It was a most 
unjustifiable action." 

The proud lord of Holdernesse was not accus- 
tomed to be so rated in his own ducal hall. The 
blood flushed into his high forehead, but his con- 
science held him dumb. 

"I will help you, but on one condition only. It is 
that you ring for the footman and let me give such 
orders as I like." 

Without a word the Duke pressed the electric 
bell. A servant entered. 

"You will be glad to hear," said Holmes, "that 
your young master is found. It is the Duke's desire 
that the carriage shall go at once to the Fighting 
Cock Inn to bring Lord Saltire home. 

"Now," said Holmes, when the rejoicing lackey 
had disappeared, "having secured the future, we 
can afford to be more lenient with the past. I am 
not in an official position, and there is no reason, 
so long as the ends of justice are served, why I 
should disclose all that I know. As to Hayes I say 
nothing. The gallows awaits him, and I would do 
nothing to save him from it. What he will divulge 
I cannot tell, but I have no doubt that your Grace 
could make him understand that it is to his in- 
terest to be silent. From the police point of view 
he will have kidnapped the boy for the purpose 
of ransom. If they do not themselves find it out I 
see no reason why I should prompt them to take a 
broader point of view. I would warn your Grace, 
however, that the continued presence of Mr. James 
Wilder in your household can only lead to misfor- 
tune." 

"I understand that, Mr. Holmes, and it is al- 
ready settled that he shall leave me for ever and 
go to seek his fortune in Australia." 


"In that case, your Grace, since you have your- 
self stated that any unhappiness in your married 
life was caused by his presence, I would suggest 
that you make such amends as you can to the 
Duchess, and that you try to resume those rela- 
tions which have been so unhappily interrupted." 

"That also I have arranged, Mr. Holmes. I 
wrote to the Duchess this morning." 

"In that case," said Holmes, rising, "I think that 
my friend and I can congratulate ourselves upon 
several most happy results from our little visit to 
the North. There is one other small point upon 
which I desire some light. This fellow Hayes had 
shod his horses with shoes which counterfeited the 
tracks of cows. Was it from Mr. Wilder that he 
learned so extraordinary a device?" 

The Duke stood in thought for a moment, with 
a look of intense surprise on his face. Then he 
opened a door and showed us into a large room 
furnished as a museum. He led the way to a glass 
case in a corner, and pointed to the inscription. 

"These shoes," it ran, "were dug up in the 
moat of Holdernesse Hall. They are for the use 
of horses; but they are shaped below with a cloven 
foot of iron, so as to throw pursuers off the track. 
They are supposed to have belonged to some of 
the marauding Barons of Holdernesse in the Mid- 
dle Ages." 

Holmes opened the case, and moistening his 
finger he passed it along the shoe. A thin film of 
recent mud was left upon his skin. 

"Thank you," said he, as he replaced the glass. 
"It is the second most interesting object that I have 
seen in the North." 

"And the first?" 

Holmes folded up his cheque and placed it 
carefully in his note-book. "I am a poor man," 
said he, as he patted it affectionately and thrust it 
into the depths of his inner pocket. 



The Dark Angels 

"I am afraid, Watson, that the Nordic temperament offers little scope for the student of crime. It tends towards an altogether deplorable banality," remarked Holmes, as 
we turned from Oxford Street towards the less crowded pavements of Baker Street. It was a clear, crisp morning in May of 1901 and the uniforms of the lean, bronzed 
men who were flocking the streets on leave from the South African war struck a note of welcome gaiety against the sombre dresses of the women who were still in 
mourning for the death of the late Queen. 

"I can remind you, Holmes, of a dozen instances among your own cases that disprove your assertion," I replied, noting with some satisfaction that our 
morning walk had brought a touch of colour to my friend's sallow cheeks. 

"For instance?" he asked. 

"Well, Dr. Grimesby Roylott of infamous memory. The use of a tame snake for the purpose of murder cannot be lightly dismissed as a banality." 

"My dear fellow, your example proves my contention. From some fifty cases, we recall Dr. Roylott, 'Holy' Peters and one or two others merely for the reason that they 
employed an imaginative approach to crime which was startlingly at variance with the normal practice. Indeed, I am sometimes tempted to think that, just as 
Cuvier could reconstruct the complete animal from one bone, so the logical reasoner could tell from a nation's cooking the prevailing characteristics of the nation's 
criminals." 

"I can observe no parallel," I laughed. 

"Think it over, Watson. There, incidentally," he continued, gesturing with his stick towards a chocolate-coloured omnibus which, with a grinding of brakes and a 
merry jingle from the horses' harness, had drawn up on the opposite side, "you have a good example. It is one of the French omnibuses. Look at the driver, 
Watson, all fire and nerves and concentrated emotion as he argues with the petty officer on long leave from a naval shore station. It is the difference between the subtle 
and the positive, French sauce and English gravy. How could two such men approach crime from the same angle?" 

"Be that as it may," I replied, "I fail to see how you can tell that the man in the check coat is a petty officer on long leave." 

"Tut, Watson, when a man wearing a Crimea ribbon on his waistcoat, and therefore too old for active service, is shod in comparatively new naval boots, it is 
surely obvious that he has been recalled from retirement. His air of authority is above that of the ordinary sailor and yet his complexion is no more bronzed or 
wind-roughened than that of the bus-driver. The man is a naval petty officer attached to a shore station or training camp." 

"And the long leave?" 

"He is in civilian clothes and yet has not been discharged, for you will observe that he is filling his pipe from a plug of regulation naval twist which is unobtainable at 
tobacconists. But here we are at 221 -B and in time, I trust, to catch the visitor who has called during our absence." 

I surveyed the blank door of the house. "Really, Holmes!" I protested. "You go a little too far." 

"Very seldom, Watson. The wheels of most public carriages are repainted at this time of the year and if you will bother to glance at the kerb you will 
perceive a long green mark where a wheel has scraped the edge and which was not there when we departed an hour ago. The cab was kept waiting for 
sometime, for the driver has twice knocked out the dottle from his pipe. We can but hope that the fare decided to await our return after dismissing the vehicle." 

As we mounted the stairs, Mrs. Hudson appeared from the lower regions. 

"There's been a visitor here nigh on an hour, Mr. Holmes," she stated. "She is waiting in your sitting-room, and that tired she looked, the poor pretty creature, that I 
took the liberty of bringing her a nice strong cup of tea." 

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. You did very well." 

My friend glanced at me and smiled but there was a gleam in his deep-set eyes. "The game's afoot, Watson," he said quietly. 

Upon our entering the sitting-room, our visitor rose to meet us. She was a fair-haired young lady, still in her early twenties, slim and dainty, with a delicate complex- 
ion and large blue eyes that contained a hint of violet in their depths. She was plainly but neatly dressed in a fawn-coloured travelling-costume with a hat of the 
same colour relieved by a small mauve feather. I noted these details almost unconsciously for, as a medical man, my attention was arrested at once by the dark 
shadows lurking beneath her eyes and the quiver of her lips that betrayed an intensity of nervous tension perilously near the breaking-point. 

With an apology for his absence, Holmes ushered her to a chair before the fireplace, and then sinking into his own surveyed her searchingly from beneath his heavy 
lids. 

"I perceive that you are deeply troubled," he said kindly. "Rest assured that Dr. Watson and I are here to serve you, Miss..." 

"My name is Daphne Ferrers," supplied our visitor. Then, leaning forward suddenly in her chair, she stared up into Holmes's face with a singular intentness. 
"Would you say that the heralds of death are dark angels?" she whispered. 

Holmes shot me a swift glance. 

"You have no objection to my pipe, I trust, Miss Ferrers," said he, stretching out an arm towards the mantelpiece. "Now, young lady, we have all to meet a Dark 
Angel eventually, but that is hardly an adequate reason for consulting two middle-aged gentlemen in Baker Street. You would do far better to tell me 
your story from the beginning." 

"How foolish you must think me," cried Miss Ferrers, the pallor of her cheeks giving place to a faint but becoming blush. "And yet, when you have heard my story, 
when you have heard the very facts that are driving me slowly mad with fear, you may only laugh at me." 

"Rest assured that I shall not." 

Our visitor paused for a moment as though marshalling her thoughts, and then plunged forthwith into her strange narrative. 

"You must know, then, that I am the daughter and only child of Josua Ferrers of Abbotstanding in Hampshire," she began. "My father's cousin is Sir Robert Nor- 
burton of Shoscombe Old Place, with whom you were acquainted some years ago, and it was on his recommendation that I have rushed to you at the climax of my 
troubles." 

Holmes, who had been leaning back in his chair with his eyes closed, took his pipe from his mouth. 

"Why, then, did you not come to me last night when you arrived in town instead of waiting until this morning?" he interposed. 

Miss Ferrers started visibly. 

"It was only when I dined with Sir Robert last night that he advised me to see you. But I do not understand, Mr. Holmes, how could you know ..." 

"Tut, young lady, it is simple enough. The right cuff and elbow of your jacket bear slight but unmistakable traces of sooty dust inseparable from a window-seat in a 
railway carriage. Your shoes, on the other hand, are perfectly cleaned and burnished to that high degree of polish that is characteristic of a good hotel." 

"Do you not think, Holmes," I interrupted, "that we should listen without further ado to Miss Ferrers' story. Speaking as a medical man, it is high time that her 
troubles were lifted from her shoulders." 

Our fair visitor thanked me prettily with a glance from her blue eyes. 

"As you should know by now, Watson, I have my methods," said Holmes with some asperity. "However, Miss Ferrers, we are all attention. Pray continue." 

"I should explain," she went on "that the earlier part of my father's life was spent in Sicily where he had inherited large interests in vineyards and olive groves. 
Following my mother's death, he seemed to tire of the country and, having amassed a considerable fortune, my father sold his interests and retired to England. For more 
than a year, we moved from county to county in search of a house that should suit my father's somewhat peculiar requirements before deciding at length on 
Abbotstanding near Beaulieu in the New Forest." 

"One moment, Miss Ferrers. Pray enumerate these peculiar requirements." 

"My father is of a singularly retiring disposition, Mr. Holmes. Above all else, he insisted on a sparsely populated locality, and an estate that should lie at some miles' 
distance from the nearest railway station. In Abbotstanding, an almost ruinous castellated mansion of great antiquity and once the hunting-lodge of the Abbots of 



Beaulieu, he found what he sought and, certain necessary repairs having been effected, we settled finally into our home. That, Mr. Holmes, was five years ago, and 
from that day to this we have lived under the shadow of a nameless, shapeless dread." 

"If nameless and shapeless, then how were you aware of its existence?" 

"Through the circumstances governing our lives. My father would permit no social contact with our few neighbours and even our household needs were supplied not 
from the nearest village but by carrier's van from Lyndhurst. The staff consists of the butler McKinney, a surly, morose man whom my father hired in Glasgow, and his 
wife and her sister who share the domestic work between them." 

"And the outside staff?" 

"There are none. The grounds were permitted to become a wilderness and the place is already overrun with vermin of all descriptions." 

"I see nothing alarming in these circumstances, Miss Ferrers," remarked Holmes. "Indeed, if I lived in the country, I should probably create around me very similar 
conditions to discourage unprofitable intercourse with my neighbours. The household consists, then, of yourself and your father and the three servants?" 

"The household, yes. But there is a cottage on the estate occupied by Mr. James Tonston who for many years managed our Sicilian vineyards before accompanying my 
father on his return to England. He acts as bailiff." 

Holmes raised his eyebrows. "Indeed," said he. "An estate that is allowed to grow into a wilderness, no tenants and a bailiff. Surely a somewhat curious anomaly?" 

"It is a nominal appointment only, Mr. Holmes. Mr. Tonston enjoys my father's confidence and occupies his position at Abbotstanding in recognition of the earlier years 
spent in his service in Sicily." 

"Ah, quite so." 

"My father himself seldom leaves the house and on the few occasions when he does he never goes beyond the confines of his own park walls. Where there is 
love and understanding and mutual interest, such a life might be tolerable. But, alas, such is not the case at Abbotstanding. My father's character, though God- 
fearing, is not of a type to encourage affection and, as time went on, his disposition, always severe and retiring, deepened into periods of gloomy, savage brooding when 
he would lock himself into his study for days on end. As you can imagine, Mr. Holmes, there was little of interest and less of happiness for a young woman isolated 
from friends of her own age, deprived of all social contacts and foredoomed to spend the best years of her life in the desolate magnificence of a half-ruinous mediaeval 
hunting-lodge. Our existence was one of absolute monotony and then, some five months ago, occurred an incident which, insignificant enough in itself, formed the first of 
that singular chain of events which have brought me to lay my problems before you. 

"I was returning from an early-morning walk in the park and on entering the avenue leading from the lodge-gates to the house, I observed that there was something 
nailed to the bole of an oak tree. On closer examination I discovered the object to be an ordinary coloured print of the type used for illustrating Christmas carols or 
cheap books on religious art. But the theme of the picture was unusual, even arresting. 

"It consisted of a night sky broken by a barren hilltop on the brow of which, in two separate groups of six and three, stood nine winged angels. As I stared at the 
picture, I was puzzled to explain the note of incongruity that jarred through my senses until, in an instant, I perceived the reason. It was the first time that I had 
beheld angels portrayed not in radiance but in robes of funeral darkness. Across the lower part of the print were scrawled the words 'six and three.' " 

As our visitor paused, I glanced across at Sherlock Holmes. His brows were drawn down and his eyes closed, but I could tell from the quick spirals of smoke rising 
from his pipe that his interest had been deeply stirred. 

"My first reaction," she went on, "was that it was a curious way for the carrier-man from Lyndhurst to deliver some new-fangled calendar and so, plucking it 
down, I took it in with me, and was on my way upstairs to my room when I met my father on the landing. 

" 'This was on a tree in the avenue,' I said. 1 think McKinney should tell the Lyndhurst carrier to deliver at the tradesmen's entrance instead of pinning things in 
odd places. I prefer angels in white, don't you, Papa?" 

"The words were hardly out of my mouth before he had snatched the print from me. For a moment, he stood speechless, glaring down at the piece of paper in 
his shaking hands while the colour ebbed from his face, leaving it drawn and livid. 

" 'What is it, Papa?' I cried, clutching him by the arm. " 'The Dark Angels,' he whispered. Then, with a gesture of horror, he shook off my hand and rushing 
into his study, locked and bolted the door behind him. 

"From that day on, my father never left the house. His time was spent in reading and writing in his study or in long conferences with James Tonston whose gloomy 
and severe character is somewhat akin to his own. I saw him seldom save at meal-times and it would have been unbearable for me were it not for the fact that 
I had the friendship of one noble-hearted woman, Mrs. Nordham, the wife of the Beaulieu doctor, who perceiving the desolation of my life persisted in calling to 
see me two or three times a week despite my father's open hostility to what he considered an unwarranted intrusion. 

"It was some weeks later, on February 1 1th, to be precise, that our manservant came to me just after breakfast with a most curious expression on his face. 

" 'It’s not the Lyndhurst carrier this time,' he announced sourly, 'and I don't like it, miss.' 

" 'What is the matter, McKinney?' 

" 'Ask the front door,' said he, and went away mumbling and stroking his beard. 

"I hastened to the entrance and there, nailed to the front door, was a similar print to that which I had found on the oak tree in the avenue. And yet it was 
not exactly similar, for this time the angels were only six in number and the figure '6' was marked on the bottom of the page. I tore it down and was gazing 
at it with an inexplicable chill in my heart when a hand reached out and took it from my fingers. Turning round I found Mr. Tonston standing behind me. 
'It is not for you, Miss Ferrers,' he said gravely, 'and for that you can thank your Maker.' 

" 'But what does it mean?’ I cried wildly. ’If there is danger to my father, then why does he not summon the police?’ 

" 'Because we do not need the police,' he replied. ’Believe me, your father and I are quite capable of dealing with the situation, my dear young lady.' And, 
turning on his heel, he vanished into the house. He must have taken the picture to my father, for he kept to his room for a week afterwards." 

"One moment," interrupted Holmes. "Can you recall the exact date when you found the picture on the oak tree?" 

"It was December 29th." 

"And the second appeared on the front door on February 1 1th, you say. Thank you, Miss Ferrers. Pray proceed with your interesting narrative." 

"One evening, it would be about a fortnight later," continued our client, "my father and I were sitting together at the dinner-table. It was a wild, 
tempestuous night with driving squalls of rain and a wind that sobbed and howled like a lost soul down the great yawning chimney-pieces of the ancient 
mansion. The meal was over and my father was moodily drinking his port by the light of the heavy candle-branches that illumined the dining-table when, 
raising his eyes to mine, he was seized with some reflection of the utter horror that was at that very instant freezing the blood in my veins. Immediately in 
front of me, and behind him, there was a window, the curtains of which were not fully drawn, leaving a space of rain-splashed glass that threw back a dim 
glow from the candlelight. 

"Peering through this glass was a man's face. 

"The lower part of his features was covered with his hand, but beneath the rim of a shapeless hat a pair of eyes, grinning and baleful, glared into my own. 
"My father must have realized instinctively that the danger lay behind him for, seizing a heavy candelabrum from the table, in one movement he turned and 
flung it at the window. 

"There was an appalling crash of glass, and I caught a glimpse of the curtains streaming like great crimson bat-wings in the wind that howled through the 
shattered casement. The flame of the remaining candles blew flat and dim, and then I must have fainted. When I came to myself, I was lying on my bed. 
The next day, my father made no reference to the incident and the window was repaired by a man from the village. And now, Mr. Holmes, my story draws to its 
close. 



"On March 25th, exactly six weeks and three days ago, when my father and I took our places for breakfast, there upon the table lay the print of the demon 
angels, six and three. But this time there was no number scrawled across the lower portion." 

"And your father?" asked Holmes very seriously. 

"My father has resigned himself with the calm of a man who waits upon an inescapable destiny. For the first time for many years, he looked at me gently. 'It 
has come, 1 said he, 'and it is well.' 

"I threw myself on my knees beside him, imploring him to call in the police, to put an end to this mystery that threw its chill shadow over our desolate lives. 'The 
shadow is nearly lifted, my child,' he replied. 

"Then, after a moment's hesitation, he laid his hand upon my head. 

" 'If anybody, any stranger, should communicate with you,' said he, 'say only that your father kept you always in ignorance of his affairs and that he bade you state 
that the name of the maker is in the butt of the gun. Remember those words and forget all else, if you value that happier, better life that will shortly commence for 
you,' With that he rose and left the room. 

"Since that time, I have seen little of him and, at last, taking my courage in both hands, I wrote to Sir Robert that I was in deep trouble and wished to meet him. Then, 
inventing an excuse, I slipped away yesterday and came up to London where Sir Robert, having heard a little of the story from my lips, advised me to lay my 
problem frankly before you." 

I have never seen my friend more grave. His brows were drawn down over his eyes and he shook his head despondently. 

"It is kindest in the long run that I should be frank with you," he said at last. "You must plan a new life for yourself, preferably in London where you will 
quickly make new friends of your own age." 

"But my father?" 

Holmes rose to his feet. 

"Dr. Watson and I will accompany you at once to Hampshire. If I cannot prevent, at least I may be able to avenge." 

"Holmes!" I cried, horror-struck. 

"It's no good, Watson," he said, laying his fingers gently on Miss Ferrers' shoulder. "It would be the basest treachery to this brave young lady to arouse 
hopes that I cannot share. It is better that we face the facts." 

"The facts!" I replied. "Why, a man may have a foot in the grave and yet live." 

Holmes looked at me curiously for a moment. 

"True, Watson," he said thoughtfully. "But we must waste no further time. Unless my memory belies me, there is a train to Hampshire within the hour. A few 
necessities in a bag should meet the case." 

I was hastily gathering my things together when Holmes came into my bedroom. 

"It might be advisable to take your revolver," he said softly. 

"Then there is danger?" 

"Deadly danger, Watson." He smote his forehead with his hand. "My God, what irony. She has come just a day too late." 

As we accompanied Miss Ferrers from the sitting-room, Holmes paused at the bookshelf to slip a slim calf-bound volume into the pocket of his Inverness cape and then, 
scribbling a telegram, he handed the form to Mrs. Hudson in the hallway. "Kindly see that it is dispatched immediately," said he. 

A four-wheeler carried us to Waterloo, where we were just in time to catch a Bournemouth train stopping at Lyndhurst Road Station. 

It was a melancholy journey. Sherlock Holmes leaned back in his corner seat, his ear-flapped travelling-cap drawn over his eyes and his long, thin fingers tapping 
restlessly on the window-ledge. I tried to engage our companion in conversation and to convey a little of the sympathy that I felt for her in this time of anxiety, but 
though her replies were gracious and kindly it was obvious that her mind was preoccupied with her own thoughts. I think that we were all glad when, some two hours 
later, we alighted at the little Hampshire station. As we reached the gates, a pleasant-faced woman hurried forward. 

"Mr. Sherlock Holmes?" said she. "Thank heavens that the Beaulieu Post Office delivered your telegram in time. Daphne, my dear!" 

"Mrs. Nordham! But— but I don't understand." 

"Now, Miss Ferrers," said Holmes soothingly. "It would help us greatly if you will entrust yourself to your friend. Mrs. Nordham, I know that you will take good care 
other. Come, Watson." 

We hailed a fly in the station yard and, in a few moments, we were free from the hamlet and bowling along a desolate road that stretched away straight as a 
ribbon, rising and dipping and rising again over lonely expanses of heath broken here and there by clumps of holly and bounded in every direction by the dark out- 
spurs of a great forest. After some miles, on mounting a long hill, we saw below us a sheet of water and the grey, hoary ruins of Beaulieu Abbey, then the 
road plunged into the forest and some ten minutes later we wheeled beneath an arch of crumbling masonry into an avenue lined by noble oak trees whose 
interlocked branches met overhead in a gloomy twilight. Holmes pointed forward. "It is as I feared," he said bitterly. "We are too late." 

Riding in the same direction as ourselves but far ahead of us down the avenue, I caught a glimpse of a police-constable on a bicycle. 

The drive opened out into a wooded park with a gaunt, battlemented mansion set amid the broken terraces and parterres of that saddest of all spectacles, an old-world 
garden run to wilderness and bathed in the red glow of the setting sun. At some little distance from the house, a group of men were gathered beside a stunted 
cedar tree and at a word from Holmes, our driver pulled up and we hurried towards them across the turf. 

The group was composed of the policeman, a gentleman with a small bag which I easily recognized and lastly a man in brown country tweeds with a pale, sunken face 
framed in mutton-chop whiskers. As we drew near, they turned towards us, and I could not repress an exclamation of horror at the spectacle that their movement 
disclosed to our eyes. 

At the foot of the cedar tree lay the body of an elderly man. His arms were outstretched, the fingers gripping the grass and his beard thrust up at so grotesque 
an angle that his features were hidden from view. The bone gleamed in bis gaping throat while the ground about bis head was stained into one great crimson halo. The 
doctor stepped forward hurriedly. 

"This is a shocking affair, Mr. Sherlock Holmes," he cried nervously. "My wife hastened to the station as soon as she received your wire. I trust that she was in time to 
meet Miss Ferrers?" 

"Thank you, yes. Alas, that I could not myself have got here in time." 

"It seems that you expected the tragedy, sir," observed the policeman suspiciously. 

"I did, constable. Hence my presence." 

"Well, I'd like to know . . ." Holmes tapped him on the arm and, leading him to one side, spoke a few words. When they rejoined us, there was a trace of relief 
in the man's worried face. "It shall be as you wish, sir," he said, "and you can rely on Mr. Tonston repeating his statement to you." 

The man in tweeds turned his sunken face and pale grey eyes in our direction. "I don't see why I should," he said tartly. "You're the law, aren't you, 
Constable Kibble, and you've taken my statement already. I have nothing to add. You would be better employed in sending in your report of Mr. Ferrers' suicide." 
"Suicide?" interposed Holmes sharply. 

"Aye, what else? He's been glooming for weeks past, as all the household can testify, and now he's cut his throat from ear to ear." 

"H'm." Holmes dropped on his knees beside the body. "And this is the weapon, of course. A horn-handled clasp-knife with a retractable blade. Italian, I perceive." 
"How do you know that?" 

"It has the mark of a Milanese bladesmith. But what is this? Dear me, What a curious object." 



He rose to his feet and closely examined the thing which he had picked up from the grass. It was a short-barrelled rifle, cut off immediately behind the 
trigger by a hinged stock, so that the whole weapon folded into two parts. "It was lying by his head," observed the constable. "Seems that he was expecting trouble 
and took it with him for protection." 

Holmes shook his head. "It has not been loaded," he said, "for you will observe that the grease is undisturbed in the breech. But what have we here? Perhaps, 
Watson, you would lend me your pencil and handkerchief." 

"It's only the hole in the stock for the cleaning rod," rapped Mr. Tonston. 

"I am aware of that. Tut, this is most curious." 

"What then? You stuck the handkerchief wrapped round the pencil into the hole and now you've withdrawn it. There's nothing on the handkerchief, and yet you 
find it curious. What the devil did you expect?" 

"Dust." 

"Dust?" 

"Precisely. Something has been hidden in the hole and hence the fact that the walls are clean. Normally there is always dust in the stock-holes of guns. But I should be 
glad to hear a few facts from you, Mr. Tonston, as I understand that you were the first to raise the alarm. It will save time if I hear them from your own lips instead 
of reading through your statement." 

"Well, there's little enough to tell," said he. "An hour ago, I strolled out for a breath of air and caught sight of Mr. Ferrers standing under this tree. When I 
hailed him, he looked round and then, turning away, seemed to put his hand up to his throat. I saw him stagger and fall. When I ran up, he was lying as you 
see him now, with his throat gaping and the knife on the grass beside him. There was nothing I could do save send the manservant for Dr. Nordham and the 
constable. That's all." 

"Most illuminating. You were with Mr. Ferrers in Sicily, were you not?" 

"I was." 

"Well, gentlemen, I shall detain you no longer if you wish to return to the house. Watson, perhaps you would care to remain with me. And you too, Constable." 

As the doctor and Tonston vanished through the parterres, Holmes was galvanized into activity. For a while, he circled the grass about the dead man on his 
hands and knees, like some lean, eager foxhound casting for its scent. Once he stooped and peered at the ground very closely, then rising to his feet, he whipped his 
lens from his pocket and proceeded to a searching examination of the trunk of the cedar. Suddenly he stiffened and at his gesture the constable and I hastened to his 
side. Holmes pointed with his finger as he handed the glass to the police-officer. "Examine the edge of that knot," he said quietly. "What do you see?" 
"Looks to me like a hair, sir," replied Constable Kibble, gazing through the lens. "No, it's not a hair. It's a brown thread." 

"Quite so. Perhaps you would kindly remove it and place it in this envelope. Now Watson, give me a hand up." Holmes scrambled into the fork of the tree and, sup- 
porting himself by the branches, peered about him, "Ha, what have we here!" he chuckled. "A fresh scrape on the trunk, traces of mud in the fork and another 
small thread from some coarse brownish material clinging to the bark where a man might lean his back. Quite a treasure-trove. I am about to jump down and I want 
you both to watch the exact place where I land. So!" He stepped to one side. "Now, what do you see?" 

"Two small indentations." 

"Precisely. The marks of my heels. Look wider." 

"By Jingo!" cried the constable. "There are four, not two! They are identical." 

"Save that the others are not quite so deep." 

"The man was lighter!" I ejaculated. 

"Bravo, Watson. Well, I think that we have seen all that we need." 

The officer fixed Holmes with his earnest eyes. "Look here, sir," he said. "I'm clean out of my depth. What’s all this mean?" 

"Probably your sergeant's stripes, Constable Kibble. And now, let us join the others." 

When we reached the house, the police-officer showed us into a long, sparsely furnished room with a groined roof. Doctor Nordham, who was writing at a table in 
the window, looked up at our entrance. "Well, Mr. Holmes?" 

"You are preparing your report, I perceive," my friend remarked. "May I suggest that you pay particular regard that you do not convey a false impression?" 

Dr. Nordham gazed stonily at Holmes. "I fail to understand you," said he. "Can you not be more explicit?" 

"Very well. What are your views on the death of Mr. Josua Ferrers of Abbotstanding?" 

"Tut, sir, there is no question of views. We have both visual and medical evidence that Josua Ferrers committed suicide by cutting his own throat." 

"A remarkable man, this Mr. Ferres," Holmes observed, "who, not content with committing suicide by cutting his jugular vein, must continue to sever the rest of 
his neck with an ordinary clasp-knife until, in the words of Mr. Tonston here, he had cut his throat literally from ear to ear. I have always felt that, were I to commit 
murder, I should avoid errors of that kind." 

My friend's words were followed by a moment of tense silence. Then Dr. Nordham rose abruptly to his feet, while Tonston, who had been leaning against the wall 
with his arms folded, lifted his eyes to Holmes's face. 

"Murder is an ugly word, Mr. Sherlock Holmes," he said quietly. 

"And an ugly deed. Though not, perhaps, to the Mala Vita." 

"What nonsense is this!" 

"Tut, I was relying upon your knowledge of Sicily to fill in any small details that I may have overlooked. However, as you dismiss as nonsense the name of this 
terrible secret society, it will doubtless interest you to learn a few of the facts." 

"Have a care, Mr. Holmes." 

"To you, Dr. Nordham, and to Constable Kibble, there will appear to be gaps in my brief account." My friend continued. "But as these can be filled in later, I will 
address myself to you, Watson, as you were present during Miss Ferrers narrative. 

"It was obvious from the first that her father was hiding from some peril of so relentless a nature that even in the depth of this deserted country-side he went in fear of his 
life. As the man had come from Sicily, an island notorious for the power and vindictiveness of its secret societies, the most likely explanation was that either he had 
offended some such organization or as a member he had transgressed some vital rule. As he made no attempt to invoke the police, I inclined to the latter supposition 
and this became a certainty with the first appearance of the Dark Angels. You will recall that they were nine in number, Watson, and that the print, inscribed with the 
words 'six and three,' was nailed to a tree in the avenue on December 29th. 

"The next visitation took place on February 1 1th, exactly six weeks and three days from December 29th, but this time the angels, six in number, were nailed to the 
front door. 

"On March 24th came the third and last appearance, exactly six weeks after the second. The dreaded herald of death, again nine in number, but now without inscrip- 
tion, lay on the very platter of the master of Abbotstanding. 

"As I listened to Miss Ferrers' voice and calculated the dates rapidly in mind, I was dismayed by the discovery that the final nine of the Dark Angels, assuming them to 
represent the same period of time as the first, brought the date to May 7th. Today! 

"I knew then that I was too late. But, if I could not save her father, I might avenge him and, with that object, I attacked the problem from a different angle. 

"The face at the window was typical, of course, of perhaps the most barbarous trait in the vengeance of secret societies, the desire to strike horror not only into 
the victim himself but into his family. But the man had been careful to cover his features with his hands, despite the fact that he was looking not at Josua Ferrers 
but at his daughter, thereby suggesting to my mind that he feared recognition by Miss Ferrers as much as by her father. 



"Next, it seemed to me that the cold, deadly approach of the fatal prints from tree to door, from door to breakfast-table, inferred an intimate knowledge of 
Josua Ferrers' circumscribed habits, possibly an unchallenged right to enter the house and thereby place the card on the table without the necessity for forced 
windows and smashed locks. 

"From the first, certain features in Miss Ferrers' singular narrative stirred some vague chord in my memory, but it was not until your remark, Watson, about a 
foot in the open grave that a flood of light burst suddenly into my consciousness." 

As Sherlock Holmes paused for a moment to draw something from his cape pocket, I glanced at the others. Though the old room was rapidly deepening into dusk, a 
sullen red light from the last rays of the sun glimmering through the window illumined the absorbed expressions of Dr. Nordham and the constable. Tonston stood 
in the shadows, his arms still folded across his chest and his pale, glittering eyes fixed immovably upon Holmes. 

"It was to certain passages in this book, a fore-runner of Heckenthorn's Secret Societies, that my memory was recalled by. Dr. Watson's words." My friend continued. 
"Here is what the author has to say on a certain secret society which was first introduced into Sicily some three centuries ago. ’This formidable organization, 1 he writes, 
aptly named the Mala Vita, communicates with its members through a variety of signs including Angels, Demons and the Winged Lion. The candidate for mem- 
bership, if successful in his trials of initiation which frequently include that of murder, takes oath of fealty with one foot in an open grave. Punishment for infraction of 
the society's rules is relentless and, where death is the price, three separate warnings are given of the approaching doom, the second following six weeks and three 
days after the first, and the third six weeks after the second. Following the final warning, a further period of six weeks and three days are allowed to pass before the blow 
falls. Any member failing to carry out the punitive orders of the society becomes himself liable to the same punishment.' There follows a list of rules of the Mala Vita, 
together with the penalties for breaking them. 

"That Josua Ferrers was a member of this dread society there can now be little doubt," Holmes added solemnly, as he closed the book. "What was his 
offense, we shall probably never know, and yet one may hazard a pretty shrewd guess. Article 16 is surely among the Mala Vita's most singular rules, for it 
states simply that the penalty for any member who discovers the identity of the Grand Master is death. I would remind you, Watson, that Ferrers laid 
emphatic instructions on his daughter that her answer to all enquiries must be that she knew nothing of his affairs, adding only that the name of the 
maker was in the butt of the gun. Not a gun, mark you, but the gun, which clearly indicated that the person re ceiving the message might be expected 
to recognize some specific weapon to which the words must refer. It is sufficient to add that the gun found beside the body of Josua Ferrers is unique to the 
members of the Sicilian secret societies. 

"When he went to the assignation Ferrers carried the gun with him, not as a weapon but as a peace-offering valuable only for what it contained rolled up in 
the butt. Bearing in mind what we now know, I am in no doubt that it was a paper or document that named the Grand Master of the Mala Vita and which by 
some unhappy chance had fallen into his hands during his Sicilian membership. To destroy it was useless. He had seen the name and he was doomed. 
But, though his own life was already forfeited, he was playing for the life of his daughter. Ferrers can have had no idea of the actual identity of the assassin 
who had been selected for the work beyond the fact that the unknown must of necessity be a fellow -member. 

"Concealed in the fork of the tree above the prearranged meeting place, the murderer lay in wait as a leopard waits for a sheep and, when his victim 
halted beneath him, he drew his knife and, leaping to the ground, seized him from behind and cut his throat. When he had searched Ferrers' body for the 
paper and eventually found it in the butt of the gun, his loathsome task was completed. He forgot, however, that in doing it he had left his heel-marks on 
the turf and two threads from his brown tweed coat on the rough bark of the tree." 

As Sherlock Holmes ceased speaking, the silence of death fell on that darkening room. Then, stretching out one long, thin arm, he pointed silently at the shadowy 
figure of James Tonston. 

"There stands the murderer of Josua Ferrers," he said in a quiet voice. 

Tonston stepped forward, a smile upon his pale face. 

"You are wrong," he said steadily. "The executioner of Josua Ferrers." 

For a moment, he stood before us meeting our horrified stares with the serenity of one whose duty has been meritoriously fulfilled. Then, with a rattle of handcuffs, the 
constable leapt upon his man. 

Tonston made no attempt to struggle, and with his hands manacled before him, he was accompanying his captor to the door when my friend's voice brought them 
to a halt. 

"What have you done with it?" he demanded. 

The prisoner looked at him silently. 

"I ask," continued Holmes, "because if you have not destroyed it then it is best that I destroy it myself, and that unread." 

"Rest assured that the paper is already destroyed," said James Tonston, "and that the Mala Vita preserves the secrets of the Mala Vita. In parting, take this 
word of warning to heart. It is that you know too much. Though your life may be an honoured one, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, it is most unlikely to be a long one." Then, 
with a cold smile in his grey eyes, he passed from the room. 

It was an hour later and a full moon was rising when my friend and I, after parting from Dr. Nordham, turned our backs upon Abbotstanding, now gaunt and black 
against the night sky, and set out on foot towards Beaulieu village, where we planned to stay at the inn and take the morning train back to town. 

I shall long remember that wonderful five miles' walk along a road all dappled with white fire and deepest shadow where the great trees met above our heads 

and the forest deer peered at us from the clumps of glistening bracken. Holmes walked with his chin upon his breast and it was not until we were descending the hill 

above the village that he broke his silence. It was little enough that he said then but for some reason his words have remained in my mind. 

"You know me sufficiently well, Watson, to acquit me of all false sentiment," said he, "when I confess that there is an urge upon me tonight to walk for a while in 
the ruined cloisters of Beaulieu Abbey. It was the abode of men who lived and died at peace with themselves and with each other. We have seen much evil in our time, 
not least of which is the misuse of noble qualities such as loyalty, courage and determination for purposes that are in themselves ignoble. But the older I grow the 
more forcibly is it borne in upon me that just as these hills, and moonlit woods have outlived the ruins that now lie before us, so too must our virtues which are sprung from 
God survive our vices which, like the Dark Angels, spring from man. Surely. Watson, this is the ultimate promise." 



The Adventure of the Three Garridebs 


t may have been a comedy, or it may have 
been a tragedy. It cost one man his rea- 
son, it cost me a blood-letting, and it 
cost yet another man the penalties of the 
law. Yet there was certainly an element of comedy. 
Well, you shall judge for yourselves. 

I remember the date very well, for it was in 
the same month that Holmes refused a knighthood 
for services which may perhaps some day be de- 
scribed. I only refer to the matter in passing, for in 
my position of partner and confidant I am obliged 
to be particularly careful to avoid any indiscre- 
tion. I repeat, however, that this enables me to fix 
the date, which was the latter end of June, 1902, 
shortly after the conclusion of the South African 
War. Holmes had spent several days in bed, as 
was his habit from time to time, but he emerged 
that morning with a long foolscap document in his 
hand and a twinkle of amusement in his austere 
gray eyes. 

"There is a chance for you to make some 
money, friend Watson," said he. "Have you ever 
heard the name of Garrideb?" 

I admitted that I had not. 

"Well, if you can lay your hand upon a Gar- 
rideb, there's money in it." 

"Why?" 

"Ah, that's a long story — rather a whimsical 
one, too. I don't think in all our explorations 
of human complexities we have ever come upon 
anything more singular. The fellow will be here 
presently for cross-examination, so I won't open 
the matter up till he comes. But, meanwhile, that's 
the name we want." 

The telephone directory lay on the table beside 
me, and I turned over the pages in a rather hope- 
less quest. But to my amazement there was this 
strange name in its due place. I gave a cry of tri- 
umph. 

"Here you are. Holmes! Here it is!" 

Holmes took the book from my hand. 

'"Garrideb, N.,' " he read, '"136 Little Ryder 
Street, W.' Sorry to disappoint you, my dear Wat- 
son, but this is the man himself. That is the ad- 
dress upon his letter. We want another to match 
him." 

Mrs. Hudson had come in with a card upon a 
tray. I took it up and glanced at it. 

"Why, here it is!" I cried in amazement. "This 
is a different initial. John Garrideb, Counsellor at 
Law, Moorville, Kansas, U. S. A." 



Holmes smiled as he looked at the card. "I am 
afraid you must make yet another effort, Watson," 
said he. "This gentleman is also in the plot al- 
ready, though I certainly did not expect to see him 
this morning. However, he is in a position to tell 
us a good deal which I want to know." 

A moment later he was in the room. Mr. John 
Garrideb, Counsellor at Law, was a short, powerful 
man with the round, fresh, clean-shaven face char- 
acteristic of so many American men of affairs. The 
general effect was chubby and rather childlike, so 
that one received the impression of quite a young 
man with a broad set smile upon his face. His 
eyes, however, were arresting. Seldom in any hu- 
man head have I seen a pair which bespoke a more 
intense inward life, so bright were they, so alert, so 
responsive to every change of thought. His accent 
was American, but was not accompanied by any 
eccentricity of speech. 

"Mr. Holmes?" he asked, glancing from one to 
the other. "Ah, yes! Your pictures are not unlike 
you, sir, if I may say so. I believe you have had 
a letter from my namesake, Mr. Nathan Garrideb, 
have you not?" 

"Pray sit down," said Sherlock Holmes. "We 
shall, I fancy, have a good deal to discuss." He took 
up his sheets of foolscap. "You are, of course, the 
Mr. John Garrideb mentioned in this document. 
But surely you have been in England some time?" 

"Why do you say that, Mr. Holmes?" I seemed 
to read sudden suspicion in those expressive eyes. 

"Your whole outfit is English." 

Mr. Garrideb forced a laugh. "I've read of your 
tricks, Mr. Holmes, but I never thought I would be 
the subject of them. Where do you read that?" 

"The shoulder cut of your coat, the toes of your 
boots — could anyone doubt it?" 

"Well, well, I had no idea I was so obvious a 
Britisher. But business brought me over here some 
time ago, and so, as you say, my outfit is nearly all 
London. However, I guess your time is of value, 
and we did not meet to talk about the cut of my 
socks. What about getting down to that paper you 
hold in your hand?" 

Holmes had in some way ruffled our visitor, 
whose chubby face had assumed a far less amiable 
expression. 

"Patience! Patience, Mr. Garrideb!" said my 
friend in a soothing voice. "Dr. Watson would tell 
you that these little digressions of mine sometimes 
prove in the end to have some bearing on the mat- 
ter. But why did Mr. Nathan Garrideb not come 
with you?" 


9 11 



The Adventure of the Three Garridebs 


"Why did he ever drag you into it at all?" 
asked our visitor with a sudden outflame of anger. 
"What in thunder had you to do with it? Here was 
a bit of professional business between two gentle- 
men, and one of them must needs call in a detec- 
tive! I saw him this morning, and he told me this 
fool-trick he had played me, and that's why I am 
here. But I feel bad about it, all the same." 

"There was no reflection upon you, Mr. Gar- 
rideb. It was simply zeal upon his part to gain 
your end — an end which is, I understand, equally 
vital for both of you. He knew that I had means 
of getting information, and, therefore, it was very 
natural that he should apply to me." 

Our visitor's angry face gradually cleared. 

"Well, that puts it different," said he. "When I 
went to see him this morning and he told me he 
had sent to a detective, I just asked for your ad- 
dress and came right away. I don't want police 
butting into a private matter. But if you are con- 
tent just to help us find the man, there can be no 
harm in that." 

"Well, that is just how it stands," said Holmes. 
"And now, sir, since you are here, we had best have 
a clear account from your own lips. My friend here 
knows nothing of the details." 

Mr. Garrideb surveyed me with not too friendly 
a gaze. 

"Need he know?" he asked. 

"We usually work together." 

"Well, there's no reason it should be kept a se- 
cret. I'll give you the facts as short as I can make 
them. If you came from Kansas I would not need 
to explain to you who Alexander Hamilton Gar- 
rideb was. He made his money in real estate, 
and afterwards in the wheat pit at Chicago, but he 
spent it in buying up as much land as would make 
one of your counties, lying along the Arkansas 
River, west of Fort Dodge. It's grazing-land 
and lumber-land and arable-land and mineralized- 
land, and just every sort of land that brings dollars 
to the man that owns it. 

"He had no kith nor kin — or, if he had, I never 
heard of it. But he took a kind of pride in the 
queerness of his name. That was what brought us 
together. I was in the law at Topeka, and one day 
I had a visit from the old man, and he was tickled 
to death to meet another man with his own name. 
It was his pet fad, and he was dead set to find 
out if there were any more Garridebs in the world. 
'Find me another!' said he. I told him I was a busy 
man and could not spend my life hiking round the 
world in search of Garridebs. 'None the less,' said 


he, 'that is just what you will do if things pan out 
as I planned them.' I thought he was joking, but 
there was a powerful lot of meaning in the words, 
as I was soon to discover. 

"For he died within a year of saying them, and 
he left a will behind him. It was the queerest will 
that has ever been filed in the State of Kansas. His 
property was divided into three parts, and I was to 
have one on condition that I found two Garridebs 
who would share the remainder. It's five million 
dollars for each if it is a cent, but we can't lay a 
finger on it until we all three stand in a row. 

"It was so big a chance that I just let my le- 
gal practice slide and I set forth looking for Gar- 
ridebs. There is not one in the United States. I 
went through it, sir, with a fine-toothed comb and 
never a Garrideb could I catch. Then I tried the 
old country. Sure enough there was the name in 
the London telephone directory. I went after him 
two days ago and explained the whole matter to 
him. But he is a lone man, like myself, with some 
women relations, but no men. It says three adult 
men in the will. So you see we still have a vacancy, 
and if you can help to fill it we will be very ready 
to pay your charges." 

"Well, Watson," said Holmes with a smile, "I 
said it was rather whimsical, did I not? I should 
have thought, sir, that your obvious way was to 
advertise in the agony columns of the papers." 

"I have done that, Mr. Holmes. No replies." 

"Dear me! Well, it is certainly a most curi- 
ous little problem. I may take a glance at it in 
my leisure. By the way, it is curious that you 
should have come from Topeka. I used to have a 
correspondent — he is dead now — old Dr. Lysander 
Starr, who was mayor in 1890." 

"Good old Dr. Starr!" said our visitor. "His 
name is still honoured. Well, Mr. Holmes, I sup- 
pose all we can do is to report to you and let 
you know how we progress. I reckon you will 
hear within a day or two." With this assurance our 
American bowed and departed. 

Holmes had lit his pipe, and he sat for some 
time with a curious smile upon his face. 

"Well?" I asked at last. 

"I am wondering, Watson — just wondering!" 

"At what?" 

Holmes took his pipe from his lips. 

"I was wondering, Watson, what on earth 
could be the object of this man in telling us such a 
rigmarole of lies. I nearly asked him so — for there 
are times when a brutal frontal attack is the best 


912 



The Adventure of the Three Garridebs 


policy — but I judged it better to let him think he 
had fooled us. Here is a man with an English 
coat frayed at the elbow and trousers bagged at the 
knee with a year 's wear, and yet by this document 
and by his own account he is a provincial Ameri- 
can lately landed in London. There have been no 
advertisements in the agony columns. You know 
that I miss nothing there. They are my favourite 
covert for putting up a bird, and I would never 
have overlooked such a cock pheasant as that. I 
never knew a Dr. Lysander Starr, of Topeka. Touch 
him where you would he was false. I think the 
fellow is really an American, but he has worn his 
accent smooth with years of London. What is his 
game, then, and what motive lies behind this pre- 
posterous search for Garridebs? It's worth our at- 
tention, for, granting that the man is a rascal, he is 
certainly a complex and ingenious one. We must 
now find out if our other correspondent is a fraud 
also. Just ring him up, Watson." 

I did so, and heard a thin, quavering voice at 
the other end of the line. 

"Yes, yes, I am Mr. Nathan Garrideb. Is Mr. 
Holmes there? I should very much like to have a 
word with Mr. Holmes." 

My friend took the instrument and I heard the 
usual syncopated dialogue. 

"Yes, he has been here. I understand that you 
don't know him. . . . How long? . . . Only two 
days! . . . Yes, yes, of course, it is a most captivat- 
ing prospect. Will you be at home this evening? 
I suppose your namesake will not be there? . . . 
Very good, we will come then, for I would rather 
have a chat without him. . . . Dr. Watson will come 
with me. ... I understand from your note that 
you did not go out often. . . . Well, we shall be 
round about six. You need not mention it to the 
American lawyer. . . . Very good. Good-bye!" 

It was twilight of a lovely spring evening, and 
even Little Ryder Street, one of the smaller off- 
shoots from the Edgware Road, within a stone-cast 
of old Tyburn Tree of evil memory, looked golden 
and wonderful in the slanting rays of the setting 
sun. The particular house to which we were di- 
rected was a large, old-fashioned. Early Georgian 
edifice, with a flat brick face broken only by two 
deep bay windows on the ground floor. It was on 
this ground floor that our client lived, and, indeed, 
the low windows proved to be the front of the 
huge room in which he spent his waking hours. 
Holmes pointed as we passed to the small brass 
plate which bore the curious name. 


"Up some years, Watson," he remarked, indi- 
cating its discoloured surface. "It's his real name, 
anyhow, and that is something to note." 

The house had a common stair, and there were 
a number of names painted in the hall, some indi- 
cating offices and some private chambers. It was 
not a collection of residential flats, but rather the 
abode of Bohemian bachelors. Our client opened 
the door for us himself and apologized by saying 
that the woman in charge left at four o'clock. Mr. 
Nathan Garrideb proved to be a very tall, loose- 
jointed, round-backed person, gaunt and bald, 
some sixty-odd years of age. He had a cadaverous 
face, with the dull dead skin of a man to whom 
exercise was unknown. Large round spectacles 
and a small projecting goat's beard combined with 
his stooping attitude to give him an expression of 
peering curiosity. The general effect, however, was 
amiable, though eccentric. 

The room was as curious as its occupant. It 
looked like a small museum. It was both broad 
and deep, with cupboards and cabinets all round, 
crowded with specimens, geological and anatom- 
ical. Cases of butterflies and moths flanked each 
side of the entrance. A large table in the centre was 
littered with all sorts of debris, while the tall brass 
tube of a powerful microscope bristled up among 
them. As I glanced round I was surprised at the 
universality of the man's interests. Here was a case 
of ancient coins. There was a cabinet of flint instru- 
ments. Behind his central table was a large cup- 
board of fossil bones. Above was a line of plaster 
skulls with such names as "Neanderthal," "Hei- 
delberg," "Cro-Magnon" printed beneath them. It 
was clear that he was a student of many subjects. 
As he stood in front of us now, he held a piece of 
chamois leather in his right hand with which he 
was polishing a coin. 

"Syracusan — of the best period," he explained, 
holding it up. "They degenerated greatly towards 
the end. At their best I hold them supreme, though 
some prefer the Alexandrian school. You will find 
a chair here, Mr. Holmes. Pray allow me to clear 
these bones. And you, sir — ah, yes. Dr. Watson — if 
you would have the goodness to put the Japanese 
vase to one side. You see round me my little in- 
terests in life. My doctor lectures me about never 
going out, but why should I go out when I have 
so much to hold me here? I can assure you that 
the adequate cataloguing of one of those cabinets 
would take me three good months." 

Holmes looked round him with curiosity. 

"But do you tell me that you never go out?" he 
said. 


913 



The Adventure of the Three Garridebs 


"Now and again I drive down to Sotheby's 
or Christie's. Otherwise I very seldom leave my 
room. I am not too strong, and my researches are 
very absorbing. But you can imagine, Mr. Holmes, 
what a terrific shock — pleasant but terrific — it was 
for me when I heard of this unparalleled good for- 
tune. It only needs one more Garrideb to complete 
the matter, and surely we can find one. I had a 
brother, but he is dead, and female relatives are 
disqualified. But there must surely be others in the 
world. I had heard that you handled strange cases, 
and that was why I sent to you. Of course, this 
American gentleman is quite right, and I should 
have taken his advice first, but I acted for the best." 

"I think you acted very wisely indeed," said 
Holmes. "But are you really anxious to acquire an 
estate in America?" 

"Certainly not, sir. Nothing would induce me 
to leave my collection. But this gentleman has as- 
sured me that he will buy me out as soon as we 
have established our claim. Five million dollars 
was the sum named. There are a dozen specimens 
in the market at the present moment which fill 
gaps in my collection, and which I am unable to 
purchase for want of a few hundred pounds. Just 
think what I could do with five million dollars. 
Why, I have the nucleus of a national collection. I 
shall be the Hans Sloane of my age." 

His eyes gleamed behind his great spectacles. 
It was very clear that no pains would be spared by 
Mr. Nathan Garrideb in finding a namesake. 

"I merely called to make your acquaintance, 
and there is no reason why I should interrupt your 
studies," said Holmes. "I prefer to establish per- 
sonal touch with those with whom I do business. 
There are few questions I need ask, for I have your 
very clear narrative in my pocket, and I filled up 
the blanks when this American gentleman called. I 
understand that up to this week you were unaware 
of his existence." 

"That is so. He called last Tuesday." 

"Did he tell you of our interview to-day?" 

"Yes, he came straight back to me. He had been 
very angry." 

"Why should he be angry?" 

"He seemed to think it was some reflection on 
his honour. But he was quite cheerful again when 
he returned." 

"Did he suggest any course of action?" 

"No, sir, he did not." 

"Has he had, or asked for, any money from 
you?" 


"No, sir, never!" 

"You see no possible object he has in view?" 

"None, except what he states." 

"Did you tell him of our telephone appoint- 
ment?" 

"Yes, sir, I did." 

Holmes was lost in thought. I could see that he 
was puzzled. 

"Have you any articles of great value in your 
collection?" 

"No, sir. I am not a rich man. It is a good 
collection, but not a very valuable one." 

"You have no fear of burglars?" 

"Not the least." 

"How long have you been in these rooms?" 

"Nearly five years." 

Holmes's cross-examination was interrupted 
by an imperative knocking at the door. No sooner 
had our client unlatched it than the American 
lawyer burst excitedly into the room. 

"Here you are!" he cried, waving a paper over 
his head. "I thought I should be in time to get 
you. Mr. Nathan Garrideb, my congratulations! 
You are a rich man, sir. Our business is happily 
finished and all is well. As to you, Mr. Holmes, we 
can only say we are sorry if we have given you any 
useless trouble." 

He handed over the paper to our client, who 
stood staring at a marked advertisement. Holmes 
and I leaned forward and read it over his shoulder. 
This is how it ran: 

Howard Garrideb 
Constructor of Agricultural 
Machinery 

Binders, reapers, steam and hand plozvs, 
drills, harrows, farmers' carts, backboards, 
and all other appliances. 

Estimates for Artesian Wells 
Apply Grosvenor Buildings, Aston 
"Glorious!" gasped our host. "That makes our 
third man." 

"I had opened up inquiries in Birmingham," 
said the American, "and my agent there has sent 
me this advertisement from a local paper. We must 
hustle and put the thing through. I have written to 
this man and told him that you will see him in his 
office to-morrow afternoon at four o'clock." 

"You want me to see him?" 

"What do you say, Mr. Holmes? Don't you 
think it would be wiser? Here am I, a wander- 
ing American with a wonderful tale. Why should 
he believe what I tell him? But you are a Britisher 


914 



The Adventure of the Three Garridebs 


with solid references, and he is bound to take no- 
tice of what you say. I would go with you if you 
wished, but I have a very busy day to-morrow, and 
I could always follow you if you are in any trou- 
ble." 

"Well, I have not made such a journey for 
years." 

"It is nothing, Mr. Garrideb. I have figured out 
our connections. You leave at twelve and should 
be there soon after two. Then you can be back the 
same night. All you have to do is to see this man, 
explain the matter, and get an affidavit of his exis- 
tence. By the Lord!" he added hotly, "considering 
I've come all the way from the centre of America, 
it is surely little enough if you go a hundred miles 
in order to put this matter through." 

"Quite so," said Holmes. "I think what this 
gentleman says is very true." 

Mr. Nathan Garrideb shrugged his shoulders 
with a disconsolate air. "Well, if you insist I shall 
go," said he. "It is certainly hard for me to refuse 
you anything, considering the glory of hope that 
you have brought into my life." 

"Then that is agreed," said Holmes, "and no 
doubt you will let me have a report as soon as you 
can." 

"I'll see to that," said the American. "Well," he 
added, looking at his watch, "I'll have to get on. 
I'll call to-morrow, Mr. Nathan, and see you off to 
Birmingham. Coming my way, Mr. Holmes? Well, 
then, good-bye, and we may have good news for 
you to-morrow night." 

I noticed that my friend's face cleared when the 
American left the room, and the look of thoughtful 
perplexity had vanished. 

"I wish I could look over your collection, Mr. 
Garrideb," said he. "In my profession all sorts 
of odd knowledge comes useful, and this room of 
yours is a storehouse of it." 

Our client shone with pleasure and his eyes 
gleamed from behind his big glasses. 

"I had always heard, sir, that you were a very 
intelligent man," said he. "I could take you round 
now if you have the time." 

"Unfortunately, I have not. But these speci- 
mens are so well labelled and classified that they 
hardly need your personal explanation. If I should 
be able to look in to-morrow, I presume that there 
would be no objection to my glancing over them?" 

"None at all. You are most welcome. The place 
will, of course, be shut up, but Mrs. Saunders is in 


the basement up to four o'clock and would let you 
in with her key." 

Well, I happen to be clear to-morrow afternoon. 
If you would say a word to Mrs. Saunders it would 
be quite in order. By the way, who is your house- 
agent?" 

Our client was amazed at the sudden question. 

"Holloway and Steele, in the Edgware Road. 
But why?" 

"I am a bit of an archaeologist myself when it 
comes to houses," said Holmes, laughing. "I was 
wondering if this was Queen Anne or Georgian." 

"Georgian, beyond doubt." 

"Really. I should have thought a little earlier. 
However, it is easily ascertained. Well, good-bye, 
Mr. Garrideb, and may you have every success in 
your Birmingham journey." 

The house-agent's was close by, but we found 
that it was closed for the day, so we made our way 
back to Baker Street. It was not till after dinner 
that Holmes reverted to the subject. 

"Our little problem draws to a close," said he. 
"No doubt you have outlined the solution in your 
own mind." 

"I can make neither head nor tail of it." 

"The head is surely clear enough and the tail 
we should see to-morrow. Did you notice nothing 
curious about that advertisement?" 

"I saw that the word 'plough' was misspelt." 

"Oh, you did notice that, did you? Come, Wat- 
son, you improve all the time. Yes, it was bad En- 
glish but good American. The printer had set it up 
as received. Then the buckboards. That is Amer- 
ican also. And artesian wells are commoner with 
them than with us. It was a typical American ad- 
vertisement, but purporting to be from an English 
firm. What do you make of that?" 

"I can only suppose that this American lawyer 
put it in himself. What his object was I fail to un- 
derstand." 

"Well, there are alternative explanations. Any- 
how, he wanted to get this good old fossil up to 
Birmingham. That is very clear. I might have 
told him that he was clearly going on a wild-goose 
chase, but, on second thoughts, it seemed better 
to clear the stage by letting him go. To-morrow, 
Watson — well, to-morrow will speak for itself. " 

Holmes was up and out early. When he re- 
turned at lunchtime I noticed that his face was very 
grave. 

"This is a more serious matter than I had ex- 
pected, Watson," said he. "It is fair to tell you so, 
though I know it will only be an additional reason 
to you for running your head into danger. I should 


915 



The Adventure of the Three Garridebs 


know my Watson by now. But there is danger, and 
you should know it." 

"Well, it is not the first we have shared. 
Holmes. I hope it may not be the last. What is 
the particular danger this time?" 

"We are up against a very hard case. I have 
identified Mr. John Garrideb, Counsellor at Law. 
He is none other than 'Killer' Evans, of sinister and 
murderous reputation." 

"I fear I am none the wiser." 

"Ah, it is not part of your profession to carry 
about a portable Newgate Calendar in your mem- 
ory. I have been down to see friend Lestrade at the 
Yard. There may be an occasional want of imagina- 
tive intuition down there, but they lead the world 
for thoroughness and method. I had an idea that 
we might get on the track of our American friend 
in their records. Sure enough, I found his chubby 
face smiling up at me from the rogues' portrait 
gallery. 'James Winter, alias Morecroft, alias Killer 
Evans,' was the inscription below." Holmes drew 
an envelope from his pocket. "I scribbled down a 
few points from his dossier: Aged forty-four. Na- 
tive of Chicago. Known to have shot three men in 
the States. Escaped from penitentiary through po- 
litical influence. Came to London in 1893. Shot 
a man over cards in a night-club in the Water- 
loo Road in January, 1895. Man died, but he was 
shown to have been the aggressor in the row. Dead 
man was identified as Rodger Prescott, famous as 
forger and coiner in Chicago. Killer Evans released 
in 1901. Has been under police supervision since, 
but so far as known has led an honest life. Very 
dangerous man, usually carries arms and is pre- 
pared to use them. That is our bird, Watson — a 
sporting bird, as you must admit." 

"But what is his game?" 

"Well, it begins to define itself. I have been to 
the house-agent's. Our client, as he told us, has 
been there five years. It was unlet for a year be- 
fore then. The previous tenant was a gentleman at 
large named Waldron. Waldron's appearance was 
well remembered at the office. He had suddenly 
vanished and nothing more been heard of him. 
He was a tall, bearded man with very dark fea- 
tures. Now, Prescott, the man whom Killer Evans 
had shot, was, according to Scotland Yard, a tall, 
dark man with a beard. As a working hypothesis, 
I think we may take it that Prescott, the American 
criminal, used to live in the very room which our 
innocent friend now devotes to his museum. So at 
last we get a link, you see." 

"And the next link?" 


"Well, we must go now and look for that." 

He took a revolver from the drawer and handed 
it to me. 

"I have my old favourite with me. If our Wild 
West friend tries to live up to his nickname, we 
must be ready for him. I'll give you an hour for a 
siesta, Watson, and then I think it will be time for 
our Ryder Street adventure." 

It was just four o'clock when we reached the 
curious apartment of Nathan Garrideb. Mrs. Saun- 
ders, the caretaker, was about to leave, but she had 
no hesitation in admitting us, for the door shut 
with a spring lock, and Holmes promised to see 
that all was safe before we left. Shortly afterwards 
the outer door closed, her bonnet passed the bow 
window, and we knew that we were alone in the 
lower floor of the house. Holmes made a rapid 
examination of the premises. There was one cup- 
board in a dark corner which stood out a little 
from the wall. It was behind this that we eventu- 
ally crouched while Holmes in a whisper outlined 
his intentions. 

"He wanted to get our amiable friend out of 
his room — that is very clear, and, as the collector 
never went out, it took some planning to do it. The 
whole of this Garrideb invention was apparently 
for no other end. I must say, Watson, that there 
is a certain devilish ingenuity about it, even if the 
queer name of the tenant did give him an opening 
which he could hardly have expected. He wove his 
plot with remarkable cunning." 

"But what did he want?" 

"Well, that is what we are here to find out. It 
has nothing whatever to do with our client, so far 
as I can read the situation. It is something con- 
nected with the man he murdered — the man who 
may have been his confederate in crime. There 
is some guilty secret in the room. That is how 
I read it. At first I thought our friend might 
have something in his collection more valuable 
than he knew — something worth the attention of 
a big criminal. But the fact that Rodger Prescott of 
evil memory inhabited these rooms points to some 
deeper reason. Well, Watson, we can but possess 
our souls in patience and see what the hour may 
bring." 

That hour was not long in striking. We 
crouched closer in the shadow as we heard the 
outer door open and shut. Then came the sharp, 
metallic snap of a key, and the American was in 
the room. He closed the door softly behind him, 
took a sharp glance around him to see that all was 
safe, threw off his overcoat, and walked up to the 



The Adventure of the Three Garridebs 


central table with the brisk manner of one who 
knows exactly what he has to do and how to do 
it. He pushed the table to one side, tore up the 
square of carpet on which it rested, rolled it com- 
pletely back, and then, drawing a jemmy from his 
inside pocket, he knelt down and worked vigor- 
ously upon the floor. Presently we heard the sound 
of sliding boards, and an instant later a square had 
opened in the planks. Killer Evans struck a match, 
lit a stump of candle, and vanished from our view. 

Clearly our moment had come. Holmes 
touched my wrist as a signal, and together we 
stole across to the open trap-door. Gently as we 
moved, however, the old floor must have creaked 
under our feet, for the head of our American, peer- 
ing anxiously round, emerged suddenly from the 
open space. His face turned upon us with a glare 
of baffled rage, which gradually softened into a 
rather shamefaced grin as he realized that two pis- 
tols were pointed at his head. 

"Well, well!" said he coolly as he scrambled to 
the surface. "I guess you have been one too many 
for me, Mr. Holmes. Saw through my game, I sup- 
pose, and played me for a sucker from the first. 
Well, sir, I hand it to you; you have me beat and — " 

In an instant he had whisked out a revolver 
from his breast and had fired two shots. I felt 
a sudden hot sear as if a red-hot iron had been 
pressed to my thigh. There was a crash as 
Holmes's pistol came down on the man's head. I 
had a vision of him sprawling upon the floor with 
blood running down his face while Holmes rum- 
maged him for weapons. Then my friend's wiry 
arms were round me, and he was leading me to a 
chair. 

"You're not hurt, Watson? For God's sake, say 
that you are not hurt!" 

It was worth a wound — it was worth many 
wounds — to know the depth of loyalty and love 
which lay behind that cold mask. The clear, hard 
eyes were dimmed for a moment, and the firm lips 
were shaking. For the one and only time I caught a 
glimpse of a great heart as well as of a great brain. 
All my years of humble but single-minded service 
culminated in that moment of revelation. 

"It's nothing. Holmes. It's a mere scratch." 

He had ripped up my trousers with his pocket- 
knife. 

"You are right," he cried with an immense sigh 
of relief. "It is quite superficial." His face set like 
flint as he glared at our prisoner, who was sitting 
up with a dazed face. "By the Lord, it is as well for 
you. If you had killed Watson, you would not have 


got out of this room alive. Now, sir, what have you 
to say for yourself?" 

He had nothing to say for himself. He only sat 
and scowled. 1 leaned on Holmes's arm, and to- 
gether we looked down into the small cellar which 
had been disclosed by the secret flap. It was still 
illuminated by the candle which Evans had taken 
down with him. Our eyes fell upon a mass of 
rusted machinery, great rolls of paper, a litter of 
bottles, and, neatly arranged upon a small table, a 
number of neat little bundles. 

"A printing press — a counterfeiter's outfit," 
said Holmes. 

"Yes, sir," said our prisoner, staggering slowly 
to his feet and then sinking into the chair. "The 
greatest counterfeiter London ever saw. That's 
Prescott's machine, and those bundles on the table 
are two thousand of Prescott's notes worth a hun- 
dred each and fit to pass anywhere. Help your- 
selves, gentlemen. Call it a deal and let me beat 
it." 

Holmes laughed. 

"We don't do things like that, Mr. Evans. There 
is no bolt-hole for you in this country. You shot 
this man Prescott, did you not?" 

"Yes, sir, and got five years for it, though it was 
he who pulled on me. Five years — when I should 
have had a medal the size of a soup plate. No 
living man could tell a Prescott from a Bank of 
England, and if I hadn't put him out he would 
have flooded London with them. I was the only 
one in the world who knew where he made them. 
Can you wonder that I wanted to get to the place? 
And can you wonder that when I found this crazy 
boob of a bug-hunter with the queer name squat- 
ting right on the top of it, and never quitting his 
room, I had to do the best I could to shift him? 
Maybe I would have been wiser if I had put him 
away. It would have been easy enough, but I'm 
a soft-hearted guy that can't begin shooting unless 
the other man has a gun also. But say, Mr. Holmes, 
what have I done wrong, anyhow? I've not used 
this plant. I've not hurt this old stiff. Where do 
you get me?" 

"Only attempted murder, so far as I can see," 
said Holmes. "But that's not our job. They take 
that at the next stage. What we wanted at present 
was just your sweet self. Please give the Yard a 
call, Watson. It won't be entirely unexpected." 

So those were the facts about Killer Evans and 
his remarkable invention of the three Garridebs. 
We heard later that our poor old friend never got 
over the shock of his dissipated dreams. When his 


917 



castle in the air fell down, it buried him beneath 
the ruins. He was last heard of at a nursing-home 
in Brixton. It was a glad day at the Yard when 
the Prescott outfit was discovered, for, though they 
knew that it existed, they had never been able, af- 
ter the death of the man, to find out where it was. 
Evans had indeed done great service and caused 


several worthy C. I. D. men to sleep the sounder, 
for the counterfeiter stands in a class by himself as 
a public danger. They would willingly have sub- 
scribed to that soup-plate medal of which the crim- 
inal had spoken, but an unappreciative bench took 
a less favourable view, and the Killer returned to 
those shades from which he had just emerged. 



The Illustrious Client 


t can't hurt now," was Mr. Sherlock 
Holmes's comment when, for the tenth 
time in as many years, I asked his leave 
to reveal the following narrative. So it 
was that at last I obtained permission to put on 
record what was, in some ways, the supreme mo- 
ment of my friend's career. 

Both Holmes and I had a weakness for the 
Turkish bath. It was over a smoke in the pleas- 
ant lassitude of the drying-room that I have found 
him less reticent and more human than anywhere 
else. On the upper floor of the Northumberland 
Avenue establishment there is an isolated corner 
where two couches lie side by side, and it was 
on these that we lay upon September 3, 1902, the 
day when my narrative begins. I had asked him 
whether anything was stirring, and for answer he 
had shot his long, thin, nervous arm out of the 
sheets which enveloped him and had drawn an 
envelope from the inside pocket of the coat which 
hung beside him. 

"It may be some fussy, self-important fool; it 
may be a matter of life or death," said he as he 
handed me the note. "I know no more than this 
message tells me." 

It was from the Carlton Club and dated the 
evening before. This is what I read: 

Sir James Damery presents his com- 
pliments to Mr. Sherlock Holmes and 
will call upon him at 4.30 to-morrow. 

Sir James begs to say that the matter 
upon which he desires to consult Mr. 
Holmes is very delicate and also very 
important. He trusts, therefore, that 
Mr. Holmes will make every effort to 
grant this interview, and that he will 
confirm it over the telephone to the 
Carlton Club. 

"I need not say that I have confirmed it, Wat- 
son," said Holmes as I returned the paper. "Do 
you know anything of this man Damery?" 

"Only that this name is a household word in 
society." 

"Well, I can tell you a little more than that. He 
has rather a reputation for arranging delicate mat- 
ters which are to be kept out of the papers. You 
may remember his negotiations with Sir George 
Lewis over the Hammerford Will case. He is a man 
of the world with a natural turn for diplomacy. I 
am bound, therefore, to hope that it is not a false 
scent and that he has some real need for our assis- 
tance." 



"Our?" 

"Well, if you will be so good, Watson." 

"I shall be honoured." 

"Then you have the hour — 4.30. Until then we 
can put the matter out of our heads." 

I was living in my own rooms in Queen Anne 
Street at the time, but I was round at Baker Street 
before the time named. Sharp to the half-hour. 
Colonel Sir James Damery was announced. It is 
hardly necessary to describe him, for many will 
remember that large, bluff, honest personality, that 
broad, clean-shaven face, and, above all, that pleas- 
ant, mellow voice. Frankness shone from his gray 
Irish eyes, and good humour played round his 
mobile, smiling lips. His lucent top-hat, his dark 
frock-coat, indeed, every detail, from the pearl pin 
in the black satin cravat to the lavender spats over 
the varnished shoes, spoke of the meticulous care 
in dress for which he was famous. The big, mas- 
terful aristocrat dominated the little room. 

"Of course, I was prepared to find Dr. Watson," 
he remarked with a courteous bow. "His collabo- 
ration may be very necessary, for we are dealing 
on this occasion, Mr. Holmes, with a man to whom 
violence is familiar and who will, literally, stick at 
nothing. I should say that there is no more dan- 
gerous man in Europe." 

"I have had several opponents to whom that 
flattering term has been applied," said Holmes 
with a smile. "Don't you smoke? Then you will 
excuse me if I light my pipe. If your man is more 
dangerous than the late Professor Moriarty, or than 
the living Colonel Sebastian Moran, then he is in- 
deed worth meeting. May I ask his name?" 

"Have you ever heard of Baron Gruner?" 

"You mean the Austrian murderer?" 

Colonel Damery threw up his kid-gloved 
hands with a laugh. "There is no getting past 
you, Mr. Holmes! Wonderful! So you have already 
sized him up as a murderer?" 

"It is my business to follow the details of Conti- 
nental crime. Who could possibly have read what 
happened at Prague and have any doubts as to the 
man's guilt! It was a purely technical legal point 
and the suspicious death of a witness that saved 
him! I am as sure that he killed his wife when the 
so-called 'accident' happened in the Splugen Pass 
as if I had seen him do it. I knew, also, that he 
had come to England and had a presentiment that 
sooner or later he would find me some work to 
do. Well, what has Baron Gruner been up to? I 
presume it is not this old tragedy which has come 
up again?" 


855 



The Illustrious Client 


"No, it is more serious than that. To revenge 
crime is important, but to prevent it is more so. 
It is a terrible thing, Mr. Holmes, to see a dread- 
ful event, an atrocious situation, preparing itself 
before your eyes, to clearly understand whither it 
will lead and yet to be utterly unable to avert it. 
Can a human being be placed in a more trying po- 
sition?" 

"Perhaps not." 

"Then you will sympathize with the client in 
whose interests I am acting." 

"I did not understand that you were merely an 
intermediary. Who is the principal?" 

"Mr. Holmes, I must beg you not to press that 
question. It is important that I should be able to 
assure him that his honoured name has been in 
no way dragged into the matter. His motives are, 
to the last degree, honourable and chivalrous, but 
he prefers to remain unknown. I need not say 
that your fees will be assured and that you will 
be given a perfectly free hand. Surely the actual 
name of your client is immaterial?" 

"I am sorry," said Holmes. "I am accustomed 
to have mystery at one end of my cases, but to have 
it at both ends is too confusing. I fear. Sir James, 
that I must decline to act." 

Our visitor was greatly disturbed. His large, 
sensitive face was darkened with emotion and dis- 
appointment. 

"You hardly realize the effect of your own ac- 
tion, Mr. Holmes," said he. "You place me in a 
most serious dilemma, for I am perfectly certain 
that you would be proud to take over the case if I 
could give you the facts, and yet a promise forbids 
me from revealing them all. May I, at least, lay all 
that I can before you?" 

"By all means, so long as it is understood that 
I commit myself to nothing." 

"That is understood. In the first place, you have 
no doubt heard of General de Merville?" 

"De Merville of Khyber fame? Yes, I have heard 
of him." 

"He has a daughter, Violet de Merville, young, 
rich, beautiful, accomplished, a wonder-woman in 
every way. It is this daughter, this lovely, innocent 
girl, whom we are endeavouring to save from the 
clutches of a fiend." 

"Baron Gruner has some hold over her, then?" 

"The strongest of all holds where a woman is 
concerned — the hold of love. The fellow is, as you 
may have heard, extraordinarily handsome, with a 
most fascinating manner, a gentle voice, and that 


air of romance and mystery which means so much 
to a woman. He is said to have the whole sex at his 
mercy and to have made ample use of the fact." 

"But how came such a man to meet a lady of 
the standing of Miss Violet de Merville?" 

"It was on a Mediterranean yachting voyage. 
The company, though select, paid their own pas- 
sages. No doubt the promoters hardly realized the 
Baron's true character until it was too late. The 
villain attached himself to the lady, and with such 
effect that he has completely and absolutely won 
her heart. To say that she loves him hardly ex- 
presses it. She dotes upon him; she is obsessed by 
him. Outside of him there is nothing on earth. She 
will not hear one word against him. Everything 
has been done to cure her of her madness, but in 
vain. To sum up, she proposes to marry him next 
month. As she is of age and has a will of iron, it is 
hard to know how to prevent her." 

"Does she know about the Austrian episode?" 

"The cunning devil has told her every un- 
savoury public scandal of his past life, but always 
in such a way as to make himself out to be an in- 
nocent martyr. She absolutely accepts his version 
and will listen to no other." 

"Dear me! But surely you have inadvertently 
let out the name of your client? It is no doubt 
General de Merville." 

Our visitor fidgeted in his chair. 

"I could deceive you by saying so, Mr. Holmes, 
but it would not be true. De Merville is a broken 
man. The strong soldier has been utterly demoral- 
ized by this incident. He has lost the nerve which 
never failed him on the battlefield and has become 
a weak, doddering old man, utterly incapable of 
contending with a brilliant, forceful rascal like this 
Austrian. My client, however, is an old friend, one 
who has known the General intimately for many 
years and taken a paternal interest in this young 
girl since she wore short frocks. He cannot see 
this tragedy consummated without some attempt 
to stop it. There is nothing in which Scotland Yard 
can act. It was his own suggestion that you should 
be called in, but it was, as I have said, on the 
express stipulation that he should not be person- 
ally involved in the matter. I have no doubt, Mr. 
Holmes, with your great powers you could easily 
trace my client back through me, but I must ask 
you, as a point of honour, to refrain from doing so, 
and not to break in upon his incognito." 

Holmes gave a whimsical smile. 

"I think I may safely promise that," said he. "I 
may add that your problem interests me, and that 


856 



The Illustrious Client 


I shall be prepared to look into it. How shall I keep 
in touch with you?" 

"The Carlton Club will find me. But in case 
of emergency, there is a private telephone call, 
'XX.31.'" 

Holmes noted it down and sat, still smiling, 
with the open memorandum-book upon his knee. 

"The Baron's present address, please?" 

"Vernon Lodge, near Kingston. It is a large 
house. He has been fortunate in some rather shady 
speculations and is a rich man, which naturally 
makes him a more dangerous antagonist." 

"Is he at home at present?" 

"Yes." 

"Apart from what you have told me, can you 
give me any further information about the man?" 

"He has expensive tastes. He is a horse fancier. 
For a short time he played polo at Hurlingham, 
but then this Prague affair got noised about and he 
had to leave. He collects books and pictures. He 
is a man with a considerable artistic side to his na- 
ture. He is, I believe, a recognized authority upon 
Chinese pottery and has written a book upon the 
subject." 

"A complex mind," said Holmes. "All great 
criminals have that. My old friend Charlie Peace 
was a violin virtuoso. Wain wright was no mean 
artist. I could quote many more. Well, Sir James, 
you will inform your client that I am turning my 
mind upon Baron Gruner. I can say no more. I 
have some sources of information of my own, and 
I dare say we may find some means of opening the 
matter up." 

When our visitor had left us Holmes sat so long 
in deep thought that it seemed to me that he had 
forgotten my presence. At last, however, he came 
briskly back to earth. 

"Well, Watson, any views?" he asked. 

"I should think you had better see the young 
lady herself. " 

"My dear Watson, if her poor old broken father 
cannot move her, how shall I, a stranger, prevail? 
And yet there is something in the suggestion if all 
else fails. But I think we must begin from a dif- 
ferent angle. I rather fancy that Shinwell Johnson 
might be a help." 

I have not had occasion to mention Shinwell 
Johnson in these memoirs because I have seldom 
drawn my cases from the latter phases of my 
friend's career. During the first years of the cen- 
tury he became a valuable assistant. Johnson, I 


grieve to say, made his name first as a very dan- 
gerous villain and served two terms at Parkhurst. 
Finally he repented and allied himself to Holmes, 
acting as his agent in the huge criminal under- 
world of London and obtaining information which 
often proved to be of vital importance. Had John- 
son been a "nark" of the police he would soon have 
been exposed, but as he dealt with cases which 
never came directly into the courts, his activities 
were never realized by his companions. With the 
glamour of his two convictions upon him, he had 
the entree of every night-club, doss house, and 
gambling-den in the town, and his quick observa- 
tion and active brain made him an ideal agent for 
gaining information. It was to him that Sherlock 
Holmes now proposed to turn. 

It was not possible for me to follow the imme- 
diate steps taken by my friend, for I had some 
pressing professional business of my own, but I 
met him by appointment that evening at Simp- 
son's, where, sitting at a small table in the front 
window and looking down at the rushing stream 
of life in the Strand, he told me something of what 
had passed. 

"Johnson is on the prowl," said he. "He may 
pick up some garbage in the darker recesses of the 
underworld, for it is down there, amid the black 
roots of crime, that we must hunt for this man's 
secrets." 

"But if the lady will not accept what is already 
known, why should any fresh discovery of yours 
turn her from her purpose?" 

"Who knows, Watson? Woman's heart and 
mind are insoluble puzzles to the male. Murder 
might be condoned or explained, and yet some 
smaller offence might rankle. Baron Gruner re- 
marked to me — " 

"He remarked to you!" 

"Oh, to be sure, I had not told you of my plans. 
Well, Watson, 1 love to come to close grips with 
my man. I like to meet him eye to eye and read 
for myself the stuff that he is made of. When I 
had given Johnson his instructions I took a cab out 
to Kingston and found the Baron in a most affable 
mood." 

"Did he recognize you?" 

"There was no difficulty about that, for I sim- 
ply sent in my card. He is an excellent antagonist, 
cool as ice, silky voiced and soothing as one of 
your fashionable consultants, and poisonous as a 
cobra. He has breeding in him — a real aristocrat of 
crime, with a superficial suggestion of afternoon 
tea and all the cruelty of the grave behind it. Yes, I 


857 



The Illustrious Client 


am glad to have had my attention called to Baron 
Adelbert Gruner." 

"You say he was affable?" 

"A purring cat who thinks he sees prospective 
mice. Some people's affability is more deadly than 
the violence of coarser souls. His greeting was 
characteristic. 'I rather thought I should see you 
sooner or later, Mr. Holmes/ said he. 'You have 
been engaged, no doubt by General de Merville, 
to endeavour to stop my marriage with his daugh- 
ter, Violet. That is so, is it not?' 

"I acquiesced. 

" 'My dear man/ said he, 'you will only ruin 
your own well-deserved reputation. It is not a case 
in which you can possibly succeed. You will have 
barren work, to say nothing of incurring some dan- 
ger. Let me very strongly advise you to draw off 
at once.' 

" 'It is curious/ I answered, 'but that was the 
very advice which I had intended to give you. I 
have a respect for your brains, Baron, and the lit- 
tle which I have seen of your personality has not 
lessened it. Let me put it to you as man to man. 
No one wants to rake up your past and make you 
unduly uncomfortable. It is over, and you are now 
in smooth waters, but if you persist in this mar- 
riage you will raise up a swarm of powerful en- 
emies who will never leave you alone until they 
have made England too hot to hold you. Is the 
game worth it? Surely you would be wiser if you 
left the lady alone. It would not be pleasant for 
you if these facts of your past were brought to her 
notice.' 

"The Baron has little waxed tips of hair under 
his nose, like the short antennae of an insect. These 
quivered with amusement as he listened, and he 
finally broke into a gentle chuckle. 

" 'Excuse my amusement, Mr. Holmes/ said he, 
'but it is really funny to see you trying to play 
a hand with no cards in it. I don't think anyone 
could do it better, but it is rather pathetic, all the 
same. Not a colour card there, Mr. Holmes, noth- 
ing but the smallest of the small.' 

" 'So you think.' 

" 'So I know. Let me make the thing clear to 
you, for my own hand is so strong that I can afford 
to show it. I have been fortunate enough to win the 
entire affection of this lady. This was given to me 
in spite of the fact that I told her very clearly of all 
the unhappy incidents in my past life. I also told 
her that certain wicked and designing persons — I 
hope you recognize yourself — would come to her 
and tell her these things, and I warned her how 


to treat them. You have heard of post-hypnotic 
suggestion, Mr. Holmes? Well, you will see how it 
works, for a man of personality can use hypnotism 
without any vulgar passes or tomfoolery. So she is 
ready for you and, I have no doubt, would give 
you an appointment, for she is quite amenable to 
her father's will — save only in the one little mat- 
ter.' 

"Well, Watson, there seemed to be no more to 
say, so I took my leave with as much cold dignity 
as I could summon, but, as I had my hand on the 
door-handle, he stopped me. 

"'By the way, Mr. Holmes/ said he, 'did you 
know Le Brun, the French agent?' 

" 'Yes/ said I. 

" 'Do you know what befell him?' 

" 'I heard that he was beaten by some Apaches 
in the Montmartre district and crippled for life.' 

" 'Quite true, Mr. Holmes. By a curious coinci- 
dence he had been inquiring into my affairs only 
a week before. Don't do it, Mr. Holmes; it's not a 
lucky thing to do. Several have found that out. My 
last word to you is, go your own way and let me 
go mine. Good-bye!' 

"So there you are, Watson. You are up to date 
now." 

"The fellow seems dangerous." 

"Mighty dangerous. I disregard the blusterer, 
but this is the sort of man who says rather less than 
he means." 

"Must you interfere? Does it really matter if he 
marries the girl?" 

"Considering that he undoubtedly murdered 
his last wife, I should say it mattered very much. 
Besides, the client! Well, well, we need not discuss 
that. When you have finished your coffee you had 
best come home with me, for the blithe Shinwell 
will be there with his report." 

We found him sure enough, a huge, coarse, 
red-faced, scorbutic man, with a pair of vivid black 
eyes which were the only external sign of the very 
cunning mind within. It seems that he had dived 
down into what was peculiarly his kingdom, and 
beside him on the settee was a brand which he had 
brought up in the shape of a slim, flame-like young 
woman with a pale, intense face, youthful, and yet 
so worn with sin and sorrow that one read the ter- 
rible years which had left their leprous mark upon 
her. 

"This is Miss Kitty Winter," said Shinwell John- 
son, waving his fat hand as an introduction. "What 
she don't know — well, there, she'll speak for her- 
self. Put my hand right on her, Mr. Holmes, within 
an hour of your message." 


858 



The Illustrious Client 


"I'm easy to find," said the young woman. 
"Hell, London, gets me every time. Same address 
for Porky Shinwell. We're old mates. Porky, you 
and I. But, by cripes! there is another who ought 
to be down in a lower hell than we if there was any 
justice in the world! That is the man you are after, 
Mr. Holmes." 

Holmes smiled. "I gather we have your good 
wishes. Miss Winter." 

"If I can help to put him where he belongs. I'm 
yours to the rattle," said our visitor with fierce en- 
ergy. There was an intensity of hatred in her white, 
set face and her blazing eyes such as woman sel- 
dom and man never can attain. "You needn't go 
into my past, Mr. Holmes. That's neither here nor 
there. But what I am Adelbert Gruner made me. 
If I could pull him down!" She clutched franti- 
cally with her hands into the air. "Oh, if I could 
only pull him into the pit where he has pushed so 
many!" 

"You know how the matter stands?" 

"Porky Shinwell has been telling me. He's after 
some other poor fool and wants to marry her this 
time. You want to stop it. Well, you surely know 
enough about this devil to prevent any decent girl 
in her senses wanting to be in the same parish with 
him." 

"She is not in her senses. She is madly in love. 
She has been told all about him. She cares noth- 
ing." 

"Told about the murder?" 

"Yes." 

"My Lord, she must have a nerve!" 

"She puts them all down as slanders." 

"Couldn't you lay proofs before her silly eyes?" 

"Well, can you help us do so?" 

"Ain't I a proof myself? If I stood before her 
and told her how he used me — " 

"Would you do this?" 

"Would I? Would I not!" 

"Well, it might be worth trying. But he has told 
her most of his sins and had pardon from her, and 
I understand she will not reopen the question." 

"I'll lay he didn't tell her all," said Miss Win- 
ter. "I caught a glimpse of one or two murders 
besides the one that made such a fuss. He would 
speak of someone in his velvet way and then look 
at me with a steady eye and say: 'He died within 
a month.' It wasn't hot air, either. But I took little 
notice — you see, I loved him myself at that time. 
Whatever he did went with me, same as with this 


poor fool! There was just one thing that shook 
me. Yes, by cripes! if it had not been for his poi- 
sonous, lying tongue that explains and soothes. I'd 
have left him that very night. It's a book he has — a 
brown leather book with a lock, and his arms in 
gold on the outside. I think he was a bit drunk 
that night, or he would not have shown it to me." 

"What was it, then?" 

"I tell you, Mr. Holmes, this man collects 
women, and takes a pride in his collection, as some 
men collect moths or butterflies. He had it all in 
that book. Snapshot photographs, names, details, 
everything about them. It was a beastly book — a 
book no man, even if he had come from the gut- 
ter, could have put together. But it was Adelbert 
Gruner 's book all the same. 'Souls I have ruined.' 
He could have put that on the outside if he had 
been so minded. However, that's neither here nor 
there, for the book would not serve you, and, if it 
would, you can't get it." 

"Where is it?" 

"How can I tell you where it is now? It's more 
than a year since I left him. I know where he kept 
it then. He's a precise, tidy cat of a man in many 
of his ways, so maybe it is still in the pigeon-hole 
of the old bureau in the inner study. Do you know 
his house?" 

"I've been in the study," said Holmes. 

"Have you, though? You haven't been slow on 
the job if you only started this morning. Maybe 
dear Adelbert has met his match this time. The 
outer study is the one with the Chinese crockery 
in it — big glass cupboard between the windows. 
Then behind his desk is the door that leads to the 
inner study — a small room where he keeps papers 
and things." 

"Is he not afraid of burglars?" 

"Adelbert is no coward. His worst enemy 
couldn't say that of him. He can look after himself. 
There's a burglar alarm at night. Besides, what is 
there for a burglar — unless they got away with all 
this fancy crockery?" 

"No good," said Shinwell Johnson with the de- 
cided voice of the expert. "No fence wants stuff of 
that sort that you can neither melt nor sell." 

"Quite so," said Holmes. "Well, now. Miss 
Winter, if you would call here to-morrow evening 
at five, I would consider in the meanwhile whether 
your suggestion of seeing this lady personally may 
not be arranged. I am exceedingly obliged to you 
for your cooperation. I need not say that my clients 
will consider liberally — " 


859 



The Illustrious Client 


"None of that, Mr. Holmes," cried the young 
woman. "I am not out for money. Let me see 
this man in the mud, and I've got all I've worked 
for — in the mud with my foot on his cursed face. 
That's my price. I'm with you to-morrow or any 
other day so long as you are on his track. Porky 
here can tell you always where to find me." 

I did not see Holmes again until the following 
evening when we dined once more at our Strand 
restaurant. He shrugged his shoulders when I 
asked him what luck he had had in his interview. 
Then he told the story, which I would repeat in 
this way. His hard, dry statement needs some lit- 
tle editing to soften it into the terms of real life. 

"There was no difficulty at all about the ap- 
pointment," said Holmes, "for the girl glories in 
showing abject filial obedience in all secondary 
things in an attempt to atone for her flagrant 
breach of it in her engagement. The General 
'phoned that all was ready, and the fiery Miss W. 
turned up according to schedule, so that at half- 
past five a cab deposited us outside 104 Berke- 
ley Square, where the old soldier resides — one 
of those awful gray London castles which would 
make a church seem frivolous. A footman showed 
us into a great yellow-curtained drawing-room, 
and there was the lady awaiting us, demure, pale, 
self-contained, as inflexible and remote as a snow 
image on a mountain. 

"I don't quite know how to make her clear to 
you, Watson. Perhaps you may meet her before 
we are through, and you can use your own gift 
of words. She is beautiful, but with the ethe- 
real other-world beauty of some fanatic whose 
thoughts are set on high. I have seen such faces 
in the pictures of the old masters of the Middle 
Ages. How a beastman could have laid his vile 
paws upon such a being of the beyond I cannot 
imagine. You may have noticed how extremes call 
to each other, the spiritual to the animal, the cave- 
man to the angel. You never saw a worse case than 
this. 

"She knew what we had come for, of 
course — that villain had lost no time in poisoning 
her mind against us. Miss Winter's advent rather 
amazed her, I think, but she waved us into our 
respective chairs like a reverend abbess receiving 
two rather leprous mendicants. If your head is in- 
clined to swell, my dear Watson, take a course of 
Miss Violet de Merville. 

"'Well, sir,' said she in a voice like the wind 
from an iceberg, 'your name is familiar to me. You 
have called, as I understand, to malign my fiance, 
Baron Gruner. It is only by my father's request 


that I see you at all, and I warn you in advance 
that anything you can say could not possibly have 
the slightest effect upon my mind.' 

"I was sorry for her, Watson. I thought of 
her for the moment as I would have thought of a 
daughter of my own. I am not often eloquent. I use 
my head, not my heart. But I really did plead with 
her with all the warmth of words that I could find 
in my nature. I pictured to her the awful position 
of the woman who only wakes to a man's charac- 
ter after she is his wife — a woman who has to sub- 
mit to be caressed by bloody hands and lecherous 
lips. I spared her nothing — the shame, the fear, 
the agony, the hopelessness of it all. All my hot 
words could not bring one tinge of colour to those 
ivory cheeks or one gleam of emotion to those ab- 
stracted eyes. I thought of what the rascal had said 
about a post-hypnotic influence. One could really 
believe that she was living above the earth in some 
ecstatic dream. Yet there was nothing indefinite in 
her replies. 

" 'I have listened to you with patience, Mr. 
Holmes,' said she. 'The effect upon my mind is 
exactly as predicted. I am aware that Adelbert, 
that my fiance, has had a stormy life in which he 
has incurred bitter hatreds and most unjust asper- 
sions. You are only the last of a series who have 
brought their slanders before me. Possibly you 
mean well, though I learn that you are a paid agent 
who would have been equally willing to act for the 
Baron as against him. But in any case I wish you 
to understand once for all that I love him and that 
he loves me, and that the opinion of all the world 
is no more to me than the twitter of those birds 
outside the window. If his noble nature has ever 
for an instant fallen, it may be that I have been 
specially sent to raise it to its true and lofty level. 
I am not clear' — here she turned eyes upon my 
companion — 'who this young lady may be.' 

"I was about to answer when the girl broke in 
like a whirlwind. If ever you saw flame and ice 
face to face, it was those two women. 

" 'I'll tell you who I am,' she cried, springing 
out of her chair, her mouth all twisted with pas- 
sion — 'I am his last mistress. I am one of a hun- 
dred that he has tempted and used and ruined 
and thrown into the refuse heap, as he will you 
also. Your refuse heap is more likely to be a grave, 
and maybe that's the best. I tell you, you foolish 
woman, if you marry this man he'll be the death of 
you. It may be a broken heart or it may be a bro- 
ken neck, but he'll have you one way or the other. 
It's not out of love for you I'm speaking. I don't 
care a tinker's curse whether you live or die. It's 


860 



The Illustrious Client 


out of hate for him and to spite him and to get 
back on him for what he did to me. But it's all 
the same, and you needn't look at me like that, my 
fine lady, for you may be lower than I am before 
you are through with it.' 

" 'I should prefer not to discuss such matters,' 
said Miss de Merville coldly. 'Let me say once for 
all that I am aware of three passages in my fiance's 
life in which he became entangled with designing 
women, and that I am assured of his hearty repen- 
tance for any evil that he may have done.' 

"'Three passages!' screamed my companion. 
'You fool! You unutterable fool!' 

"'Mr. Holmes, I beg that you will bring this 
interview to an end,' said the icy voice. 'I have 
obeyed my father's wish in seeing you, but I am 
not compelled to listen to the ravings of this per- 
son.' 

"With an oath Miss Winter darted forward, 
and if I had not caught her wrist she would have 
clutched this maddening woman by the hair. I 
dragged her towards the door and was lucky to 
get her back into the cab without a public scene, 
for she was beside herself with rage. In a cold 
way I felt pretty furious myself, Watson, for there 
was something indescribably annoying in the calm 
aloofness and supreme self-complaisance of the 
woman whom we were trying to save. So now 
once again you know exactly how we stand, and it 
is clear that I must plan some fresh opening move, 
for this gambit won't work. I'll keep in touch with 
you, Watson, for it is more than likely that you 
will have your part to play, though it is just pos- 
sible that the next move may lie with them rather 
than with us." 

And it did. Their blow fell — or his blow rather, 
for never could I believe that the lady was privy 
to it. I think I could show you the very paving- 
stone upon which I stood when my eyes fell upon 
the placard, and a pang of horror passed through 
my very soul. It was between the Grand Hotel and 
Charing Cross Station, where a one-legged news- 
vender displayed his evening papers. The date was 
just two days after the last conversation. There, 
black upon yellow, was the terrible news-sheet: 

Murderous Attack Upon Sherlock 
Holmes 

I think I stood stunned for some moments. Then I 
have a confused recollection of snatching at a pa- 
per, of the remonstrance of the man, whom I had 
not paid, and, finally, of standing in the doorway 
of a chemist's shop while I turned up the fateful 
paragraph. This was how it ran: 


We learn with regret that Mr. Sherlock Holmes, 
the well-known private detective, was the victim 
this morning of a murderous assault which has 
left him in a precarious position. There are no ex- 
act details to hand, but the event seems to have 
occurred about twelve o'clock in Regent Street, 
outside the Cafe Royal. The attack was made by 
two men armed with sticks, and Mr. Holmes was 
beaten about the head and body, receiving injuries 
which the doctors describe as most serious. He 
was carried to Charing Cross Hospital and after- 
wards insisted upon being taken to his rooms in 
Baker Street. The miscreants who attacked him ap- 
pear to have been respectably dressed men, who 
escaped from the bystanders by passing through 
the Cafe Royal and out into Glasshouse Street be- 
hind it. No doubt they belonged to that criminal 
fraternity which has so often had occasion to be- 
wail the activity and ingenuity of the injured man. 

I need not say that my eyes had hardly glanced 
over the paragraph before I had sprung into a han- 
som and was on my way to Baker Street. I found 
Sir Leslie Oakshott, the famous surgeon, in the hall 
and his brougham waiting at the curb. 

"No immediate danger," was his report. "Two 
lacerated scalp wounds and some considerable 
bruises. Several stitches have been necessary. Mor- 
phine has been injected and quiet is essential, but 
an interview of a few minutes would not be abso- 
lutely forbidden." 

With this permission I stole into the darkened 
room. The sufferer was wide awake, and I heard 
my name in a hoarse whisper. The blind was three- 
quarters down, but one ray of sunlight slanted 
through and struck the bandaged head of the in- 
jured man. A crimson patch had soaked through 
the white linen compress. I sat beside him and 
bent my head. 

"All right, Watson. Don't look so scared," he 
muttered in a very weak voice. "It's not as bad as 
it seems." 

"Thank God for that!" 

"I'm a bit of a single-stick expert, as you know. 
I took most of them on my guard. It was the sec- 
ond man that was too much for me." 

"What can I do. Holmes? Of course, it was that 
damned fellow who set them on. I'll go and thrash 
the hide off him if you give the word." 

"Good old Watson! No, we can do noth- 
ing there unless the police lay their hands on 
the men. But their get-away had been well pre- 
pared. We may be sure of that. Wait a little. 


86 1 



The Illustrious Client 


I have my plans. The first thing is to exagger- 
ate my injuries. They'll come to you for news. 
Put it on thick, Watson. Lucky if I live the week 
out — concussion — delirium — what you like! You 
can't overdo it." 

"But Sir Leslie Oakshott?" 

"Oh, he's all right. He shall see the worst side 
of me. I'll look after that." 

"Anything else?" 

"Yes. Tell Shinwell Johnson to get that girl out 
of the way. Those beauties will be after her now. 
They know, of course, that she was with me in the 
case. If they dared to do me in it is not likely they 
will neglect her. That is urgent. Do it to-night." 

"I'll go now. Anything more?" 

"Put my pipe on the table — and the tobacco- 
slipper. Right! Come in each morning and we will 
plan our campaign." 

I arranged with Johnson that evening to take 
Miss Winter to a quiet suburb and see that she lay 
low until the danger was past. 

For six days the public were under the impres- 
sion that Holmes was at the door of death. The 
bulletins were very grave and there were sinister 
paragraphs in the papers. My continual visits as- 
sured me that it was not so bad as that. His wiry 
constitution and his determined will were work- 
ing wonders. He was recovering fast, and I had 
suspicions at times that he was really finding him- 
self faster than he pretended even to me. There 
was a curious secretive streak in the man which led 
to many dramatic effects, but left even his closest 
friend guessing as to what his exact plans might 
be. He pushed to an extreme the axiom that the 
only safe plotter was he who plotted alone. I was 
nearer him than anyone else, and yet I was always 
conscious of the gap between. 

On the seventh day the stitches were taken out, 
in spite of which there was a report of erysipelas in 
the evening papers. The same evening papers had 
an announcement which I was bound, sick or well, 
to carry to my friend. It was simply that among the 
passengers on the Cunard boat Ruritania, starting 
from Liverpool on Friday, was the Baron Adelbert 
Gruner, who had some important financial busi- 
ness to settle in the States before his impending 
wedding to Miss Violet de Merville, only daughter 
of, etc., etc. Holmes listened to the news with a 
cold, concentrated look upon his pale face, which 
told me that it hit him hard. 

"Friday!" he cried. "Only three clear days. I 
believe the rascal wants to put himself out of dan- 
ger's way. But he won't, Watson! By the Lord 


Harry, he won't! Now, Watson, I want you to do 
something for me." 

"I am here to be used. Holmes." 

"Well, then, spend the next twenty-four hours 
in an intensive study of Chinese pottery." 

He gave no explanations and I asked for none. 
By long experience I had learned the wisdom of 
obedience. But when I had left his room I walked 
down Baker Street, revolving in my head how on 
earth I was to carry out so strange an order. Fi- 
nally I drove to the London Library in St. James's 
Square, put the matter to my friend Lomax, the 
sublibrarian, and departed to my rooms with a 
goodly volume under my arm. 

It is said that the barrister who crams up a case 
with such care that he can examine an expert wit- 
ness upon the Monday has forgotten all his forced 
knowledge before the Saturday. Certainly I should 
not like now to pose as an authority upon ceram- 
ics. And yet all that evening, and all that night 
with a short interval for rest, and all next morn- 
ing, I was sucking in knowledge and committing 
names to memory. There I learned of the hall- 
marks of the great artist-decorators, of the mys- 
tery of cyclical dates, the marks of the Hung-wu 
and the beauties of the Yung-lo, the writings of 
Tang-ying, and the glories of the primitive period 
of the Sung and the Yuan. I was charged with 
all this information when I called upon Holmes 
next evening. He was out of bed now, though you 
would not have guessed it from the published re- 
ports, and he sat with his much-bandaged head 
resting upon his hand in the depth of his favourite 
armchair. 

"Why, Holmes," I said, "if one believed the pa- 
pers, you are dying." 

"That," said he, "is the very impression which 
I intended to convey. And now, Watson, have you 
learned your lessons?" 

"At least I have tried to." 

"Good. You could keep up an intelligent con- 
versation on the subject?" 

"I believe I could." 

"Then hand me that little box from the mantel- 
piece." 

He opened the lid and took out a small object 
most carefully wrapped in some fine Eastern silk. 
This he unfolded, and disclosed a delicate little 
saucer of the most beautiful deep-blue colour. 

"It needs careful handling, Watson. This is 
the real egg-shell pottery of the Ming dynasty. 
No finer piece ever passed through Christie's. A 
complete set of this would be worth a king's ran- 
som — in fact, it is doubtful if there is a complete set 


862 



The Illustrious Client 


outside the imperial palace of Peking. The sight of 
this would drive a real connoisseur wild." 

"What am I to do with it?" 

Holmes handed me a card upon which was 
printed: "Dr. Hill Barton, 369 Half Moon Street." 

"That is your name for the evening, Watson. 
You will call upon Baron Gruner. I know some- 
thing of his habits, and at half-past eight he would 
probably be disengaged. A note will tell him in 
advance that you are about to call, and you will 
say that you are bringing him a specimen of an 
absolutely unique set of Ming china. You may as 
well be a medical man, since that is a part which 
you can play without duplicity. You are a collec- 
tor, this set has come your way, you have heard of 
the Baron's interest in the subject, and you are not 
averse to selling at a price." 

"What price?" 

"Well asked, Watson. You would certainly fall 
down badly if you did not know the value of your 
own wares. This saucer was got for me by Sir 
James, and comes, I understand, from the collec- 
tion of his client. You will not exaggerate if you 
say that it could hardly be matched in the world." 

"I could perhaps suggest that the set should be 
valued by an expert." 

"Excellent, Watson! You scintillate to-day. Sug- 
gest Christie or Sotheby. Your delicacy prevents 
your putting a price for yourself." 

"But if he won't see me?" 

"Oh, yes, he will see you. He has the collec- 
tion mania in its most acute form — and especially 
on this subject, on which he is an acknowledged 
authority. Sit down, Watson, and I will dictate the 
letter. No answer needed. You will merely say that 
you are coming, and why." 

It was an admirable document, short, courte- 
ous, and stimulating to the curiosity of the con- 
noisseur. A district messenger was duly dis- 
patched with it. On the same evening, with the 
precious saucer in my hand and the card of Dr. 
Hill Barton in my pocket, I set off on my own ad- 
venture. 

The beautiful house and grounds indicated that 
Baron Gruner was, as Sir James had said, a man of 
considerable wealth. A long winding drive, with 
banks of rare shrubs on either side, opened out 
into a great gravelled square adorned with stat- 
ues. The place had been built by a South African 
gold king in the days of the great boom, and the 
long, low house with the turrets at the corners, 
though an architectural nightmare, was imposing 


in its size and solidity. A butler, who would have 
adorned a bench of bishops, showed me in and 
handed me over to a plush-clad footman, who ush- 
ered me into the Baron's presence. 

He was standing at the open front of a great 
case which stood between the windows and which 
contained part of his Chinese collection. He turned 
as I entered with a small brown vase in his hand. 

"Pray sit down. Doctor," said he. "I was 
looking over my own treasures and wondering 
whether I could really afford to add to them. This 
little Tang specimen, which dates from the sev- 
enth century, would probably interest you. I am 
sure you never saw finer workmanship or a richer 
glaze. Have you the Ming saucer with you of 
which you spoke?" 

I carefully unpacked it and handed it to him. 
He seated himself at his desk, pulled over the 
lamp, for it was growing dark, and set himself to 
examine it. As he did so the yellow light beat upon 
his own features, and I was able to study them at 
my ease. 

He was certainly a remarkably handsome man. 
His European reputation for beauty was fully de- 
served. In figure he was not more than of mid- 
dle size, but was built upon graceful and active 
lines. His face was swarthy, almost Oriental, with 
large, dark, languorous eyes which might easily 
hold an irresistible fascination for women. His 
hair and moustache were raven black, the latter 
short, pointed, and carefully waxed. His features 
were regular and pleasing, save only his straight, 
thin-lipped mouth. If ever I saw a murderer's 
mouth it was there — a cruel, hard gash in the face, 
compressed, inexorable, and terrible. He was ill- 
advised to train his moustache away from it, for it 
was Nature's danger-signal, set as a warning to his 
victims. His voice was engaging and his manners 
perfect. In age I should have put him at little over 
thirty, though his record afterwards showed that 
he was forty-two. 

"Very fine — very fine indeed!" he said at last. 
"And you say you have a set of six to correspond. 
What puzzles me is that I should not have heard of 
such magnificent specimens. I only know of one in 
England to match this, and it is certainly not likely 
to be in the market. Would it be indiscreet if I 
were to ask you. Dr. Hill Barton, how you obtained 
this?" 

"Does it really matter?" I asked with as care- 
less an air as I could muster. "You can see that the 
piece is genuine, and, as to the value, I am content 
to take an expert's valuation." 


863 



The Illustrious Client 


"Very mysterious," said he with a quick, suspi- 
cious flash of his dark eyes. "In dealing with ob- 
jects of such value, one naturally wishes to know 
all about the transaction. That the piece is genuine 
is certain. I have no doubts at all about that. But 
suppose — I am bound to take every possibility into 
account — that it should prove afterwards that you 
had no right to sell?" 

"I would guarantee you against any claim of 
the sort." 

"That, of course, would open up the question 
as to what your guarantee was worth." 

"My bankers would answer that." 

"Quite so. And yet the whole transaction 
strikes me as rather unusual." 

"You can do business or not," said I with indif- 
ference. "I have given you the first offer as I un- 
derstood that you were a connoisseur, but I shall 
have no difficulty in other quarters." 

"Who told you I was a connoisseur?" 

"I was aware that you had written a book upon 
the subject." 

"Have you read the book?" 

"No." 

"Dear me, this becomes more and more diffi- 
cult for me to understand! You are a connoisseur 
and collector with a very valuable piece in your 
collection, and yet you have never troubled to con- 
sult the one book which would have told you of the 
real meaning and value of what you held. How do 
you explain that?" 

"I am a very busy man. I am a doctor in prac- 
tice." 

"That is no answer. If a man has a hobby he 
follows it up, whatever his other pursuits may be. 
You said in your note that you were a connois- 
seur." 

"So I am." 

"Might I ask you a few questions to test you? I 
am obliged to tell you. Doctor — if you are indeed a 
doctor — that the incident becomes more and more 
suspicious. I would ask you what do you know of 
the Emperor Shomu and how do you associate him 
with the Shoso-in near Nara? Dear me, does that 
puzzle you? Tell me a little about the Northern Wei 
dynasty and its place in the history of ceramics." 

I sprang from my chair in simulated anger. 

"This is intolerable, sir," said I. "I came here 
to do you a favour, and not to be examined as if I 
were a schoolboy. My knowledge on these subjects 
may be second only to your own, but I certainly 


shall not answer questions which have been put in 
so offensive a way." 

He looked at me steadily. The languor had 
gone from his eyes. They suddenly glared. There 
was a gleam of teeth from between those cruel lips. 

"What is the game? You are here as a spy. You 
are an emissary of Holmes. This is a trick that 
you are playing upon me. The fellow is dying I 
hear, so he sends his tools to keep watch upon me. 
You've made your way in here without leave, and, 
by God! you may find it harder to get out than to 
get in." 

He had sprung to his feet, and I stepped back, 
bracing myself for an attack, for the man was be- 
side himself with rage. He may have suspected me 
from the first; certainly this cross-examination had 
shown him the truth; but it was clear that I could 
not hope to deceive him. He dived his hand into a 
side-drawer and rummaged furiously. Then some- 
thing struck upon his ear, for he stood listening 
intently. 

"Ah!" he cried. "Ah!" and dashed into the 
room behind him. 

Two steps took me to the open door, and my 
mind will ever carry a clear picture of the scene 
within. The window leading out to the garden was 
wide open. Beside it, looking like some terrible 
ghost, his head girt with bloody bandages, his face 
drawn and white, stood Sherlock Holmes. The 
next instant he was through the gap, and I heard 
the crash of his body among the laurel bushes out- 
side. With a howl of rage the master of the house 
rushed after him to the open window. 

And then! It was done in an instant, and yet 
I clearly saw it. An arm — a woman's arm — shot 
out from among the leaves. At the same instant 
the Baron uttered a horrible cry — a yell which will 
always ring in my memory. He clapped his two 
hands to his face and rushed round the room, beat- 
ing his head horribly against the walls. Then he 
fell upon the carpet, rolling and writhing, while 
scream after scream resounded through the house. 

"Water! For God's sake, water!" was his cry. 

I seized a carafe from a side-table and rushed 
to his aid. At the same moment the butler and 
several footmen ran in from the hall. I remember 
that one of them fainted as I knelt by the injured 
man and turned that awful face to the light of the 
lamp. The vitriol was eating into it everywhere 
and dripping from the ears and the chin. One eye 
was already white and glazed. The other was red 
and inflamed. The features which I had admired 


864 



The Illustrious Client 


a few minutes before were now like some beauti- 
ful painting over which the artist has passed a wet 
and foul sponge. They were blurred, discoloured, 
inhuman, terrible. 

In a few words I explained exactly what had oc- 
curred, so far as the vitriol attack was concerned. 
Some had climbed through the window and oth- 
ers had rushed out on to the lawn, but it was dark 
and it had begun to rain. Between his screams the 
victim raged and raved against the avenger. "It 
was that hell-cat, Kitty Winter!" he cried. "Oh, the 
she-devil! She shall pay for it! She shall pay! Oh, 
God in heaven, this pain is more than I can bear!" 

I bathed his face in oil, put cotton wadding on 
the raw surfaces, and administered a hypodermic 
of morphia. All suspicion of me had passed from 
his mind in the presence of this shock, and he 
clung to my hands as if I might have the power 
even yet to clear those dead-fish eyes which gazed 
up at me. I could have wept over the ruin had 
I not remembered very clearly the vile life which 
had led up to so hideous a change. It was loath- 
some to feel the pawing of his burning hands, and 
I was relieved when his family surgeon, closely fol- 
lowed by a specialist, came to relieve me of my 
charge. An inspector of police had also arrived, 
and to him I handed my real card. It would have 
been useless as well as foolish to do otherwise, for 
I was nearly as well known by sight at the Yard as 
Holmes himself. Then I left that house of gloom 
and terror. Within an hour I was at Baker Street. 

Holmes was seated in his familiar chair, look- 
ing very pale and exhausted. Apart from his in- 
juries, even his iron nerves had been shocked by 
the events of the evening, and he listened with hor- 
ror to my account of the Baron's transformation. 

"The wages of sin, Watson — the wages of sin!" 
said he. "Sooner or later it will always come. God 
knows, there was sin enough," he added, taking 
up a brown volume from the table. "Here is the 
book the woman talked of. If this will not break 
off the marriage, nothing ever could. But it will, 
Watson. It must. No self-respecting woman could 
stand it." 

"It is his love diary?" 

"Or his lust diary. Call it what you will. The 
moment the woman told us of it I realized what 
a tremendous weapon was there if we could but 
lay our hands on it. I said nothing at the time 
to indicate my thoughts, for this woman might 
have given it away. But I brooded over it. Then 
this assault upon me gave me the chance of letting 
the Baron think that no precautions need be taken 
against me. That was all to the good. I would 


have waited a little longer, but his visit to America 
forced my hand. He would never have left so com- 
promising a document behind him. Therefore we 
had to act at once. Burglary at night is impossible. 
He takes precautions. But there was a chance in 
the evening if I could only be sure that his atten- 
tion was engaged. That was where you and your 
blue saucer came in. But I had to be sure of the 
position of the book, and I knew I had only a few 
minutes in which to act, for my time was limited 
by your knowledge of Chinese pottery. Therefore 
I gathered the girl up at the last moment. How 
could I guess what the little packet was that she 
carried so carefully under her cloak? I thought she 
had come altogether on my business, but it seems 
she had some of her own." 

"He guessed I came from you." 

"I feared he would. But you held him in play 
just long enough for me to get the book, though 
not long enough for an unobserved escape. Ah, 
Sir James, I am very glad you have come!" 

Our courtly friend had appeared in answer to 
a previous summons. He listened with the deep- 
est attention to Holmes's account of what had oc- 
curred. 

"You have done wonders — wonders!" he cried 
when he had heard the narrative. "But if these in- 
juries are as terrible as Dr. Watson describes, then 
surely our purpose of thwarting the marriage is 
sufficiently gained without the use of this horrible 
book." 

Holmes shook his head. 

"Women of the De Merville type do not act like 
that. She would love him the more as a disfigured 
martyr. No, no. It is his moral side, not his physi- 
cal, which we have to destroy. That book will bring 
her back to earth — and I know nothing else that 
could. It is in his own writing. She cannot get past 
it." 

Sir James carried away both it and the precious 
saucer. As I was myself overdue, I went down 
with him into the street. A brougham was wait- 
ing for him. He sprang in, gave a hurried order to 
the cockaded coachman, and drove swiftly away. 
He flung his overcoat half out of the window to 
cover the armorial bearings upon the panel, but I 
had seen them in the glare of our fanlight none the 
less. I gasped with surprise. Then I turned back 
and ascended the stair to Holmes's room. 

"I have found out who our client is," I cried, 
bursting with my great news. "Why, Holmes, it 


865 



"It is a loyal friend and a chivalrous gentle- 
man," said Holmes, holding up a restraining hand. 
"Let that now and forever be enough for us." 

I do not know how the incriminating book was 
used. Sir James may have managed it. Or it is 
more probable that so delicate a task was entrusted 
to the young lady's father. The effect, at any rate, 
was all that could be desired. Three days later ap- 
peared a paragraph in the Morning Post to say that 
the marriage between Baron Adelbert Gruner and 
Miss Violet de Merville would not take place. The 


same paper had the first police-court hearing of 
the proceedings against Miss Kitty Winter on the 
grave charge of vitriol-throwing. Such extenuating 
circumstances came out in the trial that the sen- 
tence, as will be remembered, was the lowest that 
was possible for such an offence. Sherlock Holmes 
was threatened with a prosecution for burglary, 
but when an object is good and a client is suffi- 
ciently illustrious, even the rigid British law be- 
comes human and elastic. My friend has not yet 
stood in the dock. 



The Blanched Soldier 


he ideas of my friend Watson, though 
limited, are exceedingly pertinacious. 
For a long time he has worried me to 
write an experience of my own. Perhaps 
I have rather invited this persecution, since I have 
often had occasion to point out to him how su- 
perficial are his own accounts and to accuse him 
of pandering to popular taste instead of confining 
himself rigidly to facts and figures. "Try it your- 
self, Holmes!" he has retorted, and I am compelled 
to admit that, having taken my pen in my hand, I 
do begin to realize that the matter must be pre- 
sented in such a way as may interest the reader. 
The following case can hardly fail to do so, as it 
is among the strangest happenings in my collec- 
tion, though it chanced that Watson had no note 
of it in his collection. Speaking of my old friend 
and biographer, I would take this opportunity to 
remark that if I burden myself with a compan- 
ion in my various little inquiries it is not done 
out of sentiment or caprice, but it is that Watson 
has some remarkable characteristics of his own to 
which in his modesty he has given small attention 
amid his exaggerated estimates of my own perfor- 
mances. A confederate who foresees your conclu- 
sions and course of action is always dangerous, but 
one to whom each development comes as a perpet- 
ual surprise, and to whom the future is always a 
closed book, is indeed an ideal helpmate. 

I find from my notebook that it was in January, 
1903, just after the conclusion of the Boer War, that 
I had my visit from Mr. James M. Dodd, a big, 
fresh, sunburned, upstanding Briton. The good 
Watson had at that time deserted me for a wife, 
the only selfish action which I can recall in our as- 
sociation. I was alone. 

It is my habit to sit with my back to the win- 
dow and to place my visitors in the opposite chair, 
where the light falls full upon them. Mr. James M. 
Dodd seemed somewhat at a loss how to begin the 
interview. I did not attempt to help him, for his si- 
lence gave me more time for observation. I have 
found it wise to impress clients with a sense of 
power, and so I gave him some of my conclusions. 

"From South Africa, sir, I perceive." 

"Yes, sir," he answered, with some surprise. 

"Imperial Yeomanry, I fancy." 

"Exactly." 

"Middlesex Corps, no doubt." 

"That is so. Mr. Holmes, you are a wizard." 

I smiled at his bewildered expression. 

"When a gentleman of virile appearance enters 
my room with such tan upon his face as an English 



sun could never give, and with his handkerchief in 
his sleeve instead of in his pocket, it is not difficult 
to place him. You wear a short beard, which shows 
that you were not a regular. You have the cut of a 
riding-man. As to Middlesex, your card has al- 
ready shown me that you are a stockbroker from 
Throgmorton Street. What other regiment would 
you join?" 

"You see everything." 

"I see no more than you, but I have trained my- 
self to notice what I see. However, Mr. Dodd, it 
was not to discuss the science of observation that 
you called upon me this morning. What has been 
happening at Tuxbury Old Park?" 

"Mr. Holmes—!" 

"My dear sir, there is no mystery. Your letter 
came with that heading, and as you fixed this ap- 
pointment in very pressing terms it was clear that 
something sudden and important had occurred." 

"Yes, indeed. But the letter was written in the 
afternoon, and a good deal has happened since 
then. If Colonel Emsworth had not kicked me 
out—" 

"Kicked you out!" 

"Well, that was what it amounted to. He is 
a hard nail, is Colonel Emsworth. The greatest 
martinet in the Army in his day, and it was a day 
of rough language, too. I couldn't have stuck the 
colonel if it had not been for Godfrey's sake." 

1 lit my pipe and leaned back in my chair. 

"Perhaps you will explain what you are talking 
about." 

My client grinned mischievously. 

"I had got into the way of supposing that you 
knew everything without being told," said he. 
"But I will give you the facts, and I hope to God 
that you will be able to tell me what they mean. 
I've been awake all night puzzling my brain, and 
the more I think the more incredible does it be- 
come. 

"When I joined up in January, 1901 — just two 
years ago — young Godfrey Emsworth had joined 
the same squadron. He was Colonel Emsworth's 
only son — Emsworth, the Crimean V. C. — and he 
had the fighting blood in him, so it is no wonder he 
volunteered. There was not a finer lad in the regi- 
ment. We formed a friendship — the sort of friend- 
ship which can only be made when one lives the 
same life and shares the same joys and sorrows. 
He was my mate — and that means a good deal in 
the Army. We took the rough and the smooth to- 
gether for a year of hard fighting. Then he was hit 
with a bullet from an elephant gun in the action 


869 



The Blanched Soldier 


near Diamond Hill outside Pretoria. I got one let- 
ter from the hospital at Cape Town and one from 
Southampton. Since then not a word — not one 
word, Mr. Holmes, for six months and more, and 
he my closest pal. 

"Well, when the war was over, and we all got 
back, I wrote to his father and asked where God- 
frey was. No answer. I waited a bit and then I 
wrote again. This time I had a reply, short and 
gruff. Godfrey had gone on a voyage round the 
world, and it was not likely that he would be back 
for a year. That was all. 

"I wasn't satisfied, Mr. Holmes. The whole 
thing seemed to me so damned unnatural. He was 
a good lad, and he would not drop a pal like that. 
It was not like him. Then, again, I happened to 
know that he was heir to a lot of money, and also 
that his father and he did not always hit it off too 
well. The old man was sometimes a bully, and 
young Godfrey had too much spirit to stand it. No, 
I wasn't satisfied, and I determined that I would 
get to the root of the matter. It happened, however, 
that my own affairs needed a lot of straightening 
out, after two years' absence, and so it is only this 
week that I have been able to take up Godfrey's 
case again. But since I have taken it up I mean to 
drop everything in order to see it through." 

Mr. James M. Dodd appeared to be the sort of 
person whom it would be better to have as a friend 
than as an enemy. His blue eyes were stern and his 
square jaw had set hard as he spoke. 

"Well, what have you done?" I asked. 

"My first move was to get down to his home, 
Tuxbury Old Park, near Bedford, and to see for 
myself how the ground lay. I wrote to the mother, 
therefore — I had had quite enough of the curmud- 
geon of a father — and I made a clean frontal attack: 
Godfrey was my chum, I had a great deal of inter- 
est which I might tell her of our common expe- 
riences, I should be in the neighbourhood, would 
there be any objection, et cetera? In reply I had 
quite an amiable answer from her and an offer to 
put me up for the night. That was what took me 
down on Monday. 

"Tuxbury Old Hall is inaccessible — five miles 
from anywhere. There was no trap at the station, 
so I had to walk, carrying my suitcase, and it was 
nearly dark before I arrived. It is a great wan- 
dering house, standing in a considerable park. I 
should judge it was of all sorts of ages and styles, 
starting on a half-timbered Elizabethan foundation 
and ending in a Victorian portico. Inside it was 
all panelling and tapestry and half-effaced old pic- 
tures, a house of shadows and mystery. There was 


a butler, old Ralph, who seemed about the same 
age as the house, and there was his wife, who 
might have been older. She had been Godfrey's 
nurse, and I had heard him speak of her as sec- 
ond only to his mother in his affections, so I was 
drawn to her in spite of her queer appearance. The 
mother I liked also — a gentle little white mouse of 
a woman. It was only the colonel himself whom I 
barred. 

"We had a bit of barney right away, and I 
should have walked back to the station if I had 
not felt that it might be playing his game for me 
to do so. I was shown straight into his study, and 
there I found him, a huge, bow-backed man with 
a smoky skin and a straggling gray beard, seated 
behind his littered desk. A red-veined nose jutted 
out like a vulture's beak, and two fierce gray eyes 
glared at me from under tufted brows. I could un- 
derstand now why Godfrey seldom spoke of his 
father. 

" 'Well, sir,' said he in a rasping voice, 'I should 
be interested to know the real reasons for this 
visit.' 

"I answered that I had explained them in my 
letter to his wife. 

" 'Yes, yes, you said that you had known God- 
frey in Africa. We have, of course, only your word 
for that.' 

" 'I have his letters to me in my pocket.' 

" 'Kindly let me see them.' 

"He glanced at the two which I handed him, 
and then he tossed them back. 

" 'Well, what then?' he asked. 

" 'I was fond of your son Godfrey, sir. Many 
ties and memories united us. Is it not natural that 
I should wonder at his sudden silence and should 
wish to know what has become of him?' 

" 'I have some recollections, sir, that I had al- 
ready corresponded with you and had told you 
what had become of him. He has gone upon a 
voyage round the world. His health was in a poor 
way after his African experiences, and both his 
mother and I were of opinion that complete rest 
and change were needed. Kindly pass that expla- 
nation on to any other friends who may be inter- 
ested in the matter.' 

" 'Certainly/ I answered. 'But perhaps you 
would have the goodness to let me have the name 
of the steamer and of the line by which he sailed, 
together with the date. I have no doubt that I 
should be able to get a letter through to him.' 

"My request seemed both to puzzle and to irri- 
tate my host. His great eyebrows came down over 
his eyes, and he tapped his fingers impatiently on 


870 



The Blanched Soldier 


the table. He looked up at last with the expression 
of one who has seen his adversary make a danger- 
ous move at chess, and has decided how to meet 
it. 

"'Many people, Mr. Dodd,' said he, 'would 
take offence at your infernal pertinacity and would 
think that this insistence had reached the point of 
damned impertinence.' 

" 'You must put it down, sir, to my real love for 
your son.' 

" 'Exactly. I have already made every allowance 
upon that score. I must ask you, however, to drop 
these inquiries. Every family has its own inner 
knowledge and its own motives, which cannot al- 
ways be made clear to outsiders, however well- 
intentioned. My wife is anxious to hear something 
of Godfrey's past which you are in a position to tell 
her, but I would ask you to let the present and the 
future alone. Such inquiries serve no useful pur- 
pose, sir, and place us in a delicate and difficult 
position.' 

"So I came to a dead end, Mr. Holmes. There 
was no getting past it. I could only pretend to ac- 
cept the situation and register a vow inwardly that 
I would never rest until my friend's fate had been 
cleared up. It was a dull evening. We dined qui- 
etly, the three of us, in a gloomy, faded old room. 
The lady questioned me eagerly about her son, but 
the old man seemed morose and depressed. I was 
so bored by the whole proceeding that I made an 
excuse as soon as I decently could and retired to 
my bedroom. It was a large, bare room on the 
ground floor, as gloomy as the rest of the house, 
but after a year of sleeping upon the veldt, Mr. 
Holmes, one is not too particular about one's quar- 
ters. I opened the curtains and looked out into the 
garden, remarking that it was a fine night with a 
bright half-moon. Then I sat down by the roar- 
ing fire with the lamp on a table beside me, and 
endeavoured to distract my mind with a novel. I 
was interrupted, however, by Ralph, the old butler, 
who came in with a fresh supply of coals. 

" 'I thought you might run short in the night- 
time, sir. It is bitter weather and these rooms are 
cold.' 

"He hesitated before leaving the room, and 
when I looked round he was standing facing me 
with a wistful look upon his wrinkled face. 

"'Beg your pardon, sir, but I could not help 
hearing what you said of young Master Godfrey 
at dinner. You know, sir, that my wife nursed him, 
and so I may say I am his foster-father. It's natural 
we should take an interest. And you say he carried 
himself well, sir?' 


" 'There was no braver man in the regiment. He 
pulled me out once from under the rifles of the 
Boers, or maybe I should not be here.' 

"The old butler rubbed his skinny hands. 

" 'Yes, sir, yes, that is Master Godfrey all over. 
He was always courageous. There's not a tree in 
the park, sir, that he has not climbed. Nothing 
would stop him. He was a fine boy — and oh, sir, 
he was a fine man.' 

"I sprang to my feet. 

" 'Look here!' I cried. 'You say he was. You 
speak as if he were dead. What is all this mystery? 
What has become of Godfrey Emsworth?' 

"I gripped the old man by the shoulder, but he 
shrank away. 

" 'I don't know what you mean, sir. Ask the 
master about Master Godfrey. He knows. It is not 
for me to interfere.' 

"He was leaving the room, but I held his arm. 

" 'Listen/ I said. 'You are going to answer one 
question before you leave if I have to hold you all 
night. Is Godfrey dead?' 

"He could not face my eyes. He was like a 
man hypnotized. The answer was dragged from 
his lips. It was a terrible and unexpected one. 

" 'I wish to God he was!' he cried, and, tearing 
himself free, he dashed from the room. 

"You will think, Mr. Holmes, that I returned to 
my chair in no very happy state of mind. The old 
man's words seemed to me to bear only one in- 
terpretation. Clearly my poor friend had become 
involved in some criminal or, at the least, disrep- 
utable transaction which touched the family hon- 
our. That stern old man had sent his son away 
and hidden him from the world lest some scan- 
dal should come to light. Godfrey was a reckless 
fellow. He was easily influenced by those around 
him. No doubt he had fallen into bad hands and 
been misled to his ruin. It was a piteous business, 
if it was indeed so, but even now it was my duty 
to hunt him out and see if I could aid him. I was 
anxiously pondering the matter when I looked up, 
and there was Godfrey Emsworth standing before 
me." 

My client had paused as one in deep emotion. 

"Pray continue," I said. "Your problem 
presents some very unusual features." 

"He was outside the window, Mr. Holmes, with 
his face pressed against the glass. I have told 
you that I looked out at the night. When I did 
so I left the curtains partly open. His figure was 
framed in this gap. The window came down to 
the ground and I could see the whole length of it. 


871 



The Blanched Soldier 


but it was his face which held my gaze. He was 
deadly pale — never have I seen a man so white. I 
reckon ghosts may look like that; but his eyes met 
mine, and they were the eyes of a living man. He 
sprang back when he saw that I was looking at 
him, and he vanished into the darkness. 

"There was something shocking about the man, 
Mr. Holmes. It wasn't merely that ghastly face 
glimmering as white as cheese in the darkness. 
It was more subtle than that — something slinking, 
something furtive, something guilty — something 
very unlike the frank, manly lad that I had known. 
It left a feeling of horror in my mind. 

"But when a man has been soldiering for a year 
or two with brother Boer as a playmate, he keeps 
his nerve and acts quickly. Godfrey had hardly 
vanished before I was at the window. There was 
an awkward catch, and I was some little time be- 
fore I could throw it up. Then I nipped through 
and ran down the garden path in the direction that 
I thought he might have taken. 

"It was a long path and the light was not very 
good, but it seemed to me something was moving 
ahead of me. I ran on and called his name, but 
it was no use. When I got to the end of the path 
there were several others branching in different di- 
rections to various outhouses. I stood hesitating, 
and as I did so I heard distinctly the sound of a 
closing door. It was not behind me in the house, 
but ahead of me, somewhere in the darkness. That 
was enough, Mr. Holmes, to assure me that what I 
had seen was not a vision. Godfrey had run away 
from me, and he had shut a door behind him. Of 
that I was certain. 

"There was nothing more I could do, and I 
spent an uneasy night turning the matter over in 
my mind and trying to find some theory which 
would cover the facts. Next day I found the 
colonel rather more conciliatory, and as his wife 
remarked that there were some places of interest in 
the neighbourhood, it gave me an opening to ask 
whether my presence for one more night would 
incommode them. A somewhat grudging acqui- 
escence from the old man gave me a clear day in 
which to make my observations. I was already per- 
fectly convinced that Godfrey was in hiding some- 
where near, but where and why remained to be 
solved. 

"The house was so large and so rambling that 
a regiment might be hid away in it and no one the 
wiser. If the secret lay there it was difficult for me 
to penetrate it. But the door which I had heard 
close was certainly not in the house. I must ex- 
plore the garden and see what I could find. There 


was no difficulty in the way, for the old people 
were busy in their own fashion and left me to my 
own devices. 

"There were several small outhouses, but at the 
end of the garden there was a detached build- 
ing of some size — large enough for a gardener's 
or a gamekeeper's residence. Could this be the 
place whence the sound of that shutting door 
had come? I approached it in a careless fash- 
ion as though I were strolling aimlessly round the 
grounds. As I did so, a small, brisk, bearded man 
in a black coat and bowler hat — not at all the gar- 
dener type — came out of the door. To my surprise, 
he locked it after him and put the key in his pocket. 
Then he looked at me with some surprise on his 
face. 

" 'Are you a visitor here?' he asked. 

"I explained that I was and that I was a friend 
of Godfrey's. 

" 'What a pity that he should be away on his 
travels, for he would have so liked to see me,' I 
continued. 

" 'Quite so. Exactly,' said he with a rather 
guilty air. 'No doubt you will renew your visit at 
some more propitious time.' He passed on, but 
when I turned I observed that he was standing 
watching me, half-concealed by the laurels at the 
far end of the garden. 

"I had a good look at the little house as I passed 
it, but the windows were heavily curtained, and, so 
far as one could see, it was empty. I might spoil my 
own game and even be ordered off the premises if 
I were too audacious, for I was still conscious that 
I was being watched. Therefore, I strolled back to 
the house and waited for night before I went on 
with my inquiry. When all was dark and quiet I 
slipped out of my window and made my way as 
silently as possible to the mysterious lodge. 

"I have said that it was heavily curtained, but 
now I found that the windows were shuttered as 
well. Some light, however, was breaking through 
one of them, so I concentrated my attention upon 
this. I was in luck, for the curtain had not been 
quite closed, and there was a crack in the shutter, 
so that I could see the inside of the room. It was 
a cheery place enough, a bright lamp and a blaz- 
ing fire. Opposite to me was seated the little man 
whom I had seen in the morning. He was smoking 
a pipe and reading a paper." 

"What paper?" I asked. 

My client seemed annoyed at the interruption 
of his narrative. 

"Can it matter?" he asked. 

"It is most essential." 


872 



The Blanched Soldier 


"I really took no notice." 

"Possibly you observed whether it was a broad- 
leafed paper or of that smaller type which one as- 
sociates with weeklies." 

"Now that you mention it, it was not large. It 
might have been the Spectator. However, I had lit- 
tle thought to spare upon such details, for a second 
man was seated with his back to the window, and 
I could swear that this second man was Godfrey. 
I could not see his face, but I knew the familiar 
slope of his shoulders. He was leaning upon his 
elbow in an attitude of great melancholy, his body 
turned towards the fire. I was hesitating as to what 
I should do when there was a sharp tap on my 
shoulder, and there was Colonel Emsworth beside 
me. 

"'This way, sir!' said he in a low voice. He 
walked in silence to the house, and I followed him 
into my own bedroom. He had picked up a time- 
table in the hall. 

" 'There is a train to London at 8.30/ said he. 
'The trap will be at the door at eight.' 

"He was white with rage, and, indeed, I felt 
myself in so difficult a position that I could only 
stammer out a few incoherent apologies in which 
I tried to excuse myself by urging my anxiety for 
my friend. 

" 'The matter will not bear discussion/ said he 
abruptly. 'You have made a most damnable intru- 
sion into the privacy of our family. You were here 
as a guest and you have become a spy. I have noth- 
ing more to say, sir, save that I have no wish ever 
to see you again.' 

"At this I lost my temper, Mr. Holmes, and I 
spoke with some warmth. 

" 'I have seen your son, and I am convinced that 
for some reason of your own you are concealing 
him from the world. I have no idea what your mo- 
tives are in cutting him off in this fashion, but I 
am sure that he is no longer a free agent. I warn 
you. Colonel Emsworth, that until I am assured as 
to the safety and well-being of my friend I shall 
never desist in my efforts to get to the bottom of 
the mystery, and I shall certainly not allow myself 
to be intimidated by anything which you may say 
or do.' 

"The old fellow looked diabolical, and I really 
thought he was about to attack me. I have said 
that he was a gaunt, fierce old giant, and though 
I am no weakling I might have been hard put to 
it to hold my own against him. However, after 
a long glare of rage he turned upon his heel and 
walked out of the room. For my part, I took the 


appointed train in the morning, with the full in- 
tention of coming straight to you and asking for 
your advice and assistance at the appointment for 
which I had already written." 

Such was the problem which my visitor laid be- 
fore me. It presented, as the astute reader will have 
already perceived, few difficulties in its solution, 
for a very limited choice of alternatives must get to 
the root of the matter. Still, elementary as it was, 
there were points of interest and novelty about it 
which may excuse my placing it upon record. I 
now proceeded, using my familiar method of log- 
ical analysis, to narrow down the possible solu- 
tions. 

"The servants," I asked; "how many were in 
the house?" 

"To the best of my belief there were only the 
old butler and his wife. They seemed to live in the 
simplest fashion." 

"There was no servant, then, in the detached 
house?" 

"None, unless the little man with the beard 
acted as such. He seemed, however, to be quite 
a superior person." 

"That seems very suggestive. Had you any 
indication that food was conveyed from the one 
house to the other?" 

"Now that you mention it, I did see old Ralph 
carrying a basket down the garden walk and going 
in the direction of this house. The idea of food did 
not occur to me at the moment." 

"Did you make any local inquiries?" 

"Yes, I did. I spoke to the station-master and 
also to the innkeeper in the village. I simply asked 
if they knew anything of my old comrade, God- 
frey Emsworth. Both of them assured me that he 
had gone for a voyage round the world. He had 
come home and then had almost at once started 
off again. The story was evidently universally ac- 
cepted." 

"You said nothing of your suspicions?" 

"Nothing." 

"That was very wise. The matter should cer- 
tainly be inquired into. I will go back with you to 
Tuxbury Old Park." 

"To-day?" 

It happened that at the moment I was clear- 
ing up the case which my friend Watson has de- 
scribed as that of the Abbey School, in which the 
Duke of Greyminster was so deeply involved. I 
had also a commission from the Sultan of Turkey 
which called for immediate action, as political con- 
sequences of the gravest kind might arise from its 
neglect. Therefore it was not until the beginning 


873 



The Blanched Soldier 


of the next week, as my diary records, that I was 
able to start forth on my mission to Bedfordshire 
in company with Mr. James M. Dodd. As we drove 
to Euston we picked up a grave and taciturn gen- 
tleman of iron-gray aspect, with whom I had made 
the necessary arrangements. 

"This is an old friend," said I to Dodd. "It is 
possible that his presence may be entirely unnec- 
essary, and, on the other hand, it may be essential. 
It is not necessary at the present stage to go further 
into the matter." 

The narratives of Watson have accustomed the 
reader, no doubt, to the fact that I do not waste 
words or disclose my thoughts while a case is 
actually under consideration. Dodd seemed sur- 
prised, but nothing more was said, and the three 
of us continued our journey together. In the train 
I asked Dodd one more question which I wished 
our companion to hear. 

"You say that you saw your friend's face quite 
clearly at the window, so clearly that you are sure 
of his identity?" 

"I have no doubt about it whatever. His nose 
was pressed against the glass. The lamplight 
shone full upon him." 

"It could not have been someone resembling 
him?" 

"No, no, it was he." 

"But you say he was changed?" 

"Only in colour. His face was — how shall I de- 
scribe it? — it was of a fish-belly whiteness. It was 
bleached." 

"Was it equally pale all over?" 

"I think not. It was his brow which I saw so 
clearly as it was pressed against the window." 

"Did you call to him?" 

"I was too startled and horrified for the mo- 
ment. Then I pursued him, as I have told you, but 
without result." 

My case was practically complete, and there 
was only one small incident needed to round it off. 
When, after a considerable drive, we arrived at the 
strange old rambling house which my client had 
described, it was Ralph, the elderly butler, who 
opened the door. I had requisitioned the carriage 
for the day and had asked my elderly friend to 
remain within it unless we should summon him. 
Ralph, a little wrinkled old fellow, was in the con- 
ventional costume of black coat and pepper-and- 
salt trousers, with only one curious variant. He 
wore brown leather gloves, which at sight of us 
he instantly shuffled off, laying them down on the 


hall-table as we passed in. I have, as my friend 
Watson may have remarked, an abnormally acute 
set of senses, and a faint but incisive scent was 
apparent. It seemed to centre on the hall-table. 
I turned, placed my hat there, knocked it off, 
stooped to pick it up, and contrived to bring my 
nose within a foot of the gloves. Yes, it was un- 
doubtedly from them that the curious tarry odour 
was oozing. I passed on into the study with my 
case complete. Alas, that I should have to show 
my hand so when I tell my own story! It was by 
concealing such links in the chain that Watson was 
enabled to produce his meretricious finales. 

Colonel Emsworth was not in his room, but he 
came quickly enough on receipt of Ralph's mes- 
sage. We heard his quick, heavy step in the pas- 
sage. The door was flung open and he rushed in 
with bristling beard and twisted features, as ter- 
rible an old man as ever I have seen. He held 
our cards in his hand, and he tore them up and 
stamped on the fragments. 

"Have I not told you, you infernal busybody, 
that you are warned off the premises? Never dare 
to show your damned face here again. If you enter 
again without my leave I shall be within my rights 
if I use violence. I'll shoot you, sir! By God, I will! 
As to you, sir," turning upon me, "I extend the 
same warning to you. I am familiar with your ig- 
noble profession, but you must take your reputed 
talents to some other field. There is no opening for 
them here." 

"I cannot leave here," said my client firmly, 
"until I hear from Godfrey's own lips that he is 
under no restraint." 

Our involuntary host rang the bell. 

"Ralph," he said, "telephone down to the 
county police and ask the inspector to send up 
two constables. Tell him there are burglars in the 
house." 

"One moment," said I. "You must be aware, Mr. 
Dodd, that Colonel Emsworth is within his rights 
and that we have no legal status within his house. 
On the other hand, he should recognize that your 
action is prompted entirely by solicitude for his 
son. I venture to hope that if I were allowed to have 
five minutes' conversation with Colonel Emsworth 
I could certainly alter his view of the matter." 

"I am not so easily altered," said the old sol- 
dier. "Ralph, do what I have told you. What the 
devil are you waiting for? Ring up the police!" 

"Nothing of the sort," I said, putting my back 
to the door. "Any police interference would bring 
about the very catastrophe which you dread." I 


874 



The Blanched Soldier 


took out my notebook and scribbled one word 
upon a loose sheet. "That," said I as I handed it to 
Colonel Emsworth, "is what has brought us here." 

He stared at the writing with a face from which 
every expression save amazement had vanished. 

"How do you know?" he gasped, sitting down 
heavily in his chair. 

"It is my business to know things. That is my 
trade." 

He sat in deep thought, his gaunt hand tugging 
at his straggling beard. Then he made a gesture of 
resignation. 

"Well, if you wish to see Godfrey, you shall. It 
is no doing of mine, but you have forced my hand. 
Ralph, tell Mr. Godfrey and Mr. Kent that in five 
minutes we shall be with them." 

At the end of that time we passed down the 
garden path and found ourselves in front of the 
mystery house at the end. A small bearded man 
stood at the door with a look of considerable as- 
tonishment upon his face. 

"This is very sudden. Colonel Emsworth," said 
he. "This will disarrange all our plans." 

"I can't help it, Mr. Kent. Our hands have been 
forced. Can Mr. Godfrey see us?" 

"Yes, he is waiting inside." He turned and led 
us into a large, plainly furnished front room. A 
man was standing with his back to the fire, and 
at the sight of him my client sprang forward with 
outstretched hand. 

"Why, Godfrey, old man, this is fine!" 

But the other waved him back. 

"Don't touch me, Jimmie. Keep your distance. 
Yes, you may well stare! I don't quite look the 
smart Lance-Corporal Emsworth, of B Squadron, 
do I?" 

His appearance was certainly extraordinary. 
One could see that he had indeed been a hand- 
some man with clear-cut features sunburned by 
an African sun, but mottled in patches over this 
darker surface were curious whitish patches which 
had bleached his skin. 

"That's why I don't court visitors," said he. "I 
don't mind you, Jimmie, but I could have done 
without your friend. I suppose there is some good 
reason for it, but you have me at a disadvantage." 

"I wanted to be sure that all was well with you, 
Godfrey. I saw you that night when you looked 
into my window, and I could not let the matter 
rest till I had cleared things up." 


"Old Ralph told me you were there, and I 
couldn't help taking a peep at you. I hoped you 
would not have seen me, and I had to run to my 
burrow when I heard the window go up." 

"But what in heaven's name is the matter?" 

"Well, it's not a long story to tell," said he, 
lighting a cigarette. "You remember that morn- 
ing fight at Buffelsspruit, outside Pretoria, on the 
Eastern railway line? You heard I was hit?" 

"Yes, I heard that, but I never got particulars." 

"Three of us got separated from the others. 
It was very broken country, you may remember. 
There was Simpson — the fellow we called Baldy 
Simpson — and Anderson, and I. We were clearing 
brother Boer, but he lay low and got the three of us. 
The other two were killed. I got an elephant bullet 
through my shoulder. I stuck on to my horse, how- 
ever, and he galloped several miles before I fainted 
and rolled off the saddle. 

"When I came to myself it was nightfall, and 
I raised myself up, feeling very weak and ill. To 
my surprise there was a house close beside me, 
a fairly large house with a broad stoep and many 
windows. It was deadly cold. You remember the 
kind of numb cold which used to come at evening, 
a deadly, sickening sort of cold, very different from 
a crisp healthy frost. Well, I was chilled to the 
bone, and my only hope seemed to lie in reaching 
that house. I staggered to my feet and dragged 
myself along, hardly conscious of what I did. I 
have a dim memory of slowly ascending the steps, 
entering a wide-opened door, passing into a large 
room which contained several beds, and throwing 
myself down with a gasp of satisfaction upon one 
of them. It was unmade, but that troubled me not 
at all. I drew the clothes over my shivering body 
and in a moment I was in a deep sleep. 

"It was morning when I wakened, and it 
seemed to me that instead of coming out into a 
world of sanity I had emerged into some extraordi- 
nary nightmare. The African sun flooded through 
the big, curtainless windows, and every detail of 
the great, bare, whitewashed dormitory stood out 
hard and clear. In front of me was standing a 
small, dwarf-like man with a huge, bulbous head, 
who was jabbering excitedly in Dutch, waving two 
horrible hands which looked to me like brown 
sponges. Behind him stood a group of people who 
seemed to be intensely amused by the situation, 
but a chill came over me as I looked at them. Not 
one of them was a normal human being. Every 
one was twisted or swollen or disfigured in some 
strange way. The laughter of these strange mon- 
strosities was a dreadful thing to hear. 


875 



The Blanched Soldier 


"It seemed that none of them could speak En- 
glish, but the situation wanted clearing up, for 
the creature with the big head was growing furi- 
ously angry, and, uttering wild-beast cries, he had 
laid his deformed hands upon me and was drag- 
ging me out of bed, regardless of the fresh flow of 
blood from my wound. The little monster was as 
strong as a bull, and I don't know what he might 
have done to me had not an elderly man who was 
clearly in authority been attracted to the room by 
the hubbub. He said a few stern words in Dutch, 
and my persecutor shrank away. Then he turned 
upon me, gazing at me in the utmost amazement. 

"'How in the world did you come here?' he 
asked in amazement. 'Wait a bit! I see that you 
are tired out and that wounded shoulder of yours 
wants looking after. I am a doctor, and I'll soon 
have you tied up. But, man alive! you are in far 
greater danger here than ever you were on the bat- 
tlefield. You are in the Leper Hospital, and you 
have slept in a leper's bed.' 

"Need I tell you more, Jimmie? It seems that in 
view of the approaching battle all these poor crea- 
tures had been evacuated the day before. Then, as 
the British advanced, they had been brought back 
by this, their medical superintendent, who assured 
me that, though he believed he was immune to the 
disease, he would none the less never have dared 
to do what I had done. He put me in a private 
room, treated me kindly, and within a week or so 
I was removed to the general hospital at Pretoria. 

"So there you have my tragedy. I hoped against 
hope, but it was not until I had reached home 
that the terrible signs which you see upon my face 
told me that I had not escaped. What was I to 
do? I was in this lonely house. We had two ser- 
vants whom we could utterly trust. There was a 
house where I could live. Under pledge of secrecy, 
Mr. Kent, who is a surgeon, was prepared to stay 
with me. It seemed simple enough on those lines. 
The alternative was a dreadful one — segregation 
for life among strangers with never a hope of re- 
lease. But absolute secrecy was necessary, or even 
in this quiet countryside there would have been 
an outcry, and I should have been dragged to my 
horrible doom. Even you, Jimmie — even you had 
to be kept in the dark. Why my father has relented 
I cannot imagine." 

Colonel Emsworth pointed to me. 

"This is the gentleman who forced my hand." 
He unfolded the scrap of paper on which I had 
written the word "Leprosy." "It seemed to me that 
if he knew so much as that it was safer that he 
should know all." 


"And so it was," said I. "Who knows but good 
may come of it? I understand that only Mr. Kent 
has seen the patient. May I ask, sir, if you are an 
authority on such complaints, which are, I under- 
stand, tropical or semi-tropical in their nature?" 

"I have the ordinary knowledge of the edu- 
cated medical man," he observed with some stiff- 
ness. 

"I have no doubt, sir, that you are fully com- 
petent, but I am sure that you will agree that in 
such a case a second opinion is valuable. You have 
avoided this, I understand, for fear that pressure 
should be put upon you to segregate the patient." 

"That is so," said Colonel Emsworth. 

"I foresaw this situation," I explained, "and I 
have brought with me a friend whose discretion 
may absolutely be trusted. I was able once to do 
him a professional service, and he is ready to ad- 
vise as a friend rather than as a specialist. His 
name is Sir James Saunders." 

The prospect of an interview with Lord Roberts 
would not have excited greater wonder and plea- 
sure in a raw subaltern than was now reflected 
upon the face of Mr. Kent. 

"I shall indeed be proud," he murmured. 

"Then I will ask Sir James to step this way. 
He is at present in the carriage outside the door. 
Meanwhile, Colonel Emsworth, we may perhaps 
assemble in your study, where I could give the nec- 
essary explanations." 

And here it is that I miss my Watson. By 
cunning questions and ejaculations of wonder he 
could elevate my simple art, which is but system- 
atized common sense, into a prodigy. When I tell 
my own story I have no such aid. And yet I will 
give my process of thought even as I gave it to my 
small audience, which included Godfrey's mother 
in the study of Colonel Emsworth. 

"That process," said I, "starts upon the suppo- 
sition that when you have eliminated all which is 
impossible, then whatever remains, however im- 
probable, must be the truth. It may well be that 
several explanations remain, in which case one 
tries test after test until one or other of them has 
a convincing amount of support. We will now 
apply this principle to the case in point. As it 
was first presented to me, there were three pos- 
sible explanations of the seclusion or incarceration 
of this gentleman in an outhouse of his father's 
mansion. There was the explanation that he was 
in hiding for a crime, or that he was mad and 
that they wished to avoid an asylum, or that he 
had some disease which caused his segregation. I 
could think of no other adequate solutions. These, 


876 



then, had to be sifted and balanced against each 
other. 

"The criminal solution would not bear inspec- 
tion. No unsolved crime had been reported from 
that district. I was sure of that. If it were some 
crime not yet discovered, then clearly it would be 
to the interest of the family to get rid of the delin- 
quent and send him abroad rather than keep him 
concealed at home. I could see no explanation for 
such a line of conduct. 

"Insanity was more plausible. The presence 
of the second person in the outhouse suggested 
a keeper. The fact that he locked the door when he 
came out strengthened the supposition and gave 
the idea of constraint. On the other hand, this con- 
straint could not be severe or the young man could 
not have got loose and come down to have a look 
at his friend. You will remember, Mr. Dodd, that 
I felt round for points, asking you, for example, 
about the paper which Mr. Kent was reading. Had 
it been the Lancet or the British Medical Journal it 
would have helped me. It is not illegal, however, 
to keep a lunatic upon private premises so long as 
there is a qualified person in attendance and that 
the authorities have been duly notified. Why, then, 
all this desperate desire for secrecy? Once again I 
could not get the theory to fit the facts. 

"There remained the third possibility, into 
which, rare and unlikely as it was, everything 
seemed to fit. Leprosy is not uncommon in South 
Africa. By some extraordinary chance this youth 
might have contracted it. His people would be 
placed in a very dreadful position, since they 
would desire to save him from segregation. Great 
secrecy would be needed to prevent rumours from 
getting about and subsequent interference by the 
authorities. A devoted medical man, if sufficiently 


paid, would easily be found to take charge of the 
sufferer. There would be no reason why the latter 
should not be allowed freedom after dark. Bleach- 
ing of the skin is a common result of the disease. 
The case was a strong one — so strong that I deter- 
mined to act as if it were actually proved. When 
on arriving here I noticed that Ralph, who carries 
out the meals, had gloves which are impregnated 
with disinfectants, my last doubts were removed. 
A single word showed you, sir, that your secret 
was discovered, and if I wrote rather than said it, 
it was to prove to you that my discretion was to be 
trusted." 

I was finishing this little analysis of the case 
when the door was opened and the austere figure 
of the great dermatologist was ushered in. But for 
once his sphinx-like features had relaxed and there 
was a warm humanity in his eyes. He strode up to 
Colonel Emsworth and shook him by the hand. 

"It is often my lot to bring ill-tidings and sel- 
dom good," said he. "This occasion is the more 
welcome. It is not leprosy." 

"What?" 

"A well-marked case of pseudo-leprosy or 
ichthyosis, a scale-like affection of the skin, un- 
sightly, obstinate, but possibly curable, and cer- 
tainly noninfective. Yes, Mr. Holmes, the coinci- 
dence is a remarkable one. But is it coincidence? 
Are there not subtle forces at work of which we 
know little? Are we assured that the apprehen- 
sion from which this young man has no doubt suf- 
fered terribly since his exposure to its contagion 
may not produce a physical effect which simulates 
that which it fears? At any rate, I pledge my pro- 
fessional reputation — But the lady has fainted! I 
think that Mr. Kent had better be with her until 
she recovers from this joyous shock." 



The Adventure Of The Mazarin Stone 


t was pleasant to Dr. Watson to find 
himself once more in the untidy room 
of the first floor in Baker Street which 
had been the starting-point of so many 
remarkable adventures. He looked round him at 
the scientific charts upon the wall, the acid-charred 
bench of chemicals, the violin-case leaning in the 
corner, the coal-scuttle, which contained of old the 
pipes and tobacco. Finally, his eyes came round 
to the fresh and smiling face of Billy, the young 
but very wise and tactful page, who had helped a 
little to fill up the gap of loneliness and isolation 
which surrounded the saturnine figure of the great 
detective. 

"It all seems very unchanged, Billy. You don't 
change, either. I hope the same can be said of 
him?" 

Billy glanced with some solicitude at the closed 
door of the bedroom. 

"I think he's in bed and asleep," he said. 

It was seven in the evening of a lovely sum- 
mer's day, but Dr. Watson was sufficiently familiar 
with the irregularity of his old friend's hours to 
feel no surprise at the idea. 

"That means a case, I suppose?" 

"Yes, sir, he is very hard at it just now. I'm 
frightened for his health. He gets paler and thin- 
ner, and he eats nothing. 'When will you be 
pleased to dine, Mr. Holmes?' Mrs. Hudson asked. 
'Seven-thirty, the day after to-morrow,' said he. 
You know his way when he is keen on a case." 

"Yes, Billy, I know." 

"He's following someone. Yesterday he was 
out as a workman looking for a job. To-day he 
was an old woman. Fairly took me in, he did, and 
I ought to know his ways by now." Billy pointed 
with a grin to a very baggy parasol which leaned 
against the sofa. "That's part of the old woman's 
outfit," he said. 

"But what is it all about, Billy?" 

Billy sank his voice, as one who discusses great 
secrets of State. "I don't mind telling you, sir, but 
it should go no farther. It's this case of the Crown 
diamond." 

"What — the hundred-thousand-pound bur- 
glary?" 

"Yes, sir. They must get it back, sir. Why, we 
had the Prime Minister and the Home Secretary 
both sitting on that very sofa. Mr. Holmes was 
very nice to them. He soon put them at their ease 
and promised he would do all he could. Then 
there is Lord Cantlemere — " 



"Ah!" 

"Yes, sir, you know what that means. He's a 
stiff 'un, sir, if I may say so. I can get along with 
the Prime Minister, and I've nothing against the 
Home Secretary, who seemed a civil, obliging sort 
of man, but I can't stand his Lordship. Neither can 
Mr. Holmes, sir. You see, he don't believe in Mr. 
Holmes and he was against employing him. He'd 
rather he failed." 

"And Mr. Holmes knows it?" 

"Mr. Holmes always knows whatever there is 
to know." 

"Well, we'll hope he won't fail and that Lord 
Cantlemere will be confounded. But I say, Billy, 
what is that curtain for across the window?" 

"Mr. Holmes had it put up there three days 
ago. We've got something funny behind it." 

Billy advanced and drew away the drapery 
which screened the alcove of the bow window. 

Dr. Watson could not restrain a cry of amaze- 
ment. There was a facsimile of his old friend, 
dressing-gown and all, the face turned three- 
quarters towards the window and downward, as 
though reading an invisible book, while the body 
was sunk deep in an armchair. Billy detached the 
head and held it in the air. 

"We put it at different angles, so that it may 
seem more lifelike. I wouldn't dare touch it if the 
blind were not down. But when it's up you can see 
this from across the way." 

"We used something of the sort once before." 

"Before my time," said Billy. He drew the win- 
dow curtains apart and looked out into the street. 
"There are folk who watch us from over yonder. I 
can see a fellow now at the window. Have a look 
for yourself." 

Watson had taken a step forward when the 
bedroom door opened, and the long, thin form of 
Holmes emerged, his face pale and drawn, but his 
step and bearing as active as ever. With a single 
spring he was at the window, and had drawn the 
blind once more. 

"That will do, Billy," said he. "You were in dan- 
ger of your life then, my boy, and I can't do with- 
out you just yet. Well, Watson, it is good to see 
you in your old quarters once again. You come at 
a critical moment." 

"So I gather." 

"You can go, Billy. That boy is a problem, Wat- 
son. How far am I justified in allowing him to be 
in danger?" 

"Danger of what. Holmes?" 

"Of sudden death. I'm expecting something 
this evening." 


88 1 



The Adventure Of The Mazarin Stone 


"Expecting what?" 

"To be murdered, Watson." 

"No, no, you are joking. Holmes!" 

"Even my limited sense of humour could 
evolve a better joke than that. But we may be com- 
fortable in the meantime, may we not? Is alcohol 
permitted? The gasogene and cigars are in the old 
place. Let me see you once more in the customary 
armchair. You have not, I hope, learned to despise 
my pipe and my lamentable tobacco? It has to take 
the place of food these days." 

"But why not eat?" 

"Because the faculties become refined when 
you starve them. Why, surely, as a doctor, my dear 
Watson, you must admit that what your digestion 
gains in the way of blood supply is so much lost to 
the brain. I am a brain, Watson. The rest of me is 
a mere appendix. Therefore, it is the brain I must 
consider." 

"But this danger. Holmes?" 

"Ah, yes, in case it should come off, it would 
perhaps be as well that you should burden your 
memory with the name and address of the mur- 
derer. You can give it to Scotland Yard, with 
my love and a parting blessing. Sylvius is the 
name — Count Negretto Sylvius. Write it down, 
man, write it down! T36 Moorside Gardens, N. 
W. Got it?" 

Watson's honest face was twitching with anx- 
iety. He knew only too well the immense risks 
taken by Holmes and was well aware that what he 
said was more likely to be under-statement than 
exaggeration. Watson was always the man of ac- 
tion, and he rose to the occasion. 

"Count me in. Holmes. I have nothing to do 
for a day or two." 

"Your morals don't improve, Watson. You have 
added fibbing to your other vices. You bear every 
sign of the busy medical man, with calls on him 
every hour." 

"Not such important ones. But can't you have 
this fellow arrested?" 

"Yes, Watson, I could. That's what worries him 
so." 

"But why don't you?" 

"Because I don't know where the diamond is." 

"Ah! Billy told me — the missing Crown jewel!" 

"Yes, the great yellow Mazarin stone. I've cast 
my net and I have my fish. But I have not got the 
stone. What is the use of taking them ? We can 
make the world a better place by laying them by 


the heels. But that is not what I am out for. It's the 
stone I want." 

"And is this Count Sylvius one of your fish?" 

"Yes, and he's a shark. He bites. The other is 
Sam Merton, the boxer. Not a bad fellow, Sam, but 
the Count has used him. Sam's not a shark. He 
is a great big silly bull-headed gudgeon. But he is 
flopping about in my net all the same." 

"Where is this Count Sylvius?" 

"I've been at his very elbow all the morning. 
You've seen me as an old lady, Watson. I was never 
more convincing. He actually picked up my para- 
sol for me once. 'By your leave, madame,' said 
he — half-Italian, you know, and with the Southern 
graces of manner when in the mood, but a devil 
incarnate in the other mood. Life is full of whim- 
sical happenings, Watson." 

"It might have been tragedy." 

"Well, perhaps it might. I followed him 
to old Straubenzee's workshop in the Minories. 
Straubenzee made the air-gun — a very pretty bit 
of work, as I understand, and I rather fancy it is in 
the opposite window at the present moment. Have 
you seen the dummy? Of course, Billy showed it to 
you. Well, it may get a bullet through its beautiful 
head at any moment. Ah, Billy, what is it?" 

The boy had reappeared in the room with a 
card upon a tray. Holmes glanced at it with raised 
eyebrows and an amused smile. 

"The man himself. I had hardly expected this. 
Grasp the nettle, Watson! A man of nerve. Possi- 
bly you have heard of his reputation as a shooter 
of big game. It would indeed be a triumphant end- 
ing to his excellent sporting record if he added me 
to his bag. This is a proof that he feels my toe very 
close behind his heel." 

"Send for the police." 

"I probably shall. But not just yet. Would you 
glance carefully out of the window, Watson, and 
see if anyone is hanging about in the street?" 

Watson looked warily round the edge of the 
curtain. 

"Yes, there is one rough fellow near the door." 

"That will be Sam Merton — the faithful but 
rather fatuous Sam. Where is this gentleman, 
Billy?" 

"In the waiting-room, sir." 

"Show him up when I ring." 

"Yes, sir." 

"If I am not in the room, show him in all the 
same." 

"Yes, sir." 


882 



The Adventure Of The Mazarin Stone 


Watson waited until the door was closed, and 
then he turned earnestly to his companion. 

"Look here. Holmes, this is simply impossible. 
This is a desperate man, who sticks at nothing. He 
may have come to murder you." 

"I should not be surprised." 

"I insist upon staying with you." 

"You would be horribly in the way." 

"In his way?" 

"No, my dear fellow — in my way." 

"Well, I can't possibly leave you." 

"Yes, you can, Watson. And you will, for you 
have never failed to play the game. I am sure 
you will play it to the end. This man has come 
for his own purpose, but he may stay for mine." 
Holmes took out his notebook and scribbled a few 
lines. "Take a cab to Scotland Yard and give this to 
Youghal of the C. I. D. Come back with the police. 
The fellow's arrest will follow." 

"I'll do that with joy." 

"Before you return I may have just time enough 
to find out where the stone is." He touched the 
bell. "I think we will go out through the bedroom. 
This second exit is exceedingly useful. I rather 
want to see my shark without his seeing me, and I 
have, as you will remember, my own way of doing 
it." 

It was, therefore, an empty room into which 
Billy, a minute later, ushered Count Sylvius. 
The famous game-shot, sportsman, and man- 
about-town was a big, swarthy fellow, with a 
formidable dark moustache shading a cruel, thin- 
lipped mouth, and surmounted by a long, curved 
nose like the beak of an eagle. He was well 
dressed, but his brilliant necktie, shining pin, and 
glittering rings were flamboyant in their effect. As 
the door closed behind him he looked round him 
with fierce, startled eyes, like one who suspects a 
trap at every turn. Then he gave a violent start 
as he saw the impassive head and the collar of 
the dressing-gown which projected above the arm- 
chair in the window. At first his expression was 
one of pure amazement. Then the light of a horri- 
ble hope gleamed in his dark, murderous eyes. He 
took one more glance round to see that there were 
no witnesses, and then, on tiptoe, his thick stick 
half raised, he approached the silent figure. He 
was crouching for his final spring and blow when 
a cool, sardonic voice greeted him from the open 
bedroom door: 

"Don't break it. Count! Don't break it!" 


The assassin staggered back, amazement in his 
convulsed face. For an instant he half raised his 
loaded cane once more, as if he would turn his 
violence from the effigy to the original; but there 
was something in that steady gray eye and mock- 
ing smile which caused his hand to sink to his side. 

"It's a pretty little thing," said Holmes, ad- 
vancing towards the image. "Tavernier, the French 
modeller, made it. He is as good at waxworks as 
your friend Straubenzee is at air-guns." 

"Air-guns, sir! What do you mean?" 

"Put your hat and stick on the side-table. 
Thank you! Pray take a seat. Would you care to 
put your revolver out also? Oh, very good, if you 
prefer to sit upon it. Your visit is really most op- 
portune, for I wanted badly to have a few minutes' 
chat with you." 

The Count scowled, with heavy, threatening 
eyebrows. 

"I, too, wished to have some words with you. 
Holmes. That is why I am here. I won't deny that 
I intended to assault you just now." 

Holmes swung his leg on the edge of the table. 

"I rather gathered that you had some idea of 
the sort in your head," said he. "But why these 
personal attentions?" 

"Because you have gone out of your way to an- 
noy me. Because you have put your creatures upon 
my track." 

"My creatures! I assure you no!" 

"Nonsense! I have had them followed. Two can 
play at that game. Holmes." 

"It is a small point. Count Sylvius, but perhaps 
you would kindly give me my prefix when you 
address me. You can understand that, with my 
routine of work, I should find myself on familiar 
terms with half the rogues' gallery, and you will 
agree that exceptions are invidious." 

"Well, Mr. Holmes, then." 

"Excellent! But I assure you you are mistaken 
about my alleged agents." 

Count Sylvius laughed contemptuously. 

"Other people can observe as well as you. Yes- 
terday there was an old sporting man. To-day it 
was an elderly woman. They held me in view all 
day." 

"Really, sir, you compliment me. Old Baron 
Dowson said the night before he was hanged that 
in my case what the law had gained the stage had 
lost. And now you give my little impersonations 
your kindly praise?" 


883 



The Adventure Of The Mazarin Stone 


"It was you — you yourself?" 

Holmes shrugged his shoulders. "You can see 
in the corner the parasol which you so politely 
handed to me in the Minories before you began 
to suspect." 

"If I had known, you might never — " 

"Have seen this humble home again. I was well 
aware of it. We all have neglected opportunities to 
deplore. As it happens, you did not know, so here 
we are!" 

The Count's knotted brows gathered more 
heavily over his menacing eyes. "What you say 
only makes the matter worse. It was not your 
agents but your play-acting, busybody self! You 
admit that you have dogged me. Why?" 

"Come now. Count. You used to shoot lions in 
Algeria." 

"Well?" 

"But why?" 

"Why? The sport — the excitement — the dan- 
ger!" 

"And, no doubt, to free the country from a 
pest?" 

"Exactly!" 

"My reasons in a nutshell!" 

The Count sprang to his feet, and his hand in- 
voluntarily moved back to his hip-pocket. 

"Sit down, sir, sit down! There was another, 
more practical, reason. I want that yellow dia- 
mond!" 

Count Sylvius lay back in his chair with an evil 
smile. 

"Upon my word!" said he. 

"You knew that I was after you for that. The 
real reason why you are here to-night is to find out 
how much I know about the matter and how far 
my removal is absolutely essential. Well, I should 
say that, from your point of view, it is absolutely 
essential, for I know all about it, save only one 
thing, which you are about to tell me." 

"Oh, indeed! And pray, what is this missing 
fact?" 

"Where the Crown diamond now is." 

The Count looked sharply at his companion. 
"Oh, you want to know that, do you? How the 
devil should I be able to tell you where it is?" 

"You can, and you will." 

"Indeed!" 

"You can't bluff me. Count Sylvius." Holmes's 
eyes, as he gazed at him, contracted and lightened 


until they were like two menacing points of steel. 
"You are absolute plate-glass. I see to the very back 
of your mind." 

"Then, of course, you see where the diamond 
is!" 

Holmes clapped his hands with amusement, 
and then pointed a derisive finger. "Then you do 
know. You have admitted it!" 

"I admit nothing." 

"Now, Count, if you will be reasonable we can 
do business. If not, you will get hurt." 

Count Sylvius threw up his eyes to the ceiling. 
"And you talk about bluff!" said he. 

Holmes looked at him thoughtfully like a mas- 
ter chess-player who meditates his crowning move. 
Then he threw open the table drawer and drew out 
a squat notebook. 

"Do you know what I keep in this book?" 

"No, sir, I do not!" 

"You!" 

"Me!" 

"Yes, sir, you! You are all here — every action of 
your vile and dangerous life." 

"Damn you. Holmes!" cried the Count with 
blazing eyes. "There are limits to my patience!" 

"It's all here. Count. The real facts as to the 
death of old Mrs. Harold, who left you the Blymer 
estate, which you so rapidly gambled away." 

"You are dreaming!" 

"And the complete life history of Miss Minnie 
Warrender." 

"Tut! You will make nothing of that!" 

"Plenty more here. Count. Here is the robbery 
in the train de-luxe to the Riviera on February 13, 
1892. Here is the forged check in the same year on 
the Credit Lyonnais." 

"No; you're wrong there." 

"Then I am right on the others! Now, Count, 
you are a card-player. When the other fellow has 
all the trumps, it saves time to throw down your 
hand." 

"What has all this talk to do with the jewel of 
which you spoke?" 

"Gently, Count. Restrain that eager mind! Let 
me get to the points in my own humdrum fashion. 
I have all this against you; but, above all, I have a 
clear case against both you and your fighting bully 
in the case of the Crown diamond." 

"Indeed!" 

"I have the cabman who took you to Whitehall 
and the cabman who brought you away. I have the 
commissionaire who saw you near the case. I have 


884 



The Adventure Of The Mazarin Stone 


Ikey Sanders, who refused to cut it up for you. 
Ikey has peached, and the game is up." 

The veins stood out on the Count's forehead. 
His dark, hairy hands were clenched in a convul- 
sion of restrained emotion. He tried to speak, but 
the words would not shape themselves. 

"That's the hand I play from," said Holmes. "I 
put it all upon the table. But one card is missing. 
It's the king of diamonds. I don't know where the 
stone is." 

"You never shall know." 

"No? Now, be reasonable. Count. Consider the 
situation. You are going to be locked up for twenty 
years. So is Sam Merton. What good are you going 
to get out of your diamond? None in the world. 
But if you hand it over — well. I'll compound a 
felony. We don't want you or Sam. We want the 
stone. Give that up, and so far as I am concerned 
you can go free so long as you behave yourself in 
the future. If you make another slip — well, it will 
be the last. But this time my commission is to get 
the stone, not you." 

"But if I refuse?" 

"Why, then — alas! — it must be you and not the 
stone." 

Billy had appeared in answer to a ring. 

"I think. Count, that it would be as well to have 
your friend Sam at this conference. After all, his 
interests should be represented. Billy, you will see 
a large and ugly gentleman outside the front door. 
Ask him to come up." 

"If he won't come, sir?" 

"No violence, Billy. Don't be rough with him. 
If you tell him that Count Sylvius wants him he 
will certainly come." 

"What are you going to do now?" asked the 
Count as Billy disappeared. 

"My friend Watson was with me just now. I 
told him that I had a shark and a gudgeon in my 
net; now I am drawing the net and up they come 
together." 

The Count had risen from his chair, and his 
hand was behind his back. Holmes held some- 
thing half protruding from the pocket of his 
dressing-gown. 

"You won't die in your bed. Holmes." 

"I have often had the same idea. Does it mat- 
ter very much? After all. Count, your own exit is 
more likely to be perpendicular than horizontal. 
But these anticipations of the future are morbid. 


Why not give ourselves up to the unrestrained en- 
joyment of the present?" 

A sudden wild-beast light sprang up in the 
dark, menacing eyes of the master criminal. 
Holmes's figure seemed to grow taller as he grew 
tense and ready. 

"It is no use your fingering your revolver, my 
friend," he said in a quiet voice. "You know per- 
fectly well that you dare not use it, even if I gave 
you time to draw it. Nasty, noisy things, revolvers. 
Count. Better stick to air-guns. Ah! I think I hear 
the fairy footstep of your estimable partner. Good 
day, Mr. Merton. Rather dull in the street, is it 
not?" 

The prize-fighter, a heavily built young man 
with a stupid, obstinate, slab-sided face, stood 
awkwardly at the door, looking about him with 
a puzzled expression. Holmes's debonair manner 
was a new experience, and though he vaguely felt 
that it was hostile, he did not know how to counter 
it. He turned to his more astute comrade for help. 

"What's the game now. Count? What's this fel- 
low want? What's up?" His voice was deep and 
raucous. 

The Count shrugged his shoulders, and it was 
Holmes who answered. 

"If I may put it in a nutshell, Mr. Merton, I 
should say it was all up." 

The boxer still addressed his remarks to his as- 
sociate. 

"Is this cove trying to be funny, or what? I'm 
not in the funny mood myself." 

"No, I expect not," said Holmes. "I think I 
can promise you that you will feel even less hu- 
morous as the evening advances. Now, look here. 
Count Sylvius. I'm a busy man and I can't waste 
time. I'm going into that bedroom. Pray make 
yourselves quite at home in my absence. You can 
explain to your friend how the matter lies without 
the restraint of my presence. I shall try over the 
Hoffman 'Barcarole' upon my violin. In five min- 
utes I shall return for your final answer. You quite 
grasp the alternative, do you not? Shall we take 
you, or shall we have the stone?" 

Holmes withdrew, picking up his violin from 
the corner as he passed. A few moments later the 
long-drawn, wailing notes of that most haunting 
of tunes came faintly through the closed door of 
the bedroom. 

"What is it, then?" asked Merton anxiously as 
his companion turned to him. "Does he know 
about the stone?" 


885 



The Adventure Of The Mazarin Stone 


"He knows a damned sight too much about it. 
I'm not sure that he doesn't know all about it." 

"Good Lord!" The boxer's sallow face turned a 
shade whiter. 

"Ikey Sanders has split on us." 

"He has, has he? I'll do him down a thick 'un 
for that if I swing for it." 

"That won't help us much. We've got to make 
up our minds what to do." 

"Half a mo'," said the boxer, looking suspi- 
ciously at the bedroom door. "He's a leary cove 
that wants watching. I suppose he's not listening?" 

"How can he be listening with that music go- 
ing?" 

"That's right. Maybe somebody's behind a cur- 
tain. Too many curtains in this room." As he 
looked round he suddenly saw for the first time 
the effigy in the window, and stood staring and 
pointing, too amazed for words. 

"Tut! it's only a dummy," said the Count. 

"A fake, is it? Well, strike me! Madame Tus- 
saud ain't in it. It's the living spit of him, gown 
and all. But them curtains. Count!" 

"Oh, confound the curtains! We are wasting 
our time, and there is none too much. He can lag 
us over this stone." 

"The deuce he can!" 

"But he'll let us slip if we only tell him where 
the swag is." 

"What! Give it up? Give up a hundred thou- 
sand quid?" 

"It's one or the other." 

Merton scratched his short-cropped pate. 

"He's alone in there. Let's do him in. If his 
light were out we should have nothing to fear." 

The Count shook his head. 

"He is armed and ready. If we shot him we 
could hardly get away in a place like this. Besides, 
it's likely enough that the police know whatever 
evidence he has got. Hallo! What was that?" 

There was a vague sound which seemed to 
come from the window. Both men sprang round, 
but all was quiet. Save for the one strange figure 
seated in the chair, the room was certainly empty. 

"Something in the street," said Merton. "Now 
look here, guv'nor, you've got the brains. Surely 
you can think a way out of it. If slugging is no use 
then it's up to you." 

"I've fooled better men than he," the Count an- 
swered. "The stone is here in my secret pocket. I 


take no chances leaving it about. It can be out of 
England to-night and cut into four pieces in Ams- 
terdam before Sunday. He knows nothing of Van 
Seddar." 

"I thought Van Seddar was going next week." 

"He was. But now he must get off by the next 
boat. One or other of us must slip round with the 
stone to Lime Street and tell him." 

"But the false bottom ain't ready." 

"Well, he must take it as it is and chance it. 
There's not a moment to lose." Again, with the 
sense of danger which becomes an instinct with 
the sportsman, he paused and looked hard at the 
window. Yes, it was surely from the street that the 
faint sound had come. 

"As to Holmes," he continued, "we can fool 
him easily enough. You see, the damned fool 
won't arrest us if he can get the stone. Well, 
we'll promise him the stone. We'll put him on the 
wrong track about it, and before he finds that it is 
the wrong track it will be in Holland and we out 
of the country." 

"That sounds good to me!" cried Sam Merton 
with a grin. 

"You go on and tell the Dutchman to get a 
move on him. I'll see this sucker and fill him up 
with a bogus confession. I'll tell him that the stone 
is in Liverpool. Confound that whining music; it 
gets on my nerves! By the time he finds it isn't 
in Liverpool it will be in quarters and we on the 
blue water. Come back here, out of a line with that 
keyhole. Here is the stone." 

"I wonder you dare carry it." 

"Where could I have it safer? If we could take 
it out of Whitehall someone else could surely take 
it out of my lodgings." 

"Let's have a look at it." 

Count Sylvius cast a somewhat unflattering 
glance at his associate and disregarded the un- 
washed hand which was extended towards him. 

"What — d'ye think I'm going to snatch it off 
you? See here, mister. I'm getting a bit tired of 
your ways." 

"Well, well, no offence, Sam. We can't afford to 
quarrel. Come over to the window if you want to 
see the beauty properly. Now hold it to the light! 
Here!" 

"Thank you!" 

With a single spring Holmes had leaped from 
the dummy's chair and had grasped the precious 
jewel. He held it now in one hand, while his other 
pointed a revolver at the Count's head. The two 


886 



The Adventure Of The Mazarin Stone 


villains staggered back in utter amazement. Be- 
fore they had recovered Holmes had pressed the 
electric bell. 

"No violence, gentlemen — no violence, I beg of 
you! Consider the furniture! It must be very clear 
to you that your position is an impossible one. The 
police are waiting below." 

The Count's bewilderment overmastered his 
rage and fear. 

"But how the deuce — ?" he gasped. 

"Your surprise is very natural. You are not 
aware that a second door from my bedroom leads 
behind that curtain. I fancied that you must have 
heard me when I displaced the figure, but luck 
was on my side. It gave me a chance of listen- 
ing to your racy conversation which would have 
been painfully constrained had you been aware of 
my presence." 

The Count gave a gesture of resignation. 

"We give you best. Holmes. I believe you are 
the devil himself." 

"Not far from him, at any rate," Holmes an- 
swered with a polite smile. 

Sam Merton's slow intellect had only gradually 
appreciated the situation. Now, as the sound of 
heavy steps came from the stairs outside, he broke 
silence at last. 

"A fair cop!" said he. "But, I say, what about 
that bloomin' fiddle! I hear it yet." 

"Tut, tut!" Holmes answered. "You are per- 
fectly right. Let it play! These modern gramo- 
phones are a remarkable invention." 

There was an inrush of police, the handcuffs 
clicked and the criminals were led to the waiting 
cab. Watson lingered with Holmes, congratulat- 
ing him upon this fresh leaf added to his laurels. 
Once more their conversation was interrupted by 
the imperturbable Billy with his card-tray. 

"Lord Cantlemere, sir." 

"Show him up, Billy. This is the eminent peer 
who represents the very highest interests," said 
Holmes. "He is an excellent and loyal person, but 
rather of the old regime. Shall we make him un- 
bend? Dare we venture upon a slight liberty? He 
knows, we may conjecture, nothing of what has 
occurred." 

The door opened to admit a thin, austere figure 
with a hatchet face and drooping mid-Victorian 
whiskers of a glossy blackness which hardly cor- 
responded with the rounded shoulders and feeble 
gait. Holmes advanced affably, and shook an un- 
responsive hand. 


"How do you do. Lord Cantlemere? It is chilly 
for the time of year, but rather warm indoors. May 
I take your overcoat?" 

"No, I thank you; I will not take it off." 

Holmes laid his hand insistently upon the 
sleeve. 

"Pray allow me! My friend Dr. Watson would 
assure you that these changes of temperature are 
most insidious." 

His Lordship shook himself free with some im- 
patience. 

"I am quite comfortable, sir. I have no need to 
stay. I have simply looked in to know how your 
self-appointed task was progressing." 

"It is difficult — very difficult." 

"I feared that you would find it so." 

There was a distinct sneer in the old courtier's 
words and manner. 

"Every man finds his limitations, Mr. Holmes, 
but at least it cures us of the weakness of self- 
satisfaction." 

"Yes, sir, I have been much perplexed." 

"No doubt." 

"Especially upon one point. Possibly you could 
help me upon it?" 

"You apply for my advice rather late in the 
day. I thought that you had your own all-sufficient 
methods. Still, I am ready to help you." 

"You see. Lord Cantlemere, we can no doubt 
frame a case against the actual thieves." 

"When you have caught them." 

"Exactly. But the question is — how shall we 
proceed against the receiver?" 

"Is this not rather premature?" 

"It is as well to have our plans ready. Now, 
what would you regard as final evidence against 
the receiver?" 

"The actual possession of the stone." 

"You would arrest him upon that?" 

"Most undoubtedly." 

Holmes seldom laughed, but he got as near it 
as his old friend Watson could remember. 

"In that case, my dear sir, I shall be under the 
painful necessity of advising your arrest." 

Lord Cantlemere was very angry. Some of the 
ancient fires flickered up into his sallow cheeks. 

"You take a great liberty, Mr. Holmes. In fifty 
years of official life I cannot recall such a case. I 
am a busy man, sir, engaged upon important af- 
fairs, and I have no time or taste for foolish jokes. 
I may tell you frankly, sir, that I have never been 


887 



a believer in your powers, and that I have always 
been of the opinion that the matter was far safer in 
the hands of the regular police force. Your conduct 
confirms all my conclusions. I have the honour, sir, 
to wish you good-evening." 

Holmes had swiftly changed his position and 
was between the peer and the door. 

"One moment, sir," said he. "To actually go off 
with the Mazarin stone would be a more serious 
offence than to be found in temporary possession 
of it." 

"Sir, this is intolerable! Let me pass." 

"Put your hand in the right-hand pocket of 
your overcoat." 

"What do you mean, sir?" 

"Come — come, do what I ask." 

An instant later the amazed peer was standing, 
blinking and stammering, with the great yellow 
stone on his shaking palm. 

"What! What! How is this, Mr. Holmes?" 

"Too bad. Lord Cantlemere, too bad!" cried 
Holmes. "My old friend here will tell you that I 


have an impish habit of practical joking. Also that 
I can never resist a dramatic situation. I took the 
liberty — the very great liberty, I admit — of putting 
the stone into your pocket at the beginning of our 
interview." 

The old peer stared from the stone to the smil- 
ing face before him. 

"Sir, I am bewildered. But — yes — it is indeed 
the Mazarin stone. We are greatly your debtors, 
Mr. Holmes. Your sense of humour may, as you 
admit, be somewhat perverted, and its exhibition 
remarkably untimely, but at least I withdraw any 
reflection I have made upon your amazing profes- 
sional powers. But how — " 

"The case is but half finished; the details can 
wait. No doubt. Lord Cantlemere, your pleasure 
in telling of this successful result in the exalted cir- 
cle to which you return will be some small atone- 
ment for my practical joke. Billy, you will show his 
Lordship out, and tell Mrs. Hudson that I should 
be glad if she would send up dinner for two as 
soon as possible." 



THE CROWN DIAMOND 


SCENE. — MR. HOLMES’S room in Baker Street. It presents the usual features, but there is a deep 
bow window to it, and across there is drawn a curtain running upon a brass rod fastened across eight 
feet above the ground and enclosing the recess of the window. 

Enter WATSON and BILLY 

WATSON: Well, Billy, when will he be back? 

BI LLY : I’m sure 1 couldn’t say sir. 

WATSON: When did you see him last? 

BILLY: I really couldn’t tell you. 

WATSON: What, you couldn’t tell me? 

BILLY: No sir. There was a clergyman looked in yesterday and there was an old bookmaker and there 
was a workman. 

WATSON: Well? 

BILLY: But I’m not sure they weren’t all Mr. Holmes. You see he’s very hot on a chase just now. 
WATSON: Oh! 

BILLY: He neither eats nor sleeps. Well you’ve lived with him same as me. You know what he’s like 
when he’s after some one. 

WATSON: I know. 

BILLY: He’s a responsibility sir, that he is. It’s a real worry to me sometimes. When I asked him if he 
would order dinner, he said. “Yes, I’ll have chops and mashed potatoes at 7:30 the day after to morrow.” 
“Won’t you eat before then sir?” I asked. “I haven’t time, Billy. I’m busy,” said he. He gets thinner and 
paler and his eyes get brighter. It’s awful to see him 

WATSON: Tut, tut, this will never do. I must certainly stop and see him 

BILLY: Yes sir, it will ease my mind. 

WATSON: But what is he after? 

BILLY: It’s this case of the Crown Diamond. 

WATSON: What the hundred thousand pound burglary? 

BILLY: Yes, sir. They must get it back sir. Why we had the Prime Minister and the Home Secretary both 
sitting on that very sofa. Mr. Holmes promised he’d do his very best for them Quite nice he was to them. 
Put them at their ease in a moment. 



WATSON: Dear me! I’ve read about it in the paper. But I say, Billy, what have you been doing to the 
room? What’s this curtain? 

BILLY: I don’t know, sir. Mr. Holmes had it put there three days ago. But we’ve got something funny 
behind it. 

WATSON: Something funny? 

BILLY (laughing): Yes, sir. He had it made. 

(BILLY goes to the curtain and draws it across, disclosing a wax image of Holmes seated in a chair, 
back to the audience.) 

WATSON: Good heavens, Billy! 

BILLY: Yes, sir. It’s like him, sir. (Picks the head off and exhibits it.) 

WATSON: It’s wonderful! But what’s it for, Billy? 

BILLY: You see, sir, he’s anxious that those who watch him should think he’s at home sometimes when he 
isn’t. There’s the bell, sir. (Replaces head, draws curtain.) I must go. 

(BILLY goes out.) 

(WATSON sits down, lights a cigarette, and opens a paper. Enter a tall, bent OLD WOMAN in black 
with veil and side-curls.) 

WATSON (rising): Good day, Ma’m. 

WOMAN: You’re not Mr. Holmes? 

WATSON: No, Ma’m. I’m his friend, Dr. Watson. 

WOMAN: I knew you couldn’t be Mr. Holmes. I’d always heard he was a handsome man. 

WATSON (aside): Upon my word! 

WOMAN: But I must see him at once. 

WATSON: I assure you he is not in. 

WOMAN: I don’t believe you. 

WATSON: What! 

WOMAN: You have a sly, deceitful face — oh, yes, a wicked, scheming face. Come, young man, where is 
he? 

WATSON: Really, Madam... ! 

WOMAN: Very well, I’ll find him for myself. He’s in there, I believe. (Walks toward bedroom door.) 
WATSON (rising and crossing): That is his bedroom. Really, Madam, this is outrageous! 



WOMAN: I wonder what he keeps in this safe. 


(She approaches it, and as she does so the lights go out, and the room is in darkness save for “DON’T 
TOUCH” in red fire over the safe. Four red lights spring up, and between them the inscription 
“ DON’T TOUCH!” After a few seconds the lights go on again, and HOLMES is standing beside 
WATSONJ 

WATSON: Good heavens, Holmes! 

HOLMES: Neat little alarm, is it not, Watson? My own invention. You tread on a loose plank and so 
connect the circuit, or 1 can turn it on myself. It prevents inquisitive people becoming too inquisitive. 
When 1 come back 1 know if any one has been fooling with my things. It switches off again automatically, 
as you saw. 

WATSON: But my dear fellow, why this disguise? 

HOLMES: A little comic relief, Watson. When I saw you sitting there looking so solemn, 1 really couldn’t 
help it. But I assure you there is nothing comic in the business I am engaged upon. Good heavens! (Rushes 
across room, and draws curtain, which has been left partly open.) 

WATSON: Why, what is it? 

HOLMES: Danger, Watson. Airguns, Watson. Em expecting something this evening. 

WATSON: Expecting what, Holmes? 

HOLMES (lighting pipe): Expecting to be murdered, Watson. 

WATSON: No, no, you are joking, Holmes! 

HOLMES: Even my limited sense of humour could evolve a better joke than that, Watson. No, it is a fact. 
And in case it should come off — it’s about a two to one chance — it would perhaps be as well that you 
should burden your memory with the name and address of the murderer. 

WATSON: Holmes! 

HOLMES: You can give it to Scotland Yard with my love and a parting blessing. Moran is the name. 
Colonel Sebastian Moran. Write it down, Watson, write it down! 136, Moorside Gardens, N.W. Got it? 

WATSON: But surely something can be done, Holmes. Couldn’t you have this fellow arrested? 

HOLMES: Yes, Watson, I could. That’s what’s worrying him so. 

WATSON: But why don’t you? 

HOLMES: Because I don’t know where the diamond is. 

WATSON: What diamond? 

HOLMES: Yes, yes, the great yellow Crown Diamond, seventy seven carats, lad, and without flaw. I have 
two fish in the net. But 1 haven’t got the stone there. And what’s the use of taking them? It’s the stone I’m 
after. 



WATSON: Is this Colonel Moran one of the fish in the net? 

HOLMES: Yes, and he’s a shark. He bites. The other is Sam Merton the boxer. Not a bad fellow, Sam, but 
the Colonel has used him. Sam’s not a shark. He’s a big silly gudgeon. But he’s flopping about in my net, 
all the same. 

WATSON: Where is this Colonel Moran? 

HOLMES: I’ve been at his elbow all morning. Once he picked up my parasol. “By your leave, Ma’m,” 
said he. Life is full of whimsical happenings. I followed him to old Straubenzee’s workshop in the 
Minories. Straubenzee made the airgun — fine bit of work, I understand. 

WATSON: An airgun? 

HOLMES: The idea was to shoot me through the window. I had to put up that curtain. By the way, have 
you seen the dummy? (Draws curtain.) 

(WATSON nods.) 

Ah! Billy has been showing you the sights. It may get a bullet through its beautiful wax head at any 
moment. 

(Enter BITTY.) 

Well, Billy? 

BILLY: Colonel Sebastian Moran, sir. 

HOLMES: Ah! the man himself. I rather expected it. Grasp the nettle, Watson. A man of nerve! He felt my 
toe on his heels. (Looks out of window.) And there is Sam Merton in the street — the faithful but fatuous 
Sam Where is the Colonel, Billy? 

BILLY: Waiting-room, sir. 

HOLMES: Show him up when I ring. 

BILLY: Yes, sir. 

HOLMES: Oh, by the way, Billy, if I am not in the room show him in just the same. 

BILLY: Very good, sir. 

(BILLY goes out.) 

WATSON: I’ll stay with you, Holmes. 

HOLMES: No, my dear fellow, you would be horribly in the way (Goes to the table and scribbles a 
note.) 


WATSON: He may murder you. 
HOLMES: I shouldn’t be surprised. 



WATSON: I can’t possibly leave you. 

HOLMES: Yes, you can, my dear Watson, for you’ve always played the game, and I am very sure that you 
will play it to end. Take this note to Scotland Yard. Come back with the police. The fellow’s arrest will 
follow. 

WATSON: I’ll do that with joy. 

HOLMES: And before you return 1 have just time to find where the diamond is. (Rings bell.) This way, 
Watson. We’ll go together. 1 rather want to see my shark without his seeing me. 

(WATSON and HOLMES go into the bedroom.) 

(Enter BILLY and COLONEL SEBASTIAN MORAN, who is a fierce big man, flashily dressed, with a 
heavy cudgel.) 

BILLY: Colonel Sebastian Moran. 

(BILLY goes out.) 

(COLONEL MORAN looks round, advances slowly into the room and starts as he sees the dummy 
figure sitting in the window. He stares at it, then crouches, grips his stick, and advances on tip-toe. 
When close to the figure he raises his stick. HOLMES comes quickly out of the bedroom door.) 

HOLMES: Don’t break it, Colonel, don’t break it. 

COLONEL (staggering back): Good Lord! 

HOLMES: It’s such a pretty little thing. Tavernier, the Trench modeller, made it. He is as good at 
waxwork as Straubenzee is at airguns. (Shuts curtains.) 

COLONEL: Airguns, sir. Airguns! What do you mean? 

HOLMES: Put your hat and stick on the side table. Thank you. Pray take a seat. Would you care to put 
your revolver out also? Oh, very good, if you prefer to sit upon it. 

(The COLONEL sits down.) 

I wanted to have five minutes’ chat with you. 

COLONEL: I wanted to have five minutes’ chat with you. 

(HOLMES sits down near him and crosses his leg.) 

I won’t deny that I intended to assault you just now. 

HOLMES: It struck me that some idea of that sort had crossed your mind. 

COLONEL: And with reason, sir, with reason. 

HOLMES: But why this attention? 

COLONEL: Because you have gone out of your way to annoy me. Because you have put your creatures on 
my track. 



HOLMES: My creatures? 

COLONEL: I have had them followed. I know that they come to report to you here. 

HOLMES: No, 1 assure you. 

COLONEL: Tut, sir! Other people can observe as well as you. Yesterday there was an old sporting man; 
to-day it was an elderly lady. They held me in view all day. 

HOLMES: Really, sir, you compliment me! Old Baron Dowson, before he was hanged at Newgate, was 
good enough to say that in my case what the law had gained the stage had lost. And now you come along 
with your kindly words. In the name of the elderly lady and of the sporting gentleman I thank you. There 
was also an out-of-work plumber who was an artistic dream — you seem to have overlooked him. 

COLONEL: It was you. . . you! 

HOLMES: Your humble servant! If you doubt it, you can see the parasol upon the settee which you so 
politely handed to me this morning down in the Minories. 

COLONEL: If I had known you might never — 

HOLMES: Never have seen this humble home again. I was well aware of it. But it happens you didn’t 
know, and here we are, quite chatty and comfortable. 

COLONEL: What you say only makes matters worse. It was not your agents, but you yourself, who have 
dogged me. Why have you done this? 

HOLMES: You used to shoot tigers? 

COLONEL: Yes, sir. 

HOLMES: But why? 

COLONEL: Pshaw! Why does any man shoot a tiger? excitement. The danger. 

HOLMES: And no doubt the satisfaction of freeing the country from a pest, which devastates it and lives 
on the population. 

COLONEL: Exactly. 

HOLMES: My reasons in a nutshell. 

COLONEL (springing to his feet): Insolent! 

HOLMES: Sit down, sir, sit down! There was another more practical reason. 

COLONEL: Well? 

HOLMES: I want that yellow Crown Diamond. 

COLONEL: Upon my word! Well, go on. 

HOLMES: You knew that I was after you for that. The reason why you are here to-night is to find out how 



much I know about the matter. Well, you can take it that 1 know all about it, save one thing, which you are 
about to tell me. 


COLONEL (sneering): And, pray, what is that? 

HOLMES: Where the diamond is. 

COLONEL: Oh, you want to know that, do you? How the devil should I know where it is? 

HOLMES: You not only know, but you are about to tell me. 

COLONEL: Oh, indeed! 

HOLMES: You can’t bluff me, Colonel. You’re absolute plate glass. I see to the very back of your mind. 
COLONEL: Then of course you see where the diamond is. 

HOLMES: Ah! then you do know. You have admitted it. 

COLONEL: 1 admit nothing. 

HOLMES: Now, Colonel, if you will be reasonable we can do business together. If not you may get hurt. 
COLONEL: And you talk about bluff! 

HOLMES (raising a book from the table): Do you know what I keep inside this book? 

COLONEL: No, sir, I do not. 

HOLMES: You. 

COLONEL: Me! 

HOLMES: Yes, sir, you. You’re all here, every action of your vile and dangerous life. 

COLONEL: Damn you. Holmes! Don’t go too far. 

HOLMES: Some interesting details, Colonel. The real facts as to the death of Miss Minnie Warrender of 
Laburnum Grove. All here, Colonel. 

COLONEL: You — you devil ! 

HOLMES: And the story of young Arbothnot, who was found drowned in the Regents Canal just before 
his intended exposure of you for cheating at cards. 

COLONEL: I — I never hurt the boy. 

HOLMES: But he died at a very seasonable time. Do you want some more, Colonel? Plenty of it here. 
How about the robbery in the train deluxe to the Riviera, Lebruary 13th, 1892? How about the forged 
cheque on the Credit Lyonnais the same year? 

COLONEL: No, you’re wrong there. 

HOLMES: Then I’m right on the others. Now, Colonel, you are a card-player. When the other fellow 



holds all the trumps it saves time to throw down your hand. 

COLONEL: If there was a word of truth in all this, would 1 have been a free man all these years? 

HOLMES: I was not consulted. There were missing links in the police case. But 1 have a way of finding 
missing links. You may take it from me that 1 could do so. 

COLONEL: Bluff! Mr. Holmes, bluff! 

HOLMES: Oh, you wish me to prove my words! Well, if 1 touch this bell it means the police, and from 
that instant the matter is out of my hands. Shall I? 

COLONEL: What has all this to do with the jewel you speak of? 

HOLMES: Gently, Colonel! Restrain that eager mind. Let me get to the point in my own hum-drum way. 1 
have all this against you, and 1 also have a clear case against both you and your fighting bully in this case 
of the Crown Diamond. 

COLONEL: Indeed! 

HOLMES: I have the cabman who took you to Whitehall, and the cabman who brought you away. I have 
the commissionaire who saw you beside the case. I have Ikey Cohen who refused to cut it up for you. Ikey 
has peached, and the game is up. 

COLONEL: Hell! 

HOLMES: That’s the hand I play from. But there’s one card missing. I don’t know where this king of 
diamonds is. 

COLONEL: You never shall know. 

HOLMES: Tut! tut! don’t turn nasty. Now, consider. You’re going to be locked up for twenty years. So is 
Sam Merton. What good are you going to get out of your diamond? None in world. But if you let me know 
where it is. . . well, I’ll compound a felony. We don’t want you or Sam. We want the stone. Give up, and 
so far as I am concerned you can go free so long as you behave yourself in the future. If you make another 
slip, then God help you. But this time my commission is to get the stone, not you. (Rings bell.) 

COLONEL: But if I refuse? 

HOLMES: Then, alas, it must be you, not the stone. 

(Enter BILLY.; 

BILLY: Yes, sir. 

HOLMES (to the COLONEL;: I think we had better have your friend Sam at this conference. Billy, you 
will see a large and very ugly gentleman outside the front door. Ask him to come up, will you? 

BILLY: Yes, sir. Suppose he won’t come, sir? 

HOLMES: No force, Billy! Don’t be rough with him. If you tell him Colonel Moran wants him, he will 
come. 



BILLY: Yes, sir. 

(BILLY goes out.) 

COLONEL: What’s the meaning of this, then? 

HOLMES: My friend Watson was with me just now. I told him that I had a shark and a gudgeon in my net. 
Now, Em drawing the net and up they come together. 

COLONEL (leaning forward) : You won’t die in your bed Holmes! 

HOLMES: D’you know, I have often had the same idea. For that matter, your own finish is more likely to 
be perpendicular than horizontal. But these anticipations are morbid. Let us give ourselves up to the 
unrestrained enjoyment of the present. No good fingering your revolver, my friend, for you know perfectly 
well that you dare not use it. Nasty, noisy things, revolvers. Better stick to airguns, Colonel Moran. Ah! 
... I think I hear the footsteps of your estimable partner. 

(Enter BILLY.; 

BILLY: Mr. Sam Merton. 

(Enter SAM MERTON, in check suit and loud necktie, yellow overcoat.) 

HOLMES: Good day, Mr. Merton. Rather damp in the street, is it not? 

(BILLY goes out.) 

MERTON (to the COLONEL;: What’s the game? What’s up? 

HOLMES: If I may put it in a nutshell, Mr. Merton, I should say it is all up. 

MERTON (to the COLONEL;: Is this cove tryin’ to be funny — or what? I’m not in the funny mood 
myself. 

HOLMES: You’ll feel even less humourous as the evening advances, I think I can promise you that. Now, 
look here, Colonel. I’m a busy man and I can’t waste time. I’m going into the bedroom Pray make 
yourselves entirely at home in my absence. You can explain to your friend how the matter lies. I shall try 
over the Barcarolle upon my violin. (Looks at watch.) In five minutes I shall return for your final answer. 
You quite grasp the alternative, don’t you? Shall we take you, or shall we have the stone? 

(HOLMES goes into his bedroom, taking his violin with him.) 

MERTON: What’s that? He knows about the stone! 

COLONEL: Yes, he knows a dashed sight too much about it. I’m not sure that he doesn’t know all about it. 
MERTON: Good Lord! 

COLONEL: Ikey Cohen has split. 

MERTON: He has, has he? I’ll do him down a thick ‘un for that. 

COLONEL: But that won’t help us. We’ve got to make up our minds what to do. 



MERTON: Half a mo’. He’s not listening, is he? (Approaches bedroom door.) No, it’s shut. Look to me as 
if it was locked. 


(Music begins.) 

Ah! there he is, safe enough. (Goes to curtain.) Here, 1 say! (Draws it back, disclosing the figure.) 
Here’s that cove again, blast him! 

COLONEL: Tut! it’s a dummy. Never mind it. 

MERTON: A fake, is it? (Examines it, and turns the head) By Gosh, I wish 1 could twist his own as easy. 
Well, strike me! Madame Tussaud ain’t in it! 

(As MERTON returns towards the COLONEL, the lights suddenly go out, and the red “DON’T 
TOUCH’’ signal goes up. After a few seconds the lights readjust themselves. Figures must transpose at 
that moment.) 

Well, dash my buttons! Look ‘ere, Guv’nor, this is gettin’ on ny nerves. Is it unsweetened gin, or what? 

COLONEL: Tut! it is some childish hanky-panky of this fellow Holmes, a spring or an alarm or 
something. Look here, there’s no time to lose. He can lag us for the diamond. 

MERTON: The hell he can! 

COLONEL: But he’ll let us slip if we only tell him where the stone is. 

MERTON: What, give up the swag! Give up a hundred thousand! 

COLONEL: It’s one or the other. 

MERTON: No way out? You’ve got the brains, Guv’nor. Surely you can think a way out of it. 

COLONEL: Wait a bit! I’ve fooled better men than he. Here’s the stone in my secret pocket. It can be out 
of England tonight, cut into four pieces in Amsterdam before Saturday. He knows nothing of Van Seddor. 

MERTON: I thought Van Seddor was to wait till next week. 

COLONEL: Yes, he was. But now he must get the next boat. One or other of us must slip round with the 
stone to the “Excelsior” and tell him 

MERTON: But the false bottom ain’t in the hat-box yet! 

COLONEL: Well, he must take it as it is and chance it. There’s not a moment to lose. As to Holmes, we 
can fool him enough. You see, he won’t arrest us if he thinks he can get the stone. We’ll put him on the 
wrong track about it, and before he finds it is the wrong track, the stone will be in Amsterdam, and we out 
of the country. 

MERTON: That’s prime. 

COLONEL: You go off now, and tell Van Seddor to get a move on him. I’ll see this sucker and fill him up 
with a bogus confession. The stone’s in Liverpool — that’s what I’ll tell him. By the time he finds it isn’t, 
there won’t be much of it left, and we’ll be on blue water. (He looks carefully round him, then draws a 



small leather box from his pocket, and holds it out.) Here is the Crown Diamond. 

HOLMES (taking it, as he rises from his chair): I thank you. 

COLONEL (staggering back) : Curse you, Holmes ! (Puts hand in pocket.) 

MERTON: To hell with him! 

HOLMES: No violence, gentlemen; no violence, 1 beg of you. It must be very clear to you that your 
position is an impossible one. The police are waiting below. 

COLONEL: You — you devil! How did you get there? 

HOLMES: The device is obvious but effective; lights off for a moment and the rest is common sense. It 
gave me a chance of listening to your racy conversation which would have been painfully constrained by 
a knowledge of my presence. No, Colonel, no. 1 am covering you with a .450 Derringer through the pocket 
of my dressing-gown. (Rings bell.) 

(Enter BILLY.; 

Send them up, Billy. 

(BILLY goes out.) 

COLONEL: Well, you’ve got us, damn you! 

MERTON: A fair cop . . . But I say, what about that bloomin’ fiddle? 

HOLMES: Ah, yes, these modern gramophones ! Wonderful invention. Wonderful! 

CURTAIN 



The Adventure of the Creeping Man 


S r. Sherlock Holmes was always of 
opinion that I should publish the sin- 
gular facts connected with Professor 
Presbury, if only to dispel once for all 
the ugly rumours which some twenty years ago 
agitated the university and were echoed in the 
learned societies of London. There were, however, 
certain obstacles in the way, and the true history 
of this curious case remained entombed in the tin 
box which contains so many records of my friend's 
adventures. Now we have at last obtained permis- 
sion to ventilate the facts which formed one of the 
very last cases handled by Holmes before his re- 
tirement from practice. Even now a certain reti- 
cence and discretion have to be observed in laying 
the matter before the public. 

It was one Sunday evening early in September 
of the year 1903 that I received one of Holmes's 
laconic messages: 

Come at once if convenient — if incon- 
venient come all the same. — S. H. 

The relations between us in those latter days 
were peculiar. He was a man of habits, narrow 
and concentrated habits, and I had become one of 
them. As an institution I was like the violin, the 
shag tobacco, the old black pipe, the index books, 
and others perhaps less excusable. When it was 
a case of active work and a comrade was needed 
upon whose nerve he could place some reliance, 
my role was obvious. But apart from this I had 
uses. I was a whetstone for his mind. I stimu- 
lated him. He liked to think aloud in my presence. 
His remarks could hardly be said to be made to 
me — many of them would have been as appropri- 
ately addressed to his bedstead — but none the less, 
having formed the habit, it had become in some 
way helpful that I should register and interject. If 
I irritated him by a certain methodical slowness in 
my mentality, that irritation served only to make 
his own flame-like intuitions and impressions flash 
up the more vividly and swiftly. Such was my 
humble role in our alliance. 

When I arrived at Baker Street I found him 
huddled up in his armchair with updrawn knees, 
his pipe in his mouth and his brow furrowed with 
thought. It was clear that he was in the throes of 
some vexatious problem. With a wave of his hand 
he indicated my old armchair, but otherwise for 
half an hour he gave no sign that he was aware 
of my presence. Then with a start he seemed to 
come from his reverie, and with his usual whim- 
sical smile he greeted me back to what had once 
been my home. 


"You will excuse a certain abstraction of mind, 
my dear Watson," said he. "Some curious facts 
have been submitted to me within the last twenty- 
four hours, and they in turn have given rise to 
some speculations of a more general character. I 
have serious thoughts of writing a small mono- 
graph upon the uses of dogs in the work of the 
detective." 

"But surely. Holmes, this has been explored," 
said I. "Bloodhounds — sleuth-hounds — " 

"No, no, Watson, that side of the matter is, of 
course, obvious. But there is another which is far 
more subtle. You may recollect that in the case 
which you, in your sensational way, coupled with 
the Copper Beeches, I was able, by watching the 
mind of the child, to form a deduction as to the 
criminal habits of the very smug and respectable 
father." 

"Yes, I remember it well." 

"My line of thoughts about dogs is analogous. 
A dog reflects the family life. Whoever saw a frisky 
dog in a gloomy family, or a sad dog in a happy 
one? Snarling people have snarling dogs, danger- 
ous people have dangerous ones. And their pass- 
ing moods may reflect the passing moods of oth- 
ers." 

I shook my head. "Surely, Holmes, this is a 
little far-fetched," said I. 

He had refilled his pipe and resumed his seat, 
taking no notice of my comment. 

"The practical application of what I have said 
is very close to the problem which I am investi- 
gating. It is a tangled skein, you understand, and 
I am looking for a loose end. One possible loose 
end lies in the question: Why does Professor Pres- 
bury's wolfhound, Roy, endeavour to bite him?" 

I sank back in my chair in some disappoint- 
ment. Was it for so trivial a question as this that 
I had been summoned from my work? Holmes 
glanced across at me. 

"The same old Watson!" said he. "You never 
learn that the gravest issues may depend upon the 
smallest things. But is it not on the face of it 
strange that a staid, elderly philosopher — you've 
heard of Presbury, of course, the famous Cam- 
ford physiologist? — that such a man, whose friend 
has been his devoted wolfhound, should now have 
been twice attacked by his own dog? What do you 
make of it?" 

"The dog is ill." 

"Well, that has to be considered. But he at- 
tacks no one else, nor does he apparently molest 


935 



The Adventure of the Creeping Man 


his master, save on very special occasions. Curi- 
ous, Watson — very curious. But young Mr. Bennett 
is before his time if that is his ring. I had hoped to 
have a longer chat with you before he came." 

There was a quick step on the stairs, a sharp 
tap at the door, and a moment later the new client 
presented himself. He was a tall, handsome youth 
about thirty, well dressed and elegant, but with 
something in his bearing which suggested the shy- 
ness of the student rather than the self-possession 
of the man of the world. He shook hands with 
Holmes, and then looked with some surprise at 
me. 

"This matter is very delicate, Mr. Holmes," he 
said. "Consider the relation in which I stand to 
Professor Presbury both privately and publicly. I 
really can hardly justify myself if I speak before 
any third person." 

"Have no fear, Mr. Bennett. Dr. Watson is the 
very soul of discretion, and I can assure you that 
this is a matter in which I am very likely to need 
an assistant." 

"As you like, Mr. Holmes. You will, I am sure, 
understand my having some reserves in the mat- 
ter." 

"You will appreciate it, Watson, when I tell you 
that this gentleman, Mr. Trevor Bennett, is profes- 
sional assistant to the great scientist, lives under 
his roof, and is engaged to his only daughter. Cer- 
tainly we must agree that the professor has every 
claim upon his loyalty and devotion. But it may 
best be shown by taking the necessary steps to 
clear up this strange mystery." 

"I hope so, Mr. Holmes. That is my one object. 
Does Dr. Watson know the situation?" 

"I have not had time to explain it." 

"Then perhaps I had better go over the 
ground again before explaining some fresh devel- 
opments." 

"I will do so myself," said Holmes, "in order to 
show that I have the events in their due order. The 
professor, Watson, is a man of European reputa- 
tion. His life has been academic. There has never 
been a breath of scandal. He is a widower with 
one daughter, Edith. He is, I gather, a man of very 
virile and positive, one might almost say combat- 
ive, character. So the matter stood until a very few 
months ago. 

"Then the current of his life was broken. He is 
sixty-one years of age, but he became engaged to 
the daughter of Professor Morphy, his colleague in 
the chair of comparative anatomy. It was not, as 
I understand, the reasoned courting of an elderly 


man but rather the passionate frenzy of youth, for 
no one could have shown himself a more devoted 
lover. The lady, Alice Morphy, was a very perfect 
girl both in mind and body, so that there was ev- 
ery excuse for the professor's infatuation. None 
the less, it did not meet with full approval in his 
own family." 

"We thought it rather excessive," said our visi- 
tor. 

"Exactly. Excessive and a little violent and un- 
natural. Professor Presbury was rich, however, and 
there was no objection upon the part of the father. 
The daughter, however, had other views, and there 
were already several candidates for her hand, who, 
if they were less eligible from a worldly point of 
view, were at least more of an age. The girl seemed 
to like the professor in spite of his eccentricities. It 
was only age which stood in the way. 

"About this time a little mystery suddenly 
clouded the normal routine of the professor's life. 
He did what he had never done before. He left 
home and gave no indication where he was go- 
ing. He was away a fortnight and returned looking 
rather travel-worn. He made no allusion to where 
he had been, although he was usually the frank- 
est of men. It chanced, however, that our client 
here, Mr. Bennett, received a letter from a fellow- 
student in Prague, who said that he was glad to 
have seen Professor Presbury there, although he 
had not been able to talk to him. Only in this way 
did his own household learn where he had been. 

"Now comes the point. From that time onward 
a curious change came over the professor. He be- 
came furtive and sly. Those around him had al- 
ways the feeling that he was not the man that they 
had known, but that he was under some shadow 
which had darkened his higher qualities. His in- 
tellect was not affected. His lectures were as bril- 
liant as ever. But always there was something new, 
something sinister and unexpected. His daughter, 
who was devoted to him, tried again and again 
to resume the old relations and to penetrate this 
mask which her father seemed to have put on. 
You, sir, as I understand, did the same — but all 
was in vain. And now, Mr. Bennett, tell in your 
own words the incident of the letters." 

"You must understand. Dr. Watson, that the 
professor had no secrets from me. If I were his 
son or his younger brother I could not have more 
completely enjoyed his confidence. As his secre- 
tary I handled every paper which came to him, 
and I opened and subdivided his letters. Shortly 
after his return all this was changed. He told me 


936 



The Adventure of the Creeping Man 


that certain letters might come to him from Lon- 
don which would be marked by a cross under the 
stamp. These were to be set aside for his own 
eyes only I may say that several of these did 
pass through my hands, that they had the E. C. 
mark, and were in an illiterate handwriting. If 
he answered them at all the answers did not pass 
through my hands nor into the letter-basket in 
which our correspondence was collected." 

"And the box," said Holmes. 

"Ah, yes, the box. The professor brought back 
a little wooden box from his travels. It was the one 
thing which suggested a Continental tour, for it 
was one of those quaint carved things which one 
associates with Germany. This he placed in his 
instrument cupboard. One day, in looking for a 
canula, I took up the box. To my surprise he was 
very angry, and reproved me in words which were 
quite savage for my curiosity. It was the first time 
such a thing had happened, and I was deeply hurt. 
I endeavoured to explain that it was a mere acci- 
dent that I had touched the box, but all the evening 
I was conscious that he looked at me harshly and 
that the incident was rankling in his mind." Mr. 
Bennett drew a little diary book from his pocket. 
"That was on July 2d," said he. 

"You are certainly an admirable witness," said 
Holmes. "I may need some of these dates which 
you have noted." 

"I learned method among other things from 
my great teacher. From the time that I observed 
abnormality in his behaviour I felt that it was my 
duty to study his case. Thus I have it here that it 
was on that very day, July 2d, that Roy attacked the 
professor as he came from his study into the hall. 
Again, on July 11th, there was a scene of the same 
sort, and then I have a note of yet another upon 
July 20th. After that we had to banish Roy to the 
stables. He was a dear, affectionate animal — but I 
fear I weary you." 

Mr. Bennett spoke in a tone of reproach, for it 
was very clear that Holmes was not listening. His 
face was rigid and his eyes gazed abstractedly at 
the ceiling. With an effort he recovered himself. 

"Singular! Most singular!" he murmured. 
"These details were new to me, Mr. Bennett. I 
think we have now fairly gone over the old ground, 
have we not? But you spoke of some fresh devel- 
opments." 

The pleasant, open face of our visitor clouded 
over, shadowed by some grim remembrance. 
"What I speak of occurred the night before last," 
said he. "I was lying awake about two in the morn- 
ing, when I was aware of a dull muffled sound 


coming from the passage. I opened my door and 
peeped out. I should explain that the professor 
sleeps at the end of the passage — " 

"The date being — ?" asked Holmes. 

Our visitor was clearly annoyed at so irrelevant 
an interruption. 

"I have said, sir, that it was the night before 
last — that is, September 4th." 

Holmes nodded and smiled. 

"Pray continue," said he. 

"He sleeps at the end of the passage and 
would have to pass my door in order to reach 
the staircase. It was a really terrifying experience, 
Mr. Holmes. I think that I am as strong-nerved 
as my neighbours, but I was shaken by what I 
saw. The passage was dark save that one window 
halfway along it threw a patch of light. I could 
see that something was coming along the passage, 
something dark and crouching. Then suddenly it 
emerged into the light, and I saw that it was he. He 
was crawling, Mr. Holmes — crawling! He was not 
quite on his hands and knees. I should rather say 
on his hands and feet, with his face sunk between 
his hands. Yet he seemed to move with ease. I was 
so paralyzed by the sight that it was not until he 
had reached my door that I was able to step for- 
ward and ask if I could assist him. His answer was 
extraordinary. He sprang up, spat out some atro- 
cious word at me, and hurried on past me, and 
down the staircase. I waited about for an hour, but 
he did not come back. It must have been daylight 
before he regained his room." 

"Well, Watson, what make you of that?" asked 
Holmes with the air of the pathologist who 
presents a rare specimen. 

"Lumbago, possibly. I have known a severe at- 
tack make a man walk in just such a way, and noth- 
ing would be more trying to the temper." 

"Good, Watson! You always keep us flat-footed 
on the ground. But we can hardly accept lumbago, 
since he was able to stand erect in a moment." 

"He was never better in health," said Bennett. 
"In fact, he is stronger than I have known him for 
years. But there are the facts, Mr. Holmes. It is not 
a case in which we can consult the police, and yet 
we are utterly at our wit's end as to what to do, 
and we feel in some strange way that we are drift- 
ing towards disaster. Edith — Miss Presbury — feels 
as I do, that we cannot wait passively any longer." 

"It is certainly a very curious and suggestive 
case. What do you think, Watson?" 

"Speaking as a medical man," said I, "it ap- 
pears to be a case for an alienist. The old gen- 
tleman's cerebral processes were disturbed by the 


937 



The Adventure of the Creeping Man 


love affair. He made a journey abroad in the hope 
of breaking himself of the passion. His letters and 
the box may be connected with some other private 
transaction — a loan, perhaps, or share certificates, 
which are in the box." 

"And the wolfhound no doubt disapproved of 
the financial bargain. No, no, Watson, there is 
more in it than this. Now, I can only suggest — " 

What Sherlock Holmes was about to suggest 
will never be known, for at this moment the door 
opened and a young lady was shown into the 
room. As she appeared Mr. Bennett sprang up 
with a cry and ran forward with his hands out to 
meet those which she had herself outstretched. 

"Edith, dear! Nothing the matter, I hope?" 

"I felt I must follow you. Oh, Jack, I have been 
so dreadfully frightened! It is awful to be there 
alone." 

"Mr. Holmes, this is the young lady I spoke of. 
This is my fiancee." 

"We were gradually coming to that conclusion, 
were we not, Watson?" Holmes answered with 
a smile. "I take it. Miss Presbury, that there is 
some fresh development in the case, and that you 
thought we should know?" 

Our new visitor, a bright, handsome girl of a 
conventional English type, smiled back at Holmes 
as she seated herself beside Mr. Bennett. 

"When I found Mr. Bennett had left his hotel 
I thought I should probably find him here. Of 
course, he had told me that he would consult you. 
But, oh, Mr. Holmes, can you do nothing for my 
poor father?" 

"I have hopes. Miss Presbury, but the case is 
still obscure. Perhaps what you have to say may 
throw some fresh light upon it." 

"It was last night, Mr. Holmes. He had been 
very strange all day. I am sure that there are times 
when he has no recollection of what he does. He 
lives as in a strange dream. Yesterday was such a 
day. It was not my father with whom I lived. His 
outward shell was there, but it was not really he." 

"Tell me what happened." 

"I was awakened in the night by the dog bark- 
ing most furiously. Poor Roy, he is chained now 
near the stable. I may say that I always sleep with 
my door locked; for, as Jack — as Mr. Bennett — will 
tell you, we all have a feeling of impending danger. 
My room is on the second floor. It happened that 
the blind was up in my window, and there was 
bright moonlight outside. As I lay with my eyes 


fixed upon the square of light, listening to the fren- 
zied barkings of the dog, I was amazed to see my 
father's face looking in at me. Mr. Holmes, I nearly 
died of surprise and horror. There it was pressed 
against the window-pane, and one hand seemed to 
be raised as if to push up the window. If that win- 
dow had opened, I think I should have gone mad. 
It was no delusion, Mr. Holmes. Don't deceive 
yourself by thinking so. I dare say it was twenty 
seconds or so that I lay paralyzed and watched the 
face. Then it vanished, but I could not — I could 
not spring out of bed and look out after it. I lay 
cold and shivering till morning. At breakfast he 
was sharp and fierce in manner, and made no al- 
lusion to the adventure of the night. Neither did 
I, but I gave an excuse for coming to town — and 
here I am." 

Holmes looked thoroughly surprised at Miss 
Presbury's narrative. 

"My dear young lady, you say that your room 
is on the second floor. Is there a long ladder in the 
garden?" 

"No, Mr. Holmes, that is the amazing part of 
it. There is no possible way of reaching the win- 
dow — and yet he was there." 

"The date being September 5th," said Holmes. 
"That certainly complicates matters." 

It was the young lady's turn to look surprised. 
"This is the second time that you have alluded to 
the date, Mr. Holmes," said Bennett. "Is it possible 
that it has any bearing upon the case?" 

"It is possible — very possible — and yet I have 
not my full material at present." 

"Possibly you are thinking of the connection 
between insanity and phases of the moon?" 

"No, I assure you. It was quite a different 
line of thought. Possibly you can leave your note- 
book with me, and I will check the dates. Now I 
think, Watson, that our line of action is perfectly 
clear. This young lady has informed us — and I 
have the greatest confidence in her intuition — that 
her father remembers little or nothing which oc- 
curs upon certain dates. We will therefore call 
upon him as if he had given us an appointment 
upon such a date. He will put it down to his own 
lack of memory. Thus we will open our campaign 
by having a good close view of him." 

"That is excellent," said Mr. Bennett. "I warn 
you, however, that the professor is irascible and 
violent at times." 

Holmes smiled. "There are reasons why we 
should come at once — very cogent reasons if my 
theories hold good. To-morrow, Mr. Bennett, will 


938 



The Adventure of the Creeping Man 


certainly see us in Camford. There is, if I remem- 
ber right, an inn called the Chequers where the 
port used to be above mediocrity and the linen was 
above reproach. I think, Watson, that our lot for 
the next few days might lie in less pleasant places." 

Monday morning found us on our way to the 
famous university town — an easy effort on the part 
of Holmes, who had no roots to pull up, but one 
which involved frantic planning and hurrying on 
my part, as my practice was by this time not incon- 
siderable. Holmes made no allusion to the case 
until after we had deposited our suitcases at the 
ancient hostel of which he had spoken. 

"I think, Watson, that we can catch the profes- 
sor just before lunch. He lectures at eleven and 
should have an interval at home." 

"What possible excuse have we for calling?" 

Holmes glanced at his notebook. 

"There was a period of excitement upon Au- 
gust 26th. We will assume that he is a little hazy 
as to what he does at such times. If we insist that 
we are there by appointment I think he will hardly 
venture to contradict us. Have you the effrontery 
necessary to put it through?" 

"We can but try." 

"Excellent, Watson! Compound of the Busy Bee 
and Excelsior. We can but try — the motto of the 
firm. A friendly native will surely guide us." 

Such a one on the back of a smart hansom 
swept us past a row of ancient colleges and, finally 
turning into a tree-lined drive, pulled up at the 
door of a charming house, girt round with lawns 
and covered with purple wisteria. Professor Pres- 
bury was certainly surrounded with every sign not 
only of comfort but of luxury. Even as we pulled 
up, a grizzled head appeared at the front window, 
and we were aware of a pair of keen eyes from 
under shaggy brows which surveyed us through 
large horn glasses. A moment later we were actu- 
ally in his sanctum, and the mysterious scientist, 
whose vagaries had brought us from London, was 
standing before us. There was certainly no sign 
of eccentricity either in his manner or appearance, 
for he was a portly, large-featured man, grave, 
tall, and frock-coated, with the dignity of bearing 
which a lecturer needs. His eyes were his most 
remarkable feature, keen, observant, and clever to 
the verge of cunning. 

He looked at our cards. "Pray sit down, gentle- 
men. What can I do for you?" 

Mr. Holmes smiled amiably. 

"It was the question which I was about to put 
to you. Professor." 


"To me, sir!" 

"Possibly there is some mistake. I heard 
through a second person that Professor Presbury 
of Camford had need of my services." 

"Oh, indeed!" It seemed to me that there was 
a malicious sparkle in the intense gray eyes. "You 
heard that, did you? May I ask the name of your 
informant?" 

"I am sorry. Professor, but the matter was 
rather confidential. If I have made a mistake there 
is no harm done. I can only express my regret." 

"Not at all. I should wish to go further into 
this matter. It interests me. Have you any scrap 
of writing, any letter or telegram, to bear out your 
assertion?" 

"No, I have not." 

"I presume that you do not go so far as to assert 
that I summoned you?" 

"I would rather answer no questions," said 
Holmes. 

"No, I dare say not," said the professor with 
asperity. "However, that particular one can be an- 
swered very easily without your aid." 

He walked across the room to the bell. Our 
London friend, Mr. Bennett, answered the call. 

"Come in, Mr. Bennett. These two gentlemen 
have come from London under the impression that 
they have been summoned. You handle all my cor- 
respondence. Have you a note of anything going 
to a person named Holmes?" 

"No, sir," Bennett answered with a flush. 

"That is conclusive," said the professor, glaring 
angrily at my companion. "Now, sir" — he leaned 
forward with his two hands upon the table — "it 
seems to me that your position is a very question- 
able one." 

Holmes shrugged his shoulders. 

"I can only repeat that I am sorry that we have 
made a needless intrusion." 

"Hardly enough, Mr. Holmes!" the old man 
cried in a high screaming voice, with extraordinary 
malignancy upon his face. He got between us and 
the door as he spoke, and he shook his two hands 
at us with furious passion. "You can hardly get 
out of it so easily as that." His face was convulsed, 
and he grinned and gibbered at us in his senseless 
rage. I am convinced that we should have had to 
fight our way out of the room if Mr. Bennett had 
not intervened. 

"My dear Professor," he cried, "consider your 
position! Consider the scandal at the university! 
Mr. Holmes is a well-known man. You cannot pos- 
sibly treat him with such discourtesy." 


939 



The Adventure of the Creeping Man 


Sulkily our host — if I may call him so — cleared 
the path to the door. We were glad to find our- 
selves outside the house and in the quiet of the 
tree-lined drive. Holmes seemed greatly amused 
by the episode. 

"Our learned friend's nerves are somewhat out 
of order," said he. "Perhaps our intrusion was a 
little crude, and yet we have gained that personal 
contact which I desired. But, dear me, Watson, he 
is surely at our heels. The villain still pursues us." 

There were the sounds of running feet behind, 
but it was, to my relief, not the formidable pro- 
fessor but his assistant who appeared round the 
curve of the drive. He came panting up to us. 

"I am so sorry, Mr. Holmes. I wished to apolo- 
gize." 

"My dear sir, there is no need. It is all in the 
way of professional experience." 

"I have never seen him in a more dangerous 
mood. But he grows more sinister. You can under- 
stand now why his daughter and I are alarmed. 
And yet his mind is perfectly clear." 

"Too clear!" said Holmes. "That was my mis- 
calculation. It is evident that his memory is much 
more reliable than I had thought. By the way, can 
we, before we go, see the window of Miss Pres- 
bury's room?" 

Mr. Bennett pushed his way through some 
shrubs, and we had a view of the side of the house. 

"It is there. The second on the left." 

"Dear me, it seems hardly accessible. And yet 
you will observe that there is a creeper below and 
a water-pipe above which give some foothold." 

"I could not climb it myself," said Mr. Bennett. 

"Very likely. It would certainly be a dangerous 
exploit for any normal man." 

"There was one other thing I wish to tell you, 
Mr. Holmes. I have the address of the man in 
London to whom the professor writes. He seems 
to have written this morning, and I got it from 
his blotting-paper. It is an ignoble position for a 
trusted secretary, but what else can I do?" 

Holmes glanced at the paper and put it into his 
pocket. 

"Dorak — a curious name. Slavonic, I imagine. 
Well, it is an important link in the chain. We return 
to London this afternoon, Mr. Bennett. I see no 
good purpose to be served by our remaining. We 
cannot arrest the professor because he has done no 
crime, nor can we place him under constraint, for 
he cannot be proved to be mad. No action is as yet 
possible." 


"Then what on earth are we to do?" 

"A little patience, Mr. Bennett. Things will 
soon develop. Unless I am mistaken, next Tues- 
day may mark a crisis. Certainly we shall be in 
Camford on that day. Meanwhile, the general po- 
sition is undeniably unpleasant, and if Miss Pres- 
bury can prolong her visit — " 

"That is easy." 

"Then let her stay till we can assure her that all 
danger is past. Meanwhile, let him have his way 
and do not cross him. So long as he is in a good 
humour all is well." 

"There he is!" said Bennett in a startled whis- 
per. Looking between the branches we saw the 
tall, erect figure emerge from the hall door and 
look around him. He stood leaning forward, his 
hands swinging straight before him, his head turn- 
ing from side to side. The secretary with a last 
wave slipped off among the trees, and we saw him 
presently rejoin his employer, the two entering the 
house together in what seemed to be animated and 
even excited conversation. 

"I expect the old gentleman has been putting 
two and two together," said Holmes as we walked 
hotelward. "He struck me as having a particularly 
clear and logical brain from the little I saw of him. 
Explosive, no doubt, but then from his point of 
view he has something to explode about if detec- 
tives are put on his track and he suspects his own 
household of doing it. I rather fancy that friend 
Bennett is in for an uncomfortable time." 

Holmes stopped at a post-office and sent off a 
telegram on our way. The answer reached us in 
the evening, and he tossed it across to me. 

Have visited the Commercial Road and 
seen Dorak. Suave person, Bohemian, 
elderly. Keeps large general store. 

— Mercer. 

"Mercer is since your time," said Holmes. "He 
is my general utility man who looks up routine 
business. It was important to know something of 
the man with whom our professor was so secretly 
corresponding. His nationality connects up with 
the Prague visit." 

"Thank goodness that something connects with 
something," said I. "At present we seem to be 
faced by a long series of inexplicable incidents 
with no bearing upon each other. For example, 
what possible connection can there be between an 
angry wolfhound and a visit to Bohemia, or either 
of them with a man crawling down a passage at 
night? As to your dates, that is the biggest mysti- 
fication of all." 


940 



The Adventure of the Creeping Man 


Holmes smiled and rubbed his hands. We 
were, I may say, seated in the old sitting-room of 
the ancient hotel, with a bottle of the famous vin- 
tage of which Holmes had spoken on the table be- 
tween us. 

"Well, now, let us take the dates first," said 
he, his finger-tips together and his manner as if 
he were addressing a class. "This excellent young 
man's diary shows that there was trouble upon 
July 2d, and from then onward it seems to have 
been at nine-day intervals, with, so far as I remem- 
ber, only one exception. Thus the last outbreak 
upon Friday was on September 3d, which also falls 
into the series, as did August 26th, which preceded 
it. The thing is beyond coincidence." 

I was forced to agree. 

"Let us, then, form the provisional theory that 
every nine days the professor takes some strong 
drug which has a passing but highly poisonous 
effect. His naturally violent nature is intensified 
by it. He learned to take this drug while he was in 
Prague, and is now supplied with it by a Bohemian 
intermediary in London. This all hangs together, 
Watson!" 

"But the dog, the face at the window, the creep- 
ing man in the passage?" 

"Well, well, we have made a beginning. I 
should not expect any fresh developments until 
next Tuesday. In the meantime we can only keep in 
touch with friend Bennett and enjoy the amenities 
of this charming town." 

In the morning Mr. Bennett slipped round to 
bring us the latest report. As Holmes had imag- 
ined, times had not been easy with him. With- 
out exactly accusing him of being responsible for 
our presence, the professor had been very rough 
and rude in his speech, and evidently felt some 
strong grievance. This morning he was quite him- 
self again, however, and had delivered his usual 
brilliant lecture to a crowded class. "Apart from 
his queer fits," said Bennett, "he has actually more 
energy and vitality than I can ever remember, nor 
was his brain ever clearer. But it's not he — it's 
never the man whom we have known." 

"I don't think you have anything to fear now 
for a week at least," Holmes answered. "I am a 
busy man, and Dr. Watson has his patients to at- 
tend to. Let us agree that we meet here at this hour 
next Tuesday, and I shall be surprised if before we 
leave you again we are not able to explain, even if 
we cannot perhaps put an end to, your troubles. 
Meanwhile, keep us posted in what occurs." 


I saw nothing of my friend for the next few 
days, but on the following Monday evening I had 
a short note asking me to meet him next day at 
the train. From what he told me as we travelled 
up to Camford all was well, the peace of the pro- 
fessor's house had been unruffled, and his own 
conduct perfectly normal. This also was the report 
which was given us by Mr. Bennett himself when 
he called upon us that evening at our old quarters 
in the Chequers. "He heard from his London cor- 
respondent to-day. There was a letter and there 
was a small packet, each with the cross under the 
stamp which warned me not to touch them. There 
has been nothing else." 

"That may prove quite enough," said Holmes 
grimly. "Now, Mr. Bennett, we shall, I think, come 
to some conclusion to-night. If my deductions are 
correct we should have an opportunity of bringing 
matters to a head. In order to do so it is necessary 
to hold the professor under observation. I would 
suggest, therefore, that you remain awake and on 
the lookout. Should you hear him pass your door, 
do not interrupt him, but follow him as discreetly 
as you can. Dr. Watson and I will not be far off. By 
the way, where is the key of that little box of which 
you spoke?" 

"Upon his watch-chain." 

"I fancy our researches must lie in that direc- 
tion. At the worst the lock should not be very 
formidable. Have you any other able-bodied man 
on the premises?" 

"There is the coachman, Macphail." 

"Where does he sleep?" 

"Over the stables." 

"We might possibly want him. Well, we can do 
no more until we see how things develop. Good- 
bye — but I expect that we shall see you before 
morning." 

It was nearly midnight before we took our sta- 
tion among some bushes immediately opposite the 
hall door of the professor. It was a fine night, but 
chilly, and we were glad of our warm overcoats. 
There was a breeze, and clouds were scudding 
across the sky, obscuring from time to time the 
half-moon. It would have been a dismal vigil were 
it not for the expectation and excitement which 
carried us along, and the assurance of my com- 
rade that we had probably reached the end of the 
strange sequence of events which had engaged our 
attention. 

"If the cycle of nine days holds good then we 
shall have the professor at his worst to-night," said 
Holmes. "The fact that these strange symptoms 


941 



The Adventure of the Creeping Man 


began after his visit to Prague, that he is in se- 
cret correspondence with a Bohemian dealer in 
London, who presumably represents someone in 
Prague, and that he received a packet from him 
this very day, all point in one direction. What he 
takes and why he takes it are still beyond our ken, 
but that it emanates in some way from Prague is 
clear enough. He takes it under definite directions 
which regulate this ninth-day system, which was 
the first point which attracted my attention. But 
his symptoms are most remarkable. Did you ob- 
serve his knuckles?" 

I had to confess that I did not. 

"Thick and horny in a way which is quite new 
in my experience. Always look at the hands first, 
Watson. Then cuffs, trouser-knees, and boots. Very 
curious knuckles which can only be explained by 
the mode of progression observed by — " Holmes 
paused and suddenly clapped his hand to his fore- 
head. "Oh, Watson, Watson, what a fool I have 
been! It seems incredible, and yet it must be true. 
All points in one direction. How could I miss see- 
ing the connection of ideas? Those knuckles — how 
could I have passed those knuckles? And the dog! 
And the ivy! It's surely time that I disappeared 
into that little farm of my dreams. Look out, Wat- 
son! Here he is! We shall have the chance of seeing 
for ourselves." 

The hall door had slowly opened, and against 
the lamplit background we saw the tall figure of 
Professor Presbury. He was clad in his dressing- 
gown. As he stood outlined in the doorway he was 
erect but leaning forward with dangling arms, as 
when we saw him last. 

Now he stepped forward into the drive, and 
an extraordinary change came over him. He sank 
down into a crouching position and moved along 
upon his hands and feet, skipping every now and 
then as if he were overflowing with energy and vi- 
tality. He moved along the face of the house and 
then round the corner. As he disappeared Bennett 
slipped through the hall door and softly followed 
him. 

"Come, Watson, come!" cried Holmes, and we 
stole as softly as we could through the bushes un- 
til we had gained a spot whence we could see 
the other side of the house, which was bathed 
in the light of the half-moon. The professor was 
clearly visible crouching at the foot of the ivy- 
covered wall. As we watched him he suddenly 
began with incredible agility to ascend it. From 
branch to branch he sprang, sure of foot and firm 
of grasp, climbing apparently in mere joy at his 
own powers, with no definite object in view. With 


his dressing-gown flapping on each side of him, he 
looked like some huge bat glued against the side 
of his own house, a great square dark patch upon 
the moonlit wall. Presently he tired of this amuse- 
ment, and, dropping from branch to branch, he 
squatted down into the old attitude and moved 
towards the stables, creeping along in the same 
strange way as before. The wolfhound was out 
now, barking furiously, and more excited than ever 
when it actually caught sight of its master. It was 
straining on its chain and quivering with eagerness 
and rage. The professor squatted down very delib- 
erately just out of reach of the hound and began to 
provoke it in every possible way. He took hand- 
fuls of pebbles from the drive and threw them in 
the dog's face, prodded him with a stick which he 
had picked up, flicked his hands about only a few 
inches from the gaping mouth, and endeavoured 
in every way to increase the animal's fury, which 
was already beyond all control. In all our adven- 
tures I do not know that I have ever seen a more 
strange sight than this impassive and still dignified 
figure crouching frog-like upon the ground and 
goading to a wilder exhibition of passion the mad- 
dened hound, which ramped and raged in front 
of him, by all manner of ingenious and calculated 
cruelty. 

And then in a moment it happened! It was 
not the chain that broke, but it was the collar 
that slipped, for it had been made for a thick- 
necked Newfoundland. We heard the rattle of 
falling metal, and the next instant dog and man 
were rolling on the ground together, the one roar- 
ing in rage, the other screaming in a strange shrill 
falsetto of terror. It was a very narrow thing for 
the professor's life. The savage creature had him 
fairly by the throat, its fangs had bitten deep, and 
he was senseless before we could reach them and 
drag the two apart. It might have been a danger- 
ous task for us, but Bennett's voice and presence 
brought the great wolfhound instantly to reason. 
The uproar had brought the sleepy and astonished 
coachman from his room above the stables. "I'm 
not surprised," said he, shaking his head. "I've 
seen him at it before. I knew the dog would get 
him sooner or later." 

The hound was secured, and together we car- 
ried the professor up to his room, where Bennett, 
who had a medical degree, helped me to dress his 
torn throat. The sharp teeth had passed danger- 
ously near the carotid artery, and the haemorrhage 
was serious. In half an hour the danger was past, I 
had given the patient an injection of morphia, and 
he had sunk into deep sleep. Then, and only then. 


94 2 



were we able to look at each other and to take stock 
of the situation. 

"I think a first-class surgeon should see him," 
said I. 

"For God's sake, no!" cried Bennett. "At 
present the scandal is confined to our own house- 
hold. It is safe with us. If it gets beyond these walls 
it will never stop. Consider his position at the uni- 
versity, his European reputation, the feelings of his 
daughter." 

"Quite so," said Holmes. "I think it may be 
quite possible to keep the matter to ourselves, and 
also to prevent its recurrence now that we have a 
free hand. The key from the watch-chain, Mr. Ben- 
nett. Macphail will guard the patient and let us 
know if there is any change. Let us see what we 
can find in the professor's mysterious box." 

There was not much, but there was 
enough — an empty phial, another nearly full, a 
hypodermic syringe, several letters in a crabbed, 
foreign hand. The marks on the envelopes showed 
that they were those which had disturbed the rou- 
tine of the secretary, and each was dated from the 
Commercial Road and signed "A. Dorak." They 
were mere invoices to say that a fresh bottle was 
being sent to Professor Presbury, or receipt to ac- 
knowledge money. There was one other envelope, 
however, in a more educated hand and bearing 
the Austrian stamp with the postmark of Prague. 
"Here we have our material!" cried Holmes as he 
tore out the enclosure. 

Honoured Colleague [it ran]: 

Since your esteemed visit I have 
thought much of your case, and though 
in your circumstances there are some 
special reasons for the treatment, I 
would none the less enjoin caution, as 
my results have shown that it is not 
without danger of a kind. 

It is possible that the serum of anthro- 
poid would have been better. I have, 
as I explained to you, used black-faced 
langur because a specimen was accessi- 
ble. Langur is, of course, a crawler and 
climber, while anthropoid walks erect 
and is in all ways nearer. 

I beg you to take every possible pre- 
caution that there be no premature rev- 
elation of the process. I have one other 
client in England, and Dorak is my 
agent for both. 


Weekly reports will oblige. 

Yours with high esteem, 

H. Lowenstein. 

Lowenstein! The name brought back to me 
the memory of some snippet from a newspaper 
which spoke of an obscure scientist who was striv- 
ing in some unknown way for the secret of reju- 
venescence and the elixir of life. Lowenstein of 
Prague! Lowenstein with the wondrous strength- 
giving serum, tabooed by the profession because 
he refused to reveal its source. In a few words 
I said what I remembered. Bennett had taken a 
manual of zoology from the shelves. " 'Langur,' " 
he read, " 'the great black-faced monkey of the Hi- 
malayan slopes, biggest and most human of climb- 
ing monkeys.' Many details are added. Well, 
thanks to you, Mr. Holmes, it is very clear that we 
have traced the evil to its source." 

"The real source," said Holmes, "lies, of course, 
in that untimely love affair which gave our im- 
petuous professor the idea that he could only gain 
his wish by turning himself into a younger man. 
When one tries to rise above Nature one is liable 
to fall below it. The highest type of man may re- 
vert to the animal if he leaves the straight road of 
destiny." He sat musing for a little with the phial 
in his hand, looking at the clear liquid within. 
"When I have written to this man and told him 
that I hold him criminally responsible for the poi- 
sons which he circulates, we will have no more 
trouble. But it may recur. Others may find a bet- 
ter way. There is danger there — a very real danger 
to humanity. Consider, Watson, that the material, 
the sensual, the worldly would all prolong their 
worthless lives. The spiritual would not avoid the 
call to something higher. It would be the survival 
of the least fit. What sort of cesspool may not our 
poor world become?" Suddenly the dreamer dis- 
appeared, and Holmes, the man of action, sprang 
from his chair. "I think there is nothing more to be 
said, Mr. Bennett. The various incidents will now 
fit themselves easily into the general scheme. The 
dog, of course, was aware of the change far more 
quickly than you. His smell would insure that. It 
was the monkey, not the professor, whom Roy at- 
tacked, just as it was the monkey who teased Roy. 
Climbing was a joy to the creature, and it was a 
mere chance, I take it, that the pastime brought 
him to the young lady's window. There is an early 
train to town, Watson, but I think we shall just have 
time for a cup of tea at the Chequers before we 
catch it." 



The Adventure of Shoscombe Old Place 


S herlock Holmes had been bending for 
a long time over a low-power micro- 
scope. Now he straightened himself up 
and looked round at me in triumph. 

"It is glue, Watson," said he. "Unquestionably 
it is glue. Have a look at these scattered objects in 
the field!" 

I stooped to the eyepiece and focussed for my 
vision. 

"Those hairs are threads from a tweed coat. 
The irregular gray masses are dust. There are ep- 
ithelial scales on the left. Those brown blobs in the 
centre are undoubtedly glue." 

"Well," I said, laughing, "I am prepared to take 
your word for it. Does anything depend upon it?" 

"It is a very fine demonstration," he answered. 
"In the St. Pancras case you may remember that a 
cap was found beside the dead policeman. The ac- 
cused man denies that it is his. But he is a picture- 
frame maker who habitually handles glue." 

"Is it one of your cases?" 

"No; my friend, Merivale, of the Yard, asked 
me to look into the case. Since I ran down that 
coiner by the zinc and copper filings in the seam of 
his cuff they have begun to realize the importance 
of the microscope." He looked impatiently at his 
watch. "I had a new client calling, but he is over- 
due. By the way, Watson, you know something of 
racing?" 

"I ought to. I pay for it with about half my 
wound pension." 

"Then I'll make you my 'Handy Guide to the 
Turf.' What about Sir Robert Norberton? Does the 
name recall anything?" 

"Well, I should say so. He lives at Shoscombe 
Old Place, and I know it well, for my summer 
quarters were down there once. Norberton nearly 
came within your province once." 

"How was that?" 

"It was when he horsewhipped Sam Brewer, 
the well-known Curzon Street money-lender, on 
Newmarket Heath. He nearly killed the man." 

"Ah, he sounds interesting! Does he often in- 
dulge in that way?" 

"Well, he has the name of being a dangerous 
man. He is about the most daredevil rider in Eng- 
land — second in the Grand National a few years 
back. He is one of those men who have overshot 
their true generation. He should have been a buck 
in the days of the Regency — a boxer, an athlete, a 
plunger on the turf, a lover of fair ladies, and, by 


all account, so far down Queer Street that he may 
never find his way back again." 

"Capital, Watson! A thumb-nail sketch. I seem 
to know the man. Now, can you give me some idea 
of Shoscombe Old Place?" 

"Only that it is in the centre of Shoscombe Park, 
and that the famous Shoscombe stud and training 
quarters are to be found there." 

"And the head trainer," said Holmes, "is John 
Mason. You need not look surprised at my knowl- 
edge, Watson, for this is a letter from him which 
I am unfolding. But let us have some more about 
Shoscombe. I seem to have struck a rich vein." 

"There are the Shoscombe spaniels," said I. 
"You hear of them at every dog show. The most 
exclusive breed in England. They are the special 
pride of the lady of Shoscombe Old Place." 

"Sir Robert Norberton's wife, I presume!" 

"Sir Robert has never married. Just as well, I 
think, considering his prospects. He lives with his 
widowed sister. Lady Beatrice Falder." 

"You mean that she lives with him?" 

"No, no. The place belonged to her late hus- 
band, Sir James. Norberton has no claim on it at 
all. It is only a life interest and reverts to her hus- 
band's brother. Meantime, she draws the rents ev- 
ery year." 

"And brother Robert, I suppose, spends the 
said rents?" 

"That is about the size of it. He is a devil of a 
fellow and must lead her a most uneasy life. Yet I 
have heard that she is devoted to him. But what is 
amiss at Shoscombe?" 

"Ah, that is just what I want to know. And 
here, I expect, is the man who can tell us." 

The door had opened and the page had shown 
in a tall, clean-shaven man with the firm, austere 
expression which is only seen upon those who 
have to control horses or boys. Mr. John Ma- 
son had many of both under his sway, and he 
looked equal to the task. He bowed with cold self- 
possession and seated himself upon the chair to 
which Holmes had waved him. 

"You had my note, Mr. Holmes?" 

"Yes, but it explained nothing." 

"It was too delicate a thing for me to put the de- 
tails on paper. And too complicated. It was only 
face to face I could do it." 

"Well, we are at your disposal." 

"First of all, Mr. Holmes, I think that my em- 
ployer, Sir Robert, has gone mad." 


967 



The Adventure of Shoscombe Old Place 


Holmes raised his eyebrows. "This is Baker 
Street, not Harley Street," said he. "But why do 
you say so?" 

"Well, sir, when a man does one queer thing, 
or two queer things, there may be a meaning to 
it, but when everything he does is queer, then you 
begin to wonder. I believe Shoscombe Prince and 
the Derby have turned his brain." 

"That is a colt you are running?" 

"The best in England, Mr. Holmes. I should 
know, if anyone does. Now, I'll be plain with you, 
for I know you are gentlemen of honour and that 
it won't go beyond the room. Sir Robert has got to 
win this Derby. He's up to the neck, and it's his 
last chance. Everything he could raise or borrow 
is on the horse — and at fine odds, too! You can get 
forties now, but it was nearer the hundred when 
he began to back him." 

"But how is that if the horse is so good?" 

"The public don't know how good he is. Sir 
Robert has been too clever for the touts. He has 
the Prince's half-brother out for spins. You can't 
tell 'em apart. But there are two lengths in a fur- 
long between them when it comes to a gallop. He 
thinks of nothing but the horse and the race. His 
whole life is on it. He's holding off the Jews till 
then. If the Prince fails him he is done." 

"It seems a rather desperate gamble, but where 
does the madness come in?" 

"Well, first of all, you have only to look at him. 
I don't believe he sleeps at night. He is down at 
the stables at all hours. His eyes are wild. It has 
all been too much for his nerves. Then there is his 
conduct to Lady Beatrice!" 

"Ah! What is that?" 

"They have always been the best of friends. 
They had the same tastes, the two of them, and 
she loved the horses as much as he did. Every 
day at the same hour she would drive down to see 
them — and, above all, she loved the Prince. He 
would prick up his ears when he heard the wheels 
on the gravel, and he would trot out each morning 
to the carriage to get his lump of sugar. But that's 
all over now." 

"Why?" 

"Well, she seems to have lost all interest in the 
horses. For a week now she has driven past the 
stables with never so much as 'Good-morning'!" 

"You think there has been a quarrel?" 

"And a bitter, savage, spiteful quarrel at that. 
Why else would he give away her pet spaniel that 
she loved as if he were her child? He gave it a 


few days ago to old Barnes, what keeps the Green 
Dragon, three miles off, at Crendall." 

"That certainly did seem strange." 

"Of course, with her weak heart and dropsy 
one couldn't expect that she could get about with 
him, but he spent two hours every evening in her 
room. He might well do what he could, for she 
has been a rare good friend to him. But that's all 
over, too. He never goes near her. And she takes it 
to heart. She is brooding and sulky and drinking, 
Mr. Holmes — drinking like a fish." 

"Did she drink before this estrangement?" 

"Well, she took her glass, but now it is often a 
whole bottle of an evening. So Stephens, the but- 
ler, told me. It's all changed, Mr. Holmes, and 
there is something damned rotten about it. But 
then, again, what is master doing down at the old 
church crypt at night? And who is the man that 
meets him there?" 

Holmes rubbed his hands. 

"Go on, Mr. Mason. You get more and more 
interesting." 

"It was the butler who saw him go. Twelve 
o'clock at night and raining hard. So next night 
I was up at the house and, sure enough, master 
was off again. Stephens and I went after him, but 
it was jumpy work, for it would have been a bad 
job if he had seen us. He's a terrible man with his 
fists if he gets started, and no respecter of persons. 
So we were shy of getting too near, but we marked 
him down all right. It was the haunted crypt that 
he was making for, and there was a man waiting 
for him there." 

"What is this haunted crypt?" 

"Well, sir, there is an old ruined chapel in the 
park. It is so old that nobody could fix its date. 
And under it there's a crypt which has a bad name 
among us. It's a dark, damp, lonely place by day, 
but there are few in that county that would have 
the nerve to go near it at night. But master's not 
afraid. He never feared anything in his life. But 
what is he doing there in the night-time?" 

"Wait a bit!" said Holmes. "You say there is an- 
other man there. It must be one of your own sta- 
blemen, or someone from the house! Surely you 
have only to spot who it is and question him?" 

"It's no one I know." 

"How can you say that?" 

"Because I have seen him, Mr. Holmes. It was 
on that second night. Sir Robert turned and passed 
us — me and Stephens, quaking in the bushes like 
two bunny-rabbits, for there was a bit of moon that 
night. But we could hear the other moving about 
behind. We were not afraid of him. So we up 


968 



The Adventure of Shoscombe Old Place 


when Sir Robert was gone and pretended we were 
just having a walk like in the moonlight, and so we 
came right on him as casual and innocent as you 
please. 'Hullo, mate! who may you be?' says I. I 
guess he had not heard us coming, so he looked 
over his shoulder with a face as if he had seen the 
devil coming out of hell. He let out a yell, and 
away he went as hard as he could lick it in the 
darkness. He could run! — I'll give him that. In a 
minute he was out of sight and hearing, and who 
he was, or what he was, we never found." 

"But you saw him clearly in the moonlight?" 

"Yes, I would swear to his yellow face — a mean 
dog, I should say. What could he have in common 
with Sir Robert?" 

Holmes sat for some time lost in thought. 

"Who keeps Lady Beatrice Falder company?" 
he asked at last. 

"There is her maid, Carrie Evans. She has been 
with her this five years." 

"And is, no doubt, devoted?" 

Mr. Mason shuffled uncomfortably. 

"She's devoted enough," he answered at last. 
"But I won't say to whom." 

"Ah!" said Holmes. 

"I can't tell tales out of school." 

"I quite understand, Mr. Mason. Of course, the 
situation is clear enough. From Dr. Watson's de- 
scription of Sir Robert I can realize that no woman 
is safe from him. Don't you think the quarrel be- 
tween brother and sister may lie there?" 

"Well, the scandal has been pretty clear for a 
long time." 

"But she may not have seen it before. Let us 
suppose that she has suddenly found it out. She 
wants to get rid of the woman. Her brother will 
not permit it. The invalid, with her weak heart 
and inability to get about, has no means of enforc- 
ing her will. The hated maid is still tied to her. 
The lady refuses to speak, sulks, takes to drink. 
Sir Robert in his anger takes her pet spaniel away 
from her. Does not all this hang together?" 

"Well, it might do — so far as it goes." 

"Exactly! As far as it goes. How would all that 
bear upon the visits by night to the old crypt? We 
can't fit that into our plot." 

"No, sir, and there is something more that I 
can't fit in. Why should Sir Robert want to dig up 
a dead body?" 

Holmes sat up abruptly. 


"We only found it out yesterday — after I had 
written to you. Yesterday Sir Robert had gone to 
London, so Stephens and I went down to the crypt. 
It was all in order, sir, except that in one corner was 
a bit of a human body." 

"You informed the police, I suppose?" 

Our visitor smiled grimly. 

"Well, sir, I think it would hardly interest them. 
It was just the head and a few bones of a mummy. 
It may have been a thousand years old. But it 
wasn't there before. That I'll swear, and so will 
Stephens. It had been stowed away in a corner and 
covered over with a board, but that corner had al- 
ways been empty before." 

"What did you do with it?" 

"Well, we just left it there." 

"That was wise. You say Sir Robert was away 
yesterday. Has he returned?" 

"We expect him back to-day." 

"When did Sir Robert give away his sister's 
dog?" 

"It was just a week ago to-day. The creature 
was howling outside the old well-house, and Sir 
Robert was in one of his tantrums that morning. 
He caught it up, and I thought he would have 
killed it. Then he gave it to Sandy Bain, the jockey, 
and told him to take the dog to old Barnes at the 
Green Dragon, for he never wished to see it again." 

Holmes sat for some time in silent thought. He 
had lit the oldest and foulest of his pipes. 

"I am not clear yet what you want me to do in 
this matter, Mr. Mason," he said at last. "Can't you 
make it more definite?" 

"Perhaps this will make it more definite, Mr. 
Holmes," said our visitor. 

He took a paper from his pocket, and, unwrap- 
ping it carefully, he exposed a charred fragment of 
bone. 

Holmes examined it with interest. 

"Where did you get it?" 

"There is a central heating furnace in the cellar 
under Lady Beatrice's room. It's been off for some 
time, but Sir Robert complained of cold and had 
it on again. Harvey runs it — he's one of my lads. 
This very morning he came to me with this which 
he found raking out the cinders. He didn't like the 
look of it." 

"Nor do I," said Holmes. "What do you make 
of it, Watson?" 

It was burned to a black cinder, but there could 
be no question as to its anatomical significance. 

"It's the upper condyle of a human femur," 
said I. 


969 



The Adventure of Shoscombe Old Place 


"Exactly!" Holmes had become very serious. 
"When does this lad tend to the furnace?" 

"He makes it up every evening and then leaves 
it." 

"Then anyone could visit it during the night?" 

"Yes, sir." 

"Can you enter it from outside?" 

"There is one door from outside. There is an- 
other which leads up by a stair to the passage in 
which Lady Beatrice's room is situated." 

"These are deep waters, Mr. Mason; deep and 
rather dirty. You say that Sir Robert was not at 
home last night?" 

"No, sir." 

"Then, whoever was burning bones, it was not 
he." 

"That's true, sir." 

"What is the name of that inn you spoke of?" 

"The Green Dragon." 

"Is there good fishing in that part of Berk- 
shire?" The honest trainer showed very clearly 
upon his face that he was convinced that yet an- 
other lunatic had come into his harassed life. 

"Well, sir, I've heard there are trout in the mill- 
stream and pike in the Hall lake." 

"That's good enough. Watson and I are famous 
fishermen — are we not, Watson? You may address 
us in future at the Green Dragon. We should reach 
it to-night. I need not say that we don't want to 
see you, Mr. Mason, but a note will reach us, and 
no doubt I could find you if I want you. When we 
have gone a little farther into the matter I will let 
you have a considered opinion." 

Thus it was that on a bright May evening 
Holmes and I found ourselves alone in a first-class 
carriage and bound for the little "halt-on-demand" 
station of Shoscombe. The rack above us was cov- 
ered with a formidable litter of rods, reels, and 
baskets. On reaching our destination a short drive 
took us to an old-fashioned tavern, where a sport- 
ing host, Josiah Barnes, entered eagerly into our 
plans for the extirpation of the fish of the neigh- 
bourhood. 

"What about the Hall lake and the chance of a 
pike?" said Holmes. 

The face of the innkeeper clouded. 

"That wouldn't do, sir. You might chance to 
find yourself in the lake before you were through." 

"How's that, then?" 


"It's Sir Robert, sir. He's terrible jealous of 
touts. If you two strangers were as near his train- 
ing quarters as that he'd be after you as sure as 
fate. He ain't taking no chances. Sir Robert ain't." 

"I've heard he has a horse entered for the 
Derby." 

"Yes, and a good colt, too. He carries all 
our money for the race, and all Sir Robert's into 
the bargain. By the way" — he looked at us with 
thoughtful eyes — "I suppose you ain't on the turf 
yourselves?" 

"No, indeed. Just two weary Londoners who 
badly need some good Berkshire air." 

"Well, you are in the right place for that. There 
is a deal of it lying about. But mind what I have 
told you about Sir Robert. He's the sort that strikes 
first and speaks afterwards. Keep clear of the 
park." 

"Surely, Mr. Barnes! We certainly shall. By the 
way, that was a most beautiful spaniel that was 
whining in the hall." 

"I should say it was. That was the real 
Shoscombe breed. There ain't a better in England." 

"I am a dog-fancier myself," said Holmes. 
"Now, if it is a fair question, what would a prize 
dog like that cost?" 

"More than I could pay, sir. It was Sir Robert 
himself who gave me this one. That's why I have 
to keep it on a lead. It would be off to the Hall in 
a jiffy if I gave it its head." 

"We are getting some cards in our hand, Wat- 
son," said Holmes when the landlord had left us. 
"It's not an easy one to play, but we may see our 
way in a day or two. By the way. Sir Robert is 
still in London, I hear. We might, perhaps, enter 
the sacred domain to-night without fear of bodily 
assault. There are one or two points on which I 
should like reassurance." 

"Have you any theory. Holmes?" 

"Only this, Watson, that something happened 
a week or so ago which has cut deep into the 
life of the Shoscombe household. What is that 
something? We can only guess at it from its ef- 
fects. They seem to be of a curiously mixed char- 
acter. But that should surely help us. It is only the 
colourless, uneventful case which is hopeless. 

"Let us consider our data. The brother no 
longer visits the beloved invalid sister. He gives 
away her favourite dog. Her dog, Watson! Does 
that suggest nothing to you?" 

"Nothing but the brother's spite." 

"Well, it might be so. Or — well, there is an al- 
ternative. Now to continue our review of the sit- 
uation from the time that the quarrel, if there is 


970 



The Adventure of Shoscombe Old Place 


a quarrel, began. The lady keeps her room, al- 
ters her habits, is not seen save when she drives 
out with her maid, refuses to stop at the stables to 
greet her favourite horse, and apparently takes to 
drink. That covers the case, does it not?" 

"Save for the business in the crypt." 

"That is another line of thought. There are 
two, and I beg you will not tangle them. Line A, 
which concerns Lady Beatrice, has a vaguely sinis- 
ter flavour, has it not?" 

"I can make nothing of it." 

"Well, now, let us take up line B, which con- 
cerns Sir Robert. He is mad keen upon winning 
the Derby. He is in the hands of the Jews, and may 
at any moment be sold up and his racing stables 
seized by his creditors. He is a daring and desper- 
ate man. He derives his income from his sister. His 
sister's maid is his willing tool. So far we seem to 
be on fairly safe ground, do we not?" 

"But the crypt?" 

"Ah, yes, the crypt! Let us suppose, Watson — it 
is merely a scandalous supposition, a hypothesis 
put forward for argument's sake — that Sir Robert 
has done away with his sister." 

"My dear Holmes, it is out of the question." 

"Very possibly, Watson. Sir Robert is a man of 
an honourable stock. But you do occasionally find 
a carrion crow among the eagles. Let us for a mo- 
ment argue upon this supposition. He could not 
fly the country until he had realized his fortune, 
and that fortune could only be realized by bringing 
off this coup with Shoscombe Prince. Therefore, he 
has still to stand his ground. To do this he would 
have to dispose of the body of his victim, and he 
would also have to find a substitute who would 
impersonate her. With the maid as his confidante 
that would not be impossible. The woman's body 
might be conveyed to the crypt, which is a place so 
seldom visited, and it might be secretly destroyed 
at night in the furnace, leaving behind it such ev- 
idence as we have already seen. What say you to 
that, Watson?" 

"Well, it is all possible if you grant the original 
monstrous supposition." 

"I think that there is a small experiment which 
we may try to-morrow, Watson, in order to throw 
some light on the matter. Meanwhile, if we mean 
to keep up our characters, I suggest that we have 
our host in for a glass of his own wine and hold 
some high converse upon eels and dace, which 
seems to be the straight road to his affections. We 
may chance to come upon some useful local gossip 
in the process." 


In the morning Holmes discovered that we had 
come without our spoon-bait for jack, which ab- 
solved us from fishing for the day. About eleven 
o'clock we started for a walk, and he obtained 
leave to take the black spaniel with us. 

"This is the place," said he as we came to 
two high park gates with heraldic griffins tower- 
ing above them. "About midday, Mr. Barnes in- 
forms me, the old lady takes a drive, and the car- 
riage must slow down while the gates are opened. 
When it comes through, and before it gathers 
speed, I want you, Watson, to stop the coachman 
with some question. Never mind me. I shall stand 
behind this holly-bush and see what I can see." 

It was not a long vigil. Within a quarter of 
an hour we saw the big open yellow barouche 
coming down the long avenue, with two splendid, 
high-stepping gray carriage horses in the shafts. 
Holmes crouched behind his bush with the dog. I 
stood unconcernedly swinging a cane in the road- 
way. A keeper ran out and the gates swung open. 

The carriage had slowed to a walk, and I was 
able to get a good look at the occupants. A highly 
coloured young woman with flaxen hair and im- 
pudent eyes sat on the left. At her right was an 
elderly person with rounded back and a huddle of 
shawls about her face and shoulders which pro- 
claimed the invalid. When the horses reached the 
highroad I held up my hand with an authoritative 
gesture, and as the coachman pulled up I inquired 
if Sir Robert was at Shoscombe Old Place. 

At the same moment Holmes stepped out and 
released the spaniel. With a joyous cry it dashed 
forward to the carriage and sprang upon the step. 
Then in a moment its eager greeting changed to fu- 
rious rage, and it snapped at the black skirt above 
it. 

"Drive on! Drive on!" shrieked a harsh voice. 
The coachman lashed the horses, and we were left 
standing in the roadway. 

"Well, Watson, that's done it," said Holmes as 
he fastened the lead to the neck of the excited 
spaniel. "He thought it was his mistress, and he 
found it was a stranger. Dogs don't make mis- 
takes." 

"But it was the voice of a man!" I cried. 

"Exactly! We have added one card to our hand, 
Watson, but it needs careful playing, all the same." 

My companion seemed to have no further 
plans for the day, and we did actually use our 
fishing tackle in the mill-stream, with the result 
that we had a dish of trout for our supper. It was 
only after that meal that Holmes showed signs of 


971 



The Adventure of Shoscombe Old Place 


renewed activity. Once more we found ourselves 
upon the same road as in the morning, which led 
us to the park gates. A tall, dark figure was await- 
ing us there, who proved to be our London ac- 
quaintance, Mr. John Mason, the trainer. 

"Good-evening, gentlemen," said he. "I got 
your note, Mr. Holmes. Sir Robert has not returned 
yet, but I hear that he is expected to-night." 

"How far is this crypt from the house?" asked 
Holmes. 

"A good quarter of a mile." 

"Then I think we can disregard him alto- 
gether." 

"I can't afford to do that, Mr. Holmes. The mo- 
ment he arrives he will want to see me to get the 
last news of Shoscombe Prince." 

"I see! In that case we must work without you, 
Mr. Mason. You can show us the crypt and then 
leave us." 

It was pitch-dark and without a moon, but Ma- 
son led us over the grass-lands until a dark mass 
loomed up in front of us which proved to be the 
ancient chapel. We entered the broken gap which 
was once the porch, and our guide, stumbling 
among heaps of loose masonry, picked his way 
to the corner of the building, where a steep stair 
led down into the crypt. Striking a match, he il- 
luminated the melancholy place — dismal and evil- 
smelling, with ancient crumbling walls of rough- 
hewn stone, and piles of coffins, some of lead and 
some of stone, extending upon one side right up 
to the arched and groined roof which lost itself in 
the shadows above our heads. Holmes had lit his 
lantern, which shot a tiny tunnel of vivid yellow 
light upon the mournful scene. Its rays were re- 
flected back from the coffin-plates, many of them 
adorned with the griffin and coronet of this old 
family which carried its honours even to the gate 
of Death. 

"You spoke of some bones, Mr. Mason. Could 
you show them before you go?" 

"They are here in this corner." The trainer 
strode across and then stood in silent surprise as 
our light was turned upon the place. "They are 
gone," said he. 

"So I expected," said Holmes, chuckling. "I 
fancy the ashes of them might even now be found 
in that oven which had already consumed a part." 

"But why in the world would anyone want to 
burn the bones of a man who has been dead a 
thousand years?" asked John Mason. 


"That is what we are here to find out," said 
Holmes. "It may mean a long search, and we need 
not detain you. I fancy that we shall get our solu- 
tion before morning." 

When John Mason had left us. Holmes set to 
work making a very careful examination of the 
graves, ranging from a very ancient one, which ap- 
peared to be Saxon, in the centre, through a long 
line of Norman Hugos and Odos, until we reached 
the Sir William and Sir Denis Falder of the eigh- 
teenth century. It was an hour or more before 
Holmes came to a leaden coffin standing on end 
before the entrance to the vault. I heard his little 
cry of satisfaction and was aware from his hurried 
but purposeful movements that he had reached 
a goal. With his lens he was eagerly examining 
the edges of the heavy lid. Then he drew from 
his pocket a short jemmy, a box-opener, which he 
thrust into a chink, levering back the whole front, 
which seemed to be secured by only a couple of 
clamps. There was a rending, tearing sound as it 
gave way, but it had hardly hinged back and partly 
revealed the contents before we had an unforeseen 
interruption. 

Someone was walking in the chapel above. It 
was the firm, rapid step of one who came with a 
definite purpose and knew well the ground upon 
which he walked. A light streamed down the 
stairs, and an instant later the man who bore it 
was framed in the Gothic archway. He was a terri- 
ble figure, huge in stature and fierce in manner. A 
large stable-lantern which he held in front of him 
shone upward upon a strong, heavily moustached 
face and angry eyes, which glared round him into 
every recess of the vault, finally fixing themselves 
with a deadly stare upon my companion and my- 
self. 

"Who the devil are you?" he thundered. "And 
what are you doing upon my property?" Then, as 
Holmes returned no answer, he took a couple of 
steps forward and raised a heavy stick which he 
carried. "Do you hear me?" he cried. "Who are 
you? What are you doing here?" His cudgel quiv- 
ered in the air. 

But instead of shrinking Holmes advanced to 
meet him. 

"I also have a question to ask you. Sir Robert," 
he said in his sternest tone. "Who is this? And 
what is it doing here?" 

He turned and tore open the coffin-lid behind 
him. In the glare of the lantern I saw a body 


972 



The Adventure of Shoscombe Old Place 


swathed in a sheet from head to foot, with dread- 
ful, witch-like features, all nose and chin, project- 
ing at one end, the dim, glazed eyes staring from 
a discoloured and crumbling face. 

The baronet had staggered back with a cry and 
supported himself against a stone sarcophagus. 

"How came you to know of this?" he cried. 
And then, with some return of his truculent man- 
ner: "What business is it of yours?" 

"My name is Sherlock Holmes," said my com- 
panion. "Possibly it is familiar to you. In any case, 
my business is that of every other good citizen — to 
uphold the law. It seems to me that you have much 
to answer for." 

Sir Robert glared for a moment, but Holmes's 
quiet voice and cool, assured manner had their ef- 
fect. 

" 'Fore God, Mr. Holmes, it's all right," said 
he. "Appearances are against me. I'll admit, but 
I could act no otherwise." 

"I should be happy to think so, but I fear your 
explanations must be before the police." 

Sir Robert shrugged his broad shoulders. 

"Well, if it must be, it must. Come up to the 
house and you can judge for yourself how the mat- 
ter stands." 

A quarter of an hour later we found ourselves 
in what I judge, from the lines of polished barrels 
behind glass covers, to be the gun-room of the old 
house. It was comfortably furnished, and here Sir 
Robert left us for a few moments. When he re- 
turned he had two companions with him; the one, 
the florid young woman whom we had seen in the 
carriage; the other, a small rat-faced man with a 
disagreeably furtive manner. These two wore an 
appearance of utter bewilderment, which showed 
that the baronet had not yet had time to explain to 
them the turn events had taken. 

"There," said Sir Robert with a wave of his 
hand, "are Mr. and Mrs. Norlett. Mrs. Norlett, un- 
der her maiden name of Evans, has for some years 
been my sister's confidential maid. I have brought 
them here because I feel that my best course is to 
explain the true position to you, and they are the 
two people upon earth who can substantiate what 
I say." 

"Is this necessary. Sir Robert? Have you 
thought what you are doing?" cried the woman. 

"As to me, I entirely disclaim all responsibil- 
ity," said her husband. 


Sir Robert gave him a glance of contempt. "I 
will take all responsibility," said he. "Now, Mr. 
Holmes, listen to a plain statement of the facts. 

"You have clearly gone pretty deeply into my 
affairs or I should not have found you where I 
did. Therefore, you know already, in all probabil- 
ity, that I am running a dark horse for the Derby 
and that everything depends upon my success. If 
I win, all is easy. If I lose — well, I dare not think of 
that!" 

"I understand the position," said Holmes. 

"I am dependent upon my sister. Lady Beat- 
rice, for everything. But it is well known that her 
interest in the estate is for her own life only. For 
myself, I am deeply in the hands of the Jews. I 
have always known that if my sister were to die 
my creditors would be on to my estate like a flock 
of vultures. Everything would be seized — my sta- 
bles, my horses — everything. Well, Mr. Holmes, 
my sister did die just a week ago." 

"And you told no one!" 

"What could I do? Absolute ruin faced me. If 
I could stave things off for three weeks all would 
be well. Her maid's husband — this man here — is 
an actor. It came into our heads — it came into my 
head — that he could for that short period person- 
ate my sister. It was but a case of appearing daily 
in the carriage, for no one need enter her room 
save the maid. It was not difficult to arrange. My 
sister died of the dropsy which had long afflicted 
her." 

"That will be for a coroner to decide." 

"Her doctor would certify that for months her 
symptoms have threatened such an end." 

"Well, what did you do?" 

"The body could not remain there. On the first 
night Norlett and I carried it out to the old well- 
house, which is now never used. We were fol- 
lowed, however, by her pet spaniel, which yapped 
continually at the door, so I felt some safer place 
was needed. I got rid of the spaniel, and we car- 
ried the body to the crypt of the church. There was 
no indignity or irreverence, Mr. Holmes. I do not 
feel that I have wronged the dead." 

"Your conduct seems to me inexcusable. Sir 
Robert." 

The baronet shook his head impatiently. "It is 
easy to preach," said he. "Perhaps you would have 
felt differently if you had been in my position. One 
cannot see all one's hopes and all one's plans shat- 
tered at the last moment and make no effort to save 
them. It seemed to me that it would be no unwor- 
thy resting-place if we put her for the time in one 


973 



of the coffins of her husband's ancestors lying in 
what is still consecrated ground. We opened such 
a coffin, removed the contents, and placed her as 
you have seen her. As to the old relics which we 
took out, we could not leave them on the floor of 
the crypt. Norlett and I removed them, and he de- 
scended at night and burned them in the central 
furnace. There is my story, Mr. Holmes, though 
how you forced my hand so that I have to tell it is 
more than I can say." 

Holmes sat for some time lost in thought. 

"There is one flaw in your narrative. Sir 
Robert," he said at last. "Your bets on the race, and 
therefore your hopes for the future, would hold 
good even if your creditors seized your estate." 

"The horse would be part of the estate. What 
do they care for my bets? As likely as not they 
would not run him at all. My chief creditor is, un- 
happily, my most bitter enemy — a rascally fellow, 
Sam Brewer, whom I was once compelled to horse- 
whip on Newmarket Heath. Do you suppose that 
he would try to save me?" 


"Well, Sir Robert," said Holmes, rising, "this 
matter must, of course, be referred to the police. It 
was my duty to bring the facts to light, and there 
I must leave it. As to the morality or decency of 
your conduct, it is not for me to express an opin- 
ion. It is nearly midnight, Watson, and I think we 
may make our way back to our humble abode." 

It is generally known now that this singu- 
lar episode ended upon a happier note than Sir 
Robert's actions deserved. Shoscombe Prince did 
win the Derby, the sporting owner did net eighty 
thousand pounds in bets, and the creditors did 
hold their hand until the race was over, when they 
were paid in full, and enough was left to reestab- 
lish Sir Robert in a fair position in life. Both po- 
lice and coroner took a lenient view of the trans- 
action, and beyond a mild censure for the delay 
in registering the lady's decease, the lucky owner 
got away scatheless from this strange incident in 
a career which has now outlived its shadows and 
promises to end in an honoured old age. 



The Problem of Thor Bridge 


S omewhere in the vaults of the bank of 
Cox and Co., at Charing Cross, there is 
a travel-worn and battered tin dispatch- 
box with my name, John H. Watson, 
M.D., Late Indian Army, painted upon the lid. It 
is crammed with papers, nearly all of which are 
records of cases to illustrate the curious problems 
which Mr. Sherlock Holmes had at various times to 
examine. Some, and not the least interesting, were 
complete failures, and as such will hardly bear 
narrating, since no final explanation is forthcom- 
ing. A problem without a solution may interest 
the student, but can hardly fail to annoy the casual 
reader. Among these unfinished tales is that of Mr. 
James Phillimore, who, stepping back into his own 
house to get his umbrella, was never more seen in 
this world. No less remarkable is that of the cut- 
ter Alicia, which sailed one spring morning into a 
small patch of mist from where she never again 
emerged, nor was anything further ever heard of 
herself and her crew. A third case worthy of note 
is that of Isadora Persano, the well-known jour- 
nalist and duellist, who was found stark staring 
mad with a match box in front of him which con- 
tained a remarkable worm said to be unknown to 
science. Apart from these unfathomed cases, there 
are some which involve the secrets of private fam- 
ilies to an extent which would mean consternation 
in many exalted quarters if it were thought pos- 
sible that they might find their way into print. I 
need not say that such a breach of confidence is 
unthinkable, and that these records will be sepa- 
rated and destroyed now that my friend has time 
to turn his energies to the matter. There remain a 
considerable residue of cases of greater or less in- 
terest which I might have edited before had I not 
feared to give the public a surfeit which might re- 
act upon the reputation of the man whom above 
all others I revere. In some I was myself concerned 
and can speak as an eye-witness, while in others 
I was either not present or played so small a part 
that they could only be told as by a third person. 
The following narrative is drawn from my own ex- 
perience. 

It was a wild morning in October, and I ob- 
served as I was dressing how the last remaining 
leaves were being whirled from the solitary plane 
tree which graces the yard behind our house. I de- 
scended to breakfast prepared to find my compan- 
ion in depressed spirits, for, like all great artists, he 
was easily impressed by his surroundings. On the 
contrary, I found that he had nearly finished his 
meal, and that his mood was particularly bright 
and joyous, with that somewhat sinister cheerful- 
ness which was characteristic of his lighter mo- 


ments. 

"You have a case. Holmes?" I remarked. 

"The faculty of deduction is certainly conta- 
gious, Watson," he answered. "It has enabled you 
to probe my secret. Yes, I have a case. After 
a month of trivialities and stagnation the wheels 
move once more." 

"Might I share it?" 

"There is little to share, but we may discuss 
it when you have consumed the two hard-boiled 
eggs with which our new cook has favoured us. 
Their condition may not be unconnected with the 
copy of the Family Herald which I observed yester- 
day upon the hall-table. Even so trivial a matter 
as cooking an egg demands an attention which is 
conscious of the passage of time and incompatible 
with the love romance in that excellent periodical." 

A quarter of an hour later the table had been 
cleared and we were face to face. He had drawn a 
letter from his pocket. 

"You have heard of Neil Gibson, the Gold 
King?" he said. 

"You mean the American Senator?" 

"Well, he was once Senator for some Western 
state, but is better known as the greatest gold- 
mining magnate in the world." 

"Yes, I know of him. He has surely lived in 
England for some time. His name is very famil- 
iar." 

"Yes, he bought a considerable estate in Hamp- 
shire some five years ago. Possibly you have al- 
ready heard of the tragic end of his wife?" 

"Of course. I remember it now. That is why the 
name is familiar. But I really know nothing of the 
details." 

Holmes waved his hand towards some papers 
on a chair. "I had no idea that the case was coming 
my way or I should have had my extracts ready," 
said he. "The fact is that the problem, though ex- 
ceedingly sensational, appeared to present no dif- 
ficulty. The interesting personality of the accused 
does not obscure the clearness of the evidence. 
That was the view taken by the coroner's jury and 
also in the police-court proceedings. It is now re- 
ferred to the Assizes at Winchester. I fear it is a 
thankless business. I can discover facts, Watson, 
but I cannot change them. Unless some entirely 
new and unexpected ones come to light I do not 
see what my client can hope for." 

"Your client?" 


921 



The Problem of Thor Bridge 


"Ah, I forgot I had not told you. I am getting 
into your involved habit, Watson, of telling a story 
backward. You had best read this first." 

The letter which he handed to me, written in a 
bold, masterful hand, ran as follows: 

Claridge's Hotel 
October 3rd. 

Dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes: 

I can't see the best woman God ever 
made go to her death without doing all 
that is possible to save her. I can't ex- 
plain things — I can't even try to explain 
them, but I know beyond all doubt that 
Miss Dunbar is innocent. You know 
the facts — who doesn't? It has been 
the gossip of the country. And never 
a voice raised for her! It's the damned 
injustice of it all that makes me crazy. 

That woman has a heart that wouldn't 
let her kill a fly. Well, I'll come at eleven 
to-morrow and see if you can get some 
ray of light in the dark. Maybe I have 
a clue and don't know it. Anyhow, all 
I know and all I have and all I am are 
for your use if only you can save her. If 
ever in your life you showed your pow- 
ers, put them now into this case. 

Yours faithfully, 

J. Neil Gibson. 

"There you have it," said Sherlock Holmes, 
knocking out the ashes of his after-breakfast pipe 
and slowly refilling it. "That is the gentleman I 
await. As to the story, you have hardly time to 
master all these papers, so I must give it to you in a 
nutshell if you are to take an intelligent interest in 
the proceedings. This man is the greatest financial 
power in the world, and a man, as I understand, 
of most violent and formidable character. He mar- 
ried a wife, the victim of this tragedy, of whom I 
know nothing save that she was past her prime, 
which was the more unfortunate as a very attrac- 
tive governess superintended the education of two 
young children. These are the three people con- 
cerned, and the scene is a grand old manor house, 
the centre of a historical English state. Then as to 
the tragedy. The wife was found in the grounds 
nearly half a mile from the house, late at night, 
clad in her dinner dress, with a shawl over her 
shoulders and a revolver bullet through her brain. 
No weapon was found near her and there was 
no local clue as to the murder. No weapon near 
her, Watson — mark that! The crime seems to have 


been committed late in the evening, and the body 
was found by a game-keeper about eleven o'clock, 
when it was examined by the police and by a doc- 
tor before being carried up to the house. Is this too 
condensed, or can you follow it clearly?" 

"It is all very clear. But why suspect the gov- 
erness?" 

"Well, in the first place there is some very direct 
evidence. A revolver with one discharged cham- 
ber and a calibre which corresponded with the 
bullet was found on the floor of her wardrobe." 
His eyes fixed and he repeated in broken words, 
"On — the — floor — of — her — wardrobe." Then he 
sank into silence, and I saw that some train of 
thought had been set moving which I should be 
foolish to interrupt. Suddenly with a start he 
emerged into brisk life once more. "Yes, Watson, it 
was found. Pretty damning, eh? So the two juries 
thought. Then the dead woman had a note upon 
her making an appointment at that very place and 
signed by the governess. How's that? Finally there 
is the motive. Senator Gibson is an attractive per- 
son. If his wife dies, who more likely to succeed 
her than the young lady who had already by all 
accounts received pressing attentions from her em- 
ployer? Love, fortune, power, all depending upon 
one middle-aged life. Ugly, Watson — very ugly!" 

"Yes, indeed. Holmes." 

"Nor could she prove an alibi. On the contrary, 
she had to admit that she was down near Thor 
Bridge — that was the scene of the tragedy — about 
that hour. She couldn't deny it, for some passing 
villager had seen her there." 

"That really seems final." 

"And yet, Watson — and yet! This bridge — a 
single broad span of stone with balustraded 
sides — carries the drive over the narrowest part of 
a long, deep, reed-girt sheet of water. Thor Mere it 
is called. In the mouth of the bridge lay the dead 
woman. Such are the main facts. But here, if I 
mistake not, is our client, considerably before his 
time." 

Billy had opened the door, but the name which 
he announced was an unexpected one. Mr. Mar- 
low Bates was a stranger to both of us. He was a 
thin, nervous wisp of a man with frightened eyes 
and a twitching, hesitating manner — a man whom 
my own professional eye would judge to be on the 
brink of an absolute nervous breakdown. 

"You seem agitated, Mr. Bates," said Holmes. 
"Pray sit down. I fear I can only give you a short 
time, for I have an appointment at eleven." 


922 



The Problem of Thor Bridge 


"I know you have," our visitor gasped, shoot- 
ing out short sentences like a man who is out of 
breath. "Mr. Gibson is coming. Mr. Gibson is my 
employer. I am manager of his estate. Mr. Holmes, 
he is a villain — an infernal villain." 

"Strong language, Mr. Bates." 

"I have to be emphatic, Mr. Holmes, for the 
time is so limited. I would not have him find me 
here for the world. He is almost due now. But I 
was so situated that I could not come earlier. His 
secretary, Mr. Ferguson, only told me this morning 
of his appointment with you." 

"And you are his manager?" 

"I have given him notice. In a couple of weeks I 
shall have shaken off his accursed slavery. A hard 
man, Mr. Holmes, hard to all about him. Those 
public charities are a screen to cover his private in- 
iquities. But his wife was his chief victim. He was 
brutal to her — yes, sir, brutal! How she came by 
her death I do not know, but I am sure that he had 
made her life a misery to her. She was a creature 
of the tropics, a Brazilian by birth, as no doubt you 
know." 

"No, it had escaped me." 

"Tropical by birth and tropical by nature. A 
child of the sun and of passion. She had loved him 
as such women can love, but when her own phys- 
ical charms had faded — I am told that they once 
were great — there was nothing to hold him. We 
all liked her and felt for her and hated him for the 
way that he treated her. But he is plausible and 
cunning. That is all I have to say to you. Don't 
take him at his face value. There is more behind. 
Now I'll go. No, no, don't detain me! He is almost 
due." 

With a frightened look at the clock our strange 
visitor literally ran to the door and disappeared. 

"Well! Well!" said Holmes after an interval of 
silence. "Mr. Gibson seems to have a nice loyal 
household. But the warning is a useful one, and 
now we can only wait till the man himself ap- 
pears." 

Sharp at the hour we heard a heavy step upon 
the stairs, and the famous millionaire was shown 
into the room. As I looked upon him I under- 
stood not only the fears and dislike of his man- 
ager but also the execrations which so many busi- 
ness rivals have heaped upon his head. If I were 
a sculptor and desired to idealize the successful 
man of affairs, iron of nerve and leathery of con- 
science, I should choose Mr. Neil Gibson as my 
model. His tall, gaunt, craggy figure had a sugges- 
tion of hunger and rapacity. An Abraham Lincoln 


keyed to base uses instead of high ones would give 
some idea of the man. His face might have been 
chiselled in granite, hard-set, craggy, remorseless, 
with deep lines upon it, the scars of many a cri- 
sis. Cold gray eyes, looking shrewdly out from 
under bristling brows, surveyed us each in turn. 
He bowed in perfunctory fashion as Holmes men- 
tioned my name, and then with a masterful air 
of possession he drew a chair up to my compan- 
ion and seated himself with his bony knees almost 
touching him. 

"Let me say right here, Mr. Holmes," he began, 
"that money is nothing to me in this case. You can 
burn it if it's any use in lighting you to the truth. 
This woman is innocent and this woman has to be 
cleared, and it's up to you to do it. Name your 
figure!" 

"My professional charges are upon a fixed 
scale," said Holmes coldly. "I do not vary them, 
save when I remit them altogether." 

"Well, if dollars make no difference to you, 
think of the reputation. If you pull this off every 
paper in England and America will be booming 
you. You'll be the talk of two continents." 

"Thank you, Mr. Gibson, I do not think that I 
am in need of booming. It may surprise you to 
know that I prefer to work anonymously, and that 
it is the problem itself which attracts me. But we 
are wasting time. Let us get down to the facts." 

"I think that you will find all the main ones in 
the press reports. I don't know that I can add any- 
thing which will help you. But if there is anything 
you would wish more light upon — well, I am here 
to give it." 

"Well, there is just one point." 

"What is it?" 

"What were the exact relations between you 
and Miss Dunbar?" 

The Gold King gave a violent start and half rose 
from his chair. Then his massive calm came back 
to him. 

"I suppose you are within your rights — and 
maybe doing your duty — in asking such a ques- 
tion, Mr. Holmes." 

"We will agree to suppose so," said Holmes. 

"Then I can assure you that our relations were 
entirely and always those of an employer towards 
a young lady whom he never conversed with, or 
ever saw, save when she was in the company of 
his children." 

Holmes rose from his chair. 

"I am a rather busy man, Mr. Gibson," said he, 
"and I have no time or taste for aimless conversa- 
tions. I wish you good-morning." 



The Problem of Thor Bridge 


Our visitor had risen also, and his great loose 
figure towered above Holmes. There was an an- 
gry gleam from under those bristling brows and a 
tinge of colour in the sallow cheeks. 

"What the devil do you mean by this, Mr. 
Holmes? Do you dismiss my case?" 

"Well, Mr. Gibson, at least I dismiss you. I 
should have thought my words were plain." 

"Plain enough, but what's at the back of it? 
Raising the price on me, or afraid to tackle it, or 
what? I've a right to a plain answer." 

"Well, perhaps you have," said Holmes. "I'll 
give you one. This case is quite sufficiently com- 
plicated to start with without the further difficulty 
of false information." 

"Meaning that I lie." 

"Well, I was trying to express it as delicately as 
I could, but if you insist upon the word I will not 
contradict you." 

I sprang to my feet, for the expression upon 
the millionaire's face was fiendish in its intensity, 
and he had raised his great knotted fist. Holmes 
smiled languidly and reached his hand out for his 
pipe. 

"Don't be noisy, Mr. Gibson. I find that after 
breakfast even the smallest argument is unsettling. 
I suggest that a stroll in the morning air and a little 
quiet thought will be greatly to your advantage." 

With an effort the Gold King mastered his fury. 
I could not but admire him, for by a supreme self- 
command he had turned in a minute from a hot 
flame of anger to a frigid and contemptuous indif- 
ference. 

"Well, it's your choice. I guess you know how 
to run your own business. I can't make you touch 
the case against your will. You've done yourself no 
good this morning, Mr. Holmes, for I have broken 
stronger men than you. No man ever crossed me 
and was the better for it." 

"So many have said so, and yet here I am," said 
Holmes, smiling. "Well, good-morning, Mr. Gib- 
son. You have a good deal yet to learn." 

Our visitor made a noisy exit, but Holmes 
smoked in imperturbable silence with dreamy eyes 
fixed upon the ceiling. 

"Any views, Watson?" he asked at last. 

"Well, Holmes, I must confess that when I con- 
sider that this is a man who would certainly brush 
any obstacle from his path, and when I remember 
that his wife may have been an obstacle and an ob- 
ject of dislike, as that man Bates plainly told us, it 
seems to me — " 


"Exactly. And to me also." 

"But what were his relations with the gov- 
erness, and how did you discover them?" 

"Bluff, Watson, bluff! When I considered the 
passionate, unconventional, unbusinesslike tone of 
his letter and contrasted it with his self-contained 
manner and appearance, it was pretty clear that 
there was some deep emotion which centred upon 
the accused woman rather than upon the victim. 
We've got to understand the exact relations of 
those three people if we are to reach the truth. You 
saw the frontal attack which I made upon him, and 
how imperturbably he received it. Then I bluffed 
him by giving him the impression that I was abso- 
lutely certain, when in reality I was only extremely 
suspicious." 

"Perhaps he will come back?" 

"He is sure to come back. He must come back. 
He can't leave it where it is. Ha! isn't that a ring? 
Yes, there is his footstep. Well, Mr. Gibson, I was 
just saying to Dr. Watson that you were somewhat 
overdue." 

The Gold King had reentered the room in a 
more chastened mood than he had left it. His 
wounded pride still showed in his resentful eyes, 
but his common sense had shown him that he 
must yield if he would attain his end. 

"I've been thinking it over, Mr. Holmes, and I 
feel that I have been hasty in taking your remarks 
amiss. You are justified in getting down to the 
facts, whatever they may be, and I think the more 
of you for it. I can assure you, however, that the re- 
lations between Miss Dunbar and me don't really 
touch this case." 

"That is for me to decide, is it not?" 

"Yes, I guess that is so. You're like a surgeon 
who wants every symptom before he can give his 
diagnosis." 

"Exactly. That expresses it. And it is only a 
patient who has an object in deceiving his surgeon 
who would conceal the facts of his case." 

"That may be so, but you will admit, Mr. 
Holmes, that most men would shy off a bit when 
they are asked point-blank what their relations 
with a woman may be — if there is really some se- 
rious feeling in the case. I guess most men have 
a little private reserve of their own in some corner 
of their souls where they don't welcome intruders. 
And you burst suddenly into it. But the object ex- 
cuses you, since it was to try and save her. Well, 
the stakes are down and the reserve open, and you 
can explore where you will. What is it you want?" 

"The truth." 



The Problem of Thor Bridge 


The Gold King paused for a moment as one 
who marshals his thoughts. His grim, deep-lined 
face had become even sadder and more grave. 

"I can give it to you in a very few words, Mr. 
Holmes," said he at last. "There are some things 
that are painful as well as difficult to say, so I 
won't go deeper than is needful. I met my wife 
when I was gold-hunting in Brazil. Maria Pinto 
was the daughter of a government official at Man- 
aos, and she was very beautiful. I was young and 
ardent in those days, but even now, as I look back 
with colder blood and a more critical eye, I can 
see that she was rare and wonderful in her beauty. 
It was a deep rich nature, too, passionate, whole- 
hearted, tropical, ill-balanced, very different from 
the American women whom I had known. Well, 
to make a long story short, I loved her and I 
married her. It was only when the romance had 
passed — and it lingered for years — that I realized 
that we had nothing — absolutely nothing — in com- 
mon. My love faded. If hers had faded also it 
might have been easier. But you know the won- 
derful way of women! Do what I might, nothing 
could turn her from me. If I have been harsh to 
her, even brutal as some have said, it has been be- 
cause I knew that if I could kill her love, or if it 
turned to hate, it would be easier for both of us. 
But nothing changed her. She adored me in those 
English woods as she had adored me twenty years 
ago on the banks of the Amazon. Do what I might, 
she was as devoted as ever. 

"Then came Miss Grace Dunbar. She answered 
our advertisement and became governess to our 
two children. Perhaps you have seen her portrait 
in the papers. The whole world has proclaimed 
that she also is a very beautiful woman. Now, I 
make no pretence to be more moral than my neigh- 
bours, and I will admit to you that I could not live 
under the same roof with such a woman and in 
daily contact with her without feeling a passionate 
regard for her. Do you blame me, Mr. Holmes?" 

"I do not blame you for feeling it. I should 
blame you if you expressed it, since this young 
lady was in a sense under your protection." 

"Well, maybe so," said the millionaire, though 
for a moment the reproof had brought the old an- 
gry gleam into his eyes. "I'm not pretending to 
be any better than I am. I guess all my life I've 
been a man that reached out his hand for what he 
wanted, and I never wanted anything more than 
the love and possession of that woman. I told her 
so." 

"Oh, you did, did you?" 


Holmes could look very formidable when he 
was moved. 

"I said to her that if I could marry her I would, 
but that it was out of my power. I said that money 
was no object and that all I could do to make her 
happy and comfortable would be done." 

"Very generous, I am sure," said Holmes with 
a sneer. 

"See here, Mr. Holmes. I came to you on a 
question of evidence, not on a question of morals. 
I'm not asking for your criticism." 

"It is only for the young lady's sake that I 
touch your case at all," said Holmes sternly. "I 
don't know that anything she is accused of is re- 
ally worse than what you have yourself admitted, 
that you have tried to ruin a defenceless girl who 
was under your roof. Some of you rich men have 
to be taught that all the world cannot be bribed 
into condoning your offences." 

To my surprise the Gold King took the reproof 
with equanimity. 

"That's how I feel myself about it now. I thank 
God that my plans did not work out as I intended. 
She would have none of it, and she wanted to leave 
the house instantly." 

"Why did she not?" 

"Well, in the first place, others were dependent 
upon her, and it was no light matter for her to let 
them all down by sacrificing her living. When I 
had sworn — as I did — that she should never be 
molested again, she consented to remain. But there 
was another reason. She knew the influence she 
had over me, and that it was stronger than any 
other influence in the world. She wanted to use it 
for good." 

"How?" 

"Well, she knew something of my affairs. They 
are large, Mr. Holmes — large beyond the belief of 
an ordinary man. I can make or break — and it is 
usually break. It wasn't individuals only. It was 
communities, cities, even nations. Business is a 
hard game, and the weak go to the wall. I played 
the game for all it was worth. I never squealed my- 
self, and I never cared if the other fellow squealed. 
But she saw it different. I guess she was right. She 
believed and said that a fortune for one man that 
was more than he needed should not be built on 
ten thousand ruined men who were left without 
the means of life. That was how she saw it, and I 
guess she could see past the dollars to something 
that was more lasting. She found that I listened 



The Problem of Thor Bridge 


to what she said, and she believed she was serv- 
ing the world by influencing my actions. So she 
stayed — and then this came along." 

"Can you throw any light upon that?" 

The Gold King paused for a minute or more, 
his head sunk in his hands, lost in deep thought. 

"It's very black against her. I can't deny that. 
And women lead an inward life and may do things 
beyond the judgment of a man. At first I was so 
rattled and taken aback that I was ready to think 
she had been led away in some extraordinary fash- 
ion that was clean against her usual nature. One 
explanation came into my head. I give it to you, 
Mr. Holmes, for what it is worth. There is no 
doubt that my wife was bitterly jealous. There is 
a soul-jealousy that can be as frantic as any body- 
jealousy, and though my wife had no cause — and 
I think she understood this — for the latter, she was 
aware that this English girl exerted an influence 
upon my mind and my acts that she herself never 
had. It was an influence for good, but that did 
not mend the matter. She was crazy with hatred, 
and the heat of the Amazon was always in her 
blood. She might have planned to murder Miss 
Dunbar — or we will say to threaten her with a gun 
and so frighten her into leaving us. Then there 
might have been a scuffle and the gun gone off 
and shot the woman who held it." 

"That possibility had already occurred to me," 
said Holmes. "Indeed, it is the only obvious alter- 
native to deliberate murder." 

"But she utterly denies it." 

"Well, that is not final — is it? One can under- 
stand that a woman placed in so awful a position 
might hurry home still in her bewilderment hold- 
ing the revolver. She might even throw it down 
among her clothes, hardly knowing what she was 
doing, and when it was found she might try to lie 
her way out by a total denial, since all explanation 
was impossible. What is against such a supposi- 
tion?" 

"Miss Dunbar herself. " 

"Well, perhaps." 

Holmes looked at his watch. "I have no doubt 
we can get the necessary permits this morning and 
reach Winchester by the evening train. When I 
have seen this young lady it is very possible that I 
may be of more use to you in the matter, though I 
cannot promise that my conclusions will necessar- 
ily be such as you desire." 

There was some delay in the official pass, and 
instead of reaching Winchester that day we went 
down to Thor Place, the Hampshire estate of Mr. 


Neil Gibson. He did not accompany us himself, 
but we had the address of Sergeant Coventry, of 
the local police, who had first examined into the 
affair. He was a tall, thin, cadaverous man, with a 
secretive and mysterious manner which conveyed 
the idea that he knew or suspected a very great 
deal more than he dared say. He had a trick, too, 
of suddenly sinking his voice to a whisper as if 
he had come upon something of vital importance, 
though the information was usually commonplace 
enough. Behind these tricks of manner he soon 
showed himself to be a decent, honest fellow who 
was not too proud to admit that he was out of his 
depth and would welcome any help. 

"Anyhow, I'd rather have you than Scotland 
Yard, Mr. Holmes," said he. "If the Yard gets called 
into a case, then the local loses all credit for suc- 
cess and may be blamed for failure. Now, you play 
straight, so I've heard." 

"I need not appear in the matter at all," said 
Holmes to the evident relief of our melancholy ac- 
quaintance. "If I can clear it up I don't ask to have 
my name mentioned." 

"Well, it's very handsome of you, I am sure. 
And your friend. Dr. Watson, can be trusted, I 
know. Now, Mr. Holmes, as we walk down to the 
place there is one question I should like to ask you. 
I'd breathe it to no soul but you." He looked round 
as though he hardly dare utter the words. "Don't 
you think there might be a case against Mr. Neil 
Gibson himself?" 

"I have been considering that." 

"You've not seen Miss Dunbar. She is a won- 
derful fine woman in every way. He may well have 
wished his wife out of the road. And these Amer- 
icans are readier with pistols than our folk are. It 
was his pistol, you know." 

"Was that clearly made out?" 

"Yes, sir. It was one of a pair that he had." 

"One of a pair? Where is the other?" 

"Well, the gentleman has a lot of firearms of 
one sort and another. We never quite matched that 
particular pistol — but the box was made for two." 

"If it was one of a pair you should surely be 
able to match it." 

"Well, we have them all laid out at the house if 
you would care to look them over." 

"Later, perhaps. I think we will walk down to- 
gether and have a look at the scene of the tragedy." 

This conversation had taken place in the little 
front room of Sergeant Coventry's humble cottage 
which served as the local police-station. A walk 
of half a mile or so across a wind-swept heath, all 
gold and bronze with the fading ferns, brought us 


926 



The Problem of Thor Bridge 


to a side-gate opening into the grounds of the Thor 
Place estate. A path led us through the pheasant 
preserves, and then from a clearing we saw the 
widespread, half-timbered house, half Tudor and 
half Georgian, upon the crest of the hill. Beside 
us there was a long, reedy pool, constricted in the 
centre where the main carriage drive passed over 
a stone bridge, but swelling into small lakes on ei- 
ther side. Our guide paused at the mouth of this 
bridge, and he pointed to the ground. 

"That was where Mrs. Gibson's body lay. I 
marked it by that stone." 

"I understand that you were there before it was 
moved?" 

"Yes, they sent for me at once." 

"Who did?" 

"Mr. Gibson himself. The moment the alarm 
was given and he had rushed down with others 
from the house, he insisted that nothing should be 
moved until the police should arrive." 

"That was sensible. I gathered from the news- 
paper report that the shot was fired from close 
quarters." 

"Yes, sir, very close." 

"Near the right temple?" 

"Just behind it, sir." 

"How did the body lie?" 

"On the back, sir. No trace of a struggle. No 
marks. No weapon. The short note from Miss 
Dunbar was clutched in her left hand." 

"Clutched, you say?" 

"Yes, sir, we could hardly open the fingers." 

"That is of great importance. It excludes the 
idea that anyone could have placed the note there 
after death in order to furnish a false clue. Dear 
me! The note, as I remember, was quite short: 

"I will be at Thor Bridge at nine o'clock. 

— "G. Dunbar. 

"Was that not so?" 

"Yes, sir." 

"Did Miss Dunbar admit writing it?" 

"Yes, sir." 

"What was her explanation?" 

"Her defence was reserved for the Assizes. She 
would say nothing." 

"The problem is certainly a very interesting 
one. The point of the letter is very obscure, is it 
not?" 


"Well, sir," said the guide, "it seemed, if I may 
be so bold as to say so, the only really clear point 
in the whole case." 

Holmes shook his head. 

"Granting that the letter is genuine and was re- 
ally written, it was certainly received some time 
before — say one hour or two. Why, then, was this 
lady still clasping it in her left hand? Why should 
she carry it so carefully? She did not need to refer 
to it in the interview. Does it not seem remark- 
able?" 

"Well, sir, as you put it, perhaps it does." 

"I think I should like to sit quietly for a few 
minutes and think it out." He seated himself upon 
the stone ledge of the bridge, and I could see his 
quick gray eyes darting their questioning glances 
in every direction. Suddenly he sprang up again 
and ran across to the opposite parapet, whipped 
his lens from his pocket, and began to examine the 
stonework. 

"This is curious," said he. 

"Yes, sir, we saw the chip on the ledge. I expect 
it's been done by some passer-by." 

The stonework was gray, but at this one point 
it showed white for a space not larger than a six- 
pence. When examined closely one could see that 
the surface was chipped as by a sharp blow. 

"It took some violence to do that," said Holmes 
thoughtfully. With his cane he struck the ledge 
several times without leaving a mark. "Yes, it was 
a hard knock. In a curious place, too. It was not 
from above but from below, for you see that it is 
on the lower edge of the parapet." 

"But it is at least fifteen feet from the body." 

"Yes, it is fifteen feet from the body. It may 
have nothing to do with the matter, but it is a point 
worth noting. I do not think that we have anything 
more to learn here. There were no footsteps, you 
say?" 

"The ground was iron hard, sir. There were no 
traces at all." 

"Then we can go. We will go up to the house 
first and look over these weapons of which you 
speak. Then we shall get on to Winchester, for 
I should desire to see Miss Dunbar before we go 
farther." 

Mr. Neil Gibson had not returned from town, 
but we saw in the house the neurotic Mr. Bates 
who had called upon us in the morning. He 
showed us with a sinister relish the formidable ar- 
ray of firearms of various shapes and sizes which 


927 



The Problem of Thor Bridge 


his employer had accumulated in the course of an 
adventurous life. 

"Mr. Gibson has his enemies, as anyone would 
expect who knew him and his methods," said he. 
"He sleeps with a loaded revolver in the drawer 
beside his bed. He is a man of violence, sir, and 
there are times when all of us are afraid of him. 
I am sure that the poor lady who has passed was 
often terrified." 

"Did you ever witness physical violence to- 
wards her?" 

"No, I cannot say that. But I have heard words 
which were nearly as bad — words of cold, cutting 
contempt, even before the servants." 

"Our millionaire does not seem to shine in pri- 
vate life," remarked Holmes as we made our way 
to the station. "Well, Watson, we have come on a 
good many facts, some of them new ones, and yet 
I seem some way from my conclusion. In spite of 
the very evident dislike which Mr. Bates has to his 
employer, I gather from him that when the alarm 
came he was undoubtedly in his library. Dinner 
was over at 8.30 and all was normal up to then. 
It is true that the alarm was somewhat late in the 
evening, but the tragedy certainly occurred about 
the hour named in the note. There is no evidence 
at all that Mr. Gibson had been out of doors since 
his return from town at five o'clock. On the other 
hand. Miss Dunbar, as I understand it, admits that 
she had made an appointment to meet Mrs. Gib- 
son at the bridge. Beyond this she would say noth- 
ing, as her lawyer had advised her to reserve her 
defence. We have several very vital questions to 
ask that young lady, and my mind will not be easy 
until we have seen her. I must confess that the case 
would seem to me to be very black against her if it 
were not for one thing." 

"And what is that. Holmes?" 

"The finding of the pistol in her wardrobe." 

"Dear me. Holmes!" I cried, "that seemed to 
me to be the most damning incident of all." 

"Not so, Watson. It had struck me even at my 
first perfunctory reading as very strange, and now 
that I am in closer touch with the case it is my only 
firm ground for hope. We must look for consis- 
tency. Where there is a want of it we must suspect 
deception." 

"I hardly follow you." 

"Well now, Watson, suppose for a moment that 
we visualize you in the character of a woman who, 
in a cold, premeditated fashion, is about to get 
rid of a rival. You have planned it. A note has 
been written. The victim has come. You have your 


weapon. The crime is done. It has been work- 
manlike and complete. Do you tell me that after 
carrying out so crafty a crime you would now ruin 
your reputation as a criminal by forgetting to fling 
your weapon into those adjacent reed-beds which 
would forever cover it, but you must needs carry it 
carefully home and put it in your own wardrobe, 
the very first place that would be searched? Your 
best friends would hardly call you a schemer, Wat- 
son, and yet I could not picture you doing any- 
thing so crude as that." 

"In the excitement of the moment — " 

"No, no, Watson, I will not admit that it is pos- 
sible. Where a crime is coolly premeditated, then 
the means of covering it are coolly premeditated 
also. I hope, therefore, that we are in the presence 
of a serious misconception." 

"But there is so much to explain." 

"Well, we shall set about explaining it. When 
once your point of view is changed, the very thing 
which was so damning becomes a clue to the truth. 
For example, there is this revolver. Miss Dunbar 
disclaims all knowledge of it. On our new theory 
she is speaking truth when she says so. There- 
fore, it was placed in her wardrobe. Who placed 
it there? Someone who wished to incriminate her. 
Was not that person the actual criminal? You see 
how we come at once upon a most fruitful line of 
inquiry." 

We were compelled to spend the night at 
Winchester, as the formalities had not yet been 
completed, but next morning, in the company of 
Mr. Joyce Cummings, the rising barrister who was 
entrusted with the defence, we were allowed to see 
the young lady in her cell. I had expected from all 
that we had heard to see a beautiful woman, but I 
can never forget the effect which Miss Dunbar pro- 
duced upon me. It was no wonder that even the 
masterful millionaire had found in her something 
more powerful than himself — something which 
could control and guide him. One felt, too, as one 
looked at the strong, clear-cut, and yet sensitive 
face, that even should she be capable of some im- 
petuous deed, none the less there was an innate 
nobility of character which would make her influ- 
ence always for the good. She was a brunette, tall, 
with a noble figure and commanding presence, but 
her dark eyes had in them the appealing, help- 
less expression of the hunted creature who feels 
the nets around it, but can see no way out from 
the toils. Now, as she realized the presence and 
the help of my famous friend, there came a touch 
of colour in her wan cheeks and a light of hope 
began to glimmer in the glance which she turned 
upon us. 


928 



The Problem of Thor Bridge 


"Perhaps Mr. Neil Gibson has told you some- 
thing of what occurred between us?" she asked in 
a low, agitated voice. 

"Yes," Holmes answered, "you need not pain 
yourself by entering into that part of the story. Af- 
ter seeing you, I am prepared to accept Mr. Gib- 
son's statement both as to the influence which you 
had over him and as to the innocence of your rela- 
tions with him. But why was the whole situation 
not brought out in court?" 

"It seemed to me incredible that such a charge 
could be sustained. I thought that if we waited the 
whole thing must clear itself up without our being 
compelled to enter into painful details of the inner 
life of the family. But I understand that far from 
clearing it has become even more serious." 

"My dear young lady," cried Holmes earnestly, 
"I beg you to have no illusions upon the point. 
Mr. Cummings here would assure you that all the 
cards are at present against us, and that we must 
do everything that is possible if we are to win clear. 
It would be a cruel deception to pretend that you 
are not in very great danger. Give me all the help 
you can, then, to get at the truth." 

"I will conceal nothing." 

"Tell us, then, of your true relations with Mr. 
Gibson's wife." 

"She hated me, Mr. Holmes. She hated me with 
all the fervour of her tropical nature. She was a 
woman who would do nothing by halves, and the 
measure of her love for her husband was the mea- 
sure also of her hatred for me. It is probable that 
she misunderstood our relations. I would not wish 
to wrong her, but she loved so vividly in a physical 
sense that she could hardly understand the mental, 
and even spiritual, tie which held her husband to 
me, or imagine that it was only my desire to influ- 
ence his power to good ends which kept me under 
his roof. I can see now that I was wrong. Nothing 
could justify me in remaining where I was a cause 
of unhappiness, and yet it is certain that the un- 
happiness would have remained even if I had left 
the house." 

"Now, Miss Dunbar," said Holmes, "I beg you 
to tell us exactly what occurred that evening." 

"I can tell you the truth so far as I know 
it, Mr. Holmes, but I am in a position to prove 
nothing, and there are points — the most vital 
points — which I can neither explain nor can I 
imagine any explanation." 

"If you will find the facts, perhaps others may 
find the explanation." 


"With regard, then, to my presence at Thor 
Bridge that night, I received a note from Mrs. Gib- 
son in the morning. It lay on the table of the 
schoolroom, and it may have been left there by her 
own hand. It implored me to see her there after 
dinner, said she had something important to say 
to me, and asked me to leave an answer on the 
sundial in the garden, as she desired no one to be 
in our confidence. I saw no reason for such secrecy, 
but I did as she asked, accepting the appointment. 
She asked me to destroy her note and I burned it in 
the schoolroom grate. She was very much afraid of 
her husband, who treated her with a harshness for 
which I frequently reproached him, and I could 
only imagine that she acted in this way because 
she did not wish him to know of our interview." 

"Yet she kept your reply very carefully?" 

"Yes. I was surprised to hear that she had it in 
her hand when she died." 

"Well, what happened then?" 

"I went down as I had promised. When 
I reached the bridge she was waiting for me. 
Never did I realize till that moment how this 
poor creature hated me. She was like a mad 
woman — indeed, I think she was a mad woman, 
subtly mad with the deep power of deception 
which insane people may have. How else could 
she have met me with unconcern every day and yet 
had so raging a hatred of me in her heart? I will 
not say what she said. She poured her whole wild 
fury out in burning and horrible words. I did not 
even answer — I could not. It was dreadful to see 
her. I put my hands to my ears and rushed away. 
When I left her she was standing, still shrieking 
out her curses at me, in the mouth of the bridge." 

"Where she was afterwards found?" 

"Within a few yards from the spot." 

"And yet, presuming that she met her death 
shortly after you left her, you heard no shot?" 

"No, I heard nothing. But, indeed, Mr. Holmes, 
I was so agitated and horrified by this terrible out- 
break that I rushed to get back to the peace of my 
own room, and I was incapable of noticing any- 
thing which happened." 

"You say that you returned to your room. Did 
you leave it again before next morning?" 

"Yes, when the alarm came that the poor crea- 
ture had met her death I ran out with the others." 

"Did you see Mr. Gibson?" 

"Yes, he had just returned from the bridge 
when I saw him. He had sent for the doctor and 
the police." 


929 



The Problem of Thor Bridge 


"Did he seem to you much perturbed?" 

"Mr. Gibson is a very strong, self-contained 
man. I do not think that he would ever show his 
emotions on the surface. But I, who knew him so 
well, could see that he was deeply concerned." 

"Then we come to the all-important point. This 
pistol that was found in your room. Had you ever 
seen it before?" 

"Never, I swear it." 

"When was it found?" 

"Next morning, when the police made their 
search." 

"Among your clothes?" 

"Yes, on the floor of my wardrobe under my 
dresses." 

"You could not guess how long it had been 
there?" 

"It had not been there the morning before." 

"How do you know?" 

"Because I tidied out the wardrobe." 

"That is final. Then someone came into your 
room and placed the pistol there in order to incul- 
pate you." 

"It must have been so." 

"And when?" 

"It could only have been at meal-time, or else 
at the hours when I would be in the schoolroom 
with the children." 

"As you were when you got the note?" 

"Yes, from that time onward for the whole 
morning." 

"Thank you. Miss Dunbar. Is there any other 
point which could help me in the investigation?" 

"I can think of none." 

"There was some sign of violence on the 
stonework of the bridge — a perfectly fresh chip 
just opposite the body. Could you suggest any 
possible explanation of that?" 

"Surely it must be a mere coincidence." 

"Curious, Miss Dunbar, very curious. Why 
should it appear at the very time of the tragedy, 
and why at the very place?" 

"But what could have caused it? Only great 
violence could have such an effect." 

Holmes did not answer. His pale, eager face 
had suddenly assumed that tense, far-away ex- 
pression which I had learned to associate with the 
supreme manifestations of his genius. So evident 
was the crisis in his mind that none of us dared 


to speak, and we sat, barrister, prisoner, and my- 
self, watching him in a concentrated and absorbed 
silence. Suddenly he sprang from his chair, vibrat- 
ing with nervous energy and the pressing need for 
action. 

"Come, Watson, come!" he cried. 

"What is it, Mr. Holmes?" 

"Never mind, my dear lady. You will hear from 
me, Mr. Cummings. With the help of the god of 
justice I will give you a case which will make Eng- 
land ring. You will get news by to-morrow. Miss 
Dunbar, and meanwhile take my assurance that 
the clouds are lifting and that I have every hope 
that the light of truth is breaking through." 

It was not a long journey from Winchester to 
Thor Place, but it was long to me in my impatience, 
while for Holmes it was evident that it seemed 
endless; for, in his nervous restlessness, he could 
not sit still, but paced the carriage or drummed 
with his long, sensitive fingers upon the cushions 
beside him. Suddenly, however, as we neared our 
destination he seated himself opposite to me — we 
had a first-class carriage to ourselves — and laying 
a hand upon each of my knees he looked into my 
eyes with the peculiarly mischievous gaze which 
was characteristic of his more imp-like moods. 

"Watson," said he, "I have some recollection 
that you go armed upon these excursions of ours." 

It was as well for him that I did so, for he took 
little care for his own safety when his mind was 
once absorbed by a problem, so that more than 
once my revolver had been a good friend in need. 
I reminded him of the fact. 

"Yes, yes, I am a little absent-minded in such 
matters. But have you your revolver on you?" 

I produced it from my hip-pocket, a short, 
handy, but very serviceable little weapon. He un- 
did the catch, shook out the cartridges, and exam- 
ined it with care. 

"It's heavy — remarkably heavy," said he. 

"Yes, it is a solid bit of work. " 

He mused over it for a minute. 

"Do you know, Watson," said he, "I believe 
your revolver is going to have a very intimate con- 
nection with the mystery which we are investigat- 
ing." 

"My dear Holmes, you are joking." 

"No, Watson, I am very serious. There is a test 
before us. If the test comes off, all will be clear. 
And the test will depend upon the conduct of this 
little weapon. One cartridge out. Now we will 
replace the other five and put on the safety -catch. 
So! That increases the weight and makes it a better 
reproduction." 


930 



The Problem of Thor Bridge 


I had no glimmer of what was in his mind, nor 
did he enlighten me, but sat lost in thought until 
we pulled up in the little Hampshire station. We 
secured a ramshackle trap, and in a quarter of an 
hour were at the house of our confidential friend, 
the sergeant. 

"A clue, Mr. Holmes? What is it?" 

"It all depends upon the behaviour of Dr. Wat- 
son's revolver," said my friend. "Here it is. Now, 
officer, can you give me ten yards of string?" 

The village shop provided a ball of stout twine. 

"I think that this is all we will need," said 
Holmes. "Now, if you please, we will get off on 
what I hope is the last stage of our journey." 

The sun was setting and turning the rolling 
Hampshire moor into a wonderful autumnal 
panorama. The sergeant, with many critical 
and incredulous glances, which showed his deep 
doubts of the sanity of my companion, lurched 
along beside us. As we approached the scene of 
the crime I could see that my friend under all his 
habitual coolness was in truth deeply agitated. 

"Yes," he said in answer to my remark, "you 
have seen me miss my mark before, Watson. I have 
an instinct for such things, and yet it has some- 
times played me false. It seemed a certainty when 
first it flashed across my mind in the cell at Winch- 
ester, but one drawback of an active mind is that 
one can always conceive alternative explanations 
which would make our scent a false one. And 
yet — and yet — Well, Watson, we can but try." 

As he walked he had firmly tied one end of 
the string to the handle of the revolver. We had 
now reached the scene of the tragedy. With great 
care he marked out under the guidance of the po- 
liceman the exact spot where the body had been 
stretched. He then hunted among the heather and 
the ferns until he found a considerable stone. This 
he secured to the other end of his line of string, 
and he hung it over the parapet of the bridge 
so that it swung clear above the water. He then 
stood on the fatal spot, some distance from the 
edge of the bridge, with my revolver in his hand, 
the string being taut between the weapon and the 
heavy stone on the farther side. 

"Now for it!" he cried. 

At the words he raised the pistol to his head, 
and then let go his grip. In an instant it had 
been whisked away by the weight of the stone, had 
struck with a sharp crack against the parapet, and 
had vanished over the side into the water. It had 
hardly gone before Holmes was kneeling beside 


the stonework, and a joyous cry showed that he 
had found what he expected. 

"Was there ever a more exact demonstration?" 
he cried. "See, Watson, your revolver has solved 
the problem!" As he spoke he pointed to a sec- 
ond chip of the exact size and shape of the first 
which had appeared on the under edge of the 
stone balustrade. 

"We'll stay at the inn to-night," he continued 
as he rose and faced the astonished sergeant. "You 
will, of course, get a grappling-hook and you will 
easily restore my friend's revolver. You will also 
find beside it the revolver, string and weight with 
which this vindictive woman attempted to dis- 
guise her own crime and to fasten a charge of mur- 
der upon an innocent victim. You can let Mr. Gib- 
son know that I will see him in the morning, when 
steps can be taken for Miss Dunbar's vindication." 

Late that evening, as we sat together smoking 
our pipes in the village inn. Holmes gave me a 
brief review of what had passed. 

"I fear, Watson," said he, "that you will not im- 
prove any reputation which I may have acquired 
by adding the case of the Thor Bridge mystery to 
your annals. I have been sluggish in mind and 
wanting in that mixture of imagination and reality 
which is the basis of my art. I confess that the chip 
in the stonework was a sufficient clue to suggest 
the true solution, and that I blame myself for not 
having attained it sooner. 

"It must be admitted that the workings of this 
unhappy woman's mind were deep and subtle, so 
that it was no very simple matter to unravel her 
plot. I do not think that in our adventures we have 
ever come across a stranger example of what per- 
verted love can bring about. Whether Miss Dunbar 
was her rival in a physical or in a merely mental 
sense seems to have been equally unforgivable in 
her eyes. No doubt she blamed this innocent lady 
for all those harsh dealings and unkind words with 
which her husband tried to repel her too demon- 
strative affection. Her first resolution was to end 
her own life. Her second was to do it in such a 
way as to involve her victim in a fate which was 
worse far than any sudden death could be. 

"We can follow the various steps quite clearly, 
and they show a remarkable subtlety of mind. A 
note was extracted very cleverly from Miss Dunbar 
which would make it appear that she had chosen 
the scene of the crime. In her anxiety that it should 
be discovered she somewhat overdid it by holding 
it in her hand to the last. This alone should have 
excited my suspicions earlier than it did. 


931 



"Then she took one of her husband's re- 
volvers — there was, as you saw, an arsenal in the 
house — and kept it for her own use. A simi- 
lar one she concealed that morning in Miss Dun- 
bar's wardrobe after discharging one barrel, which 
she could easily do in the woods without attract- 
ing attention. She then went down to the bridge 
where she had contrived this exceedingly inge- 
nious method for getting rid of her weapon. When 
Miss Dunbar appeared she used her last breath 
in pouring out her hatred, and then, when she 
was out of hearing, carried out her terrible pur- 
pose. Every link is now in its place and the chain 


is complete. The papers may ask why the mere 
was not dragged in the first instance, but it is 
easy to be wise after the event, and in any case 
the expanse of a reed-filled lake is no easy mat- 
ter to drag unless you have a clear perception of 
what you are looking for and where. Well, Watson, 
we have helped a remarkable woman, and also a 
formidable man. Should they in the future join 
their forces, as seems not unlikely, the financial 
world may find that Mr. Neil Gibson has learned 
something in that schoolroom of sorrow where our 
earthly lessons are taught." 



The Adventure of the Sussex Vampire 


K olmes had read carefully a note which 
■ the last post had brought him. Then, 
I with the dry chuckle which was his 
“ nearest approach to a laugh, he tossed 
it over to me. 

"For a mixture of the modern and the medi- 
aeval, of the practical and of the wildly fanciful, I 
think this is surely the limit," said he. "What do 
you make of it, Watson?" 

I read as follows: 

46, Old Jewry, 

Nov. 19th. 

Re Vampires 

Sir: 

Our client, Mr. Robert Ferguson, of 
Ferguson and Muirhead, tea brokers, 
of Mincing Lane, has made some in- 
quiry from us in a communication of 
even date concerning vampires. As 
our firm specializes entirely upon the 
assessment of machinery the matter 
hardly comes within our purview, and 
we have therefore recommended Mr. 
Ferguson to call upon you and lay the 
matter before you. We have not forgot- 
ten your successful action in the case of 
Matilda Briggs. 

We are, sir. 

Faithfully yours, 
Morrison, Morrison, and Dodd. 

per E. J. C. 

"Matilda Briggs was not the name of a young 
woman, Watson," said Flolmes in a reminiscent 
voice. "It was a ship which is associated with the 
giant rat of Sumatra, a story for which the world 
is not yet prepared. But what do we know about 
vampires? Does it come within our purview ei- 
ther? Anything is better than stagnation, but really 
we seem to have been switched on to a Grimms' 
fairy tale. Make a long arm, Watson, and see what 
V has to say." 

I leaned back and took down the great index 
volume to which he referred. Flolmes balanced it 
on his knee, and his eyes moved slowly and lov- 
ingly over the record of old cases, mixed with the 
accumulated information of a lifetime. 

"Voyage of the Gloria Scott," he read. "That was 
a bad business. I have some recollection that you 
made a record of it, Watson, though I was unable 
to congratulate you upon the result. Victor Lynch, 
the forger. Venomous lizard or gila. Remarkable 


case, that! Vittoria, the circus belle. Vanderbilt and 
the Yeggman. Vipers. Vigor, the Flammersmith 
wonder. Hullo! Hullo! Good old index. You can't 
beat it. Listen to this, Watson. Vampirism in Hun- 
gary. And again. Vampires in Transylvania." He 
turned over the pages with eagerness, but after a 
short intent perusal he threw down the great book 
with a snarl of disappointment. 

"Rubbish, Watson, rubbish! What have we to 
do with walking corpses who can only be held in 
their grave by stakes driven through their hearts? 
It's pure lunacy." 

"But surely," said I, "the vampire was not nec- 
essarily a dead man? A living person might have 
the habit. I have read, for example, of the old suck- 
ing the blood of the young in order to retain their 
youth." 

"You are right, Watson. It mentions the legend 
in one of these references. But are we to give se- 
rious attention to such things? This agency stands 
flat-footed upon the ground, and there it must re- 
main. The world is big enough for us. No ghosts 
need apply. I fear that we cannot take Mr. Robert 
Ferguson very seriously. Possibly this note may be 
from him and may throw some light upon what is 
worrying him." 

He took up a second letter which had lain un- 
noticed upon the table while he had been absorbed 
with the first. This he began to read with a smile of 
amusement upon his face which gradually faded 
away into an expression of intense interest and 
concentration. When he had finished he sat for 
some little time lost in thought with the letter dan- 
gling from his fingers. Finally, with a start, he 
aroused himself from his reverie. 

"Cheeseman's, Lamberley. Where is Lamber- 
ley, Watson?" 

"It is in Sussex, south of Horsham." 

"Not very far, eh? And Cheeseman's?" 

"I know that country. Holmes. It is full of old 
houses which are named after the men who built 
them centuries ago. You get Odley's and Harvey's 
and Carriton's — the folk are forgotten but their 
names live in their houses. 

"Precisely," said Holmes coldly. It was one of 
the peculiarities of his proud, self-contained na- 
ture that though he docketed any fresh informa- 
tion very quietly and accurately in his brain, he 
seldom made any acknowledgment to the giver. "I 
rather fancy we shall know a good deal more about 
Cheeseman's, Lamberley, before we are through. 
The letter is, as I had hoped, from Robert Fergu- 
son. By the way, he claims acquaintance with you." 


901 



The Adventure of the Sussex Vampire 


"With me!" 

"You had better read it." 

He handed the letter across. It was headed with 
the address quoted. 

Dear Mr. Holmes [it said]: 

I have been recommended to you by 
my lawyers, but indeed the matter is so 
extraordinarily delicate that it is most 
difficult to discuss. It concerns a friend 
for whom I am acting. This gentleman 
married some five years ago a Peruvian 
lady, the daughter of a Peruvian mer- 
chant, whom he had met in connection 
with the importation of nitrates. The 
lady was very beautiful, but the fact 
of her foreign birth and of her alien 
religion always caused a separation of 
interests and of feelings between hus- 
band and wife, so that after a time his 
love may have cooled towards her and 
he may have come to regard their union 
as a mistake. He felt there were sides of 
her character which he could never ex- 
plore or understand. This was the more 
painful as she was as loving a wife as a 
man could have — to all appearance ab- 
solutely devoted. 

Now for the point which I will make 
more plain when we meet. Indeed, 
this note is merely to give you a gen- 
eral idea of the situation and to ascer- 
tain whether you would care to interest 
yourself in the matter. The lady began 
to show some curious traits quite alien 
to her ordinarily sweet and gentle dis- 
position. The gentleman had been mar- 
ried twice and he had one son by the 
first wife. This boy was now fifteen, a 
very charming and affectionate youth, 
though unhappily injured through an 
accident in childhood. Twice the wife 
was caught in the act of assaulting this 
poor lad in the most unprovoked way. 

Once she struck him with a stick and 
left a great weal on his arm. 

This was a small matter, however, 
compared with her conduct to her own 
child, a dear boy just under one year of 
age. On one occasion about a month 
ago this child had been left by its nurse 
for a few minutes. A loud cry from 
the baby, as of pain, called the nurse 
back. As she ran into the room she saw 
her employer, the lady, leaning over the 


baby and apparently biting his neck. 
There was a small wound in the neck 
from which a stream of blood had es- 
caped. The nurse was so horrified that 
she wished to call the husband, but the 
lady implored her not to do so and ac- 
tually gave her five pounds as a price 
for her silence. No explanation was 
ever given, and for the moment the 
matter was passed over. 

It left, however, a terrible impression 
upon the nurse's mind, and from that 
time she began to watch her mistress 
closely and to keep a closer guard upon 
the baby, whom she tenderly loved. It 
seemed to her that even as she watched 
the mother, so the mother watched her, 
and that every time she was compelled 
to leave the baby alone the mother was 
waiting to get at it. Day and night 
the nurse covered the child, and day 
and night the silent, watchful mother 
seemed to be lying in wait as a wolf 
waits for a lamb. It must read most in- 
credible to you, and yet I beg you to 
take it seriously, for a child's life and a 
man's sanity may depend upon it. 

At last there came one dreadful day 
when the facts could no longer be con- 
cealed from the husband. The nurse's 
nerve had given way; she could stand 
the strain no longer, and she made a 
clean breast of it all to the man. To 
him it seemed as wild a tale as it may 
now seem to you. He knew his wife 
to be a loving wife, and, save for the 
assaults upon her stepson, a loving 
mother. Why, then, should she wound 
her own dear little baby? He told the 
nurse that she was dreaming, that her 
suspicions were those of a lunatic, and 
that such libels upon her mistress were 
not to be tolerated. While they were 
talking a sudden cry of pain was heard. 
Nurse and master rushed together to 
the nursery. Imagine his feelings, Mr. 
Holmes, as he saw his wife rise from 
a kneeling position beside the cot and 
saw blood upon the child's exposed 
neck and upon the sheet. With a cry 
of horror, he turned his wife's face to 
the light and saw blood all round her 
lips. It was she — she beyond all ques- 
tion — who had drunk the poor baby's 
blood. 


902 



The Adventure of the Sussex Vampire 


So the matter stands. She is now con- 
fined to her room. There has been no 
explanation. The husband is half de- 
mented. He knows, and I know, little 
of vampirism beyond the name. We 
had thought it was some wild tale of 
foreign parts. And yet here in the very 
heart of the English Sussex — well, all 
this can be discussed with you in the 
morning. Will you see me? Will you 
use your great powers in aiding a dis- 
tracted man? If so, kindly wire to Fer- 
guson, Cheeseman's, Lamberley, and I 
will be at your rooms by ten o'clock. 

Yours faithfully, 
Robert Ferguson. 

R S. I believe your friend Watson 
played Rugby for Blackheath when I 
was three-quarter for Richmond. It is 
the only personal introduction which I 
can give. 

"Of course I remembered him," said I as I laid 
down the letter. "Big Bob Ferguson, the finest 
three-quarter Richmond ever had. He was always 
a good-natured chap. It's like him to be so con- 
cerned over a friend's case." 

Holmes looked at me thoughtfully and shook 
his head. 

"I never get your limits, Watson," said he. 
"There are unexplored possibilities about you. 
Take a wire down, like a good fellow. 'Will ex- 
amine your case with pleasure.' " 

"Your case!" 

"We must not let him think that this agency is 
a home for the weak-minded. Of course it is his 
case. Send him that wire and let the matter rest till 
morning." 

Promptly at ten o'clock next morning Ferguson 
strode into our room. I had remembered him as a 
long, slab-sided man with loose limbs and a fine 
turn of speed which had carried him round many 
an opposing back. There is surely nothing in life 
more painful than to meet the wreck of a fine ath- 
lete whom one has known in his prime. His great 
frame had fallen in, his flaxen hair was scanty, and 
his shoulders were bowed. I fear that I roused cor- 
responding emotions in him. 

"Hullo, Watson," said he, and his voice was 
still deep and hearty. "You don't look quite the 
man you did when I threw you over the ropes 
into the crowd at the Old Deer Park. I expect I 
have changed a bit also. But it's this last day or 
two that has aged me. I see by your telegram, Mr. 


Holmes, that it is no use my pretending to be any- 
one's deputy." 

"It is simpler to deal direct," said Holmes. 

"Of course it is. But you can imagine how diffi- 
cult it is when you are speaking of the one woman 
whom you are bound to protect and help. What 
can I do? How am I to go to the police with such 
a story? And yet the kiddies have got to be pro- 
tected. Is it madness, Mr. Holmes? Is it something 
in the blood? Have you any similar case in your 
experience? For God's sake, give me some advice, 
for I am at my wit's end." 

"Very naturally, Mr. Ferguson. Now sit here 
and pull yourself together and give me a few clear 
answers. I can assure you that I am very far from 
being at my wit's end, and that I am confident we 
shall find some solution. First of all, tell me what 
steps you have taken. Is your wife still near the 
children?" 

"We had a dreadful scene. She is a most lov- 
ing woman, Mr. Holmes. If ever a woman loved a 
man with all her heart and soul, she loves me. She 
was cut to the heart that I should have discovered 
this horrible, this incredible, secret. She would not 
even speak. She gave no answer to my reproaches, 
save to gaze at me with a sort of wild, despairing 
look in her eyes. Then she rushed to her room and 
locked herself in. Since then she has refused to see 
me. She has a maid who was with her before her 
marriage, Dolores by name — a friend rather than a 
servant. She takes her food to her." 

"Then the child is in no immediate danger?" 

"Mrs. Mason, the nurse, has sworn that she will 
not leave it night or day. I can absolutely trust her. 
I am more uneasy about poor little Jack, for, as I 
told you in my note, he has twice been assaulted 
by her." 

"But never wounded?" 

"No, she struck him savagely. It is the more 
terrible as he is a poor little inoffensive cripple." 
Ferguson's gaunt features softened as he spoke of 
his boy. "You would think that the dear lad's con- 
dition would soften anyone's heart. A fall in child- 
hood and a twisted spine, Mr. Holmes. But the 
dearest, most loving heart within." 

Holmes had picked up the letter of yesterday 
and was reading it over. "What other inmates are 
there in your house, Mr. Ferguson?" 

"Two servants who have not been long with 
us. One stable-hand, Michael, who sleeps in the 
house. My wife, myself, my boy Jack, baby, Do- 
lores, and Mrs. Mason. That is all." 

"I gather that you did not know your wife well 
at the time of your marriage?" 


903 



The Adventure of the Sussex Vampire 


"I had only known her a few weeks." 

"How long had this maid Dolores been with 
her?" 

"Some years." 

"Then your wife's character would really be 
better known by Dolores than by you?" 

"Yes, you may say so." 

Holmes made a note. 

"I fancy," said he, "that I may be of more use 
at Lamberley than here. It is eminently a case for 
personal investigation. If the lady remains in her 
room, our presence could not annoy or inconve- 
nience her. Of course, we would stay at the inn." 

Ferguson gave a gesture of relief. 

"It is what I hoped, Mr. Holmes. There is an 
excellent train at two from Victoria if you could 
come." 

"Of course we could come. There is a lull at 
present. I can give you my undivided energies. 
Watson, of course, comes with us. But there are 
one or two points upon which I wish to be very 
sure before I start. This unhappy lady, as I under- 
stand it, has appeared to assault both the children, 
her own baby and your little son?" 

"That is so." 

"But the assaults take different forms, do they 
not? She has beaten your son." 

"Once with a stick and once very savagely with 
her hands." 

"Did she give no explanation why she struck 
him?" 

"None save that she hated him. Again and 
again she said so." 

"Well, that is not unknown among stepmoth- 
ers. A posthumous jealousy, we will say. Is the 
lady jealous by nature?" 

"Yes, she is very jealous — jealous with all the 
strength of her fiery tropical love." 

"But the boy — he is fifteen, I understand, and 
probably very developed in mind, since his body 
has been circumscribed in action. Did he give you 
no explanation of these assaults?" 

"No, he declared there was no reason." 

"Were they good friends at other times?" 

"No, there was never any love between them." 

"Yet you say he is affectionate?" 

"Never in the world could there be so devoted 
a son. My life is his life. He is absorbed in what I 
say or do." 


Once again Holmes made a note. For some 
time he sat lost in thought. 

"No doubt you and the boy were great com- 
rades before this second marriage. You were 
thrown very close together, were you not?" 

"Very much so." 

"And the boy, having so affectionate a nature, 
was devoted, no doubt, to the memory of his 
mother?" 

"Most devoted." 

"He would certainly seem to be a most inter- 
esting lad. There is one other point about these as- 
saults. Were the strange attacks upon the baby and 
the assaults upon your son at the same period?" 

"In the first case it was so. It was as if some 
frenzy had seized her, and she had vented her rage 
upon both. In the second case it was only Jack who 
suffered. Mrs. Mason had no complaint to make 
about the baby." 

"That certainly complicates matters." 

"I don't quite follow you, Mr. Holmes." 

"Possibly not. One forms provisional theories 
and waits for time or fuller knowledge to explode 
them. A bad habit, Mr. Ferguson, but human na- 
ture is weak. I fear that your old friend here has 
given an exaggerated view of my scientific meth- 
ods. However, I will only say at the present stage 
that your problem does not appear to me to be 
insoluble, and that you may expect to find us at 
Victoria at two o'clock." 

It was evening of a dull, foggy November day 
when, having left our bags at the Chequers, Lam- 
berley, we drove through the Sussex clay of a long 
winding lane and finally reached the isolated and 
ancient farmhouse in which Ferguson dwelt. It 
was a large, straggling building, very old in the 
centre, very new at the wings with towering Tudor 
chimneys and a lichen-spotted, high-pitched roof 
of Horsham slabs. The doorsteps were worn into 
curves, and the ancient tiles which lined the porch 
were marked with the rebus of a cheese and a man 
after the original builder. Within, the ceilings were 
corrugated with heavy oaken beams, and the un- 
even floors sagged into sharp curves. An odour 
of age and decay pervaded the whole crumbling 
building. 

There was one very large central room into 
which Ferguson led us. Here, in a huge old- 
fashioned fireplace with an iron screen behind it 
dated 1670, there blazed and spluttered a splendid 
log fire. 

The room, as I gazed round, was a most sin- 
gular mixture of dates and of places. The half- 
panelled walls may well have belonged to the 


904 



The Adventure of the Sussex Vampire 


original yeoman farmer of the seventeenth cen- 
tury. They were ornamented, however, on the 
lower part by a line of well-chosen modern water- 
colours; while above, where yellow plaster took 
the place of oak, there was hung a fine collection 
of South American utensils and weapons, which 
had been brought, no doubt, by the Peruvian lady 
upstairs. Holmes rose, with that quick curiosity 
which sprang from his eager mind, and examined 
them with some care. He returned with his eyes 
full of thought. 

"Hullo!" he cried. "Hullo!" 

A spaniel had lain in a basket in the corner. 
It came slowly forward towards its master, walk- 
ing with difficulty. Its hind legs moved irregularly 
and its tail was on the ground. It licked Ferguson's 
hand. 

"What is it, Mr. Holmes?" 

"The dog. What's the matter with it?" 

"That's what puzzled the vet. A sort of paral- 
ysis. Spinal meningitis, he thought. But it is pass- 
ing. He'll be all right soon — won't you. Carlo?" 

A shiver of assent passed through the drooping 
tail. The dog's mournful eyes passed from one of 
us to the other. He knew that we were discussing 
his case. 

"Did it come on suddenly?" 

"In a single night." 

"How long ago?" 

"It may have been four months ago." 

"Very remarkable. Very suggestive." 

"What do you see in it, Mr. Holmes?" 

"A confirmation of what I had already 
thought." 

"For God's sake, what do you think, Mr. 
Holmes? It may be a mere intellectual puzzle to 
you, but it is life and death to me! My wife a 
would-be murderer — my child in constant danger! 
Don't play with me, Mr. Holmes. It is too terribly 
serious." 

The big Rugby three-quarter was trembling all 
over. Holmes put his hand soothingly upon his 
arm. 

"I fear that there is pain for you, Mr. Ferguson, 
whatever the solution may be," said he. "I would 
spare you all I can. I cannot say more for the in- 
stant, but before I leave this house I hope I may 
have something definite." 

"Please God you may! If you will excuse me, 
gentlemen, I will go up to my wife's room and see 
if there has been any change." 


He was away some minutes, during which 
Holmes resumed his examination of the curiosi- 
ties upon the wall. When our host returned it was 
clear from his downcast face that he had made no 
progress. He brought with him a tall, slim, brown- 
faced girl. 

"The tea is ready, Dolores," said Ferguson. 
"See that your mistress has everything she can 
wish." 

"She verra ill," cried the girl, looking with in- 
dignant eyes at her master. "She no ask for food. 
She verra ill. She need doctor. I frightened stay 
alone with her without doctor." 

Ferguson looked at me with a question in his 
eyes. 

"I should be so glad if I could be of use." 

"Would your mistress see Dr. Watson?" 

"I take him. I no ask leave. She needs doctor." 

"Then I'll come with you at once." 

I followed the girl, who was quivering with 
strong emotion, up the staircase and down an an- 
cient corridor. At the end was an iron-clamped 
and massive door. It struck me as I looked at it 
that if Ferguson tried to force his way to his wife 
he would find it no easy matter. The girl drew a 
key from her pocket, and the heavy oaken planks 
creaked upon their old hinges. I passed in and she 
swiftly followed, fastening the door behind her. 

On the bed a woman was lying who was clearly 
in a high fever. She was only half conscious, but as 
I entered she raised a pair of frightened but beauti- 
ful eyes and glared at me in apprehension. Seeing 
a stranger, she appeared to be relieved and sank 
back with a sigh upon the pillow. I stepped up to 
her with a few reassuring words, and she lay still 
while I took her pulse and temperature. Both were 
high, and yet my impression was that the condi- 
tion was rather that of mental and nervous excite- 
ment than of any actual seizure. 

"She lie like that one day, two day. I 'fraid she 
die," said the girl. 

The woman turned her flushed and handsome 
face towards me. 

"Where is my husband?" 

"He is below and would wish to see you." 

"1 will not see him. I will not see him." Then 
she seemed to wander off into delirium. "A fiend! 
A fiend! Oh, what shall I do with this devil?" 

"Can I help you in any way?" 

"No. No one can help. It is finished. All is 
destroyed. Do what I will, all is destroyed." 


905 



The Adventure of the Sussex Vampire 


The woman must have some strange delusion. 
I could not see honest Bob Ferguson in the charac- 
ter of fiend or devil. 

"Madame," I said, "your husband loves you 
dearly. He is deeply grieved at this happening." 

Again she turned on me those glorious eyes. 

"He loves me. Yes. But do I not love him? Do 
I not love him even to sacrifice myself rather than 
break his dear heart? That is how 1 love him. And 
yet he could think of me — he could speak of me 
so." 

"He is full of grief, but he cannot understand." 

"No, he cannot understand. But he should 
trust." 

"Will you not see him?" I suggested. 

"No, no, I cannot forget those terrible words 
nor the look upon his face. I will not see him. Go 
now. You can do nothing for me. Tell him only 
one thing. I want my child. I have a right to my 
child. That is the only message I can send him." 
She turned her face to the wall and would say no 
more. 

I returned to the room downstairs, where Fer- 
guson and Holmes still sat by the fire. Ferguson 
listened moodily to my account of the interview. 

"How can I send her the child?" he said. "How 
do I know what strange impulse might come upon 
her? How can I ever forget how she rose from 
beside it with its blood upon her lips?" He shud- 
dered at the recollection. "The child is safe with 
Mrs. Mason, and there he must remain." 

A smart maid, the only modern thing which 
we had seen in the house, had brought in some tea. 
As she was serving it the door opened and a youth 
entered the room. He was a remarkable lad, pale- 
faced and fair-haired, with excitable light blue eyes 
which blazed into a sudden flame of emotion and 
joy as they rested upon his father. He rushed for- 
ward and threw his arms round his neck with the 
abandon of a loving girl. 

"Oh, daddy," he cried, "I did not know that 
you were due yet. I should have been here to meet 
you. Oh, I am so glad to see you!" 

Ferguson gently disengaged himself from the 
embrace with some little show of embarrassment. 

"Dear old chap," said he, patting the flaxen 
head with a very tender hand. "I came early be- 
cause my friends, Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson, 
have been persuaded to come down and spend an 
evening with us." 

"Is that Mr. Holmes, the detective?" 


"Yes." 

The youth looked at us with a very penetrating 
and, as it seemed to me, unfriendly gaze. 

"What about your other child, Mr. Ferguson?" 
asked Holmes. "Might we make the acquaintance 
of the baby?" 

"Ask Mrs. Mason to bring baby down," said 
Ferguson. The boy went off with a curious, sham- 
bling gait which told my surgical eyes that he 
was suffering from a weak spine. Presently he re- 
turned, and behind him came a tall, gaunt woman 
bearing in her arms a very beautiful child, dark- 
eyed, golden-haired, a wonderful mixture of the 
Saxon and the Latin. Ferguson was evidently de- 
voted to it, for he took it into his arms and fondled 
it most tenderly. 

"Fancy anyone having the heart to hurt him," 
he muttered as he glanced down at the small, an- 
gry red pucker upon the cherub throat. 

It was at this moment that I chanced to glance 
at Holmes and saw a most singular intentness in 
his expression. His face was as set as if it had been 
carved out of old ivory, and his eyes, which had 
glanced for a moment at father and child, were 
now fixed with eager curiosity upon something at 
the other side of the room. Following his gaze I 
could only guess that he was looking out through 
the window at the melancholy, dripping garden. 
It is true that a shutter had half closed outside 
and obstructed the view, but none the less it was 
certainly at the window that Holmes was fixing 
his concentrated attention. Then he smiled, and 
his eyes came back to the baby. On its chubby 
neck there was this small puckered mark. Without 
speaking. Holmes examined it with care. Finally 
he shook one of the dimpled fists which waved in 
front of him. 

"Good-bye, little man. You have made a 
strange start in life. Nurse, I should wish to have 
a word with you in private." 

He took her aside and spoke earnestly for a few 
minutes. I only heard the last words, which were: 
"Your anxiety will soon, I hope, be set at rest." 
The woman, who seemed to be a sour, silent kind 
of creature, withdrew with the child. 

"What is Mrs. Mason like?" asked Holmes. 

"Not very prepossessing externally, as you can 
see, but a heart of gold, and devoted to the child." 

"Do you like her. Jack?" Holmes turned sud- 
denly upon the boy. His expressive mobile face 
shadowed over, and he shook his head. 

"Jacky has very strong likes and dislikes," said 
Ferguson, putting his arm round the boy. "Luckily 
I am one of his likes." 


906 



The Adventure of the Sussex Vampire 


The boy cooed and nestled his head upon his 
father's breast. Ferguson gently disengaged him. 

"Run away, little Jacky," said he, and he 
watched his son with loving eyes until he disap- 
peared. "Now, Mr. Holmes," he continued when 
the boy was gone, "I really feel that I have brought 
you on a fool's errand, for what can you possibly 
do save give me your sympathy? It must be an 
exceedingly delicate and complex affair from your 
point of view." 

"It is certainly delicate," said my friend with 
an amused smile, "but I have not been struck up 
to now with its complexity. It has been a case for 
intellectual deduction, but when this original in- 
tellectual deduction is confirmed point by point 
by quite a number of independent incidents, then 
the subjective becomes objective and we can say 
confidently that we have reached our goal. I had, 
in fact, reached it before we left Baker Street, and 
the rest has merely been observation and confir- 
mation." 

Ferguson put his big hand to his furrowed fore- 
head. 

"For heaven's sake. Holmes," he said hoarsely; 
"if you can see the truth in this matter, do not keep 
me in suspense. How do I stand? What shall I do? 
I care nothing as to how you have found your facts 
so long as you have really got them." 

"Certainly I owe you an explanation, and you 
shall have it. But you will permit me to handle 
the matter in my own way? Is the lady capable of 
seeing us, Watson?" 

"She is ill, but she is quite rational." 

"Very good. It is only in her presence that we 
can clear the matter up. Let us go up to her." 

"She will not see me," cried Ferguson. 

"Oh, yes, she will," said Holmes. He scribbled 
a few lines upon a sheet of paper. "You at least 
have the entree, Watson. Will you have the good- 
ness to give the lady this note?" 

I ascended again and handed the note to Do- 
lores, who cautiously opened the door. A minute 
later I heard a cry from within, a cry in which 
joy and surprise seemed to be blended. Dolores 
looked out. 

"She will see them. She will leesten," said she. 

At my summons Ferguson and Holmes came 
up. As we entered the room Ferguson took a step 
or two towards his wife, who had raised herself in 
the bed, but she held out her hand to repulse him. 
He sank into an armchair, while Holmes seated 


himself beside him, after bowing to the lady, who 
looked at him with wide-eyed amazement. 

"I think we can dispense with Dolores," said 
Holmes. "Oh, very well, madame, if you would 
rather she stayed I can see no objection. Now, 
Mr. Ferguson, I am a busy man with many calls, 
and my methods have to be short and direct. The 
swiftest surgery is the least painful. Let me first 
say what will ease your mind. Your wife is a very 
good, a very loving, and a very ill-used woman." 

Ferguson sat up with a cry of joy. 

"Prove that, Mr. Holmes, and I am your debtor 
forever." 

"I will do so, but in doing so I must wound you 
deeply in another direction." 

"I care nothing so long as you clear my wife. 
Everything on earth is insignificant compared to 
that." 

"Let me tell you, then, the train of reasoning 
which passed through my mind in Baker Street. 
The idea of a vampire was to me absurd. Such 
things do not happen in criminal practice in Eng- 
land. And yet your observation was precise. You 
had seen the lady rise from beside the child's cot 
with the blood upon her lips." 

"I did." 

"Did it not occur to you that a bleeding wound 
may be sucked for some other purpose than to 
draw the blood from it? Was there not a queen 
in English history who sucked such a wound to 
draw poison from it?" 

"Poison!" 

"A South American household. My instinct felt 
the presence of those weapons upon the wall be- 
fore my eyes ever saw them. It might have been 
other poison, but that was what occurred to me. 
When I saw that little empty quiver beside the 
small bird-bow, it was just what I expected to see. 
If the child were pricked with one of those arrows 
dipped in curare or some other devilish drug, it 
would mean death if the venom were not sucked 
out. 

"And the dog! If one were to use such a poi- 
son, would one not try it first in order to see that 
it had not lost its power? I did not foresee the dog, 
but at least I understand him and he fitted into my 
reconstruction. 

"Now do you understand? Your wife feared 
such an attack. She saw it made and saved the 
child's life, and yet she shrank from telling you all 
the truth, for she knew how you loved the boy and 
feared lest it break your heart." 


907 



"Jacky!" 

"I watched him as you fondled the child just 
now. His face was clearly reflected in the glass 
of the window where the shutter formed a back- 
ground. I saw such jealousy, such cruel hatred, as 
I have seldom seen in a human face." 

"My Jacky!" 

"You have to face it, Mr. Ferguson. It is the 
more painful because it is a distorted love, a mani- 
acal exaggerated love for you, and possibly for his 
dead mother, which has prompted his action. His 
very soul is consumed with hatred for this splen- 
did child, whose health and beauty are a contrast 
to his own weakness." 

"Good God! It is incredible!" 

"Have I spoken the truth, madame?" 

The lady was sobbing, with her face buried in 
the pillows. Now she turned to her husband. 

"How could I tell you. Bob? I felt the blow it 
would be to you. It was better that I should wait 
and that it should come from some other lips than 
mine. When this gentleman, who seems to have 
powers of magic, wrote that he knew all, I was 
glad." 

"I think a year at sea would be my prescription 
for Master Jacky," said Holmes, rising from his 
chair. "Only one thing is still clouded, madame. 
We can quite understand your attacks upon Mas- 
ter Jacky. There is a limit to a mother's patience. 
But how did you dare to leave the child these last 
two days?" 


"I had told Mrs. Mason. She knew." 

"Exactly. So I imagined." 

Ferguson was standing by the bed, choking, his 
hands outstretched and quivering. 

"This, I fancy, is the time for our exit, Watson," 
said Holmes in a whisper. "If you will take one 
elbow of the too faithful Dolores, I will take the 
other. There, now," he added as he closed the door 
behind him, "I think we may leave them to settle 
the rest among themselves." 

I have only one further note of this case. It is 
the letter which Holmes wrote in final answer to 
that with which the narrative begins. It ran thus: 

Baker Street, 

Nov. 21st. 

Re Vampires 
Sir: 

Referring to your letter of the 19th, I 
beg to state that I have looked into the 
inquiry of your client, Mr. Robert Fer- 
guson, of Ferguson and Muirhead, tea 
brokers, of Mincing Lane, and that the 
matter has been brought to a satisfac- 
tory conclusion. With thanks for your 
recommendation, I am, sir. 

Faithfully yours, 
Sherlock Holmes. 



The Adventure of the Three Gables 


don't think that any of my adventures 
with Mr. Sherlock Holmes opened quite 
so abruptly, or so dramatically, as that 
which I associate with The Three Gables. 
I had not seen Holmes for some days and had no 
idea of the new channel into which his activities 
had been directed. He was in a chatty mood that 
morning, however, and had just settled me into the 
well-worn low armchair on one side of the fire, 
while he had curled down with his pipe in his 
mouth upon the opposite chair, when our visitor 
arrived. If I had said that a mad bull had arrived it 
would give a clearer impression of what occurred. 

The door had flown open and a huge negro 
had burst into the room. He would have been a 
comic figure if he had not been terrific, for he was 
dressed in a very loud gray check suit with a flow- 
ing salmon-coloured tie. His broad face and flat- 
tened nose were thrust forward, as his sullen dark 
eyes, with a smouldering gleam of malice in them, 
turned from one of us to the other. 

"Which of you genTmen is Masser Holmes?" 
he asked. 

Holmes raised his pipe with a languid smile. 

"Oh! it's you, is it?" said our visitor, coming 
with an unpleasant, stealthy step round the angle 
of the table. "See here, Masser Holmes, you keep 
your hands out of other folks' business. Leave 
folks to manage their own affairs. Got that, Masser 
Holmes?" 

"Keep on talking," said Holmes. "It's fine." 

"Oh! it's fine, is it?" growled the savage. "It 
won't be so damn fine if I have to trim you up a 
bit. I've handled your kind before now, and they 
didn't look fine when I was through with them. 
Look at that, Masser Holmes!" 

He swung a huge knotted lump of a fist un- 
der my friend's nose. Holmes examined it closely 
with an air of great interest. "Were you born so?" 
he asked. "Or did it come by degrees?" 

It may have been the icy coolness of my friend, 
or it may have been the slight clatter which I made 
as I picked up the poker. In any case, our visitor's 
manner became less flamboyant. 

"Well, I've given you fair warnin'," said 
he. "I've a friend that's interested out Harrow 
way — you know what I'm meaning — and he don't 
intend to have no buttin' in by you. Got that? You 
ain't the law, and I ain't the law either, and if you 
come in I'll be on hand also. Don't you forget it." 

"I've wanted to meet you for some time," said 
Holmes. "I won't ask you to sit down, for I don't 



like the smell of you, but aren't you Steve Dixie, 
the bruiser?" 

"That's my name, Masser Holmes, and you'll 
get put through it for sure if you give me any lip." 

"It is certainly the last thing you need," said 
Holmes, staring at our visitor's hideous mouth. 
"But it was the killing of young Perkins outside 
the Holborn Bar — What! you're not going?" 

The negro had sprung back, and his face was 
leaden. "I won't listen to no such talk," said he. 
"What have I to do with this 'ere Perkins, Masser 
Holmes? I was trainin' at the Bull Ring in Birming- 
ham when this boy done gone get into trouble." 

"Yes, you'll tell the magistrate about it, Steve," 
said Holmes. "I've been watching you and Barney 
Stockdale — " 

"So help me the Lord! Masser Holmes — " 

"That's enough. Get out of it. I'll pick you up 
when I want you." 

"Good-mornin', Masser Holmes. I hope there 
ain't no hard feelin's about this 'ere visit?" 

"There will be unless you tell me who sent 
you." 

"Why, there ain't no secret about that, Masser 
Holmes. It was that same gen'l'man that you have 
just done gone mention." 

"And who set him on to it?" 

"S'elp me. I don't know, Masser Holmes. He 
just say, 'Steve, you go see Mr. Holmes, and tell 
him his life ain't safe if he go down Harrow way.' 
That's the whole truth." Without waiting for any 
further questioning, our visitor bolted out of the 
room almost as precipitately as he had entered. 
Holmes knocked out the ashes of his pipe with a 
quiet chuckle. 

"I am glad you were not forced to break his 
woolly head, Watson. I observed your manoeuvres 
with the poker. But he is really rather a harmless 
fellow, a great muscular, foolish, blustering baby, 
and easily cowed, as you have seen. He is one of 
the Spencer John gang and has taken part in some 
dirty work of late which I may clear up when I 
have time. His immediate principal, Barney, is a 
more astute person. They specialize in assaults, 
intimidation, and the like. What I want to know 
is, who is at the back of them on this particular 
occasion?" 

"But why do they want to intimidate you?" 

"It is this Harrow Weald case. It decides me 
to look into the matter, for if it is worth anyone's 
while to take so much trouble, there must be some- 
thing in it." 


891 



The Adventure of the Three Gables 


"But what is it?" 

"I was going to tell you when we had this 
comic interlude. Here is Mrs. Maberley's note. If 
you care to come with me we will wire her and go 
out at once." 

Dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes [I read]: 

I have had a succession of strange in- 
cidents occur to me in connection with 
this house, and I should much value 
your advice. You would find me at 
home any time to-morrow. The house 
is within a short walk of the Weald Sta- 
tion. I believe that my late husband, 
Mortimer Maberley, was one of your 
early clients. 

Yours faithfully, 
Mary Maberley 

The address was "The Three Gables, Harrow 
Weald." 

"So that's that!" said Holmes. "And now, if you 
can spare the time, Watson, we will get upon our 
way." 

A short railway journey, and a shorter drive, 
brought us to the house, a brick and timber villa, 
standing in its own acre of undeveloped grassland. 
Three small projections above the upper windows 
made a feeble attempt to justify its name. Behind 
was a grove of melancholy, half-grown pines, and 
the whole aspect of the place was poor and de- 
pressing. None the less, we found the house to be 
well furnished, and the lady who received us was 
a most engaging elderly person, who bore every 
mark of refinement and culture. 

"I remember your husband well, madam," said 
Holmes, "though it is some years since he used my 
services in some trifling matter." 

"Probably you would be more familiar with the 
name of my son Douglas." 

Holmes looked at her with great interest. 

"Dear me! Are you the mother of Douglas 
Maberley? I knew him slightly. But of course all 
London knew him. What a magnificent creature 
he was! Where is he now?" 

"Dead, Mr. Holmes, dead! He was attache 
at Rome, and he died there of pneumonia last 
month." 

"I am sorry. One could not connect death with 
such a man. I have never known anyone so vitally 
alive. He lived intensely — every fibre of him!" 

"Too intensely, Mr. Holmes. That was the ruin 
of him. You remember him as he was — debonair 


and splendid. You did not see the moody, morose, 
brooding creature into which he developed. His 
heart was broken. In a single month I seemed to 
see my gallant boy turn into a worn-out cynical 
man." 

"A love affair — a woman?" 

"Or a fiend. Well, it was not to talk of my poor 
lad that I asked you to come, Mr. Holmes." 

"Dr. Watson and I are at your service." 

"There have been some very strange happen- 
ings. I have been in this house more than a year 
now, and as I wished to lead a retired life I have 
seen little of my neighbours. Three days ago I had 
a call from a man who said that he was a house 
agent. He said that this house would exactly suit a 
client of his, and that if I would part with it money 
would be no object. It seemed to me very strange 
as there are several empty houses on the market 
which appear to be equally eligible, but naturally I 
was interested in what he said. I therefore named 
a price which was five hundred pounds more than 
I gave. He at once closed with the offer, but added 
that his client desired to buy the furniture as well 
and would I put a price upon it. Some of this fur- 
niture is from my old home, and it is, as you see, 
very good, so that I named a good round sum. To 
this also he at once agreed. I had always wanted 
to travel, and the bargain was so good a one that 
it really seemed that I should be my own mistress 
for the rest of my life. 

"Yesterday the man arrived with the agreement 
all drawn out. Luckily I showed it to Mr. Sutro, my 
lawyer, who lives in Harrow. He said to me, 'This 
is a very strange document. Are you aware that if 
you sign it you could not legally take anything out 
of the house — not even your own private posses- 
sions?' When the man came again in the evening 
I pointed this out, and I said that I meant only to 
sell the furniture. 

" 'No, no, everything,' said he. 

" 'But my clothes? My jewels?' 

" 'Well, well, some concession might be made 
for your personal effects. But nothing shall go out 
of the house unchecked. My client is a very liberal 
man, but he has his fads and his own way of doing 
things. It is everything or nothing with him.' 

" 'Then it must be nothing,' said I. And there 
the matter was left, but the whole thing seemed to 
me to be so unusual that I thought — " 

Here we had a very extraordinary interruption. 

Holmes raised his hand for silence. Then he 
strode across the room, flung open the door, and 
dragged in a great gaunt woman whom he had 
seized by the shoulder. She entered with ungainly 


892 



The Adventure of the Three Gables 


struggle like some huge awkward chicken, torn, 
squawking, out of its coop. 

"Leave me alone! What are you a-doin' of?" 
she screeched. 

"Why, Susan, what is this?" 

"Well, ma'am, I was cornin' in to ask if the vis- 
itors was stayin' for lunch when this man jumped 
out at me." 

"I have been listening to her for the last five 
minutes, but did not wish to interrupt your most 
interesting narrative. Just a little wheezy, Susan, 
are you not? You breathe too heavily for that kind 
of work." 

Susan turned a sulky but amazed face upon her 
captor. "Who be you, anyhow, and what right have 
you a-pullin' me about like this?" 

"It was merely that I wished to ask a question 
in your presence. Did you, Mrs. Maberley, men- 
tion to anyone that you were going to write to me 
and consult me?" 

"No, Mr. Holmes, I did not." 

"Who posted your letter?" 

"Susan did." 

"Exactly. Now, Susan, to whom was it that you 
wrote or sent a message to say that your mistress 
was asking advice from me?" 

"It's a lie. I sent no message." 

"Now, Susan, wheezy people may not live long, 
you know. It's a wicked thing to tell fibs. Whom 
did you tell?" 

"Susan!" cried her mistress, "I believe you are 
a bad, treacherous woman. I remember now that I 
saw you speaking to someone over the hedge." 

"That was my own business," said the woman 
sullenly. 

"Suppose I tell you that it was Barney Stock- 
dale to whom you spoke?" said Holmes. 

"Well, if you know, what do you want to ask 
for?" 

"I was not sure, but I know now. Well now, Su- 
san, it will be worth ten pounds to you if you will 
tell me who is at the back of Barney." 

"Someone that could lay down a thousand 
pounds for every ten you have in the world." 

"So, a rich man? No; you smiled — a rich 
woman. Now we have got so far, you may as well 
give the name and earn the tenner." 

"I'll see you in hell first." 

"Oh, Susan! Language!" 


"I am clearing out of here. I've had enough 
of you all. I'll send for my box to-morrow." She 
flounced for the door. 

"Good-bye, Susan. Paregoric is the stuff. . . 
Now," he continued, turning suddenly from lively 
to severe when the door had closed behind the 
flushed and angry woman, "this gang means busi- 
ness. Look how close they play the game. Your 
letter to me had the 10 P. M. postmark. And 
yet Susan passes the word to Barney. Barney has 
time to go to his employer and get instructions; 
he or she — I incline to the latter from Susan's grin 
when she thought I had blundered — forms a plan. 
Black Steve is called in, and I am warned off by 
eleven o'clock next morning. That's quick work, 
you know." 

"But what do they want?" 

"Yes, that's the question. Who had the house 
before you?" 

"A retired sea captain called Ferguson." 

"Anything remarkable about him?" 

"Not that ever I heard of." 

"I was wondering whether he could have 
buried something. Of course, when people bury 
treasure nowadays they do it in the Post-Office 
bank. But there are always some lunatics about. 
It would be a dull world without them. At first I 
thought of some buried valuable. But why, in that 
case, should they want your furniture? You don't 
happen to have a Raphael or a first folio Shake- 
speare without knowing it?" 

"No, I don't think I have anything rarer than a 
Crown Derby tea-set." 

"That would hardly justify all this mystery. Be- 
sides, why should they not openly state what they 
want? If they covet your tea-set, they can surely 
offer a price for it without buying you out, lock, 
stock, and barrel. No, as I read it, there is some- 
thing which you do not know that you have, and 
which you would not give up if you did know." 

"That is how I read it," said I. 

"Dr. Watson agrees, so that settles it." 

"Well, Mr. Holmes, what can it be?" 

"Let us see whether by this purely mental anal- 
ysis we can get it to a finer point. You have been 
in this house a year." 

"Nearly two." 

"All the better. During this long period no 
one wants anything from you. Now suddenly 
within three or four days you have urgent de- 
mands. What would you gather from that?" 

"It can only mean," said I, "that the object, 
whatever it may be, has only just come into the 
house." 


893 



The Adventure of the Three Gables 


"Settled once again," said Holmes. "Now, Mrs. 
Maberley, has any object just arrived?" 

"No, I have bought nothing new this year." 

"Indeed! That is very remarkable. Well, I think 
we had best let matters develop a little further un- 
til we have clearer data. Is that lawyer of yours a 
capable man?" 

"Mr. Sutro is most capable." 

"Have you another maid, or was the fair Susan, 
who has just banged your front door, alone?" 

"I have a young girl." 

"Try and get Sutro to spend a night or two in 
the house. You might possibly want protection." 

"Against whom?" 

"Who knows? The matter is certainly obscure. 
If I can't find what they are after, I must approach 
the matter from the other end and try to get at the 
principal. Did this house-agent man give any ad- 
dress?" 

"Simply his card and occupation. Haines- 
Johnson, Auctioneer and Valuer." 

"I don't think we shall find him in the directory. 
Honest business men don't conceal their place of 
business. Well, you will let me know any fresh 
development. I have taken up your case, and you 
may rely upon it that I shall see it through." 

As we passed through the hall Holmes's eyes, 
which missed nothing, lighted upon several trunks 
and cases which were piled in a corner. The labels 
shone out upon them. 

" 'Milano.' 'Lucerne.' These are from Italy." 

"They are poor Douglas's things." 

"You have not unpacked them? How long have 
you had them?" 

"They arrived last week." 

"But you said — why, surely this might be the 
missing link. How do we know that there is not 
something of value there?" 

"There could not possibly be, Mr. Holmes. 
Poor Douglas had only his pay and a small an- 
nuity. What could he have of value?" 

Holmes was lost in thought. 

"Delay no longer, Mrs. Maberley," he said at 
last. "Have these things taken upstairs to your 
bedroom. Examine them as soon as possible and 
see what they contain. I will come to-morrow and 
hear your report." 

It was quite evident that The Three Gables 
was under very close surveillance, for as we came 
round the high hedge at the end of the lane 


there was the negro prize-fighter standing in the 
shadow. We came on him quite suddenly, and a 
grim and menacing figure he looked in that lonely 
place. Holmes clapped his hand to his pocket. 

"Lookin' for your gun, Masser Holmes?" 

"No, for my scent-bottle, Steve." 

"You are funny, Masser Holmes, ain't you?" 

"It won't be funny for you, Steve, if I get after 
you. I gave you fair warning this morning." 

"Well, Masser Holmes, I done gone think over 
what you said, and I don't want no more talk 
about that affair of Masser Perkins. S'pose I can 
help you, Masser Holmes, I will." 

"Well, then, tell me who is behind you on this 
job." 

"So help me the Lord! Masser Holmes, I told 
you the truth before. I don't know. My boss Bar- 
ney gives me orders and that's all." 

"Well, just bear in mind, Steve, that the lady 
in that house, and everything under that roof, is 
under my protection. Don't forget it." 

"All right, Masser Holmes. I'll remember." 

"I've got him thoroughly frightened for his 
own skin, Watson," Holmes remarked as we 
walked on. "I think he would double-cross his em- 
ployer if he knew who he was. It was lucky I had 
some knowledge of the Spencer John crowd, and 
that Steve was one of them. Now, Watson, this is 
a case for Langdale Pike, and I am going to see 
him now. When I get back I may be clearer in the 
matter." 

I saw no more of Holmes during the day, but 
I could well imagine how he spent it, for Lang- 
dale Pike was his human book of reference upon 
all matters of social scandal. This strange, lan- 
guid creature spent his waking hours in the bow 
window of a St. James's Street club and was the 
receiving-station as well as the transmitter for all 
the gossip of the metropolis. He made, it was said, 
a four-figure income by the paragraphs which 
he contributed every week to the garbage papers 
which cater to an inquisitive public. If ever, far 
down in the turbid depths of London life, there 
was some strange swirl or eddy, it was marked 
with automatic exactness by this human dial upon 
the surface. Holmes discreetly helped Langdale to 
knowledge, and on occasion was helped in turn. 

When I met my friend in his room early next 
morning, I was conscious from his bearing that all 
was well, but none the less a most unpleasant sur- 
prise was awaiting us. It took the shape of the 
following telegram: 


894 



The Adventure of the Three Gables 


Please come out at once. Client's 
house burgled in the night. Police in 
possession. — Sutro. 

Holmes whistled. "The drama has come to a 
crisis, and quicker than I had expected. There is 
a great driving-power at the back of this business, 
Watson, which does not surprise me after what I 
have heard. This Sutro, of course, is her lawyer. I 
made a mistake, I fear, in not asking you to spend 
the night on guard. This fellow has clearly proved 
a broken reed. Well, there is nothing for it but an- 
other journey to Harrow Weald." 

We found The Three Gables a very different es- 
tablishment to the orderly household of the previ- 
ous day. A small group of idlers had assembled 
at the garden gate, while a couple of constables 
were examining the windows and the geranium 
beds. Within we met a gray old gentleman, who 
introduced himself as the lawyer, together with a 
bustling, rubicund inspector, who greeted Holmes 
as an old friend. 

"Well, Mr. Holmes, no chance for you in this 
case. I'm afraid. Just a common, ordinary burglary, 
and well within the capacity of the poor old police. 
No experts need apply." 

"I am sure the case is in very good hands," said 
Holmes. "Merely a common burglary, you say?" 

"Quite so. We know pretty well who the men 
are and where to find them. It is that gang of Bar- 
ney Stockdale, with the big nigger in it — they've 
been seen about here." 

"Excellent! What did they get?" 

"Well, they don't seem to have got much. Mrs. 
Maberley was chloroformed and the house was — 
Ah! here is the lady herself." 

Our friend of yesterday, looking very pale and 
ill, had entered the room, leaning upon a little 
maidservant. 

"You gave me good advice, Mr. Holmes," said 
she, smiling ruefully. "Alas, I did not take it! I 
did not wish to trouble Mr. Sutro, and so I was 
unprotected." 

"I only heard of it this morning," the lawyer 
explained. 

"Mr. Holmes advised me to have some friend 
in the house. I neglected his advice, and I have 
paid for it." 

"You look wretchedly ill," said Holmes. "Per- 
haps you are hardly equal to telling me what oc- 
curred." 

"It is all here," said the inspector, tapping a 
bulky notebook. 


"Still, if the lady is not too exhausted — " 

"There is really so little to tell. I have no doubt 
that wicked Susan had planned an entrance for 
them. They must have known the house to an 
inch. I was conscious for a moment of the chlo- 
roform rag which was thrust over my mouth, but 
I have no notion how long I may have been sense- 
less. When I woke, one man was at the bedside 
and another was rising with a bundle in his hand 
from among my son's baggage, which was par- 
tially opened and littered over the floor. Before he 
could get away I sprang up and seized him." 

"You took a big risk," said the inspector. 

"I clung to him, but he shook me off, and the 
other may have struck me, for I can remember no 
more. Mary the maid heard the noise and began 
screaming out of the window. That brought the 
police, but the rascals had got away." 

"What did they take?" 

"Well, I don't think there is anything of value 
missing. I am sure there was nothing in my son's 
trunks." 

"Did the men leave no clue?" 

"There was one sheet of paper which I may 
have torn from the man that I grasped. It was ly- 
ing all crumpled on the floor. It is in my son's 
handwriting." 

"Which means that it is not of much use," said 
the inspector. "Now if it had been in the bur- 
glar's — " 

"Exactly," said Holmes. "What rugged com- 
mon sense! None the less, I should be curious to 
see it." 

The inspector drew a folded sheet of foolscap 
from his pocketbook. 

"I never pass anything, however trifling," said 
he with some pomposity. "That is my advice to 
you, Mr. Holmes. In twenty-five years' experi- 
ence I have learned my lesson. There is always 
the chance of finger-marks or something." 

Holmes inspected the sheet of paper. 

"What do you make of it. Inspector?" 

"Seems to be the end of some queer novel, so 
far as I can see." 

"It may certainly prove to be the end of a queer 
tale," said Holmes. "You have noticed the num- 
ber on the top of the page. It is two hundred and 
forty-five. Where are the odd two hundred and 
forty-four pages?" 

"Well, I suppose the burglars got those. Much 
good may it do them!" 


895 



The Adventure of the Three Gables 


"It seems a queer thing to break into a house in 
order to steal such papers as that. Does it suggest 
anything to you. Inspector?" 

"Yes, sir, it suggests that in their hurry the ras- 
cals just grabbed at what came first to hand. I wish 
them joy of what they got." 

"Why should they go to my son's things?" 
asked Mrs. Maberley. 

"Well, they found nothing valuable downstairs, 
so they tried their luck upstairs. That is how I read 
it. What do you make of it, Mr. Holmes?" 

"I must think it over. Inspector. Come to the 
window, Watson." Then, as we stood together, he 
read over the fragment of paper. It began in the 
middle of a sentence and ran like this: 

". . . face bled considerably from the cuts 
and blows, but it was nothing to the bleed- 
ing of his heart as he saw that lovely face, 
the face for which he had been prepared to 
sacrifice his very life, looking out at his 
agony and humiliation. She smiled — yes, 
by Heaven! she smiled, like the heartless 
fiend she was, as he looked up at her. It 
was at that moment that love died and hate 
was born. Man must live for something. If 
it is not for your embrace, my lady, then 
it shall surely be for your undoing and my 
complete revenge." 

"Queer grammar!" said Holmes with a smile as 
he handed the paper back to the inspector. "Did 
you notice how the 'he' suddenly changed to 'my'? 
The writer was so carried away by his own story 
that he imagined himself at the supreme moment 
to be the hero." 

"It seemed mighty poor stuff," said the inspec- 
tor as he replaced it in his book. "What! are you 
off, Mr. Holmes?" 

"I don't think there is anything more for me to 
do now that the case is in such capable hands. By 
the way, Mrs. Maberley, did you say you wished to 
travel?" 

"It has always been my dream, Mr. Holmes." 

"Where would you like to go — Cairo, Madeira, 
the Riviera?" 

"Oh, if I had the money I would go round the 
world." 

"Quite so. Round the world. Well, good- 
morning. I may drop you a line in the evening." As 
we passed the window I caught a glimpse of the 
inspector's smile and shake of the head. "These 
clever fellows have always a touch of madness." 
That was what I read in the inspector's smile. 


"Now, Watson, we are at the last lap of our little 
journey," said Holmes when we were back in the 
roar of central London once more. "I think we had 
best clear the matter up at once, and it would be 
well that you should come with me, for it is safer 
to have a witness when you are dealing with such 
a lady as Isadora Klein." 

We had taken a cab and were speeding to some 
address in Grosvenor Square. Holmes had been 
sunk in thought, but he roused himself suddenly. 

"By the way, Watson, I suppose you see it all 
clearly?" 

"No, I can't say that I do. I only gather that 
we are going to see the lady who is behind all this 
mischief." 

"Exactly! But does the name Isadora Klein 
convey nothing to you? She was, of course, the 
celebrated beauty. There was never a woman to 
touch her. She is pure Spanish, the real blood of 
the masterful Conquistadors, and her people have 
been leaders in Pernambuco for generations. She 
married the aged German sugar king, Klein, and 
presently found herself the richest as well as the 
most lovely widow upon earth. Then there was an 
interval of adventure when she pleased her own 
tastes. She had several lovers, and Douglas Maber- 
ley, one of the most striking men in London, was 
one of them. It was by all accounts more than an 
adventure with him. He was not a society butterfly 
but a strong, proud man who gave and expected 
all. But she is the ' belle dame sans merci' of fiction. 
When her caprice is satisfied the matter is ended, 
and if the other party in the matter can't take her 
word for it she knows how to bring it home to 
him." 

"Then that was his own story — " 

"Ah! you are piecing it together now. I hear 
that she is about to marry the young Duke of 
Lomond, who might almost be her son. His 
Grace's ma might overlook the age, but a big scan- 
dal would be a different matter, so it is impera- 
tive — Ah! here we are." 

It was one of the finest corner-houses of the 
West End. A machine-like footman took up our 
cards and returned with word that the lady was 
not at home. "Then we shall wait until she is," 
said Holmes cheerfully. 

The machine broke down. 

"Not at home means not at home to you," said 
the footman. 

"Good," Holmes answered. "That means that 
we shall not have to wait. Kindly give this note to 
your mistress." 


896 



The Adventure of the Three Gables 


He scribbled three or four words upon a sheet 
of his notebook, folded it, and handed it to the 
man. 

"What did you say. Holmes?" I asked. 

"I simply wrote: 'Shall it be the police, then?' I 
think that should pass us in." 

It did — with amazing celerity. A minute later 
we were in an Arabian Nights drawing-room, vast 
and wonderful, in a half gloom, picked out with an 
occasional pink electric light. The lady had come, 
I felt, to that time of life when even the proudest 
beauty finds the half light more welcome. She rose 
from a settee as we entered: tall, queenly, a perfect 
figure, a lovely mask-like face, with two wonderful 
Spanish eyes which looked murder at us both. 

"What is this intrusion — and this insulting 
message?" she asked, holding up the slip of paper. 

"I need not explain, madame. I have too much 
respect for your intelligence to do so — though I 
confess that intelligence has been surprisingly at 
fault of late." 

"How so, sir?" 

"By supposing that your hired bullies could 
frighten me from my work. Surely no man would 
take up my profession if it were not that danger 
attracts him. It was you, then, who forced me to 
examine the case of young Maberley." 

"I have no idea what you are talking about. 
What have I to do with hired bullies?" 

Holmes turned away wearily. 

"Yes, I have underrated your intelligence. Well, 
good-afternoon!" 

"Stop! Where are you going?" 

"To Scotland Yard." 

We had not got halfway to the door before she 
had overtaken us and was holding his arm. She 
had turned in a moment from steel to velvet. 

"Come and sit down, gentlemen. Let us talk 
this matter over. I feel that I may be frank with 
you, Mr. Holmes. You have the feelings of a gen- 
tleman. How quick a woman's instinct is to find it 
out. I will treat you as a friend." 

"I cannot promise to reciprocate, madame. I 
am not the law, but I represent justice so far as my 
feeble powers go. I am ready to listen, and then I 
will tell you how I will act." 

"No doubt it was foolish of me to threaten a 
brave man like yourself." 

"What was really foolish, madame, is that you 
have placed yourself in the power of a band of ras- 
cals who may blackmail or give you away." 


"No, no! I am not so simple. Since I have 
promised to be frank, I may say that no one, save 
Barney Stockdale and Susan, his wife, have the 
least idea who their employer is. As to them, well, 
it is not the first — " She smiled and nodded with a 
charming coquettish intimacy. 

"I see. You've tested them before." 

"They are good hounds who run silent." 

"Such hounds have a way sooner or later of 
biting the hand that feeds them. They will be ar- 
rested for this burglary. The police are already af- 
ter them." 

"They will take what comes to them. That is 
what they are paid for. I shall not appear in the 
matter." 

"Unless I bring you into it." 

"No, no, you would not. You are a gentleman. 
It is a woman's secret." 

"In the first place, you must give back this 
manuscript." 

She broke into a ripple of laughter and walked 
to the fireplace. There was a calcined mass which 
she broke up with the poker. "Shall I give this 
back?" she asked. So roguish and exquisite did 
she look as she stood before us with a challenging 
smile that I felt of all Holmes's criminals this was 
the one whom he would find it hardest to face. 
However, he was immune from sentiment. 

"That seals your fate," he said coldly. "You 
are very prompt in your actions, madame, but you 
have overdone it on this occasion." 

She threw the poker down with a clatter. 

"How hard you are!" she cried. "May I tell you 
the whole story?" 

"I fancy I could tell it to you." 

"But you must look at it with my eyes, Mr. 
Holmes. You must realize it from the point of view 
of a woman who sees all her life's ambition about 
to be ruined at the last moment. Is such a woman 
to be blamed if she protects herself?" 

"The original sin was yours." 

"Yes, yes! I admit it. He was a dear boy, Dou- 
glas, but it so chanced that he could not fit into 
my plans. He wanted marriage — marriage, Mr. 
Holmes — with a penniless commoner. Nothing 
less would serve him. Then he became pertina- 
cious. Because I had given he seemed to think that 
I still must give, and to him only. It was intolera- 
ble. At last I had to make him realize it." 

"By hiring ruffians to beat him under your own 
window." 

"You do indeed seem to know everything. 
Well, it is true. Barney and the boys drove him 


897 



away, and were, I admit, a little rough in doing so. 
But what did he do then? Could I have believed 
that a gentleman would do such an act? He wrote 
a book in which he described his own story. I, of 
course, was the wolf; he the lamb. It was all there, 
under different names, of course; but who in all 
London would have failed to recognize it? What 
do you say to that, Mr. Holmes?" 

"Well, he was within his rights." 

"It was as if the air of Italy had got into his 
blood and brought with it the old cruel Italian 
spirit. He wrote to me and sent me a copy of his 
book that I might have the torture of anticipation. 
There were two copies, he said — one for me, one 
for his publisher." 

"How did you know the publisher's had not 
reached him?" 

"I knew who his publisher was. It is not his 
only novel, you know. I found out that he had 
not heard from Italy. Then came Douglas's sud- 
den death. So long as that other manuscript was 
in the world there was no safety for me. Of course, 
it must be among his effects, and these would be 


returned to his mother. I set the gang at work. One 
of them got into the house as servant. I wanted to 
do the thing honestly. I really and truly did. I was 
ready to buy the house and everything in it. I of- 
fered any price she cared to ask. I only tried the 
other way when everything else had failed. Now, 
Mr. Holmes, granting that I was too hard on Dou- 
glas — and, God knows, I am sorry for it! — what 
else could I do with my whole future at stake?" 

Sherlock Holmes shrugged his shoulders. 

"Well, well," said he, "I suppose I shall have to 
compound a felony as usual. How much does it 
cost to go round the world in first-class style?" 

The lady stared in amazement. 

"Could it be done on five thousand pounds?" 

"Well, I should think so, indeed!" 

"Very good. I think you will sign me a check 
for that, and I will see that it comes to Mrs. Maber- 
ley. You owe her a little change of air. Meantime, 
lady" — he wagged a cautionary forefinger — "have 
a care! Have a care! You can't play with edged 
tools forever without cutting those dainty hands." 



HOW WATSON LEARNED THE TRICK 

Watson had been watching his companion intently ever since he had sat down to the breakfast table. Holmes happened to look up and catch his eye. "Well, 
Watson, what're you thinking about?" he asked. 

"About you." 

"Me?" 

"Yes, Holmes. I was thinking how superficial are these tricks of yours and how wonderful it's that the public should continue to show interest in them." 

"I quite agree," said Holmes. "In fact, I've a recollection that I've myself made a similar remark." 

"Your methods," said Watson severely, "are really easily acquired." 

"No doubt," Holmes answered with a smile. "Perhaps you'll yourself give an example of this method of reasoning." 

"With pleasure," said Watson. "I’m able to say that you were greatly preoccupied when you got up this morning." 

"Excellent!" said Holmes. "How'd you possibly know that?" 

"Because you're usually a very tidy man and yet you've forgotten to shave." 

"Dear me! How very clever!" said Holmes. "I'd no idea, Watson, that you're so apt a pupil. Your eagle-eye's detected anything more?" 

"Yes, Holmes. You've a client named Barlow and you've been unsuccessful with his case." 

"Dear me, how'd you know that?" 

"I saw the name outside his envelope. When you opened it you gave a groan and thrust it into your pocket with a frown on your face." 

"Admirable! You're indeed observant. Any other points?" 

"I fear, Holmes, that you've taken to financial speculation." 

"How'd you tell that, Watson?" 

"You opened the paper, turned to the financial page and gave a loud exclamation of interest." 

"Well, that's very clever of you, Watson. Any more?" 

"Yes, Holmes, you've put on your black coat instead of your dressing gown that proves that you're expecting some important visitor at once." 

"Anything more?" 

"I've no doubt that I'd find other points, Holmes but I only give you these few in order to show you that there're other people in the world who can be as clever as 
you." 

"And some not so clever," said Holmes. "I admit that they are few but I'm afraid, my dear Watson, that I must count you among them." 

"What do you mean, Holmes?" 

"Well, my dear fellow, I fear your deductions have not been as happy as I'd have wished." 

"You mean that I was mistaken." 

"Just a little that way, I fear. Let's take the points in their order: I didn't shave because I've sent my razor to be sharpened. I put on my coat because I've, worse 
luck, an early meeting with my dentist. His name's Barlow and the letter's to confirm the appointment. The cricket page's beside the financial one and I turned to it 
to find if Surrey's holding its own against Kent. However, go on, Watson! It's a very superficial trick and no doubt you’ll soon acquire it." 


The Adventure of the Lion's Mane 


t is a most singular thing that a prob- 
lem which was certainly as abstruse and 
unusual as any which I have faced in 
my long professional career should have 
come to me after my retirement, and be brought, 
as it were, to my very door. It occurred after my 
withdrawal to my little Sussex home, when I had 
given myself up entirely to that soothing life of Na- 
ture for which I had so often yearned during the 
long years spent amid the gloom of London. At 
this period of my life the good Watson had passed 
almost beyond my ken. An occasional week-end 
visit was the most that I ever saw of him. Thus I 
must act as my own chronicler. Ah! had he but 
been with me, how much he might have made of 
so wonderful a happening and of my eventual tri- 
umph against every difficulty! As it is, however, 
I must needs tell my tale in my own plain way, 
showing by my words each step upon the diffi- 
cult road which lay before me as I searched for the 
mystery of the Lion's Mane. 

My villa is situated upon the southern slope of 
the downs, commanding a great view of the Chan- 
nel. At this point the coast-line is entirely of chalk 
cliffs, which can only be descended by a single, 
long, tortuous path, which is steep and slippery. 
At the bottom of the path lie a hundred yards of 
pebbles and shingle, even when the tide is at full. 
Here and there, however, there are curves and hol- 
lows which make splendid swimming-pools filled 
afresh with each flow. This admirable beach ex- 
tends for some miles in each direction, save only 
at one point where the little cove and village of 
Fulworth break the line. 

My house is lonely. I, my old housekeeper, 
and my bees have the estate all to ourselves. Half 
a mile off, however, is Harold Stackhurst's well- 
known coaching establishment. The Gables, quite 
a large place, which contains some score of young 
fellows preparing for various professions, with a 
staff of several masters. Stackhurst himself was 
a well-known rowing Blue in his day, and an ex- 
cellent all-round scholar. He and I were always 
friendly from the day I came to the coast, and he 
was the one man who was on such terms with me 
that we could drop in on each other in the evenings 
without an invitation. 

Towards the end of July, 1907, there was a se- 
vere gale, the wind blowing up-channel, heaping 
the seas to the base of the cliffs and leaving a la- 
goon at the turn of the tide. On the morning of 
which I speak the wind had abated, and all Nature 
was newly washed and fresh. It was impossible to 
work upon so delightful a day, and I strolled out 



before breakfast to enjoy the exquisite air. I walked 
along the cliff path which led to the steep descent 
to the beach. As I walked I heard a shout behind 
me, and there was Harold Stackhurst waving his 
hand in cheery greeting. 

"What a morning, Mr. Holmes! I thought I 
should see you out." 

"Going for a swim, I see." 

"At your old tricks again," he laughed, patting 
his bulging pocket. "Yes. McPherson started early, 
and I expect I may find him there." 

Fitzroy McPherson was the science master, 
a fine upstanding young fellow whose life had 
been crippled by heart trouble following rheumatic 
fever. He was a natural athlete, however, and ex- 
celled in every game which did not throw too great 
a strain upon him. Summer and winter he went for 
his swim, and, as I am a swimmer myself, I have 
often joined him. 

At this moment we saw the man himself. His 
head showed above the edge of the cliff where the 
path ends. Then his whole figure appeared at the 
top, staggering like a drunken man. The next in- 
stant he threw up his hands and, with a terrible 
cry, fell upon his face. Stackhurst and I rushed for- 
ward — it may have been fifty yards — and turned 
him on his back. He was obviously dying. Those 
glazed sunken eyes and dreadful livid cheeks 
could mean nothing else. One glimmer of life 
came into his face for an instant, and he uttered 
two or three words with an eager air of warning. 
They were slurred and indistinct, but to my ear the 
last of them, which burst in a shriek from his lips, 
were "the Lion's Mane." It was utterly irrelevant 
and unintelligible, and yet I could twist the sound 
into no other sense. Then he half raised himself 
from the ground, threw his arms into the air, and 
fell forward on his side. He was dead. 

My companion was paralyzed by the sudden 
horror of it, but I, as may well be imagined, had 
every sense on the alert. And I had need, for it 
was speedily evident that we were in the presence 
of an extraordinary case. The man was dressed 
only in his Burberry overcoat, his trousers, and an 
unlaced pair of canvas shoes. As he fell over, his 
Burberry, which had been simply thrown round 
his shoulders, slipped off, exposing his trunk. We 
stared at it in amazement. His back was cov- 
ered with dark red lines as though he had been 
terribly flogged by a thin wire scourge. The in- 
strument with which this punishment had been 
inflicted was clearly flexible, for the long, angry 
weals curved round his shoulders and ribs. There 


947 



The Adventure of the Lion's Mane 


was blood dripping down his chin, for he had bit- 
ten through his lower lip in the paroxysm of his 
agony. His drawn and distorted face told how ter- 
rible that agony had been. 

I was kneeling and Stackhurst standing by the 
body when a shadow fell across us, and we found 
that Ian Murdoch was by our side. Murdoch was 
the mathematical coach at the establishment, a tall, 
dark, thin man, so taciturn and aloof that none can 
be said to have been his friend. He seemed to live 
in some high, abstract region of surds and conic 
sections, with little to connect him with ordinary 
life. He was looked upon as an oddity by the stu- 
dents, and would have been their butt, but there 
was some strange outlandish blood in the man, 
which showed itself not only in his coal-black eyes 
and swarthy face but also in occasional outbreaks 
of temper, which could only be described as fero- 
cious. On one occasion, being plagued by a little 
dog belonging to McPherson, he had caught the 
creature up and hurled it through the plate-glass 
window, an action for which Stackhurst would cer- 
tainly have given him his dismissal had he not 
been a very valuable teacher. Such was the strange 
complex man who now appeared beside us. He 
seemed to be honestly shocked at the sight before 
him, though the incident of the dog may show that 
there was no great sympathy between the dead 
man and himself. 

"Poor fellow! Poor fellow! What can I do? 
How can I help?" 

"Were you with him? Can you tell us what has 
happened?" 

"No, no, I was late this morning. I was not on 
the beach at all. I have come straight from The 
Gables. What can I do?" 

"You can hurry to the police-station at Ful- 
worth. Report the matter at once." 

Without a word he made off at top speed, and I 
proceeded to take the matter in hand, while Stack- 
hurst, dazed at this tragedy, remained by the body. 
My first task naturally was to note who was on the 
beach. From the top of the path I could see the 
whole sweep of it, and it was absolutely deserted 
save that two or three dark figures could be seen 
far away moving towards the village of Fulworth. 
Having satisfied myself upon this point, I walked 
slowly down the path. There was clay or soft marl 
mixed with the chalk, and every here and there 
I saw the same footstep, both ascending and de- 
scending. No one else had gone down to the beach 
by this track that morning. At one place I ob- 
served the print of an open hand with the fingers 
towards the incline. This could only mean that 


poor McPherson had fallen as he ascended. There 
were rounded depressions, too, which suggested 
that he had come down upon his knees more than 
once. At the bottom of the path was the consider- 
able lagoon left by the retreating tide. At the side 
of it McPherson had undressed, for there lay his 
towel on a rock. It was folded and dry, so that it 
would seem that, after all, he had never entered 
the water. Once or twice as I hunted round amid 
the hard shingle I came on little patches of sand 
where the print of his canvas shoe, and also of his 
naked foot, could be seen. The latter fact proved 
that he had made all ready to bathe, though the 
towel indicated that he had not actually done so. 

And here was the problem clearly defined — as 
strange a one as had ever confronted me. The 
man had not been on the beach more than a quar- 
ter of an hour at the most. Stackhurst had fol- 
lowed him from The Gables, so there could be no 
doubt about that. He had gone to bathe and had 
stripped, as the naked footsteps showed. Then he 
had suddenly huddled on his clothes again — they 
were all dishevelled and unfastened — and he had 
returned without bathing, or at any rate without 
drying himself. And the reason for his change 
of purpose had been that he had been scourged 
in some savage, inhuman fashion, tortured until 
he bit his lip through in his agony, and was left 
with only strength enough to crawl away and to 
die. Who had done this barbarous deed? There 
were, it is true, small grottos and caves in the base 
of the cliffs, but the low sun shone directly into 
them, and there was no place for concealment. 
Then, again, there were those distant figures on 
the beach. They seemed too far away to have been 
connected with the crime, and the broad lagoon 
in which McPherson had intended to bathe lay be- 
tween him and them, lapping up to the rocks. On 
the sea two or three fishing-boats were at no great 
distance. Their occupants might be examined at 
our leisure. There were several roads for inquiry, 
but none which led to any very obvious goal. 

When I at last returned to the body I found 
that a little group of wondering folk had gathered 
round it. Stackhurst was, of course, still there, and 
Ian Murdoch had just arrived with Anderson, the 
village constable, a big, ginger-moustached man of 
the slow, solid Sussex breed — a breed which cov- 
ers much good sense under a heavy, silent exterior. 
He listened to everything, took note of all we said, 
and finally drew me aside. 

"I'd be glad of your advice, Mr. Holmes. This 
is a big thing for me to handle, and I'll hear of it 
from Lewes if I go wrong." 


948 



The Adventure of the Lion's Mane 


I advised him to send for his immediate su- 
perior, and for a doctor; also to allow nothing to 
be moved, and as few fresh footmarks as possi- 
ble to be made, until they came. In the meantime 
I searched the dead man's pockets. There were 
his handkerchief, a large knife, and a small fold- 
ing card-case. From this projected a slip of pa- 
per, which I unfolded and handed to the constable. 
There was written on it in a scrawling, feminine 
hand: 

I will be there, you may be sure. 

Maud ie. 

It read like a love affair, an assignation, though 
when and where were a blank. The constable re- 
placed it in the card-case and returned it with the 
other things to the pockets of the Burberry. Then, 
as nothing more suggested itself, I walked back 
to my house for breakfast, having first arranged 
that the base of the cliffs should be thoroughly 
searched. 

Stackhurst was round in an hour or two to tell 
me that the body had been removed to The Gables, 
where the inquest would be held. He brought 
with him some serious and definite news. As I ex- 
pected, nothing had been found in the small caves 
below the cliff, but he had examined the papers in 
McPherson's desk, and there were several which 
showed an intimate correspondence with a certain 
Miss Maud Bellamy, of Fulworth. We had then es- 
tablished the identity of the writer of the note. 

"The police have the letters," he explained. "I 
could not bring them. But there is no doubt that it 
was a serious love affair. I see no reason, however, 
to connect it with that horrible happening save, in- 
deed, that the lady had made an appointment with 
him." 

"But hardly at a bathing-pool which all of you 
were in the habit of using," I remarked. 

"It is mere chance," said he, "that several of the 
students were not with McPherson." 

"Was it mere chance?" 

Stackhurst knit his brows in thought. 

"Ian Murdoch held them back," said he. "He 
would insist upon some algebraic demonstration 
before breakfast. Poor chap, he is dreadfully cut 
up about it all." 

"And yet I gather that they were not friends." 

"At one time they were not. But for a year or 
more Murdoch has been as near to McPherson as 
he ever could be to anyone. He is not of a very 
sympathetic disposition by nature." 


"So I understand. I seem to remember your 
telling me once about a quarrel over the ill-usage 
of a dog." 

"That blew over all right." 

"But left some vindictive feeling, perhaps." 

"No, no, I am sure they were real friends." 

"Well, then, we must explore the matter of the 
girl. Do you know her?" 

"Everyone knows her. She is the beauty of 
the neighbourhood — a real beauty. Holmes, who 
would draw attention everywhere. I knew that 
McPherson was attracted by her, but I had no no- 
tion that it had gone so far as these letters would 
seem to indicate." 

"But who is she?" 

"She is the daughter of old Tom Bellamy, who 
owns all the boats and bathing-cots at Fulworth. 
He was a fisherman to start with, but is now a 
man of some substance. He and his son William 
run the business." 

"Shall we walk into Fulworth and see them?" 

"On what pretext?" 

"Oh, we can easily find a pretext. After all, 
this poor man did not ill-use himself in this outra- 
geous way. Some human hand was on the handle 
of that scourge, if indeed it was a scourge which 
inflicted the injuries. His circle of acquaintances in 
this lonely place was surely limited. Let us follow 
it up in every direction and we can hardly fail to 
come upon the motive, which in turn should lead 
us to the criminal." 

It would have been a pleasant walk across the 
thyme-scented downs had our minds not been poi- 
soned by the tragedy we had witnessed. The vil- 
lage of Fulworth lies in a hollow curving in a semi- 
circle round the bay. Behind the old-fashioned 
hamlet several modern houses have been built 
upon the rising ground. It was to one of these that 
Stackhurst guided me. 

"That's The Haven, as Bellamy called it. The 
one with the corner tower and slate roof. Not bad 
for a man who started with nothing but — By Jove, 
look at that!" 

The garden gate of The Haven had opened and 
a man had emerged. There was no mistaking that 
tall, angular, straggling figure. It was Ian Mur- 
doch, the mathematician. A moment later we con- 
fronted him upon the road. 

"Hullo!" said Stackhurst. The man nodded, 
gave us a sideways glance from his curious dark 
eyes, and would have passed us, but his principal 
pulled him up. 

"What were you doing there?" he asked. 


949 



The Adventure of the Lion's Mane 


Murdoch's face flushed with anger. "I am your 
subordinate, sir, under your roof. I am not aware 
that I owe you any account of my private actions." 

Stackhurst's nerves were near the surface after 
all he had endured. Otherwise, perhaps, he would 
have waited. Now he lost his temper completely. 

"In the circumstances your answer is pure im- 
pertinence, Mr. Murdoch." 

"Your own question might perhaps come un- 
der the same heading." 

"This is not the first time that I have had to 
overlook your insubordinate ways. It will certainly 
be the last. You will kindly make fresh arrange- 
ments for your future as speedily as you can." 

"I had intended to do so. I have lost to-day the 
only person who made The Gables habitable." 

He strode off upon his way, while Stackhurst, 
with angry eyes, stood glaring after him. "Is he 
not an impossible, intolerable man?" he cried. 

The one thing that impressed itself forcibly 
upon my mind was that Mr. Ian Murdoch was 
taking the first chance to open a path of escape 
from the scene of the crime. Suspicion, vague and 
nebulous, was now beginning to take outline in 
my mind. Perhaps the visit to the Bellamys might 
throw some further light upon the matter. Stack- 
hurst pulled himself together, and we went for- 
ward to the house. 

Mr. Bellamy proved to be a middle-aged man 
with a flaming red beard. He seemed to be in a 
very angry mood, and his face was soon as florid 
as his hair. 

"No, sir, I do not desire any particulars. My 
son here" — indicating a powerful young man, with 
a heavy, sullen face, in the corner of the sitting- 
room — "is of one mind with me that Mr. McPher- 
son's attentions to Maud were insulting. Yes, sir, 
the word 'marriage' was never mentioned, and yet 
there were letters and meetings, and a great deal 
more of which neither of us could approve. She 
has no mother, and we are her only guardians. We 
are determined — " 

But the words were taken from his mouth by 
the appearance of the lady herself. There was no 
gainsaying that she would have graced any assem- 
bly in the world. Who could have imagined that 
so rare a flower would grow from such a root and 
in such an atmosphere? Women have seldom been 
an attraction to me, for my brain has always gov- 
erned my heart, but I could not look upon her per- 
fect clear-cut face, with all the soft freshness of the 


downlands in her delicate colouring, without real- 
izing that no young man would cross her path un- 
scathed. Such was the girl who had pushed open 
the door and stood now, wide-eyed and intense, in 
front of Harold Stackhurst. 

"I know already that Fitzroy is dead," she said. 
"Do not be afraid to tell me the particulars." 

"This other gentleman of yours let us know the 
news," explained the father. 

"There is no reason why my sister should be 
brought into the matter," growled the younger 
man. 

The sister turned a sharp, fierce look upon him. 
"This is my business, William. Kindly leave me to 
manage it in my own way. By all accounts there 
has been a crime committed. If I can help to show 
who did it, it is the least I can do for him who is 
gone." 

She listened to a short account from my com- 
panion, with a composed concentration which 
showed me that she possessed strong character as 
well as great beauty. Maud Bellamy will always 
remain in my memory as a most complete and re- 
markable woman. It seems that she already knew 
me by sight, for she turned to me at the end. 

"Bring them to justice, Mr. Holmes. You have 
my sympathy and my help, whoever they may 
be." It seemed to me that she glanced defiantly at 
her father and brother as she spoke. 

"Thank you," said I. "I value a woman's in- 
stinct in such matters. You use the word 'they.' 
You think that more than one was concerned?" 

"I knew Mr. McPherson well enough to be 
aware that he was a brave and a strong man. No 
single person could ever have inflicted such an out- 
rage upon him." 

"Might I have one word with you alone?" 

"I tell you, Maud, not to mix yourself up in the 
matter," cried her father angrily. 

She looked at me helplessly. "What can I do?" 

"The whole world will know the facts 
presently, so there can be no harm if I discuss them 
here," said I. "I should have preferred privacy, but 
if your father will not allow it he must share the 
deliberations." Then I spoke of the note which had 
been found in the dead man's pocket. "It is sure 
to be produced at the inquest. May I ask you to 
throw any light upon it that you can?" 

"I see no reason for mystery," she answered. 
"We were engaged to be married, and we only kept 
it secret because Fitzroy's uncle, who is very old 
and said to be dying, might have disinherited him 


950 



The Adventure of the Lion's Mane 


if he had married against his wish. There was no 
other reason." 

"You could have told us," growled Mr. Bellamy. 

"So I would, father, if you had ever shown sym- 
pathy." 

"I object to my girl picking up with men out- 
side her own station." 

"It was your prejudice against him which pre- 
vented us from telling you. As to this appoint- 
ment" — she fumbled in her dress and produced a 
crumpled note — "it was in answer to this." 

Dearest [ran the message]: 

The old place on the beach just after 
sunset on Tuesday. It is the only time I 
can get away. 

F. M. 

"Tuesday was to-day, and I had meant to meet 
him to-night." 

I turned over the paper. "This never came by 
post. How did you get it?" 

"I would rather not answer that question. It has 
really nothing to do with the matter which you are 
investigating. But anything which bears upon that 
I will most freely answer." 

She was as good as her word, but there was 
nothing which was helpful in our investigation. 
She had no reason to think that her fiance had any 
hidden enemy, but she admitted that she had had 
several warm admirers. 

"May I ask if Mr. Ian Murdoch was one of 
them?" 

She blushed and seemed confused. 

"There was a time when I thought he was. But 
that was all changed when he understood the re- 
lations between Fitzroy and myself." 

Again the shadow round this strange man 
seemed to me to be taking more definite shape. 
His record must be examined. His rooms must 
be privately searched. Stackhurst was a willing 
collaborator, for in his mind also suspicions were 
forming. We returned from our visit to The Haven 
with the hope that one free end of this tangled 
skein was already in our hands. 

A week passed. The inquest had thrown no 
light upon the matter and had been adjourned for 
further evidence. Stackhurst had made discreet in- 
quiry about his subordinate, and there had been 
a superficial search of his room, but without re- 
sult. Personally, I had gone over the whole ground 
again, both physically and mentally, but with no 
new conclusions. In all my chronicles the reader 


will find no case which brought me so completely 
to the limit of my powers. Even my imagination 
could conceive no solution to the mystery. And 
then there came the incident of the dog. 

It was my old housekeeper who heard of it first 
by that strange wireless by which such people col- 
lect the news of the countryside. 

"Sad story this, sir, about Mr. McPherson's 
dog," said she one evening. 

I do not encourage such conversations, but the 
words arrested my attention. 

"What of Mr. McPherson's dog?" 

"Dead, sir. Died of grief for its master." 

"Who told you this?" 

"Why, sir, everyone is talking of it. It took on 
terrible, and has eaten nothing for a week. Then to- 
day two of the young gentlemen from The Gables 
found it dead — down on the beach, sir, at the very 
place where its master met his end." 

"At the very place." The words stood out clear 
in my memory. Some dim perception that the mat- 
ter was vital rose in my mind. That the dog should 
die was after the beautiful, faithful nature of dogs. 
But "in the very place"! Why should this lonely 
beach be fatal to it? Was it possible that it also had 
been sacrificed to some revengeful feud? Was it 
possible — ? Yes, the perception was dim, but al- 
ready something was building up in my mind. In 
a few minutes I was on my way to The Gables, 
where I found Stackhurst in his study. At my re- 
quest he sent for Sudbury and Blount, the two stu- 
dents who had found the dog. 

"Yes, it lay on the very edge of the pool," said 
one of them. "It must have followed the trail of its 
dead master." 

I saw the faithful little creature, an Airedale ter- 
rier, laid out upon the mat in the hall. The body 
was stiff and rigid, the eyes projecting, and the 
limbs contorted. There was agony in every line 
of it. 

From The Gables I walked down to the 
bathing-pool. The sun had sunk and the shadow 
of the great cliff lay black across the water, which 
glimmered dully like a sheet of lead. The place 
was deserted and there was no sign of life save for 
two sea-birds circling and screaming overhead. In 
the fading light I could dimly make out the little 
dog's spoor upon the sand round the very rock on 
which his master's towel had been laid. For a long 
time I stood in deep meditation while the shad- 
ows grew darker around me. My mind was filled 
with racing thoughts. You have known what it was 


951 



The Adventure of the Lion's Mane 


to be in a nightmare in which you feel that there 
is some all-important thing for which you search 
and which you know is there, though it remains 
forever just beyond your reach. That was how I 
felt that evening as I stood alone by that place of 
death. Then at last I turned and walked slowly 
homeward. 

I had just reached the top of the path when it 
came to me. Like a flash, I remembered the thing 
for which I had so eagerly and vainly grasped. 
You will know, or Watson has written in vain, that 
I hold a vast store of out-of-the-way knowledge 
without scientific system, but very available for the 
needs of my work. My mind is like a crowded 
box-room with packets of all sorts stowed away 
therein — so many that I may well have but a vague 
perception of what was there. I had known that 
there was something which might bear upon this 
matter. It was still vague, but at least I knew how 
I could make it clear. It was monstrous, incredible, 
and yet it was always a possibility. I would test it 
to the full. 

There is a great garret in my little house which 
is stuffed with books. It was into this that I 
plunged and rummaged for an hour. At the end 
of that time I emerged with a little chocolate and 
silver volume. Eagerly I turned up the chapter of 
which I had a dim remembrance. Yes, it was in- 
deed a far-fetched and unlikely proposition, and 
yet I could not be at rest until I had made sure if 
it might, indeed, be so. It was late when I retired, 
with my mind eagerly awaiting the work of the 
morrow. 

But that work met with an annoying interrup- 
tion. I had hardly swallowed my early cup of 
tea and was starting for the beach when I had a 
call from Inspector Bardie of the Sussex Constabu- 
lary — a steady, solid, bovine man with thoughtful 
eyes, which looked at me now with a very troubled 
expression. 

"I know your immense experience, sir," said he. 
"This is quite unofficial, of course, and need go no 
farther. But I am fairly up against it in this McPher- 
son case. The question is, shall I make an arrest, 
or shall I not?" 

"Meaning Mr. Ian Murdoch?" 

"Yes, sir. There is really no one else when you 
come to think of it. That's the advantage of this 
solitude. We narrow it down to a very small com- 
pass. If he did not do it, then who did?" 

"What have you against him?" 

He had gleaned along the same furrows as I 
had. There was Murdoch's character and the mys- 
tery which seemed to hang round the man. His 


furious bursts of temper, as shown in the incident 
of the dog. The fact that he had quarrelled with 
McPherson in the past, and that there was some 
reason to think that he might have resented his at- 
tentions to Miss Bellamy. He had all my points, 
but no fresh ones, save that Murdoch seemed to be 
making every preparation for departure. 

"What would my position be if I let him slip 
away with all this evidence against him?" The 
burly, phlegmatic man was sorely troubled in his 
mind. 

"Consider," I said, "all the essential gaps in 
your case. On the morning of the crime he can 
surely prove an alibi. He had been with his schol- 
ars till the last moment, and within a few minutes 
of McPherson's appearance he came upon us from 
behind. Then bear in mind the absolute impos- 
sibility that he could single-handed have inflicted 
this outrage upon a man quite as strong as him- 
self. Finally, there is this question of the instru- 
ment with which these injuries were inflicted." 

"What could it be but a scourge or flexible 
whip of some sort?" 

"Have you examined the marks?" I asked. 

"I have seen them. So has the doctor." 

"But I have examined them very carefully with 
a lens. They have peculiarities." 

"What are they, Mr. Holmes?" 

I stepped to my bureau and brought out an en- 
larged photograph. "This is my method in such 
cases," I explained. 

"You certainly do things thoroughly, Mr. 
Holmes." 

"I should hardly be what I am if I did not. Now 
let us consider this weal which extends round the 
right shoulder. Do you observe nothing remark- 
able?" 

"I can't say I do." 

"Surely it is evident that it is unequal in its in- 
tensity. There is a dot of extravasated blood here, 
and another there. There are similar indications in 
this other weal down here. What can that mean?" 

"I have no idea. Have you?" 

"Perhaps I have. Perhaps I haven't. I may be 
able to say more soon. Anything which will define 
what made that mark will bring us a long way to- 
wards the criminal." 

"It is, of course, an absurd idea," said the po- 
liceman, "but if a red-hot net of wire had been laid 
across the back, then these better marked points 
would represent where the meshes crossed each 
other." 


95 2 



The Adventure of the Lion's Mane 


"A most ingenious comparison. Or shall we 
say a very stiff cat-o'-nine-tails with small hard 
knots upon it?" 

"By Jove, Mr. Holmes, I think you have hit it." 

"Or there may be some very different cause, 
Mr. Bardie. But your case is far too weak for an 
arrest. Besides, we have those last words — the 
'Lion's Mane.' " 

"I have wondered whether Ian — " 

"Yes, I have considered that. If the second word 
had borne any resemblance to Murdoch — but it 
did not. He gave it almost in a shriek. I am sure 
that it was 'Mane.' " 

"Have you no alternative, Mr. Holmes?" 

"Perhaps I have. But I do not care to discuss it 
until there is something more solid to discuss." 

"And when will that be?" 

"In an hour — possibly less." 

The inspector rubbed his chin and looked at me 
with dubious eyes. 

"I wish I could see what was in your mind, Mr. 
Holmes. Perhaps it's those fishing-boats." 

"No, no, they were too far out." 

"Well, then, is it Bellamy and that big son of 
his? They were not too sweet upon Mr. McPher- 
son. Could they have done him a mischief?" 

"No, no, you won't draw me until I am ready," 
said I with a smile. "Now, Inspector, we each have 
our own work to do. Perhaps if you were to meet 
me here at midday — " 

So far we had got when there came the tremen- 
dous interruption which was the beginning of the 
end. 

My outer door was flung open, there were 
blundering footsteps in the passage, and Ian Mur- 
doch staggered into the room, pallid, dishevelled, 
his clothes in wild disorder, clawing with his 
bony hands at the furniture to hold himself erect. 
"Brandy! Brandy!" he gasped, and fell groaning 
upon the sofa. 

He was not alone. Behind him came Stack- 
hurst, hatless and panting, almost as distrait as his 
companion. 

"Yes, yes, brandy!" he cried. "The man is at his 
last gasp. It was all I could do to bring him here. 
He fainted twice upon the way." 

Half a tumbler of the raw spirit brought about 
a wondrous change. He pushed himself up on one 
arm and swung his coat from his shoulders. "For 
God's sake, oil, opium, morphia!" he cried. "Any- 
thing to ease this infernal agony!" 


The inspector and I cried out at the sight. 
There, crisscrossed upon the man's naked shoul- 
der, was the same strange reticulated pattern of 
red, inflamed lines which had been the death-mark 
of Fitzroy McPherson. 

The pain was evidently terrible and was more 
than local, for the sufferer's breathing would stop 
for a time, his face would turn black, and then with 
loud gasps he would clap his hand to his heart, 
while his brow dropped beads of sweat. At any 
moment he might die. More and more brandy was 
poured down his throat, each fresh dose bring- 
ing him back to life. Pads of cotton-wool soaked 
in salad-oil seemed to take the agony from the 
strange wounds. At last his head fell heavily upon 
the cushion. Exhausted Nature had taken refuge 
in its last storehouse of vitality. It was half a sleep 
and half a faint, but at least it was ease from pain. 

To question him had been impossible, but the 
moment we were assured of his condition Stack- 
hurst turned upon me. 

"My God!" he cried, "what is it. Holmes? What 
is it?" 

"Where did you find him?" 

"Down on the beach. Exactly where poor 
McPherson met his end. If this man's heart had 
been weak as McPherson's was, he would not be 
here now. More than once I thought he was gone 
as I brought him up. It was too far to The Gables, 
so I made for you." 

"Did you see him on the beach?" 

"I was walking on the cliff when I heard his cry. 
He was at the edge of the water, reeling about like 
a drunken man. I ran down, threw some clothes 
about him, and brought him up. For heaven's sake. 
Holmes, use all the powers you have and spare no 
pains to lift the curse from this place, for life is 
becoming unendurable. Can you, with all your 
world-wide reputation, do nothing for us?" 

"I think I can, Stackhurst. Come with me now! 
And you. Inspector, come along! We will see if we 
cannot deliver this murderer into your hands." 

Leaving the unconscious man in the charge of 
my housekeeper, we all three went down to the 
deadly lagoon. On the shingle there was piled a 
little heap of towels and clothes left by the stricken 
man. Slowly I walked round the edge of the wa- 
ter, my comrades in Indian file behind me. Most 
of the pool was quite shallow, but under the cliff 
where the beach was hollowed out it was four or 
five feet deep. It was to this part that a swim- 
mer would naturally go, for it formed a beauti- 
ful pellucid green pool as clear as crystal. A line 


953 



The Adventure of the Lion's Mane 


of rocks lay above it at the base of the cliff, and 
along this I led the way, peering eagerly into the 
depths beneath me. I had reached the deepest and 
stillest pool when my eyes caught that for which 
they were searching, and I burst into a shout of 
triumph. 

"Cyanea!" I cried. "Cyanea! Behold the Lion's 
Mane!" 

The strange object at which I pointed did in- 
deed look like a tangled mass torn from the mane 
of a lion. It lay upon a rocky shelf some three 
feet under the water, a curious waving, vibrating, 
hairy creature with streaks of silver among its yel- 
low tresses. It pulsated with a slow, heavy dilation 
and contraction. 

"It has done mischief enough. Its day is over!" 
I cried. "Help me, Stackhurst! Let us end the mur- 
derer forever." 

There was a big boulder just above the ledge, 
and we pushed it until it fell with a tremen- 
dous splash into the water. When the ripples had 
cleared we saw that it had settled upon the ledge 
below. One flapping edge of yellow membrane 
showed that our victim was beneath it. A thick oily 
scum oozed out from below the stone and stained 
the water round, rising slowly to the surface. 

"Well, this gets me!" cried the inspector. "What 
was it, Mr. Holmes? I'm born and bred in these 
parts, but I never saw such a thing. It don't belong 
to Sussex." 

"Just as well for Sussex," I remarked. "It may 
have been the southwest gale that brought it up. 
Come back to my house, both of you, and I will 
give you the terrible experience of one who has 
good reason to remember his own meeting with 
the same peril of the seas." 

When we reached my study we found that 
Murdoch was so far recovered that he could sit 
up. He was dazed in mind, and every now and 
then was shaken by a paroxysm of pain. In broken 
words he explained that he had no notion what 
had occurred to him, save that terrific pangs had 
suddenly shot through him, and that it had taken 
all his fortitude to reach the bank. 

"Here is a book," I said, taking up the little vol- 
ume, "which first brought light into what might 
have been forever dark. It is Out of Doors, by 
the famous observer, J. G. Wood. Wood himself 
very nearly perished from contact with this vile 
creature, so he wrote with a very full knowledge. 
Cyanea capillata is the miscreant's full name, and he 
can be as dangerous to life as, and far more painful 
than, the bite of the cobra. Let me briefly give this 
extract. 


"If the bather should see a loose roundish 
mass oftaivny membranes and fibres, some- 
thing like very large handfuls of lion's mane 
and silver paper, let him beware, for this is 
the fearful stinger, Cyanea capillata. 

Could our sinister acquaintance be more clearly 
described? 

"He goes on to tell of his own encounter with 
one when swimming off the coast of Kent. He 
found that the creature radiated almost invisible 
filaments to the distance of fifty feet, and that 
anyone within that circumference from the deadly 
centre was in danger of death. Even at a distance 
the effect upon Wood was almost fatal. 

"The multitudinous threads caused light 
scarlet lines upon the skin which on closer 
examination resolved into minute dots or 
pustules, each dot charged as it were with a 
red-hot needle making its way through the 
nerves. 

"The local pain was, as he explains, the least part 
of the exquisite torment. 

"Pangs shot through the chest, causing me 
to fall as if struck by a bidlet. The pulsa- 
tion ivoidd cease, and then the heart would 
give six or seven leaps as if it woidd force 
its way through the chest. 

"It nearly killed him, although he had only been 
exposed to it in the disturbed ocean and not in 
the narrow calm waters of a bathing-pool. He says 
that he could hardly recognize himself afterwards, 
so white, wrinkled and shrivelled was his face. 
He gulped down brandy, a whole bottleful, and it 
seems to have saved his life. There is the book. In- 
spector. I leave it with you, and you cannot doubt 
that it contains a full explanation of the tragedy of 
poor McPherson." 

"And incidentally exonerates me," remarked 
Ian Murdoch with a wry smile. "I do not blame 
you. Inspector, nor you, Mr. Holmes, for your sus- 
picions were natural. I feel that on the very eve 
of my arrest I have only cleared myself by sharing 
the fate of my poor friend." 

"No, Mr. Murdoch. I was already upon the 
track, and had I been out as early as I intended 
I might well have saved you from this terrific ex- 
perience." 

"But how did you know, Mr. Holmes?" 

"I am an omnivorous reader with a strangely 
retentive memory for trifles. That phrase 'the 
Lion's Mane' haunted my mind. I knew that I had 
seen it somewhere in an unexpected context. You 
have seen that it does describe the creature. I have 
no doubt that it was floating on the water when 


954 



McPherson saw it, and that this phrase was the 
only one by which he could convey to us a warn- 
ing as to the creature which had been his death." 

"Then I, at least, am cleared," said Murdoch, 
rising slowly to his feet. "There are one or two 
words of explanation which I should give, for I 
know the direction in which your inquiries have 
run. It is true that I loved this lady, but from the 
day when she chose my friend McPherson my one 
desire was to help her to happiness. I was well 
content to stand aside and act as their go-between. 
Often I carried their messages, and it was because 
I was in their confidence and because she was so 
dear to me that I hastened to tell her of my friend's 
death, lest someone should forestall me in a more 
sudden and heartless manner. She would not tell 
you, sir, of our relations lest you should disap- 
prove and I might suffer. But with your leave I 
must try to get back to The Gables, for my bed 
will be very welcome." 

Stackhurst held out his hand. "Our nerves have 
all been at concert-pitch," said he. "Forgive what 


is past, Murdoch. We shall understand each other 
better in the future." They passed out together 
with their arms linked in friendly fashion. The 
inspector remained, staring at me in silence with 
his ox-like eyes. 

"Well, you've done it!" he cried at last. "I had 
read of you, but I never believed it. It's wonder- 
ful!" 

I was forced to shake my head. To accept such 
praise was to lower one's own standards. 

"I was slow at the outset — culpably slow. Had 
the body been found in the water I could hardly 
have missed it. It was the towel which misled me. 
The poor fellow had never thought to dry him- 
self, and so I in turn was led to believe that he 
had never been in the water. Why, then, should 
the attack of any water creature suggest itself to 
me? That was where I went astray. Well, well. In- 
spector, I often ventured to chaff you gentlemen of 
the police force, but Cyanea capillata very nearly 
avenged Scotland Yard." 



His Last Bow 


t was nine o'clock at night upon the sec- 
ond of August — the most terrible August 
in the history of the world. One might 
have thought already that God's curse 
hung heavy over a degenerate world, for there 
was an awesome hush and a feeling of vague ex- 
pectancy in the sultry and stagnant air. The sun 
had long set, but one blood-red gash like an open 
wound lay low in the distant west. Above, the stars 
were shining brightly, and below, the lights of the 
shipping glimmered in the bay. The two famous 
Germans stood beside the stone parapet of the gar- 
den walk, with the long, low, heavily gabled house 
behind them, and they looked down upon the 
broad sweep of the beach at the foot of the great 
chalk cliff in which Von Bork, like some wander- 
ing eagle, had perched himself four years before. 
They stood with their heads close together, talk- 
ing in low, confidential tones. From below the two 
glowing ends of their cigars might have been the 
smouldering eyes of some malignant fiend looking 
down in the darkness. 

A remarkable man this Von Bork — a man who 
could hardly be matched among all the devoted 
agents of the Kaiser. It was his talents which had 
first recommended him for the English mission, 
the most important mission of all, but since he 
had taken it over those talents had become more 
and more manifest to the half-dozen people in the 
world who were really in touch with the truth. 
One of these was his present companion, Baron 
Von Herling, the chief secretary of the legation, 
whose huge loo-horse-power Benz car was block- 
ing the country lane as it waited to waft its owner 
back to London. 

"So far as I can judge the trend of events, you 
will probably be back in Berlin within the week," 
the secretary was saying. "When you get there, my 
dear Von Bork, I think you will be surprised at the 
welcome you will receive. I happen to know what 
is thought in the highest quarters of your work in 
this country." He was a huge man, the secretary, 
deep, broad, and tall, with a slow, heavy fashion 
of speech which had been his main asset in his po- 
litical career. 

Von Bork laughed. 

"They are not very hard to deceive," he re- 
marked. "A more docile, simple folk could not 
be imagined." 

"I don't know about that," said the other 
thoughtfully. "They have strange limits and one 
must learn to observe them. It is that surface 
simplicity of theirs which makes a trap for the 


stranger. One's first impression is that they are en- 
tirely soft. Then one comes suddenly upon some- 
thing very hard, and you know that you have 
reached the limit and must adapt yourself to the 
fact. They have, for example, their insular conven- 
tions which simply must be observed." 

"Meaning 'good form' and that sort of thing?" 
Von Bork sighed as one who had suffered much. 

"Meaning British prejudice in all its queer man- 
ifestations. As an example I may quote one of my 
own worst blunders — I can afford to talk of my 
blunders, for you know my work well enough to 
be aware of my successes. It was on my first ar- 
rival. I was invited to a week-end gathering at the 
country house of a cabinet minister. The conversa- 
tion was amazingly indiscreet." 

Von Bork nodded. "I've been there," said he 
dryly. 

"Exactly. Well, I naturally sent a resume of 
the information to Berlin. Unfortunately our good 
chancellor is a little heavy-handed in these mat- 
ters, and he transmitted a remark which showed 
that he was aware of what had been said. This, of 
course, took the trail straight up to me. You've no 
idea the harm that it did me. There was nothing 
soft about our British hosts on that occasion, I can 
assure you. I was two years living it down. Now 
you, with this sporting pose of yours — " 

"No, no, don't call it a pose. A pose is an ar- 
tificial thing. This is quite natural. I am a born 
sportsman. I enjoy it." 

"Well, that makes it the more effective. You 
yacht against them, you hunt with them, you play 
polo, you match them in every game, your four-in- 
hand takes the prize at Olympia. I have even heard 
that you go the length of boxing with the young 
officers. What is the result? Nobody takes you 
seriously. You are a 'good old sport,' 'quite a de- 
cent fellow for a German,' a hard-drinking, night- 
club, knock-about-town, devil-may-care young fel- 
low. And all the time this quiet country house of 
yours is the centre of half the mischief in England, 
and the sporting squire the most astute secret- 
service man in Europe. Genius, my dear Von 
Bork — genius ! " 

"You flatter me, Baron. But certainly I may 
claim my four years in this country have not been 
unproductive. I've never shown you my little 
store. Would you mind stepping in for a mo- 
ment?" 

The door of the study opened straight on to the 
terrace. Von Bork pushed it back, and, leading the 
way, he clicked the switch of the electric light. He 


841 



His Last Bow 


then closed the door behind the bulky form which 
followed him and carefully adjusted the heavy cur- 
tain over the latticed window. Only when all these 
precautions had been taken and tested did he turn 
his sunburned aquiline face to his guest. 

"Some of my papers have gone," said he. 
"When my wife and the household left yester- 
day for Flushing they took the less important with 
them. I must, of course, claim the protection of the 
embassy for the others." 

"Your name has already been filed as one of the 
personal suite. There will be no difficulties for you 
or your baggage. Of course, it is just possible that 
we may not have to go. England may leave France 
to her fate. We are sure that there is no binding 
treaty between them." 

"And Belgium?" 

"Yes, and Belgium, too." 

Von Bork shook his head. "I don't see how that 
could be. There is a definite treaty there. She could 
never recover from such a humiliation." 

"She would at least have peace for the mo- 
ment." 

"But her honor?" 

"Tut, my dear sir, we live in a utilitarian age. 
Honour is a mediaeval conception. Besides Eng- 
land is not ready. It is an inconceivable thing, but 
even our special war tax of fifty million, which one 
would think made our purpose as clear as if we 
had advertised it on the front page of the Times, 
has not roused these people from their slumbers. 
Here and there one hears a question. It is my 
business to find an answer. Here and there also 
there is an irritation. It is my business to soothe 
it. But I can assure you that so far as the essen- 
tials go — the storage of munitions, the preparation 
for submarine attack, the arrangements for making 
high explosives — nothing is prepared. How, then, 
can England come in, especially when we have 
stirred her up such a devil's brew of Irish civil war, 
window-breaking Furies, and God knows what to 
keep her thoughts at home." 

"She must think of her future." 

"Ah, that is another matter. I fancy that in the 
future we have our own very definite plans about 
England, and that your information will be very 
vital to us. It is to-day or to-morrow with Mr. John 
Bull. If he prefers to-day we are perfectly ready. 
If it is to-morrow we shall be more ready still. I 
should think they would be wiser to fight with al- 
lies than without them, but that is their own affair. 
This week is their week of destiny. But you were 
speaking of your papers." He sat in the armchair 


with the light shining upon his broad bald head, 
while he puffed sedately at his cigar. 

The large oak-panelled, book-lined room had a 
curtain hung in the future corner. When this was 
drawn it disclosed a large, brass-bound safe. Von 
Bork detached a small key from his watch chain, 
and after some considerable manipulation of the 
lock he swung open the heavy door. 

"Look!" said he, standing clear, with a wave of 
his hand. 

The light shone vividly into the opened safe, 
and the secretary of the embassy gazed with an 
absorbed interest at the rows of stuffed pigeon- 
holes with which it was furnished. Each pigeon- 
hole had its label, and his eyes as he glanced 
along them read a long series of such titles as 
"Fords," "Harbour-defences," "Aeroplanes," "Ire- 
land," "Egypt," "Portsmouth forts," "The Chan- 
nel," "Rosythe," and a score of others. Each com- 
partment was bristling with papers and plans. 

"Colossal!" said the secretary. Putting down 
his cigar he softly clapped his fat hands. 

"And all in four years, Baron. Not such a bad 
show for the hard-drinking, hard-riding country 
squire. But the gem of my collection is coming and 
there is the setting all ready for it." He pointed to 
a space over which "Naval Signals" was printed. 

"But you have a good dossier there already." 

"Out of date and waste paper. The Admiralty 
in some way got the alarm and every code has 
been changed. It was a blow, Baron — the worst 
setback in my whole campaign. But thanks to my 
check-book and the good Altamont all will be well 
to-night." 

The Baron looked at his watch and gave a gut- 
tural exclamation of disappointment. 

"Well, I really can wait no longer. You can 
imagine that things are moving at present in Carl- 
ton Terrace and that we have all to be at our posts. 
I had hoped to be able to bring news of your great 
coup. Did Altamont name no hour?" 

Von Bork pushed over a telegram. 

Will come without fail to-night and 
bring new sparking plugs. 

— Altamont. 


842 



His Last Bow 


"Sparking plugs, eh?" 

"You see he poses as a motor expert and I keep 
a full garage. In our code everything likely to come 
up is named after some spare part. If he talks of a 
radiator it is a battleship, of an oil pump a cruiser, 
and so on. Sparking plugs are naval signals." 

"From Portsmouth at midday," said the secre- 
tary, examining the superscription. "By the way, 
what do you give him?" 

"Five hundred pounds for this particular job. 
Of course he has a salary as well." 

"The greedy rouge. They are useful, these 
traitors, but I grudge them their blood money." 

"I grudge Altamont nothing. He is a wonder- 
ful worker. If I pay him well, at least he deliv- 
ers the goods, to use his own phrase. Besides he 
is not a traitor. I assure you that our most pan- 
Germanic Junker is a sucking dove in his feelings 
towards England as compared with a real bitter 
Irish-American." 

"Oh, an Irish-American?" 

"If you heard him talk you would not doubt it. 
Sometimes I assure you I can hardly understand 
him. He seems to have declared war on the King's 
English as well as on the English king. Must you 
really go? He may be here any moment." 

"No. I'm sorry, but I have already overstayed 
my time. We shall expect you early to-morrow, 
and when you get that signal book through the 
little door on the Duke of York's steps you can 
put a triumphant finis to your record in England. 
What! Tokay!" He indicated a heavily sealed dust- 
covered bottle which stood with two high glasses 
upon a salver. 

"May I offer you a glass before your journey?" 

"No, thanks. But it looks like revelry." 

"Altamont has a nice taste in wines, and he 
took a fancy to my Tokay. He is a touchy fellow 
and needs humouring in small things. I have to 
study him, I assure you." They had strolled out on 
to the terrace again, and along it to the further end 
where at a touch from the Baron's chauffeur the 
great car shivered and chuckled. "Those are the 
lights of Harwich, I suppose," said the secretary, 
pulling on his dust coat. "How still and peaceful 
it all seems. There may be other lights within the 
week, and the English coast a less tranquil place! 
The heavens, too, may not be quite so peaceful if 
all that the good Zeppelin promises us comes true. 
By the way, who is that?" 

Only one window showed a light behind them; 
in it there stood a lamp, and beside it, seated at 


a table, was a dear old ruddy-faced woman in a 
country cap. She was bending over her knitting 
and stopping occasionally to stroke a large black 
cat upon a stool beside her. 

"That is Martha, the only servant I have left." 

The secretary chuckled. 

"She might almost personify Britannia," said 
he, "with her complete self-absorption and general 
air of comfortable somnolence. Well, an revoir, Von 
Bork!" With a final wave of his hand he sprang 
into the car, and a moment later the two golden 
cones from the headlights shot through the dark- 
ness. The secretary lay back in the cushions of the 
luxurious limousine, with his thoughts so full of 
the impending European tragedy that he hardly 
observed that as his car swung round the village 
street it nearly passed over a little Ford coming in 
the opposite direction. 

Von Bork walked slowly back to the study 
when the last gleams of the motor lamps had 
faded into the distance. As he passed he observed 
that his old housekeeper had put out her lamp and 
retired. It was a new experience to him, the silence 
and darkness of his widespread house, for his fam- 
ily and household had been a large one. It was a 
relief to him, however, to think that they were all 
in safety and that, but for that one old woman who 
had lingered in the kitchen, he had the whole place 
to himself. There was a good deal of tidying up to 
do inside his study and he set himself to do it until 
his keen, handsome face was flushed with the heat 
of the burning papers. A leather valise stood be- 
side his table, and into this he began to pack very 
neatly and systematically the precious contents of 
his safe. He had hardly got started with the work, 
however, when his quick ears caught the sounds of 
a distant car. Instantly he gave an exclamation of 
satisfaction, strapped up the valise, shut the safe, 
locked it, and hurried out on to the terrace. He 
was just in time to see the lights of a small car 
come to a halt at the gate. A passenger sprang 
out of it and advanced swiftly towards him, while 
the chauffeur, a heavily built, elderly man with a 
gray moustache, settled down like one who resigns 
himself to a long vigil. 

"Well?" asked Von Bork eagerly, running for- 
ward to meet his visitor. 

For answer the man waved a small brown- 
paper parcel triumphantly above his head. 

"You can give me the glad hand to-night, mis- 
ter," he cried. "I'm bringing home the bacon at 
last." 

"The signals?" 


843 



His Last Bow 


"Same as I said in my cable. Every last one 
of them, semaphore, lamp code, Marconi — a copy, 
mind you, not the original. That was too dan- 
gerous. But it's the real goods, and you can lay 
to that." He slapped the German upon the shoul- 
der with a rough familiarity from which the other 
winced. 

"Come in," he said. "I'm all alone in the house. 
I was only waiting for this. Of course a copy is 
better than the original. If an original were miss- 
ing they would change the whole thing. You think 
it's all safe about the copy?" 

The Irish- American had entered the study and 
stretched his long limbs from the armchair. He 
was a tall, gaunt man of sixty, with clear-cut fea- 
tures and a small goatee beard which gave him 
a general resemblance to the caricatures of Uncle 
Sam. A half-smoked, sodden cigar hung from the 
corner of his mouth, and as he sat down he struck 
a match and relit it. "Making ready for a move?" 
he remarked as he looked round him. "Say, mis- 
ter," he added, as his eyes fell upon the safe from 
which the curtain was now removed, "you don't 
tell me you keep your papers in that?" 

"Why not?" 

"Gosh, in a wide-open contraption like that! 
And they reckon you to be some spy. Why, a Yan- 
kee crook would be into that with a can-opener. If 
I'd known that any letter of mine was goin' to lie 
loose in a thing like that I'd have been a mug to 
write to you at all." 

"It would puzzle any crook to force that safe," 
Von Bork answered. "You won't cut that metal 
with any tool." 

"But the lock?" 

"No, it's a double combination lock. You know 
what that is?" 

"Search me," said the American. 

"Well, you need a word as well as a set of 
figures before you can get the lock to work." He 
rose and showed a double-radiating disc round the 
keyhole. "This outer one is for the letters, the inner 
one for the figures." 

"Well, well, that's fine." 

"So it's not quite as simple as you thought. It 
was four years ago that I had it made, and what 
do you think I chose for the word and figures?" 

"It's beyond me." 

"Well, I chose August for the word, and 1914 
for the figures, and here we are." 

The American's face showed his surprise and 
admiration. 


"My, but that was smart! You had it down to a 
fine thing." 

"Yes, a few of us even then could have guessed 
the date. Here it is, and I'm shutting down to- 
morrow morning." 

"Well, I guess you'll have to fix me up also. I'm 
not staying is this gol-darned country all on my 
lonesome. In a week or less, from what I see, John 
Bull will be on his hind legs and fair ramping. I'd 
rather watch him from over the water." 

"But you're an American citizen?" 

"Well, so was Jack James an American citizen, 
but he's doing time in Portland all the same. It cuts 
no ice with a British copper to tell him you're an 
American citizen. 'It's British law and order over 
here/ says he. By the way, mister, talking of Jack 
James, it seems to me you don't do much to cover 
your men." 

"What do you mean?" Von Bork asked sharply. 

"Well, you are their employer, ain't you? It's up 
to you to see that they don't fall down. But they 
do fall down, and when did you ever pick them 
up? There's James — " 

"It was James's own fault. You know that your- 
self. He was too self-willed for the job." 

"James was a bonehead — I give you that. Then 
there was Hollis." 

"The man was mad." 

"Well, he went a bit woozy towards the end. 
It's enough to make a man bug-house when he 
has to play a part from morning to night with a 
hundred guys all ready to set the coppers wise to 
him. But now there is Steiner — " 

Von Bork started violently, and his ruddy face 
turned a shade paler. 

"What about Steiner?" 

"Well, they've got him, that's all. They raided 
his store last night, and he and his papers are all in 
Portsmouth jail. You'll go off and he, poor devil, 
will have to stand the racket, and lucky if he gets 
off with his life. That's why I want to get over the 
water as soon as you do." 

Von Bork was a strong, self-contained man, but 
it was easy to see that the news had shaken him. 

"How could they have got on to Steiner?" he 
muttered. "That's the worst blow yet." 

"Well, you nearly had a worse one, for I believe 
they are not far off me." 

"You don't mean that!" 

"Sure thing. My landlady down Fratton way 
had some inquiries, and when I heard of it I 
guessed it was time for me to hustle. But what 
I want to know, mister, is how the coppers know 


844 



His Last Bow 


these things? Steiner is the fifth man you've lost 
since I signed on with you, and I know the name 
of the sixth if I don't get a move on. How do you 
explain it, and ain't you ashamed to see your men 
go down like this?" 

Von Bork flushed crimson. 

"How dare you speak in such a way!" 

"If I didn't dare things, mister, I wouldn't be in 
your service. But I'll tell you straight what is in 
my mind. I've heard that with you German politi- 
cians when an agent has done his work you are 
not sorry to see him put away." 

Von Bork sprang to his feet. 

"Do you dare to suggest that I have given away 
my own agents!" 

"I don't stand for that, mister, but there's a 
stool pigeon or a cross somewhere, and it's up to 
you to find out where it is. Anyhow I am taking 
no more chances. It's me for little Holland, and the 
sooner the better." 

Von Bork had mastered his anger. 

"We have been allies too long to quarrel now at 
the very hour of victory," he said. "You've done 
splendid work and taken risks, and I can't forget 
it. By all means go to Holland, and you can get a 
boat from Rotterdam to New York. No other line 
will be safe a week from now. I'll take that book 
and pack it with the rest." 

The American held the small parcel in his 
hand, but made no motion to give it up. 

"What about the dough?" he asked. 

"The what?" 

"The boodle. The reward. The £500. The gun- 
ner turned damned nasty at the last, and I had 
to square him with an extra hundred dollars or it 
would have been nitsky for you and me. 'Nothin' 
doin'!' says he, and he meant it, too, but the last 
hundred did it. It's cost me two hundred pound 
from first to last, so it isn't likely I'd give it up 
without gettin' my wad." 

Von Bork smiled with some bitterness. "You 
don't seem to have a very high opinion of my hon- 
our," said he, "you want the money before you 
give up the book." 

"Well, mister, it is a business proposition." 

"All right. Have your way." He sat down at the 
table and scribbled a check, which he tore from 
the book, but he refrained from handing it to his 
companion. "After all, since we are to be on such 
terms, Mr. Altamont," said he, "I don't see why I 
should trust you any more than you trust me. Do 


you understand?" he added, looking back over his 
shoulder at the American. "There's the check upon 
the table. I claim the right to examine that parcel 
before you pick the money up." 

The American passed it over without a word. 
Von Bork undid a winding of string and two wrap- 
pers of paper. Then he sat dazing for a moment 
in silent amazement at a small blue book which 
lay before him. Across the cover was printed 
in golden letters Practical Handbook of Bee Culture. 
Only for one instant did the master spy glare at 
this strangely irrelevant inscription. The next he 
was gripped at the back of his neck by a grasp of 
iron, and a chloroformed sponge was held in front 
of his writhing face. 

"Another glass, Watson!" said Mr. Sherlock 
Holmes as he extended the bottle of Imperial 
Tokay. 

The thickset chauffeur, who had seated himself 
by the table, pushed forward his glass with some 
eagerness. 

"It is a good wine. Holmes." 

"A remarkable wine, Watson. Our friend upon 
the sofa has assured me that it is from Franz Josef's 
special cellar at the Schoenbrunn Palace. Might I 
trouble you to open the window, for chloroform 
vapour does not help the palate." 

The safe was ajar, and Holmes standing in front 
of it was removing dossier after dossier, swiftly ex- 
amining each, and then packing it neatly in Von 
Bork's valise. The German lay upon the sofa sleep- 
ing stertorously with a strap round his upper arms 
and another round his legs. 

"We need not hurry ourselves, Watson. We are 
safe from interruption. Would you mind touching 
the bell? There is no one in the house except old 
Martha, who has played her part to admiration. I 
got her the situation here when first I took the mat- 
ter up. Ah, Martha, you will be glad to hear that 
all is well." 

The pleasant old lady had appeared in the 
doorway. She curtseyed with a smile to Mr. 
Holmes, but glanced with some apprehension at 
the figure upon the sofa. 

"It is all right, Martha. He has not been hurt at 
all." 

"I am glad of that, Mr. Holmes. According to 
his lights he has been a kind master. He wanted 
me to go with his wife to Germany yesterday, but 
that would hardly have suited your plans, would 
it, sir?" 


845 



His Last Bow 


"No, indeed, Martha. So long as you were here 
I was easy in my mind. We waited some time for 
your signal to-night." 

"It was the secretary, sir. " 

"I know. His car passed ours." 

"I thought he would never go. I knew that it 
would not suit your plans, sir, to find him here." 

"No, indeed. Well, it only meant that we 
waited half an hour or so until I saw your lamp 
go out and knew that the coast was clear. You 
can report to me to-morrow in London, Martha, at 
Claridge's Hotel." 

"Very good, sir." 

"I suppose you have everything ready to 
leave." 

"Yes, sir. He posted seven letters to-day. I have 
the addresses as usual." 

"Very good, Martha. I will look into them to- 
morrow. Good-night. These papers," he contin- 
ued as the old lady vanished, "are not of very 
great importance, for, of course, the information 
which they represent has been sent off long ago to 
the German government. These are the originals 
which cold not safely be got out of the country." 

"Then they are of no use." 

"I should not go so far as to say that, Wat- 
son. They will at least show our people what is 
known and what is not. I may say that a good 
many of these papers have come through me, and 
I need not add are thoroughly untrustworthy. It 
would brighten my declining years to see a Ger- 
man cruiser navigating the Solent according to the 
mine-field plans which I have furnished. But you, 
Watson" — he stopped his work and took his old 
friend by the shoulders — "I've hardly seen you in 
the light yet. How have the years used you? You 
look the same blithe boy as ever." 

"I feel twenty years younger. Holmes. I have 
seldom felt so happy as when I got your wire ask- 
ing me to meet you at Harwich with the car. But 
you. Holmes — you have changed very little — save 
for that horrible goatee." 

"These are the sacrifices one makes for one's 
country, Watson," said Holmes, pulling at his little 
tuft. "To-morrow it will be but a dreadful mem- 
ory. With my hair cut and a few other superficial 
changes I shall no doubt reappear at Claridge's to- 
morrow as I was before this American stunt — I beg 
your pardon, Watson, my well of English seems to 
be permanently defiled — before this American job 
came my way." 


"But you have retired. Holmes. We heard of 
you as living the life of a hermit among your bees 
and your books in a small farm upon the South 
Downs." 

"Exactly, Watson. Here is the fruit of my 
leisured ease, the magnum opus of my latter years!" 
He picked up the volume from the table and read 
out the whole title. Practical Handbook of Bee Cul- 
ture, ivith Some Observations upon the Segregation of 
the Queen. "Alone I did it. Behold the fruit of pen- 
sive nights and laborious days when I watched the 
little working gangs as once I watched the criminal 
world of London." 

"But how did you get to work again?" 

"Ah, I have often marvelled at it myself. The 
Foreign Minister alone I could have withstood, but 
when the Premier also deigned to visit my humble 
roof — ! The fact is, Watson, that this gentleman 
upon the sofa was a bit too good for our people. 
He was in a class by himself. Things were going 
wrong, and no one could understand why they 
were going wrong. Agents were suspected or even 
caught, but there was evidence of some strong and 
secret central force. It was absolutely necessary to 
expose it. Strong pressure was brought upon me 
to look into the matter. It has cost me two years, 
Watson, but they have not been devoid of excite- 
ment. When I say that I started my pilgrimage 
at Chicago, graduated in an Irish secret society at 
Buffalo, gave serious trouble to the constabulary at 
Skibbareen, and so eventually caught the eye of a 
subordinate agent of Von Bork, who recommended 
me as a likely man, you will realize that the matter 
was complex. Since then I have been honoured by 
his confidence, which has not prevented most of 
his plans going subtly wrong and five of his best 
agents being in prison. I watched them, Watson, 
and I picked them as they ripened. Well, sir, I hope 
that you are none the worse!" 

The last remark was addressed to Von Bork 
himself, who after much gasping and blinking 
had lain quietly listening to Holmes's statement. 
He broke out now into a furious stream of Ger- 
man invective, his face convulsed with passion. 
Holmes continued his swift investigation of doc- 
uments while his prisoner cursed and swore. 

"Though unmusical, German is the most ex- 
pressive of all languages," he observed when Von 
Bork had stopped from pure exhaustion. "Hullo! 
Hullo!" he added as he looked hard at the cor- 
ner of a tracing before putting it in the box. "This 
should put another bird in the cage. I had no 
idea that the paymaster was such a rascal, though 


846 



His Last Bow 


I have long had an eye upon him. Mister Von Bork, 
you have a great deal to answer for." 

The prisoner had raised himself with some 
difficulty upon the sofa and was staring with a 
strange mixture of amazement and hatred at his 
captor. 

"I shall get level with you, Altamont," he said, 
speaking with slow deliberation. "If it takes me all 
my life I shall get level with you!" 

"The old sweet song," said Holmes. "How of- 
ten have I heard it in days gone by. It was a 
favorite ditty of the late lamented Professor Mo- 
riarty. Colonel Sebastian Moran has also been 
known to warble it. And yet I live and keep bees 
upon the South Downs." 

"Curse you, you double traitor!" cried the Ger- 
man, straining against his bonds and glaring mur- 
der from his furious eyes. 

"No, no, it is not so bad as that," said Holmes, 
smiling. "As my speech surely shows you, Mr. Al- 
tamont of Chicago had no existence in fact. I used 
him and he is gone." 

"Then who are you?" 

"It is really immaterial who I am, but since the 
matter seems to interest you, Mr. Von Bork, I may 
say that this is not my first acquaintance with the 
members of your family. I have done a good deal 
of business in Germany in the past and my name 
is probably familiar to you." 

"I would wish to know it," said the Prussian 
grimly. 

"It was I who brought about the separation be- 
tween Irene Adler and the late King of Bohemia 
when your cousin Heinrich was the Imperial En- 
voy. It was I also who saved from murder, by the 
Nihilist Klopman, Count Von und Zu Grafenstein, 
who was your mother 's elder brother. It was I — " 

Von Bork sat up in amazement. 

"There is only one man," he cried. 

"Exactly," said Holmes. 

Von Bork groaned and sank back on the sofa. 
"And most of that information came through 
you," he cried. "What is it worth? What have I 
done? It is my ruin forever!" 

"It is certainly a little untrustworthy," said 
Holmes. "It will require some checking and you 
have little time to check it. Your admiral may find 
the new guns rather larger than he expects, and 
the cruisers perhaps a trifle faster." 

Von Bork clutched at his own throat in despair. 


"There are a good many other points of detail 
which will, no doubt, come to light in good time. 
But you have one quality which is very rare in a 
German, Mr. Von Bork: you are a sportsman and 
you will bear me no ill-will when you realize that 
you, who have outwitted so many other people, 
have at last been outwitted yourself. After all, you 
have done your best for your country, and I have 
done my best for mine, and what could be more 
natural? Besides," he added, not unkindly, as he 
laid his hand upon the shoulder of the prostrate 
man, "it is better than to fall before some ignoble 
foe. These papers are now ready, Watson. If you 
will help me with our prisoner, I think that we may 
get started for London at once." 

It was no easy task to move Von Bork, for he 
was a strong and a desperate man. Finally, hold- 
ing either arm, the two friends walked him very 
slowly down the garden walk which he had trod 
with such proud confidence when he received the 
congratulations of the famous diplomatist only a 
few hours before. After a short, final struggle he 
was hoisted, still bound hand and foot, into the 
spare seat of the little car. His precious valise was 
wedged in beside him. 

"I trust that you are as comfortable as circum- 
stances permit," said Holmes when the final ar- 
rangements were made. "Should I be guilty of a 
liberty if I lit a cigar and placed it between your 
lips?" 

But all amenities were wasted upon the angry 
German. 

"I suppose you realize, Mr. Sherlock Holmes," 
said he, "that if your government bears you out in 
this treatment it becomes an act of war." 

"What about your government and all this 
treatment?" said Holmes, tapping the valise. 

"You are a private individual. You have no war- 
rant for my arrest. The whole proceeding is abso- 
lutely illegal and outrageous." 

"Absolutely," said Holmes. 

"Kidnapping a German subject." 

"And stealing his private papers." 

"Well, you realize your position, you and your 
accomplice here. If I were to shout for help as we 
pass through the village — " 

"My dear sir, if you did anything so foolish you 
would probably enlarge the two limited titles of 
our village inns by giving us 'The Dangling Prus- 
sian' as a signpost. The Englishman is a patient 
creature, but at present his temper is a little in- 
flamed, and it would be as well not to try him too 


847 



far. No, Mr. Von Bork, you will go with us in a 
quiet, sensible fashion to Scotland Yard, whence 
you can send for your friend, Baron Von Herling, 
and see if even now you may not fill that place 
which he has reserved for you in the ambassado- 
rial suite. As to you, Watson, you are joining us 
with your old service, as I understand, so London 
won't be out of your way. Stand with me here 
upon the terrace, for it may be the last quiet talk 
that we shall ever have." 

The two friends chatted in intimate converse 
for a few minutes, recalling once again the days 
of the past, while their prisoner vainly wriggled 
to undo the bonds that held him. As they turned 
to the car Holmes pointed back to the moonlit sea 


and shook a thoughtful head. 

"There's an east wind coming, Watson." 

"I think not. Holmes. It is very warm." 

"Good old Watson! You are the one fixed point 
in a changing age. There's an east wind coming 
all the same, such a wind as never blew on Eng- 
land yet. It will be cold and bitter, Watson, and a 
good many of us may wither before its blast. But 
it's God's own wind none the less, and a cleaner, 
better, stronger land will lie in the sunshine when 
the storm has cleared. Start her up, Watson, for 
it's time that we were on our way. I have a check 
for five hundred pounds which should be cashed 
early, for the drawer is quite capable of stopping it 
if he can." 



Preface 


The friends of Mr. Sherlock Holmes will be glad to learn that he is still alive and well, 
though somewhat crippled by occasional attacks of rheumatism. He has, for many years, 
lived in a a small farm upon the downs five miles from Eastbourne, where his time is di- 
vided between philosophy and agriculture. During this period of rest he has refused the 
most princely offers to take up various cases, having determined that his retirement was a 
permanent one. The approach of the German war caused him, however, to lay his remarkable 
combination of intellectual and practical activity at the disposal of the government, with his- 
torical results which are recounted in His Last Bow. Several previous experiences which have 
lain long in my portfolio have been added to His Last Bow so as to complete the volume. 


John H. Watson, M. D.